scribbles @ griffonage studios

2010-08-25T13:32:00.000-07:00

Humor may be defined as the kindly contemplation of the incongruities of life, and the artistic expression thereof.
~Stephen Leacock, economist and humorist (1869-1944)

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2010-01-09T16:14:00.000-08:00

Who will consider that no dictionary of a living tongue ever can be perfect, since, while it is hastening to publication, some words are budding, and some falling away; that a whole life cannot be spent upon syntax and etymology, and that even a whole life would not be sufficient; that he, whose design includes whatever language can express, must often speak of what he does not understand.

~Samuel Johnson, lexicographer (1709-1784)

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2009-09-19T11:22:00.000-07:00

Favorite Art, Favorite Artist

Back in the day, we used reel to reel recorders.
We studied the concept, the essence of time.
We valued simple gestures, the authentic actions.
Language was a fascination.
The craft was complicated, unknown, not instantaneous.
Back in the day.
What is art now?
We watch, we comment.
We do not know.

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2009-09-11T12:25:00.000-07:00

La Soupe de Velours Vert for Plurk
(Leek Soup)
A blended vegetable soup whenever the main ingredient ‘les poireaux’ (leeks) are in season. An elixir full of vitamins and minerals, and some “oligo-elements”. A favorite recipe (origin unclear) that I put together for the plurkfood web site way back when. It was never posted there, so I am sharing it with folks via the scribbles blog.

Green Velvet Soup was a purifier, in the French repertoire of home remedies. Eating these “oligo-elements” helps to detoxify the liver so one will not suffer from ‘mal au foie’ or even worse, the ‘crise de foie’.

According to Mireille Guiliano, author of French Women Don’t Get Fat, leek soup is what French women eat/drink/live on when they want to shed the extra pound or two. The magical Leek Soup is, in her estimation, the Spartan alternative to overeating and for ‘recapturing your equilibrium from time to time’.

La Soupe de Velours Vert (Green Velvet Soup), so named for its creamy green appearance after it has been blended with a “robot Marie” (a hand held mixer) or in a blender. Cooking this soup in the pressure cooker helps maintain its high level of vitamins, minerals and those elusive ‘oglio-elements’. In case you don’t have a pressure cooker, though, I will tell you how to make it stovetop just the same.

Shopping List:
1. Leeks, about 1 kg (2 pounds)
2. Zucchini, or yellow summer squash (3-4 small ones, or a larger one w/o the pulp section)
3. Carrots, two or three nice orange ones
4. Potatoes, a couple of small ones
5. Tomatoes, four medium-sized
6. Spices: Herbes de Provence, sea salt (about 1 Tbsp), fresh ground pepper, bay leaf
7. Alternate spice mix might be a nice Italian Seasoning, like what is most readily available in the stores.

(Add most any vegetable to this soup, or any left over veggie. I have in the past added spinach, sometimes green cabbage, chunks of winter squash, green bell peppers, and sweet onions).

Herbes de Provence
(Dean and DeLuca has it…or in case you can use a prepared mix from the store):

* 3 tablespoons oregano leaves
* 3 tablespoons of marjoram leaves
* 3 tablespoons thyme leaves
* 1 teaspoon basil leaves
* 1 teaspoon sage leaf
* 3 tablespoons savory
* 2 tablespoons lavender flowers
* 1 teaspoon rosemary

Combine and mix well. Store the mixture in a small airtight jar in cool location.

Soup Preparation - Short Version:
Clean all vegetables well, throw in to pot and cook until tender; blend; and, serve.

Soup Preparation - Long Version:
Start by cleaning and rinsing the leeks well.
Leeks are a strange vegetable in that they trap some of the dirt they are grown in amongst the layers. To clean leeks, it isn’t difficult. T take a knife and starting about one inch from the rooted bottom, slide the blade in and pull straight up, slicing it open all the way to the top. Turn it one quarter turn and slice it up again—essentially cutting the leek into quarters without fully separating the plant. Holding the rooted end, wash fully (without having to deal with the mess of losing parts of it in to the sink). Then trim off the roots, and the very tips of the leeks, and discard those. Retain the dark green part of the leek, as it is very flavorful and gives the soup its beautiful color.

Chop the leeks in to smaller pieces, about an inch or two wide, so that they will cook and blend easier. Add them to the pressure cooker/stew pot.

Wash zucchini or summer squash, remove ends, chop and add to leeks.

Peel potatoes and carrots, chop, add to pot.

Wash and remove stem from tomatoes (or use one large can of tomatoes from store), add to pot.

Add spices.
About 2 inches of water.

Cooking Instructions:
If you are using a pressure cooker, put the lid on, seal it, and bring to a boil. Cook for seven minutes when it reaches pressure. After, remove from heat and run pot with cover on under cold water until pressure releases before attempting to open the pot.
If you prefer to make the soup in a stew pot, bring to boil, and simmer, uncovered for 20 to 30 min. until vegetables are all tender.
Once you have cooked the soup, either under pressure, or in a stew pot, be sure to remove the bay leaf, which is tough and will not blend.

Serving Suggestion:
Blend the soup either in a blender/food processor or with a hand held blender until it is a smooth green texture. It should appear like fine green velvet when finished. (You can, of course, eat the soup without blending, but it isn’t as nice to look at, and some people don’t like all the big chunks).

Top with sprig of fresh parsley, serve hot.
In Normandy, many will often put a tablespoon of ‘crème fraîche’ (sour cream) on the top as a garnish.

Bon Appétit!

(This soup also stores well frozen; to be unthawed and enjoyed later in the winter).

क्ष

2009-09-01T10:38:00.000-07:00

The current healthcare reform debate in the United States succinctly summarized.
Life is Swell (a comic strip) by Matt Groening

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2009-08-21T08:34:00.000-07:00

When I grow up I want to have a degree in computer science.
That is all.

क्ष
क्ष
क्ष
क्ष

2009-06-21T20:15:00.000-07:00

Nonsequitur: It’s the Way In Which We Artists Think

It all started this evening, when I walked into my bathroom and saw my beach towel spread out to dry, revealing a very pretty sand crab. Or a linear, stylized version of the segments of a crab’s body. The towel is actually very plush and I bought it on the Italian Mediterranean. Love the towel and the image. Which lead to thinking about crabs and then crabby…

Crabby Appleton
My name is Crabby Appleton,
I'm rotten to the core.
I do a bad deed every day,
and sometimes three or four.
I can't stand fun for anyone,
I think good deeds are sappy,
I laugh with glee, it pleases me,
when everyone's unhappy.

PS: Crabby’s a character from cartoon Tom Terrific.

Be good, be nice, be cheerful.

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2009-04-29T10:12:00.000-07:00

Big Grin

What makes everyday and every single thing a lot easier to handle, even in difficult times?
Why of course, a very best girl.
She’s the one.
The creature who has an endless positive attitude, someone who is always cheerful, willing to go and happy to please; a ready smile, a beaming heart, an infinite zest for life.
Yes indeed, my BFFD.

2009-04-18T13:50:00.000-07:00

Traffic and Change

Yes…we thought there had been a lot of flurry and frenzy lately, out on the back porch; very often ducking many low flying creatures whenever we sat in the Adirondacks. And come to find out, we were quite right.

Apart from fending off those crazy woodpeckers who continually threatened to nest in the ceiling fan over the seating area (which has since been removed, because it was ugly and pointless however and not because the woodpeckers drove us to do it), we were apparently distracted from a much quieter activity in the lower stratus of the porch’s long backside stretch along the entire length of our home. The quails, our friends since we arrived in Arizona, were gently nesting in the thick brush of the terracotta rosemary pot and laying those lovely (delicious) small, spotted eggs under the rosemary’s fragrant umbrella.

Imagine that the first scent you experience upon entering this world is the pleasant fragrance of fresh rosemary. Already your life is off to an amazing start!

When we discovered seven eggs tucked carefully away in the pot this week, I voted noisily for an immediate omelet but suffered defeat to a louder and more convincing chorus from others who wish to see the process unfold as these spotted progeny morph from their present shelled form into little bird/quails.

So the rosemary pot has been moved to the other side of the pool, near the oleander and under the sprawling Palo Verde trees, where momma and poppa quail can tend to the needs of their little ones without too much other interference.

Meanwhile, I have a new, giant, ochre ceramic container and fresh-from-the-nursery, tender young rosemary plants growing on the back porch, in place of that old terracotta pot from California.

All is well.

To be continued….

2008-12-18T11:33:00.000-08:00

Disturbing Recurring Theme:

Spiritual Icons Containing Violent References

Lately my interests seem drawn to extraordinarily beautiful, meaningful spiritual icons which have somehow become entangled and poisoned by the politics of violence and war। Perhaps it is something in the air; the season of the holidays coupled with the fact that the global economies are simultaneously crumbling. Perhaps this, in combination with the shift in power from a leadership comprised of war mongers, liars and thieves to one which is hopefully commanded by hope, ethics and the spirit of working together versus divisionary thinking and gestures has prompted such a curiosity in me.

My previous post discussed the beautiful, carefully assembled, artfully designed work of Al Farrow.

Just now my attention has been directed toward another mysterious phenomenon, in remote Southeast Asia, which has a mesmerizing sacred and remarkable historic essence and yet is tainted by the blight of contemporary hostilities. I am speaking about the Plain of Jars in Laos.

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The Plain of Jars is a large group of historic cultural sites in Laos containing thousands of stone jars, which lie scattered throughout the Xieng Khouang plain in the Lao Highlands at the northern end of the Annamese Cordillera, the principal mountain range of Indochina. In the context of the Vietnam War and the Secret War, the Plain of Jars typically refers to the entire Xieng Khouang plain rather than the cultural sites themselves.

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Huge, mysterious stone jars are scattered in several groups on the high plains surrounding Phonsavan in northern Laos. The jars are enormous, up to nine feet tall, the largest weighing 14 tons. Most are carved of sandstone, others of granite, conglomerate, or calcified coral. Some are round, others angular, and a few have disks that appear to be lids. Tools and human remains found inside and around the jars suggest their use and manufacture spanned centuries. The bulk of material dates from 500 B.C. to A.D. 800, and additional carbon dates are expected this summer.
Both the origin and purpose of these strange artifacts remain unknown। Their age is commonly estimated at 2000 years but erosion of the stone suggests they may be much more ancient; it has not yet been possible to date them accurately. Most of the remaining jars weigh between 1/2 and 1 ton; the largest is estimated to weigh six tons.

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Archaeologists believe that the jars were used 1,500–2,000 years ago, by an ancient Mon-Khmer race whose culture is now totally unknown. Most of the excavated material has been dated to around 500 BC–800 AD. Anthropologists and archeologists have theorized that the jars may have been used as funeral urns or perhaps storage for food.

Lao stories and legends claim that there was a race of giants who once inhabited the area. Local legend tells of an ancient king called Khun Cheung, who fought a long, victorious battle against his enemy. He supposedly created the jars to brew and store huge amounts of lao lao rice wine to celebrate his victory.

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The first Westerner to survey, study and catalogue the Plain of Jars was a French archaeologist, Madeleine Colani of the École française d'Extrême Orient in the 1930s. She excavated the area of jars with her team and found a nearby cave with human remains, including burned bones and ash. Her work is still the most comprehensive although there have been other excavations.

During the Vietnamese civil war this part of Laos was heavily damaged by both the North Vietnamese Army (who claimed they weren't there) and the U.S. Air Force (who claimed they weren't bombing them). During the heavy bombardment of the late 1960's the local population was reduced to living in caves; the Plain of Jars is still pockmarked with huge bomb craters. The entire region is still unsafe due to massive quantities of unexploded ordinance which still litters the province.

An American bomb damaged the cave during the Vietnam War, when the Pathet Lao used it as a stronghold — the surrounding area still has trench systems and bomb craters. The land is littered with metal shrapnel. The town of Xieng Khouang was utterly destroyed during the fighting between the Pathet Lao and American backed anti-communist troops. A new town was built in the mid 1970s, known to foreigners as Phonsavan.

Xieng Khouang Province is one of the most heavily bombed places on earth. Between 1964 and 1973, the United States dumped four billion pounds of bombs on the country in a "secret war" against Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese communists. Up to a third of them never exploded, and they litter the land today. While generally safe to tread upon, buried UXO (unexploded ordnance) can detonate when an erratic fuse is inadvertently triggered.

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Archaeologists are certain the Plain of Jars is one of Southeast Asia's most important archaeological sites; it is one with more questions than answers। The images are haunting on so many levels. There is a religious, if inexplicable, significance as well as a disturbing presence of refuse and vandalism left behind by the ravages of the Vietnam war.

क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स

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2008-11-29T10:47:00.000-08:00

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Art Religion War

Given the disturbing events which have unfolded in Mumbai, as well as the overarching political issues with regard to religion and its’ interference with governing in the United States over the past eight years, the artwork by Al Farrow seems particularly relevant.

If you have ever been uneasy when visiting an ages old cathedral, synagogue or mosque (now tourist destination) in one of the major cities in Europe, Asia or even in the Americas; if contemporary religion concerning/disconcerting in the way that organized religion is applied as a means to exclude, kill and condemn so many innocents, perhaps this remarkable art work by San Francisco artist Al Farrow, may explain, comfort and perhaps even serve to express a contemporary perspective of the religious conviction which it represent.

A recent trip to Europe found me unnerved by the sensation that I was surrounded by walls filled with the ashes and bones of saints. Even more disquieting, is the realization that all of these massive monuments to gods and governments/regimes have become essentially meaningless tourist destinations, devoid of the understanding of the original use and intent of the construction. They now serve to generate revenue from the masses of vacationers who pour through the entrances daily, simply to gaze, gawk and examine in an oh so irreverent, if unintentional way.

Most recently Al Farrow exhibits this work at the De Young Museum in San Francisco. In the Name of God: War, Religion, and the Reliquaries of Al Farrow, is constructed from bullets and gun parts. An accomplished sculptor committed to recording societal ills through his artistic practice, Farrow often approaches his work by adopting the visual language of a historical period and updating the imagery or materials to make cogent observations about contemporary society.

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2008-11-21T17:31:00.001-08:00

क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्क्ष्
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Plurk

If you haven’t visited, you really should.
If you haven’t tried it yet, oh go ahead.
This lively cyber world is rich with so many beautiful ideas,
a plethora of creative people
and it exists on an endless and marvelous timeline;
a remarkably advanced and sophisticated version
of Twitter.
Take it from SquireHogg.

ps: click on the images to see some wonderful video.

क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स्क्स

2008-11-02T09:19:00.000-08:00

Three days and counting...
From the email bag, a California rancher’s point of view.
Please vote, if you haven’t done so already.

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Post Turtle
A 75-year old Texas rancher caught his hand in a gate while working cattle, cutting it severely. While suturing the cut, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. As most conversations go these days, the topic got around to Sarah Palin.

The old rancher said, "She's a post turtle." Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a post turtle is.

The rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a post turtle." The rancher saw a puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued.

"You know she didn't get up there by herself, she doesn't belong up there, she doesn't know what to do while she is up there, and you just wonder what kind of dumb ass put her up there to begin with...”

2008-10-31T11:05:00.000-07:00

Five days and counting...
A posting from the contents of the e-mail box today.
Please vote.

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Dear Red States:

We've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware, that includes California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and the entire Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood. We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom. We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss. We get 85 percent of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama. We get two-thirds of the tax revenue; you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22 percent lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80 percent of the country's fresh water, more than 90 percent of the pineapple and lettuce, 92 percent of the nation's fresh fruit, 95 percent of America's quality wines (you can serve French wines at state dinners) 90 percent of all cheese, 90 percent of the high tech industry, most of the U।S. low-sulfur coal, all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88 percent of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92 percent of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100 percent of the tornadoes, 90 percent of the hurricanes, 99 percent of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100 percent of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia. We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38 percent of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62 percent believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the death penalty or gun laws, 44 percent say that evolution is only a theory, 53 percent that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61 percent of you crazy bastards believe you are people with higher morals then we lefties.

Finally, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,
Blue States

2008-10-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis. ~Dante Alighieri

The presidential election in our “United States” is days away. Given the unprecedented political and economic events of the moment, who among us could possibly be undecided in these tumultuous times?

I must admit that I am in awe when I hear people say that they truly have not yet made a decision in this election. What makes people back away from confrontation and change? And what in the world does it take to light a fire under citizens of a country which was founded on freedom of expression, the right to speak one’s mind and the liberty to act as one chooses?

There was a time in my personal life when the world seemed to be doling out a heavy dose of acid rain on my existence; the people who were operating the controls were having massive fits of schadenfraude on a regular and energetic basis at my expense. Those whom I had thought were my friends, or at least had presumed to be my associates seemed to quickly disappear as if sucked up into a vast vacuum of noncommittal safety. A kind beigeness overtook the landscape and the inertia and process of crashing and burning, a freefall from grace occurred rapidly and unkindly… while many who could have helped stood silently by hoping not be swallowed up by the demonic purveyors of cruelty themselves.

The aura of a beige landscape still evokes a deep overwhelming nausea in my mind’s memory, even with the passage of time.

And now, watching as the United States economy melts down, as people are losing their homes in droves, as savings and retirement accounts are reduced nearly to worthlessness, as my future takes on yet another quality of potential bleakness, I have to wonder why we all sit motionless and watch in horror while such monstrosities occur?

Is it because the shock and awe of a situation is simply paralyzing?

Being paralyzed under these circumstances seems a sure fire way to make oneself a target for ruin. Movement seems to be the appropriate survival response. I hope and pray that even the most sluggish will feel a call to action. Hopefully it will be considered action and not simply reaction.

Proaction. A word first made popular by the corporate world. Proaction has never been a better, more apposite word, or one which has obviously been less appropriately implemented as is evidenced by the multitude of very scary conditions now crashing into place and spiraling beyond our control.

Now that we have been non-proactive, how shall we proceed to pick up the pieces and plug the holes? And furthermore, can we? I am at a loss for an answer; so I move to look for answers that may emerge with the friction generated by nudging the static.

Wake up now all you curmudgeons! And abandon thy hiding places.
Move.
Shake.

2008-10-12T10:36:00.000-07:00

The Time Has Come, Almost

Here I sit, with the loose ends of so many projects, plans and dreams staring me straight in the eye. And I blink. I look away. I wait. I go for a walk in the desert. I plan a trip. I visualize living in another world.

A half written book screams out to me; the fragmented manuscript occupies a great deal of space in my mind, on two hard drives and in my workspace. Yet, somehow, amidst the recent life challenges which have presented themselves for immediate inspection and resolution, I seem to have lost the emotional fire and drive to continue. The issues which once fueled my writing frenzy for this particular bizarre subject have long passed and I look back at the seemingly once fertile fodder and its’ frighteningly comical players as simply annoying and pitiful. Having successfully moved on, the project seems more like passé catharsis material than anything else. Still its contents are funny, scary and contain dramatic life lessons which might be usefully shared with others. Will it ever be completed? Remains to be seen.

And then there’s the temporarily closed exhibit space which currently has no plans to reopen due to the ailing economy and the sparse opportunities within the current local arts communities in which we reside. Things are tight, competition is stiff, neighbors are cautiously unfriendly and the art market itself is so soft as to be unreliable, to be unfeasible. However, I loved hosting the exhibit spaces which have embodied a significant share of the Griffonage Studios persona and hope to be able to continue that effort at some point in the near future. But now? It is unclear.

It feels as if the time has come to begin making decisions and taking action. Perhaps that motivation arrives with the warm glow of a stimulating autumn onset. Interesting, constructive benchmarks have begun to emerge lately in my personal landscape, much as I have dreamed that they would, over time. All of a sudden, answers which were so fuzzy in months past are beginning to clearly make themselves obvious and evident.

Perhaps resolutions are beginning to present themselves, are becoming available for my consideration.
Almost.

2008-10-08T15:45:00.000-07:00

Which One?

Unclear as to whether I had heard it quite correctly, I watched the presidential debates on PBS last night and tried to focus on the more substantial content being exchanged by John McCain and Barack Obama. However, it seems that I was not the only one who heard what I thought had been a jaw dropping condescension, perhaps a gentleman’s slur; it turns out that indeed I heard John McCain referring to Barack Obama as “that one”.
Oh yes he did.

So please have a look at what others who are far more articulate than I have written today.

Here are few selections:
Andrew Sullivan at the Atlantic
The Huffington Post
ABC News
MSNBC
Maureen Dowd at NYT
That One

As if this were not enough, it has now been reported that today, the chairman of the Lehigh County Republican Party, William Platt, implored a crowd to work hard to elect McCain or wake up November 5 to see "Barack Obama, Barack Hussein Obama," as the president.

This, as if he were one of those creepy “terrorist bad guys” that the Bush administration has encouraged and endlessly persuaded us all to hate and fear. Appealing to the deep seated racism still prevalent in many corners of the United States; a last ditch effort to diminish the worthy, articulate, intelligent and civilized opponent. Another subtle smear cast forth openly and enunciated with oh such graciousness.

When the going gets desperate, the desperate apparently reach for whatever new and appalling lows will fuel the cause, or so it would appear. If the overall current conditions in our culture are not disturbing enough, perhaps this one additional effort at degradation will serve as the last straw to illustrate exactly how disgusting things have become.

Please exercise your right and privilege to vote in November.

2008-09-20T08:46:00.000-07:00

ORANGIE: Our Daily Ritual

Even at 5:00 am in the heat of the Sonoran Desert summer, it has become too warm for our nearly 14 year old dog to walk the sandy paths near our home. Where once we regularly hiked three to four miles every morning, this aging behemoth simply can’t endure the stress any longer.

When we relocated to Arizona from Northern California several years ago, the dear old dog and I were accustomed to a brisk walk and/or hill climb every morning in the forests which surrounded our home there. But we came to the desert during one of its’ wettest monsoon seasons ever on record and our morning ritual may have caused the dear old pooch to contract Valley Fever; in any case she was stricken with it almost as soon as we arrived. Valley Fever is a nasty condition; a fungus which grows inside the lungs and can spread, much like tuberculosis, to other parts of the body (i.e. muscles and vital organs) to take up its’ lethal residence. Even now, she continues to test positive for it, but in very minute amounts. We have her on a fungi static drug and that seems to keep the disease at bay, although its’ presence remains in her system.

During this time, we also learned about the abundance of opportunists in the greater Tucson area who pose as veterinarians. What a scam that profession has developed! Having lived for so long in a rural area, we were surprised and appalled to see what has morphed from the practice of animal care into a heartless corporate industry designed to take full advantage of pet lovers and WASPs with seemingly plentiful retirement funds. Several thousand dollars and the navigation of a number of predatory veterinary offices and hospitals in Tucson were required before a satisfactory remedy was found for our dear dog.

As it often does, it seems that the fever, though mainly receding, has taken up residence in our dog’s adjacent shoulder and front leg muscles, causing her to tire easily and to have less endurance for long hauls. I have worried that we might walk too far one day and not be able to get back. And since old dog weighs 97 pounds, carrying her home would not be an option for me. So we have taken to walking shorter distances in the mornings and supplementing her regimen with a feisty round or two of an afternoon game we call “Orangie”.

Though it sounds rather sporty and perhaps sophisticates in the canine realm, “Orangie” is basically an upgraded version of “keep away”. That is, the adults who are present around the edge of our pool, pick up a little orange squeak toy (which is shaped like a ball and has two stubby feet and two little horns) and toss it back and forth. The high pitched screech made by the little orange orb (about the size of a softball) causes our sound sensitive dog to be entranced and she does whatever possible to try and take the little orange fellow from us. We in turn, trick her into running all around, diving into the water and basically exhausting herself in the endless pursuit of “Orangie”.

By staying wet and cool, she is able to play longer and exercise her lungs more. She feels very special to have so much activity and attention centered around her. As well, the old dog gets enough exercise to keep her mature self spry, without overdoing it.

At our house, we all love a good vigorous game of “Orangie” and play it as often as our schedules allow, certainly every day that we are in Arizona during the toasty summer months.

2008-09-18T19:28:00.000-07:00

Nothing Too Intense

It is time for an update to the blogs. Actually an update is long overdue. And yet I sit idle and without inspiration. Speaking freely, talking out loud and proclaiming one’s ideas seems entirely out of place.

Artists, creative thinkers and innovative citizens should be loudly commenting; spelling out the future. All the same I find that I am essentially mute. Stopped and in awe. Perhaps it could be seen as a sort of psycho-social paralysis. The world seems to be crumbling all around us; financially and ethically we all seem lost.

Yet in the face of this extraordinary chaos, I feel virtually unmotivated to do more than hope for the best, to withdraw and protect my own little world from further damage. Sitting quietly, observing the world at large and making simple motions which closely jive with my personal values are the only appropriate gestures for the time being.

Loud, annoying public actions seem almost dangerous in this unstable political climate. And so dear readers, I wish you peace, clarity of mind and safety in all that you do, while posting a few favorite photographs from the file. In this instance, art is a warm, fattening indulgence. Simple beauty and visual intensity is quietly offered to augment solace and comfort. Let’s survive and live to fight another day.

2008-08-13T13:53:00.000-07:00

M A R S E I L L E / T O K Y O
So beautiful. No words.
Watch.
Take time.
Enjoy.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-08-11T18:17:00.000-07:00

Many Incarnations (of Our Pets)...

So I must tell you that this story isn’t as pitiful as the one which a student of mine told at a fully seated dinner table (much to my mortification) in Tuscany one evening. Her story involved a pet that her husband had “adopted” while doing a stint in the county jail and sadly, the pet was, if I remember correctly, a piece of lint.

We have recently lost two beloved house pets (both were remarkable cats) and are therefore a bit sensitive, perhaps even reticent about taking on another at the moment. After all, we have our giant dog of 12 years, who was “dropped off” near our home on a remote country road in California in the dead of winter, one snowy and freezing cold season long ago. She is absolutely the best dog ever and we love her dearly; a sentiment which she regularly returns to us unequivocally, unconditionally and always in great intensity. Somehow our dog seems to be a perfect, fabulous, full time shadow for both my husband as well as for me, thereby fulfilling our every furry and lovable requirements quite nicely.

Nevertheless we enjoy pets; all kinds of them। Something about the added personalities among the dynamics of our household, I suppose. And this past spring in Arizona, we noticed a new presence in our backyard. Every morning, there was a bit of a parade occurring on the top of the wall that surrounds our yard. Looking very much like a russet potato, the star participant was a fairly large, very round, brownish lizard with the requisite skinny lizard legs, stubby yet pointed tail and tiny lizard head. Always on display and forever doing the lizard push ups, we began to watch our new buddy “Tatey” as it hunted for bugs and showed off it’s grand, if rather rotund reptilian physique.

As the spring moved along, a tiny little lizard began to join Tatey’s morning displays atop the walls, running in between Tatey’s legs and mimicking Tatey’s proud, grand push ups in the warm desert morning sun. My husband began to collect the bugs which he skimmed off the top of the pool each morning and make a small pile of them in bed of mint in our backyard. The bugs would dry, get crispy as the daylight grew brighter and then disappear before the next morning’s deposit was made.

Tatey grew ever larger and began dividing his time between the thick, cool safety of the aloe bushes next to the pool and the more shaded, private space behind our water softener. Little lizzie spent most of his time in the mint bushes and then on the wrought iron cross legs of the outdoor table on our back porch, as well. Somewhere along the line, we began to call the fascinating and industrious mini lizard “Larry” and he now occupies a great deal of our attention everyday and every night. He seems to feel at ease with us and vice versa.

We have enjoyed observing the interplay between what appears to be parent lizard and offspring, as well as learning so much about the habits of these mesmerizing reptiles. It seems that we have become rather attached to both Tatey and Larry. Perhaps they have become our newest pets?

For the last two evenings, while getting ready for bed, I have had the most amazing view of little Larry’s current resourcefulness; he pursues moths which gather on the outer side of the frosted glass which covers my bathroom windows. Once I light up the openings from my side, insects are immediately attracted to the exterior and it’s time for Larry’s nightly hunt-a-thon. He hides in wait, at the top of the window (in a shadow) and then snaps quickly at the fluttering creatures, eating them whole in an instant. It is quite a sight, seeing Larry from underneath and watching the pale lavender creature perform his nightly ritualistic chase. I feel privileged to be Larry’s hostess and so hope that he continues to live on our porch for a very long time... at least until he has eaten enough bugs to become Tatey-sized.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-07-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

There's a place where I can go and...
Savoring the comfort of my own workspace when the day gets a little too gnarly, too edgy, too angry, too aggressive, and yes, a tad too unpredictable.
Just now…

There’s a place where I can go
And tell my secrets to
In my room, in my room
(In my room)

In this world I lock out all
my worries and my fears
In my room, in my room
(In my room)

Do my dreaming and my scheming
Lie awake and pray
Do my crying and my sighing
Laugh at yesterday

Now it’s dark and I’m alone
But I won’t be afraid
In my room, in my room
(In my room)

Ah, my studio, my messy, (rat packed as artists will do?), over filled, under organized, far too little space on this earth; let’s just call it a secret little haven, shall we?

Sitting here now, tapping on the keyboard of my trusty old Toshiba, enjoying the cool evening air with the tacky white ceiling fan whirling overhead, watching the sun setting brightly and blissfully, slightly to the left of the Santa Catalina mountains… all of this permits me to breathe deeply without even being aware of my action; for now it is good simply to be here this evening। And the possibilities!

I may go wild and listen to some jazz in a minute or perhaps even plurk somebody. Nevertheless for the moment, for this minute…. I am at a transitory peace, no matter what else is happening.

Wondering now, exactly where is this place we like to call home? Always moving, hopefully I will know sooner than later… continuing to keep my eyes peeled for the next big highway sign.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-07-13T14:19:00.000-07:00

Insignificantly Yours

As a pack rat, apparently a defining quality of many artists, I have to say that I love computers.

Computers provide us with a place to store all of our valuable personal crap; piles and piles of notes and endless (but extremely important?) photographs and memorable (or so we thought at the time; how many sunsets CAN you watch in the desert?) videos and favorite songs. And the storage space is so beautifully compact and so easily organized, even for an impulsively noisy and inconcise mind such as the whirlwind that clamors regularly in my own head. I can keep things, all things; I can find them and best of all I can get back to them and use them when needed.

Now even when I find myself in many different locations, traveling and telling stories, I am able to pull up an image and share it. Or put together a story around a memory that has been preserved in an image, even if I can’t get back to my boxes of crap at home.

It has been years since I have looked at so much of the stuff that I carry from one place to the other as I move around the world and through my adulthood. Much has been packed away in boxes which have been organized pretty much within the same system that I use to think about things in general; an artist’s chaos of mental organization.

People that I had forgotten that I knew and loved or hated --- people I wanted to forget, lost love letters that are better filed in the trash have followed me quietly for 30 some years. Today I have finally made my way through the last of those storage boxes; reviewing the illusions, hopes, dreams and angst of my teenage years, the loss of good friends, the memories of wonderful adventures and stacks of financial records which track both my stupid and my genius moves throughout that venue of my life.

And the clumps of photographs: did I ever really look that young? Who ARE those people whose high school pictures I collected so carefully? (Must have neglected to write down names, thinking it would be impossible to forget faces which have long lost meaning). All those letters from a best friend who “forgot” to invite me to her wedding, although we had made a pact to be one another’s brides’ maids, all through our high school years. (To be fair, I myself eloped when the time came to marry and so didn’t have any brides’ maids at all).

It feels good to have cleansed my files, my life, my ever more selective memories... to a certain degree. Admittedly, we still have way too many boxes filled with things that we probably don’t need stashed away in our home, but the boxes contain our insignificant little personal histories and so it is hard to part with them, just yet. And hopefully, we will be able to build a bigger house once the economy rebounds; a place with lots more storage space.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-07-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

oh stenocereus thurberi!

What comes of having a very good monsoon season in the Sonoran Desert and a loving gardener (aka the husband?). Here are some photos from our backyard, for your examination.

The organ pipe cacti, particularly those which have become more pampered and domesticated, seem quite sensitive to extreme cold. Their deep green skins are seemingly softer, more tender and less leathery than perhaps, say, the saguaro.

The susceptible top tips of each “pipe” need to be covered with paper coffee cups in the winter chills (yes, it really does sometimes get down as low as 32 degrees in certain desert winter months), in order to see the gorgeous proliferation of flora once the warmer (100 degrees plus) temperatures arrive in mid summer.

Much like a huge satellite dish, the blossom sits atop each pipe, proportionally much larger than the body of this fascinating succulent. The floras appear waxy as buds and then expand into a massive white bloom whose petal texture explains the richness associated with silk flowers.

The blooms of the organ pipe cacti are particularly responsive to sunlight and temperature, proclaiming the opulence of life with each new morning in which they are privileged to exist.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-06-29T17:56:00.000-07:00

After a short stay in America, Michelangelo's David returns to Europe...

griffonage studios griff's blog wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-06-24T18:52:00.000-07:00

Milkmaid J. Vermeer 1658-1660

That Endless List of Mine: Things I Want To Remember
A few timely items of note...

Noteworthy accumulation to that endless list of things to remember are the following items which seem to have silently and invisibly collected on my plate without my noticing, until today. For your consideration, here is the latest glom of congestion... new and fascinating stuff:

New word Français to be memorized (and used appropriately, which sadly in my world might be a tad too often): péquenaud(e) (payk-no, payk-nowd) noun: (pejorative) redneck, hick.

Point in fact: An exact likeness is not art. The arrival of the digital camera on the scene makes the whole argument even less interesting. That said, there is definitely a book to be read and added to my own collection of theories that making a successful copy of something, in order to make it look real is NOT the objective of an artist, a painter, let alone the objective of an art maker: read last Sunday’s NYT Book Review and/or maybe even read (and buy?) the book, itself. The Forger’s Spell, A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century, by Edward Dolnick.

Please, stop it! Kudos to the wacky group of judges (my faves are Nigel Lithgoe and Mia Michaels) on the television program on Fox, So You Think You Can Dance for cutting contestants who can back flip, cartwheel and leap all over the place, but have yet to learn the basics of dance. Here’s to busting trickery, calling it out for what it is and reinforcing the idea that special effects do not a good film make. Was thinking about this today while working on a watercolor painting and invoking way too many “tricks” to achieve annoying, yet popular effects on my very own aquarelle.

Why is everyone so easily impressed?

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-06-21T10:02:00.000-07:00

Ode to Madeleine

She wasn’t with us for long, relatively speaking.

Still, she is unforgettable. Mourning for her is unusual, in that I don’t shed tears, I simply and deeply (insatiably) long for her to gallop by and then perhaps grab my ankle, ride my calf while I walk down the hallway or leap alongside me in a gesture of forceful, convincing, undeniable authentic, serious catty love.

What is it about the desperate sadness of being unable to have what you want?

She left us in a chaotic time; a never ending whirlwind in our personal lives while I was trying to start a business… I was so overwhelmingly distracted on a 24/7 basis and yet distinctly, I missed her presence with a disturbing preciseness. There was an awful void on that morning when she failed to return, as I put on my tennis shoes for our daily walk. Usually she was always there at my feet, an interruption in my morning haze, to make tying my shoestrings a major challenge.

What do I remember the most? Two things; she loved to sleep in a curl under my chin (but only for a few hours in the middle of the night) and that there was only one “bad” thing that she ever did, in all of her time with us। With her rambunctious nature and endless energies, it seems incredible that she was as careful, as delicate and as indestructive as she was. But now that I look back, she really did very little damage to our domestic refuge on the east side of Tucson’s outer limits.

So, what was this” bad cat” caper that our cunning little Maddie Mae committed?

She trapped and caught a moth in our favorite Ikea rice paper floor lamp. For weeks, she had stalked this silly moth, eventually capturing and killing it, as the poor bug found itself helplessly encumbered in the stylish lighting fixture. But we loved it, our silly lamp. An in an instant, it was ruined. Ripped to shreds by a killer cat impulse. Did we really want an animal living in our house that could potentially annihilate all of our new furniture?

Born of an unfettered, feral and “wild” situation somewhere in Tucson, we are convinced that Madness the little all black kitty was always looking for the quality of her first hours of life. Fresh air… this lovely cat was essentially and purely free in heart and soul; ready for the vast consequences of any riotous leap. It was obvious that there had once been a time when she had been completely loved by her own; though not too possessively and not for long.

I think that when the well meaning and yet misguided forces of our “civilization” took her captive (those self righteous animal rescue peeps with organizations and budgets and loads of judgment), she began her descent. Hers was a brief and vibrant life, trying so hard to fulfill its’ positive and energetic existence despite the unkind captivity imposed upon her by her “saviours”.

And as it turned out, she was so young, and so very destined for a short time around. It was sick, as so many things are in this world now… well meaning though they claimed to be, they took her in and mutilated her at a young age, chopped away her reproductive organs before she knew what had happened. Even though I didn’t know her then, I knew that it had hurt her terribly when they had spayed her, evidenced by the fact that she desperately wanted no one to touch her below her waist line, for any reason. Someone had been unspeakably unkind, harsh and cruel, in a rush to “do the right thing”.

Then afterward, she was sent to a cramped cage which was a brutal environment at its’ inception. But they were protecting her from the ugly cold world out there; those politically correct individuals who were/are in reality, loud screamers, abusive handlers and unkind, unloving, opportunistic keepers themselves. They call themselves “rescuers”, when in fact, they were/are the bullies, crucial molesters, ultimately charging money to hand this sweet kitten over to someone (us) who desired a pet and had no idea the torture this poor being had endured in the prior five short months of life with the sickest of “savers”.

All the same, for a very brief time Maddie Catty was happy with us. Our big desert ranch home was like an endless playground for running, leaping, hiding, cat napping and eventually for infinitely investigating. As she grew, she became ever stronger, smarter and ineffably more courageous. Always driven by some indefinable force to seek the infinite freedom into which she had been born as a feral creature. Finally, she could leap our walled yard with one bound. There was no confining her spirit as she grew up and developed and became ever more determined to conquer the world, as any respectable Leo might.

Instinctively and almost as soon as she came to live with us, she hunted, killed, butchered and ate the desert birds with fervor; nothing could compare to a whole fresh quail feast or a substantial salubrious woodpecker entrée. The massive desert pack rats which populate our area were a divine exploit in pure, fresh gluttony. A round, fat lizard as an hors d’ouvre was exceedingly sumptuous.

Life was amazing; particularly once freed from the abusive veterinarian who had “saved” her from a feral life by placing her in the dirty, overcrowded, loud and disgusting office… where she was never allowed out of the cramped and unpleasant digs of a small wire cage of captivity.

She sought the comfort, exhilaration, liberty and pleasure of those very first days of life with an undomesticated and unconventional feline family which is likely long gone, divided and most probably nearly all dead. All we could give her was our love, our deepest respect and a few months of loving independence. A ceaseless drive for autonomy sent her past the safety zone of our stucco walls and into the unforgiving desert where, like the birds, rabbits and lizards that she devoured, she too became a victim of the creatures larger, more savage, cunning and hungrier than she.

Yes, she was micro-chipped, however the chips digest pretty much the same as a loin chop and its’ bones in the gastric juices of a wily coyote. No trace was ever found.

Bless you Maddie, where ever your limitless spirit now roams… we will always love you and we only wanted you to feel cherished, boundless and happy. We think that most likely, when you were with us, you always were/are.

And it’s okay dearest Maddie Mae Madness, we didn’t really like the lamp all that much anyway (kept it only as a remembrance of your sweet soul). Not nearly as much as we loved you.

griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-06-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

Reflecting / Rejuvenating / Regrouping: Rich Manifestations du Printemps
For so many different reasons, the spring season of 2008 escaped me, almost. And that was rather sad, as I regularly relish the turning of the seasons and being directly immersed in the myriad of understated transformations as each one emerges.

How is it that working in the world of art can actually strangle and restrict one’s facilities for creativity? Something about the converging of so many and various stress factors, methinks.

All the same, I pass our “devil tree” early every morning on my long walks out into the desert and so could not help but notice its’ blossoms in April. Amazing, fragrant, rich and creamy displays. And even among the most demanding circumstances of my unconventional life, I manage to keep a few cameras at hand in my various workspaces, thus allowing the capture of these particular images which I would like to share with you.

Springtime in the desert is subtle and yet brash; in the Sonoran desert this season produces some of the most fabulous and remarkable flora and fauna. We call it the “devil tree” only because this Yucca tree possesses two prongs and in its’ most recent biennial display, sent forth two humongous plumes of remarkable blossoms.

Now finally, I have a chance to go through the images and to present a few for your examination.

There has been so much written regarding the impossibility of combining the business aspects and the production of art into one occupation; about the adversarial relationships inherent in the two activities. The ultimate conundrum; dealer versus maker. That is the issue which I will ponder as the summer passes and as I continue to be a maker, while taking a sabbatical from the actions of dealing.

Will the “devil tree” remind me to continue to try and resolve this puzzle, as the summer of 2008 passes?

Dealer versus maker. I have to wonder if I have recently lived the reality and perhaps have inadvertently reinvented that time worn, yet distinctive wheel, once again? Despite the obvious, I suppose there are times when one actually has to put one’s hand in the flame in order to truly know the burn.

griffonage studios / griff's blog / wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-06-08T19:35:00.000-07:00

Under the Filing: Pieces and Parts of My Past
Category: More Things I Want to Remember
An outcast, wild ass, Christian (kinda/sorta?) English teacher at Hayfork High School in far, far, northern California (yes, there really is such a place) gave me the following helpful list:

Rules For Writing Good
Each pronoun agrees with their antecedent.
Verbs has to agree with their subjects.
Don’t use no double negatives.
A writer mustn’t shift your point of view.
Don’t use a run-on sentence you got to punctuate it.
About sentence fragments.
Don’t use commas, which aren’t necessary.
Don’t abbrev.
Check to see if you any words out.
Never use a preposition to end a sentence with.
Use apostrophe’s right.
Last but not least, lay off clichés.

And yeah, they ran him out of town too.

....................................................................................

griffonage studios
griff's blog
scribbles blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-05-24T15:45:00.000-07:00

Not a Poppy, But You’d Think So

Found Today: Something Else to Remember
A melancholy, quiet day at the studio in Arizona; life presents constant changes and we must acquiesce / accommodate.

This was among some very old notes:
Chaque homme porte en lui sa dose d’opium naturel.
~Charles Baudelaire

2008-05-17T14:59:00.000-07:00

Notes to Self
Digging through a lifetime of notes and drawings and boxes full of miscellaneous things stacked high in my Tucson studio, I have lately had an opportunity to review many, many experiences and take a walk down the proverbial memory lane as I shuffle, reorganize and purge. Being an older human nowadays, I find that the stuff of personal history and portfolios, rapidly amasses without any prior warning.

Repeatedly, I am astounded at how much work (research, development, planning) I did for the school districts in northern California; work which although nearly always had an element of personal fulfillment, certainly enriched others more than it ever lined my pockets. Amazing what we will perform and accomplish in the name of art, community and academia. Ah yes, the greater good.

Here’s something that I liked and wanted to remember in my notes; I recall that it created quite a stir when it came out in 2001.
David Hockney / Secret Knowledge / Camera Obscura

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griffonage studios
griff's blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-05-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

Robert Rauschenberg: Estate, 1955 silk screen and paint on canvas

Idol of Art and Rebellion from My Mother’s Generation
Okay, I have a lot of work to do today. Project art this summer is screaming at me, as are a host of mundane tasks which will surely leave me screaming even more profusely, if ignored.

Even so, I always begin my day by checking email to make sure that all emergencies and other time critical issues are not left quietly unaddressed. Here, among the daily must-reads in the New York Times listings, an item entitled “Remembering Robert Rauschenberg” catches my attention. It seems he has gone. Today.

And so I can’t go any further in my own work today without taking a moment to reflect upon his; so profoundly influential on so many levels, indeed a giant in the art world at large.

Among the numerous, mind numbing, media driven topics that flood our daily consciousness of late, I am pleased that his passing merits the designation, breaking news. Once in awhile, the really important things get included in an otherwise ominous rush of details.

I recall discovering Rauschenberg’s work in the 1970s as an undergraduate university art student and being ever inspired and highly motivated by the imagery, content and absolute matchlessness of the expression. His work spoke to me as nothing else had। I admired his intelligence and creativity, while simultaneously appreciating the fact that such amazing work could actually occupy coveted spots in various well respected museums and notable, prestigious galleries.

Despite his obviously defiant approach, Rauschenberg had been able to attain high regard and elevated status among the powerful in the art world। I was deeply impressed by the very fine and rich line upon which his life and his work were balanced. Still am.

Robert Rauschenberg truly did make his art work in the gap between art and life.

And now, with his ghost in my heart, I shall return to mine.

Bed 1951, Combine

..................................

griffonage studios
griff’s blog
wordsmith at griffonage
scribbles blog

2008-05-11T13:13:00.000-07:00

What Comes from Play

This week I was playing with my camera; taking a break from the ennui of having so many things to do.
Having flowers everywhere lifts my spirit. And goddess knows we can all use a bit of uplifting from time to time.
In the studio, we currently have some brilliant, fragrant and vibrantly colored lilies.
A click, a quick connect... and voila! A brief and fleeting moment of spontaneous creativity which stimulated and relieved my soul.
Now then, back to the grind.

griffonage studios
griff’s blog
wordsmith at griffonage studios

2008-05-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

Scrawl Reversal
New icons desperately sought…
Scribbles seeks a vacation in the chilly Alps of France and Switzerland.
Griff seeks a larger studio space: somewhere.
Summer begins to descend upon the smoggy desert valley.
Blank slates await itchy writer.
The pool warms and beckons.
Cacti gardens flourish despite emotional neglect.
Where is art?

2008-04-13T12:34:00.000-07:00

Truly Unplugged

There isn’t enough electricity in our studio.

It is located in an old building in downtown Tucson Arizona, perhaps built around the turn of the twentieth century. In the back, there is an opening in the wall for a stove pipe.

Other than that, there is no other source of heat, if this description provides you with a clearer visual concept of the overall condition of the building and the amenities available to our art venture in this leased situation.

A small fuse box provides just enough juice to power the lights and perhaps a few little appliances, including a handful of laptops. Need to vacuum or run a space heater? Well, okay but you’ll want to unplug something else first, lest you face that now familiar occurrence; blowing a fuse!

In our visions and dreams for Griff, we had hoped to show lots video in this space, having a deep love of the medium ourselves. However there are no available functional outlets in the front exhibit area. And we would be glad to install some extra plug boxes, but alas the master fuse box, ancient contraption that it is, is already maxed out for simply running the basics.

For the time being, we will have to be content with sending out a recommendation for some beautiful online web work which may satisfy a craving for contemporary moving imagery.

San Francisco Museum of Modern Art currently has some amazing offerings on its’ website and so we direct you there to satisfy that endless desire to see new moving images and for your viewing pleasure:
Matthew Richie
Eric Adigard / m.a.d. with (with Dave Thau)
Yael Kanarek

2008-03-29T11:19:00.000-07:00

Best Use of a Car

From the Armory Show in NYC

Random Thoughts
from a winter weary explorer...

It is not snowy today and in NYC everybody is on foot.
A good thing; the cost of a gallon of cheap unleaded gasoline hovers somewhere around $3.55 in the eastern United States.
Now even my resistant husband admits that owning a crossover vehicle is the thing to do, given current economic conditions.
At least we own one.

I miss AZ.
But we have to drive there.
Tucson has grown into a pregnant Los Angeles.
Obscenity flourishes everywhere.

Took me seven hours to travel from Chicago to New York on an airplane.
Service from the airlines is at an all time low.
WiFi from Boingo doesn’t work.
No one cares.
Especially not the folks at Boingo.

Have seen many whole crunched cars and car parts in art over the past six or eight years. Sculpture/ recycling.
“Best use of materials”.
Thank heavens they don’t award blue ribbons at the Armory Show.

In the United States, we are numb.

2008-03-23T15:28:00.000-07:00

What Time Is It?
So today is Sunday… legible marks on my portable calendar indicate that we have reached the holiday of Easter in 2008; gateway to the season of springtime/printemps.
Calililies and chocolate cake, that is all that I am visualizing.

My wrist watch tells me the exact hour and minute in Chicago. And simultaneously my Blackberry insists that it is two hours earlier in Arizona.To compound a ludicrously unclear predicament of the present, if I look down toward the lower right hand corner of this laptop of mine I find that it is one hour later than that which is announced on my wristwatch: Eastern Standard Time.

Yes, I had hoped to wear a pale pink something or other, perhaps a skirt and open edged shoes today. Looking down, I find that I am now still bodily entwined in the much more sensible flared leg black slacks and laced up ankle high black boots; an wintry ensemble complete with a knee length black wool coat hailing from so many NYC trips. It’s warm and comfy to be inside of all of this… and rather necessary, although rather odd. In Arizona, none of these clothes would be comfortable at the moment. Not today.

The past week has been a time of endless hours lost in happy, simple conversation and strangely comforting time spent with my Mom who is slowly recovering (or so we truly hope) in a nursing home, from a long list of age related illnesses and physical/mental challenges. A winter storm, one of many unremarkable/unreported nasty ones, characteristic of this neck of the woods, has thwarted my every effort to travel to her side. While the oncoming season generally sings with the usual hope, growth and sunny pleasantness now erupting in the springtime of Arizona, here in the northeastern USA, I listen to the wind howl and thrust dry snow past my window at night. I am sleeping in my Mother’s room, in her big cozy bed. Somehow I am simply glad to be in a place where weather is seemingly at odds with all else, as the warmth of our daily familial interactions supplements the environmental flaws of that which exists outside the window.

Looking ahead, I examine my calendar, contemplate the messages of my various timepieces and try to visualize the various activities which await me next week. My age, my world and the demands of my life still offer a great deal of hope and challenge.

Please, please, I pray to powers which regulate the conditions of the planet/universe, please let the airports be a kinder place through which to pass as I contemplate my storm plagued move to a world of hope and then a return trip to the warmth of the Sonoran desert, in a very short while. Yes, I am feeling disturbingly melancholy as time takes my family on its’ inevitable way toward that which is meant to be… and forces me to follow along an unusual and unpredictable path, in so many different ways.

For the moment, I am happy, sad and homesick.

2007-12-16T07:39:00.000-08:00

Lately Seen

In the midst of a frenzy of exertion, generally along the lines of physical labor and the considerable carving out of a new routine, I have taken a few moments to come up for air and have lately had the opportunity to see some stirring artwork in Arizona. Work, quite worthy of mention.

On Friday I was in Phoenix, Arizona and spent time with an exhibit at the Phoenix Art Museum that I found particularly notable. On a personal level, I enjoyed the content of vintage images from the group once called f/64. Visual descriptions of a simpler world of the 1930s in northern California, from Mendocino, Oakland and San Francsico to Carmel। The exhibit starred such well known favorites as Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham and Ansel Adams, to name a few.

Shell, Edward Weston

More fascinating however, was the way in which the photographic material was assembled and displayed; not simply a show of pretty pictures (although they most certainly were) but rather an exhibit based upon the exploration of specific methods and philosophies of making an image. This seems historically significant because parallel debates were occurring within other mediums as well during the twentieth century. The contrast of two very different approaches to image making was well defined within the exhibit and the accompanying texts were informational as well as beautifully displayed. A sense of intense aesthetic was embedded across the content of the entire show.

The exhibit is entitled Debating Modern Photography: Triumph of Group f.64 and can be found in the Norton Photography Gallery, which is an extension of the University of Arizona’s Center for Creative Photography। The exhibit runs from September 15, to December 30, 2007 in the Phoenix Art Museum। I highly reccommend taking the time to wander through the remarkable and competently assembled presentation of photography and history.

But one doesn’t need to leave the neighborhood (Congress Street in downtown Tucson) to see artwork that is equally as aesthetically vital, as substantially composed and overflowing with meaningful content. Just a few doors down from our emerging Griffonage Studios, is the highly regarded Dinnerware Artspace. There, a local artist named Andrew Polk has created an installation in the middle gallery at Dinnerware, which is layered with beauty, substance and contemporaneousness.

Entitled “Drowning”, Polk’s installation is a multi faceted video and audio projection which draws in the viewer with a soft rain of images and gentle sounds। Initially one is attracted to the work by its’ fragile and floating magnetic qualities। But the work continues to hold one’s attention with complex and significantly layered content: an Arabic chant, a demonstration of the process of water boarding, footage of American soldiers and the American flag against a brilliant blue sky। The continuous, underlying thesis of the piece is that the world is drowning in religion, in patriotism, history, biology and other issues. Drowning is essentially a metaphor for being overtaken by something beyond one’s control. These are ways to pass or move into oblivion, which the artist says, may not always be a bad thing.

The installation is well worth the visual, auditory, sensual, intellectual and spiritual experience and should not be missed. It runs through December 21, 2007.

Photos courtesy of PAM, Center for Creative Photography and Dinnerware Artspace.

2007-11-10T11:54:00.000-08:00

Whiskey River by John Dempcy

Oh So Briefly

Have been intending to post a little something on the scribbles blog, as there is so much happening in the world of Tucson art these days. However, because there is so much happening in the world of Tucson art these days, it stands to reason, I suppose you could say, that I have had much less time to write than I would like. With happy conditions like these, you’ll not hear me complaining, even as I squeeze in a simple commentary today.

Last weekend, I attended a lovely reception at Conrad Wilde Gallery on 4th Avenue in Tucson. That is Tucson, Arizona. Yes, the dusty old cow town gone somewhat urbane, perhaps while we were all preoccupied on the coasts, probably thinking that sophistication exists only there. Time to rethink.

The evening was warm, mild and pleasant. And, as always, the gallery space itself was/is attractive; the art work equally as gorgeous. A group show of fascinating design works by John Dempcy, Miles Conrad, Eileen Goldenberg and Robert Moya filled the front exhibition space. The works are all exquisite. Each series of works was a pleasure to examine, accomplished with an eye for color, composition and intriguing use of the unusual mediums.Well executed in every possible way.

Untitled image by Miles Conrad

Because we are so busy with the renovation of our own Tucson studio, just this once I will ask you to do more work than a reader probably should be required to do... and I will sincerely hope that you’ll take the time to visit the various hyperlinks included in my short preceding prose, to learn more about these wonderful artists and their amazing work.

Nevertheless, I couldn’t let time pass by without making, if only very briefly, a commentary, as the artwork and the gallery are definitely to be recognized, visited when you are in Tucson and placed on your list of important contemporary arts venues.

Photos courtesy Conrad Wilde Gallery

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2007-10-17T11:32:00.000-07:00

Some Things I Like...

Over the past weekend, I unexpectedly discovered some new links with smart art and with inspired, contemporary beauty. It seems that the intern network associated with Dinnerware Artspace in Tucson Arizona is a well of quiet, if intelligent inventiveness.

And of course, everything that Dinnerware Artspace sponsors is completely smart and interesting. Perhaps the best space in Tucson, I would have to say.

“This is not another diary...” by Molly McClintock

Firstly, there was an unannounced (or perhaps more fairly, under announced) March of the Zombies along Congress Street, just as a reception for the art auction at Dinnerware Artspace was merrily in progress. The March occurred concurrently, or perhaps in conjunction with the upcoming holiday of All Hallows and/or in connection with the newly completed mural sequence on Fifth and Congress Streets (downtown Tucson) which was recently completed by MAXed Art. Or maybe it simply happened because in creative communities, these things do.

Unlike most murals, the MAXed Art project is of our time and of our culture. That is to say, I enjoy looking at it and having it in our midst.

MAXed Art’s new mural on Fifth and Congress Streets in Tucson, Arizona, USA

And then there were the many fragments of enchanting conversation with Dinnerware’s bevy of interns as the evening’s art auction proceeded under the capable auctioneering skills of Arthur Smith. My role for the evening was as the auction’s bid recorder; a brief and happy revisit of the world of economics and of bid/asks. Inbetween sales and recordings, I had a chance to meet a few of the upcoming artists/interns in Tucson and to share comments regarding artwork and art in general.

The poised and talented interns who work at the Dinnerware Artspace are indeed knowledgeable artists, themselves. Impressed with all that I have met; my conversations to date with the interns have been interesting and even rather remarkable.

“Englisk Grammatik” by Kate McHugh

Follow the various hyperlinks interspersed throughout this posting to see a very small sampling of the artwork being developed by these young, fascinating people.

More to come on this under investigated AZ topic, I promise.

Photos courtesy of the e-portfolio program at the University of Arizona and MAXed Art.

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2007-10-09T13:10:00.000-07:00

Zizanie

Notre dernier member de la famille: Madeleine Zizanie.
Juste pour la pratique, je vous écris ce texte tous dans la langue Francais.

Zizanie Madeliene est le second prénom de la difficulté que semble suivre (ou précéder?) son partout dans le monde. (En espagnol, nous pourrions appeler son "Trouble - ita").
Hahaha...
Nous avons choisi ce mot en raison de son sens pour ce qui concerne le mot "difficulté"; Des références à des sentiments troublés et fou.

Aussi, nous avons simplement souhaité que la manière dont ce mot sonne français, quand vous le dire.

Elle est un bel et heureux créature, sans crainte. Nous merveille à son intelligence et sa bravoure. Et donc, nous avons également s'inquiéter pour sa sécurité. Mais quand nous inquiéter, nous pensons sage de la citation suivante:

Le papillon voletant de fleur en fleur reste toujours le mien, je perds celui qui est compensés par moi.
~Rabindranath Tagore, philosopher, author, songwriter, painter, educator, composer, Nobel laureate (1861-1941)

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Silly (Zany?) Madeleine

The newest member of our family: Madeleine Zizanie.
Just for practice, I am writing this text in the French language.

Zizanie is her middle name as trouble seems to follow (or precede?) her every move.
(In Spanish, we would call her “Trouble-ita”). Hahaha...
We chose this word because of its' meaning in terms regarding the word "trouble"; references to upset and crazy feelings.

Also, we simply liked the way this french word sounds, when you say it.

She is a beautiful and happy creature, without fear। We marvel at her intelligence and bravery. Even so, we worry about her safety. When we think of her, we think of the following quote:

The butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me. ~Rabindranath Tagore, philosopher, author, songwriter, painter, educator, composer, Nobel laureate (1861-1941)

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2007-09-27T12:18:00.000-07:00

Renewing My Faith
Commentary by Jan Zbiciak Brummett

While running an errand yesterday, I found that there was an extra half hour left on the parking meter and decided to use the time to wander through a adjacently located art gallery in the downtown Tucson area. In hindsight, an excellent decision on my part, I must say.

The quality of Tucson’s prolific art scene continues to astonish and to renew my faith in the area’s art and artists. The Etherton Gallery on 6th Avenue could be as easily located in San Francisco (perhaps near or on Sutter Street?) or in Manhattan (I am thinking maybe in Chelsea?) or even in Los Angeles. It is a lovely space to visit.

In an exhibit at the Etherton Gallery, I happily disovered that local artist, Frances Murray, is currently showing a collection of her photographs and writing from 1977 to 2007. Entitled Psychologue, the show is a diary illuminating complex thoughts and feelings that most of us share in one way or another. Psychologue celebrates Frances Murray’s thirty-year journey in photography.

In a word, the exhibit of silver gelatin prints is luminous. The work is intelligent, visually poetic, risky and yet incredibly stunning.

A pleasant accidental discovery, I highly recommend investigating the work of this artist.

Photographs are courtesy of the Etherton Gallery website.

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2007-09-23T14:12:00.000-07:00

A Good Week
Ahhhh, a quiet Sunday afternoon as I write....
To all who now live with and around me, I have proclaimed this to be a proper day “off”। And then, of course, as my ever dabbling play turns into a kind of pleasant work, accidentally this day of rest turns into, well, one which could not exactly be considered “off”... or a day which will not pass, at least, without its’ little reflective accomplishments. It has been a good, if busy week.

Finally, after spending a very long time both in planning and researching, we have settled upon the first brick and mortar location for our longtime cyber based Griffonage Studios. She is to set her first roots in downtown Tucson, Arizona (USA) on Congress Street. The agreement was finalized this week and Griffonage Studios will assume her first domicile (a sweet little storefront which was built around the turn of the 20th century) in mid November 2007. Stay tuned for much more information as Griff begins her launch of arts and ideas.

And now there are two.... sisters:
On September 20, Trixie Grace (our behemoth, big hearted dog) acquired a new little sister.
Meet Madeleine....

Five months old and full of energy, curiosity and intelligence, Maddie was adopted from an animal rescue center in Tucson, Arizona. Tiny little wisp that she is, Madeleine immediately waltzed up to her 92 pound big sis and kissed Trixie squarely on the nose, on first encounter. They have been mates ever since and truly seem to like each other. The dynamic between the two (Mutt and Jeff?) is adorable, if a tad absurd and with endless patience (rather like having a two year old toddler in the house) we are all making a place in our collective heart and in our home for this little blast of vigor and happiness.

For a few months now, we have been wondering whether Arizona was the ultimate place for us to make our new home. As of this week, I would have to say that, at least for now, many of our questions have been answered in the affirmative.

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2007-09-17T17:30:00.000-07:00

Clips and Scraplets
Yeah, this has only happened to me about 187,000 times over the past summer.
But then, perhaps I exaggerate?

Thanks to Berkeley Breathed, September 17, 2007.

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2007-09-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

About My Book

Never underestimate the amount of resentment and hostility we harbor toward artists. It springs largely from envy. They can behave quite badly, but mainly they operate with a kind of freedom and courage that other people don’t risk or enjoy. And it can lead to wondrous things.
~From a NYT article by Roberta Smith, September 16, 2007

People keep asking, sending inquiries, continuing to wonder when it will be ready; this book I have been writing and fiddling with since sometime in early 2003.

This tome was inspired by some very remarkable experiences, collected over a period of nearly 16 years. Specifically, it is a fictional account of an artist whose work reflects the genre of conceptual contemporary standards, and yet who is living and trying desperately to work authentically in a remote, backward, poverty stricken, culturally isolated, conservative northern California county.

The focus of this digest could be slightly autobiographical, and then again it might not be. Have these vignettes been imagined or do such predicaments exist? Poetic license kicks in almost right away and as the fictional manuscript chugs and totters along -- at least in its’ current unfinished condition -- the use of such artistic dispensation is intricately exercised and ever so cautiously interwoven into the entire text seamlessly, or so we (my editor and I) constantly hope.

As with any creative effort or work of art, it may often take a decade or perhaps more to finish a manuscript and have it ready for public consumption. In contrast, other written works that I have authored over the years, often very nearly assemble themselves even in a week, a month or two. Time considerations vary with the underlying substance and are heavily reliant upon the mindset of the maker. It really depends upon the content and upon the issues facing the author as he/she wrestles with presentation of the subject matter. In this case, I am finding that time and its’ closest cousin perspective are each proving to be a great assistant. Each has allowed me to work circumspectly and deliberately through the layers of deep psychological and legal considerations while carefully constructing this particular model.

And so I continue to happily labor forward with the gangly puzzle pieces which compose this unique project. A project, I must emphasize, with an as yet unspecified completion date.

Please continue to stay patiently tuned; I think you will find that the peculiar revelations and enormous entertainment value will surely justify the wait.
Good things, sometimes, take time.

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2007-09-08T11:16:00.000-07:00

Champion: Back to Performance Art?

Okay... yes, I admit it, I was secretly pretending to be a certain imaginary Mademoiselle Sugimoto
for a time, this summer. It was part of my new idyllic fascination with the fabulous artist Hiroshi Sugimoto. So taken by his images was I, that my objective was to view the world as he might have, had he been in the places which I have recently visited.

Word among the arts intellectuals has it (and has, for some time now) that performance art has lost its’ usefulness, has suffered a demise and gone the way of so many once fresh artistic formats, into the murky sea of academia. (Glug, glug, Mlle. Sugimoto). Yet in the past three months, I have again discovered its’ methods and processes to be quite ingenious and personally functional. Ah well, it has always been said that much of performance art was simply indulgence and perhaps it is so.

Seeking peace of mind and a moment to make sense of the frenzied abundance of new facts and ideas which were churning in my mind, one day I happily found myself on a beautiful beach surrounded by the fresh, soft sands and the salt free water of Lake Michigan. The open, waterscaped, clean air washed over me like a transparent tonic and I felt greatly renewed and refreshed enough to reenter the swirling of my life (which is what I am required to do, when I am secretly pretending to be me).

Ask any serious actor; sometimes it is both useful and cathartic to imagine yourself as somebody else. The imitative process helps to further growth, to extend thoughts and even to shape new dreams. Ask any psychotic and if possible, he/she will tell you that psychological escape is a very safe place to be, particularly when being yourself has become overwhelming. Where and who was I when these images were made? Perhaps we might ask the secretly brilliant (yet imaginary) Mademoiselle Sugimoto. She has certainly been a great help to me.

In so many ways, this summer of 2007 has been a time of countless new experiences, a flood of inspirations and a portent of personal renovation/alteration. My sometime alter ego, Mademoiselle Sugimoto has unquestionably facilitated the organization of this information both in my right brain and in my heart.

As they say, change is a constant.

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2007-08-10T09:09:00.000-07:00

More Simple Beauty
Minimalism seems to have acquired a new and evolved meaning in these complex days and times.

A sample of some newfound (old) art that seems entirely in keeping with thoughts of space, time and infinity, now that science has entered the consciousness of the arts in a serious way. A mixture of religion and nature, reflected in stunning and simple images which take the viewer back to basics.

At Peter Blum in Soho, Yayoi Kusama’s prints are lovely images which reflect upon the entire spectrum of contemporary meaning.

Very Zen.

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2007-08-08T09:12:00.000-07:00

Minima: The Seascapes
for caos

How has contemporary art grown into beautiful, classic and relevant images since the upheavals of the 1940s, 1950s, 1960s and so forth? Did Marcel DuChamp truly have any lasting effect on modern thinking in the arts? Why is minimal art still as pertinent today as when it first emerged from landscape in the 1950s and 1960s?

The work of Sugimoto Hiroshi, currently showing at (of all places) the DeYoung Museum is a quiet and brilliant manifestation of contemporary art history.

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2007-08-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

Sky Scribbling

A little visual ditty made to post on wearetheweather. However, for some techno mysterious reason, the slides could not be uploaded to the Word Press blog format, so instead they have been posted here.

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2007-08-02T17:54:00.000-07:00

Mystifying Little Flicker

So yeah, I am new here. Even though I have lived here before, I am new here. Quite new. I am the newbie here, in my strange new neighborhood, in my town, and especially at my house.

When I lived here before, there were no houses where my house presently stands. As I look and roam around my new home, I feel as though I only barely comprehend the reaction of this particular environmental temperament; that even though all of the natural balance and population has lived here before (long, long before), it too feels confused and displaced. Perhaps, with change, this place has become even disturbingly unfamiliar now to us all. Our modern world; it is all about expansion, development and growth. And at the same time, all about devolution.

Hence I watch carefully the little worlds which orbit around me in the northern Sonoran Desert, to see who is alive and well... and exactly how this fragile attempt at life and maintenance of delicate seasons is accomplished. Sometimes I have to wonder if it will survive.

All the same, little happy surprises continually greet me amidst this latest culture shock. Lately I have found a delicate one which I cannot yet name. She is a tiny, subtly colored lump of a non descript cactus, choosing to live beneath bigger hosts, like a massive Palo Verde tree or a thick, hunky barrel cactus, for instance. Apparently not requiring much in the way of attention, she appears first as a little pebble and then grows more little lumps as she extends her unremarkable presence quietly among the others living in the sand everywhere.

Recently however, I noticed that she too had an elusive, tantalizing and beautiful voice. It came so quickly and without warning; called out from her crown, from the tiny white rocks in which she has chosen to park diminutively. And it came forth even from the scaly base of some of her elders. It is a tender, pale crimson expression, with the bright, warm yellow pistils of a shy but loving feminine entity. Her voice came and went with tranquility; the blossoms recurring with the generous rains of summer. Quiet flickers in this strange new (old) world.

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2007-07-20T09:26:00.000-07:00

Looking for the Right Place

If you want something really important to be done you must not merely satisfy the reason, you must move the heart also. ~Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1948)

Life is extraordinarily eventful in a frenzied way, these days, rendering me entirely reactive (as opposed to pro...). Planning and order seem to have been tossed out the window for the time being.

Frustration abounds and yet the urge to keep moving and to be vibrant dominates my daily consciousness.

Now long into July of 2007, I had hoped this midsummer time would be fruitful in a relaxing and creative way। Yet it is filled with endless incongruities and, interruptions which oddly seem to provide exactly what I need to know; all the while distracting me from a search for that which I believe I need to know and do।

Truly, I would scream and scurry around in frustration, if I were not somehow getting exactly what I need in the most lopsided and yet satisfying way।

Probing expedition require a certain indefinable, yet completely sensible evaluation.

How will one know when one has finally reached the “right” place? Well, I really hate to say it, but one just knows.

In no particular order and to help move along in my thinking, a list of descriptors...

Distinguish
Identify
Be au fait with
Recognize
Discern
Grasp
Comprehend

And the modifiers...

Suitable
Fitting
Pleasing
Wanted
Needed
Required
Attractive
Advantageous
Proper
Desirable
Best
Reasonable
Correct
True
Exact precise
Perfect

A few exploratory side trips, a great deal of investigating.... and somewhere along the convoluted and self guided path, the spot will announce it self. Yes, I truly believe it.

Stay tuned.

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2007-07-07T10:21:00.000-07:00

7.7.07

Seven is the 4th prime number.
Seven is a Mersenne prime, since 23 - 1 = 7.
Seven is the fourth Mersenne prime exponent.
Seven is the first Newman-Shanks-Williams prime.
Seven is the third Lucas prime.
Seven is the first Woodall prime.
Seven is the second lucky prime.
Seven is the second safe prime.
Seven is the fourth factorial prime
Seven is both a Carol number and a Kynea number.
Seven is the smallest number that can't be represented as a sum of fewer than four non-zero squares.
Seven is the fourth self number.
Seven is the smallest happy number, except for the trivial example of 1.

Seven Days of Creation, 1765

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2007-07-06T08:47:00.000-07:00

Feliz Cumpleaños, Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón

As a graduate student at San Francisco Art Institute, the murals of Diego Rivera are forever etched in my mind. Covering some of the old adobe walls at SFAI, they were a backdrop for those bizarre years from 1980 to 1982, which were spent studying Video and Performance (I think we were studying) and somehow chaotically working my way toward an MFA. Ever spinning, struggling and falling there (perhaps as a true art school experience should be), I never quite fell into the cult of his wife, Frida Kahlo, and only learned of her work in a far different arts environment.Today she would have celebrated her hundredth birthday.

What the Water Gave Me, 1938

Like her husband, Kahlo’s work is fascinating and curious. It has also become a pop culture icon, probably one of the worst/best fates a body of imagery can attain in contemporary culture. (Just ask Andy Warhol or Madonna).

In centennial celebration, there are dozens of articles in the press, various exhibits and a retrospective of her art work is on display at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, along with a collection of letters at her home, Casa Azul in Mexico City.

Probably my favorite in this whole July 6 media art buzz, is an article in the Chicago Sun Times by Esther J. Cepeda, which seems to capture the mood of the day most accurately. In part, it reads:

If you recognize the name at all, it’s because of the movie starring Mexican super-babe Salma Hayek.

Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderon, polio survivor, ultra-Communist, bisexual Mexican-born daughter of a Hungarian Jew and an indigenous Mexican, and trophy wife of famed Mexican muralist Diego Rivera, would have been 100 years old Friday. But the combination of the aftereffects of a crippling bus accident, hard drinking and dealing with a philandering husband did her in early.

Oh yeah — and she painted. Mostly vividly symbolic self-portraits, which tell the story of Mexico through the eyes of an intensely feminine feminist who, almost 53 years after her death, is still an icon up there with the Holy Virgin Mother of Guadalupe and the tri-colored flag.

You can find her image on earrings, T-shirts, refrigerator magnets and even purses. But the prize for funky Frida-lisciousness goes to those who practice Kahlo-ism: the worship of Kahlo as "the one true god."

Its tenets include resistance to conformity, creative artistic tendencies and sexy or unique clothing। An altar or shrine of Frida for solo daily prayer is de rigueur, but larger gatherings can convene at any party zone. Pilgrimages to her famously blue house in Coyoacan, Mexico, are strongly encouraged.

Broken Column, 1944

Despite what is has become, Kahlo’s art was altogether symbolist, expressionist and fraught with the influences of the day; surrealism. It was lovely, it was feminist; a true depiction of the times.

Doing the math, we know that she was born in 1907। She died at the age of 47 on 1954. It is said that she was ready to die, having lived in a torturous and inhospitable body for most of her life. I wonder how she would feel about the art legacy which has grown into a cult since her departure.

Accident 1926

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2007-07-02T12:57:00.000-07:00

Footnote: The Pile Next to My Bed and Associated Thoughts/Reflections

In between seemingly endless summer searches and treks to find a brick and mortar home for my beloved Griffonage Studios, a massive pile of books is beginning to collect on the table next to my bed. All are works that I am longing to read and I had hoped that summer would lend me the time to indulge. So far, as the month of July now begins, this season has not yet afforded me enough opportunity for one of my favorite pastimes.

On the top of the stack, sits a book that I am dying to consume, entitled “Falling Man” by Don DiLillo which was just recently published in May of this year. The title refers to the events in New York City on September, 11 2001, with a reference to the haunting image photographed by Richard Drew. I am anxious to absorb any literary analysis/reflection/response/fallout from that life changing day.

An old friend, from the days when I worked in the stock market (another life?)had an office in the Twin Towers in New York City and we did not hear from him for two days after the attacks. Luckily, as I seem to recall, his office was on the third floor of the first tower and he was able escape the tragedy, at least to escape without bodily harm. It was a scary two days and as I worried endlessly and desperately hoped for his survival my heart was aching for the countless others who had no hope of such a happy conclusion.

I am quite afraid of heights.

Oddly, in the place where I lived at the time, in far northern, rural California, the attacks of September 11, 2001 did not seem to register with the teachers who worked around me. Already, these so called professionals (mostly comprised of a group of refugee hippies from the 1970s) were involved in their own series of brutal attacks upon one another. However being on the outside of the K-12 inner circle (a place which seemed wholly appropriate for me), this destructive scheme was something to which I was not privy until its’ own appalling outcome began to take awful shape sometime later. As for my own version of the harrowing days when Mars influenced all of our lives; I continue to work on a book about these parallel (and dreadful) events. The passage of time allows a more rational and sympathetic angle. Experiencing the cruelty and the malice of those who claim to have evolved from the generation of “love” has forever altered my understanding of the human capacity to inflict cruelty upon one another. In the forest, (away from civilization) very often, folks are reduced to responses vulgarly influenced simply by the instinctual and primal animal within. Not so pretty.

For me, as for countless others, the incident on September 11, 2001 signified a major turning point in my life, in my world and in my perception. Though I didn’t know it at the time, the annihilation of the Twin Towers (perhaps signified most fluently by the image of the Falling Man) was a ghastly symbol of many other battles and horrors yet to unfold in many other lives around the world. I have always believed it was the ultimate manifestation of Mars and its’ proximity to Earth (the closest in 500 years, or so they say) which provided the explanation for much of what occurred in my own little world, as well as the lives of others in the three years which followed September 11, 2001.

While my days in northern California do contain some onerous tales from 2001 to 2003, it is quite essential to note that the time spent in that remote corner of the world also granted me 16 marvelous years of solitude, beauty and unimaginable spiritual experiences, as well। The ability to forgive (or to place in meaningful perspective) allows even the most injured among us to move forward and live a creative and productive life, in spite of terrible challenges.This much I know for certain; the prospect of Mars’ aggressive influence has conferred upon me the insight to carry on and ride out times of vicious storms, hopefully stronger and wiser than ever.

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2007-06-26T08:43:00.000-07:00

Her Screaming Light

So a few weeks ago we were having breakfast outside on the back porch when my husband said to me, “Look at the blooms on the organ pipe cactus... have you seen them?”

Usually, I am the one who announces changes in the garden and in the wildlife around us, so I was a bit surprised to have missed this latest transformation, particularly when I focused on exactly what he was describing. The organ pipe cactus in our garden had blossomed. And it was not a subtle materialization.

The flower head of our organ pipe cactus was like a massive satellite dish, nearly dwarfing its’ host/mother plant in comparison; a strange proportion, screaming to the elements of nature for attention and no doubt for immediate and adequate fertilization. (Sassy, yet dazzlingly gorgeous emergent girl, the likes of which my mother would have been mortified to meet, back in the stone ages when I was a teenager... definitely not the image that a respectable young lady was/is expected to depict). And yet this new cactus flower was magnificent, this mouthy lady bloom with her huge featherlike petals and well exposed inner flower parts.

As spring and now summer continue to unfold in our new desert home, we see evermore amazing phenomena that astonish and fascinate. Besides the fact that everything has thorns, each new plant/creature also seems to boast other unusual features which are somehow majestically exaggerated to ensure the species survival.

I suppose it is simply a Darwinian universal truth; we all do what we have to do.

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2007-06-08T10:31:00.000-07:00

She’s Gone

Falling…
So the other day as I sat working silently at my desk, which overlooks a lovely view of the Catalina Mountains and a pretty, open desert space on our property, I saw that something was amiss. The towering stalk of our magnificent century plant had fallen toward the road and away from the house. The end had come... she had quietly lain down, pulling her entire base and shallow roots along in a simple unit. Now one neat, nice piece, a splendid horizontal extension of the unique plant life which develops so wondrously in the severe conditions of the Sonoran Desert, reminding me of the fragile sugar pines of the northwest forests which go down easily when they become too tall to hold up the weight of their own bodies.

Examining…
And so I learned that a century plant does indeed expire after it blooms। This lovely giant gave her last best burst almost upon my arrival in the desert and then elegantly fell to her final rest, literally on my doorstep.

In her death and silence, I took advantage of the opportunity to see her at close range; quietly walked around her fallen corpse to examine those glorious extensions, fascinating skin and thick, waxy blossoms. It was an astonishing chance for observation. While inspecting this giant goddess, the trusty Canon miraculously found its’ way into my hands and the camera automatically began to snap; thus a gift of many dramatic images.

Reflecting…
Later, as I paged through the hundreds of photographs taken of the recently fallen agave, my thoughts wandered to the many endings recently experienced in my own world; of the culmination of relationships and loss of loved ones, the departure of beloved places and abandonment of things, changes in the direction of life, of lengthy and intertwined paths now arriving at crossroads. So many things to ponder and to evaluate as I move into this next and uncharted phase of life; a parallel series of episodes runs slowly through my mind as I celebrate/contemplate the death of this gorgeous creature who has lived with me only eight months. And now?

Perhaps a Meyer lemon tree will go nicely in the space which she has vacated.

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2007-06-02T22:31:00.000-07:00

Pablo Picasso
A fabulous visual video metamorphosis...

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2007-05-26T11:49:00.000-07:00

Secrets Shared by Friends

who are they?

For your perusal...
These household tips were sent to me the other day, via one of those forwarded emails, (which some people find rather gauche, although I must admit that I secretly enjoy most of the ones I receive... camp/tasteless though some may be). In no particular order (as in the original email), I found these tips to be quite interesting and most are useful, as well. Those which are not applicable to a particular lifestyle are still rather amusing and certainly indicative of our American way of living.

So enjoy and put to use, if appropriate.

Bed Sheets
After laundering (and drying) sheets, put both sheets and one pillowcase in the other pillow case. Fold neatly in a square. Next time you change sheets, you just take the one pillow case and all the sheets and pillow case are inside. No need to look for matches. Thanks to Martha Stewart for this one.

Clean Glass Shower
To clean the glass in your shower easily, apply lemon juice to the glass with a sponge. Then, take newspaper and wipe the lemon juice off the glass. It will be clean and sparkle with no scrubbing!

Reheat Pizza
Heat up leftover pizza in a non-stick skillet on top of the stove, set heat to med-low and heat till warm. This keeps the crust crispy. No soggy micro pizza. As seen on the cooking channel... it really works.

Easy Deviled Eggs
Put cooked egg yolks in a zip lock bag. Seal, mash till they are all broken up. Add remainder of ingredients, reseal and then keep mashing it up mixing thoroughly. Cut the tip of the baggy, squeeze mixture into egg. Just throw bag away when done easy clean up.

Reheating Refrigerated Bread
To warm leftover breads, biscuits, pancakes, or muffins that were refrigerated, place them in a microwave with a cup of water. The increased moisture will keep the food moist and help it reheat faster.

Newspaper Weeds-Away
Start putting in your plants, work the nutrients in your soil. Wet newspapers, put layers around the plants overlapping as you go, cover with mulch and forget about weeds. Weeds will get through some gardening plastic, they will not get through wet newspapers.

Broken Glass
Use a dry cotton ball to pick up little broken pieces of glass – the fibers catch ones you can't see!No More MosquitoesPlace a dryer sheet in your pocket. It will keep the mosquitoes away.

Squirrel Away!
To keep squirrels from eatin g your plants sprinkle your plants withcayenne pepper. The cayenne pepper doesn't hurt the plant and the squirrels won't come near it.

MINE!!!!!
If you purchase a new bike for your child, place their picture inside the handle bar before placing the grips on. If the bike is stolen and later recovered, remove the grip and there is your proof who owns the bike.

Flexible Vacuum
To get something out of a heat register or under the fridge add an empty paper towel roll or empty gift wrap roll to your vacuum. It can be bent or flattened to get in narrow openings.

Reducing Static Cling
Pin a small safety pin to the seam of your slip and you will not have a clingy skirt or dress. Same thing works with slacks that cling when wearing panty hose. Place pin in seam of slacks and -- voila -- static is gone.

Measuring Cups
Before you pour sticky substances into a measuring cup, fill it with hot water. Dump out the hot water, but don't dry the cup. Next, add your ingredient, such as peanut butter, and watch how easily it comes right out.

Foggy Windshield?
Hate foggy windshields? Buy a chalkboard eraser and keep it in the glove box of your car. When the windows fog, rub with the eraser! Works better than a cloth!

Conditioner
Use your hair conditioner to shave your legs. It's a lot cheaper than shaving cream and leaves your legs really smooth. It's also a great way to use up the conditioner you bought but didn't like when you tried it in your hair...

Good-bye Fruit Flies
To get rid of pesky fruit flies, take a small glass fill it 1/2" with Apple Cider Vinegar and 2 drops of dishwashing liquid, mix well. You will find those flies drawn to the cup and gone forever!

Get Rid of Ants
Put small piles of cornmeal where you see ants. They eat it, take it "home," and can't digest it so it kills them. It may take a week or so, especially if it rains, but it works well and you don't have the worry about pets or small children being harmed!

Take Baby Powder to the Beach
Keep a small bottle of baby powder in your beach bag. When you're ready to leave the beach sprinkle yourself (and kids) with the powder and the sand will slide right off your skin.

And included somewhat reluctantly...

Reopening Envelope
If you seal an envelope and then realize you forgot to include something inside, just place your sealed envelope in the freezer for an hour or two. Voila! It unseals easily.
PS: (Hmmm... this trick should be used only for 'good' purposes). ~jzb

Easier “thank yous”
When you throw a bridal/baby shower, buy a pack of thank you cards for the guest of honor. During the party, pass out the envelopes and have everyone put their address on one. When the bride/new mother sends the thank you notes, they're all addressed!
PS: I think this one is rather lame; if someone takes the time to buy a gift and then to actually show up and spend time at a baby or bridal shower (not always the most exciting of parties) it seems to me that the very least the recipient can do is remember each and every attendee personally. ~jzb

Expanding Frosting
When you buy a container of cake frosting from the store (like I ever do? ~jzb), whip it with your mixer for a few minutes. You can double it in size. You get to frost more cake/cupcakes with the same amount (of fake food?~jzb). You also eat less sugar/calories per serving.
PS: If I am eating cake, I figure that it is time to indulge and so am unconcerned about counting calories or sugar intake. ~jzb

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2007-05-25T13:01:00.000-07:00

La Piscine: Some Things I Want to Remember...

my dog Trixie Grace races back and forth happily as I "faire des longueurs de piscine"

Functionality and Visualization
So I was going through a bit of French this morning, as I try to do three or four times a week, when I came upon some useful words and phrases which I intend to attempt to incorporate into my vocabulary. I say this as if I was a fluent speaker of the language, when of course my spoken French is fairly horrendous. The kind and lovely folks in France always insist on speaking in English shortly after they observe my clumsy, excessive and strenuous efforts to please them. In the end, if points are awarded for intention, it is honest the venture, I think, that counts. All the same, hope springs as it always does that one day I will be able to ramble on and be understood in this beautiful tongue.

Meantime... voila! another useful (?) addition to the handy mental notebook / sketchpad.

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2007-05-23T13:39:00.000-07:00

Creativity Across La Langues: Les Branches Brise

J'adore this guy...

Even if you ne parles pas Francais, this web site is amusing and tres fun to explore.

Happy surfing!

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2007-05-17T11:44:00.000-07:00

Century Plant:
A Mysterious Giant Among Us

So we have this giant and amazing plant growing, expanding and budding in the front of our new home; an agave.

Not only is it thriving in a massive way (as most plants seem to do here in the Sonoran Desert) but in the spring it began to sprout an amazing, gigantic single asparagus-like shoot from its’ center. It was as if Claes Oldenburg had secretly sneaked on to our property and created a single, simple veggie garden just for us.

Who knew?
As this fabulous and enormous living thing continues to emerge and to tower over everything around it including our house, the stories regarding its’ name, blossoming process and uses are increasing as well. Folklore has it that the Native American Indians used the shaft of this mega flower for an instrument much like the didgeridoo in Australia. We had the privilege of observing the performance of an ancient American Indian chant, using this particular instrument, last fall in Tucson. Little did we know at that time, that we would soon have the unique materials to actually make one of our own, later this year.

Related to the aloe? To the amaryllis?
There is some confusion about the actual species of agave which thrives so prominently, directly in the front of our home and outside the room which my husband uses as his music studio. Someone told us last weekend that if you put your ear next to the stalk, it is possible to hear the plant growing. On some recent, very hot days, we could have sworn that perhaps we actually watched its’ quickening nascence. Another visitor to our home believes that the Century Plant exerts all of its’ energy in the production of the flowers and then expires once it has done so.

Will it die? We continue to wonder as we observe this fascinating creature’s daily changes.

We believe that the giant which dominates the front of our home is either an Agave Americanus or an Agave Tequilana; one will die after it has formed the reproductive blossoms (Tequilana) and one, according to the information that we can find, will not (Americanus).

And yes, the Agave Tequilana plant is used to make that famous intoxicating drink with the fat little worm at the bottom of the bottle. Tequila is produced by removing the heart of the plant in its twelfth year, normally weighing between 35-90 kg. The heart is stripped of leaves and heated to remove the sap, which is then fermented and distilled. Other beverages such as Mezcal and Pulque are also produced from blue and other agaves by different methods (still using the sap) and are regarded as more traditional.

Sorting through the folklore...
Local conventions and beliefs about this Century Plant seem to be varied, the information obscure and somewhat contradictory. Our own research has narrowed the stories down to a few possible truths which of course will be confirmed or abated as the flower continues to evolve and materialize before our very eyes.

In any case, we shall wait and see.
As time reveals the process, there will be more reports to come.

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2007-05-03T15:56:00.000-07:00

A Distinctive Visual Experience

We are the ever enthralled and captive, albeit passive viewers as the new spring season emerges in the colorful northern Sonoran Desert, the location of our new home. Very different from the springtime phenomenon which we happily witnessed for many years in northern California; equally as majestic... and as similar as it is profoundly different and unique.

Surrounding our home, amazing transformations are taking place as we sit, watch and learn. Pictures are taken on a daily basis and the inventory is verging on the hopelessly countless.

For your viewing pleasure, here are some slide shows of the blossoms and the incomparable beauty which we are privileged to observe everyday simply by trapsing around in our new desert domicile.

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2007-04-16T12:59:00.000-07:00

A New Version of Green Hummus:
Whipped Chickpea, Spinach, and Potato Spread
A variation of Judith Barrett's version from her cookbook Fagioli (recipe found on page 36).

Chickpea Spread

1 cup dried chickpeas, rinsed and picked over

1 small new potato (Yukon Gold, Yellow Fin, etc), peeled and quartered

1 small red onion, chopped

zest of one lemonjuice of 1/2 - 1 lemon

salt and pepper

1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

warm water

5-6 handfuls of spinach, washed well

Note: I like the taste and texture of beans cooked from scratch, but of course this could also be made with canned chickpeas. Start with two 14-ounce cans of chickpeas (aka ceci beans / garbanzo beans), drained and rinsed. Cook the potato separately. This little edit should get you going in the right direction.

Prepare Beans and Potato

Soak the garbanzos overnight. Drain soaking liquid, and refill with enough water to cover the beans by about an inch. Bring water to a boil, reduce heat, and allow to simmer until beans are tender. Add the potato to the pot (or cook it in another water-filled pot) until tender; another 10 minutes or so. Drain any extra water at this point and set beans/potato aside.

Prepare Additonal Ingredients
Add a splash of olive oil to a hot skillet, and throw in the spinach. It should collapse within 10 or 20 seconds. Immediately remove from heat and salt to taste. Alternatively, you may also choose to heat some water in the bottom of a large skillet and then toss in the spinach. This option allows you to steam the spinach and slightly reduce the amount of oil used in the recipe. If you decide to steam the spinach, make sure that you press it through a strain before adding the collapsed leaves to your food processor mixture.

Combine the chickpeas, potato, spinach, 1/4 cup red onions, lemon zest and juice, and a few big pinches of salt in a food processor. With the machine running, drizzle in the olive oil. Chances are your mixture is on the dry side at this point and you may need to add warm water a few tablespoons at a time until the spread is a rich, creamy consistency. Season carefully, if you under salt the flavor will be flat; likewise if more acidity is needed, add a bit more lemon juice. (Note: For personal health reasons, I used more lemon juice since I do not salt the foods I make from scratch. The result was very delicious).

Put a spoonful of the spread on crostini, toasted pita bread, or your choice of whole grain cracker. Finish with a drizzle of good-quality extra-virgin olive oil and even a sprinkling of the red onion, if you like.

Serves many.

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2007-04-13T12:26:00.000-07:00

ARTopinion: Justice for all?
A general question: is it possible that this happens more often than we realize?

NOTE: This blog exists for a number of reasons; artists who are functioning in the 21st century need to focus on all aspects of life in order to create artworks which speak to our current experience. Sometimes art takes on unusual forms, including ethical as well as political ones. JZB

Rogue prosecutors (as in the Duke University rape case) are repeatedly operating in an unfettered manner within our justice system, practicing a kind of overt bullying upon those who do not have the resources to adequately defend themselves. The legal system may be manipulated more often than citizens realize by power hungry individuals who do have access, opportunity and the ability to influence prosecution (frequently for personal reasons/agendas).

The case of the Duke University LaCrosse players brings this frightening issue to light and dramatically illustrates how the legal system is used all too regularly to exert authority over those less powerful and with less ability to defend themselves.

Innocent until proven guilty? A brilliant notion in the ideal sense, however one which is sometimes under practiced in the United States, particularly in situations where there is likely relaxed or non existent citizen participation in government or legal/judicial oversight and where the weak or less powerful have no option except to submit to those in positions of authority. Prosecutors are allowed a very (too?) broad scope of clout and one can only imagine that the temptation toward the misuse of such power is always present. Without an extremely ethical character, a prosecutor can easily become a sanctioned criminal, as has happened with Mike Nifong and with many others, one might assume.

If you have ever known anyone or have yourself been a victim of such rogue (albeit “legal”) aggression, you will also have felt the frightening vacuum which accompanies such a hideous experience: that excessive void of personal power, a lack of rights, and complete helplessness.

Just a thought.

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2007-04-03T16:26:00.000-07:00

Printemps: oooooooooooooo, that smell!

As if on cue, spring sprang here in the desert southwest abruptly on March 21st. The world began greening automatically.

That evening, I went outside around 10:30 pm and the aroma in the air was spectacular: smooth, fragrant and subtly intense. The perfume continues to waft through our daily lives, as the mesquite trees around us engage in the blooming process.

Likewise, all other plants seem to be participating in the annual ritual; the prickly pear and other assorted like nopales have sprouted nubs, the euphorbia obesa have followed suit, the Adam’s Needles and other yuccas are shooting forth long and colorful asparagus like projections and most notably a few chosen agaves in our neighborhood (ours among them) are bursting with a huge expanse of new growth which portends a flowery climax, although we shall have to watch and see. Even my poor beautiful aloes, whose winter blooms were frozen by the unexpected January frost, are once again budding happily and about to burst forth with lovely flora.

Having spent 16 winter and spring seasons in northern California, this cyclical reminder of a different (though oddly similar) response to the ubiquitous springtime prompt is altogether fascinating. What a pleasure to be able to observe, explore and perhaps even document a new version of these phenomena of nature.

I find myself looking forward to the metmorphoses of the season; to seeing that which I have never witnessed before as it changes and progresses... and to observe as each of these amazing plants emerges a bit more, daily. Will keep you posted.

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2007-03-29T09:42:00.000-07:00

At My Doorstep, Finally: The Perfect Version of Civilization

She was here, the artist in residence for NASA. One of my idols, arguably one of the best artistic icons; for so many reasons. She spoke at the University of Arizona as a presentation of the Templeton Lectures, last night.

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2007-03-27T17:19:00.000-07:00

Oh Soooooooooo Good...

If you love eggplant, want to cut back on sodium, fat and calories in your diet and yet have the need to indulge your palate, this pate might be something to add to your recipe collection. It tastes rich and luxurious while being prepared with the simplest of ingredients. I tried it this afternoon; it was simple to make and came together quickly.

NOTE: Not having quite enough in the pantry, I added some unsalted cashews to make a whole cup of the required walnuts. And since I need to watch every grain of salt in my diet, my version was prepared without any salt at all; the other seasonings more than compensate for the rich piquancy expected from a pate and I did not miss the salt. I plan to serve it tonight with some artisan bread as a little something to munch on while we are grilling our main course.

Eggplant-Walnut Pate

8 Servings
Traditional patés are often made from high-fat meats and liver. While they can be quite delicious and elegant, they are often less than nutritious. This vegetarian version is lovely, flavorful, and healthful. Enjoy it on a special occasion or as an everyday spread with whole grain crackers or breads.

Ingredients:

1 large eggplant

1 cup walnut pieces

2 teaspoons fresh gingerroot, peeled, grated, and finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, mashed

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

1/8 teaspoon ground allspice

Salt and hot pepper sauce to taste.

1. Preheat oven to 450 degrees Farenheit. Pierce the eggplant with a fork in several places and bake until very soft, about 45 minutes.
2. While the eggplant is baking, grind the walnuts in a food processor until very fine, and set aside.
3. Remove the eggplant from oven, slash to let steam escape, drain off any liquid, and scrape the pulp into a food processor with the gingerroot, garlic, and olive oil. Process until smooth.
4. Add the ground walnuts and allspice, and process until smooth.
5. Season to taste with the salt and hot pepper sauce. Spoon into a small loaf dish and chill several hours or until firm.

Nutritional Information:
Per serving: 98 calories; 8 g total fat (1 g sat); 0 mg cholesterol; 6 g carbohydrate; 2 g protein; 2 g fiber; 150 mg sodium.

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2007-03-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

Iki is Breath (Japanese)
A visit to the awesome compound of buildings and great telescopes at Kitt Peak, located just outside and west of Tucson, Arizona is expansive and scientifically spiritual enough to remind one of the scope and reality mortality and of human insignificance. Provides comfort and perspective.
A bout with a spring time bronchial infection will have much the same effect, particularly if one has a weak heart.
Breathe deeply, while you can.

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2007-03-06T12:35:00.000-08:00

Sabina Valic Burke

Another Little Surprise: Something Lovely My Way Comes

Over the weekend, I had the happy opportunity to experience a series of stunning dance performances in Tucson, Arizona. Having studied dance briefly as an undergraduate student at the University of Arizona, I was already aware of the exceptionally fine dance work being done quietly in this corner of the world. And seeing the Flor De Liz Dance Ensemble perform on Saturday evening at the newly constructed and beautifully designed Stevie Eller Dance Theater located on the University of Arizona campus, was definitely a delight.

Still image from Passages

Particularly impressive was the performance entitled Passages choreographed by Flor De Liz Norris. Dancers Sabina Valic-Burke, Flor De Liz Norris and Kelly Kalla executed the well composed piece demonstrating impressive talent and professional command of the complicated and demanding dance medium; qualities requisite of all accomplished ballerinas.

The piece was visually alluring, quite in keeping with what one might expect from the traditional ballet genre. Dramatic costuming featuring pale yellow dresses and long dark haired wigs were complemented by exquisite lighting. Arranged to the music of Zoltan Kodaly, the work itself pushed the traditional boundaries of ballet; featuring barefoot dancers and a divinely well developed combination of moves incorporating complex and gracefully acrobatic actions intertwined with a sizable length of sheer bluish violet fabric which at times threatened to trip the dancers, send them slipping across the floor or to suffocate and/or entwine them as they moved under, around and through the flowing mass. There was a heightened sense of tension even as I wanted to trust the narrative's momentum and allow myself to remain lost in the magical kinetic description.

All in all, it was accomplished, it was daring, it was smart and it was downright pretty. With ballet, what more could anyone wish?

Flor De Liz Norris

As it was with Saturday evening’s entire presentation by the Flor De Liz Dance Ensemble, this particular piece was choreographed by someone (in this case Flor De Liz Norris) who clearly understands the language and discipline of ballet, yet is living, creating and performing the twenty first century. The work’s qualities reflected an intelligence of movement, an understanding of and dramatic sensitivity toward aesthetics and a deeply intuitive knowledge of physicality and group dynamics. The language of the movement was sophisticated and without overt symbolism, while providing a fluidly narrative vignette. Indeed a pleasure to watch and experience.

Another of the many pleasant little surprises and treasures that continue to pop up as I re-explore this quickly expanding and maturing area of the world; Tucson seems full of endless, if mysterious, charming secrets.

all photographs courtesy of the Flor De Liz Dance Ensemble

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2007-02-18T11:43:00.000-08:00

The Sky Is Not A Ceiling: works in progress

For what are stars but asterisks. / To point a human life? ~Emily Dickinson, poet (1830-1886)

2007 has ushered in a new attitude for my work and for my overall thought process in general.

Perhaps it is result of living in a new climate and consequently the refreshing outlook which seems to have accompanied the transition. Maybe it is the product of recent mundane activities; the daily efforts of picking up and reconstructing the bits and pieces of a life developed, over time. And then again conceivably it might be that my personal and professional perspectives have widened considerably, having become just lately enriched with the input of so many creative others. Or a combination, as with most inspiration, is most likely the case.

Having written a great deal over the past few years, my own artistic efforts have been profoundly influenced by the literary medium in general and it seems as though the format of my current artwork is now infused with the side effects of what could surely be called the author’s mentality.

Read on...

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2007-01-22T18:52:00.000-08:00

Il Neige!
Oh yes it did...
And for some reason, we thought this winter would be different.

So there it was.... a late, lazy Sunday afternoon (just yesterday)... we were watching the football playoffs on television and cooking some lovely chicken filling for our “La La” tortillas (to go along with a nice salsa of chunky tomatoes, red onion, garlic, black beans, cilantro and avocado with lime)... all perfect snacks for some serious television sports viewing.

(BTW amazing games... no?).

That was when we accidentally noticed, while cooking and simultaneously looking out at our new pool, that it had begun to rain outside. Large, thick and clearly precipitous clouds had filled the sky earlier in the day and so the falling rain was no surprise to us. From our observations of the clouds and chilly temperatures, we could see that it was coming.

Rain in south eastern Arizona means a few minutes of perhaps even intense sprinkles and then an immediate drying sensation of warm air along with sunshine, if the precip occurs in the daylight. But this was different. As the skies began to dim we saw that the drops had continued to fall even more thickly. And then the thickness began to look like something all too familiar; bigger blops and clumps -- the metamorphosis of a mere raindrop into snow flakes. Something we had hoped not to see again in the near future, coming from years of cold and snowy winters in the alpine mountains of far northern California. And yet, here it was.

A few hours later, we went outside to grab a log or two for the fireplace and found that the entire external world was blanketed in a covering of pristine white powder. This was not supposed to happen. Yes, snow does fall in all of the mountain ranges surrounding Tucson, but not on the valley floor itself. Ah well, it wouldn’t last long.

In the morning we awoke to brilliant light streaming through the windows in the bedroom; reflections of sunrise on a two inch blanket of very cold and white powdery stuff which enveloped our cactus gardens, yucca trees and everything outside. Every branch in each of our trees was carefully coated with gorgeous ice and snow. The brilliance of the wintry sun lit a beautiful snowscape.

Upon waking, I immediately rushed outside, camera in hand, in tennies and a nightgown to capture these stunning images before all melted and disappeared forever.

An inch of snow in a place like the desert is paralyzing. The local news stations were buzzing with photos, trivia and alive with the excitement of the curious. Schools were shut down, people stayed home from work, the highway to Mount Lemmon (some 8,000 feet and a ski area) was closed for fear of slide offs (black ice patches) or worse. Around these parts, they say that weatherwise, nothing like this has occurred in at least 10 years; there was apparently a snowfall of the equivalent in the late 1990s and an even worse one in 1971. And there was some snowfall back in 2002. So Tucson has seen the white stuff, but not often. And it is still a treat whenever it occurs.

And we must admit, as the exception: we actually liked it too.

For more images, visit the AZ snow album.

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2007-01-17T17:35:00.000-08:00

Broken Arms Company
I bid you; go ahead, explore and play around to your heart's content on this website. Don't be afraid to make the first (nearly unprompted / underprompted) move and interact, to seek hyperlinks and find the little funny gems and pretty javascript embedded everywhere. Don't we simply love Flash?
Ahhhh oui.

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2007-01-06T14:43:00.000-08:00

About My Doggy-Puss
Recently we discovered that our dear old dog Beatrix Grace (Trixie, to you) has come down with some sort of respiratory distress. The vets in Arizona with whom we have consulted theorize that her condition may be a local blight known as Valley Fever, wherein fungal spores which live in the desert sand are inhaled and then subsequently begin to take up residence and thrive in the lungs. Though not contagious, this dastardly fungus can occur in pets and in people. Knowing very little about it, we have recently learned that the disease is a bit like tuberculosis in that, if left untreated it will go on to manifest itself in other parts of the body and then become an unpleasant lifelong affliction and a likely cause of some sort of painful demise.

When Trix came to live with us some 8 or so years ago, she was already full grown and had to take up residence with several other very spoiled and territorial cats. Each feline had its' own quirks, demands and attitudes in our household. All the same, Trixie Grace found her way in to each one's mind and heart, just as she has secured a place in ours. Her socializing success was remarkable and we all came to love her deeply. She did so, I hypothesize, but imagining herself to be secretly, a cat.

Today I watched a video on Yahoo, called The Dog Who Was A Cat Inside which reminded me of my Trix and her continuing essential relationship with us. A fun little video vignette directed by Siri Melchior. Let us all hope that our dear Beatrix will recover from her illness, even as she ages (now having arrived at 12 years). Try as we might to be realistic, it is very hard to think of her as elderly and more difficult yet to imagine life without her. So, here's to canine longevity and sustained good health; a votre sante, Miz Trixus!

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A Big Idea...
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2007-01-02T13:34:00.000-08:00

Art as a Healer: A Recommendation
As I perused my daily reading this morning, I happened upon the ArtRx website and have purchased the coloring book for my own amusement. Certainly a good cause and a reminder of the curative influence contained in the everyday creative activities of all art makers. It is well worth the effort to visit this URL and perhaps it is even a good excuse to break out a nice new set of crayons, should you be so inclined.

Bonne Année 2007!

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