Breathing Spell

Yoo hoo! Hello? Does anyone run this blog? Anyone??

Hey gang. Really sorry about the stagnancy. I’m here, I assure you. I hope you all had a wonderful week because mine kind of sucked. Stress, tension, and painful frustration stemming from personal matters, life decisions, and shattered expectations. Anyway, I don’t want to elaborate. All I can do is try to make sense of it all and get my mojo back. I miss my mojo

On the art modeling front, I’ve reached the annual break in my work schedule that comes in late May. School semesters have ended which means students can say goodbye to teachers and classmates, hang their end-of-year art shows, go through final critiques, and look forward to a well-deserved vacation. The schools will close for a bit and regroup for summer sessions which will be up and running in June. What does all this mean for us art models? It means we get a little break for ourselves. With the exception of one gig at a local art center, I have no jobs booked for two weeks. After all these years of modeling I still haven’t gotten used to the sight of so many consecutive blank spaces in my calendar. It’s weird. So much free time dancing before my eyes, what will I do with myself? Haha.

Edward Hopper, Interior (Model Reading), 1925:

One activity I’d like to do is take a drive up to Woodstock. I haven’t been up that way in quite a while and there’s a farm sanctuary there that I’ve been donating money to for many years. Might be nice to visit and say hello to the animals. And of course, Woodstock is great town in upstate New York with lovely shops and art galleries. There is much to do and see in good old Woodstock.

In the meantime, I’ll be around, being lazy some days and productive on other days. And blogging for sure. So I’ll see you all very soon.

Claudia  xo

Love My Momma

MoThERsDaY MOTHERSDAY MOtHeRsDaY MothersDay MothersDay

M 0 t h e r s D a y !!!!

I have no idea why I typed all those variations but it felt good. Just having a little fun. And screw the apostrophe!!

Mother’s Day matters a lot here on Museworthy . It matters because this blogger’s mother is a splendid, warm-hearted, generous, artistic, and joyful lady. Many of you are familiar with her, either from real life, my frequent references to her, or her own voice in comments. She’s Elaine, and she’s awesome. She also adores Mother’s Day, not because she expects to be lauded but because her children are the greatest joy in her life. My Mom is one of those women who is thoroughly happy to have “mother” define her identity. Given her two fabulous kids who can blame her?

Choosing artwork for Mother’s Day is easy as pie. In a word, Degas. Mom’s favorite. And a Degas pastel is the ultimate because of Mom’s love for the medium.

By Edgar Degas, this is Four Dancers from 1902. Love you Mom! Happy Mother’s Day.

s

Routines, Old and New

You wake up in the morning, have a good stretch, make a pot of coffee and sit down to read about what’s going on in the world – on the Internet, in the newspaper, or wherever. And the more you read the bigger and darker becomes the cloud. You know the cloud I’m talking about. The cloud of human misery and strife and conflict. For me, this has become a detrimental routine, one that often comes close to ruining my whole mood for the rest of the day, that is if I allow it. But resistance is difficult, as I am nowhere near desensitized enough to resist the negative impact of so much tragedy and chaos. Some people are desensitized enough. I am not one of them. So after an hour of reading about rape and child neglect and infanticide, terrorist attacks and chemical weapons and car bombs, animal abuse and sex trafficking and rioting anarchists, corrupt politicians and the various cruelties carried out by asshole teenagers, and the current, seemingly unstoppable, cultural trend toward moral degeneracy, I am emotionally and mentally drained by the time I close my laptop. As much as I believe in awareness and staying informed, these days I’m regretting the routine every time. It just makes me sick. Beam me up Scotty, I’ve had enough.

Daily routines are not inherently harmful of course. On the contrary, routines can impart feelings of consistency, stability, and clearheadedness. For some people it’s a morning jog before work, for others a workout at the gym after work. For others still it’s painting or writing at the crack of dawn, or walking the dog, or even 20 minutes in the garden just picking a few weeds. A routine can also be something as simple as a morning phone call to check in on a parent or elderly loved one. Before my grandmother passed away, my Mom used to call her every single morning, a routine on my mother’s part that meant the world to grandma.

I’ve noticed that on the days when do I deviate from the first-thing-in-the-morning newsreading routine and replace it with something else – running, yoga, writing emails, making a fruit salad, tinkering around the house etc – I really do feel better, like I haven’t yet been “contaminated” by the evils and wretchedness of the world. My outlook and disposition remains truer to the person I am, who is loving and hopeful. I don’t want to bury my head in the sand, but I don’t want to defile my soul either. Well at least not first thing in the morning!

Routines, like habits, are hard to break. So while I can’t shut myself out from the news completely, I might consider moving the routine from the beginning of the day to the end of the day, when it can’t pollute my thoughts, hamper my productivity, distract me, or dampen the joy that my spirit intrinsically holds. I’m a pretty happy person generally. But the news headlines seem determined to convert us all into cynical, embittered nihilists. And that is very sad indeed.

Craig and I were discussing classical music the other night. I mentioned that one of the most uplifting pieces of music ever written, in my opinion, is the overture to Mozart’s comic opera The Marriage of Figaro. Jubilant, bubbly, and brisk, the overture sets a splendid, optimistic tone for the start of a day. Play pretend conductor and it’s even more fun! My new routine maybe? A million times better than the dreadful Huffington Post, that’s for sure.

Morning Light, by Childe Hassam:

People I Know

After 33 years working at the National Academy in charge of building maintenance and janitorial staff, he has undoubtedly earned his retirement. We all bid a fond farewell to William the other night with a lovely reception in the school gallery where hugs, kisses, and well-wishes overflowed. Back in 2005, when I showed up for my very first modeling job at the Academy, it was William who directed me to the basement-banished Studio 5. “First day?” he asked. “Yes!!” I answered with the gung-ho enthusiasm of a  new, wet behind the ears artist’s model. “Good luck darlin’!”, William said. And I smiled. Over the next eight years William often witnessed me dashing through the hallways for quick bathroom breaks between poses, spilling coffee, asking for Band-Aids, looking for lost jewelry, and noisily pushing heavy armchairs around to set up long sitting poses. Always on hand to meet the requests of instructors, teachers, and models, William was our trusted friend. I wish him all the very best in his post-Academy life. A blown kiss for Willie to augment the kiss I already gave him on the cheek.

Still reeling from the harrowing loss of his son Ronan just one month before his third birthday, Rick Louis came here to New York City, his hometown, to visit family and friends. Rick and my brother Chris have been friends since childhood, and Rick has of course known me, Chris’s little sister, for just about the entirety of my life. All of us, along with our friend Greg, gathered for a reunion on the upper West Side where we enjoyed good food and great conversation. We were the Queens kids together again, reminiscing and sharing our favorite stories. While Rick is experiencing the unimaginable grief of a parent losing a child, he is seeking, and hopefully finding, solace in the bonds of those who love him and stand by him through his trials. Like me, Rick is a yoga enthusiast. For dear Rick, a spontaneous burst of upward-facing-dog on my kitchen floor. Namaste, friend.

Out of the blue, an email arrived with a subject memo that read “Blast From the Past”. Usually those words introduce something either very welcome or very unwelcome. In this instance it was, happily, very welcome. Again, an old friend, this time from high school. He searched for me on the Internet, which brought him where else but right here to Museworthy! Jimmy wrote the nicest note and thoughtfully attached some great old pictures of our gang. The faces of Stephanie, Heather, Leonard, Faby, and Jimmy are only partially obscured by my gigantic 80s hair! But gosh, we look so young. Ear-to-ear smiles. Exuberant. Energetic. The faces of carefree teenagers who have their whole lives ahead of them. Well, we’re all in our mid-forties now, but to assure Jimmy that we’re not old people just yet, a little fun in my living room chair showing that I can still kick up my heels like  the troublemaking high school junior I once was

All of the photos in this post were taken by the most important of the “people I know”, my boyfriend Craig. Thanks for the pics baby

Inamorato

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

- Dr. Seuss

Lovers among Lilacs, Marc Chagall, 1930:

A Little Chagall

Helloooo friends! Hope you all had a great weekend. Mine was lovely. I posed for my last booking with Peter Cox, a modeling job I enjoyed immensely, and attended the Fountain Art Fair where I hung out with my pal Daniel Maidman. Throw in springlike warmer temperatures and now longer days, life is fine and fabulous

I’m flying out the door soon to pose for Mario D’Urso”s sculpture class but would like to post a quick Music Monday before I go. My oldest and dearest friend is a huge fan of Marc Chagall. Sadly, she and I are estranged and have not spoken in over two years. She used to read this blog regularly but I don’t know if she still does. In any case, I’d like to post this charming, colorful lithograph by Chagall titled The Accordionist, in the chance she might see it. I want her to know that I think of her often and hope she is as happy as I am these days. Miss you S. With love, sincerely, Claudia. xo

Beneath the Raven Moon

Today is a special day. January 7th. That makes it a very special Music Monday here on Museworthy.

For my darling on his birthday, this is Native American flutist Mary Youngblood playing her beautiful touching song, “Beneath the Raven Moon”.

Happy Birthday baby, my raven protector. I love you with all my heart. Mary plays the melody, but the sweetness and tenderness are from me to you

Always,
your “little C”

De-Cocooning

So now that 2013 has arrived and the “holiday season” as we call it is officially over, my heavenly homey existence of cocooned contentment is also, sadly, over. You’re all wondering, “What the hell is she talking about?” I’m referring to the manner in which I spent my holiday break. It involved staying in Queens and avoiding going into Manhattan, wallowing in the cozy warmth and intimate charm of my house, sleeping late, cooking, writing, wearing sweatpants, taking indulgently long showers, poring over the magnificent art book I got for Christmas, and rarely venturing beyond my neighborhood in northeast Queens. It’s not as if I lived like a lonely hermit, mind you. I spoke to my family every day and, best of all, enjoyed the beautiful companionship of the man I love. It was all quite glorious.

But alas, the art model’s layabout paradise cannot go on forever. Art schools are opening for the spring term and I must crawl out of my snug cocoon and return to work, like most folks already have. The actual modeling, of course, is something I look forward to and have genuinely missed. What I haven’t missed is the commuting – the “schlepping” as we say in NYC – from Queens to Manhattan. The train ride, then the subway rides, then the buses, then the teeming crowds, the harassers, the sneezers, the cell phone yakkers, the panhandlers, the oglers, the  . . . well you get the idea. I’m going to miss the cocoon! I am a Cancer, and we are homebodies at heart. We like to feel sheltered and safe. And protected. And loved.

On the positive side, my returning to work means more drawings and modeling adventures, more blog post ideas and art topics and tales of the city. Much ahead for Museworthy! That’s a promise. I hope you all stick around for more discussion and fun in 2013. Happy New Year everyone. Let’s make it a great one

The Mirror, by Giovanni Zangrando:

Becoming Found

Greetings friends. I hope this blog post finds you well, at peace, and still joyful from the holiday season. Monday night, I attended Christmas Eve services at St. Bartholomew’s Episcopal Church on Manhattan’s east side. Ten years ago my presence at that church, or any church, would have been highly improbable. On several occasions on this blog and in my other writings, I have alluded to, even discussed a bit, the “dark” stage of my life; my struggles with depression and anxiety, my exasperating inability to find peace and personal fulfillment, and my difficulty coping with losses and emotional pain.

As I walked toward St. Bart’s on that chilly, rainy night, my mind, my soul – my entire being – became swelled with thoughts; thoughts of how my life’s journey has unfolded over my 44 years, where I’ve been, where I am now, and where I might be going. I thought also of the grave plight of my fellow Christians in the Middle East and how the Western world is willfully turning a blind eye to their persecution. I thought of people everywhere; the ambitious, the destitute, the brave, and the misguided.  My heart began to ache, and part of me wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the pavement of Park Avenue.

Inside St. Bart’s, a magnificent structure of Byzantine architecture, the pews were filled to capacity with New Yorkers who came to worship. Our voices and the voices of choir members rang out like heavenly bells as we sang “O Come All Ye Faithful”, and the Rev. Buddy Stallings delivered a poignant sermon about hope and eternal light, about being lost and becoming found, and how even though we don’t always seek God, he always seeks us.

I never paid much mind to the notion of being “found” after having been lost, certainly not in the religious Christian sense. But it came to me, gradually, over the past several years. In fact, it snuck up on me and wove its way into my life in the most quiet, discreet way imaginable until I finally became aware of its presence and decided to pay attention. Consider it the slowest, steadiest blindside to ever take place.

Gouache sketch of me by Jonathan, created at Spring Studio:

For those who care to listen for a brief eleven minutes, here is Rev. Buddy Stallings’ Christmas Eve sermon, aptly titled “Forever Light”. And I invite all of you to share in the comments any creation – book excerpt, sermon, poem, article, work of art, piece of music – that holds for you the answers to your spiritual questions, gives you hope, or best reveals your understanding of life’s purpose. I’d be honored to read your contributions.

Abundant blessings to each and every one of you. Let’s meet here one more time before 2012 comes to an end. See you Monday, friends!

Edward and Edward

Yesterday, December 7th, marked eight years to the day that my father died. Can’t believe it’s been that long. Hard to grasp the passage of time. He’s been on my mind a lot lately. Those of you who have been following this blog for years have seen me write about him and are aware that he was a trumpet player. So here’s a wonderful Norman Rockwell piece that Dad would have loved. From a 1950 cover of the Saturday Evening Post, this is Boy Practicing Trumpet. Check out the dog!

My father’s name was Edward, but he went by Eddie. I’d like to bring another Edward into this post; once again, the American painter Edward Hopper, who I don’t believe went by “Eddie”. But hey, you never know Anyway, I shared recently with all of you my essay “On Life, Healing, and Edward Hopper”, which appeared on Ethika Politika. Mattias Caro, the managing editor of the site, was very kind to send me an article on Hopper that he thought would interest me. And it certainly did. James Polchin reviewed the Edward Hopper retrospective which is currently on view at the Grand Palais in Paris. His piece in The Smart Set is an outstanding read. I adore Hopper even more now, and I didn’t think that was possible.

Here’s a beauty from Edward Hopper that is especially appropriate because it shows a couple, and my Hopper appreciation has taken on a richer, more intimate, personal dimension these days thanks to my own coupling with the “old flame”

Sunlight on Brownstones, 1956:

So that’s our post for today, my dear friends. Works by two American artists, and honoring two Edwards. See you all soon.

1:00 AM Post

Helloooo Museworthy. May I post for no other reason than to say hello to my darling readers? Of course I may, it’s my blog! In the early days of Museworthy I used to do that a lot. I’d log on right before bed, ramble some meaningless nonsense for a few sentences, and maybe post an image if I had one to share. But that was before I was the seasoned, proficient blogger I am now Just kidding of course. I was, and still am, your humble muse.

Here’s a sweet little pencil drawing of me by Susie, created last Monday night at the National Art League, local life drawing in Queens just a three minute drive from my house. During this 20 minute pose, my mind was consumed with rapturous thoughts of a special someone:

I’m a very happy girl these days. Looking forward to the holidays with warmth in my heart and joy in my spirit. I am blessed both personally and professionally, and if I could pass on my precious contentment to all of you I would. Maybe I already do a little bit, here on our little corner of the big wide web.

Hope everyone is well. See you again very soon friends

Thankfulness, Every Day

Apart from the historical implications, Thanksgiving, and its attendant spirit, has always been a warmly welcomed holiday in my heart. Why? Because gratitude comes easily to me. It’s one of my better qualities Certainly we should all be grateful every day of the year and count our blessings consistently, whether they be blessings of selflessness or self-worth, needs fulfilled in ourselves or needs we fulfill in others, opportunities to give, to provide, to inspire, to heal, or simply experience joy and discovery. And oftentimes even the smallest kind gestures can prompt a surge of gratitude that will change your outlook and reset your priorities, if they need resetting.

I am especially thankful this Thanksgiving and can sum it all up in one word: love. Love of my family, friends, and my rekindled old flame. Love of my modeling profession and my good fortune to actually make a living at it. The day before Thanksgiving I posed for the afternoon session at Spring Studio. Afterwards, a nice young man named Andy approached me and offered to give me the small portrait drawing he did of me on the final pose. How nice! I was thankful, but he too was thankful that I accepted. It pleased him so much to give me the drawing. Gratitude is everywhere.

Andy’s pen drawing of me, for Thanksgiving. Looks like a profile on a Roman coin. Love it.

Hope you all had a marvelous Thanksgiving, my friends. See you soon!

“If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.”

– Meister Eckhart

A Touch of Bliss

Museworthy has been a happy place lately. Unlike some other blogs this one tends to be rather author-centric, my moods and current state-of-mind often influencing the posts in topic and tone. As my readers you can feel relieved that you won’t be subjected to any angry rants or woeful despair anytime soon

It’s Music Monday, and I have to mention that New York’s classical music station WQXR is celebrating Beethoven Awareness Month. It was fabulous last November, and it’s fabulous again this year. I encourage New Yorkers to tune in and luxuriate in the sounds of his extraordinary piano sonatas, string quartets, and symphonies. Glorious listening.

And since my mood these days is playful, quirky, and buoyant, two more goodies to share that reflect said mood. First, a funny picture of Orson Welles jamming with Laurel and Hardy:

And here is a music track dedicated to a very special someone  This is “If I Didn’t Care” by The Ink Spots. Enjoy my lovelies!

First Snow and the Critters

At first it was an annoyance. An early November snowstorm in New York City that caused treacherous conditions and added insult to injury after the still-fresh destruction of hurricane Sandy. But when I woke up this morning I experienced a childlike enchantment when I looked out the window and saw the winter wonderland of white covered twigs and branches bent over from the weight of snow. Even an avowed summer person like myself thought it was pretty cool.

What made the morning even more enjoyable was the presence of  critters in the garden. I love the word “critters”. Birds swarmed the birdfeeder oblivious to the fact that it was half-covered in snow. I love how birds don’t give a shit. They flit around, they eat, they chirp, weather conditions be dammed. Then the cats emerged, hungry, mildly irritated that they had to navigate around hills of snow and puddles of slush to get to the food bowl. And then a manic squirrel scampered across my roof, and in doing so sent a bit of snow down to the ground which landed in my driveway. And I also spotted some critter tracks in the snow. Not cat paws, not bird feet, but likely those of a raccoon who must have braved the blizzard last night in search of food and mischief. A nocturnal critter who, like the others, doesn’t give a shit about weather.

The Snow Maiden, by Mikhail Vrubel, 1895. Check out the squirrel in the lower right

I am consumed in my personal life these days, friends. More so than my professional life. But it’s a good thing. It’s a very good thing in fact. Given how easy it is to succumb to stress and anxiety, and worry about the troubling developments taking place in our nation, our culture, and the world, I am positively grateful that I can immerse myself in some happiness and savor the affection being bestowed upon me. It warms my heart and soothes my soul. And I don’t take it for granted. We can turn to love, if we are lucky, or we can turn to music and art, or books, or friendships and family. And of course we can always turn to nature and the critters. CRITTERS!!

Deer in the Snow, Franz Marc, 1911:

Life is Beautiful

Every day . . . something to feel, something to experience, something to trouble or uplift, to sadden or gladden, to depress or inspire. I hope you’ve all been as fully, deeply engaged with life and all its fluctuating, erratic effects as I have been these last several days. In the middle of highs and lows one can find the counterbalances. For modeling, I exhaust my body to the point of physical pain, but my hard work is  acknowledged, appreciated, and begets the creation of art. I find, to my great horror, Prince the cat dead in the street after having been hit by a car. But I found him. Me. His adoptive mother. I removed him from the street and gave him an intimate, spiritual burial in my garden – the same garden in which he was born as a wild feral 3 1/2 years ago, under the hydrangea bushes. Prince is back home. My grief is swirled up with a sense of consolation that, purely by chance, I happened to be driving on that very street and was able to retrieve him before he got smashed by more cars. Or maybe it wasn’t “chance” at all. Family strife gets hot, then calms, then gets hot again. But we always manage to work it out. And an old flame who is back in my life, has shown me the joys of re-connecting. With wondrous delights, laughter, and thoughtful beautiful sharings, he and I are healing past pain and remembering the things that bonded us the first time around, and forging new bonds as well

It frustrates, it thrills, it worries, soothes, inflicts grief, elation, fear, and happiness, but through it all, perhaps in spite of it all, life is beautiful . . .

For my Momma’s birthday today, her favorite, Edgar Degas. At the Cafe des Ambassadeurs, pastel, 1885: