Last year, around September, I began a slow-burn pine session for the Northeast and New England. Especially for its stunning Autumns and snowy winters. Home from Dallas, finishing final papers and decompressing from a semester of no free time for entertainment, I started watching Gilmore Girls, set in Connecticut. It may be the one television show I have watched from beginning to end.
While I'm not always 100% with the developments and characters, I am usually deeply satisfied with the supposed geographic setting and references to places such as Cape Cod, Boston, and New York. Watching this show filled some deep internal longings for home, small towns with old institutions, long-term female relationships, and the smell of dried leaves.
A recently viewed episode yielded a surprising treat. Sparks (and, not shown here, a still intact Sonic Youth) in Stars Hollow, slightly akin to the many towns on Cape Cod I got to know each summer while visiting my Grandmother. According to these lyrics, the olfactory sense is the sense that strongly evokes memories of the past. It's true.
I have been feeding my hunger for the northern effect in other ways. Higher consumption levels of maple products, apples, and squash-based meals accommodate some sensual needs while films, especially 70s/80s Halloween and horror, help re-ignite memories. A wood-fire scented candle would bring it all together.
Elvira: Mistress of Darkness, 1988, with Cassandra Peterson.
Set in Massachusetts, famous for its witch trials, this is a flick I've been watching since childhood. Upon a recent re-watch, I realized how much this contributed to my feminist, hedonist adult character and was glad to see that it still holds up.
Eraserhead, 1977, David Lynch.
Drab tones reminiscent of cold days walking with a purpose in Philadelphia or Providence, Rhode Island.
For reading in a time travel vortex created by a hot bath, John Demos' The Unredeemed Captive: A Family Story from Early America, 1994, gets me close to the colonial New England landscape. My imagination takes me to something like this magical picture of abandoned mills on Erie Canal which I captured during a sad occasion trip one year ago.
Dreaming of another chance next year, to breathe in the crisp air and taste cider doughnuts. For now I will screw the past, and appreciate the tropical storms, rockabilly bayou terror, and rich Mexican traditions found throughout the Texas-style season.
Alex, Jamie, and Goose Halloweenie by Maria-Elisa Heg, 2015.
On my last visit to Philadelphia I found myself wandering around the great museum there (surprise surprise!). I made a quick pilgrimage to some of my old faves, but as it happens with art and museums, the more you look, the higher the chance you discover something you hadn't noticed before. Of course, I was hanging around the European art galleries mostly (although I did drop in on Joseph Cornell). My photos couldn't capture the magic, but these paintings are worth spending a generous amount of time in front of. Both of these works are predella panels from different altarpieces. A predella is the space beneath a grand altarpiece. These spaces are usually filled with small scale narrative paintings that relate to and expand on the more well known religious events depicted in the altarpiece, which are usually something like a crucifixion scene or the annunciation.
In Gaddi's painting, Pope Sylvester I (d. 335) binds the mouth of a dragon, sealing off its poisonous breath, and revives two victims who lay prone in the foreground. The crowned observer on the right is the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great (ruled 306-337), who, according to legend, had been cured of leprosy by Sylvester.
Dragons painted in this era are always interesting subjects, formally. I especially like how this dragon is a pet sized cutie and how tenderly Sylvester seems to be interacting with it.
Botticelli's The Last Moments of Saint Mary Magdalene, 1484, tempera
Tempera as a painting medium can be sublime. Because the artist mixes pure pigment with a binding agent, egg yolk, and water to thin, the translucency of the quick drying paint works well to create a mystical world. Very fitting for the religious paintings found here and throughout the middle ages toward the Renaissance.
Look at Magdalene, a lovely 15th century Cousin Itt. Depicted as a mass of golden hair, she's a face less apparition, a symbol floating on curls. Instead of these figures appearing fully corporeal and integrated into the architectural space, their presence hesitates, flickering as if flames of a candle. The impermanence and delicacy of life is in contrast with the strength of the Pietra Serena in this Brunelleschi-esque building.
Some art historians say that the transparency shown here is the product of a mistake or somehow unintentional. Whichever the case may be, I think it's pretty spectacular and very effective.
A compendium of things that inspired me last spring, including history, books, trips, art museums, and tea. Last Spring: For our Dada, De Stijl, and Bauhaus class I showed clips from the documentary Rape of Europa since it dealt with the Degenerate Art show that took place throughout Germany right before World War II, in 1937. Mounted by the Nazi party in Munich, this exhibition featured over 650 paintings, sculptures, prints, and books which had been confiscated from German public museums, including the works of some important 20th century artists like Marc Chagall, Wassily Kandinsky, Paul Klee, Emil Nolde, Georg Grosz, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, and many others. These artists were marked because they were Jewish, African, strange or otherwise considered inferior by the regime. The pieces were hung with accompanying criticism and derisive text. This was in order to clarify to the German people which type of art was considered unacceptable, dangerous even. Afterwards, these works were sorted out for sale, sold at auction, some were acquired by museums, and others by private collectors. Certain pieces were appropriated by Nazi officials and some were burned. But before this, the Degenerate show was seen by three million people as it went on tour to other German cities.
The Rape of Europa
Check this link from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museumfor a short clip of footage from inside the Degenerate Art show. It's silent, but look closely at the fascinating body language. I am so intrigued by this historical event. People are dressed up to look at things they are supposed to hate. What if they found themselves liking the works of art? What kind of personal struggles or discoveries might have been taking place in this museum? What kind of gallery tours were being held? "Please take note of this horrible detail and this criminal use of line..." So many questions!
The Dada Wall in Room 3 of the “Degenerate Art” (“Entartete Kunst”) Exhibition, 1937.
The Nazis believed that a blended, multi-media show (paintings mixed with sculptures) arranged randomly, would illustrate, even highlight the "inferiority" of the art. The goal was to get the public to boycott modern and postmodern art for the sake of staying true to Germany.
After the war started, as you can see in the Rape of Europa trailer, Hitler and his team began to loot museums all over the world. Hitler employed art historians to steal the best works and whisk them away to the famed Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria. This castle, the prototype for Disneyland, is where the stolen works of art were stashed.
Neuschwanstein Castle, Germany
Another example, this more recent and less evil, involves the relocation of the Barnes Foundation. I don't want to say too much on this topic because I'm both biased and torn. I absolutely loved the original suburban setting of this small Impressionism heavy collection. I will always cherish my trips out to Merion, with classes and on my own, to stroll around the magnificent grounds and look through the stunning works by Picasso, Matisse, Cezanne, Modigliani, juxtaposed with metalwork and furniture.
The Art of the Steal
Over the summer of 2012, the collection was moved to Center City Philadelphia. I haven't seen it, but there are reviews that give great praise.
I've been thinking a lot about the value of placement, especially art in museums or art in other venues. In her book, Art and the Power of Placement, Victoria Newhouse illustrates how our responses to works of visual art are shown to depend, much more than we realize, on the way they are presented.
This is a fascinating look at something we may take for granted when we visit museums. Read more about Newhouse's book here and check out art historian James Elkins' review of it in the NYT: "Art and the Power of Placement: Getting the Hang of It."
MUSEUM ADVENTURES, Spring 2012 Since we had plans to leave our beloved East Coast, we decided to take a museum based road trip from Boston to DC with stops in Philadelphia and Baltimore.
Philadelphia: The Philadelphia Museum of Art, May 2012 Zoe Strauss: Ten Years was spectacular. We have long admired this artist.
Zoe Strauss, I-95
We have three photographs from the I-95 shows that we went to a couple of times. Strauss hangs hundreds of photos on supports underneath Interstate 95 in Philadelphia, a huge, ugly yet somehow still pleasing, outdoor space. For one day these photos are on display. At 5pm you're encouraged to peel off any photograph you want, free. It's an incredible experience. We also sat, enraptured on the floor, at her Whitney Biennial in 2006. Her photography always conjures vivid memories of all the different people and neighborhoods we got to know while we lived in Philadelphia.
Zoe Strauss, Mattress flip, 2001.
Zoe Strauss, 10th and Reed Billboard.
Zoe Strauss, Camden, NJ, 2004.
Jamie Teich, The old Divine Lorraine Hotel, Philadelphia.
I love this crusty decayed building. We walked all over Philadelphia during our two days there, passing it on our way to one of my favorite places, The Random Tea Room and Curiosity Shop on N. 4th Street. Their Masala Chai is amazing: "made every morning from scratch with love and devotion – no concentrate here! Hand-ground spices harmonize with Mapelhofe Farms whole milk, Harmutty Assam, fresh ginger, brown sugar, vanilla & rose water," according to their site. It's the perfect place to sit and enjoy the ritual of taking tea.
Washington, DC:
The Phillips Collection, May 2012 Similar to the Barnes, the Phillips Collection is an intimate house museum. Opened in 1921 in Dupont Circle, it is America's first museum of modern art. Works of art are not organized by time or category so exploration is free. Some of the major highlights include:
Jacob Lawrence's The Migration Series (1940–41), a sequence of 60 paintings, depicts the mass movement of African Americans from the rural South to the urban North between World War I and World War II. The Phillips Collection and New York's Museum of Modern Art agreed to divide the collection. The Phillips owns the odd-numbered paintings.
Jacob Lawrence, Panel No.1
Gauguin:
Gauguin, Still Life with Ham, 1889.
Colors!
And the Rothko Room:
Phillips Collection, DC
This Rothko Room is pretty great (the photo doesn't do justice), but it's no Rothko Chapel, which happens to be just a few sweet blocks away from my house!
The Ben Franklin Bridge in Philadelphia from Brian De Palma's Blow Out(1981).
Hey. I don't remember seeing the poster for this film at the Philly airport. I guess it's because of the Liberty Bell Strangler. Bummer, because it really captures the essence of the city.
It's always strange revisiting the places of past lives (I was in Philadelphia for five years). The main reason for my somewhat capricious trip was, as I mentioned earlier, to attend the symposium on the reception of medieval sculpture. Two full workdays of lectures on medieval art. In Jamie dialect: magical elixir of happiness.
I left Houston at 4am and went straight to the Penn Museum for immediate immersion. Hours later I emerged with my fellow medievalist, a Tufts colleague and current Penn PhD student. We raced over to the Philadelphia Museum of Art for another lecture given by the curator of sculpture at the Louvre. After: well earned drinks at a new Stephen Starr restaurant on N. Broad, Route 6 (maybe a reference to the road through Cape Cod?). It was actually really good, though I usually don't like his style over substance strategy. Check out the gourmet unexpectedness of the fresh fish sandwich and whoopie pies.
I wasn't asleep until well after midnight. I was too delirious, too excited about my bold introduction to a certain senior scholar who did in fact flash Ripoll on the screen during his lecture. I'm still somewhat shocked at my confidence as I waited patiently to introduce myself and my parallel research interests. Professor was very enthusiastic. After our animated chat he handed me his card, wrote his personal e-mail (which enables him to exchange large files), and encouraged me to submit my paper to a conference taking place in Ripoll next year. YES. The next day he remembered my name and introduced me to another student who is writing his thesis on Ripoll. Truly a major moment for this art historian.
Only for art history would I wake up at 7am on a cold Saturday morning. I met with my Tufts friend and her Penn classmates and together we settled in for eight hours of lecturing. Though there were many interesting topics discussed, from performativity in medieval art to the erroneous placement of medieval art in modern museums (looking at you Yale Museum) to 19th century restoration work on a medieval portal, I think everyone in our group agreed that the best all around lecture was by Georg Geml from Vienna. His paper was entitled "C'est un saint qu'on ne fete plus": On Images of John the Baptist's Passion in the 19th and 20th Centuries and it was all about gory Counter-Reformation style Johannesschüssel:
Johannes-Schüssel aka St. John's Head on a Platter.
Oh those Germans.
The best one Geml showed, from a museum in Cologne, had more guts trailing out. I couldn't find it online. Better get back to Germany soon.
TRAVEL NOTES:
I learned from my weekend roommate that the neighborhood around 12th and Callowhill is known as Eraserhood. I never knew about this. Better revisit the Lynch classic.
From our place in West Philly I took the 64 bus to Federal Donuts in South Philly. I love taking the bus around Philadelphia and I love donuts. Especially green tea sesame ones. Sesame!
My last minute attempt to see the revamped Barnes on the "Champs-Élysées" was not rewarded. Apparently you still need to reserve a month in advance. I am slightly outraged by this exclusionary policy. Isn't that why they moved the collection to Center City? I'm an art historian! Without people like me (ok, people much more scholarly than me) no one would understand the value of these works.
The Art of the Steal.
Better to stick with fond memories of the original and forget about the scandal? What about the glowing NYT review? I have mixed feelings over all of this.
After my donuts and a nice tea date with my American Swedish Historical Museum friend (+her two year old and still growing baby-in-belly!), I walked from South Street to Ritz at the Bourse to see The Loneliest Planet. This is the same theater I rushed to post GRE to see The Science of Sleep. I have a crush on Gael Garcia Bernal oh do I. Also, this film takes place in the Caucasus Mountains of Georgia, near my favorite, Armenia. I was intrigued by the simple, but layered plot, which I won't say much about here. It was an appropriate choice for a solo attendance on a cold and grey afternoon.
The Loneliest Planet, Julia Loktev, 2012. Hani Furstenburg, on the right, is radiant.
She reminds me so much of Bergman muse Liv Ullmann.
Spare and provocative, somewhat flawed, but I appreciated the restraint from indulging in exposition and useless filler dialogue. Without these, the simple events take on an intensity that includes the audience in a dynamic way. This is again a kind of Mona Lisa painting: with little information, you're left to your own unique interpretation. One of the lighter topics that resonated with me was the feeling of traveling.
During our summer adventure I remember when I started feeling homesick. It was in Athens, week 3. A day or so later I was happy to continue traveling on and on to new countries forever. I realized that I thrive on adapting to new environments, which is why I enjoy the small tortures of relocating frequently. Within disorientation the potential for exhilaration increases. Traveling is when you are truly awake, all senses are open and receptive, passive moments are rare. I am especially interested in the way you learn about yourself. Both through the context of others who seem very different from you, but in fact have many similarities of course, and how you negotiate traveling situations, especially crises.
Cultural observations in Turkey by artist extraordinaire Alexander B. Teich.
Museum of Turkish and Islamic Arts. My dream job.
As soon as we returned home I experienced a deep melancholy and desire to be back on the road in Europe. I missed traveling. So I set about planning our next trips. To Los Angeles and another to New York. And there I go to Philadelphia. It's not that I don't like being in Texas, in itself a great new adventure, it's just that I love being a part of the traveling experience; from rushing through the airport toward your departing jet to reunions at arrival (mine or others, I love airport reunions), reading maps, constructing itineraries, getting lost, making new friends from strangers, seeing how people are dressed, learning new words on the spot of necessity, testing personal relationships and communication while constantly negotiating new terrain, trying new food, understanding rituals of all kinds >> cultural explosion. My idea of home must have changed, probably for survival's sake, along the way.
I'm starting a top five in five years travel plan. These selections are based mostly on art history and culture, of course. So far:
-Mexico
-Morocco
-Japan
-India
-Egypt
*if, in the next five years, relations with the Middle East improve, then include one or more:
-Syria
-Iran
-Afghanistan
Big plans.
Imagining that I was in De Palma's Philadelphia or even Lynch's Eraserhead, I marched around with Siouxsie and the Banshees' Kaleidoscope (1980) playing on repeat, loudly. The entire album is cinematically atmospheric, the sounds threatening and seductive. It was the perfect soundtrack for today's Philadelphia, which despite gleaming new developments, retains some of that old grit and menace.
If you're around Houston this weekend and like creative stuff, you should take part in Art Workshop: Dyeing in America at Bayou Bend. Make your own organic pigments with textile expert Katie Knowles! Ever since my short stint at the Fabric Workshop and Museum where I created unique chemical dyes in the dye lab, I've been interested in mixing colors. Our summer adventure included a trip to Ikonium, a felt making workshop, where they also make their own organic dyes for wool and silk. The end results are gorgeous. I'm totally going to start doing this on my own. Look at these colors made from onion skins!
1. January 2012: Paris, Institut national d'histoire de l'art (30-31 January) (with study sessions at the Musée du Louvre)
2. May 2012: Kalamazoo, Medieval Institute Annual Conference
3. November 2012: Philadelphia, Phila. Museum of Art & Univ. of Pennsylvania(with study sessions at the Philadelphia Museum of Art and Glencairn Museum)
I didn't make it to the first two conferences, but the third is the most interesting to me anyway. I'm especially excited about this lecture: They Are All the Work of Artists (Jer. 10, 9): The Romanesque Portal as Liturgical Performance, Manuel Castiñeiras, Professor, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. I can't wait to hear what this Catalonian scholar has to say regarding the expression of liturgical performance in Romanesque portals. I wonder if he will mention my beloved Ripoll, which has sadly been ( temporarily!) abandoned by me. I have very high hopes for this conference as it, in many ways, falls in line with my QP topic from Tufts. Now that my library has arrived from Boston I can get back into inspired research and finally open that major book I actually bought at Ripoll.
¡¡Me at the Ripoll portal!! September, 2011.
To get in the medieval spirit and because it's Halloween, we watched Army of Darkness last night. It's fantastic and Bruce Campbell is dreamy.
For the past few weeks I've been mixing art history with a little theater. Since I do have a degree in Theater Design and I have always dreamed for the chance to work simultaneously with costumes and art history, the current situation is close to sublime. Two consecutive offers have fallen into my lap and I am pleased to dip back in to my old realm, even if I'm feeling a smidge rusty and overextended.
Black Comedy, 1961. Starring: Albert Finney and Maggie Smith.
The first play I'm working on, Black Comedy, was written and set in the 1960's. An era that I adore. So many of my favorite films, silhouettes, styles, and sounds come from that time. The experience has pulled impressive live performances from the archives of my mind. Probably the first performance that I still think of frequently is Oyster, by the Isreali group Inbal Pinto. This dance theater piece incorporates, among other inspired things, Tuvan throat singing. I actually learned how to do this in my ethnomusicology course at Hunter College. I'm not that good.
Oyster, Inbal Pinto
Philadelphia: While we lived there, we saw a number of productions by Pig Iron Theatre Company. The members of this collective often collaborate or perform solo in side projects, so you get a real sense of the wide ranging community after a few shows. Some of the actors/musicians work with Cynthia Hopkins and in NY, with the legendary Wooster Group.
Trey Lyford and Geoff Sobelle in All Wear Bowlers, 2005, Philadelphia.
We liked this so much, I think we saw it twice.
Largely New York at the Tony Awards, 1989.
The visionary inspiration Bill Irwin,
who I was so very lucky to meet and work with in Philly on The Happiness Lecture
(I sewed his costumes!).
New York: I'm hoping to see the latest from Lyford and Sobelle, entitled Elephant Room, now playing in Brooklyn at St. Ann's Warehouse. Follow the link to read the latest NYT review and the Wall Street Journal review here includes an interview from John Collins of Elevator Repair Service.
Cynthia Hopkins
The last time I was at St. Ann's, three years ago, I got to see The Success of Failure (or, The Failure of Success), Part III of Cynthia Hopkin's Accidental Trilogy. Part I, Accidental Nostalgia, is definitely one of my favorites. Her particular style is breathtaking and I love her ideas on the dangers of memories and nostalgia, things that I try to keep a healthy distance from. She performs with live musical accompaniment, on either side of the stage. The musicians sometimes, seamlessly, crossover into the main action. In the video below you can see Jim Findlay doing just that. Hopkins also effectively integrates pre-recorded and live film.
Accidental Nostalgia. I also saw this twice, once in Providence, RI and once in Philadelphia. The video freezes after four minutes but it's still great.
Cambridge: In my three years here I've seen exactly one play. It's not that Cambridge or Boston is lacking in this area, quite the contrary. Blame it on grad school. My one and only foray was six hours long and a thrillingly memorable marathon adventure. Conceived of by Elevator Repair Service (see above WSJ link), Gatz is a complete theatrical reading of the Great Gatsby. This review gives you a good taste of the experience.
Today marks the actual beginning of Spring, a season I have mixed feelings for. I used to think of it as renewal, but this time it feels like a protracted death. However, when the puff balls start fluttering in the breeze, there is no other choice but to get caught up in the fever.
The first thing to do is commence with the springtime rituals.
1. Amarcord: Fellini's 1930's set film from 1973. The beginning treats you to the advent of the puff balls then takes you directly to the burning of the winter witch. This is the first Italian film I like to watch before moving into Michelangelo Antonioni for Summer and closing the season with Travolti da un insolito destino nell'azzurro mare d'agosto (aka Lina Wertmüller's Swept Away, 1974). The music in all of these is so evocative of its respective season. Sometimes I listen to the menu music (Piero Piccioni) for Swept Away on repeat.
2. SwedishValborgsmässoafton.
Originally celebrated by Viking to hasten the arrival of spring and ensure fertility of their crops and livestock. They would do this by lighting huge bonfires to scare away evil spirits and predators. This is the night when the witches ride on their broomsticks through the sky, and the natural world clashes with the super natural. I had a chance to experience this in Philadelphia, at the American Swedish Historical Museum. A bonfire in front of a majestic museum, culture>art.
Otherwise, in my small world of academia, things come to a close. My last class took place on Tuesday, though I attended not as a student, but as a teacher. It was a bittersweet moment. Many moments these days are. For two years my world revolved around this campus, this consuming experience at Tufts. Watching the seasons change, the sparkling beauty of the warm naive days, the stunning colors in the fall, the long, cruel winters, and now Spring, where we will disperse like so many seeds. All of these served as a silent, stable backdrop to emotional ups and downs, articles read with giddy curiosity while working on three hours of sleep, research, papers, nervous firsts, camaraderie, exams, presentations, lesson plans, overdue books, the special Tower tea, shared snacks, late night library delirium, challenges and epiphanies with faculty, students, each other, office hour tears, friendships made and unmade, isolation, triumphs and disappointments. None of these mundane descriptions can fully illustrate this complex experience. Somehow, Peggy Lee sums it up for me.
Exiting this small universe comes with questions of identity and the future. The program went by so quickly, as quickly as it is now coming to an end. Complete immersion in this atmosphere makes the abruptness of the end much more dramatic, as though we are completely ejected from the safe nurturing home. This month will consist of non-stop efforts to fully realize all academic possibilities and then, that's it. We are no longer students, no longer teachers. The transitions between high school and college and post college were never so harshly distinct as this. In two weeks, I will complete my academic duties. Soon after that, the occasion of commencement. Then, the slow fragmentation of our community.
For now, I am spending quality time finishing my second QP and this weekend, with a stack of papers and exams to grade. I'm excited to see how my students have grown since the first half of the semester, which centered on traditional African art. Some of my favorites from Modern and Contemporary: a major theme comments on freedom, identity, and movement (in terms of recreating, leaving traditional static compositions, and literally leaving for the diaspora), so maybe there will be a sort of renewal, I just can't see it yet.
