Margotlog: Nature to Advantage Dressed: Four McKnight Artists
Sometimes in early morning, lines from long-ago read poems crop up--plants grow most at night! Now, it's Alexander Pope, with his dressed advantage. "True wit is nature to advantage dressed./ What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed." Essay on Criticism, 1711. I've always loved the regular "periods" of the neoclassical style.
Today, I'd say the true nature is stretched to its max. Viz: the four McKnight visual artists whose works are "displayed" at MCAD gallery, Minneapolis. One, an environmental artist, Christine Baeumler, who's created a mini green roof atop the entrance portico. A bog brought to the city with tamarack trees, spangum moss, etc. Another what I'd call a performance artist, Marcus Young, is using the exhibit as a venue to declutter his home and in his words "find love." I know Marcus as the face of St. Paul's Public Arts program, inspiration of "Poetry in the Sidewalks," and other interactive events, such as his "slow walks" and this means truly truly slow slow slow. As well as the Earth Day events on Harriet Island which have included drifty art in the sky.
The other two McKnight artists fill the familiar notion of art by making objects: Liz Miller's inverted "calliope" (my word) of cut-out, repetitive, floor-to-ceiling, black/red/silver/white/gold "flounces" (again my word), and Elizabeth Simonson's lovely lengths of beaded patterns based on what she calls "sacred geometry."
Could these artists be more diverse? Of course. There's nothing here that's inspired by obviously cultural/racial/linguistic experience. We in the Twin Cities like to pride ourselves on our inclusiveness, but in my experience, homegrown art that crosses racial and cultural lines is segregated to certain groups--such as the theater company Penumbra's astonishingly rich productions, recently of James Baldwin's the "Amen Corner," truly one of the finest performances of the year.
Yet, Marcus is Chinese--born in China, though raised close to here: Des Moines. Some of the objects he's trying to declutter at the MCAD gallery some from China (he held up two packs of gum purchased in China which he's put on sale).
Sitting in the MCAD gallery yesterday and listening to these artists, and studying Liz Miller's truly huge calliope (or is it an inverted hoop skirt), I was struck by how little connection their works have to each other. All are witty in Pope's sense of the word: The artists have thought about their practice, and somewhat about their works' effect on the audience but except for Christine, they have little spoken awareness of their antecedents. True, the questions did not have a comparative or historical bent. But my sense was of four spirits floating each in their own richly fashioned essential liquid, while we, the outsiders, watch and wonder and puzzle about what it all means.
Marcus Young calls his "behavioral art," and at the opening Friday night, I saw this in motion. Since I know Marcus through my daughter--they went to Carleton together--it was easy to probe a small framed piece of paper with a message in pencil: "Marcus Young keep on walking." As we asked Marcus about the paper, he told a story about leaving an art event and finding the paper back stage (if I'm remembering correctly). Startled because he hadn't written this himself, he took the paper away with him, and now could relate the little story to us. This I like. Performance art as a momentary, rather intimate conversation, about a momentary, surprising piece of life. It sticks in the mind, especially when narrated by a tall, Chinese man wearing a black furry top and aviator glasses, with his hair in one of those "do's" I've noted recently: standing up like a bird's crest.
"True nature to advantage dressed"--that was the three of us, talking, smiling, deciding that life and art indeed are full of amazing little coincidences.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Margotlog: Two Gents and their Ladies, in Verona and Otherwise
Margotlog; Two Gents and their Ladies, in Verona and Otherwise
When Shakespeare set his play about male bonding and verbal horseplay in Verona, he may have tipped his hat at a feature of Roman comedy--the sparring of slaves/servants as they outwit their masters. Verona was a Roman city as its beautifully preserved "coliseum" attests. On the other hand, the verbal horseplay in the first "half" of The Two Gentlemen of Verona (1590-91) may have been based on various Renaissance predecessors, such as the amusingly titled The Blok named the Governour (Thomas Elyot, 1513).
As we listened to the verbal sparring--word play, one-up-man'ship to the max--I began to doze. But with a smirk on my face. How often have I sat on the sidelines or listened from upstairs while my husband, wordplayer to the max, dueled it out with buddies in the living room. Women can be witty--for instance Dorothy Parker, or our recently departed Nora Ephron. But for casual parsing and parrying with puns and innuendos, men have a relish that most woman eschew. Shakespeare put his finger on it when he titled a play The Taming of the Shrew. Women enter the verbal fray only at the peril of being hoisted across a masculine back and carried off stage.
Or being traded in an excess of male fraternity: Viz, Valentine's line to his Verona pal Proteus, "And that my love may appear plain and free,/ All that was mine in Silvia I give thee."
This problematic line has kept scholars scratching their heads for centuries. Too overt, probably, yet within the first half of the play, perfectly fitting given the madcap love these two gents display for each other. "Whatever is mine, is thine"--that sort of thing.
Yet, there is the continuance of the race to consider. Or even more compelling, the winning of adult responsibility and power. When do the boys give up the wordy horseplay and attain the dignity of adults? This is exactly the question that Shakespeare poses in this play. I can almost see the wheels turning: What kind of theatrical machinations can body forth a psychological shift from team playboy, to moral, responsible adult?
Turns out enacting this transformation creates far more drama than the endlessly fascinating (to the participants) repartee of the first half. First, Shakespeare detaches each gent from home and sets him traveling toward the big city of Milan. Once there, Proteus takes Valentine's proposition seriously: he falls in love with his friend's intended: Sylvia. She will have none of it. Meanwhile, Valentine is abducted by a band of thieves and cut-throats. Using his wit to preserve his life, he becomes one of them and they set out to steal Sylvia from her father who's tying to marry her off to a dork.
In the meantime, Proteus's discarded love Julia disguises herself as a young man and thus enters Milan, hoping to get her lover back. In the ensuing mix-and-match, steal-and-suffer shenanigans, Proteus gets a few kicks and slaps, Valentine humanizes his thugs toward civility, and the two ladies eventually nudge their lovers into something like union.
The message seems to be that in the hard knocks and rough paths of real life, these word-whacked gents must diverge. They must learn what they can and cannot do. Their boyish crushes must be tested, and because this is comedy, their women must eventually woo/surprise/embarrass them into true and lasting love.
It's charming, amusing, entertaining.
Coda: Few theaters within a comfortable drive of the Twin Cities, including the grand and glorious Guthrie, do Shakespeare better than The Great River company. The theater on the campus of Winona State University is smallish, the actors close. Never once have I felt that costuming or sets distracted from speaking lines intelligibly. Acting follows suit. Magic occurs. It's worth the drive, plus you get to cross and recross the river, stopping on the Wisconsin side at Stockholm for small-town charm and treats, then recrossing the river at Wabasha to admire the bluffs. A great river, indeed. We call it the Mississippi.
When Shakespeare set his play about male bonding and verbal horseplay in Verona, he may have tipped his hat at a feature of Roman comedy--the sparring of slaves/servants as they outwit their masters. Verona was a Roman city as its beautifully preserved "coliseum" attests. On the other hand, the verbal horseplay in the first "half" of The Two Gentlemen of Verona (1590-91) may have been based on various Renaissance predecessors, such as the amusingly titled The Blok named the Governour (Thomas Elyot, 1513).
As we listened to the verbal sparring--word play, one-up-man'ship to the max--I began to doze. But with a smirk on my face. How often have I sat on the sidelines or listened from upstairs while my husband, wordplayer to the max, dueled it out with buddies in the living room. Women can be witty--for instance Dorothy Parker, or our recently departed Nora Ephron. But for casual parsing and parrying with puns and innuendos, men have a relish that most woman eschew. Shakespeare put his finger on it when he titled a play The Taming of the Shrew. Women enter the verbal fray only at the peril of being hoisted across a masculine back and carried off stage.
Or being traded in an excess of male fraternity: Viz, Valentine's line to his Verona pal Proteus, "And that my love may appear plain and free,/ All that was mine in Silvia I give thee."
This problematic line has kept scholars scratching their heads for centuries. Too overt, probably, yet within the first half of the play, perfectly fitting given the madcap love these two gents display for each other. "Whatever is mine, is thine"--that sort of thing.
Yet, there is the continuance of the race to consider. Or even more compelling, the winning of adult responsibility and power. When do the boys give up the wordy horseplay and attain the dignity of adults? This is exactly the question that Shakespeare poses in this play. I can almost see the wheels turning: What kind of theatrical machinations can body forth a psychological shift from team playboy, to moral, responsible adult?
Turns out enacting this transformation creates far more drama than the endlessly fascinating (to the participants) repartee of the first half. First, Shakespeare detaches each gent from home and sets him traveling toward the big city of Milan. Once there, Proteus takes Valentine's proposition seriously: he falls in love with his friend's intended: Sylvia. She will have none of it. Meanwhile, Valentine is abducted by a band of thieves and cut-throats. Using his wit to preserve his life, he becomes one of them and they set out to steal Sylvia from her father who's tying to marry her off to a dork.
In the meantime, Proteus's discarded love Julia disguises herself as a young man and thus enters Milan, hoping to get her lover back. In the ensuing mix-and-match, steal-and-suffer shenanigans, Proteus gets a few kicks and slaps, Valentine humanizes his thugs toward civility, and the two ladies eventually nudge their lovers into something like union.
The message seems to be that in the hard knocks and rough paths of real life, these word-whacked gents must diverge. They must learn what they can and cannot do. Their boyish crushes must be tested, and because this is comedy, their women must eventually woo/surprise/embarrass them into true and lasting love.
It's charming, amusing, entertaining.
Coda: Few theaters within a comfortable drive of the Twin Cities, including the grand and glorious Guthrie, do Shakespeare better than The Great River company. The theater on the campus of Winona State University is smallish, the actors close. Never once have I felt that costuming or sets distracted from speaking lines intelligibly. Acting follows suit. Magic occurs. It's worth the drive, plus you get to cross and recross the river, stopping on the Wisconsin side at Stockholm for small-town charm and treats, then recrossing the river at Wabasha to admire the bluffs. A great river, indeed. We call it the Mississippi.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Margotlog: The Rockies Red Glare or the Adelie Penguin
Margotlog: The Rockies Red Glare or the Adelie Penguin
What do we care? Muscling tight corners in our SUVs. Legislators gleefully firing climate scientists at state college. Playing with our hand-helds while the Rockies go up in flames.
We're hanging by a thread. Just imagine it. Thumbing our noses at those geeks while we spin and spin, plastic water bottles spraying from our hands as we glide through the air with the greatest of ease.
I'm cool. How bout you?
The Rockies red glare...
Sure, I know someone but they're halfway across the country...not in my backyard...
I'm cool, I sent my contribution to Greenpeace, World Wildlife, Care Care Care...
***
Match-Mismatch - species falling out of sync with their environment
Ice-loving birds, the Adelie Penguin. What's there not to love--black and white penguin suits, Fred Astaire looking for a Ginger
Feisty--why I saw one, its breastbone torn back by a seal. "You could actually see her lungs working in there. But she spent a few days recouping, hunched over, and ...in less than a week she was back in the water, feeding her chicks. She and her mate even pulled a brood off." --Bill Fraser
Ice-loving Antarctic birds.
Match-Mismatch.
"An entire ecosystem changing not in hundreds but 30-50."--
Melting sea ice. Ice-loving Adelie.
***
Next time I see a tree pop, I'm outa there.
Oh yeh? Jump in the lake?
Ice-loving snow-loving -- Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox
"We're sitting pretty, here in the Northland. Lots of water. No water wars here."
Unprecedented, ten inches of rain in two days.
A plume of silt miles out in the lake. No idea what effect...
Changing not in hundreds...
Thousands of birds the last time I was here...
What gets me is that "these incredible animals have to take it in the neck because a bunch of humans can't get together to decide what to do about the planet." -- Bill Fraser, ecologist, penguin expert in The New Yorker, 12/21-28, 2009
What do we care? Muscling tight corners in our SUVs. Legislators gleefully firing climate scientists at state college. Playing with our hand-helds while the Rockies go up in flames.
We're hanging by a thread. Just imagine it. Thumbing our noses at those geeks while we spin and spin, plastic water bottles spraying from our hands as we glide through the air with the greatest of ease.
I'm cool. How bout you?
The Rockies red glare...
Sure, I know someone but they're halfway across the country...not in my backyard...
I'm cool, I sent my contribution to Greenpeace, World Wildlife, Care Care Care...
***
Match-Mismatch - species falling out of sync with their environment
Ice-loving birds, the Adelie Penguin. What's there not to love--black and white penguin suits, Fred Astaire looking for a Ginger
Feisty--why I saw one, its breastbone torn back by a seal. "You could actually see her lungs working in there. But she spent a few days recouping, hunched over, and ...in less than a week she was back in the water, feeding her chicks. She and her mate even pulled a brood off." --Bill Fraser
Ice-loving Antarctic birds.
Match-Mismatch.
"An entire ecosystem changing not in hundreds but 30-50."--
Melting sea ice. Ice-loving Adelie.
***
Next time I see a tree pop, I'm outa there.
Oh yeh? Jump in the lake?
Ice-loving snow-loving -- Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox
"We're sitting pretty, here in the Northland. Lots of water. No water wars here."
Unprecedented, ten inches of rain in two days.
A plume of silt miles out in the lake. No idea what effect...
Changing not in hundreds...
Thousands of birds the last time I was here...
What gets me is that "these incredible animals have to take it in the neck because a bunch of humans can't get together to decide what to do about the planet." -- Bill Fraser, ecologist, penguin expert in The New Yorker, 12/21-28, 2009
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Margotlog: Want Heat? You Betcha!
Margotlog: Want Heat? You Betcha!
One of my favorite movie moments is all about "we're having a heat wave"--In the Seven Year Itch, Marilyn (the quintessential Marilyn, one of the greatest of all time) stands over an exhaust grate. It's New York, circa 1955--air pours up to the street level from the subway. As a rush of cool air rises, Marilyn throws back her head, holds down her pleated white skirt, and gives a squeal of delight. We are voyeurs of her cool.
It's hard not to want to throw off your clothes when the temperature's rising. In some African countries, I've been told, women soak their long winding dresses in water, then simply wrap themselves in them. Not a bad idea: I wet down in a bath tub with a half-inch of water, then barely pat myself dry. So what if my shorts and top get wet--all the better. Evaporation takes heat away from the body.
I remember the summer of 1988, the one that weather forcasters keep mentioning as a sister to this one: Day after day of high 90s--check! Day after day of sun. In fact, so much sun that we went for six weeks in the Twin Cities without rain. Every day, I watered some new tree. Finally, as I drove to the airport in mid-July to pick up my daughter (she'd been on a student trip to Taiwan), the skies opened and we ran into the house, pelted with rain. Six inches fell in four hours. Streets were flooded all over the metro area. In fact, my step-daughter's car was swamped. She and friends had to leave it at the curb and come back a day later.
We had one window airconditioner then. In the bedroom. It whirred and sputtered day and night. Since then we've had the windows in the second floor--those leaky, rattling 1912 windows--replaced with beautiful, tight, ultraviolet-retardant windows. We got rid of the air-conditioner. Now here is how I get through the heat:
* Open all the windows on the north side of the house, and one or two on the south. Set fans to blow cross currents.
* Sleep in the most north-facing room. Or if you have a decent room in the basement, equip it with a dehumidifier (we have two running in our old basement), and in the very worst heat, I sleep there, work there. The temp is usually 15 - 20 degrees lower than any other floor, plus the humidity is way way lower.
* Lower blinds (they need to be dark and rather thick) over all windows where sun pours in. Close the windows where heat and light pour in around 2-3 p.m. And lower the shades. Don't open them until 7-8 in the evening.
* WEAR ONLY COTTON. No, I'm not receiving a kick-back from the cotton growers of America. Through trial and error, I've discovered that synthetics do not breathe. It doesn't matter, ladies, how filmy it is. If it's not cotton, it will stick to you and trap sweat. COTTON COTTON COTTON!
* Don't be afraid of sweating. It's nature's way of cooling you off. Keep make-up to a minimum, wear light colors, and loose clothing, and sandals. No socks is you can avoid them.
* Sun glasses, a big straw hat to keep out the glare, AND A WHITE, COTTON, long-sleeved shirt for driving or walking outside in the heat. White reflects heat. Remember all those men and women from India in their saris and white jackets? They know what heat is.
*Drink lots of non-alcoholic, non-caffeinated beverages--lemonade, any kind of juice--I dilute with lots of water. Caffein and alcohol leach water from your body. You're already sweating like a horse that's run a mile. You need to replenish water!
* Eat light! No heavy steaks, but salads, frozen nonfat yogurt, bits of barbequed meat. No hot potatoes.
* Keep fans running everywhere. Sit on the floor--REMEMBER, HEAT RISES! If you must cook on the stove, do so early in the morning.
* Exercise before 10 a.m.
* Go slow.
My favorite weather-guy, Paul Douglas, just opined "This too will pass." Yup. But we are probably in for more and more summers like this one. Pity the Adele penguins in the Antarctic, the polar bears in the Arctic. They among many ice-loving creatures are facing a learning-curve that we humans have forced on them. Bets are that they will not survive. As a researcher in the Antarctic wrote about the penguins, "It's a pity they have to suffer because another species far to the north can't decide what to do about this problem they've created."
One of my favorite movie moments is all about "we're having a heat wave"--In the Seven Year Itch, Marilyn (the quintessential Marilyn, one of the greatest of all time) stands over an exhaust grate. It's New York, circa 1955--air pours up to the street level from the subway. As a rush of cool air rises, Marilyn throws back her head, holds down her pleated white skirt, and gives a squeal of delight. We are voyeurs of her cool.
It's hard not to want to throw off your clothes when the temperature's rising. In some African countries, I've been told, women soak their long winding dresses in water, then simply wrap themselves in them. Not a bad idea: I wet down in a bath tub with a half-inch of water, then barely pat myself dry. So what if my shorts and top get wet--all the better. Evaporation takes heat away from the body.
I remember the summer of 1988, the one that weather forcasters keep mentioning as a sister to this one: Day after day of high 90s--check! Day after day of sun. In fact, so much sun that we went for six weeks in the Twin Cities without rain. Every day, I watered some new tree. Finally, as I drove to the airport in mid-July to pick up my daughter (she'd been on a student trip to Taiwan), the skies opened and we ran into the house, pelted with rain. Six inches fell in four hours. Streets were flooded all over the metro area. In fact, my step-daughter's car was swamped. She and friends had to leave it at the curb and come back a day later.
We had one window airconditioner then. In the bedroom. It whirred and sputtered day and night. Since then we've had the windows in the second floor--those leaky, rattling 1912 windows--replaced with beautiful, tight, ultraviolet-retardant windows. We got rid of the air-conditioner. Now here is how I get through the heat:
* Open all the windows on the north side of the house, and one or two on the south. Set fans to blow cross currents.
* Sleep in the most north-facing room. Or if you have a decent room in the basement, equip it with a dehumidifier (we have two running in our old basement), and in the very worst heat, I sleep there, work there. The temp is usually 15 - 20 degrees lower than any other floor, plus the humidity is way way lower.
* Lower blinds (they need to be dark and rather thick) over all windows where sun pours in. Close the windows where heat and light pour in around 2-3 p.m. And lower the shades. Don't open them until 7-8 in the evening.
* WEAR ONLY COTTON. No, I'm not receiving a kick-back from the cotton growers of America. Through trial and error, I've discovered that synthetics do not breathe. It doesn't matter, ladies, how filmy it is. If it's not cotton, it will stick to you and trap sweat. COTTON COTTON COTTON!
* Don't be afraid of sweating. It's nature's way of cooling you off. Keep make-up to a minimum, wear light colors, and loose clothing, and sandals. No socks is you can avoid them.
* Sun glasses, a big straw hat to keep out the glare, AND A WHITE, COTTON, long-sleeved shirt for driving or walking outside in the heat. White reflects heat. Remember all those men and women from India in their saris and white jackets? They know what heat is.
*Drink lots of non-alcoholic, non-caffeinated beverages--lemonade, any kind of juice--I dilute with lots of water. Caffein and alcohol leach water from your body. You're already sweating like a horse that's run a mile. You need to replenish water!
* Eat light! No heavy steaks, but salads, frozen nonfat yogurt, bits of barbequed meat. No hot potatoes.
* Keep fans running everywhere. Sit on the floor--REMEMBER, HEAT RISES! If you must cook on the stove, do so early in the morning.
* Exercise before 10 a.m.
* Go slow.
My favorite weather-guy, Paul Douglas, just opined "This too will pass." Yup. But we are probably in for more and more summers like this one. Pity the Adele penguins in the Antarctic, the polar bears in the Arctic. They among many ice-loving creatures are facing a learning-curve that we humans have forced on them. Bets are that they will not survive. As a researcher in the Antarctic wrote about the penguins, "It's a pity they have to suffer because another species far to the north can't decide what to do about this problem they've created."
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