contemplation |ˌkäntəmˈplā sh ən|
noun
the action of looking thoughtfully at something for a long time
• deep reflective thought

introspection |ˌintrəˈspek sh ən|
noun
the examination or observation of one’s own mental and emotional processes

pensive |ˈpensiv|
adjective
engaged in, involving, or reflecting deep or serious thought

ruminate |ˈroōməˌnāt|
verb [ intrans. ]
think deeply about something

soul-searching
noun
deep and anxious consideration of one’s emotions and motives or of the correctness of a course of action.

Oooh, that last one is heavy. “Soul-searching”. “Deep and anxious consideration”. “Correctness of a course of action”. Yikes. That’s almost scary

I have this beautiful pencil drawing of me by my friend Jean Marcellino, and am so moved by how well she captured my pensive pose at Spring Studio the other day. In my ridiculous effort to be cute with post titles, I considered many words that could appropriately describe the mood of this piece. And I still couldn’t decide. Guess I should have contemplated more! Ha, ha, ha . . . HA . . HA!

While I am personally partial to the movement and challenges of short poses, I understand that a long pose carries its own advantages. For the artist it provides the opportunity to do a thorough examination of the subject and create a fully-realized finished drawing. For the model, it’s an opportunity for undisturbed introspection. An excursion through your own thoughts, issues, and life questions. We put ourselves “in the zone”. After all, we have to hold still, keep our gaze fixed, and stay focused. Enter the soul searching goblins. The pesky demons of insecurity and worry. The existential wave of your life that accosts you during your stillness. You are, essentially, trapped. Nowhere to run, and definitely nowhere to hide

Ah, but the mind is not always so heavy during a long pose. There are times when I use the tranquility of a long pose to think about mundane things: errands, phone calls, reminders to fill my Metrocard or make a hair salon appointment, buy cranberry juice, and catch up on emails. Really boring stuff.

However this particular day at Spring Studio was a bona-fide heavy-duty contemplation day. But you don’t have to take my word for it. Just look at Jean’s elegant and sensitive drawing and you can feel my ruminative state. As for the descriptive word? Well, Jean nailed it perfectly with her drawing title. She calls it Musing Muse. And here it is on Museworthy Thanks Jean!

I don’t know what happened these past 48 hours but I just suddenly fell into gloom. Between the anxious thoughts in my head and the sadness in my heart, I can’t get a good night’s sleep. I’m agitated and unhappy And I think I have ugly, sleep-deprived bags under my eyes. A lot of this (but not all) is due to my feelings for J and not being able to act on those feelings. It’s very difficult when you harbor enormous passion for someone and are forced to contain it. Because of circumstances. I was coping pretty well for about a week. But now I’m back to struggling. I wish I could just hear his voice. I really miss the soothing sound of his voice . . .

Seated Nude by Max Pechstein:

Happy All Saints Day, everyone!!!!!!

:silence:

Ahem. I SAID . . . Happy All Saints Day, everyone!!

:sigh:

Hello? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Okay, so I forgot to post something for Halloween and now I’m trying to compensate by drumming up excitement for All Saints Day. After all, today is November 1st, a sacred and spiritual day in western Christian tradition that most people overlook. Probably because there’s no candy involved.

But you know what? I don’t care. I’m gonna go ahead and acknowledge All Saints Day. Fuck Halloween. <— that's right, I said it. Halloween is nothing more than an opportunity for the neighborhood kids to throw eggs and shaving cream at peoples' houses and steal pumpkins off front stoops. The latter actually happened to me, can you believe it? I came home from work yesterday around 6:00 to discover that my big beautiful pumpkin had been snatched. Juvenile delinquents all of them

Religion, especially Christianity, has inspired an enormous amount of great art. Too much to even comprehend. The canon of saints in particular has provided some truly stunning works, much of it created, not surprisingly, between the 15th and 17th centuries, when the Bible and religion was the dominant subject matter of many painters. I’ve selected just a few to showcase here but there are literally hundreds.

Saint Peter was one of Jesus’s earliest disciples and a major figure in Christian history. From the Greek painter El Greco, this is The Tears of Saint Peter from 1607:

Saint Cecilia was the patron saint of musicians and church music. The female artist Artemisia Gentileschi painted a few versions of her. This one is titled St Cecilia Playing a Lute, 1616:

Even a non-devout person like myself has a “favorite” saint. Oh yes indeed. St. Francis of Assisi is my man because he was the patron saint of animals and spoke out for kindness and respect toward all our nonhuman friends on earth. His notable quote on the subject reads as follows:

If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.

My kind of guy And based on this painting, he was pretty cute too! This excellent 1658 work is by Francisco Zurbarán:

In a couple of weeks, on November 25th, Catholic churches will observe the Feast of Saint Catherine. A nice addition to the rituals and services of that day would be the inclusion of this magnificent painting by the great Caravaggio. Incredible values and composition, this is Saint Catherine:

Paolo Veronese depicts a very intense scene here, one that really communicates the agony and suffering of a saint’s life. Year 1553, this is The Temptation of St Anthony:

Auguste Rodin explored sainthood as well with his scuplture Saint John the Baptist Preaching:

I warmly invite my Catholic readers to comment and share the significance of the saints, a topic I’m certain you can all discuss much more articulately than me, as theology is not my strongest subject.

All Saints by Fra Angelico:

Peace and love to all . . . of all faiths and non-faiths.

Claudia
xo

George Clooney may fancy himself a dashing ladies’ man, but he’s got nothing on the Italian Renaissance master Raphael. Incredibly charming and good-looking by all accounts, Raphael was a perennial bachelor who never married in spite of outside pressure. Even though he was very publicly engaged to one woman, he followed his heart (and other body parts) by romancing and consorting with many other women. Many, MANY other women. The biographer Vasari described Raphael as “a very amorous person, delighting much in women and ever ready to serve them”. Or, in contemporary slang, we could say that Raphael was a “playa”

In 1514, Raphael became engaged to Maria Bibbiena, the niece of Cardinal Medici Bibbiena who was Raphael’s patron. The story goes that the reluctant Raphael had to be persuaded into the engagement, and that he eventually agreed simply to please his benefactor the Cardinal. But Raphael’s loveless engagement to Maria may have been the longest, most futile engagement in history. Raphael stalled and stalled, bedding other women for six long years, until Maria died in 1520, still unmarried. Way to dodge a bullet Raphael! Nice strategy. Keep delaying until the fiancé dies. That’s messed up.

The woman who apparently won the heart and passionate desires of the playboy artist was of far lower social stature than the cardinal’s niece. She was Margherita Luti, a baker’s daughter from Siena.

This is Raphael’s famous portrait of Margherita, and possibly his last painting, La Fornarina, which translates into “baker’s daughter” or “bakeress”:

Margherita’s seated pose in this painting is quite risqué, especially for the 16th century. Not only is she barely clothed, but notice that one hand is clasping her breast while the other is placed, um, between her legs. Damn, that almost makes ME blush! Her full, rounded belly and large dark eyes complete Raphael’s perception of his mistress – his lover and muse with whom he was thoroughly besotted. Rumor has it that Raphael and Margherita actually married in secret, but it’s just speculation. Like most romances of centuries past, the true details will never be known.

Raphael died on Good Friday at the young age of 37, and if Vasari is to be believed, the cause was a high fever he contracted after a night of exhausting, wild sex with Margherita. That’s a pretty sensational story, but hey, crazier things have happened. And if it is true, well that’s a hell of a way to go

For more analysis and speculation of the Raphael/Margherita romance, check out this article from Slate. You can find another entertaining article from the BBC.

Whew. I’m tired. Two hectic days can really knock you out. Between Flora Giffuni’s memorial and my mother’s birthday and an art modeling double at Spring Studio today, I’m pooped! And I have FIT in the morning. I think I need to take bigger doses of ginseng or B vitamins or something. Maybe espresso administered through an IV? I’m home unwinding right now and hope to get a good, restful night’s sleep. That’s what I really need.

Back in June, I posted about the two adorable kittens who were born in my garden to their feral mommy, Punk. Thought some of you might like an update on those siblings. You’ll be happy to know that they are doing really well. Maturing and getting big. And they LOVE having their pictures taken! So ladies and gentlemen, I present the two brothers, Prince and Jackson

Edgar Degas was one of the finest pastelists of all time and also one of the great champions of the medium. But Degas died in 1917 and, based on a cursory overview of art history styles and trends, seems to have taken the art of pastel with him to his grave. For most of the subsequent 20th century, brash, bold oil painters dominated the scene, making statements with their wet brushes and squeezed out tubes, applying paint in shiny, gooey strokes, smears, sometimes splatters. All very macho you know One wonders if any of them even owned a pastel set, let alone held one of those chalky, powdery pigment sticks in their hand.

So where did pastel go for so many decades? Sadly, it was demoted, almost into oblivion, branded with an unfair stereotype as a creative activity for hobbyist housewives and senior citizens in community center art classes. Despite its origins tracing all the way back to the 16th century, pastel simply fell off the radar, and was no longer considered a medium for “important” art (whatever that means).

But now, pastelists and pastel appreciators everywhere should take note. Last month on September 10th, Flora Giffuni, sole founder and president of the Pastel Society of America, died at the age of 89. I acknowledge her passing on this blog not just as pioneering figure in the art world, but for personal reasons as well.

I knew Flora Giffuni since I was a child. My mother knew her for over 40 years. Flora, or “Mrs. Giffuni” as I called her, used to live in the same Queens neighborhood I grew up in, and where my Mom still lives to this day. An accomplished pastelist, Flora began teaching small private art classes in her home studio, and my mother was one of her regular dedicated students. The sessions were wonderfully rewarding, educational and enjoyable for everyone who participated. Flora herself always recalled those days with great fondness, as she was extremely proud her early tight-knit group of students. My mother has often said that she felt she learned more under Flora’s tutelage than from all her fine arts classes at Hunter College in the 1950s.

In 1972, Flora founded the Pastel Society of America, the first and only such organization of its kind. With this creation, pastel work underwent a long-needed rebirth. A renaissance. One which inspired a whole new wave of serious pastel artists, among them my good friend Sam Goodsell.

A passionate advocate throughout her life, Flora Giffuni worked tirelessly to promote the pastel medium and was responsible for the creation of 30 regional pastel societies around the United States. Degas would have been proud.

In recent years I was privileged to pose for Flora Giffuni’s classes in her Saturday atelier held at the National Arts Club, which is home to the Pastel Society. It was funny to both me and Flora that she had known me for so long as “Elaine’s little girl”, and now I was a fully grown woman posing as her nude model! In her wheelchair, Flora sat in a prime location right in front of the model stand, sorting through her pastels, talking, cracking jokes, telling stories, offering instruction and tips, delighting in every minute of the art class dynamic. Old age, back surgery and arthritic fingers were no match for her indomitable spirit. She just kept on doing what she loved.

One of Flora’s personal favorites of all her works, this is Red Ribbon:

Next Monday night, a memorial celebration will be held in Flora Giffuni’s honor, from 4 – 6 in the Grand Gallery of the National Arts Club. That date, October 26th, would have been Flora’s 90th birthday. It is also, get this, my mother’s birthday Many of us will be attending, and I’m sure it will be a terrific gathering.

With this tribute post, I express appreciation to Flora for reviving the beauty, tradition, and technique of pastel, for employing life models, and for mentoring and inspiring countless artists for over five decades. RIP “Mrs. Giffuni”.

Helloooo friends! Posting today because I’m working a full day tomorrow at FIT and wanted to give a few Museworthy updates. So first, I recently started a Flickr account. Since I love taking pictures and want to get better at it, I figured having a photo sharing site will motivate me to do more photography. More quality photography I should say. I’ve already uploaded some sets and much more is on the way. You may recognize some of the pictures from Museworthy but there are also new ones. Go directly to my photostream by clicking on the Flickr image box in my sidebar, just scroll down. And those of you who are on Flickr, please connect with me on there so we can be cuddly Flickr friends

I also added a Search button in the sidebar that Museworthy visitors might find useful. Heck, I’ve even used it already!

Next, I decided to spruce up my blogroll with some fresh new additions. Check out the terrific daydream pilot, which I’ve been really enjoying lately. I’ve also included If Charlie Parker Was a Gunslinger for some cool pop culture fun. Neat site. One of the best blog blurbs I’ve seen comes from Futility Closet, which describes itself thusly: “An idler’s miscellany of compendious amusements”. Topics run the gamut from religion to history to science to bizarre oddities. And last but not least, longtime Museworthy reader and commenter ColdSilverMoon has taken the blogging plunge! His newly-launched Figuratively Speaking promises to be an authentic, passionate voice of art modeling and the figurative tradition, so let’s get him off to an auspicious start.

I’ll leave you all with an image for the day. This is Female Nude, 1910, by Egon Schiele:

I’m starting to think that the secrets to understanding- and coping- with life’s disappointments are found in two concepts: “perspective” and “attitude”. For highly sensitive people like myself this can be a Herculean undertaking. Everything is acute. Sadness feels like sadness, and it consumes you. Rage feels like rage, and it consumes you. Without the mitigating effect of a broader, healthier perspective, you fall into a hopeless state of emotional pain and self-pity, which is an utterly pointless and unproductive state to be in.

Fortitude is a magnificent quality, is it not? Sometimes I wonder if I possess it at all. The people who know me well understand that I am alternately strong and weak. They are familiar with two Claudias; the Claudia who can tough things out, like I tough out “the beast”, and the Claudia who crushes like a shell, exposing her jelly-like insides for the whole world to see. And then I read about the life story of jazz singer Melody Gardot, and I am in awe of how some people overcome adversity.

In 2003, Melody Gardot was struck by a Jeep Cherokee while riding her bike in Philadelphia. The accident was severe. She suffered head and spinal injuries and her pelvis was shattered in two places. Melody spent an entire year in the hospital, on her back, in a full body cast. Reminds me a lot of what Frida Kahlo endured as a result of her trolley car accident.

In the face of physical incapacitation, extreme pain, memory loss, difficulty speaking, and damage to the neural pathways in the brain cortexes, Melody launched a showdown of wills with her disabilities. It began with simple humming into a tape recorder. That led to eventually playing the guitar and writing songs. Then came a strict macrobiotic diet. Finally, Melody’s spiritual recovery was achieved when she became a practicing Buddhist. She is now recording and performing and is a vocal advocate for music therapy.

Melody Gardot’s miraculous rehabilitation and poignant artistic expression are brilliant proof of the old saying, “Attitude is everything”. Specifically, a positive attitude. Norman Vincent Peale was right. So the next time I find myself brooding and crying and feeling despondent over J or whatever, I will listen to Melody Gardot. She is an inspiration in the truest sense of the word. I knew it the first moment I heard her jazzy inflections coming across the radio waves on the Jonathan Schwartz NPR show. I thought to myself, “Wow. This woman has a story to tell”. And boy does she.

This is Melody Gardot singing “Who Will Comfort Me”:

Now and then, a distracting diversion comes at the most opportune time. I’m grateful when that happens. A big gathering of friends and family is taking place at my mother’s house Saturday night, and it will likely be a joyful, boisterous, and entertaining event. My Mom is an outstanding hostess, always has been. The woman definitely knows how to throw a party!

The welcome aspect of this, besides the people I’m looking forward to seeing, is that yesterday I experienced something of a heartbreak I had my suspicions it was coming, but it doesn’t fully comprehend until it actually hits you. So tomorrow’s get-together should provide some temporary redirection of my mood, which right now is in the toilet.

Of course, I’m going to lend a helping hand to my mother and bring a homecooked dish for what is turning out to be a fabulous culinary feast. After consulting with Mom, I’ve decided to try my hand at this delicious-looking vegetable tagine, from my favorite vegan cooking website. It’s author, Vaishali, is a wonderfully creative, inspiring, and informative cook, and every time I peruse her blog my appetite becomes stimulated by the mouthwatering sights and flavors of her ethnic recipes. She also posts the most precious pictures of her dogs and cats! If I have time, I might also make a Pakistani dahl as a side dish. I LOVE dahl.

I suspect, however, that in addition to carrying out my assistant duties for my Mom – setting the table, serving, cleaning up spills, etc – I will grab private moments to hit the booze. Wine in particular. Must drown my heartbreak somehow. Especially since I’ll be incessantly thinking about, pining over, and yearning painfully for this incredible, amazing person.

So while I will be pleasantly – and fleetingly – occupied with the company of family, friends, food, and drink, and laughter, my true emotional and mental state during the party will more closely resemble this painting by John William Waterhouse, Destiny. You know you’re in the depths of melancholy when you see yourself mirrored in the faces of those sad, reflective, forlorn Pre-Raphaelite women:

Have a great weekend everyone. See you soon.

Who needs a doctor’s diagnosis when all your friends are artists? I trust their knowledge of human anatomy more than any MD. Plus it’s a lot easier to get an appointment

During my short poses at Spring Studio last night, a nagging pain in my right hip started to act up. It’s been bothering me for a couple of weeks now. I never feel it when I’m walking, bicycling, running, or standing. It only hurts during yoga and art modeling, two physical activities which bear many similarities of course. Since I do a lot of forward bending and pelvic twists when I model, it’s become a bit of a problem. Now I’m a pretty tough babe when it comes to pain. I can live with it. But when my art modeling performance is compromised, and my flexibility is hindered, I get upset. It prevents me from posing with the ease and flow I’ve worked so hard to perfect.

Luckily, my friend Dan was at Spring last night and I talked with him on my break about my sore hip. He reminded me that the hip joint has many ligaments which can be pulled just like any other ligament in the body. And what a fascinating little example of engineering the hip joint is. Our long femur bone has a rounded head at the top which articulates into a cup shape on the side of the pelvis. Layers of cartilage cover all surfaces of the joint, along with the all-important ligaments – the tissue that connects bone to other bone – without which the human body would literally be unable to move. When seniors or those afflicted with arthritis have to undergo hip replacement surgery, it is the joint that is being replaced. A prosthetic implant is used as a substitute for the degenerated hip.

What I’m experiencing is not an issue of weight or pressure. I can stand still just fine for prolonged periods. My pain occurs with rotation. And it totally sucks, since that kind of movement is essential for dramatic, expressive art modeling. Last night, when I tried to take an open-hipped pose with my thigh turned out, I actually let out an audible moan of discomfort

I can almost pinpoint my pain in the exact area I discussed with Dan. If the strain was in the hip flexors the pain would be more an all-over sensation, felt down through the thigh and even down to the knee. But mine is felt in one specific spot, at the heart of the joint, whenever I try to rotate and then bend.

The bone structure of the human hip:

It’s ironic that the most therapeutic poses for a given anatomical area are difficult to do when that area is sore. I tried to do hip stretches/openers the other day and they really hurt! So it’s a conundrum. Or is it a catch-22?

The pigeon pose in yoga is one of the best hip moves, great for anybody. It provides hip flexibility along with a wonderful backbend. If you’re able to settle into the pigeon comfortably, you’ll find it quite relaxing and soft, even meditative.

This is not me in the photo, but a fantastic yoga practitioner doing an advanced version of the pigeon. Raising the back leg to the head isn’t necessary but certainly impressive! It’s perfectly fine to extend the back leg straight along the ground and do your backbend freely to whatever degree you find comfortable. Look at this phenomenal hip opener: