And, Do We.

Spent some more time downtown today, looking at art. And looking at "art."

When I got home, I decided to make a little of my own. Anyone care to guess what we have here?

Either way, I'll write about it tomorrow. ;)

A Little Fanfare.

Last week at about this time I was jumping out of my seat at the Fanfare Ciocarlia show at the Michael Schimmel Center for the Arts at Pace University. Dancing. Stomping. Shimmying. Etc. I'm thrilled that I found video from the show and that this one even includes a few dancers who were brought up on stage. I can't say more about it than this footage can. Enjoy!

The song is called Iag Bari, translated as "The Big Longing."
The lyrics are sad, which you would never get from the performance.

West Meets East.

I did make it to the Rubin museum while I was in New York, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip. The first several floors were filled with scroll paintings, figures, and objects from the Himalayan region, including Tibet, Nepal, and Bhutan, and featuring Bodhisattvas, deities, and even a Tibetan Shrine Room where no photos were allowed, but a nice one is shown in this article.

Bodhisattva. Tibet. 12th century.

Green Tara. Tibet. 13th century

The highlight of highlights ended up being on the fifth floor, where the exhibit space departed from ancient times and entered the 20th century. The Approaching Abstraction Exhibit contained an eye-opening selection of modernist art from India. Eye-opening in that I did not know any of it existed!

Red Pot by Shanti Dave. 1962.

Untitled work by Ram Kumar. 1974.

Best yet was a 15-minute film from 1969-70 by Tyeb Mehta called Koodal. A mix of ritual, observation, and visual commentary, it reminded me of an early Baraka. I took a few shots, shown here:

Then found out after a hearty scolding that this was the one floor (besides the shrine room) where I was not allowed to take photos. Oops. Glad I found that out as I was leaving!

Koi, Are You Glad to See Me.

I took this photo at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden.

I did it stealthily, but as I did, I wondered if I should. I wondered if it was considered disrespectful to do so. And yet, I knew in my heart that I took it out of interest and reverence for their moment of peace; not to exploit them or treat them like a spectacle.

They gazed into the Koi pond for quite some time. I toured the entire garden, and when I returned to that spot, they were still there. Hardly moved.

I found a little bit of information on Hasidic Meditation, but it seems much more complex than this article can explain. And I am still only assuming that it was a contemplative state they were in.

Worth Spreading.

A friend and coworker recently sent me a couple of TED videos to watch. I shared one earlier today, and if you didn't see or watch it then, I hope you will now. It's an extraordinary story and informative as well. Watch it. It is powerful.

The other is by the author of Eat, Pray, Love: a book that I have mixed feelings about, but that came to me at a time when I was ready for some traveling of the mind. She talks about it here, but, more importantly, she talks about what it means to be a creative person and how our collisions with success differ from those who take the road more trod upon. It's all good stuff, and I am fortunate that I have friends who care about such things. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Here is the Elizabeth Gilbert video:

There’s No Place Like Home.

Visiting New York City has somehow made it in to my annual expectations, and if too many months have passed and I haven’t been yet, I will invent a good reason to make it happen before the year is up. Last year it was a creative writing class, two years ago it was a work-related conference, the year before that it was a sisters’ getaway, and this year it was a concert I was unlikely to see anywhere closer to home.

I long to be there and feel a void if I can’t reconnect with it on a regular basis. Is that strange? Maybe. But if I could try to explain/understand it, I think I’ve felt that it satisfies what I am missing in my own City: energy, culture, weirdness, adventure, surprises—a sense of happening.

But then something actually did happen the other day. It was the Thursday before I left on my trip. I went downtown to take in some ArtPrize exhibits and found myself in a place that resembled a metropolis. There was heavy traffic on the streets, pedestrians crawling the sidewalks (and jaywalking, even!), and pop-up artwork in storefronts, parking lots, and grassy plots all over town. (A tiny fraction of this shown below...)

"Raising Awareness," a performance piece to educate the audience about metalsmithing.

"Allegory of the Cave," inspired by Plato's Republic.

"Disposable Game." Creative, interesting, and artfully-made. Really nice work. 

The eccentrics emerged. Starving musicians played. School kids danced in an impromptu choreography. My City became for that day and will continue to be for these next couple of weeks the City I need it to be. And if this keeps up, I won’t need to go looking for my heart’s desire any further than my own back yard. (Yeah, that’s a sentimental Wizard of Oz reference.)

Across the Universe.

Yesterday, I spent most of my day at the Brooklyn Museum, where by far my favorite exhibit was "Connecting Cultures." It's explained well in this poster, which I photographed because I didn't trust my memory to translate it to my weary listeners (but I actually did a pretty good job of it late last night with my mother-in-law and hubs.)

What a wonderful idea! Truly a microcosm of our cosm. (<not a word). Works from every century, every genre, every continent--all in one place. Congregating in harmony were:

From the Yup'ik Eskimos of Western Alaska:

Mask of the Valley Ptarmigan

An exact replica of Edward Ruscha's Records (by Eric Doeringer).

One of Nick Cave's Soundsuits:

Not my photo, but better than mine turned out.

From the Gazelle Peninsula of Papua New Guinea:
 

Kavat Mask

A video recording of Merce Cunningham in Merce by Merce by Paik.

And from the Qing Dynasty:

Gilt Figure of Marichi

 

Traveling Light.

I'm back home, but definitely not without some hoopla. At LaGuardia, I lost a pre-determined losing argument about whether the carry-on bag that I've carried on no less than eight previous trips was going to be carried on this time. Surprise! It wasn't.

While I was in the snack store with a bottled water and a dubiously-titled bag of Smart Fries, my name was called over the intercom. For a brief moment I actually thought, sadly, that they had given my luggage a second chance and we were about to be reunited. We weren't.

But, I did get offered a spot on the direct flight to Grand Rapids, which was leaving RIGHT NOW and would get me home an hour and a half early. Of course I took it, since they promised my luggage would go with me. (Guess what? It didn't!)

I didn't know that yet as I did an O.J. Simpson to my new gate, which, to clarify, was not committing a double murder along the way.

I dashed and leaped, much more sprightly than I knew I had in me, until I ran into a courtesy driver whom I begged to take me to my gate. I hopped on and he reversed, turned around, and drove forward about 15 feet to my gate. (Oh.)

The flight was uneventful, for a nice change of pace, and I had the pleasure of viewing the sunset (which looks really weird when it's above the clouds) for the duration of the trip. It was a bit like a painting in that it was a sunset, rather than a sun setting. It never changed or dipped below the clouds; the sky just got darker.

I took some pics that I'd love to post, but my camera cable is in my suitcase (along with my laptop, argghh), and who knows where the hell that is right now. In the mean time I'll try to channel some of this serenity...

Taken at the Rubin Museum in NYC (on my iPhone).

Planes, Trains, & Puddles.

Today, I totally dominated the subway system and was so on my game I even helped out a fellow traveler. Damn!

I can't take all (any) of the credit, though. That goes to an app & site I found called HopStop. Thanks to step by step instructions, I stepped out of my comfort zone known as the A C E and ventured on to Q, 4, N, 1, & 2.

Therefore, I am exhausted. And also soaked to the bone after getting stuck in a downpour halfway back, on foot, from the Fanfare Ciocărlia show. Which was spectacular, by the way.

Earlier, when I was opaque.

Later. Oh, what a world! What a world!

Good thing I stocked up on bath bombs at Lush...

There is more to tell from this day, but I will save it & say goodnight. Goodnight!

Room with an Oooh...

The first time I visited New York City, I was nothing less than alarmed by the size of my hotel room. Though my company had paid for it, I knew how much it cost, and so I stood in the doorway puzzled for several minutes looking for the handle that would let me out of the closet and into my actual room.

Once I let go of the disappointment of opening my window to a view of a brick wall on all sides and the pain of bashing my knees on the shower wall every time I sat on the toilet, I came to accept that this was it. After all, if you're in New York City, you aren't spending any time in your room anyway, I reasoned.

I let that first experience feed my expectations for all of my subsequent trips, and never winced again.

Then today happened. When I checked in, the concierge offered to upgrade me to a better room for a fee, and even though it sounded lovely, I declined it, keeping in mind my earlier rationale. Then, what seemed to be on a whim, he upgraded me for free. (Methinks the room was mine all along because it was what all that was available and I kind of unwittingly played hardball. Nice.)

When I stepped into this room, I knew I was spoiled (by this City's standards, anyway) forever. I can lie in bed and not simultaneously touch the walls on either side.

It has a bathtub and spa-style shower with seating. I'm standing on said seating for this shot:

Can you see in the background two--two!--chairs?

The toilet is in a different room. Its own room. And I can pace, if I need to, more than four steps without having to turn around. 

This is really an ordinary hotel room, but because it is here, it feels like luxury. And because of that I feel a little like a princess today.

Tomorrow is another day...

My posts have been sucking lately. I know it much more than everyone else. I am hoping that changes over the weekend when I have some free time and some free thought while I vacation (short-term) in Manhattan. Until then, there's this. Nothing. Oh Crap. This is nothing... 

It's getting it, that's complicated.

Driving to work today, I dug around my car for something, anything to listen to that I haven't heard a hundred times. I surfaced with Royksopp's Junior, which I have actually heard closer to about a thousand times, but because it is perfect, I don't mind. From the first note of Happy Up Here:

to the last beat of It's What I Want, I know every word, every crescendo, and every pause.
 

An Even Exchange.

I'm headed to NYC in a few days and excited that my Detroit Institute of Arts Reciprocal Membership buys me free admission to a several galleries off the standard grid. I'll be checking out the Rubin Museum of Art and The Studio Museum Harlem for sure. I'll report back...    

But for Want of a Nutcracker.

On my last day in Budapest a year ago last May, I walked (a bit longer than I'd calculated) all the way to Heroes' Square from where the river taxi dropped me at the shore of the Danube underneath Margaret Bridge.

The highlight of my day was the lone exhibit at the Hall of Art: Michaël Borremans' Eating the Beard.

You can see much of that work here.

I wasn't allowed to photograph any of the art, but there was this wonderful old projector in a stark corner that I was allowed every angle of.

 

My walk back to the River's edge seemed twice as long, except for the occasional curiosity, like the somehow slightly classier than its American equivalent "One Euro Market" and this:

There's a story behind these abandoned walnuts. I think. 

Spice Is the Variety of Life.

I’ll confess that I don’t have a very sophisticated palate. I’d rather suck on someone’s toes than eat goat cheese; take a big sniff of an old pair of underwear than taste prosciutto; or sample a cat treat than eat paté.

I love adventurous flavors and spices, but my preference is more toward the obvious and less the subtle. Pizza & beer (though both local and craft), steak & succotash, vindaloo & naan hit my table with some regularity. And tacos. As provincial as that may sound.

But at least I try to make them the best they can be, with super-lean ground beef, skillet fried soft tortillas if I’m feeling nasty, and this recipe for seasoning that, like me, I hope will make you never go back to a packet.

I add Aleppo pepper, because that’s what I do. And sometimes smoked cumin and half chipotle chili powder to give it a little extra...something.

A Rose by Any Other Name...

I'm relaxing on a king bed at an inn in the fair city of Montague, Michigan. The in-room jacuzzi faces White Lake and the coming sunset, as well as a few rowdy boaters.

I'm testing my first run of the Blogger mobile app and hoping this cool pic I just took out by the marshes (check the upper left corner) comes through like I want it to.

X

Tiny desk, big sounds.

Every so often I have to remember to check in with NPR Music's Tiny Desk Concert series. After all, I discovered Kishi Bashi there:

And Canadian Brass:

And, very recently, Avi Avitel, whose video you'll need to watch from this link, because it is not on youtube yet. I did mean it when I said need to, by the way.

The Modern Mix Tape.

At least a year ago, a former co-worker turned me on to a music site called 8tracks. Different than Pandora or Spotify, it's less about discovering what you might like via association and more about discovering what others like and then discovering that you like it, too. Or something like that. 

Much like the carefully crafted cassette mix tape that you (if you were of that era) made for your friends or yourself, the mixes are personal and hand-arranged by real people who have a love not only of the songs featured, but also the way they work together.

I've made only three of my own mixes, but I am simultaneously working on my fourth and fifth. The finished ones are here, on my profile. Listen and love. Or find someone else's mixes you love.

Work It.

I should probably file this under "you had to be there," but maybe some of you can relate by being there in your own world.

This Advertising Life is a collection of selected clips that exemplify what it means to work in the advertising and/or marketing industry. We see their pain, we feel their pain, and we live it. When we're really feeling it, we go here to laugh at it.

This is one of my favorites. This one is right on, too. If you're a really clever copywriter, that is.

Carry on, now.  

Talk Nerdy to Me.

I'll confess that I've still never made any of her concoctions, but The Cuisinerd has, at least, my visual attention. Exceptional design and layouts make me want to love everything she does, even if it involves squid ink. Check her out!

I Am SO Sure!

If your one reference point for Frank Zappa is 1982's Valley Girl, then you might just shrug him off your shoulders like an ugly sweater.

Though I do like to wrap myself in a weave of weird, I don't know that even I would have lent Frank my eardrums had Ben not insisted that I listen and listen good.

At this point, I am typing and deleting flattering words that attempt to describe his work, his influence, and his profound talent and innovation. They just aren't hitting it because it's all pretty much indescribable.

But this wiki article helps detail the milestones of his groundbreaking career.

This clip begins to reveal his divergent stance on free speech:

 

And this video, well, you should probably just give it a watch:

BB on Cue.

I had to go in to work today, so my easy dinner fix was my favorite pulled pork recipe.

I've simplified it a great deal from its original form, but I still use almost all of the ingredients. I start with a pork loin cut into 3" lengths and roll each piece in the rub. I put all of them into a dutch oven and pour the mop into the center of the dish (reduced to about a quarter of the recipe and usually minus the oil) and bake at 300° until tender. 

Once it's cooled I shred it, after which it becomes anything I want it to be. Kettle chip nachos, three-bean chili, BBQ quesadillas with caramelized onions...

Mo' Hawk!

Thanks to an old college friend (not saying she's old, but the years between then and now are long), I've been turned on to Humans of New York (HONY). Always something stimulating to turn my eyes on.  (Follow it on FB for more, more, more...)

Don't think I won't try to put myself in front of his lens when I'm there a few weeks from now. I will. If I get the chance, that is.

Meanwhile, our night out in downtown Grand Rapids at the Hispanic Festival did lend to some HOGR moments. This guy was more than happy to give me a pose, once I returned a smile. Attention is what he wanted, anyway.

Enormous, Gargantuan, Humongous...

Colossal? One of my newest discoveries is This is Colossal. A visual extravaganza. An idea bazaar. A creative detonation. Love it. Check it out. 

Oh, Dear.

I don’t normally enjoy the deprecation or misfortune of others (OK, maybe there’s a little freude in my schaden), but the Dear Coquette blog transcends criticism and gets to the heart of the impracticality of our most absurd emotional and intellectual moments.

In this age of PhotoShopped models and fabricated homework assignments of especially precocious elementary school kids, it is always smart to wonder if it’s real.

Nevertheless, her blog is entertaining and thought-provoking. It’s easy to get sucked in, for sure. Give her a read…and don’t forget to stop reading and go to bed. ;)

Strange, Indeed.

At work, we use the expression: pulling too many levers. When we’re testing the performance of a print or web piece, if we factor in too many variables, we’ll never know which is the one that’s making it sing (or suck, which is sometimes the case). This makes wonderful sense. 

When you’re desperate, however, there’s an urge to pull every lever maniacally and repeatedly. I’m at this stage with the state of my physical well-being. I have a strong suspicion that what is plaguing me is related to stress. So, even though I love writing for this blog, and feel the benefits of daily writing, I need to lessen the anxiety of the daily obligation, at least for long enough to see if it’s part of what’s going on. 

I’ll keep posting, but for the next several days I’m going to let other works lift the barbells. Today, it’s a story that I didn’t hear live on Morning Edition, but heard advertised and then tuned into it later. 

Read or listen here the fascinating story behind the song Strange Fruit (Really, please check it out. I was so moved by it.) And also a rare video:

Not Cool.

Usually when you see a girl jumping up and down loudly expressing her disapproval of the situation, she is in the cereal aisle, she is not getting a box sugar-coated, uniformly-puffed deliciousness, and she is accompanied by her mommy.

None of these describe my surroundings this morning, yet my heels did leave the linoleum while my mouth erupted in a lava of less than loving language. It might have looked like a temper tantrum, but it was actually a fairly sane response to fairly unreasonable circumstances.

I’m not even embarrassed by it. Because I think I was actually the most grounded person in the room—even if was, at times, a few inches off the floor.

That was my day. How was yours?

The Brass Menagerie.

A bit belatedly, I realized that in my post from Saturday, I may have suggested that I am the fairer partner in our marriage union. Not so. We each pulled the same-sized straw. While he does set our table with some mystifying preferences, so do I.

I may have forgotten to mention that I went through a period from about 1996-2001 during which the entire Ultra Lounge Series was the only item on the menu: Yma Sumac, Martin Denny, Les Baxter, Joao Gilberto, Stan Getz, Julie London, and Sergio Mendes…just to give you an idea. So Nice was our wedding song, and we even took dance lessons so we could properly swing it.

  
I do seem to have phases, and a few more oddities passed our ears before settling on the current, which is about 1:1 arabic belly dance grooves and high energy gypsy horns. In both cases, the better to shake it.

For me. For Ben, I suspect he wishes I would please shake the addiction.

The Arabian beats are so entwined with my dancing that there is little to explain. The Gypsy brass bands are just a progression of that sound that unexpectedly pitched a tent in my consciousness.

Once, during a road trip to our friends' wedding, this song was playing at the precise time that we were so lost that we actually missed the ceremony. Ben claimed it sounded like music in the waiting room of hell.

The good new is that, like Witchcraft and others for me, Ben has also found a sound from my collection that doesn't feel like aural water boarding. Meet LaBrassBanda:

Autobahn is actually their killer song, but this one has more visual energy. Enjoy!

(I hope.)

The Green Light.

You know that re-circulate button on your car’s dash? I’m starting to suspect that I have an internal one that is stuck on. Whatever this pestilent sludge is that is pumping through my blood stream, it refuses to be expelled, leaving me repeatedly weak and sickly.

Last week, probably because she was tired of looking at my pale, sweaty visage, my boss recommended that I go to the local juice bar and order a Dr. Feelgood—a blend of greens and things that claims to be a serum of fortitude. It had worked for her a month earlier, and we both crossed fingers that I would get the same result. And, I actually did.

Now, I know that my sudden turnaround could have been entirely psychosomatic, but so what? If a little trickery is all it takes to shake the disease, who am I to argue?

Let’s guess that it’s a little from Column A and a little from Column B, though. I’m enough of a believer either way to recreate it at home with my juicer. (you will also need a juicer, by the way)

I watched them make it, so I know the ingredients. But, I have to say, it was a bit on the ewww side, so I tried to improve it without de-powering its magic.

Here’s what you need:
      
4 whole stalks of kale
3 ribs of celery, halved
2 medium pickling cucumbers, halved
2 small apples, quartered (no need to peel or core)
1 nectarine, quartered and pitted
A handful of green beans, stems and ends removed
One 1½” piece of ginger, peeled
1 oz. of aloe vera gel, the dietary supplement kind (optional)

It all looks so lovely. How bad could it be?

Here's what to do:

Easy! It all goes into the juicer a little at a time (though I just mixed in the aloe at the end). Follow the instructions for your juicer and you’re good. 

This yields about 16 oz. My additions were the green beans, nectarine, and aloe gel. I added the nectarine because I had one on hand and I thought it would improve the flavor. It did. Next time I would double the ginger. I barely tasted it in mine, but it was what made a drinking a giant glass of green fluid possible the first time around. 

Cheers to your health!

Maybe My Horses Are a Little Bit High.

Things happen in my house that I never would have imagined. Out of my control, movies like Piranhaconda and Sharktopus are up on the screen before I can say, “Nooooooo…!”

My husband and I appreciate one another because we bring to our daily feast a mouthful of unfamiliar flavors. For him that is jazz, unexpected cuisine, and more exposure to fashion than most testosterone can absorb. For me, that is alien conspiracies, colossal toads, and doom metal.

From a music perspective, there is little I can appreciate. I find much of it more dark, heavy, and, at times, more dismal and depressing than I can bear. How interesting that one can feel so much joy from sounds that come from what seems to be such a gloomy place. Huh.

But there is more. Outside of the doom, there are bands that Ben has introduced me to that arouse in me not only approval, but, occasionally, even a head bang or two. Witchcraft from Sweden is one of them.

Well, I think they are paying one hell of an homage to Black Sabbath, but thank goodness someone is.