Manservant, Bring Me My Wine. Is the Dog's Suitcase Packed and at the Ready?

In the spirit of scientific studies that conclude, yes, bullies select unpopular kids as targets and no, meth is still not good for unborn babies, I'd like to begin by saying that why yes, bra shopping is still atrocious and NO I won't be detailing that. Trying on new fuzzy pajamas helped me get past it. They may or may not have little white dogs sitting expectantly on suitcases. But you're probably already aware of my gear -- tonight's writing feels cozier, doesn't it?  Alas, I don't have too much time to write as I need to be getting to bed.

In any case, thought I'd revisit the last outing to the DIA. I *do* wonder if you're like For heaven's sake, how many times is she going to write about that museum?? But there's always something new that catches my eye. And it's usually part of a larger, wonderful day. To wit: this time around, Compatriot and I met for Indian buffet to start. We should have found hammocks afterward, but blithely thought the chai would kick in. Silly us, it was clearly immediately absorbed by all the rice, naan and curried awesome.

So we arrived drowsy and in need of tea. But what a scene we encountered! We knew it would be busy, being one of the last days of the year, but figured the Rembrandt's envisioning of Jesus would take in most of the crowd. We-heelll, no such luck. Called that one wrong. People: everywhere. Children: everywhere. Sweet little separate expedited members line: mysteriously absent.

We looked around in a confused fashion as we were funneled into the slowly shuffling rope maze. But that's the only time I ever get to go in a separate line! One or both of us said to the other. Airport comparisons murmured their way along the line. I thought of the irritating, officious men who are still, after years, affronted at having to take their shoes off; naturally they are wearing nicely buffed shoes with tightly tied laces. Luckily, no one suspected we would be knifing the art; and we eventually made our way. The crowds really didn't thin out in most galleries, but at least this was more of a niffing-around visit than a visit with intent, so we bopped around until we grew weary from visual stimulation and marble floors.

In between, some discoveries...

Moods of Time: Evening, by Paul Manship

This was my absolute favorite piece this time around. We trudged up one set of stairs and boom! There it was! I can't ever remember seeing it before, but how could this be? I must have exclaimed, because a man walking past with a little folding artist's stool said, looking back over his shoulder, "It's one of my favorites!"

I love the composition with its satisfying arc of movement, the rewarding roundness of the cloud bed, the stylized owls. I had never even heard of Paul Manship.

But apparently my ignorance didn't prevent him from having quite a fine, illustrious life before all of us were born. Imagine that! Born in 1885 in St. Paul Minnesota, his artistic schooling included the Institute of Art there and the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts (my Mom went there! I think. Am pretty sure.)
At 23, he became the youngest sculptor to be awarded the American Prix de Rome, which translated into further study at the American Academy in Rome (1909-1912 ). Even though John Singer Sargent was some 30 years older, they eventually became great friends -- he named his only son after the painter (plus his father). Manship was initially a painter, but decided to explore sculpting, due to color blindness. More artist history here.

This sculpture was one of four Manship created for the 1939 World's Fair, all depicting times of day and erected within a reflecting pool in New York City. According to text on The Pygmalian Syndrome Art Gallery's site,

"Time and the Fates Sundial and the four Moods of Time were in many ways Manship’s favorite works. They summed up his obsession with time. He believed that a major purpose of art, especially of art in the classical tradition, was to reconcile the passage of time with permanence. The monumental groups, which were executed in staff (a plaster of Paris compound) for the world’s fair, have been lost; but the working models of various sizes were done in bronze after the war, and they are among Manship’s most ingenious, complex, and inventive works." [Also at above link].

 You can see black and white photos of the sculptures together in the reflecting pool here.

Wikipediasts tell us that Manship created over 700 works during his lifetime, including busts of Teddy Roosevelt, John D. Rockefeller and Robert Frost; a site for the restoration of a Manship work at the United Nations informs readers that at his very first exhibition, he sold all 96 bronze statues shown.

It would be lovely to view outside, wouldn't it?

Bonus Manships

Group of Bears: Patt Hoffman Friedman Memorial Playground

Dancer and Gazelles, 1917 (not at DIA)

Portrait of a Lady, Nicolaes Pickenoy 1630

And then there was "Portrait of a Lady," just inside the entrance to the Dutch paintings. I don't have much to say about it, because what's left to say about a masterpiece? I always like taking a moment there. It's kind of wrong to even have photos of it, because your camera/photoshop/everyone's monitor can do nothing but mess up the exquisite coloring. Whether it's your thing or not, standing before her, you can almost feel the pulse in the veins of her hands, the chill weight of the jewelry, the restraint and comfort of the opulent stomacher. 

 

...And then there was THIS bastard!

 

Seriously. All he does is sit on his little day bed, eating grapes.

His man servant comes and goes, pouring libations. Very nice posture.

 No acknowledgment. Not that he expects any.

 Amassing all manner of vessels and then tidying up and putting them away.

Whew, I love this feature. One of the great interactive spots that the museum rolled out, in line with its huge overhaul a few years back.

A few more assorted museum snaps here.

Otherwise, I'll end with two other things:

Geishas in the Gift Shop

Remember how the Threeorfour and Five got *really* excited about ice bat and I conveyed through K that he had moved into the gingerbread house? Well, I took it one step further and sent them a postcard, ostensibly from ice bat, about eating candy in the house and watching me draw. Would they believe it? Would they suddenly become sensible and pooh-pooh it? Last night I found out that not only were they totally amazed -- but based on the postcard's front, of a Chihuly sculpture in Japan, they have concluded he has TRAVELED TO JAPAN. I had NO IDEA! Perhaps I'll go back to the gift shop. 
  
The night ended back at Zola's.

La Coloniale was quite nice.

At 7 O'Clock the Cookies Came Alive. And Man, Were They Sticky.

Enjoying a nice bonus day before work starts up again. I got myself out for a middling run around lunchtime -- one of the last times to see the inflatable NASCAR Santa (reindeer buddy swaying in with checkered flag), Harley Santa and 6' motorized snow globe before they are deflated for the season. Strange what a difference one street makes -- only staid light strings over here. But who knows, maybe there's a burning desire for things large and inflatable on my very block -- maybe come Fall there will be vinyl turkeys and puffy shed-sized football helmets for me to gaze at from across the street. I'm clearly tempting fate. Maybe *I'll* get kidnapped, have my personality altered and *I* will be the one doing this, complaining about money spent on my lawn decorations, but finishing with, "It's all in good fun, it's all worth it! Why not have fun when you can, that's what I always say~~" Clearly 2012 is a wild card.  

Otherwise, I mainly puttered/mooned about until it was time for K, Threeorfour and Five to come over for the gingerbread house decorating gig. They arrived in a bustling flurry, in surprisingly nice velvet dresses, given the massive amounts of gooey frosting on stand-by. K sighed, explained there was a suddenly necessary family portrait appointment and said she wasn't worrying about the clothes. We got down to it. Meant to take snaps, but was having fun just watching.

As you can tell, the concept of icing as a thin fixative layer lacked popularity. Free-form was valued over patterning and more-is-better prevailed throughout the afternoon, down to Five alternately burying a "girl cookie" (the most favored cookie shape, also referred to as a "sweetie" by both girls) under an inch of royal icing and sucking on the icing gun tip herself, as she slowly depressed more into her mouth. K valiantly tried to keep such things from happening. But really, ugly sugar crashes were penned in from the get-go.

 

Even after the candy roof tiles had been affixed, the sugar storm did not relent. It's a wonder no roofs caved in.

Midway in, Five announced with some urgency that we had better put these cookies in the oven before they came alive and ran away.

"Mmm, these aren't raw -- they have already been baked, I don't think they're going to come alive."

"But there was a gingerbread man and he came alive because they didn't bake him fast enough~~"

"I have made these before and they have never come alive, I think we're good~~"

"But they could, it could happen~"

"...run away" intoned Threeorfour.

I changed tactics: "Well, there are four of us, I bet we could stop him."

She cocked her head. "There weren't FOUR...but no one could catch him. Except the fox! The fox could!~"

"Foxes are good at that, they're fast," I agreed. Attention shifted. More sweeties, a couple trees, reindeer and an elephant* were likewise slathered and festooned. Between the slathering and licking and spooning, the icing was rapidly diminishing. The adults suggested that if there were less on the current cookies, more cookies could also be decorated. This was largely dismissed. "You'll need to go to the STORE to get MORE," Threeorfour decided. I issued a counter-dismissal.

Sweetie GHoST cookie! Scaring all the other cookies on the plate! Wooooooooooooooo!

*my favorite cookie cutter. Don't little elephants always make it better?

We all petered out roughly at the same time. Well not really true: the kids were pogo-ing with frenetic energy. But they accepted the end of the gingerbread time with grace, or ready distraction. They wandered about my living room, asking to see things. Wind up ice bat became the next star. They raced him across the coffee table (though not against anything else), shouting frantically at him: "Go, Sweetie! Go Daddy, you CAN DO IT! oh-no-he's-going-to-go-off-a-cliff!!! Go honey!!!!"

"Come to our house and play with us. You never well you sometimes but not a lot, when will you come over?" Threeorfour peers into my face.

"And bring him," says Five, pointing to ice bat. "Remember to bring him."

He took up residence shortly after they left. 

 

...And on a More Artful and Infinitely Tastier Note

 Heartfelt thanks to Cookie Santa! 

What a lovely, lovely package to receive.

Impressive in their dainty beauty and variety!

Gloater/Bemoaner, Hard Sells and Phoenixes

Hooooooooooooweee!! A calm weekend that wound up feeling like a whirlwind. Perhaps I missed out by not lazing and soaking up the leisure, as it were, but man! Many more of my little ducks are in a row. They'll probably become stragglers as the week progresses, alarm me by blithely toddling into rush hour and become suddenly, curiously deaf to my entreaties, but as it stands this Sunday evening, they are primly lined up. They seem well behaved and hopefully not willful. So. Did a bit of freelance, organized the framed prints for Gifts of Art, caught up with all family members and even had tea with a good neighbor-friend (a MONTH of walking pneumonia, people count your health blessings.). I made that Island Pork from Gourmet around lunchtime today and while it could have been spicier, the flavor was sooooo warm and robust. It would appear that someone licked the remaining sauce from the plate. 

Yesterday mid-day I got hella restless and decided to see what Ginger was up to. Happily, he was game for an outing and we dropped into Vault of Midnight for their 826 Michigan benefit Covers -- local artists redoing book covers from loved books. While that was in the basement, we started in the store proper, as Ginger is all about the comics/urban vinyl/graphic novels. It's more his thing than mine, but there's always enough visual stimuli for me there. Plus this time, there was a wind-up ice bat, which cracked me up. And suddenly, mixed into the music, the following chorus could be heard:

Mistadobalina Mr. Bob Dobalina
Mistadobalina Mr. Bob Dobalina
Mistadobalina Mr. Bob Dobalina

I sought out G; his head also whipped around: we nodded at eachother, mouthing the chorus. Hah! How funny ! And great! Who even did this? Um, Del the Funkee Homosapien, apparently. I would never have remembered this. Yet again, thanks, Google, you're my trivia(l) savior! In any case, I challenge you not to find it catchy. So that was a pip. And it turns out the larger mix, called The Hard Sell, was a collaboration between DJ Shadow (who I've liked in the past) and Cut Chemist. I may have to snag that, am getting bored with my music these days...

The benefit itself featured a nice collection of work, attended by a fair-to-middling crowd. It's possible (and hopeful, being a fundraiser) that it heated it up after we left. Poster designer extraordinaire Jeremy Wheeler, who's usually a party in a box, was only just arriving when we left. C. Jason Pasquale's reinterpretations of "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "Of Mice and Men" made me happy -- always love his cartooning and wit.


I was also drawn to a collage piece by Morgan Daniels, done on a rough slab of wood; her chosen book was Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower. I must confess I haven't read that one, but I liked her statement about it and the quote she used from the book (from a religious text within the book, "In order to rise/From its own ashes/A phoenix/First/Must/Burn.") She wrote the quote on a couple strips of birch bark, which she then tacked to the painted surface. These strips deliver a spot of light within an otherwise dark surface. Simple cut-outs of (charcoal smudged) house forms reside at the lower edge of the picture, on top of splashes of dark red, alluding to fires within the book. Nicely done! I wound up picking this up. And special bonus -- it was her first art sale! So, she was excited. How lovely to be a part of that, it's so validating. It can be too validating, certainly. But still! 
   

Well, hmm. You can barely see it. Over to the left.

Well, that's not much better. Trust me, it's cool.

 After that, we were off to Corner Brewery, to donate some canned goods to FoodGathers/Free Masons and to taunt each other over the Othello board.

Smack talk, even in the packaging.

ice bat, at attention before the first play

The first game goes abysmally. From the get-go, he's beating me and as it progresses (if you can call it that), I don't understand how it has been so unrelentingly unfortunate. I damn myself at every play. He gets one corner, then two. Then all. Horrid. It's possible I'm a bigger gloater than he is -- and I'm also a bemoaner, when the chips are down. Noisy at either end, I guess. He's nice enough that he's tossing encouraging words my way: "It could turn on a dime! You know that!"

And then it does. Weirdly, I win.

Neither of us really understand how that happened. We re-match, and woohoo, I wrack up another victory. Perhaps it's the breakfast stout. Perhaps it's the ice bat. So hoppy, with his flipflops.


And so, that's that. Or mostly it. I was hit with an attack of crabbiness and WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN ANYWAY this afternoon, before I came to my senses enough to sit on my deck. I listened to the geese honking overhead on their trek South, random barking of our various neighborhood dogs and the hollow plunk of a plastic bat against a wiffle ball. How does this make it all better? But it does, somehow. Time outside is like a reset button. And so readily accessible.

Happy Sunday night and a fine good morning to All!