Holding Still

Non-Cooking is.

I have a wonderful friend who is a wonderful writer.  And she has had a tumultuous relationship with cooking (let me know if that is not totally accurate, E), for many years.  She has a very funny blog called Picky Grouchy Non-Cook.  In addition to a description of what a Non-Cook is (someone who doesn't consider him/herself a cook), she has an ongoing manifesto, resources, history of her non-cook forays, non-cook categories, and a featured Non-Cook of the month.

October's  featured Non-Cook is ME.  And I am no longer ashamed.  Here is the link.  I had a blast doing it, I must say.  I hope you enjoy it.  And in honor of my coming out of the kitchen closet as a PBN-C (Pro Bake Non-Cook), yesterday and today I baked numerous apple pies.  So there.

Below are photo hints from my interview... Read Picky Grouchy Non-Cook and find out why...

 



Enjoy!

skeleton family

May I introduce Daddy Skeleton, Mommy Skeleton, Habtamu Skeleton, Lire Skeleton, and of course, Chauncey Skeleton. Somebody was very influenced by October's theme at school... Or by Basquiat. Who would have killed to have drawn these heads!

she's leaving home...

As Lire would say, "Mommy, FUN!"

Tomorrow I'm leaving home for the first time since April, when we went to Ethiopia. Wow. I am atwitter with anticipation. Is atwitter a word? I'm going to visit a great friend and her handsome, sexy-voiced boyfriend, see some art, and get a haircut. I'm not quite sure, but I don't think I've gotten my hair cut since... February? I remember that I had my nose surgery at the end of January, and my hair was longish, then there are pics we gave to the boys in Ethiopia, and my hair is quite short. It's been a while. I have extraordiarily slow-growing hair, so it's not as bad a rat's nest as it could be. But the fact that I've been wearing it under a hat or tied up with a scrunchie is message enough. Cut it off!

As for art, I'm going to go to my former employer and my symbolic "home" away from home, to see this. Ever since I read From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in the 4th grade, it has been a place I yearned to live in. I went there with the flu that same year to see King Tut -- vomiting in Grand Central Station was not going to stand in my way. When I actually got to work there at the age of 32, well, it was a geek's dream come true. An art geek's dream come true.

My friend and I will hopefully enjoy tea somewhere, and I hope here, because they have scrumptious scones and real whipped cream. And then I'll visit my previous life's hairdresser, who will exclaim with dismay when she sees my hair, but hopefully with admiration when I show her pics of the boys. I will spend the night, and then return at some point on Sunday... I hope I remember to come back!

ciao!

paul klee rocks!

And BREATHE!

I just wrote a bunch of neurotic musings. I got it out of my system, so I'm not going to post them. It's not that interesting, anyway. Onto the result of detoxifying by writing a psycho draft and saving it for another day...

Grateful bits: I can breathe through my nose! I can lay down when I sleep for the first time in years! I can smell more than I cannot! Yoga is much easier now that I can breathe, as is any exercise, including the intimate sort!

I am very much looking forward to going to Ethiopia. We're still waiting on our travel notification. We're still hoping for late April. I find myself thinking about the boys a great deal, which probably comes as no surprise to anyone. I stare at their pictures a lot (again, I'm sure you're not bowled over by this info), and wonder what they are like. "Who are you?" I remember American Family asking that as she looked at the referral photo of her new daughter. "What are you doing?" Right now I imagine they are close to waking up for the day. They'll have breakfast, wash up... play? I hope they're feeling comfortable enough to be playing with the other children.

When I have these thoughts, I slow down. My breathing gets slower, and my mind stops reconnoitering. Like many Americans who live a life of privilege, I am a selfish thinker. I think about ME, and how everything that is going on affects ME. Part of my work is to deflect this "small self" and let the other, broader-minded self take over and think about everybody and everything else. When I think about the boys, it happens automatically. Parenthood, as I am learning, (without even being a parent yet, mind you!), makes you think of someone other than yourself. Most of the time. This is a positive development for me right now. I've been using the images of their faces as a focus during my meditation, with some good results.

In a sort of related way, I had dinner with a friend and former boss of mine in NYC last weekend. I'll call her Ms. Tapdance (Yes, she taps, too!). She is a preschool teacher, one of the most wonderful teachers you will find. She was talking about how her job got easier as she got older and progressed in her career. She prepared less, especially with art materials, doing a lot less pre-cutting of shapes, for example. "It takes time and thought away from the individual children. Not only that, but it places my own expectation upon the kids about what the art project should look like. So I just lay out the paper, paints, glue, etc. and let them go to it."

That's my favorite way to prep for a preschool art class, too. It's not always easy to get the support you need in a school to do this -- parents and admin. often want a project that looks good at the end. There is a place for that, too. But I know what Ms. Tapdance is saying. When you allow the kids to just do what they will with the materials, with no expectations, you can attend to what is important, truly see the kids for who they are, rather than coming to conclusions about them and their behaviors. Most importantly, you can create an environment where they feel safe to be themselves, and can be the best selves they can. There are usually a lot fewer melt-downs in Ms. Tapdance's classes as a result.

I told her that this was the most valuable thing I had learned from her and kept. I'm hoping to transfer this to the raising of our sons. I imagine it will harder when it's my own kids, and not my students. Lots of opportunity for practice and growth!

I will leave you with an image from one of my faves, Paul Klee. His childlike images have brought me a lot of joy over the years.

Paul Klee
Red Bridge
Haven't found date or owner yet, sorry.

a good day

Last week I brought a couple of boxes of wood pieces over to the after school program where I go once a week. I wasn't able to bring the book I posted about a few weeks ago, it was out of the library, so I brought some photographs of artworks by Betty Parsons. Late in her life she built small, wooden sculptures from driftwood and other wood bits she found at the beach by her home. She would paint them and give them lyrical names like "only the song remained," and "eyes of the sea." I think she also wrote poetry. Besides being an artist, she was also an important gallery owner and supporter of new artists, most notably abstract expressionists like Jackson Pollack. She also supported gay, lesbian and bisexual artists at a time when social oppression was the rule.

We looked at the pictures for a very short time (the kids have been in school ALL DAY and are through with paying attention to a talking adult), and then I gave them each a largish piece of wood for the base of the sculpture. They also received glue and had unlimited access to the boxes of randomly shaped wooden pieces.

It was an incredible success. They became absorbed very quickly (of course, after the obligatory "Do I have to do art today? I don't want to!), and created elaborate abstract and representational sculptures. I worked with three groups, and the last one, the 4 year old boys, especially got into it.

One of my favorite things in the world as a teacher is to watch kids work on a project intensely and independently. That is exactly what I got, and it was especially fun for me because it was the same day that Beckmann and I had gotten our referral pictures and learned more about the boys. I was feeling particularly surreal when I set off to work that afternoon, but had to get into the efficient art teacher mode asap, so I was feeling a bit jangly. The peaceful hum of kids happily working on an art project was just the thing to get me to reenter the real world. Also, the boys are all in pre-k together, and are all 4. We think that our older boy might be closer to 4 than 3, so I was particularly absorbed in watching them that day.

It was a good day. I'm looking forward to doing projects like that with our guys.

To end the project, I provided the kids with Sh@rpie markers with which to add detail to their creations. Some chose to keep the wood natural, but most were thrilled to use the markers, and added some great designs, words and images. And they all wrote their names on them. They LOVE writing their names. Especially the kids who have just learned how to do it.

Yep, a good day.

One Went Away, Betty Parsons, 1982.

I couldn't get the name of this piece, but I found it virginiamiller.com. It's a nice article, too.

PS I couldn't get any of my links to Betty Parsons or to my previous post to work, I apologize. I'll work on it. She's easy to Google.

Chinese dancer

Female Dancer, Western Han dynasty (206 B.C.–A.D. 9), 2nd century B.C.
China
Earthenware with slip and pigments; H. 21 in. (53.3 cm)
Metropolitan Museum of Art

This is one of my favorite pieces at the MMA. I'm afraid it doesn't translate as well over the web as it does in person, but that is one of the hard things about looking at art (especially sculpture) in reproduction. She is an elegant figure, and though she is small, she is comprised of large, simple shapes which somehow combine to create a graceful pose. She is a dancer, and would have been one of many other figures placed in the tomb of a person most likely of high social standing and wealth. Not unlike the ancient Egyptians, ancient Chinese funerary customs centered on the belief and hope for an afterlife where one would need the same things one needed during life. Items could include attendants, entertainers, pets, and ceremonial vessels for food and drink. This person obviously wanted his afterlife to include a retinue of dancers like this one to entertain him in the afterlife.

This figure is made of clay, like many of the objects would be, although there could be items made of bronze and jade, too.

When I look at images of people "moving," like this dancer would be, I usually ask kids to try to imitate the pose. What's especially interesting about this dancer is her dress, with the long, wide sleeves. You could turn it into a movement experience by dressing your child (and you!) in a sheet or large cloak and trying to dance like the dancer in the sculpture.

For older children, trying to draw the figure by focusing on the large shapes within it is a fun exercise. You can also look at artworks of other dancers from other cultures and compare, or watch an actual dance. Watching a traditional Chinese dance routine would be the ultimate, I'd guess.

Gung hai fat choi! And a special New Year's greeting to those born in the year of the pig/boar. I always thought my brother was a pig, but it turns out he is a dog, since he was born in early January of 1971. He may still think he is a pig.

I hope everyone celebrating CNY has a great time together with their families and friends, hopefully eating loads of yummy food.

Horace Pippin

If you haven't already, check out cloudscome at a wrung sponge. She is a school librarian who's compiled a vast list of great books for kids. She is also an adoptive mom with 2 AA children. Many of the books feature characters of African descent. This week she highlights a few books in honor of Chinese New Year. There are folktales, arts and cooking books, and stories about kids in China.

One of the reasons why I'm mentioning her, besides that I think she is a great resource, is that she has inspired me to feature visual art/artists here and talk about ways to look at art with your kids. It's my love, so I figure, why not? I'll try to include simple projects when I think of them, too. Looking at art with kids is a wonderful way to spend time together, to get talking about not only what the picture/sculpture looks like, but how it might sound, how the people/animals in the image might be feeling, how that apple might taste, if it's warm or cold. Three years old is a great time to start looking at art with kids, to discuss colors, shapes, numbers of things, emotions, you name it. As the child matures, your conversations about the art will, too.

I've also found that it helps to sit a child(ren) in front of a piece of art, and then not say anything for at least 30 seconds. Just look. Encourage them to look up and down, left and right, or walk around it, if it's a sculpture. When the wait time is up, if you feel moved, start asking questions. The simplest question "what do you see?" is a great way to begin. It will move naturally into a discussion directed by your child, facilitated by you. And you probably won't be surprised that they will notice things that you don't, which always makes me, the teacher, so very happy. If you're able to go to an art museum, great! If not, looking at books or other forms of reproduction is good, too.

Today, in honor of Black History Month, and the fact that it's almost his birthday, I'm going to start with Horace Pippin. Pippin was born February 22, 1888. He was a self-taught African-American artist who fought in WWI, where he was injured and received a French Croix de Guerre. His right arm was severely crippled from the injury (he was right-handed), but he would prop up and guide his arm in order to oil paint and to do burnt wood panels. Pippin painted about war and social injustice, as well as doing some wonderful interiors, history scenes and biblical works. In the late 30's he was represented by a gallery in PA, and became more widely known. Pippin died in 1946. I found this saying of his about fighting in WWI: "I did not care what or where I went at. I asked God to help me, and he did so. And that is the way I came through that terrible and Hellish place. For the whole entire battlfield was hell, so it was no place for any human being to be."- Horace Pippin.

Top: Horace Pippin, Self portrait, 1944, Metropolitan Museum of Art (MMA)

Lower left: John Brown Going to his Hanging, 1942, PA Academy of the Fine Arts, Phil.

Right: Holy Mountain III, 1945, The Hirshorn Museum

Bottom: Victorian Interior, 1940's, MMA

Project ideas:

Depending on how old your child is, a simple drawing of your own living room interior would be a fun project, or a self-portrait. If your child hasn't acquired the fine motor skills yet with which to draw specific objects, you can cut objects out of a catalog for your child (lamps, tables, flowers) and she can glue them onto paper in her own composition.

Another idea is to look at Holy Mountain III and notice that animals are existing side by side that are not usually seen together -- the lion and the lamb, e.g. It might be fun to think of two other animals that might not be seen together peacefully -- maybe a cat and a mouse? This could be a drawing, collage, or just a list you make up together.

Obviously, if you come up with your own project idea, run with it!

Luck

.

Luck
Langston Hughes

Sometimes a crumb falls
From the tables of joy,
Sometimes a bone
Is flung.
To some people
Love is given,
To others
Only heaven.

I hadn't read any Langston Hughes in a while, until I found this poem in a college address given by Billy Collins. Collins said he wished he had written it.

I had written a longer post including a random memory about Langston Hughes' poetry, but then I lost it due to some computer and human (me) malfunctioning. Suffice it to say that I caught the flu and am in the slow-witted recovery phase where I have to do things at least twice in order to accomplish the simplest tasks.

Right now Beckmann is at the laundromat, braving the bitter cold so that we can wear clean underwear again. He is a great, great husband.

* the image above is by Romare Bearden, from 1969. It's called The Woodshed and is a collage made from cut and pasted paper, cloth and pencil on Masonite. It measures @40x50" and lives at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

faith

Thanks for commenting on my "talk" post. It's good to hear others' experiences, and it helped me realize that I may be a bit of a baby. I mentioned to one commenter that I was a middle child, and maybe those "ignored" feelings were rearing up. Don't get me wrong -- being a middle has served me well in the long run. After an early childhood of clinginess and clamouring for my parents' attention, I struck out and found an amazing circle of friends whom I still have (since elementary school!), and I continue to find spectacular friends as I go on in life.

These friends are great and interested and supportive, so along with my mom, I've got plenty of bases covered. My MIL also likes to talk about the adoption with me, though she's a bit more of a challenge. For example, she wants us to ask for a boy and a girl. And I don't want to. Not that there is anything wrong with wanting one of each -- I'd be thrilled. But I know I will be thrilled by any combination of siblings. I've got friends with every combination, and they're all pretty neat. Just imagine missing out on experiencing the greatest pair of boys/girls, because we were being picky?

Changing subjects, I've been considering attending the local Baptist Church here in town. It is predominatly black, and I've heard it's got a great acting pastor. Beckmann has participated in a choir sing including the choir from this church, and he said it blew every other church choir out of the water. A friend of mine says she wants to start attending with her family, so that would be a wonderful way for us to make the foray into faith.

Religion inhabits a complicated place in my psyche, as I'm sure it does for a lot of people. I was raised Catholic, and after being disappointed numerous times by my church, I refused to consider returning to ANY church. It took me several years to be able to sit in a church and not feel angry. My experiences are my own, so I don't mean to degrade anyone's religion. My life experiences coupled with the churches I was raised in didn't do very much to encourage tolerance or compassion, nor a sense of belonging to a greater whole. Once again, my experience.

Working in art museums did more for my grasp of what faith is than attending church. I certainly have an almost religious passion for art. I learned (and still do) about wildly different religions, the impetus for their art-making, the stories their arts told to their faithful. From the curvy, voluptuous and many-armed Hindu deities, to the Shinto nature deities, to Osiris, to Mary, I ate it all up. And, of course, when I compared the different religions, I found that they weren't that different after all. They share the qualities of providing comfort, community, contemplation, and trying to understand "why?"

I've lately found Buddhism to be the most helpful for coping with the day-to-day and the unusual. This has been a very personal inquiry, and mostly solitary (though it doesn't have to be). I am excited to visit the Baptist church, as well as the local Unitarian church where the wife of a colleague of mine is a minister. It'll be fun to take part in a group faith experience again, and I think it will be a good resource for our kids.

Of course, there is the getting up on Sunday morning and spending a couple of hours at church. That will be difficult. Beckmann is very protective of his mornings for painting -- but he is the bass voice in the family. He may be wooed. I am the lazy Sunday person. I'll let you know how it goes. Now for some religious art to get you inspired. Most of the pieces are from my favorite church museum, the Met. The seated Buddha and the Ethiopian manuscript are from the net.

nyc

Drowsy after the cloudy day drive into NYC ala the bus, I surfaced onto the sidewalk, struck, as always, by the change in speed, color, and volume.

Also, as always, my own speed fluctuated. At first there was the dazed, "here I am again," noticing the faces of people as if I've never seen a human being before. Then my body starts to acclimate, and I speed up, and my rhythm starts to match that of the others around me. I went at this speed as I walked across 53rd St. heading for the MOMA. All the while imagine the song "New York, New York!" from that Gene Kelly sailor movie On the Town. The song muffles a bit as I enter the store, shop, pay for my wares (love to show you what I got, but we have no camera...), and then the volume grows as I come back out onto the sidewalk. But now my bags are more numerous and heavier. The music slows down... until... rrrr.... the needle skids and scratches the record until it comes to an abrupt stop.

Fortunately, there is a cool bench made from a tree trunk and various chairbacks outside the store so I can sit and rearrange my bags. I get up and walk more carefully. I can't get sucked in by the speed of the city, there's no way I can keep up with it, why pretend -- oh! the subway station. I've got to get a Metrocard. Down the stairs, money in the machine, card spits out -- "Wahoo!" For whatever reason the Metrocard has given me fuel, cue the music, here I go -- "New York, New York!"

And so it goes pretty much all day. Speed up, fed by the energy of the city, found in very strange places (Metropolitan Museum bathroom, anyone?), then sapped beyond reason (downtown trains not stopping at my station, must walk to bus stop, fight exasperated commuters to find a place to stand...).

The entire time I kept hearing that song in my head, speeding up and then slowing and skidding to a halt depending upon my energy levels.

I suppose I should have put the ipod/phone in my ears.

Despite my bipolar energy levels, it was a great time. LOVED Dream Girls. Eddie Murphy and Jennifer Hudson received applause DURING the movie, and when the credits rolled. The Ziegfeld is a great place to see a movie like that, if you ever get a chance. Huge screen, good sound, and a sink in each of the stalls of the ladies room!

The room Beckmann and I rent there was rather, uh interesting. The apartment is great -- incredibly clean and well-appointed. The woman from whom we rent is nice and keeps to herself, pretty much. But our room is, I kid you not, about 50 feet from the elevated train. I could see the trains' wheels as they sped by, and whenever they stopped, there was the fuzzy voice of the conductor and the "ding-dong" of the closing-door warning bell. Not to mention the occasional screech of brakes.

You just have to laugh. Or buy earplugs. Which I did. But boy were they uncomfortable. It felt wrong sleeping with something stuck in my ears. They didn't last the night. I got used to the sound of the trains, and I guess I was fortunate the trains didn't make downtown stops at the station -- fewer screeching brakes.

Art-wise, I saw Americans in Paris at the Met, a German expressionist portrait show, and an amazing display of spirit boards from Papua, New Guinea. I took a few camera photos of those, which I hope to post another day, but Beckmann has the phone at the moment, so it must wait. In the Americans exhibit, I was wooed by a series of seven small oil sketches by Maurice Prendergast, a portrait bust of Henry Ossawa Tanner by an artist of whom I'd never heard, Charles Grafly, two oils by John Singer Sargent (Madame X and a portrait of 4 daughters), and a few by Mary Cassat. I think Cassat is often taken for granted. Maybe because her works are seen in reproduction so much, or maybe because of the subject matter of mother and child -- I've seen many a male art-student friend of mine walk quickly past her paintings just because of the subject matter (what is up with that?). But when you see them in the flesh, as it were, you see what a prodigious and painterly painter she was. Not only was she the only American to exhibit with the Impressionists, but one of only three women, too. The one of the little girl on the blue chair is really wonderful, and then there is another of a mother about to bathe a sleepy baby. The heft of the child's body is so tangible, you can feel the mother's arm straining to keep the sleep-laden child from slipping onto the floor in a puddle of babyness.

All in all, a wonderful trip, made all the more special by my friend Lu-lu, whose new beau I got to meet. He did not disappoint. Totally attentive to Lu-lu, cute, and has a lovely Spanish accent. Mmmm....

The best part is that she looked so happy and comfortable with him. And that makes me happy. Now please spend some time enjoying the art!