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:

Rembrandt at the Mall

Hey gang! A few months ago we dove into the world of flash mobs and now we’re going to do it again. Some of you have seen this already I’m sure as it’s been around the Internet for several days. A flash mob infiltrated a shopping mall in Breda, the Netherlands, and enthralled passersby with a theatrical recreation of Rembrandt’s famous 1642 painting The Night Watch. The event was held to commemorate the return of the painting to the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam’s world renowned art museum which has been undergoing renovations for ten years. The museum is back and the magnificent Night Watch is back with it. Actors in 17th century costume storm the mall by marching in on foot, on horseback, swinging on ropes, and conclude by posing in a perfect tableau of the painting’s scene replete with a giant frame. This is terrific rousing fun. I love these guys! Honestly, I think Rembrandt would love it too. And it’s glorious to see the Dutch celebrating with such pride and spirit one of their greatest native sons.

 

Rembrandt’s The Night Watch is noteworthy for its light and shadows, composition, and immense size (11 ft x 14 ft). Like many famous works of art, it has been subjected to acts of vandalism over the years; twice slashed with a knife, once sprayed with acid. The next time someone tries to harm the painting, I suspect the fabulous flash mob will storm in out of nowhere and deal with the bum.

Free As a Bird

I crack the windows in my house and the furnace fires up. I tighten my scarf because I feel a chill on my neck. Back in February those know-it-all groundhogs predicted an early spring this year and yet it’s April and we got nothin’! This unseasonably cool weather is delaying the coming of spring and I don’t like it at all. The nip in the air just won’t go away, and it’s inhibiting my mood and activities. I think this officially qualifies as an abnormal seasonal funk

If it weren’t for the birds perched in the trees, singing their mating calls, starting to build nests, and noshing at my backyard birdfeeder, we’d have virtually no signs of spring here in the NYC area. This is why birds are awesome. They don’t give a damn. They go about their business in spite of rain, wind,  cold, providing visual and audible signs of energetic life even when the ground remains hard and dry and tree branches are still without leaf buds. Regular Museworthy readers may have noticed that birds pop up often on this blog in one form or another. Artistically and spiritually, I find them agents of cheer, beauty, and optimism. Right now as I write this post, I can see birds jauntily flitting through the trees outside my window and two plump robins digging for worms on my neighbor’s front lawn. Rock on my little feathered friends

So to honor of the only creatures willing to carry on with springtime ebullience, here are a few birds of art created by some great masters.

Two Studies of a Bird of Paradise, by Rembrandt. Beautiful in pen and ink:

The Kingfisher by Vincent van Gogh:

Bird Returning to it’s Nest by Georges Braque:

The cutest owl drawing I’ve ever seen, this is Albrecht Durer’s The Little Owl:

The Promise, by one of my favorite surrealists Rene Magritte:

And last but certainly not least, a bird by Picasso, work “Untitled”:

The Phenomenal Phil Ramone

I can’t allow a Music Monday to pass without honoring the legendary music producer Phil Ramone, who died Saturday at New York Presbyterian Hospital after suffering an aortic aneurysm. He was 79 years old. As anyone in the industry will tell you, Phil Ramone left a tremendous legacy in pop music recordings. A prolific visionary, Ramone went from child prodigy to Julliard student to Brill Building songwriter to groundbreaking producer. He had a monumental music career in every way, and his list of credits and accomplishments is simply astonishing.

Phil Ramone’s philosophy about music producing was to allow the artist’s voice/sound to always remain the primary focus. He felt that the producer’s role was to draw out and capture the authentic artist while keeping intrusions to a minimum. Ramone’s approach was in stark contrast to, say, the Phil Spector style in which the producer’s imprint is prominent throughout the record. Phil Ramone’s musical instincts were impeccable. His belief in pure, unadulterated sound, freshness, and artistic integrity were admirable. And the trust and respect with which he treated musicians made him a beloved figure in the industry, both personally and professionally. My sister-in-law Gayle was a close acquaintance of Phil Ramone. At our family Easter dinner she attested, like everyone who knew him, that Phil Ramone was indeed a very warm, kind, self-effacing gentleman.

One of the finest examples of Phil Ramone’s genius can be heard in this track. The song is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”  for which Phil Ramone earned one of his many Grammy Awards as a producer. This was the well-deserved Record of the Year in 1979. Phil Ramone, RIP. You will be sorely missed. Thanks for the music.

 

“There aren’t enough words to express how heavy my heart is with the news of the passing of my dear friend and brother Phil Ramone. Phil was a collaborator in the studio and a friend in life for more than 50 years. Today we lost one of the true musicians, innovators and geniuses of the record industry, His immense talents were only surpassed by the gigantic size of his heart.”  — Quincy Jones

Heaven and Earth

Easter Week – Charles Kingsley

See the land, her Easter keeping,
Rises as her Maker rose.
Seeds, so long in darkness sleeping,
Burst at last from winter snows.
Earth with heaven above rejoices;
Fields and gardens hail the spring;
Shaughs and woodlands ring with voices,
While the wild birds build and sing.

You, to whom your Maker granted
Powers to those sweet birds unknown,
Use the craft by God implanted;
Use the reason not your own.
Here, while heaven and earth rejoices,
Each his Easter tribute bring-
Work of fingers, chant of voices,
Like the birds who build and sing.

Krishna (Spring in Kulu), by Nicholas Roerich:

At this glorious time of year, I hope all my readers have a very blessed holiday. I offer my warmest, sincerest wishes for peace, fellowship, strong spirits and joyous hearts, and respect for sacred earth.

See you soon

Claudia

Navel-gazing

For the past couple of days I’ve resisted writing a blog post about the latest stunt at the Museum of Modern Art. The “performance piece” can be summed up thusly; Tilda Swinton sleeping in a box. You all know the actress Tilda Swinton? Well it’s her. Clothed. Sleeping in a box. At this point I should mention that the admission fee for MoMA is $25. The title of this piece is “The Maybe”, as in “maybe I can find something better to do with my time and money”.

If you’re curious to see images of Tilda sleeping in the box please click on the above link, or check out the ample coverage of this “event” in a Google News search, because I really don’t want to post them here on sweet old Museworthy. After all, this is an ART blog. <— burn!

So without embarking on a rant-like objection to this kind of gimmickry into which the contemporary art scene has sunk, or going into a lengthy jeremiad about the cynicism and soullessness that has crept into the art world in general, I’ll just say that Tilda’s shtick bothers people if only because it embodies the worst kind of navel-gazing. Since it’s Tilda’s piece, she could have hired a model or any other interesting individual to take a nap in a box. But she decided to do it herself, which makes it very difficult to dispute the sheer self-regard that seems to lie at the root of this piece. And extreme self-regard, to me, is just an inherently boring and off-putting quality. That’s all I’m saying. Tilda can certainly do whatever she wants, and no one is being forced to attend her “performance”.

I may be a professional artist’s model but it’s doubtful anyone would pay to see me sleep in a box, although they have seen me sleep on the modeling platform at Spring Studio. Just a couple of times And I too engage in a lot of navel-gazing in my work, but in the literal sense. So allow me to share the art model’s version of navel-gazing, brought to us by two of my favorite artists who also happen to be very dear friends.

My torso by Daniel Maidman:

Me reclining, by Fred Hatt: