Review: Sigmar Polke at the MOMA
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Review: Sigmar Polke at the MOMA

I saw a lot of art in Italy. The Accademia in Venice, the Uffizi in Florence, the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, the Canova Gipsoteca in Possagno, and a thousand Tintoretto/Tiepolo/Giovanni Bellini-graced churches in Venice. Then I came home to NYC and went to the MOMA with my museum buddy Ying.

The Exhibition Guide for the Sigmar Polke show was filled with the kind of pretentious art-speak that gives art historians a bad name because it distances viewers from art. For example, it describes Polke, a German artist who lived from 1941-2010, as having a “promiscuous intelligence.”

Ying and I had a conversation about that diction, “promiscuous intelligence.” Why couldn’t the writer just say Polke was interested in many subjects? Or something equally direct and to the point. It would be nice if artspeak didn’t try to call attention to itself, but rather served the art it references.

I should note that Ying is even more educated than I am, and has a few advanced degrees. She’s also one of the most dauntingly engaged readers I know. If she’s taking exception to word choice, her opinion matters.

My husband Sabin Howard the master sculptor has a lot to say about the vanity, self-importance, and general silliness of most art historians. He believes that great art should stand on its own, without need for the conceits and airs of PhD’s who are trying to justify their scholarly degrees.

Indeed, no one needs to explain the immensity and gorgeousness of Giotto’s frescoes in the Scrovegni Chapel–they deliver themselves directly to your heart.

Sabin would have been skeptical of Polke, who worked in many mediums: painting, photography, film, sculpture, drawing, print-making, television, performance, and stained glass.

Sabin Howard is about mastery, uplift, perfection. Polke was about experimentation, curiosity, irreverence. Sabin operates from an admirable, even enviable, inner certainty. Polke was questing.

I enjoyed the show, though I did roll my eyes at Potato House, a wooden lattice with potatoes nailed into it that was supposed to evoke pedestrian objects in German life: the garden shed and the potato.

But I do like the wit and boundless curiosity with which the prolific Polke approached his art, and what do you call it if not art? In this I disagree with my husband, who would call it entertainment.

Maybe it isn’t the eternal high art of Michelangelo or Botticelli, but it’s valuable and important, partly as a cultural document–Polke grew up in post-war Germany, and that carries its own weight, a particular gravity. But Polke’s works offer more than cultural and historical reverence. His works attempt to change the viewer’s consciousness, to provoke questions and a kind of delicious uncertainty akin to Buddhist beginner’s mind. In that, it often succeeds.

Though I must agree with Ying who commented, “I like it, it’s very intellectual. But will I be thinking about it in two weeks? Will I be thinking about it in two hours?”

An insightful question, perhaps the salient question. I’m still thinking about Giotto’s frescoes and Botticelli’s Primavera.

Worth seeing, and do go to the Painting and Sculpture I floor, where are housed some stunning Kandinskys.

Sigmar Polke at the MOMA

Agriturismo Al Vecchio Borgo outside of Possagno: A magical experience, with excellent food
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Agriturismo Al Vecchio Borgo outside of Possagno: A magical experience, with excellent food

If I were married to a surgeon, I would hear about cuts and scalpels; if I were married to a movie producer, I would be regaled with stories about talent and above- and below-the-line costs; I am married to a classical figurative sculptor, so I have spent considerable time in Possagno, at Canova’s Gypsoteca and the nearby breath-taking Tempio.

Tonight I wanted to try a new place for dinner. Sabin googled a restaurant and, en route, we passed an Agriturismo.

“Oh, let’s stop there, I love Agriturismos!” I enthused.

Sabin was skeptical, but he was in the mood to please me. I had, after all, endured several hours of waiting for him to emerge from the Canova museum. He raised an eyebrow but drove up the gravel road to the restaurant.

We were greeted by the honks and shuffles of a small pen of ducks and hens. “Dinner,” Sabin observed. But he was happy to note that the immaculate walkway to the Agriturismo was lined with half-life-size sculptures. It was all very neat and manicured.

Once inside, we saw several locals and a few tourists. Nice-looking young Demitri waved us to a table in welcoming fashion and then informed us of the day’s offerings.

The antipasti consisted of two plates of the most delicious salumi. One plate was heaped with prosciutto, pancetta, and salami. The other plate sported paper-thin slices of roast breast of turkey. As a rule, I don’t eat pork. But the salami was mouth-wateringly scrumptious, and I couldn’t resist. I ate every bite that Sabin allowed me—he finished most of it, and he wasn’t sharing, despite the kilo of beef he’d eaten for lunch.

I also indulged in the wine. It was a riot of purple goodness on my tongue, fresh and drinkable and absolutely superb. At night I have one glass of wine at dinner. But tonight a few glasses vanished before I belatedly realized that I really should pace myself. It was just so clean and yummy that I wanted more, and more. Oh, and have I mentioned that the wine is home-made?

Then came the pasta: home-made tagliatelle with duck ragu. Ohmigod. As a professional writer, I really should have a better way to say it than Ohmigod. But that luscious primi deserved devout praise, an exclamation of the purest pleasure. Again, as a rule, I don’t eat pasta. But this was a divine exception.

Sabin devoured his pasta without saying a word or even breathing.

Then I had the steak, and it was fantastic, clean and lean and perfectly cooked and exquisite. Sabin and I shared the secondi because he had, after all, eaten a kilo of beef at lunch.

We passed on dessert. I couldn’t have wedged another bite of anything down my gullet. So Demetri brought me home-made limoncello, and it was another mouthful of bliss and paradise. We fell to talking to him, or rather, Sabin spoke Italian and I understand a lot more than I can say, so I followed the conversation. Then Demetri introduced us to his wife Jessica, a lovely and talented young woman who keeps a sparkling kitchen and cooks like an angel. We begged her to allow us to take a few pictures, because it was overwhelmingly impressive.

And then Demitri brought me a glass of an herbal liquor that he claimed was a digestive, something they make themselves. Have I already used the words delicious, divine, scrumptious, and bliss? Because they all apply to this liquor, which must be tasted to be believed.

So next time you are in the area of Asolo or Possagno, or anywhere in the Veneto, stop by Agriturismo Al Vecchio Borgo. They’re located at Via Fusere 7 – Fietta di Paderno del Grappa, tel 0423 190 14 57. Restaurant open Friday and Saturday dinner and Sunday lunch and dinner.

Agriturismo Al Vecchio Borgo

 

 

Agriturismo Al Vecchio Borgo

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Review of the Samsung Galaxy S4, by an iPhone User

Review of the Samsung Galaxy S4

I am an admitted Apple fangurl. I was an early, enthralled iPhone adopter. I went to the Apple Store within the first week of the iPhone’s introduction, stood in line, and lovingly brought home the wondrous creature.

But of late, all these years later, I found myself increasingly interested in the flexibility of the Android ecosystem. One of my friends has a Galaxy S3 and I had serious screen envy–my goodness, that screen is luscious!

I also haven’t been wowed by the latest iPhone offerings. Yawn.

So last week, when my iPhone 4 was taken over by aliens and the iPod app wouldn’t let me dial out, I went to AT&T and cashed in my upgrade for a Samsung Galaxy S4. I’ve been playing with it for almost a week, so here’s the review, and my thoughts on it from negative to positive.

The really awful: There are two really terrible qualities. I mean, really awful.

One, the mail client is god-awful bad horrible. I guess this is android-wide and not specific to the Galaxy. But after the iOs mail client, the android mail client is clunky, unreadable, and confusing. It’s not just bad, it’s terrible–I can’t emphasize this strongly enough. It doesn’t sync often enough and the UI is impenetrable. I tried downloading another android mail client called K9 and I’m not impressed with it, either.

Any iPhone user will miss the ease and simplicity–both visual and intuitive–of the iOs mail client. This, in fact, may send me back to exchange the Galaxy for an iPhone 5. I check my email via my phone all the time.

Two, the Samsung OS takes up 8 gigabytes of space. Yes, 8. EIGHT. I purchased a 16 gig phone thinking I had 13 gigs of space, and to my surprise, NOPE. Only 8.

The bad: Three more issues.

One, there is too much stuff on the Galaxy. Too much software doing too many things. Hello, Samsung: SOMETIMES LESS IS MORE! Sheesh, you guys. Strip down this OS and your customers will be happier. It took me two days to figure out what I was going to use and what I wouldn’t. Then another day to get rid of or hide the bloatware.

Two, the plastic casing feels cheap and flimsy in the hand. It just doesn’t feel solid, and an iPhone user will miss the sturdy feeling in the hand. I walked by another AT&T store the other day so I checked out the HTC One, which has a really respectable aluminum casing.

Three, the settings are insanely disorganized. You will figure them out. It just won’t be easy or intuitive. I am guessing that someone without the capacity for executive functioning in their brain designed the settings menus.

Here’s what is neither positive or negative: so far I haven’t noticed any extra flexibility from being in the android environment. It’s just different.

Now, the good. There are a lot of good features.

One, the camera is fantastic. Awesome, actually–dazzling. Wish I used it more!

Two, customizing ringtones is easy and built-in. This is a great feature for me, because I like to customize ringtones. I like to know who is calling me so I can decide whether or not to pick up. I am actually trying to train people to text me as a first contact. At least 50% of all phone conversations can be conducted more efficiently via text. So I want to know who’s calling, and for that I need specific ringtones. I always pick-up for my daughter’s school, for example.

Three, customizing the lock and home screens is easy and fun. But you do have to get rid of some of that terrible bloatware that Samsung features–like Flipboard.

Four, air wave is kinda cool. I do like being able to wave my hand over the phone and see the time, date, and my unread email count. Nice feature.

The great.

One, the screen is fantastic. You have to see it to believe it. That big, bright screen makes reading texts easy. It makes looking at anything easy.

Two, I like the bigger size of the phone. I would have liked Apple to make an iPhone that was the same size. Really, I would have.

I have a few more days left to exchange the phone for a $35 restocking fee. In the end, it may just come down to that terrible android email interface–I don’t know if I can live with it.

But the Samsung Galaxy S4 does feature many cool, worthwhile features.

New Favorite Show: BBC’s SHERLOCK
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New Favorite Show: BBC’s SHERLOCK

(BBC’s SHERLOCK)

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill….

         Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
William Butler Yeats, Leda and the Swan

I love sonnets. They are the most passionate of poems: convex with energy pushing out, straining against form. A sonnet possesses 14 lines only, to say everything.

And when the valence shatters–O.

In my own experience, poetry comes from the inarticulate place. It is an Orphic activity, because the poet descends into hell and looks back and leaves language behind, and brings back things that can not be said any other way.

So, sonnets, so exquisite because of their restraint.

I read Yeats when my soul is hungry and predatory like a vampire and wants to feast. I read Rumi when my heart is sick and I founder, when despair threatens everything. I read sonnets to feel amorous. It’s all that restraint and boundedness–a big turn on.

Because when the restraint breaks–the sublime sweeps in.

But I think few Americans get it about restraint and how sexy it is. Our culture is so boringly obvious.

A friend of mine in the TV & movie industry recommended the British show Sherlock, saying, “It’s by smart people, about smart people, for smart people–and they don’t care who doesn’t get it.”

That was a kind of challenge. Naturally, I soon logged into Neflix to find out for myself.

Sherlock exceeded my expectations. The plots are intricate and interwoven, juicy and satisfying. They’re just so darn intelligent.

Enlivening the whole hour and a half is restraint: the restraint on which is founded the curious, brilliant character of Sherlock Holmes, played superbly by Benedict Cumberbatch. The restraint of Martin Freeman’s grounded, likable, heterosexual Dr. John Watson, who is constantly mistaken for Sherlock’s better half. Andrew Scott plays a chilling and unexpected Moriarty, not at all obvious. Louise Brealey plays a hapless but good-hearted pathologist who assists Sherlock in the laboratory. Mark Gatiss ably and well plays Mycroft Holmes.

A whole cast of intelligent, restrained actors bringing vivid yet thoughtful life to their characters.

When I wax rhapsodic about intelligence and restraint, some readers may incorrectly think, “lacking suspense.” To the contrary, each episode is breathtakingly taut and absorbing. Each episode flies by, holding the viewer rapt.

What a treat! Don’t restrain yourself, go immediately to Netflix and see firsthand what I mean.

Listen to this blogpost as a podcast in iTunes here.

 

Review of Dystopian Romance book Cold Light (After Series) by Traci L. Slatton
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Review of Dystopian Romance book Cold Light (After Series) by Traci L. Slatton

Review of Dystopian Romance book Cold Light (After Series) by Traci Slatton

Paromantasy blog is lively and exciting. Check out their new review of COLD LIGHT–the first blog review of this novel!

This book in one sentence: A haunting, heartwrenching, action-packed emotional roller coaster of a read that will leave an impression on you long after your finish the book.
To say that I love this book or this series would be an understatement. Traci Slatton has done an immpecable job with what I thought would be an impossible hurrdle for her two main characters to overcome after the ending of Fallen. Not only did she do the impossible, but she made me love the characters and the new additions to the book even more.
Emma has seen, faced and survived the impossible. She has seen the world destroyed by mists that ravage everything in its path. She survived while caring for her child and several abandoned children. She offered her body to a man, Arthur, in exchange for his protection and shelter in his camp and  found unexpected love in a world filled with grief. She found out that her husband and other daughter survived in a safe-zone in Canada. She also discovered that Arthur is the cause for the mists and that her husband risked his life to come for her. She leaves with her husband to Canada, but her heart remains with Arthur…

New review of THE ART OF LIFE
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New review of THE ART OF LIFE

Review of THE ART OF LIFE

From Atelier Mends Blogspot:

“…this rich, intelligent study interweaving the history of classical sculpture and Howard’s own personal process finishes by leading the reader to understand the transformative power of art as a whole, through the eyes of one of its talented makers.  ”

See the blogpost here.

Buy the eBook here.

Amazon purchase here. Please pay no attention to “Out of stock” notification on Amazon, it is not true. It is a hiccup on Amazon. Or purchase from Barnes & Noble here.