Gal, where you been so long?

The new Domino: Lonny Magazine

2010-08-21T15:26:00.000-07:00

I know I wasn't alone in my sadness when Domino Magazine ceased publication. While not as pioneering as Nest, Domino--whose old URL now goes straight to Architectural Digest (Yuck.)--was the kind of magazine that also had a devoted base of fans for whom the magazine was something more than a few pretty pages to help pass the time. For a while, I was filling the void with Elle Decor, but I find it occasionally a little too precious. Then I discovered The Selby, (je l'adore... ) which is more akin to Nest in that there is minimal styling with an emphasis on individuality over pristine, professionally decorated sophistication. (I should say here that Nest was like no other, and I can't imagine anything like it coming into being again. Not only did Nest publish editorials on the most wide-ranging types of interiors, they presented diverse essays, poems, and fiction relating to their rich visual essays on everything from a crumbling manse in the French countryside to a tiny New York apartment filled with hand-crafted decor made by its dweller. One of my favorites was a house that was completely under ground and was surrounded by "gardens" and a starry sky, all made from synthetic flora, murals, and lighting. The writing was contributed by wonderful authors from historians to experimental fiction writers to art critics, and the graphic design was anything but minimal, often including elaborate dye-cut pages. But most importantly, the photography was barely styled, if at at all. Instead, the editors preferred to show the homes and other buildings as they were lived in and used.) Today, I found Lonny Magazine. The aesthetic has a similar feel to Domino: comfortable but intentional and personal spaces, some of which are professionally decorated, others not. The emphasis seems to be on decor that combines contemporary design pieces with flea market finds and family heirlooms, the homes belonging to people in their thirties and forties. Like Domino, there are resource listings for furniture and decor and idea pages focusing on this or that detail or theme. I haven't read through the Fall 2009 inaugural issue yet to find out, but it kind of looks like Domino veterans are behind it. Regardless, Lonny takes up their mantel, so to speak, and I'm grateful.

Best Summer Ever?

2010-08-14T21:46:00.000-07:00

I was just looking through all of these old posts... I'm not really sure why I started this blog in the first place. Perhaps as a notebook or an open letter? A murmur for attention? Clearly, I'm not dedicated to posting things here. But yes, I was just looking through all of these old posts, and noticed the one entitled "In anticipation of the Best Summer Ever". Thankfully, he's fine, but Jacob Hartman, the wordsmith who coined that phrase, recently had an accident while surfing, one that could have had a much worse outcome than it did. As always, he was in pursuit of the Best Summer Ever. Always. Even when it's not summer. Anyway, this isn't really about Jacob but about summer and life and time passing, I guess. Summer never ceases to hold some magical sway over me. But this summer, while not the Worst Summer Ever, is decidedly not the Best Summer Ever. And this makes me think that it's important to change my mind about summer. It can't be about time stretching out and the world slowly offering itself up to me, the way summer used to be. I'm learning to take my summer in small doses and without expectations, all throughout the year. I don't want to give up on summer entirely, though; it's just too heartbreaking. I have to think that some day I'll have summers again, but until then, I'm trying to get into Jacob's state of mind.

My madeleine...

2009-08-26T15:47:00.000-07:00

One of the things I miss about the east coast is lilacs. On the east coast they bloom in great lavender and white clouds hanging in the trees, floral clouds shipwrecked in masses of branches and lush foliage. In southern California, it's possible to get lilacs from florists and grocers at great expense for a month or two in the spring. I get mine from Mrs. Ha of Ha Family Farm, growers of the most delicious apples I've ever tasted. I guess Mr. Ha grows the apples and Mrs. Ha tends to the lilacs (and also lovely peonies... ). If I get to the farmer's market early enough on Sundays, I can buy lilacs from Mrs. Ha for maybe three weeks. Their farm is in the mountains, so the cooler conditions there make the lilacs I know from my east coast upbringing, not the strange bloom known as the California lilac. Those pictured above are from this past spring. When I took this picture, I was excited to post it right away, but I just haven't been engaged with posting things here as much as I'd like to be this summer. But anyway, the scent of lilac is my madeleine. It intoxicates me with memory and also brings me immediately into that aromatic instant of wanting to keep breathing in and to never, ever have to stop to exhale, grounding me in my history and my present at once. Thank you, Garry, for urging me to post something today...

The Moon

2009-07-06T20:38:00.000-07:00

I just stood in the middle of my street for a while. I hadn't ever done that. I had parked my car, and I meant to cross the street to my house. I looked to my left to make sure there was no traffic and was stopped in my tracks by the sight of a fat moon that had just risen above the crest of the small hill that rises away from my house. The round moon was framed by two bushy trees on either side of the street. The trees were in silhouette against the cloudless, steel blue sky, and the fat, round moon just glowed and glowed at me, just for me.

Today I saw...

2009-05-08T23:06:00.000-07:00

Jed Ceasar at Suzanne Vielmetter
Sam Durant at Blum & Poe
Kim McCarty at Lightbox
(Stopped in to say hello to Drew and Flora and Justin at the Mandrake and then saw... )
Manfred Pernice at Regen Projects
Alexis Smith at Margo Leavin
Hanne Darboven, Evan Holloway, Jason Meadows, and Matteo Tanatt at Marc Foxx
Chris Finley (and a wonderful Bill Jensen) at ACME

Ah yes... Larry Johnson

2009-05-04T10:57:00.000-07:00

Can't wait to read Bruce Hainley's feature on Mr. Johnson.

Vive la révolution!

2009-05-01T11:20:00.000-07:00

Robert Frank's Cowboy

2009-04-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

Robert Frank (American, born Switzerland, 1924)
Rodeo, New York City, 1955
Gelatin silver print; 13 x 9 1/16 in. (33 x 23 cm)
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Gift of Barbara and Eugene Schwartz, 1992 (1992.5162.3)

In anticipation of the Best Summer Ever

2009-04-13T21:29:00.000-07:00

A hundred years ago (some time in the late nineties, I guess... ), my friend Jacob Hartman set forth on a quest for the Best Summer Ever. He organized all kinds of outings and games and cookouts and sundry stuff to do. I don't think I participated in many of his events, probably being -- just like when I feigned various illnesses to avoid swimming lessons as a child at camp -- too depressed, busy, angry, preoccupied, etc. to join in. Or maybe I just didn't get the invitations... Even so, I remember Jacob's funny smile as he would chant the refrain "Best Summer Ever" before or after pitching one or another invitation or rattling off a recap of a recent gathering. Ever since, as summer approaches each year, I start hearing Jacob's voice in my mind, and I regret that I really didn't have the best summer ever. Not that year. And, each year, I hear myself say it to one person or another, that this will be the Best Summer Ever. "B.S.E.", I say. I mean it, but I always also hear some cynicism in my tone. Or maybe it's melancholy, or some of that regret I mentioned before. Sitting around with a bunch of friends the other night beginning to plan our annual camping trip, the Best Summer Ever refrain was intoned yet again. I think it's going to happen. I have a nice feeling about this summer. Maybe it's the fact that we are having a mild spring, with the birds chirping like mad and the sky that heavy, endless blue, and the nights still chilly. Or maybe I'm finally lucky enough to have a little bit of Jacob's magical optimism.

Happy Spring!

2009-04-12T14:04:00.000-07:00

You can really learn a lot that way...

2009-03-29T01:45:00.000-07:00

"For The Turnstiles" by Neil Young
From the album "On the Beach", 1974

All the sailors
with their seasick mamas
Hear the sirens on the shore,
Singin' songs
for pimps with tailors
Who charge ten dollars
at the door.

You can really
learn a lot that way
It will change you
in the middle of the day.
Though your confidence
may be shattered,
It doesn't matter.

All the great explorers
Are now in granite laid,
Under white sheets
for the great unveiling
At the big parade.

You can really
learn a lot that way
It will change you
in the middle of the day.
Though your confidence
may be shattered,
It doesn't matter.

All the bushleague batters
Are left to die
on the diamond.
In the stands
the home crowd scatters
For the turnstiles,
For the turnstiles,
For the turnstiles.

A week in bed with Peggy Guggenheim and Samuel Beckett

2009-03-26T00:24:00.000-07:00

"After dinner Beckett asked to walk her home, and Peggy was somewhat surprised when he took her arm and brought her all the way back to her borrowed apartment. Once there, he asked her to lie down on the sofa with him. They went to bed and stayed there until dinnertime the next day, except for a brief period when Peggy mentioned champagne and Beckett ran out to get some. The idyll was cut short, as Peggy was to meet [Jean] Arp for dinner, and she was unable to cancel because he had no telephone. She was quite discomfited when Beckett left saying, 'Thank you. It was nice while it lasted.'...

Several days passed before Peggy ran into Beckett again on a traffic island in Montparnasse. They went directly to bed (at Mary Reynolds's house, which Peggy had borrowed in the interim) and stayed there for over a week."

From Mistress of Modernism: The Life of Peggy Guggenheim by Mary V. Dearborn, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston and New York, 2004

Cavolo Nero

2009-03-24T22:11:00.000-07:00

I've taken to buying two or three bunches of cavolo nero at the market on Sundays and eating it almost every night of the week. I wash it all at once, roughly chiffonade the whole lot of it, and store it in a big bag so that I can pull out handfuls to toss as a raw salad (dressed with walnut oil and lemon or sesame oil, rice vinegar, and minced ginger), sautee (in olive oil with red chile flakes and a clove of garlic, paired with roasted slices of sweet potato), slowly braise (tossed with whole wheat penne and broiled cherry tomatoes or crumbled and browned Italian sausage), or blanch it (in clear chicken or vegetable broth with garlic and black eyed peas).

What beauties...

2009-03-23T22:09:00.000-07:00

A handful of promising (and kind of heart-breakingly lovely!) Los Angeles artists, as photographed by Hedi Slimane for Dazed and Confused...

Yes, please...

2009-03-22T14:03:00.000-07:00

4 pounds fresh vine-on tomatoes
2 stalks of lemon grass
4 serrano chilis
1 small Bermuda onion
Salt
Cheesecloth
Citrus-flavored vodka

In multiple batches, coarsely chop and puree tomatoes, onion and chilis in a food processor. Add salt to taste. Transfer pulp to a cheesecloth and suspend over a large stockpot. Leave to strain until pulp volume has reduced by two-thirds (about 12 to 24 hours). Makes 1 liter of tomato water.

To make the Bloody Mary: Mix 1.5 ounces of citrus flavored vodka with 5 ounces of tomato water.

Oh, je souhaite que je pourrais être là...

2009-03-19T20:32:00.000-07:00

Cornelius Cardew
et la liberté de l’écoute
Un programme de manifestations

du 5 avril au 27 juin 2009
CAC Bretigny, France

Le Centre d’Art Contemporain de Brétigny propose un programme complet de manifestations qui retrace le parcours artistique du compositeur anglais Cornelius Cardew disparu prématurément en 1981 à l’âge de 45 ans. Le CAC Brétigny et les commissaires proposent d’agir en rupture avec une approche muséale et souhaitent favoriser l’appropriation et l’utilisation par tous, des archives du compositeur à travers une exposition et une série de concerts et de performances qui témoignent de la vivacité de ce travail et de son influence sur la création d’aujourd’hui.

Le commissariat de ces événements proposés au CAC Brétigny d’avril à juin 2009 est confié à Dean Inkster et Jean-Jacques Palix avec l’assistance de Lore Gablier, qui ont organisé dès 2004 au sein de l’école régionale des beaux-arts de Valence plusieurs événements autour de Cardew, notamment des interprétations du paragraphe 7 de The Great Learning et de Walk de Michael Parsons.

Des personnalités de générations différentes, reconnues sur la scène internationale, Nina Canal, Rhys Chatham, Luke Fowler, Michel Guillet, Nadia Lichtig, Michael Morley, Michael Parsons, Lee Ranaldo, Keith Rowe, Marcus Schmickler, Sara Stephenson, Samon Takahashi, Terre Thaemlitz, John Tilbury, Peter Todd et Annie Vigier & Frank Apertet, interpréteront, tout au long de l’exposition, les partitions de Cardew sous des formes variées de performances, de concerts et de projections.

Pierre Bal-Blanc, Directeur CAC Brétigny

We rolled right past that tragedy...

2009-03-17T12:49:00.000-07:00

"Coyote" from the album Hejira by Joni Mitchell, November 1976

No regrets Coyote
We just come from such different sets of circumstance
I'm up all night in the studios
And you're up early on your ranch
You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tail
While the sun is ascending
And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel
There's no comprehending
Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes
And the lips you can get
And still feel so alone
And still feel related
Like stations in some relay
You're not a hit and run driver no no
Racing away
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

We saw a farmhouse burning down
In the middle of nowhere
In the middle of the night
And we rolled right past that tragedy
Till we turned into some road house lights
Where a local band was playing
Locals were up kicking and shaking on the floor
And the next thing I know
That coyote's at my door
He pins me in a corner and he won't take no
He drags me out on the dance floor
And we're dancing close and slow
Now he's got a woman at home
He's got another woman down the hall
He seems to want me anyway
Why'd you have to get so drunk
And lead me on that way
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

I looked a coyote right in the face
On the road to Baljennie near my old home town
He went running thru the whisker wheat
Chasing some prize down
And a hawk was playing with him
Coyote was jumping straight up and making passes
He had those same eyes just like yours
Under your dark glasses
Privately probing the public rooms
And peeking thru keyholes in numbered doors
Where the players lick their wounds
And take their temporary lovers
And their pills and powders to get them thru this passion play
No regrets Coyote
I just get off up aways
You just picked up a hitcher
A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

Coyote's in the coffee shop
He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs
He picks up my scent on his fingers
While he's watching the waitresses' legs
He's too far from the Bay of Fundy
From appaloosas and eagles and tides
And the air conditioned cubicles
And the carbon ribbon rides
Are spelling it out so clear
Either he's going to have to stand and fight
Or take off out of here
I tried to run away myself
To run away and wrestle with my ego
And with this flame
You put here in this Eskimo
In this hitcher
In this prisoner
Of the fine white lines
Of the white lines on the free free way

(Pictured is JM performing Coyote on November 25, 1976 at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco where The Band staged their final concert. The image is from Martin Scorsese's film of the concert, "The Last Waltz". Hejira has become one of my soundtracks to the desert. Couldn't decide whether to post this or "Amelia" here. They both resonate with me today, so here's "Amelia", too... )

It's not about dreams...

2009-03-16T20:02:00.000-07:00

I am spending a few days in the desert and brought a few movies with me in case I wanted that sort of distraction. Turns out I did, and last night I watched Robert Altman's 3 Women. I had seen it before, but not in a long time. Coincidentally, the film is set in a fictional town that is based on the one that I am in. I hadn't remembered that when I picked it up, so it was a surprise when the first scenes of the area appeared. There is an aquifer beneath this town, so people come here to take the waters. There is something strange about this incredible water in the middle of the desert, and 3 Women uses the dry, minimal landscape combined with the idea of healing water to explore and metaphorically describe the landscape of femininity and the societal positions of women. The three main characters are Millie, Pinky, and Willie, but they all get wrapped up in Millie by the end of the film, and it made me think a lot about the way men think about women and the ways in which women think about themselves. Between the three of them, the characters present just about every female stereotype. They are also always changing and exchanging characteristics, presenting a stereotype in itself, that of the maleable, chameleon-like female personality. These women are foreigners to themselves, each other, and to others around them. They have no tools and perhaps no desire to understand themselves, and they are therefore constantly constructing their personalities through the materiality at hand. It is an immediate and swift kind of self-recognition and adaptation, and it is acutely disturbing in its familiarity. Watching the film again last night reminded me that I had been part of the audience for a filmed performance made as part of a series of films by Amy Granat and Emily Sundblad that included a projection of 3 Women as a backdrop. Driving with Granat and Sundblad to dinner afterward in their rented car felt kind of like the movie, all of us wondering who we are all at once and perpetually making it up as we go along.

Blood Oranges

2009-03-06T21:29:00.000-08:00

The blood oranges that I have been getting at farmer's markets this year are phenomenal. The color of the flesh is always a pleasant shock, and the flavor is unlike any other variety of orange. There is almost a spice to it, and its depth is unparalleled in citrus. Last weekend, Canele was serving mimosas with freshly made blood orange juice. I don't care for the usual mimosa, but when my friends ordered them and I saw the color, I asked for one too. It was delicious. Citrus season is almost over, I suppose, so I think I will stockpile some blood oranges and preserve them in salt. But before that, I'm going to try a compote to spoon over goat cheese and crushed pistachios as a dessert. Soon, asparagus and lilacs will make their delightful, brief appearance, but till then I'm really digging the blood oranges.

The Interview with Adolfo Guzman-Lopez

2009-02-22T22:36:00.000-08:00

Here is the interview that was aired as a segment on KPCC on Friday. I recommend listening to it rather than reading the transcript, if possible. There is a lot lost in the transcript, and the whole mood of the thing really benefits from hearing our voices. Cadence and inflection add so much to the meaning of what we say. My post from the 17th contains some of the stuff I wanted to convey that wasn't in the interview...

A note to Adolfo Guzman-Lopez on artists in society

2009-02-17T18:10:00.000-08:00

Today, I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Adolfo Guzman-Lopez, whose name will be familiar to anyone who listens to NPR on KPCC. He is reporting on the effect of the downward spiraling economy on artists and arts workers. Since my job at The Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles was recently eliminated, he contacted me to discuss my story. By the time we had a chance to sit down, I had already been talking about myself with various people all day (that's another story... ), and I was, therefore, perhaps not at my best. For the most part, I think my responses to his questions were sufficient, but when he left, I was overcome with thoughts of all of the things I did not say. So, I wrote him this note, which I am posting below. When the interview is aired, I will post a link to it as well.

Dear Adolfo:
Thank you so much for your interest in arts workers in the new economy and in my story in particular. Just as a follow-up, I want to try to articulate something more thoroughly.

Regarding your questions about adapting to new challenges and the importance of art in society: Right now, it is essential for me to believe that we are all going to come out of this alright, despite the very real fears that we may not. That said, here goes...

Artists are inventive by definition; it is our charge to reflect the world through our own ideas and visions. That inventiveness extends beyond artists' studios into the world at large through deep community involvement. Artists and arts administrators, arts educators, etc. give tremendously to their communities, not only by giving us their work but also by teaching, volunteering, voting, paying taxes, etc. Artists and arts workers are also - along with everyone else in the world - subject to the ebbs and flows of the economy and the culture and participate equally in civic life.

Part of the reason that the arts are so important to society is that artists are often the originators of new ideas and new approaches to the the way we live, as well as give us new ways to see ourselves and the world we live in. There are many contemporary artists who are using their inventiveness, creativity, critical thinking, and adaptability to confront the many changes taking place in our world, not only to reflect our world back to us but to posit hypotheses for the advancement of our well-being as a collective social body.

There are strains of contemporary art that have become increasingly rarefied. Perhaps that is because, while our consumer culture (which is inherently concerned with deriving individual gains) has expanded, our collective interest in social culture (which perceives the individual as part of a larger whole) dwindles proportionally. The more this country's government - and therefore this country's society, for this is a democracy wherein the government is the voice of the people, right? - espouses a disinterest in (and, at worst, a disdain for) the arts, the more artists turn to one another as an insular community, addressing only one another. But there are also contemporary practices in which artists use their work - and often their own lives - to turn outward to connect with their communities and their environments, filling a void that is left when other artists and the society at large turn inward.

I view both approaches as equally valid. Further, I do not mean to suggest that these are the only two conditions under which art is currently produced. On the contrary, there is always a broad spectrum of art in production. I do think it's a useful observation, though, for anyone interested in the way art impacts - and articulates - the culture. It's a tough row to hoe, because on one hand, I believe that art should touch everyone and should be supported by our governmental agencies, because, as I mentioned to you earlier, art's positive effect on individuals is immeasurable. But on the other hand, artists are often at their best when left to their own devices. Artists are accustomed to inventing their own worlds every day, often quite literally, but also metaphorically through images and songs and words, etc. But just because they are capable of being extraordinarily self-sufficient doesn't mean they should have to be. Like everyone, artists must eat, be in good health, care for children and elderly relatives, and tend to all of the myriad responsibilities and requirements of daily life that we all must.

Through all of the above ambivalence, I think what I am trying to say is that, like people in any profession, artists should be included in and embraced by society and not be forced to use their inventiveness for their own survival alone. I think this society would be given a great gift if it brought artists farther into the fold, to shake off whatever fears it has about a perceived (and probably mis-conceived) radicality they might bring to the table and to see what could happen if artists were given more of a voice in the world at large. Artists are problem solvers. That's what artists do all day in their studios, is solve problems. They are often small-ish problems of their own making, but sometimes they are problems related to the big, big issues of our time. There is tremendous value in that ability. For, not only do artists excel at solving problems, they often devise their solutions with beauty, grace, and elegance that add richness and dimension to both the problem and the solution. Artists might just be able to help us out of this mess that we're in in ways we can't even imagine.

It was a pleasure to meet you and to talk with you, and again, I really appreciate your attention to this story and your reporting at large.
All the best,
Corrina

Sister Corita's Rules

2009-02-10T22:21:00.000-08:00

Jimi Hendrix and Alice Neel

2009-02-02T20:44:00.000-08:00

In the past few days, I've watched two documentaries, both named after their subjects: Jimi Hendrix and Alice Neel. Sure, their backgrounds and lives and means of expression couldn't be more different, but encountering their work through these films got me thinking about the same kinds of things...

Watching film footage of Hendrix playing guitar put me in a sort of exalted state of jubilance. The reassurance that his kind of utterly defiant, beautiful expression is achievable got me through what was a quite difficult weekend. I realized that part of the power of his guitar playing - apart from the obvious transcendence of skill (and for what it's worth, I'm left rather cold by the theatrics and am always more impressed just watching his fingers on the neck of the guitar than by the teeth thing, etc.... Well, OK, the fire conjuring was pretty fucking great... ) - is the volume he used. This is probably totally obvious, but I just want to write it down here. In order to get the kind of feedback he liked to use as punctuation as well as a place for extra notes and texture, he would keep his amplifiers at a constant extreme volume, as far as I can tell. This requires the ability to maintain tremendous control over the positioning and pressure upon the strings, pickups, neck and body of the guitar. But what it does is it gives that sense of anticipation driven to exuberance that his music has, because the sound is quite literally always at the edge of going out of control. As a result, it's super sexy and joyful as hell.

Alice Neel was 70 years old when Jimi Hendrix died in 1970. The documentary was made by one of her grandchildren and includes wonderful footage of Neel painting interspersed with interviews with her friends and family as well as artists and writers who knew her. Neel led an extraordinarily difficult life as a single mother raising two boys after her first child - a daughter - died before she was even a year old and her second child - another daughter - was taken from her by the father's family. Neel and her sons lived in extreme poverty. She never had a studio other than the living room or the kitchen of her apartment in Spanish Harlem. Anyway, my brief biographical overview of her life is published in WACK! Art and the Feminist Revolution and there is a detailed biography, numerous monographs, and this documentary, for anyone interested in the whole story.

Neel's paintings are deeply moving for their unrelenting directness and their tremendous beauty. Neel painted portraits, almost exclusively. Now that we are in an era that accepts a broadly heterogeneous array of styles and subject-matter, it is hard to imagine what it must have been like to paint portraits in New York City in the 1950s when abstract expressionism was championed as the only art worth scholarly attention, and the tenacity it required is evident in the volume of paintings Neel amassed in her long career as well as in the obsessive attention to contextual and psychological detail she was able to express in them. She managed to paint her times through the people she encountered in the many cultural sectors she engaged. Every time I have the privilege of encountering one of her paintings, I feel like I've been given an incredible gift. In 1974, Alice Neel was the subject of a one-person exhibition at The Whitney Museum of American Art. The footage of her greeting friends and admirers at the reception had me in tears. At the age of 74, it was the first and only major museum exhibition of her work to be mounted in her lifetime.

Hendrix, of course, succumbed at a very young age, and Neel somehow kept going until she died from cancer in 1984 at age 84. They gave us sounds and images that help remind us of the great unquantifiables, of that which is intangible and soulful. It helps me, anyway, because sometimes it's easier for me to give in to the material world than to become amorphous to absorb and encompass everything that is the world, like all great artists must.

It's cold. Time for soup...

2009-01-26T19:18:00.000-08:00

I didn't go to the farmer's market this weekend. So, it got to be supper time, and I looked through the refrigerator and cupboard to see what odds and ends could come together into something warm to eat. Over medium heat, I sauteed a scant half cup of diced red onion and two small sliced leeks in my cocotte. I added some diced carrots and let all of that sweat for a while until I moved it all over to a pile on the side of the pot and added five quartered Brussell's sprouts to the clear area. When they had browned a bit, I added one cup of chicken broth and one cup of water all at once. I made a bouquet garni with pepper corns, a sage leaf, some sprigs of thyme, and a bay leaf and added that, bringing it all to a boil. Then I added maybe a quarter cup of wheat berries, lowered the heat, and covered the pot, letting it all simmer for an hour or so. Once the wheat berries were soft, I chopped up the last bits of spinach I had. I stirred that in along with the juice of a lemon slice that had been sitting all alone in the refrigerator. It tastes really good, and it made just enough soup to fill one of my low pasta bowls. So, now it's cooling a bit on the counter while I write this.

Ginger and lemon

2009-01-13T09:43:00.000-08:00

I cut up a few chunks of raw ginger and lemon, put them in a big Ball jar, and poured boiling water in. I forgot about it, and it sat there for fifteen minutes or so. I guess it can't be called "tea" since there were no tea leaves involved and "hot ginger lemonade" doesn't sound that appealing. But it was so good, I want to call it something.

Willoughby Sharp, R.I.P.

2008-12-22T11:00:00.000-08:00

Long live Willoughby Sharp.

To be filled with longing one cannot bear...

2008-12-22T09:12:00.000-08:00

In Virginia Heffernan's recent New York Times Magazine article entitled "Pop Couture" she wrote: "A friend of mine won’t look at Garance Doré because he says it fills him with longing he can’t bear. I feel nearly the same way, though I don’t stay away; I’m pleasurably overwhelmed." Me too. But Ms. Heffernan's friend is on to something. Isn't this the lure of just about anything beautiful? Maybe this is how one recognizes beauty. When something strikes one's fancy, one is filled with longing one cannot bear. OK, so it's a little Proustian, but I follow that persuasion, too... It could be a face or a mannerism, a jewel or a pile of laundry, a painting, an object of design, any glimmering, glinting, sorrowful or exuberant something... Whatever it is, it's hard to describe in words, but one knows it when one sees it, as one is filled with that tell-tale longing. I love street fashion blogs because the beauty in question is that of people going about their lives, and some of them are in hot pursuit of beauty, in seething defiance of the great mediocrity, while others are just coincidentally, insanely, helplessly beautiful... I'm glad that Ms. Heffernan included Garance Doré. When Lisa called my attention to this one, I was so pleased to have an addition to my daily check in to The Sartorialist. Candace just sent me this link as well. Those Finnish love their Dr. Martens... Yes!

Jerusalem Olive Oil Hanukkah Cake

2008-12-21T22:11:00.000-08:00

Tonight begins the Hanukkah celebration. The olive oil in this cake symbolizes the sustenance of oil that brought light to the winter nights for the rededication of the temple in the Hanukkah story. I found this recipe through Lynne Rossetto Kasper, but it was written by Sara Perry. I have adapted it slightly, as I found the original recipe too sweet. Increase the sugar to 1 C if you have a serious sweet tooth. Pasolivo makes an incredible tangerine olive oil that adds even more citrus flavor to the cake with only a T or so substituted with the rest of the olive oil.

1 1/4 C all-purpose flour
1/4 t baking soda
1/4 t baking powder
1/4 t salt
2 eggs, at room temperature
3/4 C granulated sugar
1/2 C fruity extra virgin olive oil
3/4 C milk
1 1/2 T orange zest
1/4 C sliced and toasted almonds
A little bit of orange marmalade and powdered sugar

Preheat the over to 350 degrees. Lightly butter a 9-inch round baking pan, line it with a round of parchment, and set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk the first four ingredients and set aside. In another medium bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar until they are thoroughly blended, then add the milk, olive, oil, and orange zest and whisk to combine. Pour this mixture into the dry ingredients and whisk to a smooth batter. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake about 30 minutes. I always check the cake at 25 minutes, as the edges can brown very quickly at the end of cooking. The cake is done when a toothpick comes out clean when inserted into the center. Let the cake cool in the pan on a rack for 20 minutes or so, and then turn it out onto a serving dish. Brush some orange marmalade over the top and around the edges. Sprinkle the almonds on top, then sift a little bit of powdered sugar over the cake and serve.

Getting to "I Don't Care"

2008-12-19T17:08:00.001-08:00

I had this idea last night that, in order to get anything done in any way that is really one's own, one must get to "I Don't Care". Not giving a damn is a requisite for making something that will truly reflect the will of the author, to adequately and accurately articulate an idea in one's own voice. As individuals in the social body, though, we are taught to care about others' perceptions of us and our actions. Our educations instill voices in our heads that can block us from acting upon what is in our hearts. It takes work to get all of those voices out of the room, for sure. But then there is another step, which is getting to the point of genuinely not giving a throw. If this is true, then it would help to explain why so many people work well under pressure: There is no time to care, no time to wonder from every perspective, time only to finely concentrate the mind on the task at hand.

Idle dreaming is often the essence of what we do...

2008-12-18T20:58:00.000-08:00

Thomas Pynchon's essay entitled Nearer, My Couch, to Thee is a meditation on Sloth, one of the seven deadly sins. I link to it here with an observation about myself upon which I will refrain from commenting for the moment: I used to work harder. I used to fill every possible moment with work. Always reading books, writing letters, adding to or crossing out items from lists (and, of course, occupying myself with tasks outlined in said lists), making artworks, writing songs... So, maybe it's not that I worked harder, but I worked more. Always doing something of substance, or so I thought. Or so I thought. And now I wonder. Have I succumbed to sloth?

Writer's block...

2008-12-17T21:10:00.000-08:00

I don't know. I seem to have lost steam with this blog thing. So quickly, too. Actually, I have five posts that are all in various states of completion. Can't seem to finish them. I seem to be over-thinking everything (read: avoiding completing anything). It's hard to complete posts when I know that I have another project that requires more immediate attention. Funny, though: In the past 24 hours, as I stew in the alternating states of exhilaration and anxiety that writing always brings to me, I have received two invitations to write yet more. They are both quite lovely and flattering invitations, which I will accept. Therefore, the feat is thus: Remain focused on the work for the first deadline. One invitation came in just minutes ago, and I all but went for it immediately. Instead, I turned in this direction to confess: I just love how I am all of a sudden jazzed to make holiday greetings for everyone I know, to write a proposal that could be written by one of my collaborators rather than me, to sew the curtains that have been lying around for three months, to watch a million episodes of Gossip Girl... Anything to postpone the inevitable. Anything in the name of procrastination. The art of procrastination is such a finely honed discipline. The thing is, I take such pleasure in its torture, so much so that I have convinced myself that it is essential to the process of writing and is, therefore and actually, writing itself.

George Brecht. R.I.P.

2008-12-08T09:21:00.000-08:00

From artforum.com:
The Süddeutsche Zeitung’s Catrin Lorch reports that George Brecht, an early member of the Fluxus movement, died Friday, December 5, in a nursing home in Cologne. Brecht was born George MacDiarmid in New York in 1926; in 1945, while stationed in the Black Forest, he gave himself the nom de guerre of George Brecht. From 1958–59, Brecht participated in John Cage’s seminar in experimental composition at the New School for Social Research; there, and in the years that followed, Brecht befriended many of the artists with whom he would collaborate in the future, articulating the precepts for the Events that would come to define much of the style of the Fluxus movement. In late 2005, the Museum Ludwig in Cologne organized a retrospective of Brecht’s work, and in 2006, the artist was awarded the Berliner Kunstpreis. Brecht lived in Cologne from 1972 until his death.

What is a blog?

2008-11-30T21:27:00.000-08:00

Well, I jumped into this feet first, figuring I would learn as I go. I learned a little more the other day when I had the chance to talk about it a little with JC and PC. JC is the first person who ever said the word "blog" to me. I had to ask her what it was. Then later, when PC started coming to Los Angeles to be with JC and finally moved here, I got to know him a little more quickly by following his blog. I keep tabs on JS in Chicago through her blog, though she hasn't posted much lately. The blogs I read most by people I don't know are The Sartorialist and Bitten. I also look at Modern Art Notes pretty often. For quite a while, I looked Theresa Duncan's blog Wit of the Staircase every day. (It was really hard for me to go there right now in order to copy the URL into this post. I didn't know her very well, but it's still hard to accept her death.) All of these blogs are really different. I've been trying to figure out what a blog really is, and the variety doesn't make it easy to answer this question. Some people are really specific about a theme or topic, some use blogs as daily diaries or logs, some use them as a way to disseminate their work, ideas, and projects, some to advance their knowledge. Some blogs are personal, some academic, journalistic, etc. Some are abstract and some straightforward. I think reading TD's blog is the first time I thought I might like to have one of my own. It was filled with mystery and humor and cool stuff, just like her. In the end, I think that's the thing: Blogs can be self-portraits of their writers that evolve over time. I like that LM and I started our blogs around the same time, since we talk over things like this quite often. I will continue to think through the ways in which I may approach using a blog and just keep posting stuff and changing things around until I think it looks like me...

The etiquette of conversation

2008-11-25T22:29:00.000-08:00

It is necessary to listen to others if one wants to have attention in return.
Above all things and upon all occasions, avoid speaking of oneself.
Being over confident and peremptory does very much unfit men for conversation.
Avoid too excessive pedantic or technical speech (like direct interrogation, the use of imperatives and short answers such as ‘Yes’ and above all ‘No’).
Adapt your conversation to the people with whom you are conversing.
Honorable people must never use a low word in their speech.
Subjects to avoid for men: hunting, hawking, and the War of the Netherlands; for women: fashionable clothes and housewifery. In general, avoid talking about one’s children, telling one’s dreams, or boasting of one’s nobility or riches.
It is a great fault to be too fond of keeping silent.
Don’t talk when you eat, it makes people think you are not enjoying the food.
No one speaks to the king during his public meals unless he addresses him first.
And of course: Whereof one cannot speak, thereof must one be silent.

P.S. I don't know where I got this list, so if anyone reads this and knows where it comes from, please let me know.

Cipollini onions with greens and pasta

2008-11-24T19:55:00.000-08:00

Add a whole sliced cipollini onion to a skillet with some warm olive oil and let it all sit at low heat, stirring now and then, until they get tender. Add some salt and a little pepper and let it sit and cook. When I caramelize onions, I try to do something else at the same time, otherwise I am constantly lording over them. As they say, a watched onion never caramelizes. Anyway, once they get brown and sweet, add whatever greens are around (I used beet greens and spinach this evening). Keep the proportion so that the onions outweigh the greens. Add a little broth to help deglaze the pan and steam the greens. Boil up some whole wheat pasta until just tender. Keep a little of the water on reserve before you drain it so you have a little starchy moisture in case the dish is dry. Toss the drained pasta in with the onion and greens, and add a little of the pasta water, if needed. I ate it just like that with some roasted delicata squash, but it would be really good with toasted pine nuts added to the top as well.

Proposition 8 as a question of the separation of church and state

2008-11-19T10:34:00.001-08:00

The Courage Campaign is asking for feedback from its followers. They want to know where to go next. I posted this comment to them this morning:

"Enforce the separation of church and state. Make this an issue about marriage having two components as seen one way through religious rites and one way through the eyes of the state. Encourage marriage between all people as civil unions first and foremost, making every marriage performed as a legal rite in the eyes of the state. Should couples like to engage in a religious rite as a part of their marriage then they will do so at will. Separating church and state in marriage rites should make a ban on any group's right to marry impossible to uphold."

My contention is that, not only does legislation like Proposition 8 discriminate, it is also a transgression of the boundary between church and state. These are primary tenets of the foundation of this country, and they are also humane and ethical perspectives.

No matter what our orientation with regard to the opposite sex, it is necessary for us all to recognize that banning any group of people from marrying one another is a massive affront to civil rights and is an undeniable act of discrimination. This legislation must also be recognized as precedent for future potential state and federal amendments to the constitutions which would gradually erode what we currently understand as inalienable rights.

Jill Spector and Corrina Peipon: Project 02

2008-11-18T18:36:00.000-08:00

Our design for the Thanksgiving table is influenced by the colors, light, and bounty of autumn and the particularity of autumn in southern California, suggested through a cornucopia basket form, plaid fabric, and autumn colors. The tablecloth is neutral muslin (like a blank canvas or preliminary dress pattern), and the napkins are made from a fabric that incorporates turquoise, red, purple, teal, black, etc., in an imprecise stripe. The centerpiece is made from plaid fabrics using turquoise, red, black, yellow, etc., including a single strand of gold Lurex. Rather than using traditional Scottish plaids associated with fall and winter, we decided to use the association of plaid with this time of year but in colors that hearken back (or forward... ) to summer and reflect the warmth and glow of autumn in Southern California. The plaid fabric forms stand in for traditional cornucopia basketry, wrapping seasonal foliage, fruit, and wheat in a form that is more amorphous, drawing the elements of the table together. Fig leaves, eucalyptus, lemons, oranges, orchid tree blooms, holly berries, etc. are foraged for the centerpiece, and dried wheat is added to symbolize thanks for our food and as a sign of hope for the next good harvest. One or two smaller ornaments made from a large black and white polka-dot fabric in combination with the multi-color stripe from the napkins and the flora from the centerpiece are arranged on the mantle and bar. To wish for light and luck throughout the season, candles are set out with each arrangement, using plain votives in aluminum cans with decorative punctures.

P.S. I added the picture above today (November 19). It was taken at Thanksgiving in 1972 in Philadelphia. On the left is my uncle, Garry Prowe. He is being embraced by my grandmother, Amelia Olga Prowe. My grandfather, Joseph Prowe, is serving something or adding the feast to his plate, and my mother, Barbara Prowe, is grinning at the camera. She still has that fruit basket on her counter, which is now in Portland, Oregon. There are many striking things to me about this image, but one of my favorite things is the green wine bottle with shafts of dried wheat in the foreground. I was born on August 27, 1973, so maybe my mother was already pregnant with me when this image was taken.

WAR IS OVER (If you want it.)

2008-11-17T19:45:00.000-08:00

The New York Times, dated July 4, 2009.

The broadside was handed out for free in New York City and around the country. The web site mimics nytimes.com, and the many comments on the stories variously reveal readers' anxieties, exuberance, confusion, despair, and on and on...

From the section "Fine Print":

"The dozens of volunteer citizens who produced this paper spent the last eight years dreaming of a better world for themselves, their friends, and any descendants they might end up having. Today, that better world, though still very far away, is finally possible — but only if millions of us demand it, and finally force our government to do its job."

P.S. I found out today (November 18) that there were many groups who collaborated on this project and that it was led in part by The Yes Men.

To educate for initiative and courage

2008-11-16T11:49:00.000-08:00

This interview is incredible. Bill Ayers and Bernardine Dohrn are deeply articulate and endlessly committed to living lives that exemplify the change they want to see in the world. They describe a kind of everyday resistance I admire. In listening to this, I realized that there are many ways in which I have not yet entirely embodied my ideals and need an occasional reminder that silence and inaction are affirmation and complicity to that which is ethically objectionable and inhumane. We each must invent our own ways to contribute to the human endeavor to love and progress as a people lest the corporate-political, military-industrial project of fear and greed infiltrate our lives completely. Below is an excerpt in which Ayers describes his view on the necessity of education for an enlightened society.

..."So, the question is, who gets to set the agenda? ...[W]hat makes education in a democracy distinct? And I would argue that what makes education in a democracy distinct is that we don’t educate for obedience and conformity; we educate for initiative and courage. We educate for imagination and hope and possibility. And we recognize that the full development of each person requires the full development of all people. Or another way of saying it is, the full development of all is the condition whereby we can educate each. And that shifting of the frame is so important. And frankly, I’m hopeful that in this period of rising expectations, of rethinking so much, that this is where we can go."

East to West and West to East...

2008-11-15T10:24:00.000-08:00

Downtown:
Bennett Simpson talks with Dorit Cypis, Julio Cesar Morales, and Martin Kersels at MOCA Grand Avenue, 3-5pm

West Hollywood:
Sarah Thorton book signing (Seven Days in the Art World) at Art Catalogues at MOCA PDC, 4-6pm

Culver City:
Ruben Ortiz-Torres and Julio Cesar Morales at LAXART, talk at 6pm and reception 7-9pm

Mid-Wilshire:
A Machine Project Field Guide to LACMA, noon to 10pm
Anne Collier and Mateo Tannatt at Marc Foxx, 6-8pm
Kirsten Everberg and 1301PE, 6-8pm
Davis Rhodes at ACME, 6-8pm

Chinatown:
Kiersten Puusemp at The Box, 6-9pm
Davis Rhodes at Sister, 6-9pm
Krysten Cunningham at Cottage Home, 6-9pm

I'm still not sure I believe it's true...

2008-11-12T20:19:00.001-08:00