Just in Case

I promise that I'll start writing about my own life at some point in the near future, but lately all I've been thinking about on my walks home (which is when I connect with my inner-blog) is art history. It's lame and wonderful. The class that I'm helping out with the term continues to inspire me.

I want you, mom (since she may be the only person reading my blog) to guess who painted this. It's called First Communion from 1895.

Did you guess Picasso? Probably not.

Now guess how old he was when he painted it.

Did you guess fourteen? Probably not.

Did you see the detail on the carpet? Wowza.

I threw this up here, just in case anyone thought he was making "mistakes" in his later work.

Pablo Picasso, Dora Maar, 1937, Oil on Canvas

I'll take jaggedy portraits of Picasso's super cool photographer wife over first communions any day. I should probably mention that a similar portrait Dora Maar au Chat sold for about $100 million a few years ago. Art Historians never talk about money, but I secretly Google it all the time.

PS-I really think whoever bought Dora Maar au Chat is probably sitting alone in a room in a large velvet chair across from the painting, drinking brandy, and occasionally tossing piles of gold coins in the air.

Degas and Other Musings (that's the only possible title for this post)

Edward Degas (1834-1917)

Seated Violinist, 1977, oil on canvas

Edward Degas (1834-1917)

Ballerina in Blue, date unknown, oil on canvas

Jules Joseph Lefebvre (1836–1911)
Young Woman with Morning Glories in Her Hair, 1870, oil on canvas

Degas was a rebel. Isn't that funny? I'll never get over how fun it is to be a Modernist. It's called MODERN art, because it was so revolutionary and well, edgy. But now everyone has calendars of little French prostitutes skipping about and multicolored haystacks and their neighbors don't accuse them of Anarchy. How could waterlilies have been so subversive? I love it when someone tells me that they don't like Modern art--I get to have a little moment in my head when I say "Oh yeah, Monet really rubs you wrong?"

Degas was, in fact, a double rebel, because he defied the French Academie, who liked paintings like this one on the right -->
by Lefebvre (obviously chosen by men, while they smoked cigars and congratulated each other on their impressively large...fortunes.).

Claude Monet (1841-1926)
  Boulevard des Capucines, 1873, oil on canvas

 
 But, Degas also went against his buds, like Monet, Manet and Tippy-Tippy-Day-Day by returning to the figure. Most Impressionists, although they had very diverse subject matter, avoided figures except at a distance, like the image on the left, which is only about two feet wide.  Some of my favorite Impressionist paintings are the anomalies that have figures in them (like Monet's Girl with the Red Kerchief). Note: Please do not talk about the impressive work of Tippy-Tippy-Day-Day, that's a Seinfeild reference. I've promised myself, though, that if any student writes it (or "TTDD" for short) on a test, I'll give them bonus points.

Claude Monet (1841-1926)
Impression Sunrise, 1872, oil on canvas

I really enjoy abstract works (that is what I focus on when I do research) and even the occasional landscape, but I find portraits and other figural works the most captivating when I'm in museums. That's why I like Degas, I think.

I'm not a quote person. Some people are always throwing them up on facebook, buying diaries that have quote for each day, or putting them on their walls and such. I recently heard of a person (thank you Jackson) who puts their own quotes on their walls. Hmmmm....not so sure about that. Anyway, I like this quote from Degas, who didn't quite buy into the oft-taught-in-Art History 1010 tenants of Impressionism, such as interest in light on landscape, the new infusion of steam into the atmosphere of the city, and the idea that everything must be fundamentally new and unplanned. He says:

No art was ever less spontaneous than mine. What I do is the result of reflection and study of the great masters; of inspiration, spontaneity, temperament, I know nothing. 

 

Edward Degas (1834-1917)

Blue Dancers, 1989, oil on canvas

I've been studying (and thus getting really tired of) a lot of Abstract Expressionists who adopted the romantic idea of spontaneity and carefully. slowly. put it into practice over several years. I'm getting tired of fighting the idea that artists receive a bolt of genius, strip naked and start throwing paint at one another...although that does sound fun.  I think Degas had it about right.

I might also be hanging out with a young man (*cough* Michael) who has to write a thesis, but is struggling (even though he has a macbook--isn't it true that if you buy a mac, you'll be able to write the next, great American novel?) and thus, has to work on it everyday. But, hey, looks like all Tim Tebow has to do to be good at football is pray (not play football his whole life). Maybe if Michael just struck that pose between paragraphs everything would work out. 

Or, maybe this is what really happened:

Just watch for Gandalf Michael. 

I bet you didn't think this post was going to end with a picture of Gandalf and Tim Tebow, did you? I'm a multifaceted blogger.

Moose Met a French Moose

Today, Michael and I drove up to Coeur d'Alene. We visited a few art galleries in town and drove around the lake. I was very pretty, albeit very cold and very covered in dead fish.

 Moose is there, but it looks more like Michael's wearing a skirt. 

 Michael wonders why any settlers, upon seeing Coeur d'Alene, would continue on to Spokane. I tried to argue that early Spokanians didn't have a meth problem, like most of them do now, but after seeing Coeur d'Alene, I agree with him--it's beautiful and I kind of wish he lived there instead. We did avoid the turn off to the white suprematist camp, however.

We also saw a bald eagle, which made me wish I had a better camera. Really though, look how great this picture could be:

 Can you see the eagle in flight?

Suddenly! We noticed that Coeur d'Alene has a kind of film theme: MOOSE. So, we spent the rest of the day introducing Moose to moose.

Puppet Shows

This year, my dad and I built a puppet show theater and my mom made a curtain to give to Michael's nieces and nephews. I blame Pinterest for the idea.

I suppose I should say that my parents built a puppet show theater and I stood next to them being supportive. I did do a fair bit of sanding and occasionally asked to try different kinds of saws.

Shopping for the curtain was kind of frustrating though. Why is it so difficult to find gender neutral fabric? It seemed like everything was pink and sparkly or covered in transformers. And people say gender isn't constructed...

It reminded me of this video.

This little girl seems a little coached if you ask me, but I appreciate the sentiment. However, I read an article a while ago about a few families who gave their children gender ambiguous names, like "Sky" or "Fruitloop," and refused to tell friends and family the sex of their child. What do they do in public restrooms--use both men's and women's bathrooms equally? If their trying to mess up their kids in a creative way, then I bet they'll succeed. Alright, I made up the name "Fruitloop," but I kind of like it.

Anyway, puppet shows.

Here's the kids opening puppets and discovering the wooden stage. I'm the coolest fake aunt.

Ho, Ho, Home

Here it comes, the Christmas blog post. There are still plenty of games to be played, mountains to be snowshoed (if we could get some snow), and more family on the way, but here's the first week of Christmasness.

We went hiking with Michael's parents and the pups. It felt amazing to get out of the inversion for a little while. Personally, I think the inversion (or what the weather men euphemistically call "Haze")is the worst part about Utah. I was embarrassed when I flew in from New York, because I was sitting next to a guy from the South who'd never been to Salt Lake before. I was feeling sort of ambassadorial and telling him about the lights downtown and Park City's Main Street, the snow (I even mentioned the Winter Olympics which means the department of tourism should probably hire me)...and then we flew into a giant bog. I think I need to hire Yoda to Jedi the city out of the scummy swamp that is the inversion. See:

At least it's gone now. Get away, scum.

Moose looks fine, but Michael really flopped on this one. 

If you look closely you can see a Moose Dog wobbling around.

We fetched the tree, and decorated it. 

This tree selection might be a bit staged, since we all know Laura didn't really help carry the tree. Neither did I, but...

 We also decorated the dogs.

I took Michael out for his birthday. Those poor people with December birthdays have to share the spotlight with Christmas trees and such (and poor people who date people who were born in December and therefore have to come up with two presents in two weeks).

We went on another hike with my Dad and Michael's mom on Christmas Eve. Moose...struggled. He got lost a bit on the trail, which caused Michael to have a mild panic attack and start running up a mountain. He also totally embarrassed himself in front of Rusty and the Charlie, a dog we're babysitting, by facing the wrong way in the car. Hey, Moose, over here!

Don't Charlie and Rusty look disgusted?

I love winter hiking, with our trusty Rusty scouting out the way. In this picture Rusty is thinking, "Well, Moose is lost again. Can we please keep going up the trail." I'm realizing how much of my blog is now devoted to dogs and doggly activities. Hmmm, maybe I should just start Rusty his own blog. "Today I taught Moose how to check for ticks and stole a Cheeto from under the couch. xoxo -Rusty"

Christmas was great we opened presents, and visited all our families. We even got to Skype with Michael's little brother who's in England on an LDS mission. He's been gone for about five months, but he has an accent now. We spent the first few minutes of the phone call giggling at his "posh" new way of speaking. The people he was with kept laughing whenever he said "pants" instead of "trousers" since pants means underwear. Can't wait till he gets home, so we can make him say things like "Happy Christmas, Harry" and "I say, governor! Bang up job, that."

My parents got watches and then turned into fabulous watch models.  

 

 Moose got a studly new backpack. He ran right over to show Dad and Grandma Becky.

I got Michael a tennis racket, and he turned into a creative way to block other people out of pictures. Apparently Becky got replaced by Wilson. He got me a GPS, which is really a "let's not fight when we're lost in the car" present.

Laura got scarfed.

Tonight we went down to see the lights at Temple Square. My Aunt Barb and Uncle Dean hadn't been in a long time and Michael's family came too.

 I would like to point out what an extreme accomplishment it is to have a picture with no people in it. You'd need an solid offensive line blocking for you to accomplish that in a more popular spot.

Don't worry, he didn't propose, although bachelors were dropping like flies all around us.

Well, hope all your holidays are going well. I'm just happy that my break isn't over yet--I'm off to obliterate Michael even with his new tennis racket.

Jazz Hands

I just spent a week grapevine-ing down Madison Avenue singing "New York, New York" while a crowd followed. I spent most of my time in East Hampton at the artist's studio and museums (which is right where I wanted to be) but  I did these things in my spare time:
-drugs
-got kissed at the top of the Empire State Building at midnight on Valentine's Day
-ran through Central Park like Pheobe
-swam in the East River
-bought some fabric at Mood that really impressed Nina and Heidi
-got abused and murdered on an episode of SVU
-started singing with Patrick Dempsey and his daughter, inspiring a musical mob in the Park
-lived in the Plaza and wrote down my fun-filled adventures
-attended NYU and spent four years trying to decide between Ben and Noel
-became a Rockette, but then decided that I'd rather just work as a freelance kick dancer
-was featured on a fashion blog

Ok, I didn't really do drugs.

I've decided New York is pop culture. You can't visit in the way you can other places, because if you've watched enough Seinfeld, Friends, etc. you already know the city. I knew the street names and landmarks so well, that walking around the city felt a lot like wandering around a museum does for an art historians; you walk into a room and see a painting (or NY landmark) and even though you've never seen it before you think, "I know you."

I was so busy singing and such, but I did manage to fit in the Whitney, MET, MOMA, Guggenheim, Jewish Museum, and the MAD. Curve ball: the Museum of Arts and Design was my favorite. I don't usually like design museums and often think that furniture, etc seems thrown in to the gallery space, but this museum was great. I might be biased though, because it was the first time I got to see one of the sculptures I'm researching. After an hour, the guard asked me if I'd like a chair, since I'd been chilling on the floor. So, we moved a bench and he sat down next to me and told me about the time that Elizabeth Taylor visited. I told him about how my degree qualifies me for...his job, and that's about it. I had a great time, and I'm so glad that my research was based in New York.

 Central Park, choker-bock full of pretzel stands.

 Madison Avenue, I seemed to be the only person who wasn't shopping for diamonds. Also, fur coats? Really, people? Really?

 

Hey, I was there too. Not the most successful picture, but it's proof.

 

 Slightly disturbing installation. I met Art Vandelay there.

 Metropolitan Museum of Art. I saw the new Islamic wing, seemed worth the ten years construction to me. 

This was a random cathedral next to my hotel. I walked in on a handbell concert. Okey-doke.

 I went to East Hampton to visit the family of the artist that I'm focusing on for my thesis. They live next door to the Pollock/ Krasner House, so I went to check it out. Got some great gossip about the Pollock movie and about all of JP's girlfriends. It was like an art historical soap opera. I walked down to the cemetery, I felt like I needed a star map since there were so many artists buried there.

 I told you that you that you had to wear little booties. 

I was impressed that you could pick out individual paintings, there's Autumn Rhythm. I got to see the big version a few days later.  

 I learned about welding. Turns out that that one time I (kinda) took AP Chemistry helped me out-- metallic salts you know?

 This is my artist's studio. It was amazing to see many works in one place, and stay with his daughter and widow. It's always a little strange to work with artist's families since they tend to be a bit defensive about their family member's "legacy," but they were particularly gracious and I enjoyed hearing some of their crazy artist stories. 

 I figured I had to see the Atlantic while I was in the neighborhood. 

Here are my hosts. The lady on the right wakes up every morning and makes breakfast, drives to the post office to check the mail, and then walks a few miles on the beach collecting rocks and shells. At night she does Tai Chi while watching the Antique Roadshow (to see if anyone brings in one of her late husbands' sculptures). She's 98 years old. What an inspiration.

I had a lovely trip, but I'm happy to be home for Christmas and such. I think I was most excited to see the puppies, probably because they seem so stoked to see me. Also, isn't it nice to not have a schedule?