And here are the "Dahlonega Scarecrows!!"
Thursday, December 21, 2017
Saturday, December 16, 2017
Edvard Munch at the Breuer
coming soon!
"Norwegian artist Edvard Munch (1863–1944) attained fame early in his career for his depictions of human anxiety. Throughout his career, Munch regularly revisited subjects from his earlier years, exploring them with renewed inspiration and intensity over time."
"Self-Portrait: Between the Clock and the Bed (1940–43) was one of his final such works and it serves as a lens to reassess Munch's oeuvre. This exhibition features 43 of the artist's landmark compositions created over a span of six decades, including 16 self-portraits and works that have never before been seen in the United States. More than half of the works on view were part of Munch's personal collection and remained with him throughout his life."
"Norwegian artist Edvard Munch (1863–1944) attained fame early in his career for his depictions of human anxiety. Throughout his career, Munch regularly revisited subjects from his earlier years, exploring them with renewed inspiration and intensity over time."
"Self-Portrait: Between the Clock and the Bed (1940–43) was one of his final such works and it serves as a lens to reassess Munch's oeuvre. This exhibition features 43 of the artist's landmark compositions created over a span of six decades, including 16 self-portraits and works that have never before been seen in the United States. More than half of the works on view were part of Munch's personal collection and remained with him throughout his life."
A Girl Named Anthea
In about 1957, when I was in the 5th grade and living in Valley Stream LI, I began a correspondence with a pen-pal named Anthea who lived in Nottingham. I was given her letter during one of the Hebrew classes I attended when the teacher held in her hand many letters that children (who were looking for pen-pals) from all over Europe had written.
I remember how excited my mother was the early Saturday rainy morning when Anthea's first reply arrived. She awakened me and sat on my bed and we both read the letter written on fine blue stationary. And so, Anthea and I began to exchange letters and our friendship lasted for some time. She was an interesting girl, a few years older than I, and talked a great deal about her love for Cliff Richard. I remember how devastated she was when he "got hitched." Today, that confuses me because his bio states he never married...
Well, one day Anthea said: "Marjorie, I never asked you about your religion. Do you go to church?" Without any hesitation, I told her I was Jewish and sealed the letter. I walked down Westgate to place that letter in a mailbox that stood on a grassy patch. That mailbox is no longer even there.
I remember telling my mother that I thought I would never hear from Anthea again after my "big reveal." Even at that early age, I knew. And I was correct. I never received another letter from Anthea. That did not surprise me at the time, but now I wonder why she was unaware of my religion especially since her first letter reached a Hebrew School. Sometimes when we are young we just don't connect the dots I suppose.
Well, Google maps allowed me to view the street where Anthea lived at that time so long ago. I looked at that sort of dark and grey street which was covered with low clouds and where so many decades ago a postman walked with my letters and delivered them through the mail slot on her front door. I think the house with the red doorway was her home.
The passing of time is so sad really. Nothing remains of her letters from long ago because as it goes, I threw them all away when I moved to NYC. But, they exist in my memory as does the address I wrote on the envelopes of my own pink stationary with red hearts in 1957.
Nevertheless, this is Anthea's Nottingham, in all it's glorious and somewhat mysterious beauty:
I remember how excited my mother was the early Saturday rainy morning when Anthea's first reply arrived. She awakened me and sat on my bed and we both read the letter written on fine blue stationary. And so, Anthea and I began to exchange letters and our friendship lasted for some time. She was an interesting girl, a few years older than I, and talked a great deal about her love for Cliff Richard. I remember how devastated she was when he "got hitched." Today, that confuses me because his bio states he never married...
Well, one day Anthea said: "Marjorie, I never asked you about your religion. Do you go to church?" Without any hesitation, I told her I was Jewish and sealed the letter. I walked down Westgate to place that letter in a mailbox that stood on a grassy patch. That mailbox is no longer even there.
Well, Google maps allowed me to view the street where Anthea lived at that time so long ago. I looked at that sort of dark and grey street which was covered with low clouds and where so many decades ago a postman walked with my letters and delivered them through the mail slot on her front door. I think the house with the red doorway was her home.
I laugh when I imagine how Anthea's jaw must have dropped and her eyes widened when she read my last letter. She must have been horrified to realize she had been interacting with "a Jewish girl." The hatred must have lived inside her bigoted head and my disclosure must have made her furious. I enjoyed you Anthea, but that's right.... you talked to a shayna maidel! Mic drop.
Nevertheless, this is Anthea's Nottingham, in all it's glorious and somewhat mysterious beauty:
Tuesday, December 12, 2017
at FIT
Expedition: Fashion from the Extreme
"Expedition: Fashion from the Extreme examines high fashion inspired by clothing made for survival in the most inhospitable environments on earth and beyond. Today’s luxurious parkas trace their roots to the “heroic era” of polar navigation (1890 to 1922), while down-filled “puffer” coats and backpacks were originally perfected for extreme mountain climbing in the mid-twentieth century. Experimental, high tech materials made for exploration to otherworldly realms — such as neoprene (deep sea) and Mylar (outer space) — made their way onto the runway."
"Expedition: Fashion from the Extreme examines high fashion inspired by clothing made for survival in the most inhospitable environments on earth and beyond. Today’s luxurious parkas trace their roots to the “heroic era” of polar navigation (1890 to 1922), while down-filled “puffer” coats and backpacks were originally perfected for extreme mountain climbing in the mid-twentieth century. Experimental, high tech materials made for exploration to otherworldly realms — such as neoprene (deep sea) and Mylar (outer space) — made their way onto the runway."
The Body: Fashion and Physique
"Fashion is inextricably linked to the physical form of the wearer. The cut of a garment draws the eye to zones of the body, simultaneously accentuating and concealing in order to achieve a desired silhouette. Elaborate undergarments, diet regimens, exercise routines, and even plastic surgery have all been promoted as necessary tools for attaining the ideal fashion shape. However, the idealized fashionable body is a cultural construct. Over the last 250 years, full hips, narrow hips, feminine waists, and boyish frames have each, at different times, been hailed as the pinnacle of beauty. According to a Vogue article from 1950, “A ‘figure’…is considered good or bad only as related to clothing generally, and current fashions specifically.” The Body: Fashion and Physique explores the complex history of the “perfect” body in fashion."
These are random photos taken at both exhibits:
Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol
at The Morgan Library
"Every holiday season, the Morgan displays Charles Dickens's original manuscript of A Christmas Carol in Pierpont Morgan's historic library. Dickens wrote his iconic tale in a six-week flurry of activity beginning in October 1843 and ending in time for Christmas publication. He had the manuscript bound in red morocco as a gift for his solicitor, Thomas Mitton. The manuscript then passed through several owners before Pierpont Morgan acquired it in the 1890s."
"Every holiday season, the Morgan displays Charles Dickens's original manuscript of A Christmas Carol in Pierpont Morgan's historic library. Dickens wrote his iconic tale in a six-week flurry of activity beginning in October 1843 and ending in time for Christmas publication. He had the manuscript bound in red morocco as a gift for his solicitor, Thomas Mitton. The manuscript then passed through several owners before Pierpont Morgan acquired it in the 1890s."
Monday, December 11, 2017
The Marvelous Helen Weaver
Here is an encore, from April 2010:
Shortly after I read the heartfelt and bittersweet memoir, "The Awakener," I contacted Helen Weaver. I was enthralled with her memories of her love affair with Jack Kerouac. We began to communicate in E-mails... and today, I am happy to call Helen my friend.
Helen met Jack Kerouac in November 1956, when at 7:00 on a Sunday morning he arrived with Allen Ginsberg at her apartment in 307 West 11th Street. This is a photo of that building that I took after I read the book. Helen was delighted with the photo, and she told me her window can be seen on the left, right behind the blue balloon hanging from a branch of that tree.
This is a view of the White Horse Tavern from the front of 307 West 11th Street.
This is 454 West 20th Street, where Jack Kerouac, in 1951, wrote "On The Road." I stood in front of the door through which he must have passed so many times.
And this is the southwest corner of West 20th Street where: "Dean, ragged in a motheaten overcoat he bought specially for the freezing temperatures of the East, walked off alone..."
"and the last I saw of him he rounded the corner of Seventh Avenue, eyes on the street ahead, and bent to it again."
This is now 325 West 13th Street, which is the location where Helen lived when she met Lenny Bruce. I do not know when this building was built... and it looks fairly new. The building where Helen lived may have been torn down for the construction of this newer apartment house.
This is 346 West 15th Street and it is where Allen Ginsberg lived from 1951 to 1952. It is where Jack Kerouac was introduced to Gregory Corso.
And this is a view of the block.
This is 149 West 21st Street and it was where Lucien Carr lived from 1950 to 1951. He and Jack Kerouac were friends and Jack visited him often. Bill Cannastra also lived in a nearby building that is now a parking lot.
And this is a view of the block.
This was added on January 21, 2010:
This is the front door of 421 West 118th Street, where Jack Kerouac lived with Edie Parker in the early 1940s.
This is 421 West 118th Street.
This is West 118th Street, looking toward Morningside Drive.
"The Awakener" is a beautifully written memoir that takes the reader to personal and heartfelt places of great joy and bittersweet memories.
Helen Weaver talks about her relationship with Jack Kerouac, and the book is so richly developed and defined that I felt the scenes were unfolding like a well-directed independent film. I was very caught up in the story.
I also had the feeling that I was becoming part of a wonderful time gone by... and I was motivated to visit several of the addresses mentioned in this book to put a visual to the text as the pages unfolded.
Helen Weaver also discusses her other relationships from long ago... and she writes with honestly, clarity, and sincerity in terms of the direction of those relationships as the decades passed.
Jack Kerouac, in "Desolation Angels," wrote: "So I actually felt like marrying Ruth Heaper and moving to a country home in Connecticut."
If you are nostalgic for a time gone by and you want to hear "Ruth Heaper" tell her story, this book is a must!
Shortly after I read the heartfelt and bittersweet memoir, "The Awakener," I contacted Helen Weaver. I was enthralled with her memories of her love affair with Jack Kerouac. We began to communicate in E-mails... and today, I am happy to call Helen my friend.
Helen met Jack Kerouac in November 1956, when at 7:00 on a Sunday morning he arrived with Allen Ginsberg at her apartment in 307 West 11th Street. This is a photo of that building that I took after I read the book. Helen was delighted with the photo, and she told me her window can be seen on the left, right behind the blue balloon hanging from a branch of that tree.
This is a view of the White Horse Tavern from the front of 307 West 11th Street.
This is 454 West 20th Street, where Jack Kerouac, in 1951, wrote "On The Road." I stood in front of the door through which he must have passed so many times.
And this is the southwest corner of West 20th Street where: "Dean, ragged in a motheaten overcoat he bought specially for the freezing temperatures of the East, walked off alone..."
"and the last I saw of him he rounded the corner of Seventh Avenue, eyes on the street ahead, and bent to it again."
This is now 325 West 13th Street, which is the location where Helen lived when she met Lenny Bruce. I do not know when this building was built... and it looks fairly new. The building where Helen lived may have been torn down for the construction of this newer apartment house.
This is 346 West 15th Street and it is where Allen Ginsberg lived from 1951 to 1952. It is where Jack Kerouac was introduced to Gregory Corso.
And this is a view of the block.
This is 149 West 21st Street and it was where Lucien Carr lived from 1950 to 1951. He and Jack Kerouac were friends and Jack visited him often. Bill Cannastra also lived in a nearby building that is now a parking lot.
And this is a view of the block.
This was added on January 21, 2010:
This is the front door of 421 West 118th Street, where Jack Kerouac lived with Edie Parker in the early 1940s.
This is 421 West 118th Street.
This is West 118th Street, looking toward Morningside Drive.
"The Awakener" is a beautifully written memoir that takes the reader to personal and heartfelt places of great joy and bittersweet memories.
Helen Weaver talks about her relationship with Jack Kerouac, and the book is so richly developed and defined that I felt the scenes were unfolding like a well-directed independent film. I was very caught up in the story.
I also had the feeling that I was becoming part of a wonderful time gone by... and I was motivated to visit several of the addresses mentioned in this book to put a visual to the text as the pages unfolded.
Helen Weaver also discusses her other relationships from long ago... and she writes with honestly, clarity, and sincerity in terms of the direction of those relationships as the decades passed.
Jack Kerouac, in "Desolation Angels," wrote: "So I actually felt like marrying Ruth Heaper and moving to a country home in Connecticut."
If you are nostalgic for a time gone by and you want to hear "Ruth Heaper" tell her story, this book is a must!
Sunday, December 3, 2017
A Bittersweet Experience Recalled
It seems I was always just missing the mark.... sigh. These exchanges are from February 2009 and I was so happy to receive Robert Siegel's gracious, sincere, and thoughtful reply.
Here is an abridged version of his reply:
Chelsea Gallery closed. But on the day I recommended another actor for that part, this was my audition space:
Studio Dante, gone and bye-bye
This was written at this blog in June 2008:
I auditioned in June 2006 for acting classes at Michael Imperioli's Studio Dante. I did one of Charlotte's monologues from "Last of the Red Hot Lovers." I was evaluated by Vincent Curatola and Nick Sandow. I think Mr. Curatola was undecided but Nick Sandow hated me. I knew I had done a damn good job. But, I was rejected. I left feeling like shit.
In any event, I came home and wrote a letter to Nick Sandow. Here it is:
"After my audition last Tuesday, I left knowing that I did not express why I really was interested in taking acting classes at Studio Dante. I attended a preview of Dark Yellow on Friday, May 26th, and I thought the production was excellent. I had viewed (on the computer) several short films in “The Collection.” I admired your work in Stuck Together, Dog, and Good Morning Mr. Greenberg and I also saw Sharon Angela in The Interview, which was very funny. I was a 6th grade teacher, in Manhattan, for 34 years and I am a stand-up-comedian... so I was surprised to discover I developed a case of lockjaw during the interview. It was you from whom I wanted to learn the craft, and all of the instructors at Studio Dante were very impressive. I was unhappy with the flustered way I came across, so I am now writing to tell you what was left unsaid. If at a future time Studio Dante allows another opportunity to try to be accepted into the classes, my contact information is above. Thank you."
Oh, kill me now, that was another desperate reach. Stick a fork in me, I am so done. What the fuck is wrong with me? Later that week I auditioned for classes with Austin Pendleton at HB Studio. I performed the same monologue and I was accepted. I declined the class because it began too early in the day for my night owl schedule. Days after that, I did that same monologue for Sanford Morris at HB Studio and he thought it was excellent.
I never heard from Nick Sandow about a do-over. But, I see him all the time when I attend plays at Studio Dante. Next time I see him I am going to ask him if I was rejected because I am not skinny.
December 2017:
There is not one time I recall that afternoon at Studio Dante that I do not cringe. I am mortified because there are times in every life where a person feels like a damn fool, and that day lives at the top of my memory. I feel humiliated not because I was rejected. The hell with that. I feel like an idiot because of the asinine letter I sent to Nick Sandow.
I continued to attend regularly the plays at Studio Dante even though I hated the atmosphere within the venue. Studio Dante was called adoringly a "jewel box" and it did have a colorful visual heady appeal, but the very small theater did not have any level of stadium seating and there was always some big head in front of me blocking the entire view of the stage area. And that place had an unpleasant weird self-conscious vibe. Every time I entered that theater, I felt uncomfortable. Even the receptionist viewed me constantly with a jaundiced eye both before and after that audition. I suppose they did me a favor by not accepting me there. The place was a cure for constipation and one time I had a total panic attack during intermission.
I did see Nick Sandow a few times after that audition at Studio Dante because he and I coincidentally attended the same evening performances. I realized from his facial expressions and slowly turning red face that he recognized and remembered me and he was reacting to the letter I had sent him which I know he received. It was all very... awkward. And the atmosphere inside that setting was always totally unpalatable.
Anyway, Studio Dante did not have a long life. It closed after a few years and the building was torn down recently. I think even the ghosts that roam in that space now have a level of extreme severe discomfort. Something definitely was amiss. In the lobby. I always felt like I was butt naked and being "trolled" in real time by sideway glances and the pretentious stiff energy there was so thick you could cut it with a knife. But encores, curtain calls, and standing ovations for the fine plays that somewhat made all else fall away... for a few hours.
Well after all, who knows where these kind of "mad" experiences will lead us.... yep, who knows.
I auditioned in June 2006 for acting classes at Michael Imperioli's Studio Dante. I did one of Charlotte's monologues from "Last of the Red Hot Lovers." I was evaluated by Vincent Curatola and Nick Sandow. I think Mr. Curatola was undecided but Nick Sandow hated me. I knew I had done a damn good job. But, I was rejected. I left feeling like shit.
In any event, I came home and wrote a letter to Nick Sandow. Here it is:
"After my audition last Tuesday, I left knowing that I did not express why I really was interested in taking acting classes at Studio Dante. I attended a preview of Dark Yellow on Friday, May 26th, and I thought the production was excellent. I had viewed (on the computer) several short films in “The Collection.” I admired your work in Stuck Together, Dog, and Good Morning Mr. Greenberg and I also saw Sharon Angela in The Interview, which was very funny. I was a 6th grade teacher, in Manhattan, for 34 years and I am a stand-up-comedian... so I was surprised to discover I developed a case of lockjaw during the interview. It was you from whom I wanted to learn the craft, and all of the instructors at Studio Dante were very impressive. I was unhappy with the flustered way I came across, so I am now writing to tell you what was left unsaid. If at a future time Studio Dante allows another opportunity to try to be accepted into the classes, my contact information is above. Thank you."
Oh, kill me now, that was another desperate reach. Stick a fork in me, I am so done. What the fuck is wrong with me? Later that week I auditioned for classes with Austin Pendleton at HB Studio. I performed the same monologue and I was accepted. I declined the class because it began too early in the day for my night owl schedule. Days after that, I did that same monologue for Sanford Morris at HB Studio and he thought it was excellent.
I never heard from Nick Sandow about a do-over. But, I see him all the time when I attend plays at Studio Dante. Next time I see him I am going to ask him if I was rejected because I am not skinny.
December 2017:
There is not one time I recall that afternoon at Studio Dante that I do not cringe. I am mortified because there are times in every life where a person feels like a damn fool, and that day lives at the top of my memory. I feel humiliated not because I was rejected. The hell with that. I feel like an idiot because of the asinine letter I sent to Nick Sandow.
I continued to attend regularly the plays at Studio Dante even though I hated the atmosphere within the venue. Studio Dante was called adoringly a "jewel box" and it did have a colorful visual heady appeal, but the very small theater did not have any level of stadium seating and there was always some big head in front of me blocking the entire view of the stage area. And that place had an unpleasant weird self-conscious vibe. Every time I entered that theater, I felt uncomfortable. Even the receptionist viewed me constantly with a jaundiced eye both before and after that audition. I suppose they did me a favor by not accepting me there. The place was a cure for constipation and one time I had a total panic attack during intermission.
I did see Nick Sandow a few times after that audition at Studio Dante because he and I coincidentally attended the same evening performances. I realized from his facial expressions and slowly turning red face that he recognized and remembered me and he was reacting to the letter I had sent him which I know he received. It was all very... awkward. And the atmosphere inside that setting was always totally unpalatable.
Anyway, Studio Dante did not have a long life. It closed after a few years and the building was torn down recently. I think even the ghosts that roam in that space now have a level of extreme severe discomfort. Something definitely was amiss. In the lobby. I always felt like I was butt naked and being "trolled" in real time by sideway glances and the pretentious stiff energy there was so thick you could cut it with a knife. But encores, curtain calls, and standing ovations for the fine plays that somewhat made all else fall away... for a few hours.
Well after all, who knows where these kind of "mad" experiences will lead us.... yep, who knows.
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