My parents and I just got back to Grants from Santa Fe.
As we found out, they have a a large number of welcoming galleries, including many displaying contemporary art. There is so much more to see, so much that we didn't have the chance to. The snow built up over night while we were sleeping...or lying in bed in agony attempting sleep...leaving all of the city draped in about a foot thick blanket of snow. So, we didn't see many galleries.
Nevertheless, while there we got to see the Georgia O'Keefe museum, some of Yves Klein's own patented ultramarine pigment in a glass case, some highly skilled ikat weavings, a Tunisian man with the most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen, and quite a few snowmen scattered around town.
We also got to eat the most scrumptious crepes and drink what should be, if not already is, award-winning espresso (served by a man with large-framed super stylish glasses that I wanted to simultaneously compliment and steal.)
On the way back to Grants the roads progressively became worse. First there were icy patches on the road, then we drove into the looming snow clouds ahead. As we entered the snow a pompous man on the radio began making a big spiel about the "breaking news" on Michael Jackson's death. My mom and I were frustrated with this man for speaking so nonchalantly about a real man's death. I can't describe it, but the tone of voice he announced the "news" in was worse than abrasive. It felt like he was proud to be saying it. Yuck yuck yuck. Thinking it was the truth, we were upset with him, but continued to listen to the station because they were playing his songs as a tribute to his life.
Eventually we turned the station off, annoyed with the arrogant announcer.
The rest of the ride home was scary.
We were swerving on the icy snow, and I didn't notice until we stopped that all of the muscles in my body were tight.
I didn't want to end up in the ditch like the four different cars we passed, or worse, off a cliff.
I'm happy to be seated and still with no rational potential for death or injury.
And now that we're back, with access to the wonderful honest internet, now we see Michael Jackson is in fact alive and well.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
hunters, flamboyant gay men, and a laughing Indian
I neglected to mention a few things from the other day.
My mom and I went on a short road trip to a nearby village. On the way we saw three men in camouflage walking off the shoulder of the road into the desert brush with rifles in hand. I had never until that day seen hunters in real life. It kind of blew me away, as well as created an intense fear their aim would be off and we, driving through hunting land, would be shot by accident. (intensified by the imagery of the book I just finished Invisible Monsters in which a woman's face is shot off and mutilated by a gun while she is driving her car...)
We stopped into a small cafe/espresso place to experience the one coffee shop in hours of driving circumference from my parent's home and to meet the flamboyantly gay owners. The waitress that handed us our menus I strongly believe was actually a man, or at least previously had been. "She" had long black hair and thick eyebrows, a large head, and large hands, with an atypically hipless body (for a woman.)
"She" hardly acknowledged our existence, looking out the window as she handed us our menus, not once looking at either of us.
Then after ordering our fudge pie, a tall slender man came sauntering in with black leggings, a poofy white jacket, mascara, and a beanie. He was pretty. He got himself some noodles from the back and sat down to eat, quenching his thirst with a Mountain Dew. Before seating himself he asked if we'd been helped. When he looked in my eyes I was stunned for a moment, not expecting such pretty eyes on a man.
Preparing to leave, we took our bill up to the counter where a man was seated searching recipes on a computer, skipping past Paper Planes on to a preferred song in his hip mix. He was nodding his head and upper body to the beats, seemingly oblivious to anybody else existing. I assumed he was high but obviously don't know that as a fact.
It was an interesting place. Apparently nobody working was as flamboyant as they had been when my parents stopped in months ago, when the pretty-eyes man broke into song and scooted them over to make some room for his tiny tush at their booth.
Skipping inconsequential events...
And on to today.
We just got into Santa Fe. It was a two hour drive out here. Back in a city. I've been reminded once again how much I thrive off of being in an area with people and lights. I enjoy being surrounded by life.
We put our things in the Comfort Inn hotel room and headed off to an Indian (India Indian, not Native American)restaurant I saw on three separate pamphlet slots in the lobby. We sat down, decided what we wanted, and took our order. As we completed explaining what we desired to eat, the man taking the order looked at me and asked "mango dksndflksdlf!? hahahaha." I said "oh...hahaha, no thanks. :)" I assumed he was suggesting I order a mango drink, and I didn't really want one, but was charmed by his smile so smiled back while rejecting the suggestion.
I told stories of festivals in a village in China as we waited for our food. Then a man stepped in with a gorgeous fur coat on. I couldn't describe it to my parents who hadn't seen it. It was soooo...gorgeous. It was thick and long, reaching to the floor. It looked like leopard or siberian tiger. Something exotic and endangered. He had large gauged earplugs, a shaved head, and a nose ring with a chain draped across his cheek, the other end attaching to an ear piercing. (early Janet Jackson style.) When he walked past my parents understood why I hadn't been able to describe the man.
He was beautiful, but as we all noted, the girl he was with was drab in comparison. I expected an equally stunning individual to be eating with him. Apparently, as he sat down he took off his jacket, leaving him only wearing an undershirt, which my parents referred to as "underwear."
When another waiter was asking us if we'd like dessert, the man who took our orders came over again and said something in Hindu to the other man and laughed. He was saying something about or in regardsto me. My parents and I laughed and my dad urged the other man to translate. He said mango somethingorother. Again with the mangoes?
Then I was given a dish of mango pudding, which was delicious.
As I ate it, the mango man came by, looked at me eating and laughed.
I felt undeservedly privileged and self-conscious.
The mango man came back to give us our bill, purposefully putting it directly in front of me.
We paid then got up to leave. We thanked the mango man on the way out. On my way towards him he had a smirk on his face, appearing as though he was struggling to contain himself and immediately after I thanked him he burst out in laughter.
I have no clue why he found me so funny, but it was contagious. We all laughed as we left the restaurant, walking out into a light snow fall.
....huh?
My mom and I went on a short road trip to a nearby village. On the way we saw three men in camouflage walking off the shoulder of the road into the desert brush with rifles in hand. I had never until that day seen hunters in real life. It kind of blew me away, as well as created an intense fear their aim would be off and we, driving through hunting land, would be shot by accident. (intensified by the imagery of the book I just finished Invisible Monsters in which a woman's face is shot off and mutilated by a gun while she is driving her car...)
We stopped into a small cafe/espresso place to experience the one coffee shop in hours of driving circumference from my parent's home and to meet the flamboyantly gay owners. The waitress that handed us our menus I strongly believe was actually a man, or at least previously had been. "She" had long black hair and thick eyebrows, a large head, and large hands, with an atypically hipless body (for a woman.)
"She" hardly acknowledged our existence, looking out the window as she handed us our menus, not once looking at either of us.
Then after ordering our fudge pie, a tall slender man came sauntering in with black leggings, a poofy white jacket, mascara, and a beanie. He was pretty. He got himself some noodles from the back and sat down to eat, quenching his thirst with a Mountain Dew. Before seating himself he asked if we'd been helped. When he looked in my eyes I was stunned for a moment, not expecting such pretty eyes on a man.
Preparing to leave, we took our bill up to the counter where a man was seated searching recipes on a computer, skipping past Paper Planes on to a preferred song in his hip mix. He was nodding his head and upper body to the beats, seemingly oblivious to anybody else existing. I assumed he was high but obviously don't know that as a fact.
It was an interesting place. Apparently nobody working was as flamboyant as they had been when my parents stopped in months ago, when the pretty-eyes man broke into song and scooted them over to make some room for his tiny tush at their booth.
Skipping inconsequential events...
And on to today.
We just got into Santa Fe. It was a two hour drive out here. Back in a city. I've been reminded once again how much I thrive off of being in an area with people and lights. I enjoy being surrounded by life.
We put our things in the Comfort Inn hotel room and headed off to an Indian (India Indian, not Native American)restaurant I saw on three separate pamphlet slots in the lobby. We sat down, decided what we wanted, and took our order. As we completed explaining what we desired to eat, the man taking the order looked at me and asked "mango dksndflksdlf!? hahahaha." I said "oh...hahaha, no thanks. :)" I assumed he was suggesting I order a mango drink, and I didn't really want one, but was charmed by his smile so smiled back while rejecting the suggestion.
I told stories of festivals in a village in China as we waited for our food. Then a man stepped in with a gorgeous fur coat on. I couldn't describe it to my parents who hadn't seen it. It was soooo...gorgeous. It was thick and long, reaching to the floor. It looked like leopard or siberian tiger. Something exotic and endangered. He had large gauged earplugs, a shaved head, and a nose ring with a chain draped across his cheek, the other end attaching to an ear piercing. (early Janet Jackson style.) When he walked past my parents understood why I hadn't been able to describe the man.
He was beautiful, but as we all noted, the girl he was with was drab in comparison. I expected an equally stunning individual to be eating with him. Apparently, as he sat down he took off his jacket, leaving him only wearing an undershirt, which my parents referred to as "underwear."
When another waiter was asking us if we'd like dessert, the man who took our orders came over again and said something in Hindu to the other man and laughed. He was saying something about or in regardsto me. My parents and I laughed and my dad urged the other man to translate. He said mango somethingorother. Again with the mangoes?
Then I was given a dish of mango pudding, which was delicious.
As I ate it, the mango man came by, looked at me eating and laughed.
I felt undeservedly privileged and self-conscious.
The mango man came back to give us our bill, purposefully putting it directly in front of me.
We paid then got up to leave. We thanked the mango man on the way out. On my way towards him he had a smirk on his face, appearing as though he was struggling to contain himself and immediately after I thanked him he burst out in laughter.
I have no clue why he found me so funny, but it was contagious. We all laughed as we left the restaurant, walking out into a light snow fall.
....huh?
Friday, December 19, 2008
acoma and shadows
Some of these photos are of the Acoma pueblo. One is of a balcony. Another is of the scenery surrounding the mesa we were on top of, and another is of ladders leading to a place for the men to meditate on top of their homes. I also posted some on facebook and explained some more about the photos.
The other two are of crazy cool shadows cast on the door to the bathroom as my father worked on some circuits. Unfortunately I didn't get my camera on time so these aren't natural photographs. They're posed. They look just like the other shadows though. I had to say "pretend like you're still working! please...?!" to convince him.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
post-graduation possibility
There's a chance I will be attending university in Beijing, getting a Masters in Fine Arts.
The plus to the particular school I'm looking into is the Vice President. It's Xu Bing! one of my favorite Chinese artists. When I saw that this morning I nearly flipped. Also, I happen to have the contact information for an art professor there who I believe is a Baha'i, which means he is friends with some people I met in Beijing over the summer who know my family there.
It would be a challenge, studying in another country. Classes are in Mandarin, but there is likely a requirement to study more Chinese before I could take the classes...if I'm accepted. It's the most prestigious art program in China and the art world is exciting there right now. I could go to the 798 art district as much as I want.
They have all the regular mediums--printmaking, oil painting, sculpture, drawing, design as well as traditional and experimental arts. It could be an exciting adventure and next step in, well, life.
Fingers crossed I guess.
The plus to the particular school I'm looking into is the Vice President. It's Xu Bing! one of my favorite Chinese artists. When I saw that this morning I nearly flipped. Also, I happen to have the contact information for an art professor there who I believe is a Baha'i, which means he is friends with some people I met in Beijing over the summer who know my family there.
It would be a challenge, studying in another country. Classes are in Mandarin, but there is likely a requirement to study more Chinese before I could take the classes...if I'm accepted. It's the most prestigious art program in China and the art world is exciting there right now. I could go to the 798 art district as much as I want.
They have all the regular mediums--printmaking, oil painting, sculpture, drawing, design as well as traditional and experimental arts. It could be an exciting adventure and next step in, well, life.
Fingers crossed I guess.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
sweet dreams
I dreamt I was back in the art department with everyone...Katie Borden, Moerrik, Maryann, Vanessa, Dominic...and next door a painter friend was opening up a chocolate shop.
It was night. The streets were wet with a recent rain, the street lamps were letting off orbs of yellow, comforting light.
I helped her open her shop.
And went to the opening. A ton of people came. It was like a gallery opening reception, but the food wasn't free, and it was all varying forms of sugar.
Behind the cash registers were shelves to the ceiling filled with different forms of chocolate...chocolate bunnies, huge chunks of dark, milk, and white chocolate from enormous chocolate bars wrapped in cellophane, rows and rows of truffles, cups of chocolate filled with mousse or whipped cream, chocolate covered coffee beans and nuts in plastic bags tied with a bow. It was beautiful.
The walls were painted peach and the employees had matching one-piece jumper skirts taut around the waist with a belt. They had on white tights and had aprons where they put important things like money and pens.
The store was built on a slant. The registers and rows of chocolate goods were at the top, beside the glass doors. The booths were built on the slant, leading down to a desk in the back.
During the opening they had a game. Everyone horded around the back table, requesting something like airheads without wrapping and stacked into a "sandwhich." You asked for certain flavors, or a pre-invented 3 part combination named on the back board, like "love" or "bubble gum" or "orange sunrise." They mostly tasted sour and they were difficult to chew, sticking to my teeth making my face tired. But I was determined to buy a lot, so I did. I in fact bought and ate so many that I eventually won a prize. One of the employees took me to the side, where a small couch was sitting in the middle of a room. She told me we had to find the green teddy bear so that I could claim the prize. She picked up a gift bag resting on the couch and looked inside and under it. That was all the effort she was willing to make. She wasn't very altruistic. I decided that wasn't enough of a search, so I lifted the couch cushions and found it tucked under there, a small thread sewn to the pillow. I ripped it off.
She didn't actually know what the prize was, but I was happy to have it.
Then the shop was closing and I said I would surely be back. In my mind, I feared the shop wasn't going to make it. I assumed people would only be interested in the opening, then stop coming.
Moe and I were walking home together, up the hill from the shop. It was a difficult walk and it was cold and dark, but I realized I hadn't gone to see the gallery show just beside the shop, so we turned around heading back to see it.
Then I woke up, afraid I had actually had all of that sugar during the night. Thankfully not.
It was night. The streets were wet with a recent rain, the street lamps were letting off orbs of yellow, comforting light.
I helped her open her shop.
And went to the opening. A ton of people came. It was like a gallery opening reception, but the food wasn't free, and it was all varying forms of sugar.
Behind the cash registers were shelves to the ceiling filled with different forms of chocolate...chocolate bunnies, huge chunks of dark, milk, and white chocolate from enormous chocolate bars wrapped in cellophane, rows and rows of truffles, cups of chocolate filled with mousse or whipped cream, chocolate covered coffee beans and nuts in plastic bags tied with a bow. It was beautiful.
The walls were painted peach and the employees had matching one-piece jumper skirts taut around the waist with a belt. They had on white tights and had aprons where they put important things like money and pens.
The store was built on a slant. The registers and rows of chocolate goods were at the top, beside the glass doors. The booths were built on the slant, leading down to a desk in the back.
During the opening they had a game. Everyone horded around the back table, requesting something like airheads without wrapping and stacked into a "sandwhich." You asked for certain flavors, or a pre-invented 3 part combination named on the back board, like "love" or "bubble gum" or "orange sunrise." They mostly tasted sour and they were difficult to chew, sticking to my teeth making my face tired. But I was determined to buy a lot, so I did. I in fact bought and ate so many that I eventually won a prize. One of the employees took me to the side, where a small couch was sitting in the middle of a room. She told me we had to find the green teddy bear so that I could claim the prize. She picked up a gift bag resting on the couch and looked inside and under it. That was all the effort she was willing to make. She wasn't very altruistic. I decided that wasn't enough of a search, so I lifted the couch cushions and found it tucked under there, a small thread sewn to the pillow. I ripped it off.
She didn't actually know what the prize was, but I was happy to have it.
Then the shop was closing and I said I would surely be back. In my mind, I feared the shop wasn't going to make it. I assumed people would only be interested in the opening, then stop coming.
Moe and I were walking home together, up the hill from the shop. It was a difficult walk and it was cold and dark, but I realized I hadn't gone to see the gallery show just beside the shop, so we turned around heading back to see it.
Then I woke up, afraid I had actually had all of that sugar during the night. Thankfully not.
Monday, December 15, 2008
a variety
So I'm in New Mexico now.
I arrived the other day. My two flights were delayed, the first by three hours, the second by one, making the total hours of the journey about 12. That's not necessarily a complaint though, because I enjoy airports. A lot.
I got a lot of reading done, and saw some interesting people. This is depressing, but I wrote it down from Invisibly Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk-my travelling read
"Besides, it happens so fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated. Most women know this feeling of being more and more invisible every day."
It reminded me of Synecdoche, NY when Philip Seymour Hoffman is in the cart driving, passing the time as he is waiting and approaching his death.
On another note, it's good to see mom and dad. Oddly, it feels like I saw them last week even though it's actually been nearly half of a year. I think that means I'm maturing, or it means I'm losing touch with reality.
Maybe both?
Today we chatted, had coffee, found the Georgia O'Keefe book still packed in a box, ate New Mexican food, talked with the family who provided us with that food, had more coffee, went to the grocery store, watched Coffee and Cigarettes, then watched a series of other things.
Oh, and just found out Matthew Barney and Bjork are possibly broken up. That's both heartbreaking and relieving. So much genius fused together at once seems dangerous, it's probably better they're seperate to diffuse some of it to other parts of the globe.
Also, during and for a few hours after reading through some of Georgia O'Keefe's letters, I became very sad. She chose to move from NY to NM to almost escape civilization. She was generally happy in her independence, but loved a man still in NY and had close friends there. Through her letters you could feel her longing to be with them struggling against the ease she felt where she had settled. It made me miss certain people and I couldn't help but combine her emotion with what I've got on my own, amplifying my feelings to an unreasonable degree.
Anyway, I appreciate and admire her honesty with the people she loved. That's something I hope I have somewhat acheived so far and want to build upon with years...becoming more invisible to the world as it loves me less, and the world becoming more visible to me as I love it more.
I arrived the other day. My two flights were delayed, the first by three hours, the second by one, making the total hours of the journey about 12. That's not necessarily a complaint though, because I enjoy airports. A lot.
I got a lot of reading done, and saw some interesting people. This is depressing, but I wrote it down from Invisibly Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk-my travelling read
"Besides, it happens so fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated. Most women know this feeling of being more and more invisible every day."
It reminded me of Synecdoche, NY when Philip Seymour Hoffman is in the cart driving, passing the time as he is waiting and approaching his death.
On another note, it's good to see mom and dad. Oddly, it feels like I saw them last week even though it's actually been nearly half of a year. I think that means I'm maturing, or it means I'm losing touch with reality.
Maybe both?
Today we chatted, had coffee, found the Georgia O'Keefe book still packed in a box, ate New Mexican food, talked with the family who provided us with that food, had more coffee, went to the grocery store, watched Coffee and Cigarettes, then watched a series of other things.
Oh, and just found out Matthew Barney and Bjork are possibly broken up. That's both heartbreaking and relieving. So much genius fused together at once seems dangerous, it's probably better they're seperate to diffuse some of it to other parts of the globe.
Also, during and for a few hours after reading through some of Georgia O'Keefe's letters, I became very sad. She chose to move from NY to NM to almost escape civilization. She was generally happy in her independence, but loved a man still in NY and had close friends there. Through her letters you could feel her longing to be with them struggling against the ease she felt where she had settled. It made me miss certain people and I couldn't help but combine her emotion with what I've got on my own, amplifying my feelings to an unreasonable degree.
Anyway, I appreciate and admire her honesty with the people she loved. That's something I hope I have somewhat acheived so far and want to build upon with years...becoming more invisible to the world as it loves me less, and the world becoming more visible to me as I love it more.
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