So internship week one was actually all orientation. And what an orientation it was! Each day we took tours of galleries and departments led by personable and incredibly knowledgeable museum staff. I loved it all, even the moments when my feet ached! (Which was quite a few. Still working on the right ratio of shoe cushioning.)
I'll run it all down for you here.
Monday
On Monday we started with breakfast, during which they thanked us all for being here. THANKED US!! I still can't believe I'm getting paid to go to TM five days a week! After breakfast, we hung out in the roof sculpture garden while other interns got IDs, and then we took a very quick highlights tour with one of the museum's volunteers. Even this short tour was very interesting and enjoyable. The college interns are training to give similar tours. There's so much to remember!
After the highlight tour came the Facilities Tour. This primarily involved the ground floor, where only the staff has access. The ground floor is fairly non-descript, and there are few signs. "Better" yet, there is no floorplan. The tour was a whirlwind that involved lots of pausing at hallway intersections and pointing down one way or the other with a comment like, "And if you went all the way through this hall and through the room at the end, you'd be in..." Those of you who know me well can understand why this quickly became nightmarish for me! I had scary visions of being asked to go pick up a printing order and getting hopelessly lost. In fact, I began joking that they planned the photo of all the interns later in the week so they could tell which of us had gone missing. Fortunately, our guide informed us halfway through the tour that we would invariably get lost, and everyone does. I planned right then to just throw myself on the mercy of the security staff to help me find the the places I need to be. I overheard other interns murmuring nervously, too, so I think I'm not the only one with that plan.
Lunch was a pleasant surprise. We ate in the "Staff Caf," which offers hot and cold food options daily. The prices strike me as being quite good, and there's variety every day. I'm not sure their vegetarian options are so great, but that doesn't affect me directly. I'll talk a little more about the cafeteria food I've partaken of this week later.
After lunch we took a tour of the Luce Center, which is open storage for 19th-century American decorative and fine art objects. Wow! This is really amazing, and something I recommend all visitors to the museum take time to see. Even if this isn't your thing and you don't plan to spend a lot of time in this area, it's still amazing to just wander between the glass cabinets to see the astonishing panorama of objects. And as our guide pointed out, somewhere in those cases is something that every American will find familiar, either from their house, or their grandparents' house, or a friend's house.
The remainder of day 1 was a reception. Most of the time I chatted with other interns, but toward the end of the day I did have the opportunity to meet four of the six people who work in my department. Everyone was very friendly. One of the women said she also came from a background that wasn't arts/textiles, so I'm excited to learn her story. And she said they're looking forward to teaching us all the useful things they know, so that made me exceptionally happy! I'm still not sure exactly what projects I'll be working on, but they did mention rehousing velvets and laces, building boxes, and assisting researchers who come to use the library and textile database. All of that sounds good to me.
Tuesday
We started Tuesday with a tour of the Greek and Roman galleries. Hurrah! The witty curator who led our group was also from a non-arts/non-museum background, so I found that also encouraging. My new mental game is to try to imagine what the statues in the Greek and Roman galleries would have looked like when they were polychrome. Now we just associate the clean, elegant white marble with an aesthetic of Greek and Roman art, but in actuality these pieces were brightly colored. There are traces of pigment still extant on some of the statues. I think this could be a really fun Photoshop project for someone who's much better at Photoshop than I am. An explanation of the audience development efforts came next, and it was interesting and, unsurprisingly, very polished. Then a museum architecture tour followed lunch, and I started taking notes about the multiple architects who have shaped and changed the museum over time. It's a fascinating story about one of the major cultural landmarks of our country. Spotting remnants of the work of these various architects has been a fun pastime since that tour.
The rest of Tuesday included pictures at the Temple of Dendur and working in small groups with other graduate interns to create a themed "treasure hunt" for adult visitors. That project continued for the rest of the week. If you visit the museum next Valentine's Day weekend, perhaps you can take the tour my group worked up. Just ask at the information desk. Tuesday was also good because I met an ethnomusicology student who was also flying "under the radar" of not being an art history major. I think we were both relieved to learn that we aren't alone!
Wednesday
On Wednesday we had an orientation to the main research library, and we took a tour of the African Art galleries. I started to hit my stride a little more and was able to ask some worthwhile museology questions about labelling decisions. (This is a pretty big issue in post-colonial areas, among others.) Among the pieces are some of those that inspired Picasso. We also learned that many of the power sculptures have been "cleaned up" significantly from their appearance when they were in use in their land of origination.
We had a talk from the chief security officer and got to hear entertaining stories about major events held at TM with famous people. I learned that all of the security staff have college degrees, and many "work their way up" (words of the chief security officer) through the ranks to other positions in the museum. I've really enjoyed all of the interactions I've had with the security personnel so far, even though they've all been short exchanges. I'm so envious of their knowledge of the museum! If I can stop taking wrong turns to the basic places I need to go before my time here ends, I'll be pleased.
Thursday
The big event for Thursday was Human Resources training. Although it was listed as being about professional image, the graduate students actually took a workshop on communication styles. I found out that I'm fairly balanced between the four styles, but I tend slightly toward analytical. (Does this surprise anyone? I had predicted it before we took the quizzes.) Now that we know each other's communication styles, it has been engrossing to watch the different type of interactions that take place.
Friday
Friday already? How the week flew by! We started the morning with a 19th Century tour. Once again, our tour guide was wonderful. She pointed out that telling the story of collectors is important for the museum and these galleries. These stories help explain the museum's collection, and the gaps therein. They're also interesting vignettes of specific personalities and practice through different time periods. This curator also pointed out the very deliberate arrangement of the galleries, which simultaneously groups works in a way that leads viewers to compare or contrast them in predictable ways while also meeting all donor stipulations (certain collections must remain together, etc.) and leading the viewer on from one gallery to another. (At last! My virtual inability to pull myself out of museum spaces explained.)
Next we moved to a tour of scientific research. Those folks are solving exciting mysteries (and providing basic information needed for condition reports, artifact assessment before purchase, etc.). They have really cool equipment, too! We saw a huge HUGE X-ray setup, a mass spectrometer (and the detailed output from it), an electron microscope, and even a ray gun! It's art history meets detective work meets science fiction. Very impressive.
The Registrar tour was an unexpected gem of orientation. These staff members have astonishing stories to tell! I particularly enjoyed the accounts of art moving operations that met suddenly with filming on the steps; as they pointed out, it's not always easy to tell which swat team operations are real and which are staged for TV in this city. The explanation of what couriers do, the crates that are used to transport art (with proprietary colors for each institution), and the process of securing and protecting loans (such as filing for immunity from seizure) provided terrific insight into the behind-the-scenes workings of the museum. And the fact that people in this department specialize in incoming or outgoing loans, and even further beyond that, highlighted the difference between a huge institution like this and other, smaller museums I've worked in. If I get a chance, I hope I can spend some time trailing one or more folks who work in the Registrar department.
Monday, Week Two
One of the (many) fabulous things about this internship program is that every Monday throughout the summer is set aside for professional development/orientation activities. Our second Monday was no less engaging than any of the previous week.
We started the day with a tour of Objects Conservation. Amazing! The highly-skilled staff members and contractors in this department specialize in materials more than in time periods (although some of them also have period specializations). I was particularly engrossed by the discussion of restoration of a piece of intricate wood furniture.
After a break, we took a tour of the special exhibit "Superheroes: Fashion and Fantasy." This exhibition is a production of the Costume Institute that will be on view through September 1, 2008. I like it. The exhibit combines costumes from recent (and fairly recent) movies featuring superheroes and pieces from fashion collections by major designers such as Theirry Mugler, Dolce & Gabbana, and Gianni Versace. The exhibit is broken into sections focusing on different types of bodies reflected in different superhero depictions. Non-costume artwork in the exhibit includes some original comic books at the end of the show, movie stills and original backdrops throughout, and an iconic print by a major Pop artist.
After lunch we saw a presentation by the Scientist in Charge of scientific research, reinforcing much of what we saw and heard on our tour. Those folks do amazing work! What a great career that must be. What a lot of great careers there seem to be here!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Day 8: Paying Tribute to Transit
On the anniversary of the day I arrived (last week), it seemed somehow fitting that I should go to the New York Transit Museum. After all, I've been liberally availing myself of the transit system since I got here! And this is another stop that's been on my NYC "to do" list for years.
My first impression was that you'd think the transit folks somehow would have managed to make this more accessible. The museum is in Brooklyn, which I didn't have a problem with. Somehow, though, my hopstop directions didn't lead me right to the door, or even the starting intersection, this time. I think I got goofed up in my Brooklyn station before coming above ground, but that's beside the point. After scouting a block or two in every direction and coming up with no streets listed on my directions, I decided to prevail upon the knowledge and kindness of the folks at the Brooklyn Historical Society to get me started again in the right direction. They quickly and pleasantly obliged. I think I owe them a visit now.
The approach to this museum is not the most encouraging nor welcoming entrance I've encountered recently. Besides the fact that they were sorting recycling on most of the sidewalk right by the steps I needed, this looks a little like a subway entrance I'd rather avoid.
But since the museum is "housed in a historic 1936 IND subway station in Brooklyn Heights," this is the way in, so I went.
Luckily, there were two people near the door to show me which way to start. They didn't suggest my route, they told me what to do. OK. I can follow directions. The first exhibit visitors are routed through is Steel, Stone & Backbone: Building New York's Subways 1900-1925. It's an interesting exhibit, full of pictures and some of the original building tools and equipment. There are even some quotes from workers, describing astonishing occurrences like "blowouts," when geysers of water erupted from the underground digging sites, blowing earth, equipment, and humans up through the ground in what was usually disastrous fashion. My lingering impression of this part of the exhibit is that it was rather dim and cramped, which may have been intentional atmosphere. My biggest disappointment, however, was that captions for the pictures were listed together at the far side of a grouping of pictures, meaning viewers have to physically move back and forth between captions and pictures (both of which are relatively small) to get much out of either. I didn't have much patience for this, so I spent less time in this portion of the museum than I might have done otherwise.
After that, the space opens up into sections highlighting other aspects of transit in the City. One area I particularly enjoyed was the section dedicated to fare collection. Turnstiles and other "gate" devices from the subway system are arranged chronologically, accompanied by descriptions of the time period each was used and the various merits and problems of each.
Visitors could walk through each of these (but didn't have to in order to read the labeling), and kids particularly seemed to enjoy it. But I was not the only (or the first) adult to walk through some of the older models. I also enjoyed the display that traced the changes in ride prices and depicted the various tokens. (Sadly, I never got to use a subway token in New York. Metrocard was already in place by my first visit. I have to say it's a system that I'm impressed with, and it makes work commute smoother.)
I went through On the Streets: New York's Trolleys and Buses more quickly and especially enjoyed the period pictures that accompanied the timeline of the changes in trolley and bus service in the City.
The description of the design and creation of the bridges was also fairly amazing, and I enjoyed learning more about the various architectural styles that were planned and eventually used.
Until this point I had been thinking that this wasn't a particularly engaging museum for children except, perhaps, for the many turnstiles. When I saw the Clearing the Air section, I began to change my mind. This interactive display focused on science and discussed environmental concerns and developments as they relate to different fuel types. There were several "try it out" kinds of activities, and the questions and answers involved lights and buttons. In my experience these are always winners with kids. (The first time I took my nephew, three at the time, to a museum, he was thrilled with a scientific display that allowed him to push and pull things in order to make lights come on. He was not the least bit interested in what that exhibit was about, but he was delighted with those lights!) It just got better for children from there, because there was a full-sized replica of a bus that visitors could "drive" or ride in. Personally, my day was made when I spotted this station cat in the scale trolley model.
The end of the first level had a lunch room with long school cafeteria type tables. Museum employees were covering the tables with plastic tablecloths decorated with the subway map, apparently for a party of some sort. I can think of several little guys I know who would be ecstatic to have a birthday party in this venue! (I'm sure the little gals I know would have fun, too, but so far their interests haven't focused as much on modes of transportation.)
The lower level of the museum housed an unexpected surprise: retired subway cars from many, many decades. The signage was between the tracks on the platform. I was fascinated by the subtle design changes and had a great time looking at the different materials used and the vintage ads.
You might be interested to know that in the past, subway seats were padded!
(In this 1950s model, I noted the similarity with diner style of that time.)
I guess the MTA has figured out that fitting in more seats per car isn't the only way they can save money.
I'd like to go back to the London Transport Museum to see how it compares to this one. It's just been too long for me to remember, although my impression is that it was brighter and easier to find. One thing I know for certain, though, is that the t-shirts from both institutions are pretty cool.
My first impression was that you'd think the transit folks somehow would have managed to make this more accessible. The museum is in Brooklyn, which I didn't have a problem with. Somehow, though, my hopstop directions didn't lead me right to the door, or even the starting intersection, this time. I think I got goofed up in my Brooklyn station before coming above ground, but that's beside the point. After scouting a block or two in every direction and coming up with no streets listed on my directions, I decided to prevail upon the knowledge and kindness of the folks at the Brooklyn Historical Society to get me started again in the right direction. They quickly and pleasantly obliged. I think I owe them a visit now.
The approach to this museum is not the most encouraging nor welcoming entrance I've encountered recently. Besides the fact that they were sorting recycling on most of the sidewalk right by the steps I needed, this looks a little like a subway entrance I'd rather avoid.
But since the museum is "housed in a historic 1936 IND subway station in Brooklyn Heights," this is the way in, so I went.
Luckily, there were two people near the door to show me which way to start. They didn't suggest my route, they told me what to do. OK. I can follow directions. The first exhibit visitors are routed through is Steel, Stone & Backbone: Building New York's Subways 1900-1925. It's an interesting exhibit, full of pictures and some of the original building tools and equipment. There are even some quotes from workers, describing astonishing occurrences like "blowouts," when geysers of water erupted from the underground digging sites, blowing earth, equipment, and humans up through the ground in what was usually disastrous fashion. My lingering impression of this part of the exhibit is that it was rather dim and cramped, which may have been intentional atmosphere. My biggest disappointment, however, was that captions for the pictures were listed together at the far side of a grouping of pictures, meaning viewers have to physically move back and forth between captions and pictures (both of which are relatively small) to get much out of either. I didn't have much patience for this, so I spent less time in this portion of the museum than I might have done otherwise.
After that, the space opens up into sections highlighting other aspects of transit in the City. One area I particularly enjoyed was the section dedicated to fare collection. Turnstiles and other "gate" devices from the subway system are arranged chronologically, accompanied by descriptions of the time period each was used and the various merits and problems of each.
Visitors could walk through each of these (but didn't have to in order to read the labeling), and kids particularly seemed to enjoy it. But I was not the only (or the first) adult to walk through some of the older models. I also enjoyed the display that traced the changes in ride prices and depicted the various tokens. (Sadly, I never got to use a subway token in New York. Metrocard was already in place by my first visit. I have to say it's a system that I'm impressed with, and it makes work commute smoother.)
I went through On the Streets: New York's Trolleys and Buses more quickly and especially enjoyed the period pictures that accompanied the timeline of the changes in trolley and bus service in the City.
The description of the design and creation of the bridges was also fairly amazing, and I enjoyed learning more about the various architectural styles that were planned and eventually used.Until this point I had been thinking that this wasn't a particularly engaging museum for children except, perhaps, for the many turnstiles. When I saw the Clearing the Air section, I began to change my mind. This interactive display focused on science and discussed environmental concerns and developments as they relate to different fuel types. There were several "try it out" kinds of activities, and the questions and answers involved lights and buttons. In my experience these are always winners with kids. (The first time I took my nephew, three at the time, to a museum, he was thrilled with a scientific display that allowed him to push and pull things in order to make lights come on. He was not the least bit interested in what that exhibit was about, but he was delighted with those lights!) It just got better for children from there, because there was a full-sized replica of a bus that visitors could "drive" or ride in. Personally, my day was made when I spotted this station cat in the scale trolley model.
The end of the first level had a lunch room with long school cafeteria type tables. Museum employees were covering the tables with plastic tablecloths decorated with the subway map, apparently for a party of some sort. I can think of several little guys I know who would be ecstatic to have a birthday party in this venue! (I'm sure the little gals I know would have fun, too, but so far their interests haven't focused as much on modes of transportation.)
The lower level of the museum housed an unexpected surprise: retired subway cars from many, many decades. The signage was between the tracks on the platform. I was fascinated by the subtle design changes and had a great time looking at the different materials used and the vintage ads.
You might be interested to know that in the past, subway seats were padded!
(In this 1950s model, I noted the similarity with diner style of that time.)
I guess the MTA has figured out that fitting in more seats per car isn't the only way they can save money.
I'd like to go back to the London Transport Museum to see how it compares to this one. It's just been too long for me to remember, although my impression is that it was brighter and easier to find. One thing I know for certain, though, is that the t-shirts from both institutions are pretty cool.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Day 7: Brooklyn Bound
Today I spent my time at the Brooklyn Museum. I had hoped to live in Park Slope this summer, thereby being quite close to this amazing institution, but no such luck. So I made the trek out, figuring that since it was supposed to "rain hard" (which it did), I'd be better off to spend as much time inside as possible. Lucky for me, that's easy at the Brooklyn Museum. Even the Subway stop is steps away from the front doors. Excellent!
I started with the special exhibit, Murakami, which is up until July 13. The title is the name of this artist, known for bringing the flat, bright style of manga and anime to fine art. He has collaborated with companies like Louis Vuittan to create corporate logos, but then he has reincorporated those into his artwork. So one of the major issues in his work deals with copyright and intellectual property. The exhibit included multiple galleries with paintings, sculptures, wallpapers and floorcoverings, video, and commercially produced goods. Random note: I thought the prices of gift shop goods related to this exhibit were exhorbitant!
(Sculpture is in the foyer featuring several of Murakami's characters. The balloon, also in the foyer, is Mr. DOB, Murakami's alter ego.)
There were special labels for children, distinguishable only by their content as far as I could tell, interspersed throughout. I saw it in some of the other galleries of the Brooklyn Museum as well. I like it when museums do this. I think it's much more inviting and engaging for children, and it helps adults who may be unsure how to interpret the museum for young visitors. (I did, however, see some excellent examples of this, too, throughout the day. Hurrah for adults who take the time to talk things through with children!)
I don't know a lot about manga and anime, and they're genres that I just haven't been able to drum up much interest in. I needed K, T, and H, or S, with me for this exhibit, I think. I did enjoy the thought-stretching process of reminding myself that:
1)Just because this work looks cartoony doesn't mean it's innocent. (The same is true of cartoons, actually.) In fact, much of this was sexually explicit. 2)There's no reason guardian spirits can't or shouldn't look like cartoons. Even cute, cuddly cartoons.
It was just difficult for me to disassociate the bright, seemingly cheerful palettes and sharp, unrealistic lines that I associate with children's animation from kids' themes. But it's good to expose ourselves to new things and challenge our assumptions, and I spent an hour and a half or so doing just that. I tried to listen to the PocketMuseum audio gallery guide on my cell phone, but it was almost impossible. First, the artist himself was doing the talking, and he was not recorded well and difficult to understand. Second, the galleries were among the loudest I've ever been in, and even while wedging a spare finger far down the ear canal, I couldn't block out enough sound to follow. So I gave up, although I'm generally a fan of using the cell phone to dial for more information. As long as it's a weekend and doesn't count against my minutes.
I moved next to the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, which currently houses Ghada Amer: Love Has No End through October 19. This featured embroidered paintings and other works, some of which I'm certain I've seen before but can't remember when or where, that address the role of women as well as current violence and stereotypes about Islam. I found the descriptive labels very helpful in pointing out details that I would otherwise have missed.
Then I spent a good deal of time examining Judy Chicago's installation The Dinner Party. This is the famous work that has a triangle banquet table set with thirteen place settings on each side, each one created and embroidered for a specific woman who has shaped history. The floor consists of white tile with 999 other women's names inscribed in gold. (Like the wolves in the Guggenheim, I didn't count these names.) There are also banners as you enter with lines of the artist's poetry, and a series of informative panels in an adjoining space telling about the women, which currently blends into the small exhibit Votes for Women . All in all, Chicago's installation and accompanying materials were very beautiful and informative. I walked around the tables twice, and I know I could still be finding many more details to study. I did find some errors in the biographical panels, and quite a bit of obviously biased writing, but it was beautiful and provocative nonetheless. What's the point of being an artist if you can't proclaim your bias?
Another part of the museum I particularly enjoyed were the period rooms. Taken from actual houses, these rooms have been installed in the museum to demonstrate a variety of decorating and architectural aesthetics. I would have enjoyed learning even more about the rooms, but it was a pleasant walk through in any case. I even spotted a reproduction chintz used in Wylie House window treatments upstairs, and sure enough, it was an early 1830s Winterthur reproduction. One of the things I particularly appreciated about their approach to these rooms was the transparency of the process. One of the labels for the Weil-Worgelt Study said, "In making such decisions [about which interpretive period to restore the rooms to], curators shape how viewers perceive history and in some ways rewrite the past." A similar reference was made in regards to the Jan Martense Schenck House. I think it's very important that museums acknowledge what they're doing implicitly as well as explicitly, and I was glad for this wording in the exhibit text.
These types of "role of museums" references were in labels in the Egyptian collection as well. In particular, an entire label was devoted to the concept of provenance and described how museums acquire artifacts. The Brooklyn Museums Egyptian collection is supposed to be the third best in the world, and it was quite impressive. There was also more multi-media in this area, such as the computer that allowed examination of the postures of several statues in the collection to see what they might symbolize. The labels were explicitly intended to be educational, addressing such topics as Egypt's relation to the rest of Africa, magic, and the role of women. I love Egyptian art and artifacts, and these were quite impressive. Something about it didn't meet my expectations, though, and I think it's something silly like the fact that this was much more spread out than, for example, the touring King Tut exhibition or the Field Museum's Egyptian exhibit. There's something a bit ridiculous about saying that an exhibit is too spread out and too bright, but I think that's how I feel about this. Maybe I was just getting tired. No matter, though, because I would still highly recommend this third floor, and I hope to go back there again.
I spent the scant time remaining going quickly through the African art gallery and the Utagawa: Masters of the Japanese Print, 1770-1900 exhibit that will be up through June 15. I probably should have spent more time in this last exhibit, but I did learn fascinating things about making woodblock prints. Again, I wished K, T, and H had been with me for this exhibit. I didn't make it to Japonisme in American Graphic Art, but hopefully I can get to it next time. There does need to be a next time; this museum is big and engaging, not to mention provocative. (Remember the Sensation exhibit? You do, even if you don't think you do.)
Oh, wait. I saw one more thing in the museum: From the Village to Vogue: The Modernist Jewelry of Art Smith. This was a medium-sized room with modernist jewelry by this Brooklyn-born jewelry maker and others with shared aesthetics. I enjoyed it! It had great music playing, too. See, I told you there was a lot going on at this museum!
Before returning home, I decided I needed to check out one of the local restaurants. I chose La Fonda Antioqueno, a Colombian restaurant, because I figured I could handle the menu language (which turned out to be translated into English anyway) and because I decided I could afford the daily special. ($10.05 with tax.) Saturday's special is steak in mushroom and onion sauce with sides of salad, rice, and fried green plantains. The meal came on two plates, one for the steak, and one for the sides. The rice was a heap of plain white rice, and the salad consisted of lettuce, cubed carrots, peas, onions, tomato, and beet. It was garnished with a wedge of lime, which I squeezed liberally over it. The plantains were fried into a patty.
I loved the steak from the first bite. It was tender and flavorful with tastes I couldn't quite identify, beyond the saltiness. The bland salad and rice were a good balance to the saltiness of the steak, which did seem to increase throughout the meal. (I wish someone had refilled my water!) I thoroughly enjoyed the plantain, which I broke off and ate in bite-sized chunks, not sure what else was expected of me. I would like to try more things at this restaurant, which featured riding gear, Columbia-emblazoned shirts, and a TV mutely playing a Columbian TV station, but I think I'll have to stick to the daily special or appetizers, as it's a bit beyond my price range for most other things.
[Note: Further research leads me to suspect this restaurant is part of a chain. Disappointing! It was still good, though, and a place I'd never been. So I'm still going to count it as a success.]
I started with the special exhibit, Murakami, which is up until July 13. The title is the name of this artist, known for bringing the flat, bright style of manga and anime to fine art. He has collaborated with companies like Louis Vuittan to create corporate logos, but then he has reincorporated those into his artwork. So one of the major issues in his work deals with copyright and intellectual property. The exhibit included multiple galleries with paintings, sculptures, wallpapers and floorcoverings, video, and commercially produced goods. Random note: I thought the prices of gift shop goods related to this exhibit were exhorbitant!
(Sculpture is in the foyer featuring several of Murakami's characters. The balloon, also in the foyer, is Mr. DOB, Murakami's alter ego.)
There were special labels for children, distinguishable only by their content as far as I could tell, interspersed throughout. I saw it in some of the other galleries of the Brooklyn Museum as well. I like it when museums do this. I think it's much more inviting and engaging for children, and it helps adults who may be unsure how to interpret the museum for young visitors. (I did, however, see some excellent examples of this, too, throughout the day. Hurrah for adults who take the time to talk things through with children!)
I don't know a lot about manga and anime, and they're genres that I just haven't been able to drum up much interest in. I needed K, T, and H, or S, with me for this exhibit, I think. I did enjoy the thought-stretching process of reminding myself that:
1)Just because this work looks cartoony doesn't mean it's innocent. (The same is true of cartoons, actually.) In fact, much of this was sexually explicit. 2)There's no reason guardian spirits can't or shouldn't look like cartoons. Even cute, cuddly cartoons.
It was just difficult for me to disassociate the bright, seemingly cheerful palettes and sharp, unrealistic lines that I associate with children's animation from kids' themes. But it's good to expose ourselves to new things and challenge our assumptions, and I spent an hour and a half or so doing just that. I tried to listen to the PocketMuseum audio gallery guide on my cell phone, but it was almost impossible. First, the artist himself was doing the talking, and he was not recorded well and difficult to understand. Second, the galleries were among the loudest I've ever been in, and even while wedging a spare finger far down the ear canal, I couldn't block out enough sound to follow. So I gave up, although I'm generally a fan of using the cell phone to dial for more information. As long as it's a weekend and doesn't count against my minutes.
I moved next to the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art, which currently houses Ghada Amer: Love Has No End through October 19. This featured embroidered paintings and other works, some of which I'm certain I've seen before but can't remember when or where, that address the role of women as well as current violence and stereotypes about Islam. I found the descriptive labels very helpful in pointing out details that I would otherwise have missed.
Then I spent a good deal of time examining Judy Chicago's installation The Dinner Party. This is the famous work that has a triangle banquet table set with thirteen place settings on each side, each one created and embroidered for a specific woman who has shaped history. The floor consists of white tile with 999 other women's names inscribed in gold. (Like the wolves in the Guggenheim, I didn't count these names.) There are also banners as you enter with lines of the artist's poetry, and a series of informative panels in an adjoining space telling about the women, which currently blends into the small exhibit Votes for Women . All in all, Chicago's installation and accompanying materials were very beautiful and informative. I walked around the tables twice, and I know I could still be finding many more details to study. I did find some errors in the biographical panels, and quite a bit of obviously biased writing, but it was beautiful and provocative nonetheless. What's the point of being an artist if you can't proclaim your bias?
Another part of the museum I particularly enjoyed were the period rooms. Taken from actual houses, these rooms have been installed in the museum to demonstrate a variety of decorating and architectural aesthetics. I would have enjoyed learning even more about the rooms, but it was a pleasant walk through in any case. I even spotted a reproduction chintz used in Wylie House window treatments upstairs, and sure enough, it was an early 1830s Winterthur reproduction. One of the things I particularly appreciated about their approach to these rooms was the transparency of the process. One of the labels for the Weil-Worgelt Study said, "In making such decisions [about which interpretive period to restore the rooms to], curators shape how viewers perceive history and in some ways rewrite the past." A similar reference was made in regards to the Jan Martense Schenck House. I think it's very important that museums acknowledge what they're doing implicitly as well as explicitly, and I was glad for this wording in the exhibit text.
These types of "role of museums" references were in labels in the Egyptian collection as well. In particular, an entire label was devoted to the concept of provenance and described how museums acquire artifacts. The Brooklyn Museums Egyptian collection is supposed to be the third best in the world, and it was quite impressive. There was also more multi-media in this area, such as the computer that allowed examination of the postures of several statues in the collection to see what they might symbolize. The labels were explicitly intended to be educational, addressing such topics as Egypt's relation to the rest of Africa, magic, and the role of women. I love Egyptian art and artifacts, and these were quite impressive. Something about it didn't meet my expectations, though, and I think it's something silly like the fact that this was much more spread out than, for example, the touring King Tut exhibition or the Field Museum's Egyptian exhibit. There's something a bit ridiculous about saying that an exhibit is too spread out and too bright, but I think that's how I feel about this. Maybe I was just getting tired. No matter, though, because I would still highly recommend this third floor, and I hope to go back there again.
I spent the scant time remaining going quickly through the African art gallery and the Utagawa: Masters of the Japanese Print, 1770-1900 exhibit that will be up through June 15. I probably should have spent more time in this last exhibit, but I did learn fascinating things about making woodblock prints. Again, I wished K, T, and H had been with me for this exhibit. I didn't make it to Japonisme in American Graphic Art, but hopefully I can get to it next time. There does need to be a next time; this museum is big and engaging, not to mention provocative. (Remember the Sensation exhibit? You do, even if you don't think you do.)
Oh, wait. I saw one more thing in the museum: From the Village to Vogue: The Modernist Jewelry of Art Smith. This was a medium-sized room with modernist jewelry by this Brooklyn-born jewelry maker and others with shared aesthetics. I enjoyed it! It had great music playing, too. See, I told you there was a lot going on at this museum!
Before returning home, I decided I needed to check out one of the local restaurants. I chose La Fonda Antioqueno, a Colombian restaurant, because I figured I could handle the menu language (which turned out to be translated into English anyway) and because I decided I could afford the daily special. ($10.05 with tax.) Saturday's special is steak in mushroom and onion sauce with sides of salad, rice, and fried green plantains. The meal came on two plates, one for the steak, and one for the sides. The rice was a heap of plain white rice, and the salad consisted of lettuce, cubed carrots, peas, onions, tomato, and beet. It was garnished with a wedge of lime, which I squeezed liberally over it. The plantains were fried into a patty.
I loved the steak from the first bite. It was tender and flavorful with tastes I couldn't quite identify, beyond the saltiness. The bland salad and rice were a good balance to the saltiness of the steak, which did seem to increase throughout the meal. (I wish someone had refilled my water!) I thoroughly enjoyed the plantain, which I broke off and ate in bite-sized chunks, not sure what else was expected of me. I would like to try more things at this restaurant, which featured riding gear, Columbia-emblazoned shirts, and a TV mutely playing a Columbian TV station, but I think I'll have to stick to the daily special or appetizers, as it's a bit beyond my price range for most other things.
[Note: Further research leads me to suspect this restaurant is part of a chain. Disappointing! It was still good, though, and a place I'd never been. So I'm still going to count it as a success.]
Friday, May 30, 2008
Day 6: "Thank You" Tour Concludes
Today was the day to visit the third and final NYC museum I applied to that didn't hire me for the summer: The Guggenheim. When I walked past the other day, I noted that the outside is still undergoing extensive renovation. 
This is to prepare for the Guggenheim's 50th Anniversary next year. (Their guide currently notes that they were just approved to re-paint the exterior the same off white color it has been for decades, as opposed to the earlier yellow color.) In fact, it seems that much of NYC is under renovation, including half of the main staircase into work, but that's beside the point. I got to the museum around lunch time, so I decided to get a sausage from the cart. I knew this was coming, but I'd (successfully) been trying to avoid eating out over the past few days. This felt nostalgic, though, as I also ate a hot dog while sitting on the low wall by the Guggenheim on my first visit to New York many years ago. So: I ordered my sausage with sauerkraut, mustard, and onions. I realized too late that I was, in fact, getting a hot dog with those ingredients, and that the onions weren't fresh diced onions but something cooked in a reddish sauce.
Oh, well. This counts as "eating something interesting" as E and K urged me to do, but I can't recommend it. It was only $3, though, and it sustained me through the visit, so the goal was accomplished. I retreated to a bench across the street to eat and people watch while attempting to keep from dripping goo on myself. Then I proceeded into the museum.
Much to my delight, the major installations from the I Want To Believe exhibit of Cai Guo-Qiang's work that closed on Wednesday were still in place. So while I missed the exhibit proper (and the accompanying exhibit Everything Is Museum that I really wanted to see), at least I didn't miss everything. In fact, one of the gallery guides assured me that all the best stuff was still on view. Let me describe the surreal site that currently greets visitors to the Guggenheim. Words will have to suffice, as photography is not allowed in this museum. In the central atrium, there are currently eight cars (the website says nine, but I only counted eight, and as they're CARS, they're kind of hard to miss) suspended at various heights and angles above the floor. The first is parked near the ticket desk. The next is slightly higher and at an angle, progressing until the eighth is up by the skylight and again parallel to the floor. All of the cars except the first have lighted rods coming out of them, some ending with little balls of light, which flash in a fireworks-like pattern. This installation, Inopportune: Stage One, simulates a car bombing. The subject matter is, of course, disturbing, but presented in its silent, stationary format and without any destruction to the cars (all remain intact except for the holes where the light rods poke through), it is also oddly celebratory. I don't mean to imply that I think the artist is attempting to glorify terrorism, but as I said, the installation does resemble fireworks, and I'm sure the people who set car bombs do feel celebratory when their devices achieve the desired destructive ends.
As if this weren't dramatic enough, the spiral ramp leading up through the floors and to the various galleries had, just across from the entrance, nine tigers suspended in various postures of running, leaping, crouching, and falling. Each of the tigers was shot through with scores of arrows, although there was no evidence of blood. In some cases there wasn't even any evidence that the arrows would slow the tigers. This was Inopportune: Stage Two, and it was juxtaposed with a scroll painting of 100 tigers by the artist's father. No arrows were apparent in the father's work. Behind the tigers, visible but unascertainable from the rotunda, was a wooden boat also shot through with arrows. It turns out this was a reference to a Chinese legend in which a general obtained enough arrows to attack the enemy by sending out wooden boats filled with straw dummies in heavy fog, and pulling the boats back only after they had enough arrows stuck in them for the pending attack. On the ramp above the tigers were 99 wolves. (I didn't count them all, but it seemed like a plausible figure.) The wolves, which started out, like the tigers, mounted on the floor so that you had to walk around them in close proximity, were all running full tilt in the same direction as a huge pack. The faster they ran, the higher they got off the floor. (Picture Santa's reindeer taking off, except without the harnesses and careful pairing.) The wolves were eventually completely overhead, until they got to the front of the pack, where the lead wolves had crashed Head On into a Plexiglas wall and were in various stages of falling into a heap. I don't know what the intended message was, but I took it to be something of a warning about speed and heedlessly following others.
After all of the animals came life-sized clay sculptures of Chinese peasants. This was a recreation of Rent Collection Courtyard originally commissioned by the Communist Party in China in the 1965. This was recreated in Venice in 1999, and again on site at the Guggenheim starting in February. Each set of unfired-clay sculptures were created by Chinese artists. Guo-Quiang recruited a set of artisans this time that included one man who had worked on the original 1965 installation. The pieces are the same, and in the same configurations, as the originals. Pictures of the previous two installations were interspersed with the sculptures to give an idea of the similarities and differences. A major difference this time is that the final pieces depicting the Communists who come in and save the peasants were left out. The wood and wire armatures for them were present, but no clay was on them. The gallery guide I spoke with wondered if this were a comment on the triumph of capitalism, since the Chinese artisans had been brought into a comfortable capitalist setting to work and had left out the Communist message of the original propaganda. Soon not much will be left of the sculptures, as they are being left to decay naturally. The gallery guide said they hadn't been told what would happen when it was time to remove the pieces, so he wasn't sure if they'd all be smashed, or carried out in the pieces that had naturally broken apart, or even whether the pieces would be saved or disposed of. The artist said that the emphasis was on process, and the destruction and clean up is another part of the process. I found it all very interesting.
The labeling was minimal, but as I mentioned, there were gallery guides about every half turn around the spiral. I enjoyed my conversation with a gallery guide very much, and I think it's a great idea to have trained museum staff or volunteers just available to chat with visitors informally. I've tried this with guards, and sometimes it works better than others. This essentially doubled the guard staff (important since visitors had to actually walk through all these installations) while providing on-the-spot interpretation. Nice.
As far as I could tell, only two small galleries are open at this time. One houses at least part of From Berlin to New York: Karl Nierendorf and the Guggenheim (which was supposed to close on May 4, so there was probably much more). I thought this was a nice retrospective and explanation both of the Guggenheim's collection development and this collector's influence. It included two-dimensional works by Klee, Kandinsky, and many others.
The most interesting gallery of all, however, housed A Year with Children 2008. This is apparently an annual exhibit that displays work by children from public schools all over the five boroughs in grades 2 through 6 who have worked with teaching artists throughout the year. Regular curricular topics, such as historic events, narrative (including NY-centric cosmology), and geography, are explored through art. The resulting pieces included masks, animation videos, quilts, sculptures, collages, paintings, board games, and many others. This type of project is, of course, quite near and dear to my heart, but I was really taken with the artistic products and especially the students' words about their experiences and artists in general. You really could tell that impressive learning had taken place! There was a mail slot set up with postcards for providing feedback to the artists (identified by project title, school, and grade level), and I took time to write three about some of my favorite projects. I know how nice it is to get feedback, and this work really deserved it!
Because of the extensive interior renovations and installations that are currently happening at the Guggenheim, that was all there was to see. To the institution's credit, I was warned of this before I obtained my ticket. (It didn't matter much to me since the ticket was complementary!) This meant, however, that I had much more free time than I had anticipated, so I decided to go to one of the museums dedicated to a single nation's art. And since the first one I passed was the (American) National Academy, that's where I went.
I was immediately handed a red sticker with a white N and A to wear, making me look as if I had been branded "Not Applicable" for the rest of the afternoon. The museum is located in another of the mansions along museum row, meaning that the pieces for The 183rd Annual: An Invitational Exhibition of Contemporary American Art which runs through early September are dispersed throughout halls and smaller, but oh-so-elegant, rooms. My favorite parts of this visit were the house and the guard who, when I asked if he had a favorite, pointed to a 3-D collage of so-and-so the IV's face and said he liked it because it amused him. He liked the multiple noses and displaced eyes, and I had to agree. We had a nice chat and discovered that we both have teaching in our background. I was glad he had the time to talk with me.
After leaving the National Academy, I went and people watched in Central Park for a while before doing a little shopping. I still can't get used to the fact that there are all the major chains around, but in (to me) unexpected and upscale places. So I went to Radio Shack on Lexington Avenue before heading over to find food and the Strand.
With the admonition to "eat something interesting" ringing in my brain, I got off at the stop for the Strand, found the store, and then started scouting for nearby restaurants. I saw a place that looked like a Panera-type establishment, but with prices twice Panera's norm, and a few other options, but what really caught my eye was an awning that read "Bon Vivant." The I noticed, uh-oh, it said "find dining" under that. But wait--it also says "Diner." With this last bit of information in mind, I decided to at least sneak a peek at the menu in the window. Burgers starting around $8, prices I could manage. So I went in and plopped down at a small table with my recently procured Village Voice in hand (not carrying other reading material during the day's jaunts), ready for my first culinary adventure of this NY summer.
The service was quick and friendly. Luckily I'd already decided to rectify the recent lack of red meat in my diet, because otherwise I wouldn't have been ready to order. I quickly chose the "Bon Vivant Burger" (deluxe--with fries, lettuce, and tomato), figuring that anything named after the restaurant must be something they were proud of. I was asked how I wanted the burger done, which I always consider to be a good sign. Quite soon my burger with cheddar, bacon, caramelized onions, and mushrooms (the toppings for the namesake burger) arrived with its sides of coleslaw, fries, lettuce, and tomato. The fries had the kind of flaky coating I associate with good chippie shops in England, and a fabulous taste to match. These may be the best fries I can remember having. The burger was large and tasty. I don't like coleslaw, so I can't really comment on it (even though I tried it, as I always do). With tax, the meal came to $11.15, and I thought it was money well spent. So I would recommend the Bon Vivant Diner on 820 Broadway (10003).
After dinner, I went to the Strand book store. Founded in 1927, the Strand is known for good prices on new books, rare books, and selling customized collections for decorating purposes. Their slogan is "18 miles of books," and I could see that it was probably true even from a block away. Several double-sided bookcarts lined the block outside the store with $1 used books, and there was a special entrance for people wanting to sell books. Inside, it was floor-to-way-above-my-head shelves of books, by topic, for three floors. And the shelves were close together, too. It just went and went and went.
(See what I mean? And this is just the view from one aisle, on one floor!)
I wandered happily for a while, perused some books in the New York section, and then bought my Strandwear (a tote which will primarily be used to carry groceries) before heading out. I couldn't in good conscience buy a book this time, because I still haven't finished the ones I brought, including the one I agreed to review. Besides, my current criteria for a new book is "really small," and that's a dumb way to look for books. (And the only ones I saw that fit that description were ones I know we already have at home.) They weren't having an event this time, but I predict that I'll be back. Possibly many times.
This is to prepare for the Guggenheim's 50th Anniversary next year. (Their guide currently notes that they were just approved to re-paint the exterior the same off white color it has been for decades, as opposed to the earlier yellow color.) In fact, it seems that much of NYC is under renovation, including half of the main staircase into work, but that's beside the point. I got to the museum around lunch time, so I decided to get a sausage from the cart. I knew this was coming, but I'd (successfully) been trying to avoid eating out over the past few days. This felt nostalgic, though, as I also ate a hot dog while sitting on the low wall by the Guggenheim on my first visit to New York many years ago. So: I ordered my sausage with sauerkraut, mustard, and onions. I realized too late that I was, in fact, getting a hot dog with those ingredients, and that the onions weren't fresh diced onions but something cooked in a reddish sauce.
Oh, well. This counts as "eating something interesting" as E and K urged me to do, but I can't recommend it. It was only $3, though, and it sustained me through the visit, so the goal was accomplished. I retreated to a bench across the street to eat and people watch while attempting to keep from dripping goo on myself. Then I proceeded into the museum.
Much to my delight, the major installations from the I Want To Believe exhibit of Cai Guo-Qiang's work that closed on Wednesday were still in place. So while I missed the exhibit proper (and the accompanying exhibit Everything Is Museum that I really wanted to see), at least I didn't miss everything. In fact, one of the gallery guides assured me that all the best stuff was still on view. Let me describe the surreal site that currently greets visitors to the Guggenheim. Words will have to suffice, as photography is not allowed in this museum. In the central atrium, there are currently eight cars (the website says nine, but I only counted eight, and as they're CARS, they're kind of hard to miss) suspended at various heights and angles above the floor. The first is parked near the ticket desk. The next is slightly higher and at an angle, progressing until the eighth is up by the skylight and again parallel to the floor. All of the cars except the first have lighted rods coming out of them, some ending with little balls of light, which flash in a fireworks-like pattern. This installation, Inopportune: Stage One, simulates a car bombing. The subject matter is, of course, disturbing, but presented in its silent, stationary format and without any destruction to the cars (all remain intact except for the holes where the light rods poke through), it is also oddly celebratory. I don't mean to imply that I think the artist is attempting to glorify terrorism, but as I said, the installation does resemble fireworks, and I'm sure the people who set car bombs do feel celebratory when their devices achieve the desired destructive ends.
As if this weren't dramatic enough, the spiral ramp leading up through the floors and to the various galleries had, just across from the entrance, nine tigers suspended in various postures of running, leaping, crouching, and falling. Each of the tigers was shot through with scores of arrows, although there was no evidence of blood. In some cases there wasn't even any evidence that the arrows would slow the tigers. This was Inopportune: Stage Two, and it was juxtaposed with a scroll painting of 100 tigers by the artist's father. No arrows were apparent in the father's work. Behind the tigers, visible but unascertainable from the rotunda, was a wooden boat also shot through with arrows. It turns out this was a reference to a Chinese legend in which a general obtained enough arrows to attack the enemy by sending out wooden boats filled with straw dummies in heavy fog, and pulling the boats back only after they had enough arrows stuck in them for the pending attack. On the ramp above the tigers were 99 wolves. (I didn't count them all, but it seemed like a plausible figure.) The wolves, which started out, like the tigers, mounted on the floor so that you had to walk around them in close proximity, were all running full tilt in the same direction as a huge pack. The faster they ran, the higher they got off the floor. (Picture Santa's reindeer taking off, except without the harnesses and careful pairing.) The wolves were eventually completely overhead, until they got to the front of the pack, where the lead wolves had crashed Head On into a Plexiglas wall and were in various stages of falling into a heap. I don't know what the intended message was, but I took it to be something of a warning about speed and heedlessly following others.
After all of the animals came life-sized clay sculptures of Chinese peasants. This was a recreation of Rent Collection Courtyard originally commissioned by the Communist Party in China in the 1965. This was recreated in Venice in 1999, and again on site at the Guggenheim starting in February. Each set of unfired-clay sculptures were created by Chinese artists. Guo-Quiang recruited a set of artisans this time that included one man who had worked on the original 1965 installation. The pieces are the same, and in the same configurations, as the originals. Pictures of the previous two installations were interspersed with the sculptures to give an idea of the similarities and differences. A major difference this time is that the final pieces depicting the Communists who come in and save the peasants were left out. The wood and wire armatures for them were present, but no clay was on them. The gallery guide I spoke with wondered if this were a comment on the triumph of capitalism, since the Chinese artisans had been brought into a comfortable capitalist setting to work and had left out the Communist message of the original propaganda. Soon not much will be left of the sculptures, as they are being left to decay naturally. The gallery guide said they hadn't been told what would happen when it was time to remove the pieces, so he wasn't sure if they'd all be smashed, or carried out in the pieces that had naturally broken apart, or even whether the pieces would be saved or disposed of. The artist said that the emphasis was on process, and the destruction and clean up is another part of the process. I found it all very interesting.
The labeling was minimal, but as I mentioned, there were gallery guides about every half turn around the spiral. I enjoyed my conversation with a gallery guide very much, and I think it's a great idea to have trained museum staff or volunteers just available to chat with visitors informally. I've tried this with guards, and sometimes it works better than others. This essentially doubled the guard staff (important since visitors had to actually walk through all these installations) while providing on-the-spot interpretation. Nice.
As far as I could tell, only two small galleries are open at this time. One houses at least part of From Berlin to New York: Karl Nierendorf and the Guggenheim (which was supposed to close on May 4, so there was probably much more). I thought this was a nice retrospective and explanation both of the Guggenheim's collection development and this collector's influence. It included two-dimensional works by Klee, Kandinsky, and many others.
The most interesting gallery of all, however, housed A Year with Children 2008. This is apparently an annual exhibit that displays work by children from public schools all over the five boroughs in grades 2 through 6 who have worked with teaching artists throughout the year. Regular curricular topics, such as historic events, narrative (including NY-centric cosmology), and geography, are explored through art. The resulting pieces included masks, animation videos, quilts, sculptures, collages, paintings, board games, and many others. This type of project is, of course, quite near and dear to my heart, but I was really taken with the artistic products and especially the students' words about their experiences and artists in general. You really could tell that impressive learning had taken place! There was a mail slot set up with postcards for providing feedback to the artists (identified by project title, school, and grade level), and I took time to write three about some of my favorite projects. I know how nice it is to get feedback, and this work really deserved it!
Because of the extensive interior renovations and installations that are currently happening at the Guggenheim, that was all there was to see. To the institution's credit, I was warned of this before I obtained my ticket. (It didn't matter much to me since the ticket was complementary!) This meant, however, that I had much more free time than I had anticipated, so I decided to go to one of the museums dedicated to a single nation's art. And since the first one I passed was the (American) National Academy, that's where I went.
I was immediately handed a red sticker with a white N and A to wear, making me look as if I had been branded "Not Applicable" for the rest of the afternoon. The museum is located in another of the mansions along museum row, meaning that the pieces for The 183rd Annual: An Invitational Exhibition of Contemporary American Art which runs through early September are dispersed throughout halls and smaller, but oh-so-elegant, rooms. My favorite parts of this visit were the house and the guard who, when I asked if he had a favorite, pointed to a 3-D collage of so-and-so the IV's face and said he liked it because it amused him. He liked the multiple noses and displaced eyes, and I had to agree. We had a nice chat and discovered that we both have teaching in our background. I was glad he had the time to talk with me.
After leaving the National Academy, I went and people watched in Central Park for a while before doing a little shopping. I still can't get used to the fact that there are all the major chains around, but in (to me) unexpected and upscale places. So I went to Radio Shack on Lexington Avenue before heading over to find food and the Strand.
With the admonition to "eat something interesting" ringing in my brain, I got off at the stop for the Strand, found the store, and then started scouting for nearby restaurants. I saw a place that looked like a Panera-type establishment, but with prices twice Panera's norm, and a few other options, but what really caught my eye was an awning that read "Bon Vivant." The I noticed, uh-oh, it said "find dining" under that. But wait--it also says "Diner." With this last bit of information in mind, I decided to at least sneak a peek at the menu in the window. Burgers starting around $8, prices I could manage. So I went in and plopped down at a small table with my recently procured Village Voice in hand (not carrying other reading material during the day's jaunts), ready for my first culinary adventure of this NY summer.
The service was quick and friendly. Luckily I'd already decided to rectify the recent lack of red meat in my diet, because otherwise I wouldn't have been ready to order. I quickly chose the "Bon Vivant Burger" (deluxe--with fries, lettuce, and tomato), figuring that anything named after the restaurant must be something they were proud of. I was asked how I wanted the burger done, which I always consider to be a good sign. Quite soon my burger with cheddar, bacon, caramelized onions, and mushrooms (the toppings for the namesake burger) arrived with its sides of coleslaw, fries, lettuce, and tomato. The fries had the kind of flaky coating I associate with good chippie shops in England, and a fabulous taste to match. These may be the best fries I can remember having. The burger was large and tasty. I don't like coleslaw, so I can't really comment on it (even though I tried it, as I always do). With tax, the meal came to $11.15, and I thought it was money well spent. So I would recommend the Bon Vivant Diner on 820 Broadway (10003).
After dinner, I went to the Strand book store. Founded in 1927, the Strand is known for good prices on new books, rare books, and selling customized collections for decorating purposes. Their slogan is "18 miles of books," and I could see that it was probably true even from a block away. Several double-sided bookcarts lined the block outside the store with $1 used books, and there was a special entrance for people wanting to sell books. Inside, it was floor-to-way-above-my-head shelves of books, by topic, for three floors. And the shelves were close together, too. It just went and went and went.
(See what I mean? And this is just the view from one aisle, on one floor!)
I wandered happily for a while, perused some books in the New York section, and then bought my Strandwear (a tote which will primarily be used to carry groceries) before heading out. I couldn't in good conscience buy a book this time, because I still haven't finished the ones I brought, including the one I agreed to review. Besides, my current criteria for a new book is "really small," and that's a dumb way to look for books. (And the only ones I saw that fit that description were ones I know we already have at home.) They weren't having an event this time, but I predict that I'll be back. Possibly many times.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Day 5: "Thank You" Tour Continues
Yesterday I made a mistake. I should have made the Guggenheim the first stop on my tour, because two exhibitions closed on May 28. Disappointing! I thought I'd go today to see how exactly they go about de-installing 9 cars suspended in the atrium, but cleverly enough, they're closed on Thursdays. So by default, that leaves MoMA.
Now I put MoMA on today's itinerary by default, but that doesn't meant I didn't want to go. Some people claim Disney World is the happiest place on earth; I think it might just be MoMA. (If not TM--we'll give it a few weeks before deciding.) But having spent an entire day there (and I mean ENTIRE, from open till close) less than a year ago, I decided to start with the American Folk Art Museum next door to make sure I had plenty of time in it.
I was interested in how the museum explained its focus, so I opted for the free public tour. (This is also one of my favorite strategies for huge, unfamiliar museums in which I know my time will be limited.) My pleasant and knowledgeable docent explained that prior to 2001 the American Folk Art Museum was housed in a brownstone, and that in fact this building (designed by Tod Williams and Billie Tsien; I asked)was the same size as the brownstone. The layout of concrete, metal, and glass, with a central staircase that allows one to see all the way to the top or bottom level, led to a much more open floor plan and the impression of "floating" floors.
Then we proceeded on a thorough walk through of the current major exhibit, Dargerism. While surprisingly little biographical information about Henry Darger was included in the exhibit, I did learn that he was a self-taught artist, now thought to be autistic, who lived and worked in Chicago. He wrote a twelve-volume book featuring the Vivian Girls, and many of the double-sided, collaged illustrations were on display. Even more interesting, however, was the inclusion of work by eleven other artists influenced by Darger's work. There was a label for each artist explaining how and when s/he encountered Darger's work and how it influenced their own work. I love to hear artists talk about their work, so I particularly enjoyed this aspect of the exhibit.
Darger's work, in particular, was unsettling because of the persistent feeling that I had seen it before. And in fact I had, because it was taken from popular media of the time such as Coppertone ads and coloring books with illustrations like those I had seen at my grandparents' house. Yet the images became unfamiliar and uncomfortable in their new contexts of little girls at war with uniformed men. The reinterpretation of images or themes from Darger's work by other artists provided another layer of intertextuality and new context. Our docent used the images of nude children as a starting point for a discussion of "what is art" and the museum's role in legitimizing things as "art" or "good." He asked how the images might be considered in another context, such as a magazine for sale at the newsstand or as images pasted up in someone's room. I was glad to hear him broach the topic of the museum's authority and relation to value judgements; I hope more institutions follow suit with this transparency.
During the guided tour portion of my visit, I was told that folk artists are untrained but have an idea and the ability to represent it. I don't really agree with this definition. Among other categories, this would eliminate artists who apprenticed with other artists. I wasn't going to hassle my docent about this, though, because I know what it's like to be a museum volunteer. However, when I visited the permanent installation Folk Art Revealed, I felt better about the interpretation. Four themes were identified in the main label and interpreted throughout the exhibit: Utility, Community, Individuality, and Symbolism. The first three of these themes received its own main label, explaining the concept and how it manifested in the objects on display. I don't think Individuality had its own label, and I even went back to the top floor to start over just to check. Perhaps this theme was deemed to obvious to explain, or perhaps I just overlooked the label--twice. I asked one of the guards if the small gallery currently displaying wood portraits carved by Asa Ames always featured the work of a single artist, thinking perhaps that this was intended to address individuality, but he said that was not always so.
I feel comfortable with those four themes as at least some of the major ideas to pull out about folk art, though. The main label described the artifacts on display as "beautiful and soul-satisfying solutions to the needs and challenges of daily life." I liked that wording and thought it addressed aesthetics as well as utility in succinct verbiage. Other labeling made it clear that "traditional" was being contrasted with "unconventional." I think that works, but I need to consider a little bit more to determine how far this definition's usefulness can be stretched. If "traditional" is contrasted with "innovative," does that automatically equate "innovative" with "unconventional"? And if so, is this accurate in all cases?
It took me a solid two hours to go through the museum's five floors and gift shop. (Which was, once again, playing the Beatles as I remember. I don't see how this is particularly appropriate to the setting, but I appreciated it for its own merits nonetheless.) The labelling included biographical information about the artists, when known, and additional context (such as region, material, etc.) along with the expected information about the particular piece or genre. I was glad to see such a variety of items included as art: Amish quilts, Shaker boxes, tinwear, wood carvings, paintings (by recognized artists as well as unknowns), and metal working were some of the offerings. I got to see one of the "Dave jugs," and I saw a work by Karol Kozlowski, which made me think of a few people I know. Certainly the pieces displayed were not exhaustive of all genres of American folk art (no ocarinas or tin whistles, for example), but they were still varied. I was also pleased that the artifacts represented multiple centuries, including our own. I think it's very important that people not automatically relegate "folk art" with something from the "good old days." Although that might be the case, it might just as easily be the thing your neighbor does in his garage on the weekends.
As I said, I went to MoMA after I had seen what there was to see at the American Folk Art Museum. My plan was to see the Take Your Timeexhibit of Olafur Eliasson's installations and then just to wander. The wandering proved not only preferable but necessary, as the map markings for Eliasson's pieces were a little confusing to me. Finding the swinging fan was easy.
Eventually, I did find the other works. The rooms with various lights, mirrors, prisms, etc. were interesting. I was inspired (although apparently not much) to create these two self portraits. In which I'm doing basically what everyone else is doing; as I said, a little bit of inspiration.
(I comfort myself by thinking that everyone looks bad in this oddly intense yellow light.)
(Hello!)
The exhibit definitely achieved what Eliasson had in mind, because people were definitely taking their time and interacting with the art. In fact, people stood in line to step into an alcove in which you could see yourself reflected to infinity against the outside skyscape. My picture didn't come out all that well, but it was neat. You'll just have to take my word for it.
(Here I am to infinity, along with the guy I don't know who decided to step in with me.)
After I tracked down the 13 installations, I let the wandering commence. I saw a self portrait drawn by Kiki Smith called Pieta, and, like the other pieces I've seen of her work, I was quite fond of it.
Perhaps my favorite pieces were sigalit landau's Barbed Salt Lamps. Hanging suspended from the ceiling, they appeared to be white 3-D frames that produced lovely, repetative geometric designs on the floor in the darkened room (in which three of her videos were showing). Once close inspection revealed that the frames were actually barbed wire thickly encrusted with salt, the beauty took on a certain edge, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Perhaps it was more beautiful, because the crystallized salt covered the sharp barbs and left only the appealing, benign shapes.
(Salt lamps with Dead Sea video in the background; yes, those are watermelons.)
Further wandering led me fortuitiously to an exhibit entitled book/////shelf. How perfect to find an exhibit exploring the relationship and tenuous, shifting boundaries between books and art! There were many artist's books, paintings of books, sculptures made out of books, and, of course, a few bookshelves. In fact, I found what I'd love to have for the next occasion someone feels inspired to give me a gift:
It would go spectacularly in the basement! So someone can just get started now, or you could ask Milan Knižák if plans for his Globe Shelf are available.
Before I left MoMA, I made sure to go see Starry Night, since it will soon be gone on an extended tour. Since it will be gone before many of you get here, I took the opportunity to take a picture for you. But you all know what it looks like, so here's a detail showing the paint application, which you just can't get from a poster.
I was delighted to note that I wasn't the only one taking time to study the composition of some of the world's acknowledged masterpieces:
(Young artists hard at work, developing their ability to see and reproduce.)
I also spent a little time in the sculpture garden, which is pretty wonderful. If I'd had a book and more hours before closing, I could have happily spent the whole afternoon. I'll put that on my list of things to possibly do later.
(This picture of Geometric Mouse is especially for J, who knows that math and art don't need to be separated and teaches accordingly.)
The sculpture garden, like much of MoMA's collections, represents a who's who of artists I remember studying in junior high art class and high school academic team. Now as much as I love art, and I really do, art class was trying. First, I have shown no skill for drawing, painting, and pretty much anything else we did in art. I wish it weren't so and keep hoping I'll discover my talent, but so far, no luck. (Hence my interest in photography; I'm really missing my good camera right now!) Second, our art teacher was intimidating (purposefully, I feel certain). And as I was in the "bad class," it was that much worse. These two factors, along with my complete immersion in music classes, led to my parting ways with art class as soon as I could, and I've been playing catch up ever since. I'm pretty sure by now I've learned the things those kids in Art Club memorized, though, so it's all come out all right in the end.
PS: If you're looking for the American Craft Museum, it's now called the museum of arts and design. Furthermore, it's moving from 40 West 53rd St. to new digs at 2 Columbus Circle, and it's currently closed. It will re-open in September 2008, which means I'll miss it this go 'round. Sad. They are still having events off site, though.
Now I put MoMA on today's itinerary by default, but that doesn't meant I didn't want to go. Some people claim Disney World is the happiest place on earth; I think it might just be MoMA. (If not TM--we'll give it a few weeks before deciding.) But having spent an entire day there (and I mean ENTIRE, from open till close) less than a year ago, I decided to start with the American Folk Art Museum next door to make sure I had plenty of time in it.
I was interested in how the museum explained its focus, so I opted for the free public tour. (This is also one of my favorite strategies for huge, unfamiliar museums in which I know my time will be limited.) My pleasant and knowledgeable docent explained that prior to 2001 the American Folk Art Museum was housed in a brownstone, and that in fact this building (designed by Tod Williams and Billie Tsien; I asked)was the same size as the brownstone. The layout of concrete, metal, and glass, with a central staircase that allows one to see all the way to the top or bottom level, led to a much more open floor plan and the impression of "floating" floors.
Then we proceeded on a thorough walk through of the current major exhibit, Dargerism. While surprisingly little biographical information about Henry Darger was included in the exhibit, I did learn that he was a self-taught artist, now thought to be autistic, who lived and worked in Chicago. He wrote a twelve-volume book featuring the Vivian Girls, and many of the double-sided, collaged illustrations were on display. Even more interesting, however, was the inclusion of work by eleven other artists influenced by Darger's work. There was a label for each artist explaining how and when s/he encountered Darger's work and how it influenced their own work. I love to hear artists talk about their work, so I particularly enjoyed this aspect of the exhibit.
Darger's work, in particular, was unsettling because of the persistent feeling that I had seen it before. And in fact I had, because it was taken from popular media of the time such as Coppertone ads and coloring books with illustrations like those I had seen at my grandparents' house. Yet the images became unfamiliar and uncomfortable in their new contexts of little girls at war with uniformed men. The reinterpretation of images or themes from Darger's work by other artists provided another layer of intertextuality and new context. Our docent used the images of nude children as a starting point for a discussion of "what is art" and the museum's role in legitimizing things as "art" or "good." He asked how the images might be considered in another context, such as a magazine for sale at the newsstand or as images pasted up in someone's room. I was glad to hear him broach the topic of the museum's authority and relation to value judgements; I hope more institutions follow suit with this transparency.
During the guided tour portion of my visit, I was told that folk artists are untrained but have an idea and the ability to represent it. I don't really agree with this definition. Among other categories, this would eliminate artists who apprenticed with other artists. I wasn't going to hassle my docent about this, though, because I know what it's like to be a museum volunteer. However, when I visited the permanent installation Folk Art Revealed, I felt better about the interpretation. Four themes were identified in the main label and interpreted throughout the exhibit: Utility, Community, Individuality, and Symbolism. The first three of these themes received its own main label, explaining the concept and how it manifested in the objects on display. I don't think Individuality had its own label, and I even went back to the top floor to start over just to check. Perhaps this theme was deemed to obvious to explain, or perhaps I just overlooked the label--twice. I asked one of the guards if the small gallery currently displaying wood portraits carved by Asa Ames always featured the work of a single artist, thinking perhaps that this was intended to address individuality, but he said that was not always so.
I feel comfortable with those four themes as at least some of the major ideas to pull out about folk art, though. The main label described the artifacts on display as "beautiful and soul-satisfying solutions to the needs and challenges of daily life." I liked that wording and thought it addressed aesthetics as well as utility in succinct verbiage. Other labeling made it clear that "traditional" was being contrasted with "unconventional." I think that works, but I need to consider a little bit more to determine how far this definition's usefulness can be stretched. If "traditional" is contrasted with "innovative," does that automatically equate "innovative" with "unconventional"? And if so, is this accurate in all cases?
It took me a solid two hours to go through the museum's five floors and gift shop. (Which was, once again, playing the Beatles as I remember. I don't see how this is particularly appropriate to the setting, but I appreciated it for its own merits nonetheless.) The labelling included biographical information about the artists, when known, and additional context (such as region, material, etc.) along with the expected information about the particular piece or genre. I was glad to see such a variety of items included as art: Amish quilts, Shaker boxes, tinwear, wood carvings, paintings (by recognized artists as well as unknowns), and metal working were some of the offerings. I got to see one of the "Dave jugs," and I saw a work by Karol Kozlowski, which made me think of a few people I know. Certainly the pieces displayed were not exhaustive of all genres of American folk art (no ocarinas or tin whistles, for example), but they were still varied. I was also pleased that the artifacts represented multiple centuries, including our own. I think it's very important that people not automatically relegate "folk art" with something from the "good old days." Although that might be the case, it might just as easily be the thing your neighbor does in his garage on the weekends.
As I said, I went to MoMA after I had seen what there was to see at the American Folk Art Museum. My plan was to see the Take Your Timeexhibit of Olafur Eliasson's installations and then just to wander. The wandering proved not only preferable but necessary, as the map markings for Eliasson's pieces were a little confusing to me. Finding the swinging fan was easy.
Eventually, I did find the other works. The rooms with various lights, mirrors, prisms, etc. were interesting. I was inspired (although apparently not much) to create these two self portraits. In which I'm doing basically what everyone else is doing; as I said, a little bit of inspiration.
(I comfort myself by thinking that everyone looks bad in this oddly intense yellow light.)
(Hello!)
The exhibit definitely achieved what Eliasson had in mind, because people were definitely taking their time and interacting with the art. In fact, people stood in line to step into an alcove in which you could see yourself reflected to infinity against the outside skyscape. My picture didn't come out all that well, but it was neat. You'll just have to take my word for it.
(Here I am to infinity, along with the guy I don't know who decided to step in with me.)
After I tracked down the 13 installations, I let the wandering commence. I saw a self portrait drawn by Kiki Smith called Pieta, and, like the other pieces I've seen of her work, I was quite fond of it.
Perhaps my favorite pieces were sigalit landau's Barbed Salt Lamps. Hanging suspended from the ceiling, they appeared to be white 3-D frames that produced lovely, repetative geometric designs on the floor in the darkened room (in which three of her videos were showing). Once close inspection revealed that the frames were actually barbed wire thickly encrusted with salt, the beauty took on a certain edge, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Perhaps it was more beautiful, because the crystallized salt covered the sharp barbs and left only the appealing, benign shapes.
(Salt lamps with Dead Sea video in the background; yes, those are watermelons.)
Further wandering led me fortuitiously to an exhibit entitled book/////shelf. How perfect to find an exhibit exploring the relationship and tenuous, shifting boundaries between books and art! There were many artist's books, paintings of books, sculptures made out of books, and, of course, a few bookshelves. In fact, I found what I'd love to have for the next occasion someone feels inspired to give me a gift:
It would go spectacularly in the basement! So someone can just get started now, or you could ask Milan Knižák if plans for his Globe Shelf are available.
Before I left MoMA, I made sure to go see Starry Night, since it will soon be gone on an extended tour. Since it will be gone before many of you get here, I took the opportunity to take a picture for you. But you all know what it looks like, so here's a detail showing the paint application, which you just can't get from a poster.
I was delighted to note that I wasn't the only one taking time to study the composition of some of the world's acknowledged masterpieces:
(Young artists hard at work, developing their ability to see and reproduce.)
I also spent a little time in the sculpture garden, which is pretty wonderful. If I'd had a book and more hours before closing, I could have happily spent the whole afternoon. I'll put that on my list of things to possibly do later.
(This picture of Geometric Mouse is especially for J, who knows that math and art don't need to be separated and teaches accordingly.)
The sculpture garden, like much of MoMA's collections, represents a who's who of artists I remember studying in junior high art class and high school academic team. Now as much as I love art, and I really do, art class was trying. First, I have shown no skill for drawing, painting, and pretty much anything else we did in art. I wish it weren't so and keep hoping I'll discover my talent, but so far, no luck. (Hence my interest in photography; I'm really missing my good camera right now!) Second, our art teacher was intimidating (purposefully, I feel certain). And as I was in the "bad class," it was that much worse. These two factors, along with my complete immersion in music classes, led to my parting ways with art class as soon as I could, and I've been playing catch up ever since. I'm pretty sure by now I've learned the things those kids in Art Club memorized, though, so it's all come out all right in the end.
PS: If you're looking for the American Craft Museum, it's now called the museum of arts and design. Furthermore, it's moving from 40 West 53rd St. to new digs at 2 Columbus Circle, and it's currently closed. It will re-open in September 2008, which means I'll miss it this go 'round. Sad. They are still having events off site, though.
Day 4: The "Thank You" Tour Begins
As promised, I'm spending the rest of my week making liberal use of my free museum visit privileges. This work ID is a wondrous thing! I'm getting to do so much right now without expending funds that it's helping balance the outlay from earlier in the week. Somewhat.
I thought I'd start my museum visits with the NYC museums to which I applied but was not granted an internship for the summer, just to say a little thank you for leaving me open for the wonderful opportunity I now have. First on that list is the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum. I've hoped to visit the Cooper-Hewitt at least twice before, but I've been foiled each time. I made sure it was the only museum on my list today.
The Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum was founded in 1897 and has been part of the Smithsonian and has been since 1967. It is housed in the Andrew Carnegie Mansion on 5th Avenue (Museum Mile) in NY. The mansion is gorgeous, athough you have to make a concentrated effort to pay attention to it since there are so many interesting things to see inside! The only pictures from this museum will be exterior shots as photography isn't allowed inside.
I started my visit in the garden, where the Corning Museum of Glass currently has its GlassLab set up. I adore glassblowing, and this was a lovely setting in which to watch it. The folks from Corning are collaborating with various designers to demonstrate teh potential of hot glass for rapid prototyping of design. So the glassblowers were conferring with the designer, showing the results of various phases of the work, and moving on based on the response. Michele Oka Doner was the designer working with them during the time I watched. My pictures from this aren't great, because the protective shield was quite reflective even without flash. Just know that my experience in person was much the same, leaning to avoid glare and see between other viewers. Lots was going on at the same time, but there was little narration, unlike other demonstrations I've seen them do when GlassLab was set up other places. There was a moment when a bowl being removed from a blowpipe didn't attach to the molten glass blob that was supposed to pull it off, instead hitting the floor with a loud "clunk" instead, and the audience uttered a collective "ahhhh!" They picked up the bowl and went on, however. Later I poked my head out again just as they were triumphantly lifting a fluted green bowl (perhaps the "floating" bowl meant to hold glass flowers I had heard the designer describing) to applause, so there were triumphs as well.
(Just before the bowl fell to the floor with a thud.)
(Making a long glass rod.)
Next I went through the one-room exhibit Campana Brothers Select: Works from the Permanment Collection that will be up through late August. This is one in a series of exhibits by guest curators, and it included a piece commissioned by the Cooper-Hewitt from the Campana Brothers. The exhibit is described as an exploration of "interwoven ideas and unconventional materials" in more than thirty works (I didn't count) dating from the 16th-20th centuries. I appreciated this exploration of a theme through otherwise unrelated works, and it provided a pleasant introduction to the types of holdings the Cooper-Hewitt offers.
Downstairs, in an exhibit I almost missed, was an array of samples used to demonstrate to customers the variety of wares in a variety of wares. Multiple Choice: From Sample to Product gave a nod to the process of design and included a fascinating array of sample products that I never even imagined existing. Dishes with patterns in color wheels were with fabric swatches and prototype designs. I'm glad I didn't miss this.
The rest of the mansion's main two floors currently houses Rococo: The Continuing Curve, 1730-2008, which will be up through July 6, 2008. True to its title, the exhibit traces the curving elements prevalent in the Rococo style through Art Nouveau and Pop art permutations. (I also realized that the designs that most often make their way into the margins of my notes show strong Rococo characteristics.) The ground floor focused on the history of Rococo and the national differences that developed as it transferred from region to region. Connections between artists were also highlighted in much of the labeling on this floor. I thought the links between these national interpretations and artists/designers were very helpful. I loved seeing Rococo manifested in a variety of genres, from porcelain dishes to silver service to ironwork, furniture, and wallcoverings.
Upstairs, pieces from the Pop art movement and artists working now demonstrated how the curve has remained an important artistic element, despite vastly different realizations. From flowing lettering to sinuous materials to the triumph of structure over nature, the curve showed up in surprising and beautiful places. One of my favorites was the flourish designed to be hand and footholds for wall climbing. While I found the links from Rococo to the contemporary pieces more tenuous than the transition to Art Nouveau, I still enjoyed seeing how the curators made connections and was glad for the education about the various art styles.
It's hard for me to imagine how an exhibit like this went together. I imagine that multiple curators collaborated, each taking a particular section of the exhibit. There were just too many pieces, too many rooms, too many interlocking themes for me to conceive of it coming together any other way. One other thought relating to my own curating experiences: I was somewhat comforted to note that even labels at a prestigious national museum sometimes have small discrepancies, such as "in the drawing shown to the left" when the drawing is, in fact, mounted to the right of the piece and label. That's probably bad of me, but it makes me feel relieved that I'm not the only one that little things like that happen to.
Although the Cooper-Hewitt is a comparatively small museum, I still spent over two hours on my visit and felt a bit rushed. Granted, I like to read EVERYTHING, but there was a lot to see and read and learn! It was a delightful visit, and I'm glad I finally made the trip over.
After leaving the Cooper-Hewitt, I began walking to the New York Public Library to attempt to get a library card. The NYPL, like the Cooper-Hewitt, is on Museum Mile, so I thought I'd just walk straight down along the park after my museum visit. Twenty or so blocks later, however, I took another look at the address and realized I wasn't even halfway there, so I backtracked one street and retreated to the subway. There's a lot to know about the NYPL besides the lions out front, and one of the things I didn't know was that you get library cards not at the research library, but at the branch library across the street. But since I had already gone through the security check at the research library, I decided to stick around long enough to see part of another exhibition entitled Eminent Domain: Contemporary Photography and the City.
I enjoyed the variety of media presented in this exhibit and love the fact that the NYPL (like the LOC and many other libraries and archives) hosts such exhibits. Personally, I am in favor of more collaboration and cross-purposing between libraries, archives, and museums, as I think they can all be served by emulating each other's strengths. This was a great way to share some holdings in a way you wouldn't typically associate with a library.
My favorite parts of the exhibit were Glenn Ligon's Housing in NY: A Brief History which consisted of large painted labels on the wall describing the apartments Ligon has lived in since the 1980s. It demonstrates both a change in NY housing trends generally and in the types of housing we choose at different phases of our lives. After my recent frantic perusals of Craigslist searching for housing of my own, I recognized a lot of the neighborhoods he mentioned. Bettina Johae's Borough Edges, NYC were series of photographs with maps on the back showing, literally, the boundaries of different NYC boroughs. These were mounted in flip frames that stuck out from the wall, grouped by borough. Another powerful installation was Reiner Leist's Window, which showed the view out the photographer's window for a series of days in September (perhaps the 10th through the 15th? I've forgotten) over a series of years. These were arranged in a grid with the years running one direction and days running the other, with an accompanying legend to allow you to locate a specific day. Black frames indicated the few days in this selection of days (part of a much larger series) that the photographer was out of the apartment, and they also emphasized the events around September 11th. An interesting concept, I thought, that simultaneously emphasized continuity and ongoing change.
After that, I left the research library to go to the public library. The mid-town branch wasn't as different from other public libraries as I had imagined. It was five stories, had security going in and out, and the desks were quite disaggregated, but otherwise, it wasn't really out of the ordinary. Luckily, the identifying information I had brought with me was enough to qualify me for my library card. Hooray! After a few attempts with the online card catalog, a discussion with an employee at the information desk, and a frustrating re-orientation to the Dewey Decimal system (grr), I finally decided that the non-fiction books I wanted to check out aren't currently available. I'm in the middle of one of the books I brought with me, so I didn't really want to take out a fiction title just yet. Eventually I decided that I'd accomplished enough for one day, so I'll hold off on actually checking out a book. If you have any suggestions for what my first NYPL check out should be, just post them in the comments.
(I <3 reading! Happy reader with new library card and book not from library!)
PS: I found the "Soup Nazi" place; it's around the corner from the library. For those urging me to track it down: This counts, right? I don't actually have to brave it, do I?
I thought I'd start my museum visits with the NYC museums to which I applied but was not granted an internship for the summer, just to say a little thank you for leaving me open for the wonderful opportunity I now have. First on that list is the Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum. I've hoped to visit the Cooper-Hewitt at least twice before, but I've been foiled each time. I made sure it was the only museum on my list today.
The Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum was founded in 1897 and has been part of the Smithsonian and has been since 1967. It is housed in the Andrew Carnegie Mansion on 5th Avenue (Museum Mile) in NY. The mansion is gorgeous, athough you have to make a concentrated effort to pay attention to it since there are so many interesting things to see inside! The only pictures from this museum will be exterior shots as photography isn't allowed inside.
I started my visit in the garden, where the Corning Museum of Glass currently has its GlassLab set up. I adore glassblowing, and this was a lovely setting in which to watch it. The folks from Corning are collaborating with various designers to demonstrate teh potential of hot glass for rapid prototyping of design. So the glassblowers were conferring with the designer, showing the results of various phases of the work, and moving on based on the response. Michele Oka Doner was the designer working with them during the time I watched. My pictures from this aren't great, because the protective shield was quite reflective even without flash. Just know that my experience in person was much the same, leaning to avoid glare and see between other viewers. Lots was going on at the same time, but there was little narration, unlike other demonstrations I've seen them do when GlassLab was set up other places. There was a moment when a bowl being removed from a blowpipe didn't attach to the molten glass blob that was supposed to pull it off, instead hitting the floor with a loud "clunk" instead, and the audience uttered a collective "ahhhh!" They picked up the bowl and went on, however. Later I poked my head out again just as they were triumphantly lifting a fluted green bowl (perhaps the "floating" bowl meant to hold glass flowers I had heard the designer describing) to applause, so there were triumphs as well.
(Just before the bowl fell to the floor with a thud.)
(Making a long glass rod.)
Next I went through the one-room exhibit Campana Brothers Select: Works from the Permanment Collection that will be up through late August. This is one in a series of exhibits by guest curators, and it included a piece commissioned by the Cooper-Hewitt from the Campana Brothers. The exhibit is described as an exploration of "interwoven ideas and unconventional materials" in more than thirty works (I didn't count) dating from the 16th-20th centuries. I appreciated this exploration of a theme through otherwise unrelated works, and it provided a pleasant introduction to the types of holdings the Cooper-Hewitt offers.
Downstairs, in an exhibit I almost missed, was an array of samples used to demonstrate to customers the variety of wares in a variety of wares. Multiple Choice: From Sample to Product gave a nod to the process of design and included a fascinating array of sample products that I never even imagined existing. Dishes with patterns in color wheels were with fabric swatches and prototype designs. I'm glad I didn't miss this.
The rest of the mansion's main two floors currently houses Rococo: The Continuing Curve, 1730-2008, which will be up through July 6, 2008. True to its title, the exhibit traces the curving elements prevalent in the Rococo style through Art Nouveau and Pop art permutations. (I also realized that the designs that most often make their way into the margins of my notes show strong Rococo characteristics.) The ground floor focused on the history of Rococo and the national differences that developed as it transferred from region to region. Connections between artists were also highlighted in much of the labeling on this floor. I thought the links between these national interpretations and artists/designers were very helpful. I loved seeing Rococo manifested in a variety of genres, from porcelain dishes to silver service to ironwork, furniture, and wallcoverings.
Upstairs, pieces from the Pop art movement and artists working now demonstrated how the curve has remained an important artistic element, despite vastly different realizations. From flowing lettering to sinuous materials to the triumph of structure over nature, the curve showed up in surprising and beautiful places. One of my favorites was the flourish designed to be hand and footholds for wall climbing. While I found the links from Rococo to the contemporary pieces more tenuous than the transition to Art Nouveau, I still enjoyed seeing how the curators made connections and was glad for the education about the various art styles.
It's hard for me to imagine how an exhibit like this went together. I imagine that multiple curators collaborated, each taking a particular section of the exhibit. There were just too many pieces, too many rooms, too many interlocking themes for me to conceive of it coming together any other way. One other thought relating to my own curating experiences: I was somewhat comforted to note that even labels at a prestigious national museum sometimes have small discrepancies, such as "in the drawing shown to the left" when the drawing is, in fact, mounted to the right of the piece and label. That's probably bad of me, but it makes me feel relieved that I'm not the only one that little things like that happen to.
Although the Cooper-Hewitt is a comparatively small museum, I still spent over two hours on my visit and felt a bit rushed. Granted, I like to read EVERYTHING, but there was a lot to see and read and learn! It was a delightful visit, and I'm glad I finally made the trip over.
After leaving the Cooper-Hewitt, I began walking to the New York Public Library to attempt to get a library card. The NYPL, like the Cooper-Hewitt, is on Museum Mile, so I thought I'd just walk straight down along the park after my museum visit. Twenty or so blocks later, however, I took another look at the address and realized I wasn't even halfway there, so I backtracked one street and retreated to the subway. There's a lot to know about the NYPL besides the lions out front, and one of the things I didn't know was that you get library cards not at the research library, but at the branch library across the street. But since I had already gone through the security check at the research library, I decided to stick around long enough to see part of another exhibition entitled Eminent Domain: Contemporary Photography and the City.
I enjoyed the variety of media presented in this exhibit and love the fact that the NYPL (like the LOC and many other libraries and archives) hosts such exhibits. Personally, I am in favor of more collaboration and cross-purposing between libraries, archives, and museums, as I think they can all be served by emulating each other's strengths. This was a great way to share some holdings in a way you wouldn't typically associate with a library.
My favorite parts of the exhibit were Glenn Ligon's Housing in NY: A Brief History which consisted of large painted labels on the wall describing the apartments Ligon has lived in since the 1980s. It demonstrates both a change in NY housing trends generally and in the types of housing we choose at different phases of our lives. After my recent frantic perusals of Craigslist searching for housing of my own, I recognized a lot of the neighborhoods he mentioned. Bettina Johae's Borough Edges, NYC were series of photographs with maps on the back showing, literally, the boundaries of different NYC boroughs. These were mounted in flip frames that stuck out from the wall, grouped by borough. Another powerful installation was Reiner Leist's Window, which showed the view out the photographer's window for a series of days in September (perhaps the 10th through the 15th? I've forgotten) over a series of years. These were arranged in a grid with the years running one direction and days running the other, with an accompanying legend to allow you to locate a specific day. Black frames indicated the few days in this selection of days (part of a much larger series) that the photographer was out of the apartment, and they also emphasized the events around September 11th. An interesting concept, I thought, that simultaneously emphasized continuity and ongoing change.
After that, I left the research library to go to the public library. The mid-town branch wasn't as different from other public libraries as I had imagined. It was five stories, had security going in and out, and the desks were quite disaggregated, but otherwise, it wasn't really out of the ordinary. Luckily, the identifying information I had brought with me was enough to qualify me for my library card. Hooray! After a few attempts with the online card catalog, a discussion with an employee at the information desk, and a frustrating re-orientation to the Dewey Decimal system (grr), I finally decided that the non-fiction books I wanted to check out aren't currently available. I'm in the middle of one of the books I brought with me, so I didn't really want to take out a fiction title just yet. Eventually I decided that I'd accomplished enough for one day, so I'll hold off on actually checking out a book. If you have any suggestions for what my first NYPL check out should be, just post them in the comments.
(I <3 reading! Happy reader with new library card and book not from library!)
PS: I found the "Soup Nazi" place; it's around the corner from the library. For those urging me to track it down: This counts, right? I don't actually have to brave it, do I?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
This one's especially for N (but you might enjoy it, too)
N mentioned last night that he can't really picture my neighborhood, and I offered to take a walking tour and post some pictures. So the following are views within a few blocks of where I live.
Day 3: ID Day!
I've really been looking forward to today, because it was my appointment to go to TM (that very terrific museum) to go through security and get my ID. So after having a disappointing picture taken and going through various other security measures, I'm all official now. I get a discount at the gift shops and can get into almost all the other museums for free. So the latter is what I'll be doing for the rest of the week. (Along with hemming and ironing in preparation for next week.)
(Here I am, all official and happy despite the rain. This picture is MUCH better than the ID picture, in which I was trying too hard not to look like an over-excited goofball.)
I hope I am never asked to find any of the offices I was in today by myself, because I have no idea how we got there. Lots of back hallways and small elevators were involved. The other two interns who were with me expressed similar sentiments, so this is not just my lousy sense of direction at play. Luckily, I just have to get to the Great Hall on Monday morning, and I can definitely do that.
Apparently we'll mostly eat lunch in the employee cafeteria, and they only accept cash. Luckily, I got my NY bank account set up today. We were filling out some of the paperwork when the account manager suddenly realized that I'm over 25 and therefore ineligible for the account he recommended. So props to K for the great haircut, because I don't know the last time someone was that far off about my age! (Except for the cab driver on Sunday, but I figured he was padding his tip and giving himself an opening to talk about how he's a "freaky old man.")
After the bank, I went and made an investment of a different sort: Many shapes, sizes, and materials of cushiony inserts for my shoes! (Does this remind anyone of a certain Singing Hoosiers tour?) Even though I've tried to select my shoes wisely, my feet were TIRED today! But it was a 12,710 step day before I took my pedometer off and forgot it when I went back to the grocery. (I was tired of turkey and gouda on wheat, no matter how much I like all of those things.)
All in all, a very happy day. But my feet are ready for a rest.
(Here I am, all official and happy despite the rain. This picture is MUCH better than the ID picture, in which I was trying too hard not to look like an over-excited goofball.)
I hope I am never asked to find any of the offices I was in today by myself, because I have no idea how we got there. Lots of back hallways and small elevators were involved. The other two interns who were with me expressed similar sentiments, so this is not just my lousy sense of direction at play. Luckily, I just have to get to the Great Hall on Monday morning, and I can definitely do that.
Apparently we'll mostly eat lunch in the employee cafeteria, and they only accept cash. Luckily, I got my NY bank account set up today. We were filling out some of the paperwork when the account manager suddenly realized that I'm over 25 and therefore ineligible for the account he recommended. So props to K for the great haircut, because I don't know the last time someone was that far off about my age! (Except for the cab driver on Sunday, but I figured he was padding his tip and giving himself an opening to talk about how he's a "freaky old man.")
After the bank, I went and made an investment of a different sort: Many shapes, sizes, and materials of cushiony inserts for my shoes! (Does this remind anyone of a certain Singing Hoosiers tour?) Even though I've tried to select my shoes wisely, my feet were TIRED today! But it was a 12,710 step day before I took my pedometer off and forgot it when I went back to the grocery. (I was tired of turkey and gouda on wheat, no matter how much I like all of those things.)
All in all, a very happy day. But my feet are ready for a rest.
Day 2: More provisioning and getting the lay of the land
There are still a few more things I know I'll need in NY. Since Monday was Memorial Day, I thought I'd take the opportunity to check out the sales at Loehmann's discount department store, which was recommended to me as something I should experience while in NY. I was reading more than counting stops, though, so I accidentally got out one stop too late and ended up at Filene's Basement instead. Oops. Another good NY shopping spot, though.
I didn't buy anything at either store, but it wasn't a total waste. Because while I was walking around, I suddenly saw these:
If you don't know what these are, then you didn't watch Season 4 of Project Runway. (Note: These were all of the ones on display. I think Rami's got sold for charity, explaining its absence.) Apparently I was the first of the passersby at that time to notice them, because people stopped to see why I was taking a picture of a random store window (which I have a feeling may happen a lot) and then started exclaiming, "Look! Oh! Look! From Project Runway!" It made me really happy to see the dresses, but it caught me off guard enough that I didn't write down the name of the candy store. It was NOT a Hershey's store, and I was nowhere near Times Square.
I made another trip back to BB&B for the things I couldn't carry on day 1. In the evening I accompanied flat mate and doggie on a walk to get recommendations about local businesses I should check out. I was a little surprised to learn that her three favorite restaurants in the area are Pizzeria Uno, Applebee's, and Panera. I guess I'll have to explore the little local places myself. But so far I'm just eating what I bought at Pathmark. I did learn where RiteAid and Chase are, though, so that was good.
I learned something funny tonight. If you don't get cable here, the only stations you can get are basically all reality programming. I'm not sure what that means, but there you have it. It may drive me crazy, but I was already planning on a TV-less summer anyway.
I didn't buy anything at either store, but it wasn't a total waste. Because while I was walking around, I suddenly saw these:
If you don't know what these are, then you didn't watch Season 4 of Project Runway. (Note: These were all of the ones on display. I think Rami's got sold for charity, explaining its absence.) Apparently I was the first of the passersby at that time to notice them, because people stopped to see why I was taking a picture of a random store window (which I have a feeling may happen a lot) and then started exclaiming, "Look! Oh! Look! From Project Runway!" It made me really happy to see the dresses, but it caught me off guard enough that I didn't write down the name of the candy store. It was NOT a Hershey's store, and I was nowhere near Times Square.
I made another trip back to BB&B for the things I couldn't carry on day 1. In the evening I accompanied flat mate and doggie on a walk to get recommendations about local businesses I should check out. I was a little surprised to learn that her three favorite restaurants in the area are Pizzeria Uno, Applebee's, and Panera. I guess I'll have to explore the little local places myself. But so far I'm just eating what I bought at Pathmark. I did learn where RiteAid and Chase are, though, so that was good.
I learned something funny tonight. If you don't get cable here, the only stations you can get are basically all reality programming. I'm not sure what that means, but there you have it. It may drive me crazy, but I was already planning on a TV-less summer anyway.
NY, Day 1: Bright lights, big city, here I come!
I have convinced myself that a blog is a good way to let those who are interested share in my adventures and learning this summer, and that it's not just narcissistic indulgence on my part. Someone even pointed out that this will help me write my final internship report for course credit. So really, it's homework and archiving! If you buy all or any of that (and you probably have, or you wouldn't be here), welcome and happy reading!
The back story: I have an internship at a really terrific museum in New York this summer. If you don't know which one it is already, you'll figure it out, I'm sure. Good friends and kind New Yorkers all helped me narrow down my housing search, and now here I am!
I'll use the blog to document my work experiences, my adventures, and other miscellany. This week I'm getting set up and am seeing some sights, so these early posts will be a little less thematic than I expect most of them to be. I should also point out that this blog was originally created as a teaching tool to show teachers how blogs might be useful in their courses, so you can ignore the 2007 archive.
I arrived in NY at 4 p.m. on Sunday, May 25. A word here about AirTran:
I was delighted with everything about my flight experience except the landing in NY, and even that wasn't so bad. The price was the best I found, everything ran as scheduled, online check in was efficient and easy (and let me add my excess bag for only $10), the AirTran employees were pleasant, and we still got FREE beverages and snacks (so my granola bar mutiny plan wasn't necessary after all). Besides all that, they use Peyton in their ads, so even better. Thank you, AirTran. I recommend and plan to return!
Nate had me a bit apprehensive (logically so) about handling my bags alone. But the SmartCart made that possible, and I got a cab and was delivered to the corner nearest my apartment with no problem. Well, except that I didn't know which building was mine. My flat mate took the doggie out for a walk to meet me, but I wasn't able to catch her attention until the second time they appeared.
Shortly after arrival, I received directions to Bed, Bath and Beyond to acquire (no surprise here) bedding. Then I was directed to the Pathmark grocery. Every time I found these places, I uttered an internal "Yes!" Those of you who know my non-existent sense of direction (and severe sleep deprivation upon arrival) will understand this. Really, the navigating was quite successful. By the end of the day I realized I am living with a cute dog and a model (/singer/dancer/actress-quadruple threat!), about a block and a half from a Dunkin' Donuts. This part of it sounds like I'm living out my husband's dream, not my own. (To be fair to N, though, he's never mentioned a model. To me. But there was an infamous mention of Claire Danes that I will take this opportunity to remind him of.)
(New friend Sammy, lying on the bed I'd like to make.)
Just in case I had any doubts about all of this, I walked past this store while looking for Bed, Bath and Beyond:
It felt like a cosmic welcome sign. This is gonna be good.
The back story: I have an internship at a really terrific museum in New York this summer. If you don't know which one it is already, you'll figure it out, I'm sure. Good friends and kind New Yorkers all helped me narrow down my housing search, and now here I am!
I'll use the blog to document my work experiences, my adventures, and other miscellany. This week I'm getting set up and am seeing some sights, so these early posts will be a little less thematic than I expect most of them to be. I should also point out that this blog was originally created as a teaching tool to show teachers how blogs might be useful in their courses, so you can ignore the 2007 archive.
I arrived in NY at 4 p.m. on Sunday, May 25. A word here about AirTran:
I was delighted with everything about my flight experience except the landing in NY, and even that wasn't so bad. The price was the best I found, everything ran as scheduled, online check in was efficient and easy (and let me add my excess bag for only $10), the AirTran employees were pleasant, and we still got FREE beverages and snacks (so my granola bar mutiny plan wasn't necessary after all). Besides all that, they use Peyton in their ads, so even better. Thank you, AirTran. I recommend and plan to return!
Nate had me a bit apprehensive (logically so) about handling my bags alone. But the SmartCart made that possible, and I got a cab and was delivered to the corner nearest my apartment with no problem. Well, except that I didn't know which building was mine. My flat mate took the doggie out for a walk to meet me, but I wasn't able to catch her attention until the second time they appeared.
Shortly after arrival, I received directions to Bed, Bath and Beyond to acquire (no surprise here) bedding. Then I was directed to the Pathmark grocery. Every time I found these places, I uttered an internal "Yes!" Those of you who know my non-existent sense of direction (and severe sleep deprivation upon arrival) will understand this. Really, the navigating was quite successful. By the end of the day I realized I am living with a cute dog and a model (/singer/dancer/actress-quadruple threat!), about a block and a half from a Dunkin' Donuts. This part of it sounds like I'm living out my husband's dream, not my own. (To be fair to N, though, he's never mentioned a model. To me. But there was an infamous mention of Claire Danes that I will take this opportunity to remind him of.)
(New friend Sammy, lying on the bed I'd like to make.)
Just in case I had any doubts about all of this, I walked past this store while looking for Bed, Bath and Beyond:
It felt like a cosmic welcome sign. This is gonna be good.
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