Phoenix 2015 - Rest and Relaxation

I have difficulty with the term "relaxation". At home there is always something I need "to do", tasks to accomplish, projects to finish. When traveling someplace new there is always something to see, somewhere to go or someplace to experience.

Although my friends and I always find something I haven't done before, a new museum, a new area of the city or a day trip away from it, a substantial portion of these visits are whiled away accomplishing nothing. There are dinners with their neighbors or trips to the gym, allowing me the opportunity to sample Diamondback eye candy, But there are also afternoons in a chaise, soaking up the desert sun, the dog occasionally coming out to keep me company.

Even the sounds are tranquil. I live in a densely populated urban area. I have become accustomed to the noise of traffic, trains, sirens and drunken revelers speaking louder than necessary as they stumble down the alley behind our building on random weekend nights. In my friends backyard there is the soft sound of a breeze bringing the wind chimes, with their gentle metallic tingle, to life. On occasion a bird will fly over, calling to others, conveying messages to their fellows we cannot decipher. You may hear a plane or a car but their noise too is soft, compared with the din of my home.

I love the noise of the city. I thrive on the pace. But every once in a while I enjoy rediscovering the recuperative power of doing nothing.

Phoenix 2015 - When 68 Degrees Feels Like 80

Chicago winters can be harsh. The same thing can be said about a Phoenix summer. Yet there, spring, for a thick blooded Midwesterner like myself, becomes a view days of warm, sunny paradise. I enjoy the sleeveless, shorts clad eye candy of the local gyms. Unlike home at this time of year it isn't necessary to bury the well toned bodies in down jackets heading outdoors after a workout.

The thermometer says 68 but, to my sun starved body, it feels like 80. Under a layer of sunscreen, wearing only a swimsuit I enjoy relaxing on a chaise in the backyard. It is what many would refer to as a "speedo". Some claim to find them distasteful. I don't concern myself with their sensibilities. My upper thighs enjoy the warmth at least as much as my torso and calves. I often marvel and have occasionally written about the trend towards almost extreme modesty among the men, particularly the younger ones, of today. Men call other men douches, gay and worse for wearing skimpy yet still decent swimsuits. Women follow suit, saying they find them ugly, "I don't want to see that", while donning string bikinis or lining up at male strip clubs to view men gyrating in far less.

As for me I relish a few days in my small swimsuit soaking up the desert sun before returning to the cool spring of the Midwest.

Phoenix 2015 - Phoenix Art Museum - Warhol and Such

I had not planned my visit around the Phoenix Art Museum's exhibition of portraits by the pop art icon Andy Warhol, it was an example of artistic serendipity. The images are familiar, famous people rendered in garish colors via silkscreens created from photographs. But, by having the opportunity to get close to the works the depth of the pieces becomes apparent. Some are layered, silkscreens on top of silkscreens creating, because of the imprecise nature of the process, works containing multiple outlines of the same image. Some are embellished with ink or acrylic over the silkscreened image, some silkscreens rendered on linen canvasses heavily layered in paint. Pencil and ink sketches created during his youth are included allowing me to witness the onset of his artistic point of view, including his early obsession with celebrity and celebrities. On several occasions he vowed to quit his art and concentrate on filmmaking, yet always returned to it in the end. His life cut short at the age of 58, one wonders what he might think of today's ubiquitous "famous for being famous" culture.

We moved through the rest of the museum. The collection includes a Diego Rivera work so indicative of the artists style that it is recognizable as his from across the gallery. There are other works including a Hans Hoffman and the vivid colors and harsh lines of a Thomas Hart Benton. On one hall hangs an almost poignant, uncharacteristically small Rothko showing the deeply emotional expressionist using an uncharacteristically bright pallet. Glass walled overlooks provide views of the institutions sculpture gardens and the urban landscape surrounding the museum.

As with the Magritte exhibition I saw in Chicago last year seeing this many works by a single artist massed together gave me a more complete overview of the man, his art and his vision.

Phoenix 2015 - Phoenix Art Museum - The Di Vinci Code

At the Phoenix Art Museum, an institution I had not visited before,  I had looked forward to an exhibition of Warhol Portraits. A welcome and unexpected surprise was the rare exhibition of the Codex Leicester, 18 pages of text written in the minute, precise hand of Leonardo Di Vinci. Most of the writing involved his observations of the various properties of water. On some pages he drew diagrams in the margins illustrating his thoughts. The manuscript is written in 16th century Italian and backwards so it can only be deciphered by viewing it in a mirror. It is suspected that a reason for this was that Di Vinci was left handed. Training himself to write in reverse kept his sleeve and hand from dragging through wet ink. This is a problem with which I can relate as my fingers, when writing, sometimes take on a blue or black hue myself being similarly left handed. I have to admit I feel some degree of pride in sharing this trait with the extraordinary Di Vinci.

I found it was not the viewing of the codex itself that thrilled me as much as the realization that I was given the privilege to experience a connection, seeing his writing, with this man. I have had the good fortune to see a portion of the handful (approximately 20) of the artworks attributed to him. When seeing those I appreciated the image and technique. Here I appreciated the mind. I have read that aside from his powerful and curious mind and brilliant artistic eye he also possessed astounding physical strength. He was a human aberration of the most valuable kind.

The exhibition was fleshed out with other artworks which contain water as a central theme. These included two oil paintings by Courbet, as well as two by Monet. One of the Monets is extremely lovely depicting a flower covered arched trellis reflected in the pond it stands next to. There were also a series of photos of Yellowstone Park's Old Faithful geyser by the great nature photographer Ansel Adams. These brought back memories of watching the eruption of the geyser from the snow covered ground on my trip to the amazing geological wonderland.

I learned from the exhibition that, the telescope not being invented until 100 years after his lifetime, Di Vinci thought that the moon was covered with water, the patterns we saw from earth the result of wind driven waves. Proof that even the greatest of minds can make a mistake now and then. After all, nobody's perfect!

Phoenix 2015 - Random Thoughts on Art and Screwing With Your Inner Time Clock

Although a flight may sound as if it leaves at a reasonable hour by the time one factors in making oneself presentable enough to leave the house, getting to the airport and surviving the increasing rigors of actually getting on the plane, in some instances one may find oneself rising several hours before the sun in order to get to the airplane on time. Even with a mid afternoon nap, necessitated by my no longer being capable of coherent speech, I still found myself in bed absurdly early. This meant, of course, that I was awake, at least for a vacation, absurdly early. One friend was at work, the other running early morning errands, so I found myself watching the Arizona sun rays as they journeyed across the back yard. It was just me, their dog, coffee and my spiral bound notebook. Were I home at this same hour and going to work I would be shaving, showering and donning a suit and tie as opposed to sitting at the kitchen island in sleep shorts and a sleeveless tee shirt drinking coffee and writing.

Our plan on this day was to visit the Phoenix Art Museum. An exhibition of Warhol portraits was opening which I had looked forward to during this visit. The Chicago Art Institute, voted the number one museum in the world by tripadvisor, contains an almost embarrassment of riches and world treasures in it's holdings. But travel always offers me a broader experience. I think back on viewing the Gainsborough's in St. Louis, which I credit with creating my appreciation for his almost miraculous technique. There were also the masterpieces, both ancient and modern, at Houston's Menil Galleries. I have been allowed to come within inches of Diego Riviera's monumental mural in Mexico City's city hall. On trips to Europe I have had the good fortune to marvel at Michelangelo's David. In Amsterdam I have had my soul renewed by the strokes of Rembrandt and Van Gogh. I have wandered through the Louve, where we purchased a plaster cherubs head ornament, carefully unwrapped and hung each Christmas reminding of us that day.

For me art has always been able to touch a place deep inside me. Art is, at least for me, both viewed and felt.

Phoenix 2015 - Planned Activities

My friends and I had mentioned, on previous trips, visiting the Phoenix Art Museum. There was a special exhibition of Andy Warhol portraits during the time I would be there. It seemed a prime opportunity for the long discussed museum trip. A day trip was also planned to the Saguaro National Forest. The multiarmed, ancient cacti generally grow far apart, battling one another for the scant water resources of the desert. In this one spot they crowd together. We planned to visit the Sonora Desert Museum in that area as well. There was the Phoenix Symphony Saturday night as well as dinner with their neighbors one evening. It was to be a busy time.

Then there was the sun and warmth. I always enjoy the sensation of the desert sun kissing my Midwestern winter white flesh. Returning home with a touch of color accentuated by a crisply pressed white dress shirt always makes Chicago heads turn, the faces that stare bearing a look which is part contempt, part envy. On one trip to Mexico I became quite sunsick due to a lack of suitable shelter during a day cruise. The bronze patina I bore on my return almost made the night spent on a Mexican hotel bathroom floor, head frequently hanging over the toilet, worth it.

Phoenix 2015 - Surviving the Rigors of Travel

It was that time of year when the world couldn't quite make up it's mind. The temperature had transitioned to a more consistently tolerable level and the sun sat too high in the sky for it to be full on winter, yet drifts of snow remained, reminders of late season storms. Icicles, nature's crystal chandeliers, trailed down from roofs and balconies . They were late winters thaw frozen in a moment of time. Still, it was too early to be spring. The years green grass, let alone flowers, had yet to appear And only the most hardy souls dared to go out in anything less than a heavy coat.

On this particular morning large wet snowflakes fell reminding us that winter was not done with us yet. I was in a CTA station waiting for the bus that would take me to the airport. Like almost every year around that time I was enroute to visit my friends in Phoenix. A woman, at least clean and dressed for the cold, with a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee in her hand, moved in and out of the station smoking a cigarette while pointing her finger and arguing with an invisible, imaginary adversary. It was 4:45 in the morning. Who did I expect to be out that early? Noel Coward once wrote "Mad men and Englishmen go out in the noon day sun", apparently mad women and Americans go out at 4:45 in the morning when it is snowing. A young black man walked past me dressed in the public transit uniform of a navy blue bomber jacket and well fitting cargo pants. It is a look reminiscent of a member of a SWAT team, which I feel some guilt and embarrassment in finding oddly sexy. I recall watching the closing ceremonies of the winter Olympics, being held that year in Canada, on a previous visit to Phoenix. As they paraded across the field in their high boots, their Sam Browne harnesses smartly buckled over snug red jackets I remarked "I can't help it, I think Mountie uniforms are hot." One of my hosts declared "Oh God yes!" Sometimes it's nice to know you're not alone in this sort of thing.

People got on the bus wearing a thin layer of the snow falling outside. Arriving at the airport I encountered, as always, lines on top of lines. We check in, a line, we passed through security, a line we boarded the plane, a line. I passed the line time people watching. In particular the well built man in the stocking cap and tight tee shirt. One could easily imagine him pacing in a cage. An MMA fighter, barechested and barefoot, wearing satin shorts. He was, as one of my Phoenix host has said on occasion, hot in a serial killer sort of way. In reality he was probably a youth minister.

Our Frontier airplane sported an image of a white snowshoe bunny on it's tail. Ironic considering we were headed to the desert. An hour past our original departure time we were in the air. Chicago, the city that works.....eventually.