Miami!!!

Hi everybody! Well I’m off to Florida tomorrow. Going to visit my oldest and dearest friend Stephanie, her husband and three children, in Miami. I’m so excited!! I’ll be back on Sunday, so there won’t be any Museworthy posts for several days.

I will miss you all so much. But let’s go out with a “Music Monday”, shall we? In honor of the Cuban community in Miami and Stephanie, who is Cuban, I present some phenomenal Latin rhythms and brass from the great Dizzy Gillespie. The song, “Manteca”, was co-written by Dizzy and the legendary Cuban percussionist Chano Pozo. This track is from the album Dizzy’s Diamonds. My advice to everyone: play that thing loud or don’t play it at all

And here I am doing a little mambo and shoulder shimmy and booty shake. No, not really, but let’s pretend! I think I was just turning around.

Photo taken by Fred Hatt. Tinted, edited, reworked, messed with and essentially destroyed by Claudia Hajian in iPhoto

Be well, friends. Love, hugs, and kisses . . . and I’ll see you in a week!

Claudia
xo

Succulents and Football

Over the weekend, on Sunday to be exact, when most Americans were in the stores purchasing cases of beer, bags of chips, tubs of guacamole, and firing up their big screen TVs for the Super Bowl festivities, I was at my local garden center buying houseplants :listens while everybody laughs: Ok, so I’m a dork. I admit it. I get excited about houseplants, specifically cacti and succulents. They are my weakness. I feel connected to them more than I do to other plants, but I don’t want to delve into some psychological examination as to why, as in why would I be attracted to fleshy, warm weather water-retainers with thick skin? Let’s not go there. Let’s just say I like them and leave it at that

So during my leisurely Sunday drive around the neighborhood, my car just sort of steered itself into the parking lot of the garden center. When I entered the greenhouse, an overwhelming feeling of euphoria washed over me . . . aaaah . . . Xanadu! I walked out with these two beauties:

And then there’s my pride and joy, my homegirl, my gem which I’ve lovingly cared for for years now. A rockin’ aloe plant that has produced two little babies. The guy at the garden center advised me not to transplant into a larger pot until the spring, to which I responded, “but the roots may be suffocating!!”. He calmly assured me it would be fine, and that succulents are hardy, tough and tolerant plants that can handle “abuse”. No wonder I respect them so much.

For the record, I did watch the Super Bowl, I did eat guacamole, I did drink a beer, and I did root heartily for New Orleans. So am I cool now? Or am I still a plant dork?

Daytripper

Hellooo, helloooooo!! To those who commented on my previous post, I apologize for my lack of responses. What has it been, like 48 hours? Ah, but I have a good excuse. I was in Philadelphia all day yesterday and was a little tired when I got home. I didn’t even go online, I just crashed in front of the TV. Anyway, my Mom and I went down to see the Gorky exhibit at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and we had a totally lovely and enjoyable mother/daughter art outing.

Excellent show, but very “heavy”, given Gorky’s troubled psychology, personal demons, and the historical context of the Armenian genocide. My mother and I, in agreement, reached the conclusion that Gorky was far superior as a surrealist than a cubist, and Mom specifically noted that he was much better when he loosened up his line, which is evidenced in his later, more mature works.

The Philadelphia Museum has the same policy toward photographs as the Met; no pictures of special exhibitions, only the permanent collections. So unfortunately I have no photos of the Gorky show.

Now I realize that I just wrote about Rodin like two blog posts ago. But since we were just a few blocks away, Mom and I walked down to the Rodin Museum, and friends, let me tell you, it was spectacular! What an experience. Absolutely amazing, glorious place. With all due respect to Gorky, I think I enjoyed the Rodin Museum more.

So as not to overwhelm Museworthy with so much Rodin so close together (I didn’t plan ahead!), I uploaded all my photos from the Rodin Museum on my Flickr page. I hope you all check them out there. I’m pretty pleased with how some of them came out.

I’m going to get to those comments now. Thanks everyone! See you soon

Holiday Flurry

Back in 2004 I lost all enthusiasm for the holidays. My father’s death was the main reason because he died right before Christmas The year before that, my grandmother died, also right before Christmas. So for a few years the month of December symbolized family tragedies for the Hajians. Even the family dog, Gracie, died in December. All of us, my mother and my brother included, were somewhat Grinch-like in our holiday attitude. We just prayed that the damn month would pass with nothing terrible happening. But last Christmas I began to feel interest in the season once again. And this year I’m getting into it even more. I feel like a kid again.

But the downside of this renewed excitement means I’m in a hapless state of disarray, With so many things to do my lack of time-budgeting skills is turning me into a scatterbrain. A joyful scatterbrain, but a scatterbrain nonetheless. There aren’t enough hours in the day! Cards, gifts, recipes, emails, errands, charity drop-offs, not to mention bothering liquor store employees about their meager selection of organic wines. I think they hate me

In the midst of all this, I can barely find time to do yoga or any kind of exercise, although scurrying around the streets of New York and running down steps to catch a subway train constitute some degree of aerobic exercise. That’s why we New Yorkers are so skinny, didn’t you know that? There’s even a bit of art modeling work thrown into this mix. Last night I got home late from a painting group taught by the famous Aaron Shikler. And Saturday I’m posing for one of my all time favorite art classes – painting with Nicki Orbach at the National Academy. To my friend Damian, see you there sweetie!

Tonight I’m meeting another friend for a holiday drink which will be a lovely time for sure. And tomorrow I have to track down a specific gift for my cousin that I’m having trouble locating. Must find this gift, MUST find it! He will love it.

The city is strewn with lights, twinkling and shimmering over the avenues. Mobs of shoppers clog the sidewalks with massive shopping bags, people are ice skating at Rockefeller Center, and children beg to visit Santa at Macy’s. It’s Christmas in New York, and in spite of the painful holiday associations of the past, I’ve learned to love it again.

On that note, here’s my back and my butt

Photo by Fred Hatt

Uptown Girl

Hello, hello, helloooooo!! I’m here everyone! Sorry for not posting the past few days. Just been immersed in my newest modeling gig at Janus Collaborative School of Art. I’m happy to report that it’s going really well

The school is located uptown in East Harlem. Way uptown, on 117th street. Although getting up there is a bit of a schlep, it’s a very nice change. Most of New York’s art/art modeling activity, with a couple of exceptions, is oriented downtown. Well, let’s say south of midtown. But getting to Janus means a journey into “el Barrio”, or Spanish Harlem, a lively, exuberant neighborhood of shops, fruit stands, and community centers. Amid the hustle and bustle, just east of First Avenue, tucked up and away in an old brownstone, is the Janus School. As magnificent, superior north light streams down into the studios, serious art students explore the beauty and challenges of the academically-rendered human figure. They tackle anatomy, perspective, proportions, all the good stuff. And clearly they love and appreciate their models. The traditional schools always do.

I snapped a few pictures of the Janus School:

These drawings on the wall should give you a strong indication of the Janus approach toward art. Figures, figures, figures, anatomy, anatomy, anatomy. Speaking as a professional artist’s model, I approve!

There’s that awesome north light slicing behind the easels:

I haven’t been posing in this section of the studio, but I’d like to someday. It’s a really cool open space:

Although I’ve already emailed her, I want to again express sincere thanks to Liz Adams-Jones, my old pal from the National Academy, for referring me as a model to Janus Collaborative. I’m so grateful to her. The art field, like so many others, relies a lot on networking and relationships. Art schools and instructors have often gotten their best models through referrals, and many models have gotten their best jobs through referrals. It’s a wonderfully synergistic thing. So again, thanks Liz!!

I’d love to write more but I’m a bit tired as I’m sure you understand. I’ve been doing a standing contrapposto pose every day for the lovely students at Janus. They asked, I obliged. So right now I just need to chill out, watch TV, and find out what’s been going on in the world outside of my art modeling bubble. I’ll be back very soon!

Brotherly Love

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

Downtown Art Social

Last Sunday night was the opening reception for Jordan Mejias’ art exhibit at Spring Studio. I confess that I don’t attend every art opening to which I’m invited. But I would not miss Jordan’s. So I was there along with Jordan’s many friends and admirers, and what a great time we had! Food, drinks, music, laughter and buoyant spirits all around

My pictures came out just so-so. Glarey and out-of-focus. It’s hard to be diligent and attentive with the camera when you’re also trying to drink, converse, tell jokes, and flirt all in one night But I still tried to document the evening, through all the wine and the hugging and kissing. So I’m going to share my pics and bring you all along for a little taste of a SoHo art par-tay!

I actually like the way this picture came out because of the pillar in the middle, right between the two watercolors on the wall. I didn’t plan it, but it looks kinda cool.

Jordan Mejias “Works on Paper”
On display at Spring Studio through October 9
64 Spring Street, New York City

Jordan’s watercolors of me can be seen in this Museworthy post.

Magnificent Splendor

Art and friends. Is there a better formula for lovely times? I think not. Works splendidly for me, since art and friends are two major components of my life. Last Saturday was an occasion of loveliness. Lunch at the Met with my mom, and our friends Damian, Kathi, and Susan. Fabulous day, delightful conversation, and a post-lunch stroll through the museum galleries to top off a perfect afternoon.

At Kathi’s encouragement, we went to the the Charles Engelhard Court to view a work of art that inspires her. It was Harriet Whitney Frishmuth’s sculpture, “The Vine”, and boy was it worth it. Good call, Kathi! This 1924 bronze piece dances, bends, and undulates in the center of the gallery, a spectacular marriage of artistic grace and athleticism. Flaunting the mother of all backbends, the Vine sculpture commands that room. Feminism at its finest Here she is, the gorgeous star of the museum’s American WIng:

I copied the text description because it was an excellent read and provides a brief history of sculptor/dancer collaboration in the 20th century:

In the early twentieth century, sculptures of dancing women were produced in great numbers, inspired in part by the popularity of Isadora Duncan, Loie Fuller, and Anna Pavlova. Frishmuth often turned to dancers for her sculptural themes and employed them to pose for her with musical accompaniment. Shown stretching upward and outward in imitation of a living vine, this lyrical nude balances on tiptoe in the ecstasy of performance, a grapevine suspended in her hands. The first version of the work, a statuette eleven and a quarter inches high, was enormously popular, cast in an edition of 396. In 1923, Frishmuth enlarged the sculpture to monumental scale, using Desha Delteil of the Fokine Ballet as her model.

The Vine girl from the other side:

Desha Delteil was an amazing dancer and model, famous for her work with Frishmuth and her ability to hold unbelievably challenging poses. But I had to break away to offer humble reverence to the great, GREAT muse just a few feet away. The one and only, New York’s own Audrey Munson, hanging on the wall, carved into the Melvin Memorial. Rock on, Audrey:

Still in the American Wing, more dazzling splendor, in the form of glass mosaic by Louis Comfort Tiffany. I took three pictures of this display, left side, center, right side:

The Metropolitan Museum ensures that you are surrounded with beauty at every moment. That includes the lobby, where fresh flower arrangements are displayed every day to greet you when you enter and bid you farewell when you leave. We had sunflowers on Saturday! Somewhere in heaven, Vincent Van Gogh was smiling:

Cat in a Box

You have not truly lived until you have witnessed a cat in a box. If you haven’t, then you are missing out on one of life’s most profound experiences. Problems at work? Look at a cat in a box. Marital discord? Look at a cat in a box. Named as a defendant in a multi-million dollar lawsuit? Ah, forget it. Just look at a cat in box

This is the secret to life right here. My boy Monty, IN A BOX!

His BFF, known as Punk, IN A BOX!

My blogging friend and fellow artist’s model Waverly made the wise suggestion recently that I publish a cat post to lift my spirits out from the evil beast. I told her I would follow her advice and with a “surprise”. So here it is. When Punk showed up out of nowhere last year, I assumed she was a male but with no actual proof. It turns out she is a female, and has graced my garden with two precious creatures. Congratulate me everyone. I’m a grandmother!!!

Here are Punk’s twin babies, IN A BOX!!!!!!

Monty is NOT the father. The father is some strange roaming male who was harassing Punk for a couple of days and has never been seen again since knocking her up. Typical male! Only cares about sex

Punk and one of her troublemakers hanging out by the hydrangea bushes:

I’ve already spoken to my local vet. They told me that they do spay feral females and that I can bring Punk in as soon as the kittens are weaned. She lets me pick her up without too much resistance, so I’ll be able to place her in a box – um, “carrier”.

Monty again, ON TOP OF a box. He broke it from doing this. It collapsed right under him after I took this picture:

If you’re wondering what came in that box, it was something beautiful for my garden. Here he is:

Because I’m totally obsessed with this, here’s Monty one more time, IN A BOX!!!!!!

I don’t know what I would do during these difficult weeks without the wonders of nature and animals. They provide immeasurable joys and smiles. You were right Waverly, thank you.

My hydrangea bushes in their blooming glory:

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?

Monty and the Punk

My first post of 2009 and it’s not even about art or art modeling. Instead, it’s another cat update about Kate, Monty, and the feral crew of 32nd Road in Queens. For those of you following this saga, the elusive Kate is now returning to my property on a sporadic basis. Yes, the gorgeous little diva has deigned to cross over to the south side of the street. Slumming, I guess She spends a little quality time with Monty, so I assume they’ve reconciled their relationship.

Monty, however, has a new little friend who I have named “the Punk”. The Punk is young, frisky, and rambunctious, a wild, undisciplined, immature adolescent. Monty loves him, but like all adults with youngsters, he’s not always in the mood for the Punk’s high energy antics, mischief, and insatiable need for attention.

I caught the two cuties having a moment the other day. A very cold day. And I’ve provided captions which communicate Monty’s thoughts. He is the striped boy on the right.

“Hi Punk. Please find a way to amuse yourself because I’m not in the mood.”

“Did you hear me, you silly child? I need my space. You look like a crazed maniac. Go stalk birds or something”

“Please, just let me sleep!”

“Oh no, what’s he doing?”

“Just a few quiet moments to myself. Is that too much to ask?”

“He’s behind me isn’t he? Oh joy. I’m gonna get pounced any second. I’m feral, I’m cold, the lady who feeds me is sticking a camera in my face, and I now I have this little Punk on my ass.”

Old New York and a Private Club

New York might be one of the few American cities where one can still find vestiges of old class divisions and social strata. Metropolis of diverse millions that we are, echoes of the bygone “high society” still reverberate in places like the National Arts Club. Located at 15 Gramercy Park South, the National Arts Club was founded in 1898 with a commitment to the arts, architecture, and civic affairs. Yes the club is private, as is Gramercy Park itself (Gated and closed to the “riffraff” public, only the privileged residents of Gramercy are blessed with the key that unlocks the park’s hallowed gates. I’ll take egalitarian Central Park anyday).

So how would a commoner like an artist’s model crash such an exclusive private institution and find herself among New York’s social and cultural glitterati? By posing for their Monday night sketch group, that’s how! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! :stuffs face with hors d’oeuvres, boozes at the bar, steals silverware, and keeps head down:

The truth is that the National Arts Club is a lovely historic place – a landmark Gothic Revival brownstone that was once the residence of New York governor Samuel J. Tilden. In 1876, Tilden ran for President but lost to Rutherford B. Hayes in spite of having won the popular vote. Inside the building, you can really feel the ghosts of past lives, the flavor of “old New York”, and envision top-hatted gentlemen and corset-wearing ladies gliding down the staircases. It’s a trippy, time-travel experience.

Mark Milroy runs the Monday night sketch, and I pose for it regularly. I worked just last night, and when I entered the building I was greeted by the Club’s spectacular annual Christmas decorations. Snooty place or not, I have to admit they do it up right! Lights everywhere, a magnificent tree in the main room, poinsettias tucked in every corner, ornaments dangling, and every festive trimming you can think of. Almost makes you forget the uppity attitude of the place.

On my break I wanted to take a few pictures, but as usual at that Club, some black tie affair was going on down on the first floor (Seems to be an event every night at that place). Unfortunately, the first floor is where all the best decorations are. A scantily clad art model with tousled hair, lurking around with a camera, wouldn’t exactly be welcome among the hoity-toity crowd sipping holiday wines and brandies. Not wanting to alarm the “Muffy” and “Buffy” people, I banished myself up on the second floor where our drawing group is held. Yes, I have a sense of decorum instilled in me by my mother. So in the name of propriety, I kept my braless, bare-legged self up at the top of the stairs.

This shot came out pretty nice. The holiday glow certainly comes through:

Standing in the same spot but straight up at the ceiling. Nice architectural detail:

Some of the National Arts Club’s distinguished past members include photographer Alfred Steiglitz, painters William Merritt Chase, George Bellows, and Robert Henri, sculptor Daniel Chester French, architect Stanford White, literary figures W.H Auden and Mark Twain, and even former Presidents Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson. Don’t think any artist models have ever made it onto that list. But at least there’s a place for us up on the second floor

Rainy Day Sunday

Here in New York, this last day of November is a wet one. Raining steadily since this morning, the sky is overcast and dreary, the pitter-patter hasn’t let up, and rainwater is collecting, dripping, and saturating everything in its path. But the signal strength of my Direct TV dish hasn’t been affected and that’s what’s most important, right?? I mean what would we do without TV???? Actually plenty. A nutcase like me, for example, tries to take pictures during such photography-unfriendly conditions. Hey, what can I say? I was bored out of my mind. Bored being cooped up in the house, bored with chores both completed and uncompleted, and longed to be outside, raining or not.

I hoped my usual backyard critters would be there; the squirrels, the birds, the feral cats. And they were out there, all day. I saw them. Tolerating the rain, mauling the birdfeeder, digging in wet dirt, and generally going about their business. Until, of course, I emerged. Then they all scattered in a panic. It was as if they knew I wanted to take their pictures and hid from me on purpose!! “Oh shit! Here she is! Quick! Hide!”. So for my rainy Sunday snapshots, having been abandoned by the critters, I was stuck with the usual and predictable “wet leaves on shrubbery” and “raindrop closeups on twigs” routine. Hey, it’s not my fault! I wanted the flock of blue jays, but they took off.

A withered, autumn hydrangea:

This next picture actually has a funny backstory. Most of you know that I feed feral cats. Although most of the time I give them dry food, once in a while I treat them to a yummy can of soft food. The other day I opened a can and remembered later on that I left the can cover out in the garden. So I reminded myself to go pick it up. When I got home, I went out to retrieve the can cover but it was nowhere to be found. Oh well, I thought. Must have gotten blown away by the wind. Well, today I just happened to peer over the low brick retaining wall which runs along the edge of my property. I was looking for Monty. And there I spotted the wayward cat food can cover, dangling precariously on the edge, like this:

Totally cool, man! That sucker is hanging by like a millimeter! Let me remind you all that I have no idea how that cover could get to that particular spot and hang in that fashion. It is nine feet away from where I left it, plus it’s OVER a wall, and then DOWN another foot. It defies the laws of physics. It’s madness! But I suspect the cats (or raccoons) are the guilty culprits.

One wet and irritated squirrel appeared high above. He seemed pretty pissed off about his condition, but I took a picture anyway. He’s not happy:

The trunk of my favorite dogwood tree:

And one more “raindrops on twigs” for good measure. Looks like winter ice, doesn’t it? This one’s actually very nice when clicked and enlarged:

To close out this “rainy day” post, here’s a poem by Shel Silverstein, appropriately titled “Rain”:

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can’t do a handstand–
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said–
I’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.

“Rain in my head”, indeed Ain’t that the truth!
See you all soon.

January 20, 2009

:blows dust off old American History textbook. Opens back cover. Begins writing new chapter . . . :

No, it wasn’t my paltry $25 donation. Nor my lone vote in the unpredictable “toss-up” state of New York It was 62 million pairs of eyes opening wide, looking into the future, glowing with hope, envisioning better and brighter days. We did it. We actually did it. Wow.

Our new President with his late grandmother:

Press play, and get up and dance!

Sitting on Standby

Since I got dangerously close to writing soft-core porn on my previous post (sorry about that), I figured I might provide something tame and innocuous to offset the naughtiness. Take a temporary hiatus from fantasizing, trembling, and heavy breathing if you will.

Nothing is more innocuous than the art model assignment known as “standby”. All busy art schools should have a standby system as far as I’m concerned. It’s the only way to handle model no-shows and guarantee a model in every class.

Standby is simple. A model is booked for standby during any given work slot, sits and waits in the office, ready to dash off when and if the call comes in. “The call” is a panicky instructor in his/her classroom, contacting the model registry’s office to report that the model has not shown up. The office tries to locate the missing model. If it appears that the model won’t make it, the standby is sent in his/her place. Problem solved. If no call comes in within an hour, the standby model is cut and free to go. Paid for the full three hours of his/her time. Good deal

I work at SVA, aka School of Visual Arts. The model coordinator, Jim, has an efficient standby system. I like working standby at SVA. You can just hang out, read, eat, check voicemail, do a crossword puzzle, give yourself a manicure, knit, even sleep! That is if you don’t mind putting your head down on the table and snoring like a rude, lazy slob. Hey, it happens! That’s standby for you.

My favorite way to pass the time during standby is chatting with Jim, for whom I’ve been working happily and contentedly for some time now. We talk about the art modeling business, the city, share many laughs, and have a very pleasant time. Standby is cool in my book. And after the rough, restless night I just had, sitting on standby this afternoon was just what I needed to chill out, calm my anxious nerves, and find emotionally stability. (Please, who am I kidding with that last one?)

In a stupid attempt to visually document standby, I snapped pictures of the SVA Model Registry’s Office. Folks, trust me, in the state I’m in right now with all this “crush” madness, be grateful for these tame, pointless pictures. The alternatives would stigmatize Museworthy with an X-rating and degrade me into the Internet porn underworld.

Our window on West 21st Street, with the SVA street banner hanging outside:

Directly across the street, West 21st. The heart of Chelsea:

The desk of a true model coordinator, with a “pose board” of photos on the wall:

The perfect ornament to dangle from a model office. Nice pose! Something to aspire to:

Happy Halloween everyone. Enjoy!