Zion National Park is in a canyon carved over thousands of years by the river that runs through it. Although a small stream during the summer months, during the winter snow runoff it's power is evident by the height of the solid rock walls that surround you. As the rock is exposed by the force of the water the elements go to work on it carving it into fantastic shapes. The layers of earth built up over almost incomprehensible ages are also exposed creating stripes of bright, often otherworldly color. Extraordinary grandeur and beauty greet you from every angle.
After depositing our bags in the cabin we drove back to an area we had seen when we entered. There was a small area where we could park the car and access to the river down a short scrub brush covered slope. The cool shallow water rippled over a rocky river bed. We sat on stones feeling the water wash over us enjoying the stunning views that surrounded us. On one wall an arch had begun to form. Wind had driven sand into the red sandstone chipping pieces of it away creating another amazing formation to add to the virtually countless others in this area of the country. The eons spent on the carving of these natural wonders gives one a feeling of almost endless time. Quiet and serene, we relaxed in the midst of this remarkable enviorment, enjoying the gentle and delicate sounds of the stream which had a hand in creating the landscape around us. Feeling calm and peaceful we returned to the car and drove back to the cabin.
We had reservations for dinner at the restaurant in the park's inn. Showering the river's silt from our bodies and rinsing out our swimsuits, leaving them hanging to dry, we fixed cocktails and pulled two chairs onto the porch. A family of wild turkeys, a tom and hen, with several waddling chicks in tow, wandered by. They came up the side of the cabin, walked in a circle between our cabin and the one across from ours, then wandered off the way they came, heads down feeding on the bugs in the grass. We returned the chairs to the cabin and took the short walk over to the inn for dinner. A circle of lawn sits in front of the inn. On the edge of the lawn stood two juvenile deer. Through the brush across the road appeared the doe and stag, the stag sporting a magnificent crown of antlers. Suddenly the juveniles faced each other, reared up on their hind legs and briefly sparred with each other, rehearsing for the mating rituals they would engage in later in life.
We shopped in the inn's store then continued upstairs to the dining room. In the restaurant a wall of windows faces a formidable and muscular cliff wall. Not yet sunset the eyes of all of the diners were fixed on this breathtaking sight. Those chairs that would normally have had their backs to the windows had been adjusted by those sitting in them to take advantage of the stunning view.
Night fell and we walked back to the cabin after a tasty and thoroughly satisfying dinner. Looking at the fireplace we had a moment of inspiration. We turned it on, set the camera on it's tripod on one of the beds, set the timer and posed. It got warm fast. we turned off the fireplace and crawled into bed at the end of what would prove to be a string of wonderful days.
The mornings in Zion stay cool until the sun climbs far enough in the sky to rise above the stone walls and penetrate the canyon. I shower, dress and go to the inn to get coffee, leaving my friend asleep. I have to don a light jacket I brought with me, the only time I wore it on this trip. My friend is beginning to stir when I return to the cabin. We have breakfast at the inn then board one of the shuttles to travel deeper into the park. Along the way we pass the "Emperor's Throne", a rock formation the height of two Empire State buildings, one stacked on top of the other. Getting off the shuttle we hike back on a path that runs alongside the river, which is wider at this spot. Growing by the path are plants displaying enormous white blossoms that resemble morning glories on steroids. On one rock wall thrives a type of small snail found nowhere else on earth. The river, although still shallow is extremely cold. Very little sun reaches this narrow portion of the canyon. Several teen boys are wading in an icy, waist high pool. One pulls out the waistband of his board shorts, checks his male appendage and then announces to his buddies "It's still there". My own appendage was shrinking at the mere thought of the frigid water. Eventually the canyon narrows to a point where further travel is not possible. We return to the shuttle and ride it back to the area of the inn.
It is still somewhat early in the day and, as it was midsummer, we still had a number of hours of daylight ahead of us. We decided to linger for a while before setting off to our next destination. Across from the inn the river becomes a tiny stream only a few inches deep. We soak our feet sharing the cool water with tiny baby rainbow trout and dozens of tadpoles, their leg buds just beginning to form, before getting in the car and setting off.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
We Drive Through The Desert to Zion
We got up the next morning, loaded our bags in the car and grabbed breakfast. At the time I was working at a store that had a branch in Vegas. We delayed our departure so I could pay it a short visit. We mentioned, while there, that we were on our way to Zion National Park. One of the employees insisted that we had to stay in the park itself. I asked if that would be possible, as these accommodations would have to be arranged at the last minute when we arrived there. He assured us it wouldn't be a problem. Armed with this suggestion we returned to the car and headed off.
This was one of the few times the cars top was up due to the intense heat. After all, it was high noon and we were in the desert. The landscape outside of the city is flat, brown and featureless. We didn't feel as if we would be missing anything in terms of a view. Eventually, as the road begins to ascend, the featureless desert gives way to stunning rock formations. We stop and let the top down. The higher altitude had given a refreshing cool tinge to the air. Within a short time we found ourselves in the small town that sits outside Zion. There are several motels available, but, following the suggestion of the young man in Vegas, we enter the park and proceed to the visitors center. Not only are accommodations available inside the park, there are options. There are rooms in the park's inn or we could stay in one of a cluster of historic cabins. The cute park intern, his badge identifies him as being from Belgium, suggests the cabins. We agree and register.
Due to past pollution problems in the park, it is a narrow canyon and car exhaust would be trapped there with no way out, the only cars allowed are those used by people staying in the park, and those are allowed access only up to the park's inn. A shuttle system ferries visitors to the other parks sights and attractions. The shuttle operators also serve as guides dispensing information over a loudspeaker system as you ride.
The cabins consist of a main room with two full beds, a closet/dressing area with a sink, and a bathroom with another sink allowing two people the opportunity to brush their teeth at the same time. We found this to be a quite efficient arrangement during our short stay there. There is also a small, covered front porch. The cabins are duplexes. A connecting door to the identical half would allow the cabins to accommodate families or larger groups. Each cabin contains a gas fireplace, although it being summer we didn't think we would be using it. Many of the furnishings are fashioned out of natural wood and branches, manufactured, ironically for us, in Indiana. We tote our bags up the steps from the parking lot to the cabin and settle in.
This was one of the few times the cars top was up due to the intense heat. After all, it was high noon and we were in the desert. The landscape outside of the city is flat, brown and featureless. We didn't feel as if we would be missing anything in terms of a view. Eventually, as the road begins to ascend, the featureless desert gives way to stunning rock formations. We stop and let the top down. The higher altitude had given a refreshing cool tinge to the air. Within a short time we found ourselves in the small town that sits outside Zion. There are several motels available, but, following the suggestion of the young man in Vegas, we enter the park and proceed to the visitors center. Not only are accommodations available inside the park, there are options. There are rooms in the park's inn or we could stay in one of a cluster of historic cabins. The cute park intern, his badge identifies him as being from Belgium, suggests the cabins. We agree and register.
Due to past pollution problems in the park, it is a narrow canyon and car exhaust would be trapped there with no way out, the only cars allowed are those used by people staying in the park, and those are allowed access only up to the park's inn. A shuttle system ferries visitors to the other parks sights and attractions. The shuttle operators also serve as guides dispensing information over a loudspeaker system as you ride.
The cabins consist of a main room with two full beds, a closet/dressing area with a sink, and a bathroom with another sink allowing two people the opportunity to brush their teeth at the same time. We found this to be a quite efficient arrangement during our short stay there. There is also a small, covered front porch. The cabins are duplexes. A connecting door to the identical half would allow the cabins to accommodate families or larger groups. Each cabin contains a gas fireplace, although it being summer we didn't think we would be using it. Many of the furnishings are fashioned out of natural wood and branches, manufactured, ironically for us, in Indiana. We tote our bags up the steps from the parking lot to the cabin and settle in.
My First Glimpse of Las Vegas
We landed after nightfall. We were originally scheduled to arrive mid afternoon, but after the missed flight and waiting out the thunderstorms, my first glimpse of the neon lit adult playground that is Las Vegas would be after dark.
We retrieved our bags and caught the shuttle to the rental car lot. The way it worked was that they dropped you off amid a field of cars, you chose the one you wanted and drove it off. Well, there was a kiosk that took the cars, and your information and checked you out as you departed so it wasn't quite as risky for the car company as it sounded when it was described to us at the airport. We had both agreed that a convertible was the only way to go. I heard a red corvette speaking to me until my friend mentioned that red cars were police magnets. We settled on a green Camaro. Low slung, with a spoiler gracing its rear, it was, quite frankly, the hottest, sexiest car I have ever traveled in. For the next few days I felt like the ultimate convertible ridin' stud muffin. The top was almost always down and our chests were almost always bare as we cruised the highways of America's southwest.
It was Saturday night and traffic on the strip was moving at a crawl affording me ample time to take in my surroundings as we moved along the hotel and casino lined street. At the Bellagio the waters danced as the voice of Frank Sinatra boomed thorough the warm air of the desert night. Roller coaster cars zipped past a mock New York City skyline, gondolas glided down the canals of an imagined Venice and a multitude of lights, in a multitude of colors, spun, flashed, blinked and twinkled.
My friend had made a reservation at a hotel near Fremont Street, on the far end of the strip from the airport. The hotel, "The Downtowner", was selected by him based on it's modest price. The reason for the modest price was evident as soon as we entered the room. Sparing the details of the decor, I will just say that to get the air conditioner running we had to hit it with a shoe. It was, unfortunately, not the only time during this trip that we would have to resort to this. The hotel's sign was a prime example of high 60"s geometric kitch. It's pool, while it did look like the photo on the web, was located across the street from the hotel. The chain link fence which surrounded it had originally had plastic slats woven through it for privacy. Over the years the desert sun had taken it's toll on these leaving them faded and broken; which left large swaths of the chain link fence exposed. This also left bathers exposed to anyone who might pass by on the sidewalk. As it was well after dark we would not be using the pool and would only be using the room to sleep in the one night, planning to leave early the next morning. We dropped off our bags and headed out into the visual riot that is Las Vegas at night.
Our first stop was Fremont Street, the former main drag of Las Vegas. It is the home of the famous neon cowboy sign and the iconic Golden Nugget casino. The street has been arcaded and a light show is projected nightly on the white, arched ceiling of the arcade. We then drove to the newer area of town. Passing by the Bellagio again the waters now moved to music by Aaron Copeland. The Flamingo leaves it's doors open to the street and the superheated desert air. Walking from the outside into the uber air conditioned inside feels almost as if you are walking through a solid wall of cold. As we passed through Paris Paris, with it's miniature Eiffel Tower and scantily clad cocktail waitresses I remarked "The French already hate us, I can't imagine what they would think if they ever saw this."
It was my first time in Las Vegas. I expected it to be bright, garish, somewhat tasteless and over the top. It did not disappoint.
We retrieved our bags and caught the shuttle to the rental car lot. The way it worked was that they dropped you off amid a field of cars, you chose the one you wanted and drove it off. Well, there was a kiosk that took the cars, and your information and checked you out as you departed so it wasn't quite as risky for the car company as it sounded when it was described to us at the airport. We had both agreed that a convertible was the only way to go. I heard a red corvette speaking to me until my friend mentioned that red cars were police magnets. We settled on a green Camaro. Low slung, with a spoiler gracing its rear, it was, quite frankly, the hottest, sexiest car I have ever traveled in. For the next few days I felt like the ultimate convertible ridin' stud muffin. The top was almost always down and our chests were almost always bare as we cruised the highways of America's southwest.
It was Saturday night and traffic on the strip was moving at a crawl affording me ample time to take in my surroundings as we moved along the hotel and casino lined street. At the Bellagio the waters danced as the voice of Frank Sinatra boomed thorough the warm air of the desert night. Roller coaster cars zipped past a mock New York City skyline, gondolas glided down the canals of an imagined Venice and a multitude of lights, in a multitude of colors, spun, flashed, blinked and twinkled.
My friend had made a reservation at a hotel near Fremont Street, on the far end of the strip from the airport. The hotel, "The Downtowner", was selected by him based on it's modest price. The reason for the modest price was evident as soon as we entered the room. Sparing the details of the decor, I will just say that to get the air conditioner running we had to hit it with a shoe. It was, unfortunately, not the only time during this trip that we would have to resort to this. The hotel's sign was a prime example of high 60"s geometric kitch. It's pool, while it did look like the photo on the web, was located across the street from the hotel. The chain link fence which surrounded it had originally had plastic slats woven through it for privacy. Over the years the desert sun had taken it's toll on these leaving them faded and broken; which left large swaths of the chain link fence exposed. This also left bathers exposed to anyone who might pass by on the sidewalk. As it was well after dark we would not be using the pool and would only be using the room to sleep in the one night, planning to leave early the next morning. We dropped off our bags and headed out into the visual riot that is Las Vegas at night.
Our first stop was Fremont Street, the former main drag of Las Vegas. It is the home of the famous neon cowboy sign and the iconic Golden Nugget casino. The street has been arcaded and a light show is projected nightly on the white, arched ceiling of the arcade. We then drove to the newer area of town. Passing by the Bellagio again the waters now moved to music by Aaron Copeland. The Flamingo leaves it's doors open to the street and the superheated desert air. Walking from the outside into the uber air conditioned inside feels almost as if you are walking through a solid wall of cold. As we passed through Paris Paris, with it's miniature Eiffel Tower and scantily clad cocktail waitresses I remarked "The French already hate us, I can't imagine what they would think if they ever saw this."
It was my first time in Las Vegas. I expected it to be bright, garish, somewhat tasteless and over the top. It did not disappoint.
Monday, June 11, 2012
America's Southwest - It All Started With a Travel Voucher
I had just gotten an American Airlines Advantage credit card. It came with a travel voucher. Spend a minimum amount on airfare and a second person would fly free. I decided to share the voucher with my travel buddy. We met at his apartment to discuss where we might want to go.
It was at this point that we discovered the catch with the voucher. Airfares being what they were at the time, the minimum amount we would be required to spend would mean that we would have to fly to the moon and back in order to redeem it. We decided to go a different direction.
I don't remember exactly how we came up with the concept but we were soon making plans to experience the natural wonders of southern Utah and northern Arizona; flying in and out of Vegas...baby. Flights were booked, a car, we felt the only option was a convertible, was rented and a hotel room for the first night in Vegas...baby, was secured.
The day of the flight Chicago was in the grip of a serious heat wave coupled with intense humidity. The air was so oppressive it was almost solid. The moisture in the air so dense that the park across the street from us could barely be made out. The appointed time for my travel buddy to arrive at my apartment came...and went. I made phone calls. They went unanswered. After more time and several more calls, I, in desperation, mixed with some concern, began to walk the few blocks to his apartment. I met up with him on the sidewalk, rolling luggage in hand. He had gone to a party the night before and had slept through his alarm. Standing on the sidewalk using his cell phone we reserved seats on a later flight then went to my apartment to snooze until the new departure time arrived.
After checking in at the airport we were informed that our bags were being subjected to a "random" search. This was prior to 9/11. I think they were suspicious because we had missed our initial flight. As we boarded the plane a cold front came through colliding with the heat of that day, setting off intense electrical storms. Since we were already on the tarmac in line for takeoff we had to wait out the storms sitting on the plane. Pelting rain streamed down the windows. There were lightening strikes and thunder seemingly everywhere. It is somewhat disconcerting to be in a large metal object in a large open space in the middle of a massive electrical storm. Eventually, the storm passed, the plane took off and were were on our way.
It was at this point that we discovered the catch with the voucher. Airfares being what they were at the time, the minimum amount we would be required to spend would mean that we would have to fly to the moon and back in order to redeem it. We decided to go a different direction.
I don't remember exactly how we came up with the concept but we were soon making plans to experience the natural wonders of southern Utah and northern Arizona; flying in and out of Vegas...baby. Flights were booked, a car, we felt the only option was a convertible, was rented and a hotel room for the first night in Vegas...baby, was secured.
The day of the flight Chicago was in the grip of a serious heat wave coupled with intense humidity. The air was so oppressive it was almost solid. The moisture in the air so dense that the park across the street from us could barely be made out. The appointed time for my travel buddy to arrive at my apartment came...and went. I made phone calls. They went unanswered. After more time and several more calls, I, in desperation, mixed with some concern, began to walk the few blocks to his apartment. I met up with him on the sidewalk, rolling luggage in hand. He had gone to a party the night before and had slept through his alarm. Standing on the sidewalk using his cell phone we reserved seats on a later flight then went to my apartment to snooze until the new departure time arrived.
After checking in at the airport we were informed that our bags were being subjected to a "random" search. This was prior to 9/11. I think they were suspicious because we had missed our initial flight. As we boarded the plane a cold front came through colliding with the heat of that day, setting off intense electrical storms. Since we were already on the tarmac in line for takeoff we had to wait out the storms sitting on the plane. Pelting rain streamed down the windows. There were lightening strikes and thunder seemingly everywhere. It is somewhat disconcerting to be in a large metal object in a large open space in the middle of a massive electrical storm. Eventually, the storm passed, the plane took off and were were on our way.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Gay Subtext - Jack London and Dr. Watson
First off, I do realize that Jack London was a real person and Dr. Watson is fictional. Therefore it follows that Dr. Watson's words are actually Arthur Conan Doyles'. But they are funneled through the voice and character of Dr. Watson, so I am justified in referring to him in this post.
Growing up, as I did, in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was expected to have a working knowledge of Jack London and his works due to his association with that region. To back up my premise that there are gay undertones to his work, in particular "The Sea Wolf", let us consider two factors. He died of a drug overdose; major DRAMA QUEEN! Also, he spent quite a bit of time in Alaska during the gold rush era. During that time he was living predominately with men. While it's true that there were some female "camp followers", from the photos I've seen they looked like men which just seems to validate my point. You cannot convince me that there were no same sex shenanigans going on. It's cold up there for one thing so the shared body warmth alone you would assume would be welcomed.
For anyone who has ever read Jack London's "The Sea Wolf", they will notice how many times he mentions the captain's apparently mega buffed body. In one section in particular the character relating the story rhapsodises on the magnificence of the captain's form after seeing him naked. He even goes so far as to compare the captain's physique to other naked men's bodies he has seen. He just seems to be a bit too interested if you ask me.
On to Dr. Watson. On occasion after occasion he mentions the physical attributes of the men that consult and come into contact with Sherlock. He goes to great lengths to describe their hulking, powerful bodies. Bear in mind that Edwardian clothes were quite modest so he had to use his imagination to a large extent. Gay fantasies anyone? Plus there is his constant gawking infatuation with Holmes himself. He sometimes resembles a starry eyed, love struck teenage girl when talking about the detective. I know that at one point he was married, but that is true of any number of gay men. Plus, they never had any children....if you get my drift.
Upon reflection, it is fortunate for me that since Mr. London is dead and Dr. Watson is fictional I cannot be sued for libel or slander for the contents of this post.
Growing up, as I did, in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was expected to have a working knowledge of Jack London and his works due to his association with that region. To back up my premise that there are gay undertones to his work, in particular "The Sea Wolf", let us consider two factors. He died of a drug overdose; major DRAMA QUEEN! Also, he spent quite a bit of time in Alaska during the gold rush era. During that time he was living predominately with men. While it's true that there were some female "camp followers", from the photos I've seen they looked like men which just seems to validate my point. You cannot convince me that there were no same sex shenanigans going on. It's cold up there for one thing so the shared body warmth alone you would assume would be welcomed.
For anyone who has ever read Jack London's "The Sea Wolf", they will notice how many times he mentions the captain's apparently mega buffed body. In one section in particular the character relating the story rhapsodises on the magnificence of the captain's form after seeing him naked. He even goes so far as to compare the captain's physique to other naked men's bodies he has seen. He just seems to be a bit too interested if you ask me.
On to Dr. Watson. On occasion after occasion he mentions the physical attributes of the men that consult and come into contact with Sherlock. He goes to great lengths to describe their hulking, powerful bodies. Bear in mind that Edwardian clothes were quite modest so he had to use his imagination to a large extent. Gay fantasies anyone? Plus there is his constant gawking infatuation with Holmes himself. He sometimes resembles a starry eyed, love struck teenage girl when talking about the detective. I know that at one point he was married, but that is true of any number of gay men. Plus, they never had any children....if you get my drift.
Upon reflection, it is fortunate for me that since Mr. London is dead and Dr. Watson is fictional I cannot be sued for libel or slander for the contents of this post.
500 Views 6 Continents
I began writing these posts in a travel journal during a Caribbean cruise in March of 2011. In June 2011 I set up this blog and began to post my travel journal entries. This blog became a creative outlet , as well as a way for me to set my memories down "on paper" without amassing large numbers of spiral bound notebooks in our modestly sized apartment. After repeated comments from friends and acquaintances I came to the realisation that I had been extremely fortunate, "lucky", over the years to see the places I have seen at the times I have seen them. I have been extremely "lucky" to meet and know some of the people I have known over the years. There have been challenging periods over these years but from my eternally optimistic, glass half full, perspective; in always keeping myself open to new experiences as they come along, I have been the recipient of much good fortune.
In May I reached two, what are to me, important milestones in regards to my blog. Assuming my stats are correct, I have had over 500 views of my posts. Also, I have had views from all continents, excepting Antarctica. As only 2 dozen or so people live there I don't see myself breaking through that barrier any time soon.
Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to view my postings. I appreciate and value each one. My sincere hope is that you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
In May I reached two, what are to me, important milestones in regards to my blog. Assuming my stats are correct, I have had over 500 views of my posts. Also, I have had views from all continents, excepting Antarctica. As only 2 dozen or so people live there I don't see myself breaking through that barrier any time soon.
Thank you to everyone that has taken the time to view my postings. I appreciate and value each one. My sincere hope is that you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Dots and Dashes - A Roy Lichtenstein Retrospective
The Art Institute of Chicago has recently mounted another of it's impressive special exhibitions, a retrospective of the work of Roy Lichtenstein. His early work from the 1950's was in the Abstract Impressionist style of the time. Apparently, many of these canvases were destroyed. Of those that survived the four on display reveal a young artist struggling to discover his own voice. The comic book inspired "dot" style he is most associated with eventually developed.
Some people, myself included, may at first find his highly technical work cold and antiseptic. Yet, as I moved through the exhibit his sense of humor began to be apparent revealing the humanity of the artist. This humor keeps the work from projecting the cynicism which seems to permeate some pop and modern art. He took the everyday and banal and used it as inspiration for his art. Ads and comic book panels were adjusted, realigned and reimagined as things of balance and harmony. While much of his work contains bold, bright color, golf balls and car tires become mesmerizing studies in black and white which draw the viewer into the image. A steaming cup of coffee is a muscular artistic statement in yellow and brown.
Initial reviews of his work were highly critical. One magazine questioned whether or not he was the "worst artist in America." Perhaps in response to this one piece shows a woman standing behind a man, both gazing at a painting, and the woman exclaiming, in Lichtenstein's trademark speech bubble, that the work is a masterpiece and soon his works will be desired all over New York.
I found myself beginning to be hypnotised by the comic book dots, evident in virtually every work. I marveled at the precision of these spots of paint. Later in the exhibition I learned that he used perforated steel panels as a sort of stencil to produce them. These same steel plates are used in a different manner in some sculptural three dimensional pieces. In some works a second layer of dots is laid over the first. Dots connecting with other dots creating a dense visual landscape of paint.
One gallery contains parodies, created by Lichtenstein, of the work of other artists. He declared that he admired that which he parodied. This is where his sense of humor is most evident. There are Monet's "Haystacks" reimagined in his dotted style. A Mondrian where two of the geometric spaces are filled with his dots as opposed to Mondrian's vivid blocks of color. A Picasso piece looks as if the Spanish master was inspired by Lichtenstein, rather than the other way around.
Four paintings of artists studios, one containing representations of his own works within the larger work, are reunited for the first time since 1974. Much of his later work, while retaining his trademark bold lines and dots, becomes less representational. Some appear like small segments of cartoon panels greatly enlarged. Many of the pieces in the exhibition are in private collections so rarely available for public viewing.
A special treat is the collection of works on paper. Many of these are studies for some of the larger, finished pieces on view. It gives the visitor the ability to see the progression of the artwork from it's original conception. In one trio of pieces a woman's face transitions from recognizable features to a series of lines and planes of color.
One irony of Lichtenstein's artistic vision is that the comics and ads which inspired his work are no longer composed of dots. In this digital age of high definition images we have gained clarity, but perhaps at a cost of losing a portion of our innocence.
Some people, myself included, may at first find his highly technical work cold and antiseptic. Yet, as I moved through the exhibit his sense of humor began to be apparent revealing the humanity of the artist. This humor keeps the work from projecting the cynicism which seems to permeate some pop and modern art. He took the everyday and banal and used it as inspiration for his art. Ads and comic book panels were adjusted, realigned and reimagined as things of balance and harmony. While much of his work contains bold, bright color, golf balls and car tires become mesmerizing studies in black and white which draw the viewer into the image. A steaming cup of coffee is a muscular artistic statement in yellow and brown.
Initial reviews of his work were highly critical. One magazine questioned whether or not he was the "worst artist in America." Perhaps in response to this one piece shows a woman standing behind a man, both gazing at a painting, and the woman exclaiming, in Lichtenstein's trademark speech bubble, that the work is a masterpiece and soon his works will be desired all over New York.
I found myself beginning to be hypnotised by the comic book dots, evident in virtually every work. I marveled at the precision of these spots of paint. Later in the exhibition I learned that he used perforated steel panels as a sort of stencil to produce them. These same steel plates are used in a different manner in some sculptural three dimensional pieces. In some works a second layer of dots is laid over the first. Dots connecting with other dots creating a dense visual landscape of paint.
One gallery contains parodies, created by Lichtenstein, of the work of other artists. He declared that he admired that which he parodied. This is where his sense of humor is most evident. There are Monet's "Haystacks" reimagined in his dotted style. A Mondrian where two of the geometric spaces are filled with his dots as opposed to Mondrian's vivid blocks of color. A Picasso piece looks as if the Spanish master was inspired by Lichtenstein, rather than the other way around.
Four paintings of artists studios, one containing representations of his own works within the larger work, are reunited for the first time since 1974. Much of his later work, while retaining his trademark bold lines and dots, becomes less representational. Some appear like small segments of cartoon panels greatly enlarged. Many of the pieces in the exhibition are in private collections so rarely available for public viewing.
A special treat is the collection of works on paper. Many of these are studies for some of the larger, finished pieces on view. It gives the visitor the ability to see the progression of the artwork from it's original conception. In one trio of pieces a woman's face transitions from recognizable features to a series of lines and planes of color.
One irony of Lichtenstein's artistic vision is that the comics and ads which inspired his work are no longer composed of dots. In this digital age of high definition images we have gained clarity, but perhaps at a cost of losing a portion of our innocence.
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