Sore Feet and Broccoli Polenta

My friends! Sorry I haven’t posted since Monday. I hope you know it’s because of party preparation plus busy art modeling schedule. Right now it’s 10:00 on Friday night and writing this post is the first time I’ve sat down since maybe 1:00 in the afternoon. I am wiped! And my feet are killing me.

But tomorrow is the big day – Mom’s birthday party  - and I sense that it’s going to be a festive and fantastic time . I have been cleaning, cooking, and decorating like a madwoman. I think I might drink a lot tomorrow. A party’s not really a party without a drunken hostess :lol:

I will try to post on Monday if I can. Tuesday at the latest. Until then, have a wonderful weekend everybody, and happy Halloween! I’ll miss you, but I’ll see you soon . . .

Hip Hip Hurray by Peder Severin Kroyer:

Time Goes By

It’s late on Monday night, so whether this is a “Music Monday” post or a “Music Tuesday” post doesn’t really matter. Most importantly it’s a post for my mommy’s birthday. Yay! Go mom!

She turns 75 on Tuesday and I will treat her with a video tribute to her favorite movie – the one, the only, Casablanca. What a classic. Dooley Wilson performs the legendary song “As Time Goes By” accompanied by stills from the film, with Rick, Ilsa, Victor, and the gang. Mom will love this :-)

I will try to post at the end of week just to say hi and let you all know that I haven’t lost my sanity amid the festivities, running around, and party prep. Until then have a great week everyone! “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Overworked and Overjoyed

Does a busy, hectic life cause an adrenalin rush? I’m thinking maybe it does. This week is going to be pure, unmitigated madness for me, but honestly I’m  very excited! Here’s the situation: I’m working full days at the New York Academy of Art, plus an evening session at Spring Studio. Tuesday is Mom’s birthday and we’re meeting for dinner at a restaurant in Flatiron. That will be Mom, me, my brother, my sister-in-law, and my aunt. Then Saturday night is the PARTY, the big birthday bash, a gathering of other family, cousins, and close family friends at . . . you guessed it . . . my house! I have to get this place presentable for company. Cleaning, dusting, polishing, straightening up, hiding away all my eyesore crap. The unsightly stack of magazines and papers that I’m unable to throw out? Stashed in a closet. The yoga mat I’ve been tripping over? Also stuffed in the closet. As long as none of my guests open the closet doors everything should be fine. Oh, and did I mention my food shopping list? Yes, friends, I am cooking. Shit, how am I gonna get all this done in time? :shock:

I  definitely feel a little overwhelmed, but my Mom’s 75th birthday is such a truly joyous occasion, a profound event that deserves every bit of celebration. My mother is a very loved and adored woman and she’s led a beautiful life. I predict many speeches, toasts, well wishes, storytelling, and champagne sipping :-)

In the midst of all this party preparation frenzy, I am modeling and making a living. I worked at the National Academy all day on Saturday, and even though my mind was racing a mile a minute about such topics as tablecloths, serving spoons, candles, cleaning supplies, picking up the birthday cake, buying decorations and silk flowers for a centerpiece arrangement, I still performed my art modeling duties and posed pretty well, stressed-out mental state notwithstanding.

Here are some terrific, fun wash sketches by Mary who has drawn me many times in Lisa Dinhofer’s Saturday morning class. These were quick poses and Mary, as always, captured the gestures – the fundamental essence of a figure drawing. The standing one is my favorite. I believe I was thinking about napkins at the time :lol:

Jackson Up A Tree

So the past few mornings I’ve had to will myself out of bed. If I didn’t have all this art modeling work I’d probably stay nestled under the warm covers, possibly for hours, sleeping, moping, isolating myself like the dejected little baby that I am these days. But after a couple of sleepy hits on the snooze button of my alarm, I finally pulled myself out of bed this morning. I rubbed my eyes and looked out my bedroom window to find my cat, Jackson, way up in the dogwood tree. It certainly put a smile on face. It was so cute in fact that I got my camera and went out there, with bed hair and sweatpants, and took a picture of his crazy cat ass:

The boy is completely nuts, and I love him for it. And his little white nose. There’s a backstory to this. A roaming tomcat is harassing the other cats in the neighborhood, and an all-out turf war has erupted. I’m pretty sure Jackson was chased up the tree by the tomcat thug. From what I’ve observed there seems to be some bad blood between those two. Ah, cat drama.

I’m sorry to have missed a music post this week. Hope you all forgive me. If it’s any consolation, it’s not solely my mood that’s put me out of synch. It’s a really busy work schedule plus organizing for my mother’s 75th birthday next week. A lot of fun stuff in the works for that terrific, auspicious occasion and my brother, sister-in-law, and I are busy with those plans. So it’s really a very good time :-)

Hang in there with me, my friends. I’m here, I’ll be fine, I’m still blogging. And my cats will probably still run up trees :lol:

Discontent

Aarrgh . . . grrrr . . . dammit :sad:

Oh screw me and my complicated romantic issues. This is some utter horseshit. I’ve issued a three day deadline on this glum phase, and if it passes that cutoff I’m charging myself a fine. That’s it, no excuses.

Thank god for glorious figurative art and the superb classical realist painter Jacob Collins. A New York artist I have actually never met or posed for, I am decidedly a fan. It’s impossible to be a professional life model and not be a fan of this:

Reclining Nude by Jacob Collins:

It’s 1 AM. I’m going to bed and will do this “pose” right now, although I will be sulking and sobbing much more than Jake’s model. Anyone want to come over and paint? :lol:

Refuge

Life disappoints. Art modeling is there. A man breaks my heart. Art modeling is there. Expectations fall short. Art modeling is still there. Life is complicated. Art modeling is not.

I can’t change another person’s mind. I can’t alter the past or be someone other than my true self. I can’t deceive or manipulate or make demands. I am resigned to the reality that I am susceptible. I can’t don protective armor and shield my hopeful heart from pain. I don’t possess the mechanism. All I can do, when the tribulation arrives, is seek sanctuary. Sweet, sweet sanctuary.

Woes, letdowns, and defeats will come. But I can still do this:

Claudia Plus Red by Jean Marcellino:

Bach on the Highway

A few weeks ago I used a day off for productive, rather than leisurely, purposes. After paying some bills at home I went out with the car to run a few errands. Then I decided to drive out to Bed Bath and Beyond to buy some new hand towels and possibly a new nonstick pan since the one I have has seen better days. To set the scene accurately, I should tell you all that my car is pretty crappy, with an equally crappy radio. Hence, driving is not some cool, enjoyable experience for me. It is strictly utilitarian. Get there and get back, that’s all.

In spite of its crappiness, my car radio does receive one strong, distortion-free signal, and as luck would have it, that signal is for my favorite station – New York’s classical music station WQXR. So I turned on QXR during my drive to the store and a delightful piece of baroque music was already in progress. Sounded a lot like Bach. Mmm, nice! I loved it. I cranked the volume way up and soon my car drive was transformed into a groovy, blissful experience. I cruised on the highway, made spectacularly smooth lane changes, and rolled my window down to take in the marvelous fresh air. It was all because of that Bach. What can you say about Bach? He’s the man, pure and simple.

When the piece ended, the disc jockey announced that it was Bach’s Violin Concerto in G Minor. I made a mental note of it. Today I’d like to share a portion of it for “Music Monday”. This is the exact same recording I heard on WQXR that day. It’s Elizabeth Wallfisch performing with Orchestra of the Age of Enlightenment:


I don’t know if this little girl was able to play the Bach Violin Concerto in G Minor, but she sure looks cute holding her instrument! The painting is The Young Violinist by 19th century French painter Pierre Louis de Coninck:

Fernande Olivier

Eva, Olga, Marie-Therese, Dora, Francoise, Genevieve, Jacqueline. To art lovers and muse enthusiasts, Picasso’s mistresses/wives are familiar to us on a first name basis. We know those beautiful fascinating women listed above, and we know Picasso’s paintings of them. I think, however, that the woman with whom Picasso had his first serious relationship receives somewhat less attention than she deserves. After all, this is the woman who took up with Picasso when he was still basically a nobody, just another struggling artist in Paris.

Her name was Fernande Olivier, but she was born Amélie Lang in 1881 in the garment district of Paris. A child out of wedlock, Fernande was orphaned almost immediately when her mother dropped her off at a relative’s house and was rarely seen again. The foundling infant was raised by resentful, abusive relatives, and it’s no surprise that Fernande would develop emotional issues with trust, intimacy, and affection.

Fernande Olivier with a little girl, in a photograph taken by Picasso:

As a young teen, Fernande Olivier excelled at school and found escape in the popular novels of the day. Her passion for reading expanded, as it often does, into writing. As a result, Fernande kept extensive personal journals throughout her life. When she was 18, Fernande was assaulted and raped by a male acquaintance. Rather than expressing sympathy and protection, her adoptive family forced Fernande to marry the man, probably as a way of getting rid of her.

The “marriage”, predictably, was miserable, and marred Fernande’s perceptions of sex and male/female relations. In her journals, Fernande asked simply “Is this really what love is?”. She lamented the lack of tenderness and affection, and described sex with her husband as “cruel, brutal possession”, and “filthy and hateful”. Fernande deserved a lot better than the shithead she was pressured into marrying. Believing that she could find a better life out there in the world, Fernande picked up and left the dirtbag behind. You go girl.

Soon Fernande was working as an artist’s model in Montmartre, thanks to a sculptor who offered her her first posing job. Life among the Paris bohemians suited Fernande well, although the search for genuine intimacy and tenderness with a man was still elusive. Fernande had many lovers, none of whom encouraged Fernande to pursue her own interests or treated her as anything other than a model and mistress. Some even mistook her for a prostitute.

It was inevitable that Fernande and Picasso would cross paths in 1904 Paris. Fernande recorded her first impressions of the “Spanish artist” in her diaries:

For some time now I’ve been bumping into him wherever I go, and he looks at me with his huge deep eyes, sharp but brooding, full of suppressed fire. I don’t find him particularly attractive, but his strangely intense gaze forces me to look at him in return, although I’ve never answered him when he tries to make conversation. I don’t know where to place him on the social scale and I can’t tell how old he is.

Picasso was 23, and in 1905 he and Fernande moved in together at the Bateau Lavoir studios. The relationship would last several years. Fernande, of course, posed for Picasso regularly and was the subject of many of his Rose Period works.

This is Picasso’s Fernande With a Black Mantilla, from 1905:

Given Fernande’s issues with cold, insensitive male personalities, one might wonder how and why she’d embark on a long term relationship with, of all people, the conventionally macho, self-centered Picasso. Well the answer is that genuine love existed between the two. Yes, Picasso truly loved Fernande and even asked her to marry him. This is not to say that the relationship wasn’t flawed. It was. The notoriously jealous Picasso forbid Fernande from posing for any other artists while they were together and didn’t want her to leave the house without him. He would literally lock her in like a hostage.

But in her journals, Fernande acknowledged Picasso’s tender side. Yes, he had one. When she was sick, he took care of her and was occasionally able to express love and kindness- that is when he allowed himself to do so. But Picasso’s attentiveness toward his lover was hardly consistent and could not be counted on in the long term.

This beautiful drawing is called Portrait de Fernande, 1906. From the page on pablo-ruiz-picasso.net.

Things started to fall apart between Picasso and Fernande around 1909. They spent the summer at Horta de Ebro, and Picasso created a series of  Cubist Fernande portraits there. But when they returned to Paris, the arguing got worse. Friend of the couple Gertrude Stein witnessed the conflicts between the two and observed that Picasso was picking on trivial things. Fernande’s patience had been pushed to brink and she yelled at Picasso, calling him “a precocious child”. Things exacerbated when Fernande developed a painful, very serious kidney infection, which was too much for Picasso to handle.

Fernande and Picasso continued to live together as friends even though their romance was over. Then, in 1912, Picasso met and became involved with Eva Gouel.

Many years later, Fernande was alone and in very ill health. She contacted Picasso for help and he obliged with a small pension. It was the least he could do for his first muse, his first serious companion, the woman who stood by him during those early Paris years. Fernande Olivier died in 1966. Fortunately, she left behind her colorful, observant, deeply felt memoirs about her life.

Some links to articles about Fernande Olivier:

“Whose Melancholy” from artnet

Artist and Model” from the NY Times

I Remember Clifford, I Remember Eddie

My mother endured a tough day recently. Last weekend, on Saturday, September 25th, she and my father would have celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. For those of you who don’t know, my father died of a massive stroke in December of 2004. Mom mentioned the would-be golden anniversary to her family and friends that day, and her sadness was evident.

For 44 years, Mom was a musician’s wife. Like my brother and I, she lived in Dad’s musical orbit and was indoctrinated into his musical tastes, which were impeccable. If you had asked my father who his favorite jazz trumpeter was he would have answered, without hesitation, Clifford Brown. A gifted young player from Wilmington, Delaware, Clifford Brown attracted attention early while still in his teens. Tragically, Brown’s life and career were abruptly cut short in 1956 when he was killed in a car accident on his way to a gig. He was just 25 years old.

My father, a trumpet player himself, was disheartened by the loss, as were all of Clifford’s bandmates and friends and the entire jazz community. A year later, tenor saxophonist Benny Golson wrote a song in honor of the late Clifford Brown called “I Remember Clifford”. A sensitive, melodic, expressive composition, “I Remember Clifford” became an instant jazz standard.

Today’s “Music Monday” is in memory of my Dad and for my Mom who lost the chance to commemorate 50 years of marriage with her musician husband. This is Lee Morgan, an amazing trumpet player in his own right, performing “I Remember Clifford”. Watch and listen everybody. It’s a beauty.

First Aid Friday

Ouch!!!  Ouch, ouch, ouch!!! Hey everyone. I just had a horrible scissors mishap. It’s bad enough that it’s pouring rain on my day off and can’t go running or bike riding in the park. Now I’ve inflicted injury on myself.  See? This is what happens when I’m confined indoors. I was trying to open a delivery box and was using a pair of scissors. Because I’m such a careless klutz, I cut right into the skin on my hand, in the soft part  between the thumb and the index finger. Ow, man! Hurts! :cry:

So after completely freaking out at the sight of blood pouring down my arm, I finally stopped the bleeding. I just hope everyone at Spring Studio tomorrow doesn’t mind their model with a double-bandaged hand. You know, I realize that the modeling platform is the only place where I am graceful and coordinated. In the rest of life I am terribly clumsy.

Can’t really blog anymore. The typing is difficult. This whole post is stupid, right? It’s raining and miserable outdoors. I’m miserable and in pain indoors.

I’ll be back soon. Until then, have a great weekend. And be careful with scissors!!