NEW SCABS

Although my mom says I shouldn't call them that. But I've come up with nothing better or accurate to the process of their creation.

ZELFPORTRET

In which I break one of my Museum Rules.

And I neglected to even write down what this was. Can't find it on the website.

Rule-breaker and Failure in 3 Pictures, The High Museum, Atlanta

VERMEER

Some die hard birders keep lists of all the birds they have seen in the wild. I think birds are special, but I don't actively pursue them with a fervor. Instead I seek out Vermeer paintings. There are 36 know paintings by Vermeer in existence. I've seen 15 of them. I still remember my first one. A collection of art from the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Alte Meister (Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister), Dresden was on a world tour and it happened to have a stop in at the art museum in Jackson, Mississippi. My mom parked me in front of The Procuress and told me to look. (I'm pretty sure she physically arranged me in front of it. Not entirely unlike the way she would straighten my spine to correct a horrible teenage slouch.) I think she really wanted me to pay attention to his handling of texture. His ability to paint the carpets that often appear on tables in his work is incredible. I remember it being larger than most other paintings of his I have seen. The Procuress impressed me enough to make it into my journal entry about the day. (Back when I used to record every mundane thing about my life in writing. Another teenage habit.)

But I did learn that deformed antlers were highly prized for their rarity and possibly spiritual / divine beginnings. The art and sculpture collections were amazing. I saw a Vermeer oil, a Rembrandt, Roman sculpture, a Durer, and a Michelangelo drawing. 

Almost 10 years after day, the only thing I concretely remember is the Vermeer.  Soon after, I would encounter Vermeer again when I saw Girl With a Pearl Earring. I haven't seen it since but I remember liking it. I never read the book. I have a weird rule about reading fiction books about art and artists. I just don't. I never want to confuse novels with what I learned in my art history classes. I fear that those kind of books would just get accidentially filed away as "something I read about an artist once."

I didn't cross paths with another Vermeer painting until college. I did a semester abroad in London and was able to see quite a few more that way. There are Vermeers in the National Gallery and one at Kenwood House as part of the Iveagh Bequest. A long weekend in Paris led me to the The Lacemaker and The Astronomer owned by the Louvre.  Mort of all I wanted to see The Milkmaid.  I eventually got to see it when it came to the Met in New York in 2009. It took a car and a bus to get me there, but it was worth it to see that painting and the Met's Vermeers together. It was also my first trip to the Met. I remember what I wore, and my feet hurt a lot from the miles of galleries I walked through that day, and I cried a little in front of them. They were so small and beautiful, and the ultramarine blue was surprising to me, because that color never comes through correctly in the plates printed in art history books. I've seen the Vermeers in DC, and even the hole in the Dutch room of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. And after last weekend, I had seen The Girl with the Pearl Earring. 

She was beautiful, and about the size I expected her to be. I've learned from past experiences that most Vermeer paintings are not that large. That made it strange though to go from seeing her face blown up on a banner probably sharing the square footage of my bedroom flying off the side of The High. There was another pictures of her face wallpapering the entry wall to the temporary galleries. Every crack in her skin, every splotch of old varnish was visible. The pearl was the size of my head, and blown up didn't really read as a pearl anymore -- just a white blotch. In person the painting was perfect. Exhibition didactics described it as the Dutch Mona Lisa. I've seen the Mona Lisa, but this was a completely different experience. Both paintings are similar in size and were displayed behind a second, protective barrier of everything-proof plexi, however the strictly-enforced No Photography rule ensured a pleasant experience for all. (I'm a fan of the no-photography rule (I've gone on at length about it here.) And 99.9% abide by a personal absolutely no-photography rule. (I had a slip up at the High. You'll see it in a few days.)) When I saw the Mona Lisa, people were clambering to take a photograph. I observed from a far -- not wanting to elbow through people 7 deep just to see it. At the High, I had plenty of elbow room, and all the time I wanted to spend in front of it. (It may have also been to my advantage that I went on the second-to-last weekend it was up.) Vermeer's ultramarine was different in this painting. It had been mixed with some white -- not nearly as bright and striking as say, the skirt on The Milkmaid, but it played off the completely black background and her green top perfectly. Even though the background was a solid black, it didn't feel flat, and I sensed a depth to that color. 

Other notable works that came with the Vermeer from the Mauritius were Haarlem with Bleaching Grounds by Jacob van Ruisdael, The Goldfinch by Carel Fabritius, The Oyster Eater by Jan Steen, and a painting of Susanna bathing by Rembrandt.

Pictures from my drive. I've always liked driving on highways instead of the interstate. I took Saturday to drive some miles down 411 South into Georgia.

I am a woman of my word.  Chicken biscuit for the road.

NPR. So maybe turning into my parents wasn't such a big deal after all.

What a crap day.  Rain on 411 S.

Still raining. Only halfway there.

When you see something like this, you pull over.

That empty frame at the Gardner Museum hit me hard. Even though the theft had happened nearly 20 years before I got there, that frame makes it seem fresh every time. I knew there would be empty frames, but I wasn't prepared for the way that would make me feel. I was angry and sad that someone could be so selfish as to steal paintings. This 2010 article from the New York Times quotes the chairman of the Met’s department of European sculpture and decorative arts saying, “There’s just something horrific about seeing a broken artwork.” I think that is true to missing artwork as well.

HARVEST MOON

A post in which I talk not about Neil Young, but about illustration, childhood obsessions, memory, and the Despicable Actions of Some Parents today.

I took this wobbly picture out the front window of my car when I was driving back from Atlanta last night. It's not the real Harvest Moon, but the moon from a few days after -- still just as bright. It was huge and yellow. I immediately though of a book I loved a lot when I was little. It is The Moon Comes Home written by Mary Jo Salter and illustrated by Stacey Schuett. It tells the story of a little girl and her parents traveling home at night from her grandmother's house. It's a simple story, but what makes it are the beautiful pastel illustrations.

In spite of what my photograph may lead you to believe, this is what last night felt like.

In photographing the book, I just noticed something only my adult self would. Dad is in the passenger seat, and the mom is the driver. An occurrence that happens when Hell freezes over in the McFalls house. I used to wish that I could stretch out in the back seat like this. 

This is one of my favorite spreads.

The moon and their home. An early seed of my lifelong desire to own a cat? Most likely.

Pretty much my life today. Minus one checkered quilt and stuffed bunny.

I can't imagine how many times my parents read me this book. It was enough that I deemed it as something I needed to take to my adult apartment. It was enough that I thought of it almost 20 years later driving home. It was probably an annoying amount. And that's OK. My parents humored my childhood fascination with the moon and nighttime. I used to say dark outside as if it were one, quick word. Darkoutside. A few years earlier, I had committed to memory Goodnight Moon. I kept track of every brush and bowl of mush and knew when my parents had skipped a page -- all in the exasperated name of getting me to sleep and having to read this book for the millionth time. I loved crescent moons.  So.

Dear parents in the world. I see you with your iphones. I see your children. I see them with an ipad. I hear no one talking to each other. I hope this isn't an all-the-time thing. Please read to them. Teach them to read the comics in the newspaper. Read them real books with pages. Read them something that they can flip through later without you, that doesn't plug into the wall, run out of batteries, or suppress their melatonin. Don't rely solely on an app. Read them something they will remember 20 years later on a late night drive.

Now, I'm not a parent, and I fully expect to get my comeuppance and have my Parental Ass served to me on a platter one day, but I plan on reading lots of books first. And possibly denying the existence of the internet.

One last word on children's books. Half a Moon and One Whole Star by Crescent Dragonwagon and illustrated by Jerry Pinkney is my other favorite moon book. The illustrations are equally as magical. Translucent, and the right balance between light and dark.

p.s. In looking up Jerry Pinkney, I stumbled upon two other books not read as frequently to me as these, but still great stories with more of his wonderful watercolors. Dare I say sumptuous? They are The Home Place also written by Crescent Dragonwagon and The Talking Eggs a retelling of a Creole folktale by Robert D. San Souci.

In summary, I've had too much coffee already. Childhood literacy and parental bonding are important, and children's books are Great Things. Maybe I've missed a calling as a children's librarian?

SILENCE ON THE RADIO WAVES

After a week of not being in the studio due to Day Job obligations, I've been back, working on some new stuff, and brushing out the mess that had accumulated on my floor. Cleaning and rearranging did me good, and now it feels twice as big. Tomorrow holds the promise of an early roadtrip with a big McDonald's coffee and some NPR. I'm off to Atlanta to see Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring.

RADIATOR