Friday, April 30, 2010

Impact

Since being laid off I've had nine interviews without landing a job. In the past I always got a job within three interviews. More often I was hired after one interview.

Today I took three trains and walked three-quarters of a mile to go to an interview. It took an hour and a half to get to the office. If I get the job, the commute will cost me $3,000 a year.

I saved myself $2.25 by walking from Grand Central to my home. It is a nice walk.

As I walked down a side street I noticed a ragged man waving a construction flag. He stood outside of a parking garage. It was unclear whether he worked for the garage or not.

When I passed, he peered into my face and said, "You look sharp."

The day is salvaged. At least I made a good impression on someone.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Biennial

The Whitney Biennial is going on. I am always curious to see what the curators choose. There was a lot in the 2010 show that I really liked, and most of the pieces I enjoyed were by artists unfamiliar to me.

Kerry Tribe's film "H.M" is one of the best art films I've seen. It explores memory, veracity, and subjectivity. These are subjects I ponder, and what little reading I've done about philosophy of mind and cognitive science already introduced me to H.M. Tribe's treatment of the topic is multi-layered and ingenious.

I also really liked Lesley Vance's abstract oil paintings, Curtis Mann's distressed photos, Marianne Vitale's "Patron" video, and drawings by Roland Flexner, Storm Tharp, Aurel Schmidt, and Dawn Clements.

It struck me that much of the work that appealed to me was about salvaging and process. There were a lot of pieces of art that employed techniques dependent on chemical reactions and accident. Often accident-based processes are combined with highly controlled renderings in a piece.

Vance's paintings depend upon an old master palette. The source of her color choices was apparent immediately. She salvaged the somber spectrum of the late 1500s. Its impact surprised me. She does something completely removed from representational painting, but by resourcing those colors she creates a strong connection to that body of work.

Curtis Mann uses a type of masking (similar to tie-dye or batik) technique to highlight portions of photographs. The part he masks remains intact while the rest of the photograph is faded. The fading results in interesting patterns. He uses the masking to keep whole elements within a photo (such as a car) or to make a new mark (such as the partial outline of a person where no person appeared in the original photograph).

Roland Flexer manipulates a paper marbleizing technique to make sumi ink drawings. There is little traditional drawing in the process. He tilts, blots, or blows on the wet paper to move the ink. The result resembles a distressed, detailed drawing.

Storm Tharp also utilizes random patterns made by wet ink, but he embellishes this accidental foundation with carefully controlled, highly representational drawing. The contrast is striking.

Both Aurel Schmidt and Dawn Clements make large format, highly detailed drawings. Schmidt creates fantastic creatures composed of everyday materials such as hair, beer cans, cigarette stubs, and cob webs. Clements depicts domestic interiors that are pieced together from life or films. Her work resembles a map of a memory. The pages of drawings are fastened together in a quilt-like pattern in which pieces of the scene make almost a whole image.

Many artists make a habit of complaining about the Biennial. In some ways I feel like a Pollyanna admitting that I really enjoyed this one. I wasn't enthusiastic about everything in the exhibit, but I don't expect to like everything in the show. In fact, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that the large-format floral ink drawings featured in one room were by an artist I have not admired in the past: Charles Ray.

The show introduced a lot of good art to me, and that is its purpose. Well done.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Jolly

On Earth Day I heard from a friend on Facebook that Origins was giving away free cleanser in exchange for empty cosmetic bottles. I am running low on cleanser and can't afford to replace what I have. So, I pulled an empty bottle of toner out of the recycling bin, and walked over to the Flatiron store.

It was a nice spring day and the door was open. There were about 15 unhappy women in the tiny space. The store just ran out of cleanser.

I was headed to the Upper East Side, so I inquired about stores uptown. A helpful employee gave me the number to the Upper West Side store. A few minutes later I was on a subway car rocketing to 72nd Street.

There was a line at the 85th Street store, but I managed to get one of the last bottles of cleanser. It smells great. I'm looking forward to trying it -- especially after the effort it took to get it.

I felt pleased to have accomplished my little mission and was enjoying my walk over to the east side. Around 84th and Columbus I passed a group of boys sitting outside of a school. One of them looked like an African-American version of Seth Rogen.

"Miss, you look jolly today!" he said with a smile.

It was unclear to me whether he was simply a friendly kid, a cheeky guy perfecting a pick up line, or a student trying to use vocabulary word jolly in a sentence. Regardless, I had to smile as I walked past.

This is my favorite time of year. Chartreuse is one of my favorite colors and it is the top note on nature's palette right now. Everything looks tender and lush.

This year, almost all of the flowering plants are blooming at once. Central Park looks like a film set. One would think a prop department planted blooming hyacinth, tulips, iris, pansies, blue bonnets, lilacs, and wisteria over night. Everywhere my eye fell, there was a touch of floral color.

Although it was a bit off of my path, I went through Shakespeare's Garden, Belvedere Castle, and a some of the Ramble before skirting the Lake.

In addition to the abundant flowers, I saw several robins and noticed a man pushing a medium-sized dog in a wheel chair intended for humans. The shivering animal curled up in the seat looked very sick.

As I walked across the park the sky darkened. I love the contrast between delicate spring green plants bursting with optimism and a menacing stormy sky. The rain fell steadily as I walked around the Lake. I paused under a wisteria covered arbor and watched the drops form designs on the Lake's surface. It seemed like a gift to be in this place at this time.

When the rain eased, I pulled out my umbrella and continued walking until I got to the Whitney Museum. I felt really happy and it must have showed. A man ducking the rain at a construction site around the corner from the museum looked at me quizzically and said, "I'm glad somebody's happy!"

Me too. There have been far too many sad days lately. On this day it was my turn to be happy.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Perplexing Male Mind

Years ago a woman who did pro-bono work in a prison told me the inmates would routinely ask her out on dates.

It is unclear what a date within a prison would entail. Oddly, I imagine something similar to a junior high date: the couple talks and kisses while the cell mate on the top bunk pretends to read. It isn't an enticing prospect.

This woman is a smart attorney with a beautiful figure and face. The men seeking her company are incarcerated for life.

It is phenomenal that these men thought a woman who encapsulates Destiny's Child's "Independent Woman" would date them.

These were not intellectual political prisoners such as Vaclav Havel or Nelson Mandela. They are hard criminals who hurt people. Did they really think her dating prospects were so weak that she would consider accepting an invitation to spend time with a dangerous high school drop out confined to a jail cell?

Or did these men over-value themselves to an absurd degree? They are incarcerated for life yet arrogant. Perhaps confinement has warped their self-conception.

Generally, women and men with similar attributes (levels of income, attractiveness, intelligence, etc.) find each other and form relationships. Yet, I've often observed men with modest attributes approach far more accomplished women.

A college friend was a model, and I recall how every man at a crowded bar attempted to chat her up one evening. She had a boyfriend and didn't welcome any of their approaches.

I wondered what drove these men to pursue a woman so unlikely to return their regard. Is it a deep seated sense of entitlement? Are they simply pushing the envelope? Do they have no sense of embarrassment when they are refused?

As I waited at the crosswalk of 23rd street the other night an elderly drunk homeless man asked me to help him cross the street.

His request was a cheeky come-on rather than a feeble person's request for assistance. He wore a lecherous smile. It did not elicit sympathy.

For the millionth time I marveled at the strange ways some men perceive women and themselves.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Lost and Found

My alma mater boasts a college president who conducts orchestras. A six figure degree from this institution isn't helping me get a job, so I was thrilled when the college offered me free tickets to a symphony performance at Lincoln Center's Alice Tully Hall last night.

I invited a couple of friends who also appreciate good music and an inexpensive night out.

I've grown more fond of classical music in the past several years. It used to be a struggle to remain attentive by the end of a concert, but now my mind is too active to grow bored. It isn't necessarily an outgrowth of an increased appreciation of the music. Nor do I think I've become more focused. This trait probably reflects a more purposeful use of distraction.

Initially, I concentrate on the music. Then, I attempt to pick a thread from the sound tapestry and determine which instrument made the sound.

I was amused by the percussion section, and the utter seriousness of the triangle player as he approached his periodic ring. The gravity he assumed while preparing to play a single note seemed ridiculous.

Later I simply use the music as a soundtrack for all of the thoughts swirling around my head. I suppose the creators of Fantasia, Sesame Street, and Bugs Bunny cartoons were guilty of similar modes of thinking.

The last piece was Mahler's Symphony 4, which I really enjoyed. The 3rd movement made me think of an image of a bride with a veil and train blowing wildly in the wind.

I vaguely recalled a painting called "Bride of the Wind" associated with Mahler. Mahler's wife, Alma, had a heated affair with painter Oskar Kokoschka. Her relationships with creative men were notorious. Kokoschka created the painting after she concluded the relationship. It's strange that this information surfaced after listening to the music.

The weather in New York is in flux again, so I wore a light jacket and my favorite pashmina to the concert. The Hall was warm and I placed the pashmina beside my seat near the ticket taker. This was the last time I saw it.

The shawl has accompanied me around the world, and it is unlikely we will be reunited. I'm surprised that a Lincoln Center symphony patron didn't take it to lost and found. Another stereotype shattered.

I walked home significantly cooler. I suppose this was karmic retribution for laughing at the percussionists.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

The Poo Guardian

It is a beautiful Easter day in New York City. I took advantage of the warm weather to take a long walk along Hudson River Park.

When I got to the 50s, I decided to go to Westerly to pick up a bottle of Dr. Bronner's soap. It is always on sale at this store.

I walked down a residential street and noticed a young girl watching me closely. She appeared to be anticipating the moment when I would walk by her. She wore a pink and purple striped dress and had ribbons in her hair. It is likely that she just got out of church because she was standing before one.

As I got closer to her I saw that she was straddling a pile of poo. She waved her hands at me. Then she pointed down at the pile with both hands. She said some type of warning but I had difficulty understanding her. It was clear she relished this job. She wore a big smile on her excited face.

I walked down the same street on the way back, but she was gone. I had to step carefully without her guidance.

Along the park path a rollerblader cracked a whip as he passed me. I'm not sure why he needed to carry or crack a whip while rollerblading.

A friend sent a Tweet about seeing a woman in Central Park walking a young goat on a leash.

Who needs the amusements of Disneyland when they can walk the streets of New York City?

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Monkey Slap

There are some people with whom I establish a connection in an instant.

This doesn't happen often, but when it does it is a marvelous event.

I met my Macy's manager friend through a former work colleague. They are room mates. Upon introduction the manager invited me to participate in the Macy's parade.

Participating in that parade was a lifelong ambition. He had me at hello.

Although we get along very well, I haven't seen him in several months.

I was delighted when called me yesterday. He wants to visit to India and was seeking travel tips. Talking about India is one of my favorite things.

Within half an hour we were seated at dinner together.

I gave him the basic advice, some guidebooks, and far too many travel stories -- some of which included monkeys. He grew excited. He loves monkeys!

He told me that he had a pet monkey when he was a teenager growing up in Mexico City. Monkeys are adorable but, he warned ominously, they are also wily.

He relayed a story about working at a restaurant in Mexico City that kept caged monkeys.

One day the monkeys made coy faces at him. "They acted like coquettes!" he told me while imitating their pin-up style facial expressions and poses. They were so cute he moved closer to get a better look at them.

When he was near enough to the cage, a monkey's paw grabbed his hair roughly and pulled him up against the bars. My friend was eating candy. The monkey slapped his face and took his candy!

"They played me, Darling!"

I laughed until I cried.