Some Old Drawings.

This embedded slideshow thing is new for me. Fun!

The drawings are 52 illustrations for a long poem I did in 1994, entitled Stories Inside a Crawling Skin. I published it at home in an edition of 52 (or was it 50)? signed copies. I'm proud of both the drawings and the poems, even though my work has evolved a bit since then. What I miss is the artmaking energy I had. I still have the research and inquiry and obsession thing pretty strongly, but I don't stay up all night drawing any more. I sleep instead! Gave up drawing for dreaming.

When Road is Paved with Gold / When Road is Just a Road

This conversation between Jonathan Lethem and Patti Smith is a real treat. Watch as they discuss paving the way for the next generation; the "adolescent quarantine" of coolness and learning to broaden the scope; building a writer's discipline while raising a family; collecting powerful objects and taking care of them during one's lifetime; walking with Walt Whitman. Plus a song by Patti, a tribute to William Blake and his years of working in obscurity. Gives me the gumption to get my ass to work. The interview is a great complement to the writings of each, particularly Smith's recent memoir, JUST KIDS.

Introducing a Fiber Artist from Japan

Fiber artist Angus Barr (and Cute Overload) introduced me to the work of this creative feline from Japan. We are jealous!

Here she makes her own "chou chou." She's really good with scissors and an iron.



Here she makes her own grocery bag out of regular bandanas.



Angus tells me rule #1 of fiber art is to document the process. Process is as important as result! Glad we are not alone in this feeling.

One More Thing: Go Reverend Billy!

One more thing before I go away. I am moved to tears when I hear the first amendment aloud, as preached by Reverend Billy. It is poetry.

So some cops don't like hearing it in Union Square. So Scooter doesn't go to jail, and Billy is kept overnight. It's clear to me where the people stand. Behind Billy.

My favorite part of this clip: the recitation of the amendment doesn't end when Billy goes into the NYPD van.

The night in jail may have been hell, but I was glad to see him on the front page of my Metro paper on the subway this morning, putting the odd back in God.

Big Art (and I Mean That Literally)

I've been looking at some Big Art lately. Or, maybe "looking" is the wrong word. More like walking through. As they said in my undergraduate sculpture program, “If you can’t make it good, make it big. If you can’t make it big, make a lot of ‘em.” It’s been a week of big and good, if art that makes you gasp qualifies as good.

First, if you are in NY any time soon, see the Richard Serra show. Yes, it is a little scary. All but about five of the pieces could easily crush a person flat, and they feel like they are about to topple. I’m surprised the new MOMA building can stay standing under all the weight. But the rusty patinas are gorgeous. The interiors are echoey and evoke many feelings besides fear—some reminded me of walking through canyon washes in the Anza Borrego desert. Others felt sheltery, like forts I built as a kid, out of sheets and furniture. (Only way, way, heavier.)

It helped that my husband and I were able to go to a “private” viewing (one of the perks of working in finance) in which most of the attendees were clustered around the free drinks. We ignored the drinks and spent nearly two hours with the Serra pieces, having them mostly to ourselves. I discovered, as my husband parked inside each and looked (he is known to sit and look at ONE PAINTING for a full hour…) that walking the perimeter of each of the big steel walls was the best way for me to get a feel of the spaces. Like walking a labyrinth for meditation. The edge of the walls took me inside and out of the structures, and the walls bent and curved over my head, flowing in and out like massive breath as I moved around them.

Feeling like art adventurers after the MOMA experience, we decided to drive up to Dia: Beacon on Sunday. My husband fell in love with the Donald Judd pieces, painstakingly-crafted plywood boxes. I felt a surge of feeling on the messier stuff, especially Joseph Beuys’ stacks of felt and copper, and his hat hanging on the wall. And both of us (separately—again, I walked off and left him with Agnes Martin) lost our shit over the Michael Heizer holes in the floor. Perfect, geometric steel holes in the cement. Like the anti-Serra. Worth the price of admission just for the Heizer. Also worth the admission to see big galleries devoted to big art, with lots of natural light coming in from above.

Interesting how my husband likes to stand still to look at art, and I like to keep my feet moving. I never named it before, but that’s what seems to happen. (I majored sculpture and intermedia/performance in school, and he majored in printmaking and painting. Relevant?) Anyhoo, all forms of art appreciation are legit, and I’m glad we have a system for consuming a museum. It works for us in our foreign travels too. We meet up in the cafeteria, or something.

We didn’t see the whole museum, had to come home and spring the puppy, and were a tad paranoid about Gay Pride traffic. Turns out we had no trouble getting through Manhattan, and the dog’s bladder was spared (and our floor). I only wish the cats were as disciplined.

I Will Always Love

This bear head found me on the sidewalk in the East Village a couple weeks ago.



Here's the back.

Fell In Love With A Garden This Evening

I was taking a research walk in and around Bellevue Hospital today for scenes in my novel, and happened across a treasure, the Bellevue Sobriety Garden. I had no idea it was there! Nested between a parking lot and the FDR freeway, it's an inspiring example of ingenuity, resourcefulness, and eclectic garden design. Meandering paths and raised beds, all made out of seemingly salvaged/recycled architectural bits, marble chunks, broken ceramic tiles and plates, cement pigs (and other fauna), and very healthy, well-loved plants. If you are ever in the area, visiting one of the hospitals or just wandering through, I urge you to check it out. I had no idea it was maintained by patients, which only makes me love it more. More proof that taking care of gardens is a good way to take care of yourself, too.

The garden was recently at risk of being paved over for parking, but efforts of the community saved it, according to their website.

I'm in love with New York, this week anyway.

Art That Takes My Breath Away

Such a cliche. But I'm feeling susceptible to other peoples' art and I can't stop blogging about it. Maybe I should follow the lead of (my non-relative) Stephen Elliott who took an internet fast for one month. He learned it helps lengthen the attention span. Might be worth the experiment. If I go on the wagon, I'll warn you. It convinced him to give up blogging entirely.

Anyhoo, in keeping with my "All For the Best" post, I found myself sighing over a picture in the newspaper today of a volunteer who got Adrian Piper's "EVERYTHING WILL BE TAKEN AWAY" hennaed onto his forehead, backwards, so he can read it in the mirror. My colleague at work found it depressing. I suppose it is. But it also, curiously, lightens the load. I pinned the photo up over my desk at work.

Walking through Madison Square Park yesterday evening, I stopped in my tracks to look at the new site-specific work by sculptor Roxy Paine. His stainless steel denuded trees, gleaming in the fading sunlight, interacting with the newly-budding real trees around them--I had to take time to take them in. You can get close to one of them, which already has dog pee making a patina near the base. I'm so jealous. And grateful I got to see it in person. This is what sculpture is supposed to do. I haven't been floored by formalism like this in awhile. If you are in the area, don't miss this stuff. I don't think it's a permanent exhibition. (And you carnivores can eat one of the city's best burgers at the Shack while you're there.)

If you're a Wagner fan (which I am, despite his politics), check out The Tristan Mysteries, Lincoln Center's latest. The video clips here are worth a look. Hold your breath. Sigh.

And if you need to take your breath away with a belly laugh, check out pics of a bear reading Tao Lin's work, courtesy of 3AM magazine. Thank you, Mr. Bear. I only wish I had been there to hear him read.