Independence Day

I didn't take this photo but it is very much like many photos I've taken during summer excursions to Scotland and England. I borrowed this image from a fellow hillwalker whose link I've lost... but that's another post.

We really aren't much for tradition in our family so the July 4 holiday has varied from year to year, some more memorable than others. Harry read the Declaration of Independence wearing wool in the middle of the hot afternoon for many summers. I took the time to attend once and I worried someone there would suffer heat stroke - including me! I once spent every other summer for about ten years touring Scotland with art students. It was the best teaching experience of my career and it had a profound effect on my art and life.

Harry and I were married in near Oban on the Isle of Lismore, a site I discovered after one of my teaching stints. That summer Harry left Scotland the day after my students arrived. We spent a week or so in Arbroath working on the grounds at Hospitalfiend House and spent more than a night or two at the Foundry Bar.

July 4 happened to be the open mike night which was really more like karoke with a live old timey band instead of a machine. One of my students had his own band back home and after several sing-a-ongs and even more pints he declared his patriotism by standing up and walking to the stage and asking the band of they could play the Star Spangled Banner. He proceeded to sing with inspiration until he realized he couldn't remember the words(!) We were horrified since not a one of us knew the lyrics, but then amazed, stunned, actually - that an entire pub of Scots with pints in their fists knew our National Anthem word for word and broke in to save our well intentioned American boy. The Scots were so proud of us at the time... Clinton was in office and they adored him - even with Monicagate on his shirt tails... Bill was their hero. The Scots that filled the Foundry Bar that night were mine. I should have bought a round for the entire pub but the dollar doesn't go very far in Britain - even then.

Born Lost?

I met Gareth Morris Jones last week at his exhibition at 1708 Gallery. His maps and drawings revealed his journeys back and forth across the globe from studio to studio. Most recently he's been working at the VCCA.

He makes his living teaching English in Osaka, Japan but grew up in Wales. I find his work interesting because if I didn't know his name I might find it nearly impossible to determine a point of origin from its maker. He studied in Dundee, Scotland which I count as another mark of distinction in an interesting life. We made an attempt to determine if he knew Moira Scott (Payne) when he was there. She's another very fine artist whose work transcends place. I couldn't remember if she was teaching there when he was an art student but its a place known for its independent spirit and location to the North Sea. Lost? It doesn't seem so to me. More like wanderlust than road burn. It's definitely a show worth a second visit.

back posts

Dear Readers -
A cold and bed rest have been good for the catching up on all blogging endeavors. Please note that I've been back posting during this time so either scroll back, click on previous posts or use the new labeling system if you don't want to miss anything.
Otherwise, carry on...

The Prado

I was very, very lucky to find a hostel so close to the Prado, train station and the Ritz. This place is private, quiet, cheap (30E.) and sparkling clean. I'd stay here again. I left my bags with the staff this morning so I could embark on a day at the Prado. I know C. and entourage are expected around noon but I also know that delays are common so I took that as an opportunity to spend the day close to home and with my muse. I've wanted to see this collection for many years. Velasquez, Goya, Murillo, Rembrandt.... they are all here and more. Today I paid my respects.

I normally try to scan each room in a casual manner - always ISO inspiration or a lesson to learn. Not this collection. I took a map and actually marked it up...checking off each room as I made my way through this temple of art. The black Goyas were the paintings that held me the longest... seemed the most relevant and telling. There was also a lovely drawing show on the bottom floor that contained pages of Goya's sketchbooks. I haven't exhausted myself so thoroughly in a long time and took only one break for a cafe con leche and tostillo this afternoon. The cafe was my only disappointment at the Prado. It seemed one step up from the cafe at the Greyhound station in Richmond. The food was better but it was dark and institutional... a lot like the cafe at the airport. Its surprising since the bookstore has all this expensive loot (postcards are one euro, etc) and the ammenities at these world class institutions are devoid of much consideration. Of course most of my attention was spent on protecting my assets since these are the kind of places where tourists lose their credit cards, cash, etc.

I also spent a lot of time looking for a payphone so I could call the hotel ISO of C and Co. I was finally able to charge my French mobile last night but haven't had the time or clarity to figure out how to recharge the SIM card with prepaid minutes. This could be a problem since C. can't reach me otherwise.

I don't remember what time I finally received confirmation C. had checked in but I called room #604 and then left the Prado in order to "check in" at the Ritz. C had taken care of everything, had my bag taken up from storage and was basically at the door, glowing in a plush white robe, when the doorman delivered me to the sixth floor. Wow... it felt so good to be stationed in one place... particularly a place noted for its five stars! I left C in short order to pick up my other bags from the hostal. We toasted our great luck... for uno momento we are living the live we want to live!*

Even better, was an invitation for drinks from C's employer in the lounge downstairs. It was time to wake up and smell the roses. Our conversation came easy... art and politics**, history and culture***.... the only thing that would have made it better would have been the presence of the Harryman. Tonite I'll be counting my blessings as I fall to sleep.

*With shots of Bushmills from a fifth I'd picked up at dutyfree in Phillie. That was a committment... hauling that thing up to Bilbao and back, though it came in handy on the night train back into Madrid.

**C's employer is a long time New Yorker, democrat and occassional fundraiser when duty calls. He listed all the reasons Guliani would be a terrible prez.

***I heard a great story about day they opened the Lewis Wing at the VMFA... the Lewis's flew a plane full of NY artists to Richmond to have lunch with the govenor and wife...

Report from Bilbao

Bilbao and its Gehry Fish castle (The Guggenheim Bilbao) seduced me completely. I didn't expect it. It is an amazing structure containing some of the best installations of late 20th C art anywhere. The site is simply magical. It reminded me of a 20th C artists' ode to Lourdes the way the river, mountains and cathedrals' forms embrace in a way that is natural and magnificant. I don't think I would have loved it as much if I'd been there in the summer and there were lines of people waiting to get in. February is really one of the best times to visit the great art museums anywhere... the weather is crap so why not visit one's muse without the distraction of the summer crowds?

There is so much more to tell...

Preview of Coming Attractions

I leave for Madrid this afternoon and am surprised that I haven't been as stressed as I normally get before an international flight. Maybe its because I'm meeting C and the entourage? Its usually my job to negotiate all details in advance and I've decided that would be a pointless task when there are so many other factors to consider:

C and her responsibilities
the winter weather here and abroad
strikes
travel complications
art and inspiration!

Ruth and Charlie invited me over one night and lent me a number of travel books on the Alhambra, Seville, Madrid, tapas, etc. My head started to spin with excitement but after thinking about past winter excursions I decided to play it by ear this time.

Before departure there is always the last minute list:

deadlines (a few competitions and fellowships I feel compelled to enter... remember FAILBETTER!)

bill paying

plant watering

guest preparations (we have a new housemate in the guest quarters! She's great.)

credit arrangements

packing

airline security measures

kitty concerns

harryman measures

travel itinerary and resources

Ok, now its time to start checking it twice. Its work, leaving town... but its always worth it. With luck, my muse will travel with me on this journey.

Missed Signals

Word of warning. Don't ask for directions to the train station unless specifying which one you need to go to... especially in Madrid! I needed to go to Chamartin. All northbound trains depart from there. I was directed to Atocha - which I loved - but it was the wrong station so I began my Spain experience by missing the train I'd reserved from the airport early this am.

Atocha has its charms... a rich botanical garden complete with turtles, a tourist info counter, coffee shops and shopping - but few electical outlets. A woman with a cell phone a laptop is always in search of a stray outlet. I could have taken the time to see a museum or stroll in the city but my jet lag was getting the best of me and I thought I'd do best to sit still or to carefully make my way to the Chamartin station. Its on a line that reminds of the RER trains in Paris. I could never figure out those buggers. Whenever I take an RER train I always want specific instructions - like when I visited my cousin outside of Paris - and even then I am never quite sure I am on the right train until we pass the first outbound station. Maybe its my dyslexia combined with jetlag... but the first pass to find that station was a disaster - which is why I missed the early train. It was all for the best since I didn't have reservations for accomodations in Bilbao and realized I could sleep on the night train. The Renfre trains are clean, spacious and this one was full of empty seats. I buried my belongings under my skirts, took half an Ambien and dreamt of Spanish Ham. zzzz. ZZZZZZ. zzzzzzzz

smooth landing, rocky roads

As soon as the plane landed I knew I was in Spain. The trees, light, landscape all paralleled the minutae I'd seen in great paintings. Spain is hard for me, still. I come here for inspiration and adventure but it is work. All of it is, I suppos,Tthis is just harder work than I remember it will be.

I reserved a train for Bilbao from the airport Renfe window. Very convenient... except I had jet lag and didn't notice that there are two train stations in Madrid. When I asked for directions to the train station at the Ritz they didn't ask me WHICH train station, they just gave me directions to the Atocha station even though they knew I was headed to Bilbao and there are no trains from Atocha that go to Bilbao. I'll be checking in there tomorrow after my generous friend Carole arrives. Believe me, someone at the Ritz is going to read or hear about this since I missed my train because I went to the wrong station. It happens all the time so you think the desk clerk at the friggin Ritz Carlton would know better.

It all worked out in the end since I wound up on a night train to Bilbao. which was worth it. I didn't expect so but I loved it. I have to say, I do like the Guggenhim style. All those Kiefers...and the Louise Bourgeois is perhaps one of her best. There is some amazing work in all of their collections. I loved photographing the building in all kinds of light. It pure eye candy. I left the Gug close to closing time and was completely exhausted... and now two nights later I finally have a bed! All in all I've spent the last three nights sleeping in an upright position! The plane and then a night train there and back...! My back is in knots and my husband is far away. I think a visit to the Madrid hammam I read about in the NYT last week will unravel those knots nicely.

Past, present, future

I've been digging through the digital archive and discovered a trove of images from 2002. We moved that year and during our first month in a different home I traveled to Korea with a group of Richmond artists. It was quite an adventure. I loved the food, the culture, the land... the paper! If I had the resources I would spend half my time working and exploring overseas the other half of my time home with the H. man.

nouvelle linkage

Its funny how the simplest things can be the hardest to figure out. I suppose its just the thick protestant genes ingrained in my psyche that life will be hard... but that is not what this post is about so I'll save it that topic for a later date.

I built my first website in '97 or so and finally established my domain name in 2001. I've been trying to learn flash and another type of html editing software that would allow me to easily upload videos to my website... duh? I finally just uploaded a quicktime movie created in iPhoto to my server and ah ha! It worked!! If you click on the link above you'll see a QT movie of "Paper Views." After that petite ephiphany we took Sunday off to enjoy one of the last Indian Summer weekends of the season.

We spent the day sailing around the Northern Neck with a group of our friends we've known forever. It was a lovely afternoon but a little rough for the big sails. The rain finally fell last night as we were finishing dinner. It was all good.

days of wine and roses

One of the things I love about working in new (old) parts of the world where artists have lived and worked for hundreds of years is the realization that art doesn't lie - even when it tries to. Many great paintings exhibit what I once attributed to artistic license - until I witness the subject matter in the flesh. Over the years I have come to the conclusion that the truth is stranger than fiction... most all of the time.

These images record my last week in SW France. One was taken in pouring rain while exploring a small cemetary in Bartique. The stone structure is noted to be the remains of a Roman pont on the trail to St. Jacques. It follows a four kilometer stretch between Auvillar and Bartique. I was a dripping pilgrim on the walk between the two villages and don't know if I would have finished the journey if it hadn't been for the knowledge that the fantastic cafe Auberg's was at the end of the trail. After three espressos (cafe normal in French terms) I didin't mind one way or the other if the rain stopped or not. The sunflower fields and I leaned into the rain in unison and I was glad to be on the trail in August rather than October.

The image of children were blowing bubbles was taken off the viewpoint in Auvillar during the Schneider wedding reception. It was an idyllic afternoon and a splendid time and place for a ceremony. I felt lucky to be witness to the festivities which preceded and overlapped our vernissage and reading that marked the end of the August artist residency at the Moulin a Nef.

The "Klimt" forests that are planted here and there throughout the Pyrenees surrounded us. These trees are planted and harvested and during the interim they've inspired a great deal of painting. It's all very lush and beautiful... with air that smells like lavendar that is also filled with big billowing clouds. They waft across the sky and lead one's eye to their point of origin: the nuclear power plant on the horizon . oohh la la.....

Sacred Waters

Albi

Toulous Lautrec was from Albi - so was George Pompidou. Its easy to see their source of inspiration. I found my way to my hotel from the train station. It's located at the good of the Pont Neuf here in Albi. I have a beautiful view from my window- very photogenic- it was hard
to leave but I really wanted to check out Albi while the light was good. I roamed the streets looking for the Lautrec Museum and entrance times for the cathedrals, restaurants, a boulangerie, shopping for Harry, etc. The problem is that EVERTHING IN THIS PLACE IS CLOSED with the exception of a few restaurants. The difference between Albi and Lourdes is unbelievable. Lourdes was crackling with activity. Albi is asleep in comparison!

After heading back to the hotel I wound up watching Law and Order in French. It was very depressing... since I couldn't understand more than every 5th word! How could that be? I poured some wine and my mobile rang. It was Harry calling to tell me that someone tried to break into our studio on Hull St. What a drag. My sweet husband will have to go there tomorrow to check it out. I feel so bad about this but there is nothing I can do about it.
Now I really need a drink.

Holy Waters

Lourdes embraces the sacred and the profane with the rolling foothills of the Pyranees on either side of its sacred waters. Bernadette's grotto is located in the middle of this complex village. It is open 24 hours. I was on the edge of weariness when I arrived in Lourdes last night - it was after 11pm when I arrived at the hotel.

I decided to find a pay phone to call Harry and then walk to the grotto to see it by candlelight since this is the only evening I am in Lourdes. Tomorrow it will likely be overrun by pilgrims.
I'm glad I pushed myself since it was a completely different experience aesthetically and spiritually. After taking it all in - the landscape, the kitch, the crowds, the shrines - the thing loved most is the conclusion that Lourdes is holier than the Vatican in my mind for two very primary reasons. Its holy waters are free for all, pure and drinkable... and so are the toilets! This is not true in Rome. They get you at both ends...there were no water fountains when I was there and there was an attendant in every WC I came across. All in all, I felt it was a racket. Not so in Lourdes. I am a woman of simple needs!

and all tracks leads to Lourdes!

After four hours spent investigating the wheres and the whens of the rail system with Eric Bergman acting as travel consultant and ISP I ran to my atelier and grabbed my bag and wound up on the train to Lourdes. I'll be traveling to Albi from here tomorrow afternoon. Tonite I'll visit the grotto and get a sense of this amazing place... its part vatican, part vegas and a lot of New Orleans. Its the Spanish influence. I am hearing as much Spanish as French on the streets and not a word of English in any dialect.

at the crossroads

Aha!!!!!
I dumped out every bag in my atelier this morning about 5am. I couldn't sleep I was so worried about my passport so I just got up and looked and there it was - black against black against black. I keep it in a black samsonite passport wallet. Now... I have my camera's battery charger and my passport.... who knows where this day will take me? I went for a long walk this morning all over Auvillar. I am meeting the Saarnin's at 9am to let them know I have my passport and to inquire about some of the regions sites and best modes of transportation. I am blessed to have met someone here who has spent some time researching the region and have looked at from the perspective of a visual artist/designer with an interest in history. Somehow it makes a difference... especially when one has limited time and resources!

Toulouse

Derek was sharp enough to inquire about bumming a ride into Toulouse early this morning. Debra flew back to NYC and we landed at the airport with her. Getting a shuttle into Toulouse was easy enough (only 4 Euros each!) and it took us directly to the Gare so we were able to purchace tickets for a 5pm return. (13 E each)

We walked from the Gare into the city center and found a large FNAC where Derek would have a large selection of books and music to browse from and I could look for a battery recharger for my camera. Lets just say Derek had much more luck than I. Even if I had found one it would have been set up for 240 V and that wouldn't be good for the long run.

Toulouse reminds me a great deal of Richmond. It is an industrial/research city with several universities, a rich history, a river and a canal that still play a role in its functioning. The museums and cathedrals were lovely and inspiring but I am sure it must be a tough place to make a living as an artist. (If anyone knows a place where it is easier to make a living as an artist please email me!) I could definitly spend more time in Toulouse though I think I know the train station like the back of my hand. It is the Atlanta of the SNCF rail system in SW France.

I left Derek at the FNAC and just wandered through Toulouse's gardens and the old city and enjoyed my own company for awhile. I loved the Jardin Royale and wish I had more time to explore the elipse further down the canal. We were lucky the weather held. It would have been a much different excursion with more heat or rain.

One of my goals on this journey was to look into travel possibilities at the Toulouse train and bus transportation centers. This always proves to take longer than I have time for but I did learn that a trip to Lourdes is about 60 E RT and a night bus to Madrid is 99E RT. I could do either but if I leave the region it makes more sense for me to do a circle and see several things than a few RTs... the time to get in and out of Valence D'Agen plus the expense of getting from Valence D'Agen to Toulouse . Its just sheer luck that we could make it in today with only a one way expense. Normally it would cost 70E just to ride the van one way. Thats a bit hefty and twice as much as it is going to cost me to fly from Toulouse to Paris at the end of this residency. The train is cheaper but if there is any luggage its a bit of a walk (45 to an hour) from Auvillar to Valence D'Agen.

Still no plan of action. Tonite I'll sleep on it if I can recover from using the public W.C. in Valence D'Agen. It was a shocking experience and I thought I'd seen it all. Derek warned me. Now I know.

Paris Plage

Parisians either embrace the heat with whimsey or they leave... a lot like New Orleanians. I can relate. If my friends aren't here (and most of them aren't) at least there is the plage to play on.

The first time I witnessed this was in 90 or so when I was here with Vickie Sedman. We saw the sandy beach from one of the bateaux boats... I remember retro beach chairs and very cool sun glasses along the Seine. Now the Plage is a big deal with a theme that changes from summer to summer... this one celebrating French Polynesia with staged music and dance, sand, landscaping, misty bamboo forests... all along the Seine and the frontage interstate that separates the Seine from the right bank. If I were staying at the Cite des Arts I'd be able to watch it every night from the window.

I was able to visit Christine briefly at the Cite before I looked up the Washington writer Fran Maclean who will also be working at the Moulin a Nef. We met at the Plage, checked out each stage and had dinner at Chez Marianne before I headed back to the 14th ar. It looks like we'll be able to share a cab to Gare Montparnasse which will solve a lot of problems regarding transporting our luggage between Olivier's fifth floor walk up and whatever platform we'll be departing from towards Toulouse.

In the meantime, I've got connections to make tomorrow and with luck I'll see some good art and as well as visit a few of my favorite galleries in the Marais.

The Whitney Biennial: DAY for NIGHT

ANGELA STRASSHEIM
Untitled, 2004 C-print
40 "x 30 "
courtesy Marvelli Gallery, NYC

I wish I could say that this Biennial did half as much for me as Angelina's, the tea room described in the Night and Day post made earlier this year. Valerie, a New York artist I've followed since her student days told us, "Well, you 've got to see it to hate it..."

The problem with the Biennial this year is that most of it was so forgettable I can't remember it well enough to muster up the emotion of hatred. I do remember one piece that was so bad I know it would have received an automatic F if it were turned in from any of my art or design students.

The most memorable piece was the WRONG GALLERY installtion which many museum goers missed since it could only be accessed from the permanent collection on the fifth floor of the Whitney. I loved wandering through Calder's "Circus" on the way and then also discovered an amazing Milton Avery painting of the Seine which I'd never seen before.

The Wrong Gallery consisted of an installation of art depicting evil doers and angels; titled DOWN BY LAW, something I can relate to in my own work. It includes painting, sculure, assemblage, conceptual work, etc by more than forty artists and included several artworks from the Whitney's permanent collection.

I pleasantly surprised to discover Angela Strassheim's work included in the mostly forgettable Biennial. She had a studio in the 23rd St. loft with Susann and I. I knew she was very talented, she was working on very interesting projects and then when I learned she was headed to Yale it was obvious she would have a real career. Her work was a highlight of this hodge podge collection.

London as a Work in Progress

Leonardo's "The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne and Saint John the Baptist'

Harry and I spent my birthday in London. I really didn't know what to expect from this city I was once in love with. It was a completely different experience this time with Harry by my side. His knowledge of 19th and 20th C history creates a richer context in which to experience art. The great thing about visiting the parks and museums in London is that entrance to the permanent collection is always free.

My only disappointment (other than Easy Jet's inept attempt to get us back to Paris) was the
change of locale of my favorite drawing in the world, shown above. I once visited it on a regular basis when I was teaching in Glasgow every other summer. It was in a room all by itself - like a shrine, really. It was illuminated beautifully behind a wall of glass and a little hard to find so there weren't so many distractions when looking at it. This cartoon is bigger than two doors.
It has given me so much over the years and I was so looking forward to seeing it after four years away... and they've moved it! Its lit horribly and in the gallery with the rest of the Italian art. Its across from Leonardo's painting "Virgin of the Rocks." Sounds almost like a drink which is what I needed after seeing it in its new, sterile, academic locale. Bleh.

That wasn't a difficult request since outside the National Gallery Trafalgar Square was FILLED with Irish and Guiness loving Anglos celebrating St. Patrick's Day a few days early. London was putting on a giant FREE party for its citizens with "Hot House Flowers" and numerous other Irish bands on a giant stage with large screens on either side. I've never seen Trafalgar Square full of people, much less CHEERFUL drunk people. Harry and were both kissed on the lips by one happy young man... it was a little like Mardi Gras without the beads and the exposed boobery. A little too cold for that here... it was snowing in Scotland we learned from one of the young security men who was down from Paisley.

Trafalgar Square is surrounded by hidden pleasures. Gaby's deli in one direction, the cafe below St. Martin's in the Field on one corner, the beautiful carvings in a government building along one side (pictured below)... it was a good time to be in the city. The only thing we really missed that we wanted to experience was Ben Ellis' play. We didn't anticipate the early St. Patrick's Day activities and everything was running late. Trains, our shuttle in from Luton, etc, etc. We just didn't have enough time to get to the theatre without arriving late which is VERBOTEN in the theatre. Tardiness can be overlooked in many activities but not in the theatre. Sigh. We hated missing it but we loved drinking Guiness in Trafalgar Square surrounded by great beauty and cheer.