Notes on Viewing Conceptual Art

I was strolling through the National Gallery of Art yesterday after attending the panel discussion on Photography’s function as diplomacy (very interesting, will write about this next). I came upon this piece by Glenn Ligon. The wall text only gave these details:

Glenn Ligon 

American, born 1960 

Condition Report, 2000 

iris prints with screen-printed annotations 

Gift of the Artist 

This work is exactly why I love conceptual art. I will attempt now to explain my thought process and the conclusions I reached while looking at this painting. I am not familiar with this artist or his work. And for the purposes of this discussion, I haven’t looked anything up. I am only describing what I see.

To start, Condition Report consists of two paintings both painted on the same size paper and in identical frames, suggesting a duality. It invites us to compare the two paintings. The words “I AM A MAN” are written in large black capital block letters. The word “am” is underlined. On the piece to the right there are notes scribbled on the boarder with lines directing you to marks. These notations are how a registrar usually creates a condition report for a work of art. They use a picture of the painting, sculpture, photography, or whatever the artwork is and they make notes on it just like this to indicate where there is damage on the work. The condition report is used for shipping, insurance, and in some cases pricing. On this painting there seems to be extensive damage.

Now here’s where it gets interesting, I hope you’ll agree! When I was looking at this I thought about the quintessential conceptual art pieces by Rene Magritte (1898-1967) called Ceci n’est pas une pipe, 1928-29, oil on canvas. His artwork questions the idea of representation and challenges our conception of reality (he was part of the surrealist movement, along with our boy Salvador Dali). Ceci n’est pas une pipe is a painting of a pipe, it refers to a pipe, but it is not an actual pipe. The words call attention to the paintings attempt to recreate a pipe. We say, “that is a pipe,” when we look at the painting but somewhere in our minds we understand that we cannot reach out and smoke it.

In Condition Report, Ligon’s words “I AM A MAN” are multifunctional. They are simply making a statement; they are a representation of Ligon’s thoughts and reality. He is a man. The words are written in black, which might indicate that Ligon is African American. It suggests that although he doesn’t mention his race when he states his identity, it is ever present and silently the focus.

The words also indicate that perhaps the paper is a man. Perhaps the words are labeling the paper. Like how we say "spices" or "office supplies" when organizing things. Perhaps they are labeling the object not the artist. I would argue that the condition report takes on a whole new meaning in this context. There is excessive damage noted on the painting to the right, pointing out cracks, tears, dark spots, etc. I wonder if the painting on the left is how the artist sees himself, simply as a man, without any criticism, as he is. And maybe the painting on the right is how society sees him. We point out his flaws. We think of him, as a black man, as damaged. But then, we didn’t make this painting. The artist did. I wonder if he is pointing out what others have observed in him or if he is making assumptions on what he thinks we see when we look at him. I didn’t notice the damage on the painting to the left until it was pointed out on the right. Suddenly, this work is loaded with thoughts on identity, race, and politics.

The painting got me thinking about myself and my views, judgments, and preconceptions. What if the painting said “I AM A WOMAN” and it was written in white letters? How would we read the condition report? Would it point to wrinkle, scar on right hand index finger, double chin, overbite, and left foot larger than right foot? Would it represent how I saw myself or how I think others see me? And what is the difference?

When you are walking through an art gallery I encourage you to take a few minutes to really look. What do you see? What is the artist trying to tell you? You might not be familiar with the artist or their genre of painting, sculpture, etc. but that doesn't matter. You can pick up clues from the painting itself, even if the wall text gives you nothing more than a label. There is so much more than meets the eye. Although Condition Report needed little skill to create (i.e. “I could paint that”), it isn’t about the virtuosity of the artist in a traditional sense. It is mimicking reality in a different way than the Old Master’s or Impressionists and deserves to be considered by us, the viewers.

Call for Submissions! High Heeled Traveler Issue Two: The Road Not Taken

Hello, dear readers! Thanks so much for all your support for the launch of High Heeled Traveler, The Magazine. I am nearly sold out of Issue One: Exploring Home (so exciting)! So if you would like a copy, go here to purchase.

As soon as the first issue was printed, I began working on issue two (talk about a whirlwind!). Issue two will center around Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken. Here is the poem in case you are unfamiliar:

Mountain Interval
The Road Not Taken
1920
Robert Frost (1871-1963)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim, 
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I always choke up when I read this poem as it touches me in a very real and emotional way. Sometimes it can be hard to make as simple a decision as what to each for lunch. Other times we are faced with life decisions that can lead us down on path or another. I see this more and more in relation to my career as I age. As I made decisions not to take the traditional path, some doors close that can never be reopened. But the path I've chosen is refreshing and challenging and welcome. This applies to all aspects of our lives, private and public. Taking control of our lives and making impassioned and courageous decisions instead of living in fear, can make all the difference.

I am looking for artists, writers, poets, chefs, historians, musicians, and experts in their fields to share their stories and images inspired by this poem. Topics can include anything related to art, architecture, culture, science, gastronomy, travel, style and even personal memoirs. Submissions can be made by email to jamie@highheeledtraveler.com. Please submit poetry and writings as PDF documents and artwork or images as high-resolution TIFF files. Don't forget to include your contact information. All work must be original and created for this issue. Deadline for submissions is JUNE 1.

A special note if you are interested in submitting original music or video, I would love to include these by publishing the lyrics and stills in the magazine with a link to the song or video on my blog.

DA+AH: Torpedo Factory Art Center

clockwise from top left: Joyce McCarten, Commedia d’ell arte, 36" x 60”, oil on canvas, Laurie Fields, Encaustic Leaf: 05, 23” x 17”, mixed media, Christine Nicoll Parson, Rocks and Water - yellow, 28" x 20", stained glass, Phyllis J. Roderer, White Vessels with Horsehair, white stoneware fired with horsehair, B.J. Anderson, Dream On, 23"x 29", watercolor and stone lithograph, Constance R. Grace, The Red Boat, Marigot Harbour, 18" x 23", white-line woodcut 

Besides the many fine museums and art galleries in Washington, D.C. there are many talented artists living and working in the Northern Virginia, DC, and Maryland area. It can feel overwhelming trying to see them all. It seems like there are show openings every week and there are as many types of art available for sale as there are interns working on the Hill.

Last week I spent the afternoon browsing the artists at the Torpedo Factory Art Center in Alexandria, Virginia. The factory is located on the waterfront in a building that was used to make torpedoes between the World Wars. In the 1970s it was retrofitted as art studios and finally properly renovated in 1983 with new walls, floors, and heating and air conditioning. What's cool about the space, besides its historical significance, is that there are 106 artists represented and 82 working studios. Meaning 82 artists actually work there and you can see them creating when you visit. You can chat with the artists, browse their work, and even buy it right from their studio! It was really inspiring to see so much creativity in one place and mediums ranged from oil painting to ceramics to jewelry and sculpture. It was almost voyeuristic to be walking around peering into windows and studios, as the artists were deep in concentration or taking little breaks to drink coffee with fellow creators. There’s a coffee shop in the building if you too need a pick me up. Upstairs, there is also an art school for children, The Art League School, and the Alexandria Archeology Museum.

It is a unique experience to talk to artists first hand about their work as they are covered in paint or deep in thought about their next project. I enjoyed being able to see so much in one visit and to walk away soaked up with the creative energy of so many people working in one space. I highly recommend a visit here. What would be a better souvenir from your trip to DC than the artwork of an artist you spent the afternoon chatting with?

Tory Cowles, #709, 36" x 48", mixed media

Alvena McCormick, Dancing with Dogwood, 50”x36”, Acrylic on Canvas

A World Apart: Anna Ancher and the Skagen Art Colony

Anna Ancher (Danish, 1859 - 1935), Interior, ca. 1916-17
oil on panel, 17 1/2 x 14 7/8 in ( 44.4 x 37.9 cm), Skagens Museum

The National Museum of Women in the Arts highlights one of Denmark’s national treasures, Anna Ancher, and the colony of artists in the remote Jutland peninsula town of Skagen in the late 19th century in an upcoming exhibition, A World Apart: Anna Ancher and the Skagen Art Colony.

Anna Ancher lived her entire life at the tippy top of Denmark in the small remote town of Skagen. Many artists (including her eventual husband Michael Ancher) came to Skagen to paint. Her parents, Ane and Erik Brøndum, owned the only local hotel and it became the artist hangout. Because of this Ancher was exposed to many of these painters at an early age.

During this time, 1870s-ish, many artists were moving away from crowded industrial cities to find idyllic landscapes and rural towns to paint in (remember Monet moving to Giverny? Where he painted the waterlilies? Yes?) Artists going to these remote locals started forming groups, which we art historians call ‘colonies.’ In Denmark, a few of the artists attending the Royal Academy of Fine Art in Copenhagen started traveling to Skagen to get away from it all and to paint the fisherman. They formed a colony and Anna Ancher, the only local, was one of their leading painters.

This is unusual for the time as women weren’t allowed to do much outside the home and they certainly weren’t encouraged to continue working after they were married and had children. Not only did Anna continue but she enjoyed a fruitful partnership with her husband, Michael. Since the day they met he encouraged her to paint and they even completed a significant canvas together in 1883, Judgment of a day’s work. Notable Danish artists came to the colony including Carl Locher, Viggo Johansen, Christian Krogh, Laurits Tuxen, and P.S. Krøyer, whose work is also featured in the exhibition.

The Skagen colony of artists was part of the “Modern Breakthrough” movement in Denmark, which sought to break with traditional painting of religious and royal painting and paint what was real, what was going on around them. Their painting looked back at Dutch Old Master painting and looked forward at their contemporaries painting Naturalism, Realism and the loose expressive brushwork of Impressionism.

What set the colony in Skagen “A World Apart” was their depiction of light. These artists just didn’t randomly end up in Skagen, they came here because of the specific type of light occurring in this place. The light in the summer lasted sometimes for 24 hours and permeated everything it touched illuminating the banal and daily goings-on of life in the small fishing town. To expand on above, in painting style, you can see references to Dutch still life, portraiture, and domestic interiors (Vermeer and Rembrandt come to mind). The Dutch Masters were arguably obsessed with the way each material reflected and absorbed the light. Impressionist painters were also interested light. They were showing how light and time can change a subject, like Monet’s Haystack paintings, but the colony in Skagen was interested in the light itself.

This can be seen in Ancher’s work as NMWA’s Associate Curator Virginia Treanor points out, “when Anna Ancher paints light, it’s contained, geometric.” My favorite painting in the exhibit, Evening sun the artist’s studio, after 1912, best demonstrates what the colony at Skagen was exploring and how Ancher was making innovating and interesting paintings. This painting depicts a blue colored room with minimal furnishings – two frames leaning against the wall towards the bottom-center of the painting, a thin wooden side table with a few books resting on top. In the bottom right hand corner, along with the side table, another brown colored object is cut off from view. Much of the painting shows the blue walls (one almost perpendicular to the picture plane) but the main subject here is the golden evening light reflected on the wall. It is central to the composition and Ancher builds the paint up on the canvas until the light “becomes a tactile object” as Treanor puts it. A detail of the painting is seen below.

What I liked about this exhibit is that it is broken up into thematic spaces based on the interests of the Skagen artist colony and not chronologically. Ancher’s work is mixed in with her male contemporaries, putting her work in context and showing that she is not only equally as talented but an important contributor to the movement. She is working in relation to her peers and in and out of doors to follow the light. They are all depicting their family, neighbors, domestic interiors, and beach scenes; first with heroic large-scale depictions of local fisherman then with the leisurely activity of the afternoon stroll.

One section of the exhibit is dedicated solely to the idea that Ancher was innovative in her own right, exploring light as form and color, completely detaching it from context. She goes as far as to “make a composition with light [as] color and form” in Light on the wall in the blue room, ca. 1890. You can see her brushstrokes and exploration, the subject getting her full attention. While her male counterparts are busy depicting monumental paintings of fishermen and portraits of their wives, I can see Anna in her studio obsessing over what she sees and what is unseen - the evidence of molecular life only noticeable by the detection of brightness in a room, how emptiness is full of color. She takes the interior scene and strips it of human interaction, then of its structural components, thus liberating her subject and setting her beloved light a world apart.

A World Apart: Anna Ancher and the Skagen Art Colony is on view at the National Museum of Women in the Arts from February 15 through May 12. If you are interested in learning more about Anna Ancher and the Skagen art colony, there are several opportunities to attend insightful gallery talks. Check out the NMWA’s website for details.

Shoe Love: shoes from behind

Art to Inspiration: Charlen Williamson

In the Mist, Charlen Williamson

When I look into Charlen Williamson's In the Mist, I see what is unseen on a cold winter's day - the nip in the air, the fog, the grey tone to everything. It makes me want to take a winter vacation, not to escape the cold but to see just how beautiful winter can be. I'd love to curl up by a fire in a log cabin after a day of exploring the snow filled woods. Here are a few lovely winter spots from my Travel Inspiration Pinterest board. Where should we go next?

Clockwise from top left: ocean storm, New York City, island get away, European architecture, Paris

Started by the lovely Supal of Chevrons and Eclairs, Art to Inspiration is a once a month blog post inspired by a work of art. If you would like to participate in Art to Inspiration, click here to read more and sign up.

And in case you missed it here's July's, August's, September's, October's and December's Art to Inspiration.

Shoe Love: the perfect pumps

Have you ever had that pair of heels that just fit you like a glove? I wore this one pair for years and years and with everything in every season. They were magical shoes, so to speak, and never hurt my feet either. Then after all that time, somehow they finally succumbed to wear and tear. I bid you farewell perfect pumps, we had a good run (no pun intended). I'm on to find another lover.

Studio Visit with Patrick Romelli

“I like to play.” Patrick Romelli was distracted with moving the perfect shade of green-ish blue around the canvas. Dotting it here, sweeping it there, with loose thoughtful brushstrokes. He’s finishing up the under painting of a new commission and I can already tell it’s going to be beautiful.

A native Cincinnatian, Romelli had enjoyed a rather successful commercial illustration career/business, when about ten years ago he decided to expand his creative boundaries and started painting with oils. Oil painting allowed him the freedom of emotion and artistic expression that his professional subjects did not.

Romelli is an Impressionist painter. But what does that mean exactly, especially considering the contemporary context? Impressionist painting, in the simplest of terms, is a painting that is able to describe the sense of something without actually depicting it in detail. For instance, you can get the sense of looking at Monet’s Water Lily paintings that the plants are floating in a pond without the artist actually painting water lilies. You get the impression of them. While the Impressionist Movement was one of the most influential artistic developments in the late 19th and early 20th centuries (and arguably ever), many artists today still paint in the Impressionist style. Like an impressionist painter of years past, he understands light. The way he captures the light gives life to each painting. Romelli paints a variety of Cincinnati subjects close to his heart – Union Station, horse racing, and musicians. He also paints Italian landscapes.

My mom’s college friend lives in Cincinnati. While we were in town he said his father-in-law is an artist and we must see his work. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times a friend has said, “you should see my friend’s work, you’d love it” and I have to politely compliment them while desperately trying to find my way to the exit. This was not the case with Patrick Romelli. As soon as we stepped foot in his studio I realized he was talented. I didn’t have to politely compliment him. Instead, I wanted to know what he was thinking. What drove him to paint and why the ubiquitous Italian scenes?

It was hard not to take one of these littles home as a souvenir.

Horse racing at Churchill Downs

Romelli recently went to Tuscan Italy. He took up a castle residence with five other artists for a few weeks to paint. Just to paint. Everyday, twice a day, he left his comfortable surroundings to venture out into the landscape and simply paint what he saw and felt. As he told me the stories of his trip, I couldn’t help but think that this is out of a romantic movie where one finds the answers to life’s questions. But this wasn’t a movie, he was there. And he painted it.

He went were many have gone before, but in a good way. When you look at the loosely painted brushstrokes on the orange rooftops of a neighborhood in Cinque Terre, you remember it. It’s familiar. It brings back those good memories of being on vacation – even if you’ve never been there.

Romelli’s work isn’t serious. It isn’t searching for a deeper meaning to our humanity or rejecting the politics of his city. He paints because he cannot imagine doing anything else. Simply put, he enjoys painting what makes him happy. His energy leaves the viewer with a sense of content nostalgia for a moment when they themselves were happy.


Thank you Steve and Patrick for the tour!

See more of Patrick Romelli’s work on his website here.

Detail of a Las Vegas painting, love all the little brushstrokes.

Destination: Buenos Aires, Argentina

I could see myself, watching myself. An “out of body experience,” they call it. I was naked, wallowing hysterically in the crisp, clean, white sheets of the king-sized bed in my Marriott hotel room. I hadn’t eaten for many hours, too tired, emotional, and downright fearful to leave the room to forage for even a candy bar, of which there were plenty. Abundant bodegas were filled to the brim with candy brands foreign and domestic; chocolate covered, dolce de leché filled, sweet biscuits were a local favorite. In fact anything drizzled, dunked or dripping with dolce de leché might as well been considered the national dish. Porteños love their sweets. I saw more sweets pouring off shelves in quick marts than cigarettes, booze and porn combined. It was like the entire city was a candy shop for the proverbial kid.

I did have two beers though, left over from yesterday’s haul. But no opener. So they sat room temperature on the desk next to the landline phone that rang from time to time with no one on the other end.

The room came with the standard coffee maker and bag of grounds, complete with powdered milk and refined sugar to make it somewhat drinkable. I cleaned out the stock within the early morning hours each day.

In between sobs of self-pity, I watched Argentine soap operas on TV. My Spanish was rusty, which was part of my problem. I’ve been to places where I cannot speak the language before, but I know Spanish (somewhat). For some reason I was intimidated. How did my lack of Spanish skills become my undoing? It was my first trip to South America, Argentina, and Buenos Aires. And instead of exploring the cities vast offerings of art, cinema, music, shopping, steak and Malbec, I was curled up in the fetal position in a hotel room.

Buenos Aires is often described as the Paris of South America. It has a heavy European, with a lot of Italian, influence in the architecture, gastronomy, and hand gestures. It is also a Latin American city with indigenous traditions, mate tea, and driving methods. The buildings and sidewalks of Buenos Aires are soaked with its loaded history. Graffiti stains cement walls with artistic rebellion against poverty, unemployment, the “Dirty War”, and current support for or unrest against President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner.

The San Telmo Market, a long-standing traditional weekend market, tells the tales of Argentines from the past century. Antiques from glory years are crammed in overflowing dusty buildings, which crumble from the weight of time and neglect. I walked through the stalls, which go on for what seemed like nearly a mile, some vendors simply lay a blanket on the brick paved ground to show off their handmade wares, others have permanent locations. Hundreds of vintage posters, maps, trinkets, ceramics, dishes, silverware, and gleaming chandeliers reminded me of similar shops in Leesburg, Virginia and Dunedin, Florida. There was a romantic nostalgia for times past, yet an understanding that now is the time to move forward. Argentine merchants were friendly, mindful, and generally glad to be doing business. Pickpockets lurked, tourists took pictures and selected souvenirs, Porteńos just enjoyed being out in the perfect spring weather in their fine city.

I was with Gman when one of the artists caught our eye. He painted watercolors of the city. His hands were rough from many, many decades of use and his demeanor gentle. These paintings, he said (all in Spanish), are of an idealized Buenos Aires. They represent places he’s passed by a million times and each painting depicts his collective memory of his life in his beloved city. Maybe there wasn’t ever a car parked just like that, he suggested, but since cars were introduced here, they have driven past that spot. The car in this painting is from the late 1940s, the glory years when Evita Peron presided over the country at her husband’s side. There is a poetic sadness to the memories, to the painting, to the streets, to the daily life. It’s not tragic or a feeling-sorry-for-one’s-self sadness, just honest.

Tango is also like this. It was a tango show that jerked me out of my tear soaked sheets and brought me into the night air.

The venue was slightly hokey, for tourists. A two-show-a-night place with steak and Malbec for dinner. The meat was rough and wine average. Although it was a dinner show, we really weren’t here for the food. We were here to see live Argentine Tango. I’d only ever had a Looney Tunes understanding of it and wanted to see firsthand just what all the fuss was about. Plus, it's like the #1 tourist must do. Besides eating gobs of dolce de leché. The dancers arms, hands, fingers stayed perfectly placed. Their neck muscles taunt. The intimacy is melodic as they began to feel the music and move their feet. They were not necessarily passionate for each other, but passionate about the music, their moves, this moment and the past.

Once out, I rather liked Buenos Aires. Gman and I visited the art galleries of the MALBA (excellently curated), browsed the shops in Palermo, had a private tour of the United States Ambassador’s residence, and even met up with new friends for dinners and parties. Within one week, my Spanish was at an elementary conversational level. I had walked or driven through almost every neighborhood. We fell in love with the charming and delicious, DADA Bistro and became regulars. We made lists of places we’d visit if we too were Porteños.

Through Buenos Aires I was awakened from my misery. One might travel to get away from daily life, struggles, and even other people, but as the old saying goes, “wherever you go, there you are.” Sooner or later you catch up with your strife and have to learn to move past it. You cannot escape yourself by traveling. You can, however, expedite the healing process sometimes. I think of one of the most famous and influential Tango singers, Carlos Gardel, put it best. This is an expert from the song Volver, translated into English.

But the traveler that flees
sooner or later stops his walking
And although forgetfulness, which destroys all,
has killed my old dream,
I keep concealed a humble hope
that is my heart's whole fortune.

On the plane ride back to Washington, D.C. I thumbed through a shiny new copy of the September issue of Vogue Latino America. It was their springtime, a time for renewal and every article gleamed with hope (and floral pumps).

A Yearly Recap and a Happy New Year!

Its time, yet again, to sit down with a glass of champagne and look back on the year. There have been many great travels – Savannah, New York City, Clearwater Beach, Denver, Winter Park, Scottsdale, Sedona, San Francisco, Napa Valley (story to come), Buenos Aires (story to come), and Las Vegas. Gman and I went to our first trip to an amusement park together, too! Time spent in-between trips was busy hosting many out of town visitors and exploring Washington, D.C. I also went to my ten year high school reunion! We had some guest poetry here on the blog from the talented Kate Lindblom. I’ve learned a lot about wine and art, and continued to develop my personal style (thanks to Pinterest!).

This year has been met with many growing pains as I ventured out on my own, attempting to make long-standing career fantasies a reality. From starting my freelance writing career to the process of expanding High Heeled Traveler to a print magazine, to learning more about photography and design. Many hours have been spent productively learning and some to crying from exhaustion. I would have never taken the leap(s) without the whole-hearted encouragement from Gman, family, and friends. To them (you!) I owe many thanks.

Finally, I feel very blessed to have met so many new and dear friends this year through blogging. More than anything else I’ve done, blogging has provided an instant network of like-minded, ambitious, and stylish men and women with whom I can collaborate and build friendships with. I hope to continue to have the pleasure of being your friend in the New Year!

I’m looking forward to what 2013 will bring. I am expecting to drink lots of wine, have lots of laughs, and continue to challenge myself and push the boundaries of my comfort zone. I wish the same to you!

Cheers to all! Happy New Year!

Art to Inspiration: Time Out

Painting 192 by Lauren Adams

Sometimes you just need to get away. The stress gets to you. Anything can set you off; that co-worker’s last minute request, your holiday packages getting swiped from your stoop (this happens all too often in DC), a traffic jam when you have a very important happy hour waiting. Or maybe you drop a wine glass, and as it shatters into a million pieces, you feel yourself coming undone.

But it’s the home stretch before Christmas break and there is no time for a vacation. In fact the reason you are so overwhelmed is that you are taking your vacation days (for a change) and everything needs to be taken care of before you step away. So how do you get away for a deep breath and a recharge while stuck in your cubicle?

This is one of the reasons I love art so much – it’s a distraction - and where Lauren Adam’s tiny paintings come in. Her small acrylic paintings on paper (many only 6 x 4 inches, small enough to keep on your desk, no?) explore the scenic landscapes of West Virginia. She boils down the sky, trees, rolling mountains, to fresh blocks of color and shape. The paintings take you anywhere, to a new place, to somewhere far away and stress-free.


Started by the lovely Supal of Chevrons and Eclairs, Art to Inspiration is a once a month blog post inspired by a work of art.If you would like to participate in Art to Inspiration, click here to read more and sign up.  

And in case you missed it here's July's, August's,  September's, and October's Art to Inspiration.

Shoe Love: for the museum

Clockwise from top left: Embellished lace-up flats, suede pumps, leather ballet flats, patent and mesh flats, red pumps,  studded sneakers, polka dot haircalf pumps, gold and patent flats

Being a museum and gallery goer seems like a glamorous lifestyle. However, standing on your feet for hours on end is tiring. When I visit a museum or go to a gallery opening, I try to wear practical shoes - but practical doesn't mean boring. These shoes are practical and comfortable without sacrificing style.

DA+AH: (e)merge and a performance by Holly Bass

I had the pleasure of sneaking in a visit to the (e)merge art fair last Friday in between travels. I arrived just in time to hear a panel discussion about performance art, what it is and it’s place in and outside of the art institution. Afterwards, Holly Bass performed her newest piece, Come Clean.

I don’t know if you are familiar with Holly’ work. You probably are if you live in the Washington D.C. area as she very active in the art scene here as a performance artist and poet. She hosts weekly open mic nights at Busboys & Poets and recently performed in the Corcoran Gallery of Art’s Take it to the Bridge series this summer. You can read more about her work and her bio here.

In Come Clean, the stage was set with a rural backdrop, wooden bench, and a hand painted sign that read, “Come Clean, Open to All, Fridays 3:30, Saturdays 1:00.” Holistic ingredients, like eggs, avocado, honey, beer, and coconut milk were arranged in mason jars on the top of a three tier metal cart. Two young African American ladies dressed in all while and barefoot stood to the side. One carried a white antique basin and the other a large pitcher.

Holly also dressed in all white and to begin the performance personally greeted every single viewer, “Thank you for coming.” When we made eye contact I felt like she was my friend. Unlike a theatrical performance, she did not raise her voice but instead kept things at a very conversational tone. She asked three people, whom she just met, to help her with the performance. One would condition her hair, with the natural ingredients of their choosing, the second would rinse and shampoo it, and the last would oil and comb it.

The first person was a young man, a fellow artist exhibiting his work at (e)merge. After Holly washed both of their hands, she asked him to choose the ingredients to condition her dry hair and asked him to touch her hair to gauge its dryness. Once the conditioning elixir was made, she asked him to put it in her hair so that all her hair was covered. They both slowly unbraided her hair, not facing each other as she was sitting on the bench. She was very vulnerable sitting there letting a man she did not know touch her. Yet he was enthusiastic, gentle, and followed her instructions. He spent a great deal of time covering her hair with the mixture. They chatted about his work, where they were from, how their day was going, all the things one normally talks to their hairdresser about. It reminded me of all the times I went to the salon and made small talk. I felt relaxed in my chair as they became comfortable with each other. Once her hair was fully conditioned, they parted ways with a friendly hug.

The second person to assist Holly was a young woman, who looked very similar to me and about my age. Conversation between the women came easily. Holly asked her if she had ever worked with black hair before and she said no. I hadn’t either. I had no idea what went into grooming their locks. I was watching something I’d never seen before, yet it was something I am so familiar with. I love the conviviality of women sitting around together taking care of one another. Vanity can be a cruel weakness, but it can also build community. I was also very curious to continue to see what the differences between Holly’ hair and mine were during the shampooing and combing processes. I wanted to feel shameful about watching, in a way, the exotic, but there were no walls up between the women. The white girl shamelessly asked Holly about her hair, grooming habits, and history while Holly laid on the bench and she poured water over her hair. She touched holly without shame and playfully gave her a shampoo Mohawk and a scalp massage. Holly said it reminded her of all the times her mother did her hair when she was young. I agree, this was definitely a collective experience. Also all of the assistants treated the artist kindly; they gently touched her, respected her body, and chatted with familiarity.

While this was going on, the two barefoot assistants took the water back and forth to ensure that the performers always had a clean basin and fresh clean water.

 

For the last part, Holly was nervous about asking a non-black person to comb her hair. She was worried that it would be too foreign to them. The assistant chose natural shea butter and coconut oil to apply to Holly’s roots and started the combing process. Section by section she put the oil at the roots and combed it up to the ends, then Holly twisted the hair to keep it separate from the other sections. By this point it had been almost a full hour. Many of the audience had come and gone and some of Holly’s friends sat loyally up front. They began to chat about hair myths, curses, and legends surrounded by the grooming rituals of their mothers and grandmothers. The things women go through for beauty! I finally had to leave. I don’t know what came over me, but at this point I felt so familiar with the artist that I said, “Holly I have to leave, but thank you so much.” And she waved goodbye. 

I’m curious to know if her hair was actually more conditioned and if she felt cleaner. I’ve always wanted to know if beer and lemons really strip your hair or if coconut milk and honey really smooth the follicles. But when I left I forgot to ask. I was too busy thinking about how the vulnerability of letting someone touch you-not just in a sexual way but something as simple as washing and brushing your hair-builds trust and how that trust leads to secrets leaked (coming clean, perhaps?) and lives shared.

Art to Inspiration: A Declaration of Shoe Love

October's Art to Inspiration, Ashley Lettich's Shoes in Soho, reminds me of the one, the pair, that got away.  I'm with my girlfriend shoe shopping. We've asked the sales associate to retrieve our selection in our sizes. As we wait, I anticipate that perfect moment, the fit, the excitement. How will they look on my feet? Will they be comfortable? Will I care? What occasion do I need to create to justify this purchase? How much were they anyways? I'm so distracted as we sit and wait that I can't hear my friend talking but she's so excited that she can't stop talking.

The sales associate finally comes back. What seemed like years was only two minutes. She balances a stack of boxes, slowly puts them on the ground, then opens the first one. The smell of fresh leather, glue, and paper rush towards me. She talks about the quality of the shoe, the special sole, the leather from Italy, as she delicately unwraps first the left, then the right, for me to try on. The paper slips off to reveal the naked shoe underneath. She hands them to me and I put my size 9.5 inside, sometimes clumsily, sometimes gracefully. I'm overwhelmed with excitement and anxiety, do they look right? are they my size? Then I stand and walk towards a mirror. As I walk, flash memories flood my mind. I've made this walk hundreds of times and I visualize the experiences layered on top of one another. The walk could be painful, difficult. I could step out of the pump. I might like the color and texture, but the strap gives the cankle effect. Or it fits like Cinderella's glass slipper.

This time, they are perfect. The three and a half inch heel is just high enough to show off my calves but not too high that I start wobbling. My heel is cupped in the back and the ball of my foot lightly touches the bed of the shoe. My toes aren't jammed up in the front or holding on for dear life. But I'm not sure. No. I'm sure. I've got to convince myself to let go of uncertainty and just bring them home. This moment is the most important. It's like a game of hard to get. A flirtation. I take a lap around the shop, brushing my fingers along every pump in my wake. I walk slowly, feeling my feet, looking for any signs of future blisters. There's no rubbing. Of course. They would feel more comfortable than bedroom slippers.

But is it lust or love? Could they stand the test of time? For a price like that, would I wear them for years to come? Would it be worth having them re-soled when they start to wear down? Should I just get a cheaper pair and then replace them with another cheaper pair? Is it better to have many short lived lovers than the one great love of a lifetime? And how would I know if it was the love of my life in only a moment? I doubt all my feelings and fear commitment.

I'm urged to try on the next pair and reluctantly take them off. The leather already began to mold to my feet and I reach out and silently gasp as the sales associate places them in the box. I smile and chat with my friend. I look at her shoes and give feedback, trying to convince her in or out of the purchase based on non-verbal signs she's giving me.

The second pair have nothing on the first. Now I'm hungry and I convince myself to walk away as I don't like making impulsive purchases, especially ones with this price tag. I think, what was I doing in there with those shoes out of my league?! As we leave the store, we discuss where we will go for lunch and how cute the shoes were and how we didn't try on those sandals but maybe next time. The rest of the day I relive that moment. Standing in front of the mirror, confident, radiant, and elegant. I try to go back but they are gone. Someone else's dream realized. I'm heart broken and sooth my troubled mind by purchasing other pairs of heels. The cheap fixes. The so called non-regretful under $100 cheap lovers that always hurt, always come up short. The plastic makes my feet sweat and no matter the occasion, I stand there, uncomfortable, dreaming about the ones that got away.


Started by the lovely Supal of Chevrons and Eclairs, Art to Inspiration is a once a month blog post inspired by a work of art.If you would like to participate in Art to Inspiration, click here to read more and sign up.  

And in case you missed it here's July's, August's, and September's Art to Inspiration.