Succulents and Football
Over the weekend, on Sunday to be exact, when most Americans were in the stores purchasing cases of beer, bags of chips, tubs of guacamole, and firing up their big screen TVs for the Super Bowl festivities, I was at my local garden center buying houseplants :listens while everybody laughs: Ok, so I’m a dork. I admit it. I get excited about houseplants, specifically cacti and succulents. They are my weakness. I feel connected to them more than I do to other plants, and I don’t want to delve into some psychological examination as to why, as in why would I be attracted to fleshy, warm weather water-retainers with thick skin? Let’s not go there. Let’s just say I like them and leave it at that 
So during my leisurely Sunday drive around the neighborhood, my car just sort of steered itself into the parking lot of the garden center. When I entered the greenhouse, an overwhelming feeling of euphoria washed over me . . . aaaah . . . Xanadu! I walked out with these two beauties:
And then there’s my pride and joy, my homegirl, my gem which I’ve lovingly cared for for years now. A rockin’ aloe plant that has produced two little babies. The guy at the garden center advised me not to transplant into a larger pot until the spring, to which I responded, “but the roots may be suffocating!!”. He calmly assured me it would be fine, and that succulents are hardy, tough and tolerant plants that can handle “abuse”. No wonder I respect them so much.
For the record, I did watch the Super Bowl, I did eat guacamole, I did drink a beer, and I was rooting heartily for New Orleans. So am I cool now? Or am I still a plant dork? 
Intermezzo
traveling, underground, getting here getting there
on the rails
urban noise and dust and grime
rolling, rattling, buzzing, phone yammering
footsteps and concrete
out of my clothes in front of their eyes
chilly and hot
tired and feisty
my skin, my muscle, my hair . . . mussed
I tossed it
and pulled it
and flipped it
yeah, watch this! Take that, darlings . . .
thinking, eyeballing . . . I’m telling you something
showing you something
my secrets
don’t you see?
later . . .
the man in my life. young. strong.
kisses my collarbone
abundant smiles
sensations and premonitions and vibey vibes
days of riddles and surges and fears and thrills
I want fruit
“Claudia” by Jordan Mejias. February 2010:
The Enchanted Garden
A funny thing happened on the way to my blog post. I came upon a work of art that was unrelated to my planned piece, and it completely captured my imagination. “Ooooh! What’s this? So pretty!”, I thought. I knew there had to be a story behind this scene, and indeed there was. So I’m going to bump my original post so I can share this one with you. It’s so romantic!!!
The painting is by the Pre-Raphaelite artist and model Marie Spartali Stillman, and is inspired by one of the tales from Boccaccio’s medieval literary masterpiece The Decameron. The young man Ansaldo falls madly in love with Dianora, a married woman. He pursues and pursues, only to be rebuffed. Dianora doesn’t take him seriously. However, she promises Ansaldo that she will leave her husband for him and become his lover if he successfully performs one task. She deliberately chooses an impossible task that she knows Ansaldo cannot accomplish so he will go away and leave her alone. She thought she was being clever, you see. And apparently even in the Middle Ages, people were into head games. So Dianora asks Ansaldo to create a lush blooming garden of fruits and flowers, even though it is January, the dead of winter. She assumes she’s off the hook.
Well there’s no stopping a man in love. Ansaldo enlists the services of a sorcerer, and offers to pay him a large sum of money to produce the garden. After it is created, Ansaldo has baskets of beautiful spring flowers and ripe fruits sent to Dianora’s house. She is shocked! How the hell did he do it? It wasn’t possible! So with her friends and children from the neighborhood, Dianora ventures over to see the garden.
Here’s the scene depicted in Stillman’s painting, The Enchanted Garden of Messer Ansaldo, from 1889. You can see the wintry reality through the arches in the background:
Isn’t that like the most romantic thing ever??? I love it! I totally love it. No man has ever given me a garden! A guy gave me a beer stein once, but never a garden
Dianora’s reaction, however, was not to run swooning and giddy into the arms of her persistent, lovelorn admirer. Rather, she was dismayed and quite horrified at these turn of events. Because, well, she was just . . sort of . . . kind of . . . messing with the guy. And yet, Ansaldo produces the garden, totally calling her bluff. Sweet!
John William Waterhouse also took on this story from The Decameron. This is his 1916 version, The Enchanted Garden. In this one, Dianora, on the left in pink, looks really pissed!
I’d like to take this opportunity to make an announcement: to all the the men out there, if you can create an enchanted garden just for me, with roses, wisteria and hyacinths, peach trees, strawberries and green grapes, in the middle of winter, you can have my undying love and devotion. That’s a promise! 
Pencil Me In
Here in New York State, back in the 70s and 80s, we public school students were subjected to a lot of standardized tests. A LOT. Regents exams, placement exams, aptitude tests, etc. I remember them well. Most of all I remember being told to bring “Two number 2 lead pencils”. No exceptions. It was a strict order. Had to be number 2 pencils. So one day my Mom sent me off to to school for yet another standardized test day, and lovingly put two sharpened pencils in my girly pink pencil case. Then, just before the test was about to start, I took out my pencils and saw that they WERE NOT NUMBER TWOS!!! I freaked out. “Oh my god!! They’re NOT number twos!!!! What do I do?? Do I confess? Mom screwed me!!” I really thought I was going to get in trouble! Not kidding. I thought the proctor was going to come around, like a boot camp drill sergeant inspecting army barracks, and check all the pencils to make sure they were number twos. Luckily, she didn’t do that, and I was off the hook.
That’s my childhood pencil trauma story. It reflects my limited feelings about pencils for a long time. Pencils were for test-taking. Pencils were just school supplies, old-fashioned relics from the 6th grade. They were the boring, cheap, unglamorous, utilitarian loser cousins to the much cooler, and costlier, pens. But then, in my adulthood, I became an artist’s model, and was exposed to the other side of pencils. The artistic side. The side that expands well beyond the rigid “number 2 lead” NY State school system mandate. I learned that in the art world, pencils are treated with genuine respect, as drawing implements of tremendous versatility and highly valued purpose.
Pencils are available in a an impressive multitude of forms, varying in thickness, hardness, darkness, substance and style. HB, 2B, 2H, round or hexagonal, graphite, charcoal, compressed charcoal, carbon, even watercolor. Have you ever browsed in the pencil section of an art supply store? You could waste a lot of time there!
Pencils are really all you need to create a work of art. They provide line, shading, even color. They can be smeared, smudged, or applied carefully for fine lines and details. Pencils can do it all. So who needs expensive oil paints and canvases, brushes and palette knives. Get yourself one good pencil and a piece of paper, and go to town!
My friend Dolores Ramos-Frey did just that when she created this drawing of me at a sketch group a few months ago. Thanks Dolores! I love it
“Girls On Rocks” – Art and Illustration from Maxfield Parrish
What is it about a girl on a rock? For decades that imagery has appeared in art, illustration, photography, and advertising (and more than a few men’s personal fantasties ) So it makes sense that the prolific and popular 20th century artist and illustrator Maxfield Parrish, would produce many works with the girls on rocks theme. All highly idealized, all fanciful, vividly colored and meticulously executed.
Son of an engraver and landscape artist father, Maxfield Parrish was a Philadelphia native. After attending the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts and studying under the renowned Howard Pyle, Parrish soon found himself in the midst of what is termed the “Golden Age of Illustration”, at the turn of the century. In fact, he became one of its illustrious shining stars. When the great Norman Rockwell calls you his “idol”, you have definitely made your mark.
Hired for commission after commission, Parrish created the illustrations for the popular children’s books of the day, like Mother Goose, The Arabian Nights, and countless magazine covers for Colliers, Harper’s, and Ladies’ Home Journal. Maxfield Parrish enjoyed a steady income and tremendous popularity, at the height of his fame receiving over $2000 per illustration. He and his wife Lydia settled in Cornish, New Hampshire, where they lived comfortably off the revenue from advertising royalties and frequently entertained a virtual who’s who of guests, among them President WIlson and his wife Ellen, journalist Walter Lippman, and the legendary actress Ethel Barrymore, just to name a few.
With the luxury of financial security, Parrish decided to turn his attention to oil painting. This allowed him to not only choose his own subjects but to work from life models. One of Parrish’s favorite models was Kitty Owen, the granddaughter of the famous orator, lawyer, and politician William Jennings Bryant. She is the model for this painting, Wild Geese. The pose, incidentally, is the “upward dog” in yoga. Yay Kitty! Namaste
This is Kitty again in Canyon, from 1923:
It’s been a fairly common practice for artists to enlist their children as models for their art. Matisse famously used his daughter Marguerite and Maxfield Parrish followed in Matisse’s footsteps when he used his daughter Jean for several of his works. This is Jean as a lovely teenager, in Stars from 1926:
Though his images may have been dreamy and imaginative, giving off a feeling of “make-believe” and almost mythical in nature, Maxfield Parrish’s painting technique was, in reality, very methodical and labor-intensive. He would apply thin layers of varnish in between layers of opaque pigment, repeatedly, until he achieved the desired effect. His uncanny knack for using color, particularly blue, led to the creation of a specific shade of cobalt named “Parrish blue” in his honor. You can read Parrish himself explaining his painting technique in depth on this informative page.
Here is Jean again in Ecstasy. Parrish created this work shortly before Jean went off to Smith College. It is perhaps an affectionate tribute of farewell from a father to his daughter, now an adult, embarking on her independent life. I find the whole standing on a rocky crag while looking upwards toward the sky, a very apt visual metaphor. Exultant, with arms raised confidently and the world at her feet, she is ready to venture into new discoveries:
Susan Lewin first came to the Parrish family as a 16 year-old au pair for the Parrish children, but her role over the years expanded to include housekeeper, studio assistant, model and possibly Maxfield’s lover. Having modeled for more paintings, murals, and illustrations than any of his other models, Susan Lewin can be considered Maxfield Parrish’s most important and influential muse. That her close companionship with the artist lasted well over 50 years, only solidifies her muse status. This is Susan in Griselda from 1910. A beautiful standing pose:
Then, in 1931, Maxfield Parrish famously announced to the Associated Press, “I’m done with girls on rocks”. Whaaaat??? Done? How could he? And his new genre? Landscapes. Boooooo!!!
Body and Soul
I’ve learned that if you dissect the hell out of something, you risk destroying it. Sure in the realm of science and research, analysis is a good and necessary thing. But in a person’s individual life – in their delicate, emotional, capricious, illogical emotional universe – too much inquiry, too much examination, has a ruinous effect. It deflates highs, creates confusion, and invents “issues” that may not actually exist.
In recent days, I have been stirred . . . thrillingly, blissfully, in body and soul. They are one, you know. Body and soul. To split them up is to commit a kind of dismemberment on ourselves. Our thoughts, feelings, and bodies together comprise a convoluted yet dazzling web. We are living, breathing latticework, where everything is connected, responding to ethereal forces and stimuli, both external and internal. It’s a glorious mess. It’s twisted and consuming, often distracting. Right now I’m swimming in the warmth, the awakening, the stirring. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to tamper with it.
In an appearance on the 1970s TV program “Frank Sinatra – A Man and his Music”, this is the great Ella Fitzgerald (my late father’s favorite jazz singer), performing “Body and Soul”:
Cogitation
Ah, things on my mind, things on my mind, things on my mind. Grrr. Preoccupied. Obsessing. Twisting my thoughts into knots about this pesky issue. I won’t go into specifics but let me put it to you this way: I am either making a big deal out of something minor OR not making a big enough deal out of something major. Wait . . . huh? Whaaa?? 
Does that make sense to anyone? Oddly it does to me, and I’m leaning toward the former, but that may be because I’m an optimist Nonetheless, the whole situation is thoroughly craptastic.
My brain function is definitely on overdrive. A frivolous kind of overdrive. Why else would I choose such a pretentious word for this post title. I mean, does anyone ever actually use the word “cogitation”? Of course not. Only me, when I’m in a droll, rascally mood.
This painting illustrates things pretty well. From the 19th century Scottish artist William Dyce, this is Omnia Vanitas, which translates into something like “Everything is vanity”. Yep, that sounds about right. Vanity indeed :sigh: Luckily, I’m going about my contemplation without the skull. EEWWWW!
For Haiti, With Love
There are no words to describe the devastation and suffering taking place right now on Haiti. Rocked by an earthquake of catastrophic proportions, the already troubled Caribbean nation desperately needs the aid, support, and compassion of the world. And it seems like we’re really coming through for them! I just read that an incredible $8 million dollars have been donated via the Red Cross text message system alone. I was one of them, but I wish I could do so much more.
It is far too heartbreaking to write about the harrowing images on the news, the stories of dead bodies piling up, frightened children trapped under rubble, people in desperate need of food, water, and medical care. I have turned away from the TV three times already, crying and shaken. I can’t handle it. So what I will do instead is mention that we have a large Haitian community here in New York and they have been an integral part of our melting pot city for many, many years. Absolutely warm and wonderful people.
During a dark time like this, it’s important to remember that Haiti is much more than a destitute nation that has suffered immeasurably throughout its history with extreme poverty, natural disasters, and corrupt government. They are, first and foremost, a proud people. A culture. A nation whose history is inextricably tied to America’s history. A long-independent country full of resilient citizens . . . citizens with dreams, visions, talents, and passions, and the collective strong will to pull through this current horrific tragedy. They will. I am certain of it.
Haitian art is believed to have reached its pinnacle in the 1960s and 70s, although from my research it is definitely still going strong. Its styles and genres encompass everything from Impressionism to Cubism to Realism, figurative and abstract, and address subjects ranging from native island life and traditions, politics, spirituality, landscape, nature and animals. Haitian art comes in a variety of media, from oil to watercolor to sculpture. Like the people themselves, their artistic expression is rich and deep and imaginative.
Artists everywhere, not just in Haiti, should be impressed with the wonderful Carlo Jean-Jacques. A native of Port-au-Prince, he clearly projects the influence of Cezanne in his paintings of Haitian daily life and its people. This is Le Repas, from 1994:
Jean Rene Jerome was born in Haiti in 1942. A man of many creative talents, he studied at the prestigious Ecole des Beaux-Arts in France. His work has been exhibited around the world, including the Brooklyn Museum here in New York. One of his many enchanting female nudes, this is Goddess, from 1970:
Kesnel Franklin was born in Au Cayes, Haiti in 1945. I love this painting from 1970, Jeunne Fille a la Riviere:
Paul Beauvoir was a prominent figure in the history of Haitian art, and he used both line and color in truly magnificent ways. This acrylic work is titled Nightfall:
I found all the images for this post on the the terrific Haitian Painting site, and what a difficult task it was to make selections! So much extraordinary Haitian art to choose from. Do visit the site to see more art and read artists’ biographies. Also check out the Haitian Art Gallery.
You can donate to the Haitian relief at Doctors Without Borders, one of the finest humanitarian nonprofits around, and the American Red Cross.
Interior Decorating
This blog used to feature Henri Matisse on a fairly regular basis. As a consistent employer of life models for many decades, the man undisputably deserves the honor. But I think I might be slipping a bit. The great Matisse hasn’t appeared on Museworthy in quite some time, and we must remedy that, asap!
During the 1920s, Matisse was living on the French Riviera along the Côte d’Azur. At the time, the city of Nice was was attempting to develop a film industry, one that would hopefully compete with the prospering cinema scene of Hollywood. Film studios, of course, attract young hopefuls with dreams of fame and performing. Many of those hopefuls are young women. So it was inevitable that Matisse would cross paths with the 20 year-old Henriette Darricarrière, a dancer, actress, and trained violinist who was working as an extra in the film studios of Nice.
The timing couldn’t have been better, as Matisse’s previous model, Antoinette Arnoud, became pregnant in 1921 and could no longer model. So along came Henriette, ready, willing, and able to be her replacement. Matisse was delighted by Henriette’s confident, receptive personality and natural charisma. Most of all, he appreciated her innate ability to pull off the more flamboyant, theatrical settings he was focused on in his art during this period, mainly, the North African “odalisque” which was inspired by his trip to Morocco in 1912. Matisse was concerned that his previous models didn’t project enough authenticity and poise for this persona. Wearing the turbans and veils Matisse provided for them, they came across merely like young women playing “dress up” in oriental costumes, and getting hopelessly lost when placed among colorful walls and fabrics, exotic decor and, some might say, cluttered compositions. But not Henriette. She had the muscular dancer’s body and self-assured presence to make it work.
Years of a highly successful artist/model collaboration between Matisse and Henriette culminated in this painting from 1926, Decorative Figure on an Ornamental Background. It was met with mixed reviews, but I like it Henriette sits nude, upright, and confident in front of swirling patterned wallpaper, an oriental rug, and a plant. Gotta have the plant!
Daytripper
Hellooo, helloooooo!! To those who commented on my previous post, I apologize for my lack of responses. What has it been, like 48 hours? Ah, but I have a good excuse. I was in Philadelphia all day yesterday and was a little tired when I got home. I didn’t even go online, I just crashed in front of the TV. Anyway, my Mom and I went down to see the Gorky exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and we had a totally lovely and enjoyable mother/daughter art outing.
Excellent show, but very “heavy”, given Gorky’s troubled psychology, personal demons, and the historical context of the Armenian genocide. My mother and I, in agreement, reached the conclusion that Gorky was far superior as a surrealist than a cubist, and Mom specifically noted that he was much better when he loosened up his line, which is evidenced in his later, more mature works.
The Philadelphia Museum has the same policy toward photographs as the Met; no pictures of special exhibitions, only the permanent collections. So unfortunately I have no photos of the Gorky show.
Now I realize that I just wrote about Rodin like two blog posts ago. But since we were just a few blocks away, Mom and I walked down to the Rodin Museum, and friends, let me tell you, it was spectacular! What an experience. Absolutely amazing, glorious place. With all due respect to Gorky, I think I enjoyed the Rodin Museum more.
So as not to overwhelm Museworthy with so much Rodin so close together (I didn’t plan ahead!), I uploaded all my photos from the Rodin Museum on my Flickr page. I hope you all check them out there. I’m pretty pleased with how some of them came out.
I’m going to get to those comments now. Thanks everyone! See you soon
Idle Model
Man. I’m bored. I’ve been through many of these art modeling breaks during holidays but for some reason this one is feeling interminable. I’m starting to get stir crazy. Nutty. Deranged. Day after day after day with no work. Ugh! Oh sure the chance to decompress, relax, and recharge was nice, and essential. But it’s enough already! I want to model! Instead, I’ve been occupying myself with all sorts of trivial, mundane crap. I organized my linen closet. Yippee! I cleaned out my refrigerator. Thrilling!! 
What is truly thrilling, however, is posing. The physical act of posing. The getting ready for posing. The energy and atmosphere of posing. The dynamic of posing before a room full of artists. The excitement of providing inspiration for a drawing or painting or sculpture. Shit. Where is everybody???? What’s going on??? Helloo???? I’m losin’ it!! :carves profanities into wall with pocket knife . . . tears down Christmas decorations . . . eats tinsel . . . does cartwheels . . . rips up carpet . . . guzzles bottle of tequila . . . sucks lime . . . pukes . . . passes out:
Honestly, I’m jealous. Jealous of this painting. That should be me up there! But it’s not 
This is Le Jeune Modele Posant Dans L’Atelier, by Jules Alexis Muenier:
But it’s not all bleak. Yesterday brought signs that work is returning, slowly but surely. Trickling back after the holiday hiatus. I got an email from an FIT instructor who wants to do private work with me. Yay! And I got a voicemail message from Clarity Haynes saying she wants to resume our sessions. Double yay! And very soon, the calls from school model coordinators will come streaming in, ready to do bookings for the spring semester. Bring it, fellas! I want to work! Grrrr.
Models for Olympians, in gouache, by Sir William Russell Flint. What an attractive group of gals:
Someone get me into a studio, fast! This is crazy. I mean, I do things. I have a life and interests and activities, I swear. I even had a hot date the other night with an unbelievably sexy guy But still, the absence of art modeling leaves this cavernous void. I’m lonely without it.
Painter and Model by Edward Hopper:
I feel hungry. I feel deprived. I feel unproductive. I feel too . . . too . . . clothed
Aw, shit. That’s what this is all about. The deep-seated need that models harbor and never, ever want to admit. We love the art. We love the creation. We love the interaction. But fundamentally, we’re exhibitionists. We like people looking at us in the nude. And when there’s no art modeling, no one is looking at us. Okay, did my credibility level just drop severely with this embarrassing admission? Dammit!
But unlike most art models, I have this blog. And I can act out my needs and restlessness and desires right here on these pages. My darling readers, humor me please? Let me strike a pose for you. It’s what I do. It’s my livelihood. It’s my passion. And I’m really, really craving the . . . attention. Guilty as charged!
Photo by Fred Hatt
New Year Nudes from Rodin
So I’ve been contemplating what to blog for the first Museworthy post of 2010. There were a few contenders in the running: a biography of a famous muse, a drawing of me done in a sketch class, a goofy nude photo I took of myself when I came home one night tipsy from wine, a picture of my cats frolicking in the snow, links to two articles of bizarre art news from around the world, a video embed of a dirty Richard Pryor standup comedy routine, an aimless, rambling “I love you all sooo much!” speech to my readers, etc, etc. None of them made the cut. Ah, but they will all have their shot at publication in the future, I’m sure.
I decided that the winner in the 2010 Museworthy sweepstakes, the person to kick off the new year on this blog, would be the one, the only, Rodin. One of my all-time favorites. I am completely in love with Rodin’s aesthetic, his profound admiration for the human body, and his “naturalism” approach to art. He valued gesture and expression, two things that comprise the essence of good art modeling.
For now, I’ve chosen a few of Rodin’s watercolor sketches instead of his sculpture, because I’m crazy about the movement in these works. The guy is incredibly modern and free-thinking and sensual. And the Musee Rodin is the one place I hope to get to some day. So let’s usher in the new year with Monsieur Rodin, Take it away, Auguste!
Auld Lang Syne
“An optimist stays up until midnight to see the New Year in. A pessimist stays up to make sure the old one leaves.”
- Bill Vaughan
And the German painter Lovis Corinth stays up to get blasted on wine and paint a self-portrait of him groping his wife’s boob. Way to keep it classy, Lovis!
Have a great one, everybody! See you in 2010 . . .
Farewell Thomas Hoving – Art Pirate of the Met
Art historian Michael Gross called him a “perennial thorn in the side of the museum mafia”. Philippe de Montebello called him “exhilarating” and “brilliant”. Others called him a “shark”. He was Thomas Hoving, the brash, ambitious, visionary director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Every year at this time our society reflects on all those who passed away during the previous twelve months. And 2009, sadly, brought us many a notable death: Michael Jackson, Ted Kennedy, Andrew Wyeth, John Updike, etc. But for anyone who loves art, art history, and museums, Thomas Hoving’s passing belongs right up there at the top. The controversial former Met Museum director died of lung cancer on December 10th. He was 78 years old.
Hoving’s tenure lasted from 1967 to 1977, and during those ten years, the museum was transformed from a staid and stuffy institution into a vibrant and stimulating one. A native New Yorker, Hoving was a true maverick (you hear that Sarah?), an iconoclast who shook up the priggish, uppity fine art establishment with his populist philosophy, risk-taking attitude, and questionable methods of acquisitions. Hoving made no secret of his willingness to do anything to obtain valuable works of art, spend huge sums of money, and defined his approach as “piracy”. He even boasted of his hefty “black book” of art dealers, smugglers, and “fixers”.
His critics saw him as an unscrupulous hustler, a cowboy who refused to fall in line with the starchy, formal, “proper” mentality of the fine arts world. To that I say, good for you Thomas! His driving motivation was to open the art world to everybody, not just the exclusive, elite class of art aficionados. Even his decision to drape flowing banners on the Museum’s exterior facade, to announce current special exhibitions, was met with scorn by the snobs who considered it “vulgar”. They need to fuck off. I love those banners
Whether New Yorkers are aware of it or not, Thomas Hoving is almost single-handedly responsible for the Met Museum of today; a compelling, relevant, extraordinary place, teeming with visitors and brimming with some of the most magnificent, awe-inspiring works of art ever created. It is thanks to Thomas Hoving that the Met is now home to extensive collections of Islamic, African, and Pacific art and artifacts. It is thanks to Hoving (and his behind the scenes wrangling) that the wildly successful King Tut exhibit came to the Met, and which my parents took me to see. It is thanks to Thomas Hoving that the Cloisters has become one of the greatest collections of medieval art in the world. The list goes on and on.
A man of boundless energy and determination, Thomas Hoving’s biography is fascinating, rollicking, and marked with both triumphs and controversies. You can learn more in this New York Times obituary, and also at The Independent. Both are excellent reads.
He was impulsive. He was obsessive. He was brazen and egotistical. He was, above all else, truly passionate about great art. When he came to the Met, his goal was to resuscitate the quiet, aloof, stagnating old landmark, and breathe new life into it, throw its doors wide open to the city, and “make the mummies dance”. And boy did he. In his own words, Thomas Hoving proclaimed, “Great art should be shown with great excitement”. I couldn’t agree more. RIP Thomas.
Here’s Thomas Hoving discussing “New York’s Fanciest Hookers” :
Year-End Honors
Greetings friends!! How are all my honeys and lovelies doing? Very well, I hope. I’m quite well myself. Had a terrific few days of celebrations and gatherings, family and friends, riotous storytelling, delicious food, and warm conviviality. And to top it off, the snow has completely melted! So the first big blizzard of the season is but a mere memory now.
I can’t think of a better way to resume blogging after my brief holiday hiatus, than by directing everyone’s attention to Casey Klahn’s Top Ten Art Blog Posts of 2009. On his excellent blog, The Colorist, he has published his choices for the most inspiring and worthy art posts of the year. I am positively floored that he selected my Museworthy post on Modigliani as one of the honorees, especially when I see myself placed among such first-rate art blogging company, like Kelly Borsheim and Karin Jurik , just to name a few. It was so flattering to read Casey’s generous, complimentary words. Not only did it make me feel happy and validated, it reaffirmed for me the tremendous joys and rewards of being a part of the blogging community. Thank you, Casey!
I also want to mention that The Daily Beast recently posted the Best Art Books of 2009. That’s not generally one of my favorite sites, but this book collection is worth a look. Some good stuff on there I wasn’t aware of: books on Magritte, Duchamp, Van Gogh, and one called “Angels of Anarchy: Women Artists and Surrealism” that looks really fascinating! The editor is Patricia Allmer. I’ve got to check that one out.
Once again, I hope everyone is well. Blogging is back on, of course, so I’ll see you all very soon!
