Family Arts Night

Inspired by Shepard Fairey
Inspired by Shepard Fairey

Well, it wasn’t the Met or the MFA, but it was pretty interesting. That’s the Young Mr’s self portrait, captured by my lousy arrogant phone. You will have to take my word for it that it’s as good a representation of a 14-year-old Providence kid as a Brooklyn-based hipster writer as you are likely to find in a public middle school. It was described to me by the creator as “discombobulated.”

TimeLine
TimeLine

I was quite taken with the posters created in one class of 8th graders (some of whom I know). This one, “Time Line,” struck me for the maker’s familiarity with the passage of time. From the EBT card to the prescription bottle, it seems this kid has grasped life’s progression.

$20,000 a Year
$20,000 a Year

I liked this one, too: Education and Success starts with Money. Everyone Should be Entitled to at least $20,000 a year. You can just hear the anti-public-school activists’ engines starting, and if this were to end up on the ProJo’s website, the anti-union comment trolls would feast upon hatred. (Those comment threads are dangerous waters.)

Black Friday Mayhem
Black Friday Mayhem

Austin, who played Toto in the fourth-grade play, took aim at consumerism and Black Friday. He likes Manga and used to play Yu-Gi-Oh with the Young Mr on the school bus. The text was hard to read even in person, but I believe there is commentary on people should be home with their families, and people don’t even know what there is to buy, but they want it. The mayhem is clear: I think this must be a drawing of the awful trampling incident. As far as I know, his parents are still a teacher’s aide and a cook, so is likely a pure expression of a basic instinct for fairness, which is probably what’s behind “$20,000 a year.”

Sad Elephant
Sad Elephant

This had no caption and no artist’s signature. I like the haunting, sort of Miyazaki-esque quality of the artwork (I saw a lot of manga and anime-inspired work), and I like the contrast between the light and dark areas, though it is probably not quite finished.

There were musical performances, one a violin piece played by a girl with twig-thin arms, and another set by a jazz trio who seemed unsure of their lyrics. Still, they soldiered on, though they may have sounded better when they slipped into a classroom and played just for themselves.

The Young Mr was wound up and bossy as an Art Guide, and had to be removed from school half an hour after the event ended so that he could be made to eat his dinner. It is fortunate that we are only two blocks from school. Next year, at least there is a coffee shop across from the high school. I suspect they’ll get to know me well.

Museum Madness and Things to Make

After a day at the Met on Friday, I went to work at my own museum on Monday. We moved paintings, rounded up miniatures for photography, and packed an ax for transport.

Glass at the Met. I hate this stuff.

On Tuesday, I took the MBTA up to Boston to deliver the ax (tomahawk, throwing ax, ax comma belt in Chenhall) to another museum, at the Old State House. I think this show will be very nice, and I had the pleasure of meeting someone whose wife I know through the interwebs: behold the power of the interwebs, and the small size of the reenacting community. Also, my state.)

Then, because I cannot get enough of this stuff, I took the Green line over to the MFA. By now you’re thinking, Kitty, really? How many museums do you need to visit in five days? Should we get you help? But the thing is, objects get me really stoked. Paintings, sculpture, heck, even glass– and I hate glass– make me pretty happy.

1998.96, overdress or tunic. MFA Boston

I’d just been to the MFA in July, so this trip was to visit some friends among the Copleys and Greenwoods and Blackburns. But I also know that the textiles have to rotate often, and there are dedicated mannequins in the Art of the Americas Wing.  My reward for a return trip? This lovely over dress or tunic.

I love the fabric, and thought immediately of Quinn’s Tree Gown. Hmm. As you can imagine, I will be hot on the trail of something like this fabric as soon as I am done with the menswear on my list. (There is a lot of menswear, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do some real thinking and research in preparation for this tunic…which is all I can do for now.)

It does cross over in the front, and the floral motifs line up across the layers.

There are more photos of the overdress in the MFA set on flickr, and I have a lot more thinking to do about this tunic. It does have a cross-over front, which I like, but the lacing is really striking. This may take another trip to the MFA with a better camera.

Oversleeves, cross front, lacing, diamond-shape piece in the back like a keystone…there’s a lot of detail, and lot to love (and eventually curse while making) in this tunic.

Adventures in Public Transit

The backdrop for Imran Qureshi’s piece

Occasionally, I get a slightly wild idea and actually act upon it. My son probably has the best sense of when this is about to happen, so I no longer tell him my wild ideas plans. Of course, if the MetroNorth train collision hadn’t happened just in front of my Amtrak train, I wouldn’t have had the extra eight-block walk and the two-and-a-half hour line wait for the bus…and then I wouldn’t have ended up leaving the MFA two hours earlier than I wanted to on Tuesday.

Qureshi
Credit: Chang W. Lee/The New York Times

It began with the trip to New York: a slightly whimsical, spur-of-the-moment trip to see Impressionism, Fashion and Modernity before it closed, and everything else I could manage, including lunch on the roof. (It is weird to see children, babies, sitting, sobbing, on Imran Qureshi’s bloody chrysanthemum painting. The work itself is beautiful, though a reviewer asked if it is out of place. If you have ever walked past the site of a murder or bar fight and seen the stained pavement, this piece might creep you out. And once upon a time in Providence, I saw the blood-stained pavement near the bus stop whilst taking my dog to a vet…)

So, trip: all good, hop on the 6:42 Acela and get into Penn at 9:42, up to the Met by 10. That leaves all day for exploring, until about 4:15, when I had to beat it for the M1 back to Penn. One unfortunate act of vandalism of a Beaux-Arts railroad station later, we’re chugging along on the 5:43 Regional back up to Providence. We’re not even to New Rochelle when the train stops…and remains stopped. By 7:11 I’d figured out that there would be no trains up, and had purchased a bus ticket online thanks to my iPad with a rapidly depleting charge. By 8:00, we were back at Penn and I was fast-walking up to 40th Street where I got in line, got the ticket printed, and then trotted downstairs to get into another line: the line of no movement.

Eventually, a bus appeared. And then another bus appeared. The first bus left for a town in Pennsylvania that sounded like “West Coastville” but was probably Coatesville. A third bus appeared: rumor spread that this was the bus from Providence.

“Where have you been?” we interrogated the disembarked. “What took so long?”
“Bumper to bumper traffic,” someone said. And the line of no movement groaned.

No one dared move out of line if they did not have a blood relative to hold their place. Scouts from family groups were sent out to discover which gate had a bus, and intrepid men with girlfriends to hold their place went forth to count the line. I was in the low 40s, thank you, with about 60 people stretching behind my spot. Agitation behind me rose as line-cutting appeared to happen. Scenes from Lord of the Flies came to mind as I heard a mild wheeze from a fellow-stander. Cell phones began to die.

A typical Green Chariot, in Kennedy Plaza.

But, at last, 75 minutes after the alleged 9:30 PM departure, we were able to board the bus. I found a seat in nearly the last row, but it was a seat. At 10:56, I called home to report that we did in fact have forward movement, and were now leaving the PABT…for a short tour of Harlem. Eventually, we were on the highway (I love the quaintness of the sign for New England) and by 3:15 AM I was home, 22 and a half hours after I’d gotten up to start my day.

Now, just because I wrote the story in this tone doesn’t mean I don’t think that the people injured in MetroNorth accident, and inconvenienced in their commute since Friday, have had a far worse time than I did—I do. I’m both stunned and pleased with how quickly train service has been restored, and I have real sympathy for the anxiety of people who take the train to work every day, thanks to my husband’s daily 100-mile-roundtrip on the MBTA. Which, in a fitting moment of transit ironyy, found him delayed last night behind a broken-down Amtrak train, finally headed south…

Impressionism, Fashion, and Modernity

The authentic matters, the real matters. It is different. Great art leaps from the surface of the paper and lives. Photographs may burn into the paper, but in that depth, they, too, live and glow.

Gallery 2: En Plein Air
Gallery 2: En Plein Air

The Met’s installation of Impressionism, Fashion, and Modernity is worth seeing for the coalescence of so many real things in such a [relatively] small space. The monumental paintings, especially Monet’s Luncheon on the Grass in Gallery 2, En Plein Air, need to be seen for real, in the actual matter, to really be appreciated. The brushstrokes, the color, the enormity, all need to be in front of you to be appreciated—to be experienced. It doesn’t work any other way. (Click here for better views of the paintings and costumes; photography was not permitted.)

Gallery 5: The Dictates of Style
Gallery 5: The Dictates of Style

By way of an intimate contrast, consider the portrait of the gown and the gown itself in Gallery 5, The Dictates of Style. Here’s a lesson in the power of art, of paint, and an artist’s vision—and it’s Bartholomé, not Monet or some other genius, though a solid painter all the same.

Behold the cotton dress in conservator-approved lighting and yawn. Well designed, beautifully made, and real, right down to the stain on the upper bodice or collar, a pleat slightly misaligned at the hem. But yawn all the same. Now, the Bartholomé: bam! It’s not about the dress: it’s about light. This contrast is beyond a doubt one of the best lessons I have ever seen on the real nature of painting, and of impressionism: Light.

And if the authentic, the real is important, going to see the real thing is also important.

Here’s the Met’s catalog shot and record for a Degas drawing:

Degas
MMA, 29.100.185

And my iPad photo of the same drawing:

MMA, 29.100.185.

I’m not a wild fan of Degas; I’m more a Joseph Beuys/Caravaggio kind of art lover, but seen in person, this sketch was amazing.

This is an unfair comparison, and I had expected the catalog shot to be in color, because color is so important to this piece. In black and white, you miss the pop of the color contrast between the medium and the paper; you miss the bleed of the oil spot, more subtle in the black and white. You miss the way that image is fast and messy, the simmering tension between the artist and the sitter. Incredible as it seems, there is nothing like the real thing.