Pablo and his Predecessors

The National Gallery in London has scored a big one. A exhibit generating such buzz it’s even found its way across the Atlantic, onto the pages of a New York art model’s little WordPress blog It’s called “Picasso Challenging the Past”, and it runs through June 7. In it, the great modernist takes on his forbears, his esteemed predecessors with whom he had an ambivalent, almost love/hate relationship.

In this noteworthy show, Picasso takes no prisoners. Everyone from Rembrandt to Goya to El Greco to Delacroix are tackled in Picasso’s “challenges”, whether they be respectful flattering tributes, new artistic interpretations, or, in some cases, arrogant Picasso mockery.

As I sit here at home still recovering from the flu, I’ve been engrossed in the many reviews of this compelling show. Rather than try to paraphrase everything for you guys, I thought I’d just provide some links to the articles. They are fantastic reading for all art lovers.

Martin Gayford, chief art critic for Bloomberg News, wrote this review. His opening paragraph alone is brilliant, in which he writes:

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) was a pugnacious little man, and many of his rivals weren’t living artists but the great dead. “That bastard,” he said of Delacroix (1798-1863), “he’s really good!”

ArtDaily provides a thorough description of the exhibit with some good commentary:

Seizing on the signature themes, techniques and artistic concerns of painters such as Velázquez, Rembrandt and Cézanne, Picasso transformed the art of the past into ‘something else entirely’, creating audacious paintings of his own. Sometimes his ‘quotations’ from the past were direct, at other times more allusive and, occasionally, full of parody and irreverence.

And Rachel Campbell-Johnston provides a short video tour of the exhibit, along with a juicy written review in TimesOnline. Check out this quote:

This show hits you straight in the face like the force of an explosion. Here is a talent as savagely destructive as it is creative, as ruthlessly mocking as it is admiring, as vulgarly garish as it is susceptible.
It is this ferociously competitive talent that is explored in a landmark show that brings a brash Modernist into the National Gallery’s hallowed halls of high culture.

That last line addresses the issue of the always entertaining “museum wars” that frequently stir up the art world. London’s National Gallery is a conservative, traditional institution and rarely, if ever, features modernist shows. So with this bold curatorial move, the National Gallery has likely provoked some agitation and/or jealousy from the Tate Modern with this one! (On a personal note, I LOVED the Tate Modern when I was in London. One of my favorite places).

Hope you all enjoy perusing these art reviews. I just wish I could actually SEE the show I’ll have to do it vicariously via the Web, while I try to kick this damn flu. Begone little pest!

My February Infirmity

I really have to start getting the flu shot. I never get it and, lo and behold, I get the flu. Duh! Watch me as I put on my idiot badge :pins it to chest, struts around with thermometer in mouth: It’s the strangest thing. I came home from work on Monday, felt perfectly fine at 5:00. By 8:00 I was in bed with chills, sweats, and a 102 fever. Flu comes on with a sudden onset, hits you completely out of the blue. Before you know it you’re bedridden. I’m one of those people who never gets colds, never gets sore throats or coughs, but I’m susceptible to the flu. I’m a freak!

I’ve been stricken with flu three times in the past four years, and every time it’s been in February. The last week in February to be exact. Isn’t that weird? February isn’t my month, I guess.

But I’m already on the mend. My temperature is down to normal and my clothes are no longer sticking to me (yuck). I’m actually going to try to work the two remaining jobs I have booked this week. Then I’m free to relax over the weekend.

I’m holding out for spring, warmer weather, and fit, robust health. So instead of posting an image that reflects how I feel, I’m posting one that reflects how I want to feel: hale and hearty, sun-kissed, surrounded by things blooming and thriving, and best of all, nude without shivering

This is Diego Rivera’s Nude with Calla Lillies:

See you all very soon!
Claudia

Endings and New Beginnings

The time has come for me to say goodbye to the New York Studio School. After two and a half years, I’ve decided to make my exit from that place. Truth be told, me and the Studio School were never the best fit, either professionally or socially. But it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. Some situations just become intractable, and one dedicated artist’s model isn’t going to change a thing. If anything, her patience will be tested, her self-esteem will be threatened, and her profound joy in her work will be jarred by a tense, maladjusted atmosphere. It’s simply not worth it.

To some degree I was able to tolerate the anti-figurative orientation of the school’s philosophy and their “models as props” thinking. But if you compound that with an immature, volatile, and unprofessional attitude among the student body, you have an environment that gives you no reason to want to walk into the building anymore. A crazy, hostile, delusional email from a student (a former friend of mine) was the last straw.

I genuinely tried to forge a bond with that school. It was always different from the other places I work and that’s ok. But in recent months, the Studio School started to become this irritating, discordant note in my otherwise wonderful art modeling existence. Way too much drama, narcissism, and ingratitude among the people there, and they seem to take their frustrations out on the models. That’s not acceptable. For a group of young, sheltered, untested and unknown artists who have yet to cut their teeth in the real world, a little humility would do them good. Ah, but they’ll learn soon enough. It will be a rude awakening, that’s for sure.

But with every door that closes, another one opens. My departure from the New York Studio School comes on the heels of my recent hiring at the New York Academy of Art! I just got booked for a painting class there, and I’m really looking forward to a fresh start. A new environment, new people, new faculty, and best of all, an atmosphere of serious figurative art. In other words, I can be a model again

I’m posting an image to express my not-so-fond farewell to the New York Studio School, and I confess that this particular selection is symbolic in a sarcastic fashion. My little way of “sticking it” to the school, because they don’t do this over there. Or rather, they CAN’T do it. You know, paint the figure

From 1885, this is Biblis by William Bouguereau:

Monday Museum Stroll

Normal visiting hours for the Metropolitan Museum of Art are Tuesday through Sunday. As all New Yorkers know, the Met is CLOSED on Mondays. Closed dammit! However, the powers that be at the grand old Met have a terrific special arrangement called “Holiday Mondays”, where they open on, well, holiday Mondays. Since so many people are off from work, the Met generously opens its doors for the entirety of the three day weekend to encourage art viewing, strolling, and provide extra opportunity for cultural appreciation. Very nice.

This past Monday was President’s Day, and even though I did not have the day off (artist’s models aren’t exactly nine to fivers) I still had a small window of opportunity to stop into the Met. I decided to pull the old “squeezing something fun in between jobs” routine. It worked out quite well actually. I had the Monday morning long pose session at Spring Studios, then a 4:00 watercolor class at the National Academy, which is five blocks from the museum. So after grabbing a quick lunch and taking the Lexington line up the East Side, I had about an hour and a half to visit the Met. I’ll take it.

I mainly wanted to see the Pierre Bonnard exhibit, but after that I enjoyed a classic Museum stroll; a delicious, aimless meander, casual and improvised, drifting wherever my spirit and curiosity took me, taking in anything that entered my field of vision, looking at people as much as paintings, and snapping a few pictures to share with Museworthy readers.

The Met lobby, looking lovely as always, getting a head start on gorgeous early spring flowers. The Met is tops with flower arrangements. While they may have the best curators, they also have the best florists!

The Medieval Sculpture Hall is very centrally located. You’re forced to pass through it to get to the other galleries. It’s also an area where the security guards see you with your camera and remind you in no uncertain terms “NO FLASH!!”. Yeah, I know! Geez. Now I’m not Catholic, but after walking through the Medieval Sculpture Hall I feel like I have to go to confession. Haunting, heavy, and somber, you are confronted with more versions of Mary than you can handle. This Mary is from the 1400s:

Then it was on to the Greek and Roman Galleries, one of the most popular spots in the museum. As you can see, the Met was crowded that day. Holiday Mondays are quite the hit it seems.

As soon as I saw this scene I knew I had to capture it. A precious group of school children making crayon drawings amid the Greco-Roman art. I was smiling as I took this picture.

Well, hellooooo Athena! How ya’ doin’, girl?

Torso heaven. Bodies in stone, and the people who sketch them:

To my non-New Yorker readers, if you are ever visiting our city, go, go, go to the Metropolitan Museum. It is our pride and joy. Better yet, if you are ever in our city and want to visit the Met, call me first and we can do “the stroll” together I’d like that.

Rosina Ferrara – Sargent’s Muse of Capri

The word “exotic” is thrown around rather indiscriminately when describing women’s looks. Someone called me exotic once, and although I took it as a compliment, I’d say the adjective was a little over the top in reference to me. How “exotic” is a middle class, subway riding, public school educated girl from Queens? Sure I’m of Armenian ancestry and have deep set eyes, but come on. Exotic? That’s pushing it.

The word “exotic” encompasses more than just a somewhat unconventional physical appearance, like in my case. It includes culture, language, geography, traditions. A true exotic figure might be described thusly: “the tawny skinned, panther eyed, elf-like, wildest and lithest of all the savage creatures on the savage isle of Capri”. Now THAT sounds exotic! And who is the enigmatic woman behind that description? A 17 year old native Capri girl named Rosina Ferrara.

Capri is an Italian island off the coast of Sorrento, located in the southern part of the Gulf of Naples. During the 19th century, Capri attracted artists, musicians, and writers from all over the world, drawn to its beauty, friendly inhabitants, and inspiring, rustic ambiance. Olive trees and vineyards dot the landscape, wild boars roam the countryside, and fisherman toil in the harbors. Greeks, Romans, Moors, Arabs, Normans, and Spaniards all settled on Capri at various times throughout the island’s history, and that diverse mixture of ethnicities blended into a unique Mediterranean culture.

Born into a working class family in 1861, Rosina Ferrara was first discovered by the French artist Edward Vaux, and soon after became the regular model for Englishman Frank Hyde. Beguiled by Rosina’s nutty brown complexion, frizzy textured hair, and sweet disposition, Hyde drew powerful inspiration from the native girl, described often as an “Arab/Greek type”. But Hyde’s exclusive possession of Rosina would be disturbed with the arrival of another artist in search of fresh inspiration. Enter John Singer Sargent.

He came to Capri in 1878, and the hot, sticky weather almost prompted Sargent to turn around and go right back to Paris. In letters he wrote to friends, he complained about the humidity and the bugs, claiming to be “bitten from head to toe”. But fellow artist Frank Hyde took mercy on the suffering Sargent and offered him a place to stay. There, in Hyde’s studio located an abandoned monastery, Sargent was introduced to the young model and local girl, Rosina. And he was instantly captivated by her uncommon beauty, Arabic features, and dark skin. An artist had met his muse.

This 1878 Sargent painting of Rosina is extraordinary. An artistic “home run”. I love everything about it, from the clothes, the gesture, the brush strokes, and Rosina’s natural, uninhibited, seemingly spontaneous movement. Sargent captures it all brilliantly. I’d take this painting over that stiff, bourgeois Madame X anyday. That painting is cold, staged, dripping with affectation. This one is warm, genuine, and spirited. Rosina is earthy and unselfconscious. And just look at that smile:

By all accounts, Rosina was a superb model whose posing abilities rivaled any of the professional models of Paris. And the inspiring energy she radiated is evident on the canvas. Some of the Capri natives, however, had reservations about Rosina, or any of the local girls, posing for visiting foreign artists. They were concerned, rightly I’d say, that the men were seeking to exploit and take advantage of the young ladies who were somewhat naive to the ways of the world. I was very disappointed (that’s putting it mildly) to discover that Sargent never paid Rosina for her modeling. What a fucking dick! (Sorry).

In 1883, Rosina gave birth to a daughter, Maria Carlotta. The father’s identity is unknown. After a relationship with Belgian artist Alfred Stevens, Rosina eventually married the American muralist George Randolph Barse in 1891. They moved to the United States and lived in Katonah, Westchester County, just north of New York City. A prominent, respected man, Barse was a member of the National Academy of Design, the Salmagundi Art Club, the Century Club (I work at all those places ), and the Society of American Artists. The marriage was a happy and healthy one, and lasted for 43 years until Rosina’s death from pneumonia in 1934. Barse was devastated by the loss of Rosina and never fully recovered. Unable to go on, he took his own life just three years later. On a cold February afternoon, he sealed himself in his garage, ran his car engine, and died from inhaling carbon monoxide fumes.

From Neapolitan girl of Capri to wife and mother in the New York suburbs, Rosina Ferrara’s life took a fascinating arc. Along the way, she did a lot of modeling, inspiring and . . . dancing. Though works of her have fetched a hefty price at auction at Christie’s, though she settled into a comfortable life in America, I doubt that Rosina ever forgot her youth and innocent roots. In her heart, she was still always the exotic girl who once danced the tarantella on a rooftop in Capri . . .

Rosina Ferrara Dancing the Tarantella, 1878, by John Singer Sargent:

Looking for Romeo

Tomorrow is February 14th, and you know what that means. It’s that most heinous of “holidays”. That evil little day that drives us lonely, frustrated single people into the forgotten trash bin of outsiderdom. That cruel, callous little day that mocks us, taunts us, and forces us, in some sick mind game, to confront head-on the crushing lack of companionship and intimacy in our lives, even more than we do on “normal” days. This is segregation of the highest order! So to the powers who invented Valentine’s Day, I’d like to express my sincere thanks for this shitty, exclusionary, hurtful, discriminatory day :holds up middle finger:

Well, that was pleasant, right? Gee I’m sorry. I look like an awful, cranky bitch. But you’d be cranky too if you . . . oh, never mind. I think what’s most frustrating to me this year is that I do hold Valentine’s-like feelings for someone. But of course, he’s taken, and isn’t that just my luck? Yep, sounds right. Oh but the fun he and I could have if we . . . oooh . . . ok, time to shut up.

Before I sink too far into a pit of cynicism and bitterness, I’ll prove to you all that I do believe in love . . . very much so, in fact. I think you all know that. But just to be sure, so there’s no misunderstandings, I’m presenting a sweet, wonderful scene from what is the all time greatest film adaptation of Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”. This 1968 movie stars two incredible young actors; Leonard Whiting and Olivia Hussey (real teenagers, as it should be). The lovesick look on Romeo’s face is priceless, and Juliet is thoroughly adorable. Enjoy, and Happy Valentine’s Day

 

Objets d’Arts

The New York Studio School is the most “prop-happy” place I’ve ever worked. Their stash of plastic fruit, bottles, vases, plates, silk flowers, musical instruments, etc, is so extensive it puts other schools to shame. I personally think the school elevates these objects to a higher status than they deserve. They have their own philosophy down there and that’s their right. But they tend to clog their compositions with these things and obsessively draw and paint every one of them. Many times I have found myself posing in a chair surrounded by a sea of props, feeling like I’m in the middle of a rummage sale.

Amidst this flea market atmosphere the life model, sadly, gets lost. We are rendered to merely blend in like just another object, and models are supposed to be “subjects”, NOT objects. But figurative beauty is not the focus apparently, and this approach can trigger a bit of insecurity in the model. It makes us call into question our purpose and our power to inspire, not to mention our hard work!

As an art model I harbor a touch of contempt for inanimate props, especially when they’re used to excess. Now I like working at the Studio School, I do. Great place, good people (mostly). But I have gotten into it down there a few times and voiced my objections (albeit mildly) to the devaluing of the model’s role in art. It’s brought out my militant art model side, the side that proclaims, “I am life, hear me roar!” and “How dare you force me to compete with a wine bottle!”. It would make more sense to me if they were just painting a still life, without a model.

I took these pictures yesterday when I was posing, happily, in one of the more sparse set-ups I’ve seen down there. It was a relief to have fewer things around me to knock over and navigate around.

This arrangement would make Cezanne proud:

Ok, those pictures were fine, but not terribly exciting, right? Do I need to explain why? I mean, let’s be honest folks. Are the textures, colors, and contours of those things more artistically appealing than, say, this?

Which inspires you more?

Balasana and Uttanasana

Hi gang. Sunday greetings everyone We are miraculously blessed with 58 degree weather here in NYC, and the mercury is climbing. This is great! Within an hour I’ll be laced up in my sneakers going for a run in the park, with the sweet sounds of my iPod flowing through my ears.

Although the aerobic exercise will do me good, my favorite physical (and spiritual) practice is yoga. Yoga is an art model’s best friend. Most models I know are heavily into yoga and it shows in their work. Models utilize balance, strength, and flexibility in their poses, and yoga improves all. It has a direct, palpable impact on my performance. When I slack off in my yoga practice or my schedule gets too busy to make it to a class, I can feel it in my work clearly. More than a few times, I’ve been posing, feeling less limber and supple than I should, and right in mid-pose, I think to myself, “Shit, I have to get to a yoga class!”.

For some reason, forward bends have always come easily to me. Even before I started doing yoga I think. Backbends require much more practice as it is a less natural direction for the body to move. Fortunately, yoga offers many poses which work the backbending motion: Cobra, Upward-facing Dog, and my favorite, the Wheel. I’m improving in that area, but I still can’t quite get the bottom of my foot to touch the back of my head. Not for more than three seconds, at least! To form a complete circle like that is a powerful, spiritual display of the body’s energy, and that move has become my personal holy grail of yoga. I’ll get there eventually. In the meantime, I’ll just keep rocking my forward bends.

There’s the saying, “You’re only as old as your spine”. How true that is. Yoga enthusiasts are well aware of that principle, and believe me so are art models! In fact, we might know it better than anyone.

I’m thankful for yoga every day. My art modeling would be so different without it. I had a terrifically flexible day down at Spring Studio recently, and my friend Bruce Williams was there to capture some of it in these gesture drawings. Namaste, everyone . . .

La Vie

For all the countless works of art created over hundreds of years, only a select few have the power to thoroughly mesmerize, confound, and psychologically challenge the observer. Even fewer have the ability to temporarily divorce everyone from their firmly-held artistic preferences and transcend personal biases. They stand on their own merits, as independent artistic entities. Picasso’s 1903 Blue Period masterpiece La Vie is one such rarity.

When it comes to tastes in art, I personally know many die-hard traditionalists, folks who feel that art begins and ends with the old masters. They never fully embrace or relate to modernism, and remain lukewarm at best when it comes to the 20th century. Yet even they make an exception for La Vie. Somber, enigmatic, and rife with symbolism, Picasso’s bellwether work is an allegorical dream, or nightmare depending on your interpretation. In fact, interpretation of La Vie has been a stubborn riddle for art historians over the decades. Picasso himself never offered up a clear explanation for the painting’s unusual figures, composition, and narrative.

What we do know, at least, are the tragic circumstances which brought about Picasso’s legendary Blue Period. Born in Málaga, Picasso studied art in both Barcelona and at the Royal Academy of San Fernando in Madrid. He met another art student, a young Catalan named Carlos Casagemas. The two became the best of friends, and together they traveled to Paris in the summer of 1900.

Inseparable, Pablo and Carlos immersed themselves in the Paris scene, although they had to survive with severely limited means. Broke most of the time, they got by any way they could. Without money for prostitutes, Picasso painted murals on the brothel walls as “payment” in exchange for their services.

Unlike Picasso, Casagemas was not a frequent patron of brothels due to his sexual impotence. He did, though, become infatuated with a woman named Germaine. Germaine unfortunately did not return his affections, and the painful rejection sent Casagemas into a serious depression. He drank, he used morphine, and he relied even more heavily on the support of his friend Picasso.

The two young men, barely 20 years old, left Paris and returned to Spain. They stayed in Malaga and visited Picasso’s family who were horrified at the slobby, unkempt, bohemian appearance of the boys. Still pining over Germaine, Casagemas’ behavior worsened. Fed up with playing caretaker to his troubled friend, Picasso had had enough and sent Carlos away. After a stopover in Barcelona, Casagemas made a fateful return to Paris.

On the night of February 17th, 1901, Casagemas sat in L’Hippodrome Cafe with Germaine and several other friends. Suddenly, he pulled a revolver from his jacket and fired a shot at Germaine, who avoided the bullet by ducking under the table. Casagemas then put the gun to his right temple and fired another shot into his head.

Upon hearing word of his friend’s very public, very violent suicide, a grief-stricken Picasso was thrust into a depression, further exacerbated by profound feelings of guilt for having abandoned Casagemas during his darkest hours. On the outs with his own family, penniless, and disillusioned, Picasso tackled his emotional turmoil and angst in the way he knew best – with tubes of paint. Blue paint. A melancholy, monochromatic palette. Moods of despair, sorrow, and isolation. Subjects marked by pathos and misfortune. From the brush of a gifted 20 year-old, at the dawn of the 20th century, on the heels of a harrowing trauma, the iconic Blue Period was born.

From 1903, this is Picasso’s La Vie:

The painting is complicated and puzzling. Its inscrutable qualities have added greatly to its reputation. The male figure represents Casagemas, and notice how Picasso made his left leg taking a step forward, and his left finger making a pointing gesture. Picasso, in other words, made his friend “active”. Undefeated, maybe? Picasso also gave him sexual love, with a devoted female nude figure leaning close against him. And Picasso also placed Casagemas with a family unit, the maternal love of a mother and baby.

But perhaps most telling about this painting – perhaps Picasso’s most revealing statement of what he was trying to communicate – is found in the painting title itself: “La Vie” . . . “Life”.

Snowy Love to London

My heart goes out to everyone in southeastern England and, especially, London commuters who were pounded with their heaviest blizzard in over 18 years. We know what you’re going through, dear friends “across the pond”. I read that rail and airport services are a a standstill, 1500 schools closed, and millions couldn’t get to work.

When I visited England many years ago, I was struck by the similarities between London and New York. Both big, bustling cities, centers of commerce and culture, with nightlife, theater, and many places to get a pint! Indeed, we have a lot in common and I, like a lot of New Yorkers, felt an affinity for London that has stayed with me to this day. I have very fond memories of my trip, especially the people.

So I’d like to send out support and fellowship to my Brit friends as they deal with the severe storm. Just hang in there. This winter-weary New Yorker would also like to express solidarity and best wishes in true Museworthy fashion.

From the 19th century English painter Edward Robert Hughes, this is Heart of Snow. Now that’s what I call coping with winter!

Brainstorming

Helloo, helloooo!! How is everyone? I’ve missed you all and missed my blog. I have been here these past few days, logging in always. I just haven’t contributed any Museworthy activity which is only due to lots of steady work. Whew, I’m a little tired!

I’d like to give everyone an update on Museworthy and alert you to some changes here and there, and throw out some ideas for which I welcome feedback. First, you may have noticed that I created a second Image Gallery page. The original one got pretty full! So all new images will go into the second gallery from now on. The first one remains, of course, for browsing and inspiration.

Next, I made some additions to my blogroll. For a few weeks I’ve been visiting and enjoying the thoughtful, intelligent blog written by Alex in Quebec, Canada. It’s called Healing Philosophy, and it’s a great place for a little Zen, a little Taoism, a little Buddhism, and overall spiritual enlightenment. All presented with sensitivity and humanity rather than sanctimony. Also, I’ve added (finally) the blog of my cousin Armen Kassabian, who is in his senior year at Clark University and handling a heavy academic work load. He blogs and ruminates about mindfulness, meditation, reiki, his travel experiences to Vietnam, Thailand, and Armenia, and publishes much of his poetry, which is one of his great passions. At the young age of 21, Armen has already seen more of the world than his 40 year-old cousin!

Stephen Quirke has moved his lovely watercolors to a new location, so I had to make that link adjustment. I’ve got you covered, Steve! Also check out Kitty’s terrific snapshots of our big city on New York Portraits, and a long overdue welcome to my friends over at Fluffytek Lastly, I’ve added one of my favorite blogs, Safari Notes. A powerful, eloquent voice from Africa, speaking about environmentalism, animals, and social unrest on the troubled continent.

Next, I’ve added the cutest little “real time” stat/traffic widget for Museworthy, another one of those things I’ve been meaning to do and have never gotten around to doing. It’s particularly embarassing since it requires all of ten seconds to complete. Anyway, it’s at the very bottom of my sidebar. The number displays the visitors currently hanging out on Museworthy, and you can click on it for more specific traffic info if you’re interested in that sort of thing.

Ok, now for the big idea. I mean BIG IDEA. Yes, so big it requires caps. And for this one I really need reader input and feedback. Are you ready?? How does a podcast sound? A Museworthy podcast?! A companion to the blog?! Good? Bad? Indifferent? This idea has been bouncing around my head for weeks now, and I think it has the potential to be something special and unique, assuming I can do it well and do it right. Trust me, readers, I would never inflict some silly, stuttering, ill-conceived, poorly planned, self-indulgent, amateurish, giggly, vocal mess upon you. If it’s not articulate, entertaining, witty, and creative, then it won’t happen.

However, I must be honest from the start. I made a test podcast in Mac’s Garage Band application, and when I played it back, my voice . . . oh god! I sounded so freaking stupid! I don’t understand. Don’t you hate hearing your voice recorded? You think, “Ugh, do I really sound like that?”. The problem is not that I have one of those shrieky, strident, irritating, nails on a chalkboard voices. You know, like Rachael Ray or Elizabeth Hasslebeck or any of those “chipmunk” TV people. No, shrieky is not my problem thank god. Rather, my voice sounded so, ugh, I don’t even know how to describe it. A little . . . stoned (I wasn’t). Or drunk (I wasn’t). Good grief! Well, now I know why no one has ever suggested I go into radio I’m going back to Garage Band and tinker around. Hopefully I can get the hang of it.

In the meantime, does anyone think a Museworthy podcast sounds somewhat engaging or appealing? Think music, art modeling stories, readings, anecdotes, and hopefully interviews with some of my friends in the art community. And best of all, if I decide to go ahead with it, a podcast will bring me closer to all of you. We can feel even more intimate with each other, and I can speak directly to everyone, my cherished friends in the blogosphere. Comments are open, guys! Yes or no on podcasting?

Claudia
xoxo