Dateline - Phoenix - Saturday - oddly cold.
The temperature did not break 70 all day. Gray clouds hung overhead, a dark, pendulous hand blocking out the warmth and sun. When we awoke it was only 7 degrees warmer than Chicago.
A return trip to the gym proved somewhat amusing as the workout crowd, in their sleeveless shirts, unsuitable for such cold conditions, moved from their cars to the gym's doors at what almost amounted to a dead run. The weekend gym rat eye candy was a little more age diverse than the weekday eye candy consumed over our previous visit. Some pushed 40 with an occasional 50 something among the crowd.
Our plan, due to unfavorable climactic conditions, was to see the new Disney feature "Oz, The Great and Powerful". Returning to the house and and looking online we were assaulted with a dizzying array of viewing choices. IMAX with 3D, 3D without IMAX or viewing the movie on a regular screen,without any gadgets, baubles, bangles or beads. My personal feeling about IMAX is that when it was first introduced 40 years or so ago, it was an interesting novelty. I recall, I believe it was at Disneyland, sitting in a theatre watching an oversized view of the Grand Canyon. Today it seems it is used for virtually everything. Perhaps it is my age talking but feeling as if I could walk into an actors nostril and stroll about in his sinus cavity is just not my cup of tea. We chose the old fashioned, unadorned version, much like the movies my grandmother may have watched in her youth.
The movie is a mixed bag. James Franco's smarmy, stoner boy persona works....occasionally. Rachel Wieze is reliably brilliant and lovely, Zach Braff voices the winged monkey character of Finley nicely and director Sam Raimi wisely chooses to focus on the remarkable face of Mila Kunis, as opposed to her limited acting abilities. It has a wonderful, ambitious, almost continuous Danny Elfman penned musical score. Granted it is difficult for me to be objective about this since I have been a major fan of his since his days as frontman for Oingo Boingo. I once exchanged exactly three words with him at a champagne reception after a concert in Chicago. My "Nice show" was answered with a rather surly "Thanks". This brief, unprepossessing, verging on rude, encounter did nothing to dim my appreciation for his musical abilities, or for that matter the impressive biceps he sported in that era. The CG effects are universally excellent, some of the best I've seen and the story serves as a good prequel to the older, more familiar Judy Garland version of the story.
We returned home, had dinner....and more drinks. My personal contribution to the evening was guacamole and chips, a homage to the Southwest environs I was enjoying. We sat around the table deciding what to do next, settling on watching "Chicago"....while having yet more drinks. It is somewhat ironic that a movie which bears the title of my beloved home town was, up till then, a movie I had not seen. I had been cheating myself. The wonderful Kantor and Ebb score, Bob Fosse inspired choreography and excellent performances, John C. Reilly and Queen Latifa are particular standouts, make for a sublime viewing experience. It also brought me and my host back to the time we had seen it onstage during his days living in Chicago.
My personal prayer that evening as I went to bed was that my hangover in the morning would not be too severe. It is something I have prayed for before, with varying degrees of success.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Phoenix - Random Observations on a Friday Night
We once again whiled away the time before heading out to pick up my other host and partake of happy hour at a gay bar located, by Phoenix standards, near his office. The drinking establishment opens onto a long narrow space the bar running along one side. In the back there is a more open area with high tables surrounded by stools. There is also an outdoor area, more thinly populated that usual due to the rain, wind and cold. We quickly copped a table and placed our orders with the dimple faced, rather cute, although refreshingly not self consciously so, waiter. His tweed driving cap served to accentuate his youthful adorable quotient. The deep v of his sweatshirt revealed a thin but taut and tanned chest. My host ran into someone he knew from Scruff, a gay networking phone app. He was there with a friend of his visiting from...Chicago. As I've stated in other posts I often meet people either from, of with a connection to, Chicago when I travel.
As it was 7:00 on a Friday night we had to wait 20 minutes at the restaurant we chose for dinner, partly due to the outdoor seating area being closed on account of the climactic conditions. The rain was once again upon us, heavy and wind driven.
I sometimes enjoy observing people in situations where they are engaged in a particular activity for an extended period of time. I observe the straight boys greeting each other with fist bumps and spotting each other while working out at the gym. Mentally, sometimes almost physically, circling one another to determine who is the alpha dog. Or men in a store unsure of what they can purchase that will keep their wife's ire at bay. I create in my mind various scenarios suggested by the actions of the people surrounding me. At dinner that night across from us sat a party of 4. A younger man, extremely handsome, black baseball cap on his head, his tight gray tee shirt nicely displaying his large muscular physique, his thick arms heavily tattooed. Beside him a woman of the same age. Tiny, almost wizened, her hair caught up on top of her head in a severe tight bun. Her hands were constantly on the bodybuilder's shoulders arms or neck, almost as if protecting her territory. They both wore what appeared to be wedding rings. Across from them sat 2 older men. They appeared to be a gay couple. Who were they? What was their relationship to the 2 young people? The younger man seemed to be quite at ease with them, often flashing a disarmingly cute smile. The girl looked uncomfortable and out of her element. Were they the uncle along with his partner of the young man? Was the girl uncomfortable with gay men, hence her constant pawing of the large boy? Was this an initial meeting with these men, perhaps the boys relatives, with all the anxiety which can sometimes accompany those first encounters? Sometimes I wish I had the answers to these questions, other times it is more fun to just make stuff up.
Running through a cold, heavy rain, to the car we returned to the house and determined that, despite a hearty dinner we had been overserved. We retired early and passed a peaceful night, if you discount the massive hailstorm that passed over at 2:00 in the morning.
As it was 7:00 on a Friday night we had to wait 20 minutes at the restaurant we chose for dinner, partly due to the outdoor seating area being closed on account of the climactic conditions. The rain was once again upon us, heavy and wind driven.
I sometimes enjoy observing people in situations where they are engaged in a particular activity for an extended period of time. I observe the straight boys greeting each other with fist bumps and spotting each other while working out at the gym. Mentally, sometimes almost physically, circling one another to determine who is the alpha dog. Or men in a store unsure of what they can purchase that will keep their wife's ire at bay. I create in my mind various scenarios suggested by the actions of the people surrounding me. At dinner that night across from us sat a party of 4. A younger man, extremely handsome, black baseball cap on his head, his tight gray tee shirt nicely displaying his large muscular physique, his thick arms heavily tattooed. Beside him a woman of the same age. Tiny, almost wizened, her hair caught up on top of her head in a severe tight bun. Her hands were constantly on the bodybuilder's shoulders arms or neck, almost as if protecting her territory. They both wore what appeared to be wedding rings. Across from them sat 2 older men. They appeared to be a gay couple. Who were they? What was their relationship to the 2 young people? The younger man seemed to be quite at ease with them, often flashing a disarmingly cute smile. The girl looked uncomfortable and out of her element. Were they the uncle along with his partner of the young man? Was the girl uncomfortable with gay men, hence her constant pawing of the large boy? Was this an initial meeting with these men, perhaps the boys relatives, with all the anxiety which can sometimes accompany those first encounters? Sometimes I wish I had the answers to these questions, other times it is more fun to just make stuff up.
Running through a cold, heavy rain, to the car we returned to the house and determined that, despite a hearty dinner we had been overserved. We retired early and passed a peaceful night, if you discount the massive hailstorm that passed over at 2:00 in the morning.
Phoenix - Day 2 - Caution! Eye Candy Will Sometimes Melt in the Rain
I usually awake at 6 in the morning. This is true even on my days off as I generally have a laundry list of things I need to accomplish. Unfortunately, this also seems to hold true on vacations, unless I find myself out carousing until the wee hours of the night. It was raining, intermittently. This was forecast and expected. As the day was supposed to continue cool and wet we decided we would embark on a quest. My partner ha suggested, after her performance on the Oscars, that we needed to have a Shirley Bassey CD in our musical library. I decided that this would be a great idea for his Easter Basket this year. We engaged in some online research and came with several possibilities for places in Phoenix where we could obtain one. We also planned to go to the gym. As the majority of places seem to be located near it we decided we will shower there, as opposed to before leaving the house.
One of the convenient parts of these visits is that my hosts and I hold memberships to the same gym chain. My gym at home is rather working class in nature. It is clean and functionable but has not been remodeled or updated in a number of years. Their gym, by comparison, is modern and upscale almost to a fault. It is large, with separate rooms for cardio and weight training. The white weight machines are so new and clean that they almost gleam in the ample light. At home the gym is lit by bare florescent bulbs and modified schoolhouse fixtures. At my home gym in Chicago form decidedly follows function.
I find weight training to be an excellent form of stress relief. It is, for me, almost meditative in nature. I will also admit that, as a gay man, there is a certain prurient element to being among men in sleeveless shirts and shorts with buff bodies picking heavy things up and putting them down again. It seemed the inhabitants of the Phoenix gym on that late weekday morning were pushing 30 or pushing 70 with not alot of variants in between. There was a reasonable amount of eye candy, which, after years spent in gyms, I have learned to consume discretely. I am not certain that it was any better or worse that my gym sugar diet at home, just different, therefore novel.
Outside it was gray, cool and rainy. Showers popped up and disappeared. It was excellent weather for CD shopping as that is generally an indoor activity. A brief search was conducted at Target, essentially because it was in the same strip mall as the gym. Target, I've discovered over several visits there, has a fairly sizable CD assortment. I procured a CD titled "Etta James Greatest Hits", basically because it was $5. My host suggested that outside of "At Last", he would be hard pressed to name another song made famous by the singer and wondered what then would constitute "Greatest Hits"? We visited 2 other stores before scoring a used version of "Shirley Bassey's Greatest Hits" ( Yes,I see a pattern developing). The used CD/vinyl/book stores resembled the shops along Telegraph Avenue outside of UC Berkeley I use to peruse in my youth. They were manned by young people with a romantic vision of the 60's and early 70's, adopting the hair and fashion of that era. It was somewhat sobering to realize that they, and most probably their parents, were not yet born during my long haired, tye dyed, patched jeans teen years.
The showers came and went, then came again. By the time we returned to the house there were torrents of rain. Water poured off the eaves of the tiled roof and collected in pools in the yard. For the first time in my visits there I saw water rushing down the rock lined arroyos.
One of the convenient parts of these visits is that my hosts and I hold memberships to the same gym chain. My gym at home is rather working class in nature. It is clean and functionable but has not been remodeled or updated in a number of years. Their gym, by comparison, is modern and upscale almost to a fault. It is large, with separate rooms for cardio and weight training. The white weight machines are so new and clean that they almost gleam in the ample light. At home the gym is lit by bare florescent bulbs and modified schoolhouse fixtures. At my home gym in Chicago form decidedly follows function.
I find weight training to be an excellent form of stress relief. It is, for me, almost meditative in nature. I will also admit that, as a gay man, there is a certain prurient element to being among men in sleeveless shirts and shorts with buff bodies picking heavy things up and putting them down again. It seemed the inhabitants of the Phoenix gym on that late weekday morning were pushing 30 or pushing 70 with not alot of variants in between. There was a reasonable amount of eye candy, which, after years spent in gyms, I have learned to consume discretely. I am not certain that it was any better or worse that my gym sugar diet at home, just different, therefore novel.
Outside it was gray, cool and rainy. Showers popped up and disappeared. It was excellent weather for CD shopping as that is generally an indoor activity. A brief search was conducted at Target, essentially because it was in the same strip mall as the gym. Target, I've discovered over several visits there, has a fairly sizable CD assortment. I procured a CD titled "Etta James Greatest Hits", basically because it was $5. My host suggested that outside of "At Last", he would be hard pressed to name another song made famous by the singer and wondered what then would constitute "Greatest Hits"? We visited 2 other stores before scoring a used version of "Shirley Bassey's Greatest Hits" ( Yes,I see a pattern developing). The used CD/vinyl/book stores resembled the shops along Telegraph Avenue outside of UC Berkeley I use to peruse in my youth. They were manned by young people with a romantic vision of the 60's and early 70's, adopting the hair and fashion of that era. It was somewhat sobering to realize that they, and most probably their parents, were not yet born during my long haired, tye dyed, patched jeans teen years.
The showers came and went, then came again. By the time we returned to the house there were torrents of rain. Water poured off the eaves of the tiled roof and collected in pools in the yard. For the first time in my visits there I saw water rushing down the rock lined arroyos.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Phoenix - Day One - A Tale of Early Arrivals, Classical Music and Scotch
I found myself at O'Hare airport waiting for my flight for my annual trip to visit with my friends in Phoenix. The relationship goes back 2 decades now and I always relish the few days I get to spend with them each year.
Chicago's fabled winter arrived late this year but made up for it's tardiness with constant cold and frequent snow. Although there were never sustained periods of below zero temperatures and we never experienced a single outlandish snow storm, there was a consistency to this winter. Thermometers held fast below freezing for weeks at a time and 6 to 7 inch snowfalls appeared on an almost weekly basis. A brief respite of 70's and sun is sorely needed. This coupled with the steep learning curve of a new job leaves me yearning for this break from my day to day routine and change of scenery.
My down jacket is in my suitcase in the baggage hold, I am in my seat, my seat belt securely fastened and will soon be in the air. Ironically, our most significant snow occurred just two days earlier. 8 to 12 inches, depending on location, fell over a period of 24 hours. The roofs and yards of the houses lining the sinuous streets of the suburban subdivisions are covered in a winter mantle of white. In the forest preserves clustered around O'Hare the flat white blanket is broken by the irregular brown shapes of bare trees. Soon clouds are beneath me obscuring the landscape. In a little over 3 hours I will find myself in a topography of sand, cactus, mountains and the austere beauty of the Arizona desert.
I wake up from an unexpectedly deep nap and find the clouds no longer block my view. Below me are red rock canyons topped by a layer of pale yellow, the color of a cantaloupe shell. It is an amazing perspective. It tells the story of the ages spent building the earth up and then the ages spent by rivers and wind creating the deep crevices, revealing the striated colors. High snow covered peaks appear, late season ski meccas. Newer, yellow canyons begin to mix with the red in the pale brown desert beyond the snowy mountains. The plane begins to descend over Phoenix. It is low slung and spreads out for miles.
The pilot comes over the PA system. "Sometimes you get lucky" he announces "We have arrived early!" 25 minutes early to be exact. This is only lucky if the person you are expecting to pick you up is not still on the road as you are getting off the plane. I call and find my "wheels" are, indeed, 15 to 20 minutes away. The online info he looked up says that I am several thousand feet over New Mexico. I assure him that is false and I am on the ground in Arizona. By the time I get my bag we are mere minutes apart and all ends well as I chuck my bag into the trunk. We depart for lunch at on outdoor restaurant, a rare treat in March for a winter challenged Midwesterner like myself. We while away a couple of hours before leaving to pick up my other host at work en route to the symphony that night.
The guest conductor that evening is a small, highly animated Asian woman. Not only is she highly skilled she was a joy to watch. Her delight in music and her work was evident in every move. The main piece that evening was a work for cello involving a guest musician who, were it not for the mastery of his instrument, would verge on pretentious. He seemed to be infatuated with flinging his slightly shaggy hair about as he performed. During this piece the orchestra is essentially background to the cello. The conductor was extremely adept at maintaining them at the proper level of both volume and energy level, not an easy feat.
Prior to the symphony we stopped at a bar down the street from the hall. One of my hosts has been on a year long exploration of scotches, whiskies and bourbons. This bar vends a number of different varieties, some of them rather exotic. It's previous incarnation as a men's clothing store is evidenced by it's showcase windows and the signs still hanging on the wall noting the men's clothing designers formerly carried there. In the basement, within a wire mesh enclosure, is a homage to Di Vinci's "Last Supper" recreated using a collection of, mostly female, children's dolls. It is an imaginative and witty installation.
Upon returning to their home I sampled a white whiskey, a brew unbeknowst to me up until that point. It tasted like whisky, although seemed somewhat lighter. It was a pleasant night cap to my day.
Chicago's fabled winter arrived late this year but made up for it's tardiness with constant cold and frequent snow. Although there were never sustained periods of below zero temperatures and we never experienced a single outlandish snow storm, there was a consistency to this winter. Thermometers held fast below freezing for weeks at a time and 6 to 7 inch snowfalls appeared on an almost weekly basis. A brief respite of 70's and sun is sorely needed. This coupled with the steep learning curve of a new job leaves me yearning for this break from my day to day routine and change of scenery.
My down jacket is in my suitcase in the baggage hold, I am in my seat, my seat belt securely fastened and will soon be in the air. Ironically, our most significant snow occurred just two days earlier. 8 to 12 inches, depending on location, fell over a period of 24 hours. The roofs and yards of the houses lining the sinuous streets of the suburban subdivisions are covered in a winter mantle of white. In the forest preserves clustered around O'Hare the flat white blanket is broken by the irregular brown shapes of bare trees. Soon clouds are beneath me obscuring the landscape. In a little over 3 hours I will find myself in a topography of sand, cactus, mountains and the austere beauty of the Arizona desert.
I wake up from an unexpectedly deep nap and find the clouds no longer block my view. Below me are red rock canyons topped by a layer of pale yellow, the color of a cantaloupe shell. It is an amazing perspective. It tells the story of the ages spent building the earth up and then the ages spent by rivers and wind creating the deep crevices, revealing the striated colors. High snow covered peaks appear, late season ski meccas. Newer, yellow canyons begin to mix with the red in the pale brown desert beyond the snowy mountains. The plane begins to descend over Phoenix. It is low slung and spreads out for miles.
The pilot comes over the PA system. "Sometimes you get lucky" he announces "We have arrived early!" 25 minutes early to be exact. This is only lucky if the person you are expecting to pick you up is not still on the road as you are getting off the plane. I call and find my "wheels" are, indeed, 15 to 20 minutes away. The online info he looked up says that I am several thousand feet over New Mexico. I assure him that is false and I am on the ground in Arizona. By the time I get my bag we are mere minutes apart and all ends well as I chuck my bag into the trunk. We depart for lunch at on outdoor restaurant, a rare treat in March for a winter challenged Midwesterner like myself. We while away a couple of hours before leaving to pick up my other host at work en route to the symphony that night.
The guest conductor that evening is a small, highly animated Asian woman. Not only is she highly skilled she was a joy to watch. Her delight in music and her work was evident in every move. The main piece that evening was a work for cello involving a guest musician who, were it not for the mastery of his instrument, would verge on pretentious. He seemed to be infatuated with flinging his slightly shaggy hair about as he performed. During this piece the orchestra is essentially background to the cello. The conductor was extremely adept at maintaining them at the proper level of both volume and energy level, not an easy feat.
Prior to the symphony we stopped at a bar down the street from the hall. One of my hosts has been on a year long exploration of scotches, whiskies and bourbons. This bar vends a number of different varieties, some of them rather exotic. It's previous incarnation as a men's clothing store is evidenced by it's showcase windows and the signs still hanging on the wall noting the men's clothing designers formerly carried there. In the basement, within a wire mesh enclosure, is a homage to Di Vinci's "Last Supper" recreated using a collection of, mostly female, children's dolls. It is an imaginative and witty installation.
Upon returning to their home I sampled a white whiskey, a brew unbeknowst to me up until that point. It tasted like whisky, although seemed somewhat lighter. It was a pleasant night cap to my day.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
The Easter Bunny - Random Thoughts
Much of the magic of Easter, for young children, centers around Easter Baskets, The Easter Bunny and the eggs and treats he hides. Adults inhabit a different world. For the religious there is the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus, a concept difficult for the 6 year old mind to wrap around. For parents there is the pride associated with dressing their offspring in fancy new clothes, which young children invariably find uncomfortable. These children are then taken to church were they tug at their collars and yearn for the guy in the pulpit to stop talking so they can get back home and hunt out those chocolate rabbits and creme filled eggs hidden around the back yard.
At our house the Easter Bunny arrived as soon as re returned from church service We were herded into our parents bedroom at the front of the house while he went about his business in the yard.
We were then released to scamper about sniffing out the eggs and treats hidden among the shrubs and rosebushes. We could always rely on something being placed at the base of the concrete birdbath.
Waiting in my parents room always gave me time to ponder, even at 6 I had a tendency to over analyze things, how did the rabbit know the precise time we got home from church? Also, he went to the next door neighbors house in the morning and ours in the afternoon, a routine that seemed inefficient at best.
When my nephew was young he come to the conclusion that the Easter Bunny was a man in a bunny suit. My brother explained that he was a magic bunny, not a man in a bunny suit. My nephew insisted that his bunny suit theory was correct. They struck a deal. They would leave out both an apple and cookies. If the apple was eaten they would know the Easter Bunny was a bunny, if he ate the cookies my brother would concede that it was a man in a bunny suit.
It's a good thing my brother likes apples!
Happy Easter
Happy Spring Fertility Festival
Happy Passover
Let's see have I left anyone out........
At our house the Easter Bunny arrived as soon as re returned from church service We were herded into our parents bedroom at the front of the house while he went about his business in the yard.
We were then released to scamper about sniffing out the eggs and treats hidden among the shrubs and rosebushes. We could always rely on something being placed at the base of the concrete birdbath.
Waiting in my parents room always gave me time to ponder, even at 6 I had a tendency to over analyze things, how did the rabbit know the precise time we got home from church? Also, he went to the next door neighbors house in the morning and ours in the afternoon, a routine that seemed inefficient at best.
When my nephew was young he come to the conclusion that the Easter Bunny was a man in a bunny suit. My brother explained that he was a magic bunny, not a man in a bunny suit. My nephew insisted that his bunny suit theory was correct. They struck a deal. They would leave out both an apple and cookies. If the apple was eaten they would know the Easter Bunny was a bunny, if he ate the cookies my brother would concede that it was a man in a bunny suit.
It's a good thing my brother likes apples!
Happy Easter
Happy Spring Fertility Festival
Happy Passover
Let's see have I left anyone out........
Friday, March 22, 2013
Art That Follows Me Around or I think Van Gogh is Stalking Me!
My parents made sure that I developed an appreciation for art from an early age. I have a childhood memory of going to an L.A. museum with my parents, who were, at the time, taking an art appreciation course. As we looked at the works on display they imported to me an my siblings the insights and information they had received. Gainsborough's "Blue Boy" and Thomas Lawrence's "Pinkie" were always a highlight of our trips to the Huntington Library during my young years in L.A. A visit with my parents during my early teen years to a retrospect of the work of Claus Oldenburg introduced me to the wonderful and imaginative work of this most original artist. The spare, angular interior of the museum on the U.C. Berkeley campus provided an excellent setting for his outsized world view. Visits to museums across the U.S. and Europe were always integral parts of our family vacations.
I live in an art rich city. Our public art plus museum collections contain an almost embarrassment of opportunities to see and appreciate works buy many of the world's greatest masters. This is augmented by special exhibitions providing me with the opportunity to appreciate an even wider range of works. Taking a cue from my parents, I make it a point when I travel to seek out the museums of the cities I visit. This has resulted in my often encountering the same work in different settings.
I have had the privilege, and good fortune, to view Van Gogh's "A Starry Night" 3 separate times in three different venues. It's permanent home is New York's Museum of Modern Art. During my first visit to New York the museum was closed due to the herculean task of dismantling a major Picasso retrospect. Upon my second day of wandering the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, an art institution so vast that it takes at least two days to fully appreciate, I discovered, on an upper floor in a distant corner, the European Collection of the Modern Art museum. It had been loaned to the Metropolitan during the Picasso show. It was there I encountered the famous Van Gogh piece for the first time. It is a piece of incredible power. The madness and emotions of the tortured artist seem to emanate from the canvas and bombard the viewer. You can feel the inner demons he attempted to exorcise in his work in the swirling brushstrokes of the night sky encircling the stars. It left me simultaneously breathless and exhilarated. On another visit to New York, some years later I was able to see it at it's home, along with the rest of the works I had seen on that earlier visit at the Metropolitan. I experienced the same deep emotional response as I had the first time I saw it.
A special exhibition was mounted in Chicago centering on the summer Van Gogh and Gauguin shared a home and studio. My ex-roommate had come for a short visit over the holidays. Attending this exhibition was to be our major activity during his time here. We moved through the crowded galleries commenting to each other about the works on view. I suddenly saw, over the heads of the crowd the top portion of "A Starry Night". I watched my ex-roommates reaction as he viewed it for the first time and fondly recalled my initial encounter with the remarkable work. This same exhibition was touring Italy when we were there. Of course we did not take time out of our all too brief visit to see it again, we had the collections of the Vatican and Michelangelo's "David" to sate our artistic thirst.
Also on that first visit to New York the Whitney presented a retrospect of the work of the great American realist Edward Hopper. My time was too limited to attend this, however, several months later the show moved to San Francisco, my home at the time. It was there I saw for the first time "Nighthawks". The paining is odd and ambiguous, almost eerie. Despite it's hyper-realism, the figures depicted seem to inhabit a realm that is almost surreal. The attention to details such as the interiors of the shops along the street draw the viewer into this world. It's permanent home is Chicago's Art Institute, which is where I encountered it next. Having the opportunity to see it a number of times since I never tire of it. At one point another retrospect of Hopper's work was touring. "Nighthawks" was loaned as a centerpiece of the show. It's place at the Art Institute was left blank. A small card with a black and white photo of the painting explained it's absence. Finally, along with the rest of the retrospective, it returned. As I stood before it I smiled. Although I was glad others were able to experience it as I had, it felt like I was welcoming an old friend back after a long time away.
While in the Impressionist portrait gallery of the St Louis Museum of Art I came upon a Gauguin which had been part of the exhibit with Van Gogh. In the center of the room a sculpture by Degas had been in an exhibit I had seen in Milwaukee. The Art Institute mounted an exhibition of Jasper John's works entitled "Shades of Gray". While visiting the Nevelson Museum in Houston two of the pieces I had seen in that show hung side by side in one of the galleries there.....I could go on.......
I find that as I experience works of art in different settings, juxtaposed against different works, I gain a different perspective. I see things in the works I may not have seen before or gain a greater understanding of a pieces place in an artist's timeline.
Art, you are free to follow me around. In fact, I encourage you to do so.
I live in an art rich city. Our public art plus museum collections contain an almost embarrassment of opportunities to see and appreciate works buy many of the world's greatest masters. This is augmented by special exhibitions providing me with the opportunity to appreciate an even wider range of works. Taking a cue from my parents, I make it a point when I travel to seek out the museums of the cities I visit. This has resulted in my often encountering the same work in different settings.
I have had the privilege, and good fortune, to view Van Gogh's "A Starry Night" 3 separate times in three different venues. It's permanent home is New York's Museum of Modern Art. During my first visit to New York the museum was closed due to the herculean task of dismantling a major Picasso retrospect. Upon my second day of wandering the galleries of the Metropolitan Museum, an art institution so vast that it takes at least two days to fully appreciate, I discovered, on an upper floor in a distant corner, the European Collection of the Modern Art museum. It had been loaned to the Metropolitan during the Picasso show. It was there I encountered the famous Van Gogh piece for the first time. It is a piece of incredible power. The madness and emotions of the tortured artist seem to emanate from the canvas and bombard the viewer. You can feel the inner demons he attempted to exorcise in his work in the swirling brushstrokes of the night sky encircling the stars. It left me simultaneously breathless and exhilarated. On another visit to New York, some years later I was able to see it at it's home, along with the rest of the works I had seen on that earlier visit at the Metropolitan. I experienced the same deep emotional response as I had the first time I saw it.
A special exhibition was mounted in Chicago centering on the summer Van Gogh and Gauguin shared a home and studio. My ex-roommate had come for a short visit over the holidays. Attending this exhibition was to be our major activity during his time here. We moved through the crowded galleries commenting to each other about the works on view. I suddenly saw, over the heads of the crowd the top portion of "A Starry Night". I watched my ex-roommates reaction as he viewed it for the first time and fondly recalled my initial encounter with the remarkable work. This same exhibition was touring Italy when we were there. Of course we did not take time out of our all too brief visit to see it again, we had the collections of the Vatican and Michelangelo's "David" to sate our artistic thirst.
Also on that first visit to New York the Whitney presented a retrospect of the work of the great American realist Edward Hopper. My time was too limited to attend this, however, several months later the show moved to San Francisco, my home at the time. It was there I saw for the first time "Nighthawks". The paining is odd and ambiguous, almost eerie. Despite it's hyper-realism, the figures depicted seem to inhabit a realm that is almost surreal. The attention to details such as the interiors of the shops along the street draw the viewer into this world. It's permanent home is Chicago's Art Institute, which is where I encountered it next. Having the opportunity to see it a number of times since I never tire of it. At one point another retrospect of Hopper's work was touring. "Nighthawks" was loaned as a centerpiece of the show. It's place at the Art Institute was left blank. A small card with a black and white photo of the painting explained it's absence. Finally, along with the rest of the retrospective, it returned. As I stood before it I smiled. Although I was glad others were able to experience it as I had, it felt like I was welcoming an old friend back after a long time away.
While in the Impressionist portrait gallery of the St Louis Museum of Art I came upon a Gauguin which had been part of the exhibit with Van Gogh. In the center of the room a sculpture by Degas had been in an exhibit I had seen in Milwaukee. The Art Institute mounted an exhibition of Jasper John's works entitled "Shades of Gray". While visiting the Nevelson Museum in Houston two of the pieces I had seen in that show hung side by side in one of the galleries there.....I could go on.......
I find that as I experience works of art in different settings, juxtaposed against different works, I gain a different perspective. I see things in the works I may not have seen before or gain a greater understanding of a pieces place in an artist's timeline.
Art, you are free to follow me around. In fact, I encourage you to do so.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Civil Unions - It's Just Business
For the first time in my working life I have a job that will allow me to add my partner to my health insurance. This will save us several thousand dollars a year. In order to make certain that we were partners and not just two random people trying to scam the system, specific documentation of the relationship was necessary. In states where same sex relationships are not recognized I would have simply requested a form from my employer, filled it out and returned it. In states where same sex unions are recognized, i.e. Illinois, we had to go through the steps necessary to obtain the state's official recognition.
On a day we both had off we went downtown to the County Building to apply for Domestic Partner status. After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of dual ownership of our condo we were going to pay a fee, sign some papers and have the state of Illinois rubberstamp our foreheads officially certifying us as a committed couple...or so we thought. Upon arriving at the County Building we were informed that since Illinois was so progressive that it now recognize Civil Unions the Domestic Partnership designation was no longer available. Our only option was a Civil Union. The fees involved with a Civil Union, while fairly modest, are twice those associated with a Domestic Partnership. Furthermore, where the Domestic Partnership would have taken 90 minutes or so, the Civil Union requires two visits over two separate days. The first to obtain a license (what are we dogs?), the second to go before a judge and have him rubberstamp our foreheads certifying us, after 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of condo co-ownership, as a couple in the eyes of the law. While processing all this information I was simultaneously holding an inner conversation with myself which went something like "I'm just trying to same a few bucks! Why is this getting so complicated!"
After getting the license it was a couple of weeks before we could arrange a common day off to go to the courthouse. During this fortnight I found myself explaining to everyone who was working themselves into a tizzy over our upcoming "Ceremony", "We're just doing it to save money for christ's sake. We've been together 16 years! If it was important to me on a personal level don't you think I would have taken care of it before now? No veils, no flowers, no gowns, no tuxes! I intend to wear jeans and a sweatshirt!"
The day arrived and we got on the El to go downtown. This is what we encountered next. The area where the ceremony is performed is in the basement of the Courthouse. We enter a room with badly stained carpet and several rows of stackable chairs decorated with equally stained framed prints on the walls. Plastic plants and a large furnace completed the decor. It resembled the waiting room of a Greyhound bus station. Behind the desk sat a silver haired woman who seemed to be waiting until she completed enough years in the state's service to collect her pension.
Shortly we were ushered into the Judge's chambers. Picture a poorly furnished windowless room featuring the kind of fake wood paneling found in the finest of trailer homes. Faded U.S. and State of Illinois flags completed the decor. The Judge was a tall balding man shaking from the effects of acute alchoholism. You could almost feel the romance in the air.
The Judge read our "vows", his words resounding with the passion and conviction one would expect to hear from someone reading a phone book. The entire process clocked in at approximately 5 minutes. Upon leaving my partner suggested that if we had exchanged rings the ceremony might have dragged on for a quarter of an hour. We then had lunch utilizing a gift card given to us the previous Christmas...this was November...we don't eat out much.
After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of owning property together the State has now declared our relationship valid within the borders of Illinois. If we should decide to venture into the neighboring States of Indiana or Missouri all bets are off....in Iowa we're good.....
On a day we both had off we went downtown to the County Building to apply for Domestic Partner status. After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of dual ownership of our condo we were going to pay a fee, sign some papers and have the state of Illinois rubberstamp our foreheads officially certifying us as a committed couple...or so we thought. Upon arriving at the County Building we were informed that since Illinois was so progressive that it now recognize Civil Unions the Domestic Partnership designation was no longer available. Our only option was a Civil Union. The fees involved with a Civil Union, while fairly modest, are twice those associated with a Domestic Partnership. Furthermore, where the Domestic Partnership would have taken 90 minutes or so, the Civil Union requires two visits over two separate days. The first to obtain a license (what are we dogs?), the second to go before a judge and have him rubberstamp our foreheads certifying us, after 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of condo co-ownership, as a couple in the eyes of the law. While processing all this information I was simultaneously holding an inner conversation with myself which went something like "I'm just trying to same a few bucks! Why is this getting so complicated!"
After getting the license it was a couple of weeks before we could arrange a common day off to go to the courthouse. During this fortnight I found myself explaining to everyone who was working themselves into a tizzy over our upcoming "Ceremony", "We're just doing it to save money for christ's sake. We've been together 16 years! If it was important to me on a personal level don't you think I would have taken care of it before now? No veils, no flowers, no gowns, no tuxes! I intend to wear jeans and a sweatshirt!"
The day arrived and we got on the El to go downtown. This is what we encountered next. The area where the ceremony is performed is in the basement of the Courthouse. We enter a room with badly stained carpet and several rows of stackable chairs decorated with equally stained framed prints on the walls. Plastic plants and a large furnace completed the decor. It resembled the waiting room of a Greyhound bus station. Behind the desk sat a silver haired woman who seemed to be waiting until she completed enough years in the state's service to collect her pension.
Shortly we were ushered into the Judge's chambers. Picture a poorly furnished windowless room featuring the kind of fake wood paneling found in the finest of trailer homes. Faded U.S. and State of Illinois flags completed the decor. The Judge was a tall balding man shaking from the effects of acute alchoholism. You could almost feel the romance in the air.
The Judge read our "vows", his words resounding with the passion and conviction one would expect to hear from someone reading a phone book. The entire process clocked in at approximately 5 minutes. Upon leaving my partner suggested that if we had exchanged rings the ceremony might have dragged on for a quarter of an hour. We then had lunch utilizing a gift card given to us the previous Christmas...this was November...we don't eat out much.
After 16 years of cohabitation and 6 years of owning property together the State has now declared our relationship valid within the borders of Illinois. If we should decide to venture into the neighboring States of Indiana or Missouri all bets are off....in Iowa we're good.....
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