"All those people, all those lives, where are they now?"
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It's been a mixed week: a former neighbor died, a friend lost her job, a date got cancelled by a meeting, my carpal issues are being a literal pain, my to-do list remains very much a not-near-done list, and I keep getting delayed by malfunctioning machinery (phones, gas station pumps, emissions testing stations... if it weren't for work, I'd seriously consider hiding away for the weekend with a fistful of pencils and a pad of paper).
That said, it is also a sunny day; I have made some progress in decluttering the hovel, my laptop, and my phone; I am wearing a cute dress, awesome earrings, and fun perfume ("Caliban" turns out to be light and breezy...); and I stopped by the Frist Center, it being a free admission day. (Alert to Nashville-area folks: this coming Monday (MLK Day) is also another free day.)
I stood outside for a while watching the George Rickey sculpture. The wind was chilly (38 F) but not unpleasant, the sky was the bright blue of high noon, and the sculpture's arms were like elegant, dancing shears...
This may be my favorite self-portrait of all time.
Inside, there was a troop of adorable tykes leaving the Société Anonyme exhibit right as I went in. I'm partial to Cubist work to begin with, and what's nifty about seeing the art in person is being able to notice details such as textures and frames that don't pop out when one looks at the pieces in a book (for instance, several of the pieces have borders of stiff white eyelet lace. It's weird -- maybe the catalog will have an explanation...).
There was a tour in progress as I wandered around; one of the women in the group remarked, "It's so interesting seeing these people we don't know because it shows that the people we do know weren't working in a void." The guestbook was a fascinating mess -- it looked like quite a few children had simply scrawl-doodled in it while unsupervised, and some adults as well:
The artist's name is something like Petra Trains? I scribbled down the URL, but it didn't work...
I'm not sure if the chess sets in the hall are permanent or a temporary tribute to Duchamp.
Upstairs, the outside wall of the ArtQuest center displayed framed cubist-inspired collages by kids (mostly under 10, but with at least one 20-year-old's piece as well); the Aaron Douglas exhibit is excellent. Douglas was a part of the Harlem Renaissance; the first room of the exhibit displays illustrations he created for Langston Hughes. The second room is devoted to book jackets and illustrations, and the other rooms feature paintings and prints (including one light-sensitive enough that the viewer must lift a curtain to view it). Back downstairs, there is a hallway with the work of Douglas's students, in a wide array of styles; the one that captured my attention the longest was Nina Lovelace's pencil-and-marker piece ("Untitled," 1986), which shows a face in profile and long waves of (primarily) blues and golds streaming from it, with words undulating along some of the waves. (She's apparently a local professor, so perhaps I'll come across more of her work sooner rather than later...)
On a tangentially related note, today I also received a note from Oxford University Press -- they expect to start shipping copies of the African American National Biography "in the next week or so." I wrote the entries on Frederick Cullen, Rose Leary Love, and Gertrude Rush; it's nice to see the project ready to reach library shelves.
[Today's subject line is from the Smiths' "Cemetery Gates": "A dreaded sunny day / So let's go where we're happy..." Last night I happened to dream of college, where I played this song a lot...]
That said, it is also a sunny day; I have made some progress in decluttering the hovel, my laptop, and my phone; I am wearing a cute dress, awesome earrings, and fun perfume ("Caliban" turns out to be light and breezy...); and I stopped by the Frist Center, it being a free admission day. (Alert to Nashville-area folks: this coming Monday (MLK Day) is also another free day.)
I stood outside for a while watching the George Rickey sculpture. The wind was chilly (38 F) but not unpleasant, the sky was the bright blue of high noon, and the sculpture's arms were like elegant, dancing shears...
 |
This may be my favorite self-portrait of all time.
Inside, there was a troop of adorable tykes leaving the Société Anonyme exhibit right as I went in. I'm partial to Cubist work to begin with, and what's nifty about seeing the art in person is being able to notice details such as textures and frames that don't pop out when one looks at the pieces in a book (for instance, several of the pieces have borders of stiff white eyelet lace. It's weird -- maybe the catalog will have an explanation...).
There was a tour in progress as I wandered around; one of the women in the group remarked, "It's so interesting seeing these people we don't know because it shows that the people we do know weren't working in a void." The guestbook was a fascinating mess -- it looked like quite a few children had simply scrawl-doodled in it while unsupervised, and some adults as well:
 |
The artist's name is something like Petra Trains? I scribbled down the URL, but it didn't work...
I'm not sure if the chess sets in the hall are permanent or a temporary tribute to Duchamp.
Upstairs, the outside wall of the ArtQuest center displayed framed cubist-inspired collages by kids (mostly under 10, but with at least one 20-year-old's piece as well); the Aaron Douglas exhibit is excellent. Douglas was a part of the Harlem Renaissance; the first room of the exhibit displays illustrations he created for Langston Hughes. The second room is devoted to book jackets and illustrations, and the other rooms feature paintings and prints (including one light-sensitive enough that the viewer must lift a curtain to view it). Back downstairs, there is a hallway with the work of Douglas's students, in a wide array of styles; the one that captured my attention the longest was Nina Lovelace's pencil-and-marker piece ("Untitled," 1986), which shows a face in profile and long waves of (primarily) blues and golds streaming from it, with words undulating along some of the waves. (She's apparently a local professor, so perhaps I'll come across more of her work sooner rather than later...)
On a tangentially related note, today I also received a note from Oxford University Press -- they expect to start shipping copies of the African American National Biography "in the next week or so." I wrote the entries on Frederick Cullen, Rose Leary Love, and Gertrude Rush; it's nice to see the project ready to reach library shelves.
[Today's subject line is from the Smiths' "Cemetery Gates": "A dreaded sunny day / So let's go where we're happy..." Last night I happened to dream of college, where I played this song a lot...]
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