I had the thought today, as fleeting as it may be, that working in a Thomas Kinkaide gallery might just be sort of post-modernist, art historical canon challenging, stick-it-to-the-maniosis't work I could do satisfactory to my beliefs. I would do that, of course, after I received my master's degree in Art History and Curatorial Studies.
I would get to mix Kinkaide's now DNA with ink that I would then use to stamp his name on the prints I sold. That DNA would come from his urine. After all, how else could an artwork be authentic? I hope they collected a lot of urine before he died. Maybe they will use other bodily fluids from his body (too far??) now that he is gone forever.
How many of these can you look at before wanting to meander through the English countryside or scream:
What do you think?
Do I have a future making more money per year in a mall gallery than I likely will with my original professional goals?
Is it sad to you that calendar art is more lucrative than the pursuit of academic knowledge?
...since that IS what I do, and there have been requests for more art in this space. I am a woman of the people!!
(Alas, don't despair- this will be fun, and there is no test or long essay to hand in afterwards. You will neither be judged nor mocked for not knowing or remembering.)
I sometimes have a difficult time remembering things as isolated facts. I often make up stories so that I can remember visual images. I do it with people too. You might remember that one time I went to the symphony and spent the entire time making up stories about how the performers' lives intersected one another. Sometimes I like to just make funny associative observations that help me remember.
I have an entire list of funny art history, but I will start you out easy. This is one of my favorites:
These dudes are from the Cornaro chapel of Santa Maria della Vittoria in Rome. They are the male patrons from the Cornaro family. The chapel is pretty famous for housing a super famous Bernini sculpture of The Ecstasy of St. Theresa.
Here's that:
I'm not Catholic, so I don't really understand the saints and all the culture that surrounds that practice. But basically the gist of this work is that Theresa, a Carmelite Nun, had a vision where she was overcome by the Spirit of the Lord, embodied here as an angel (left). He is holding an arrow, poised to pierce her heart with the transcendent love of God.
She recorded:
I saw in his hand a long spear of gold, and at the point there seemed to be a little fire. He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire with a great love of God. The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it...
This chapel was one of the things I was the most excited to see when I was in Rome in 2010. I remembered learning about this work in high school, and, I am somewhat of a nerd. I had done extra research to know what the exterior of the building looked like and how exactly it was that Bernini (the sculptor) had gotten the light to shine so directly and beautifully onto the marble. Remember, this was sculpted in the mid 1600's, so there was no way to direct electrical lights like we could in museums today. When we came around the street corner and I saw the ingenious portico that Bernini had created to capture daylight, I was overjoyed and inspired... and literally RAN ahead of the group to get the first glimpse inside.
But the focus I would like to maintain today is not Theresa's somewhat sexualized ecstasy nor my utter unabashed zeal for seeing things in person. No; I want to focus today on the Cornaro family and how completely hilarious they are.
Image via Nina Aldin Thune (with fancy Paint effects by Me!)
Here's a reasonably decent image to show you how all the sculptures are related in the space to one another. The family portraits are to the far left and right of the image, seemingly seated in balcony or box seats in a theater.
Besides the fact that I find their spectarorial presence a wee bit voyeuristic and the idea of them watching this woman perform her devotions to God as slightly creepy (not to mention the somewhat sexual nature with which she has characterized her experience), I cannot help but remember the Cornaro as the muppet commentators, Slater and Waldorf.
Just go there for a minute. The idea is HILARIOUS.
if/when I am ever called upon to teach this work to a classroom, this is how I will teach it.
I know that both of thesesongs (CLICK! CLICK!) are so incredibly old, but I feel them both so much right now. I am going to bed tonight feeling confused, apprehensive and maybe even a little bit worried. I miss feeling comforted.
A wise woman told me to try to have more charity today. Another one encouraged me to have more faith. What's left? Hope. I have a lot of hope, almost in absurd quantities that should perhaps give cause for concern but rarely do.
I think I am going to get those other two working better/more for me. I've heard they work best together.
I apologize, I don't know where this image actually came from , I have had it saved on my hard drive for a very very long time, but it basically epitomizes my feelings at this moment. Like... all of them, especially that tornado and that heart.
First I woke up pretty early and went to the Temple. gosh, I love that place. I could talk more about it, but I would rather tell you in real life. You should ask me sometime.
And then I came home and read books forever. I literally CANNOT wait until I get to choose the books I read again. It's not that I DIDN'T want to read these books, it's more that I wouldn't choose them... ever.
And finally, I went to a roller derby. Hello cool, and HELLO to my new favorite sport.
And now my boobs hurt and are tired of being looked at and it's time to go to sleep.
This is some local NE chevre with some herbes de provence and peppercorns, a slice of homemade wheatberry bread, a mason jar with Spanish olive oil and the core of a locally grown green pepper.
hi, lunch.
These are some cookies I made for Purim, the Jewish traditional holiday where the Biblical heroine Esther is celebrated with exchanges of good fortune in the form of cookies and other foodstuffs. This sounds like my ideal holiday: the celebration of a righteously diplomatic, kind and principled woman and food (specifically cookies, my kryptonite).
Sometimes I pride myself on being a little bit of a foodsnob, and other times I am more humble because I occasionally want a bowl of cheerios at midnight (albeit they are usually the artisan local variety adrift in locally sourced soy milk). And sometimes (usually at the end of the month), I feel a slight sense of remorse at the goodness a new paycheque has brought me in the form of ingredients and fixins. This article helped me gain a little bit of perspective and guidance, although the author's focus was on food associated with hanging out with other 14 year olds and my problem is focused on food associated with afternoon walks in suburbs of Paris, mistakenly delicious alleyways in Brugges, and markets in London. That's not even to mention the cafes in New York or even The Garden.
