Veteran's Day

Some ladies have a ‘type.’ They always go for the same type of guys when they are searching for ‘the one.’ I’m a soldier lover. I can’t help myself. To me, there's nothing like a man in uniform. I don't have the courage to do what they do and cry like a baby whenever I see or hear about a hero’s story (note to self: don’t watch Restrepo again while PMSing…).

It's easy to think about war on a conceptual level, especially with the political fodder from the recent presidential election. But many of those who generously dedicate their lives to protecting our rights and freedoms are individuals who willingly sacrifice much to serve their fellow citizens. Take time to think about the brave and at the very least say "thank you."


There are some incredible organizations out there that support our veterans. One that I've recently been introduced to is the Combat Paper Project. Veterans who need a way to express what they have experienced in combat, transform the uniforms they wore in battle into healing works of art. The uniforms are beaten, shredded, and torn unto paper pulp then they use the paper to create art that describes their experience. The process of art making helps the soldiers come to terms with their past and give them hope for the future. The pieces are incredibly varied and elegantly stated. Check their exhibition schedule if you'd like to see the works in person. 

If you are feeling generous today, you can purchase one of their pieces or you can donate to their cause.

PS - This image was taken by my father-in-law, Tom Hurst, during the Vietnam War era. Thank you Tom for allowing me to use it here!

DA+AH: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Carriage, c. 1881, oil on wood, Philadelphia Museum of Art

Whenever I tell people I'm an art historian, they ask me, "who's your favorite artist?" That's like asking me what my favorite food is or my favorite pair of shoes, how could I decide? I like many artists and works of art, I have favorites in almost every genre and time period and get excited when I see something I haven't before.

But I do have a few all time favorites. And one is Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. You know his work too, even if you never put a name to the familiar. He's one of the greatest post-impressionist artists and painted famous images of the Moulin Rouge. You might even have a poster of his work in your home without realizing who he is or why it is important.

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was born to aristocratic parents who supported his artistic pursuits. During his formative years he suffered two leg breaks due to a medical condition caused by, well, inbreeding. This lead to his body growing to adult size but not his legs. He leaned into painting and alcoholism to deal with his physically issues, the latter eventually killed him. He hung out in the Montmartre area of Paris, much like his other artist friends at the time and received a commission to paint the posters for the newly opening Moulin Rouge in 1889. He hung out there a lot and you can see the carefully observed details of the people he spent time with in the paintings. He became famous for realistically portraying those seedy figures central to Parisian nightlife.

I love his brush strokes, colors, and lines, basically everything about his work. The brush strokes sensually touch the figures and objects they represent, as if he was just brushing the paint onto the actual figure and not a canvas. Although the perspective is often flattened and the figures simplified down to shapes, there is a lively energy to every single line and a delicate, humane sense of vulnerability in the scenes depicted. The people in his work seem disconnected and unaffected by his blatant voyeurism, perhaps they were like that real life, being performers and prostitutes. The colors keep your eye drawn in and searching even though you can't establish a relationship with the subject.

This painting, Carriage, which hangs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, isn't what you typically think of when you think about Toulouse-Lautrec's work but it caught my eye as we walked through the gallery. Painted around 1881 (before the Moulin Rouge days) it depicts a horse-drawn carriage elegantly rushes down a dirt country road as the driver whips the horse along and its hooves and tires from the carriage kick up dust. I can't stop staring at the horse's front left hoof breaking out of the dust. What does it mean? Is Toulouse-Lautrec talking about himself breaking free or moving forward? He seems comfortable with the subject matter, but not bored. And although it isn't ground breaking, this is a beautifully executed painting that demonstrates his virtuosity. I would definitely hang it in my house.

PS - Isn' the frame awesome too?

Destination: Sedona, AZ

Alyse and I headed out on our Sedona adventure from Scottsdale on an early, already hot, morning in June. My little brain was full of expectations and anticipation. I’d never been to the American West before like this. Sure, I’ve watched a bunch of Spaghetti Westerns and I’ve seen the Grand Canyon (which was incredible) but I haven’t started driving in a direction and gotten lost in a vast open landscape. I wanted to see what the pioneers saw, how the natives lived, and to taste salty freshness a margarita when my body was sweaty, dusty, and sunburned, while I overlooked Thunder Mountain (it’s a real thing Disney fanatics!) and Chimney Rock. I wanted to experience euphoria. I wanted to experience one of these spiritual vortexes I’d been hearing about.

In addition to a Western fantasy, Sedona is a gallery goer's dream. Don’t expect the Chelsea circuit here. It’s a mix of locally crafted goods, anthropological treasures, tacky crap, and some decent fine art (I didn’t get a chance to check it out but have heard Tlaguepaque Arts & Crafts Village is the place to be/buy). I wanted to see it all, but first a side trip to Chapel of the Holy Cross.

What are the chances that the Chapel of the Holy Cross was built right on top of a vortex! Kill two birds? The concrete chapel darts up above the landscape and is renowned for its daring 1950’s design. We were immediately impressed by the picturesque views, architecture of the chapel, and… the volume of tourists. So many people. Everywhere.

Generally speaking, a spiritual vortex is an experience unique to Sedona. People come to be healed by the swirling energies, which are like dirt devils but with spiritual rather than physical energy. Alyse and I each carried some emotional burdens, so we decided to give it a shot. It was hard to find a quiet spot but the information we read on vortexes said that a) they cover a lot of ground, so you could potentially have a moment sitting in your car in the parking lot b) everyone has a different experience, some stronger than others c) vortexes have different energies like masculine, feminine, stimulating, calming, etc. and d) sometimes using an object, like a crystal, can help channel the energy. We sat down in a pew and tried to pray. I didn’t quite get to the zoned out phase of meditation/prayer, but I did throw in a few good words for my family before deciding that this was a bust. Maybe the vortex moved. Can they do that?

Disappointed, we threw down a post-breakfast meal of nachos and Coronas before going out to conquer the art galleries. Then I forgot the map to the galleries in the car so we decided to wander around and just see what struck our fancy. This is when we joyously discovered The Thirsty Cowboy with whom you are already acquainted.

If you are visiting Sedona, the only touristy thing I recommend you make time for is the Pink Jeep Tours. You will curiously see them everywhere as you drive up HWY 179 and 89A. There are many tours to choose from depending on your adventurous spirit. We went with the educational tour of ancient ruins at the Honanki Heritage Site. Seeing as though this was the least exciting trip for families with children (learning!), we had our guide to ourselves. I enjoyed learning about the Sigaguan and their mysteriously industrious ways out here in this now remote location. The highlight was the graffiti, contemporary with the construction of the ruins until now, on the crumbling walls of the cave dwellings. I had some anxiety over a possible rattlesnake encounter but on the way back to town between the wind in my face and the way the light touched the landscape, I relaxed in a moment of happiness.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. My parents went to Sedona in March of 2011. I’m sure they told me they were going, but I didn’t realize they were there until I received a picture text from my Dad of himself standing proudly on Devil’s Bridge. Looking at it was both thrilling and terrifying. I felt like saying, “Wow! Amazing views! Impressive climb! What a tiny land bridge and a huge drop down!” while at the same time saying, “Get down from there! This isn’t funny.” So ever since I saw that picture, I had to go there. I wanted to take a picture like that and send it to him. Then bond over it.

Alyse reluctantly obliged to indulge my fantasy so we headed out for a quick jaunt in the desert before our Pink Jeep Tour. Unfortunately we misjudged just about, well, everything – how long it took to drive out to the trailhead, the blazing heat, the fact that you needed an off-roading vehicle to drive two miles on gravel and soft dirt to get to the real trailhead, how long it took to hike to Devil’s Bridge, and then to get back. We had a grand total of one hour and by the way the hardcore outdoorsy people with all of their gear stared at us in the parking lot, we decided to try something else.

Once on the substitute trail, we spent a grand total of 20 minutes basically running from photo op to photo op. This was for fear of being alone in nature, dying of thirst, being eaten by something, and to see as much as possible in our tiny time allotment. Also, we had no time to look for vortexes.

By the time we sat down for dinner at the Javelina Cantina restaurant, we accomplished a lot and I couldn’t believe our time was already up. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, it appeared that I took one too many trips to the tanning bed. But I wasn’t sunburnt - caked on layers of red dust camouflaged my white skin. An attempt was made to discretely return to my normal color with a quick wipe down in the sink before returning to my margarita and companion. The margarita tasted rewarding after a day in the hot sun. I felt like I got a glimpse into someone’s past life, even if it was a bit staged.

As we drove off into the sunset the sky darkened to an inky blue and the huge rock formations began to glow soft orange and pink. They stood proudly and alone out in the middle of the vast landscape. We made our way down the winding road in a peaceful silence as we took in their magnificence. For once I was glad that the speed limit was only 25 miles an hour so such a fleeting image could last a little longer. Was this the vortex experience we were searching for? We can’t be certain but if it wasn’t spiritual bliss then I don’t know what is.

Destination: Ft. Myers, Florida

As you may know, Gman and I took a road trip for the holiday season. We started in his hometown, Ft Myers Beach, Florida. I've written about Southwest Florida briefly before here and it's true that this is where people go to experience a more relaxed lifestyle. Not only do Gman and I love to go home to visit his family but also to have downtime that we don't seem to get too much of in our daily lives. After a few days here we are refreshed and ready to take on the world again.

My favorite thing to do in Ft Myers is to lounge in the sun by the pool, drink a cold beer, and chat with Gman's family. I recommend going here if you are looking for a time out. This what you should see and do...

I highly recommend spending a significant portion of your time at the beach. Ft Myers Beach {where Gman's mother grew up} and Sanibel {which I wrote about here} are great options. Ft Myers used to rely heavily on its shrimp fishing industry and still does to a lesser degree {and now depends on tourism}. If you enjoy seafood, you can find the freshest around at the shimp docks on the mainland side of Ft Myers Beach. If you are looking for a beach-y souvenir then go to Local Color, also on Ft Myers Beach. They have a great selection of tacky, tourist-y objects and surprisingly chic beachwear.

taken with instagram

Spend a day shopping start by finding a deal at the Miramar Outlets then head over to The Shops at Coconut Point for lunch at Tony Sacco's for coal oven pizza and more shopping.  If you find yourself closer to downtown the shops at Bell Tower are great for grabbing the basics. I would stop here in the afternoon to sample beers at World of Beer and to have dinner at Paris Saigon Bistro for an interesting mix of French and Vietnamese.

You'll also want to take a drive down the palm tree lined McGregor Blvd and go for a tour of the Edison House. Both have the perfect old Florida vibe. Thomas Edison built his winter home here in Ft Myers. You can explore his laboratory, gardens, pool, and home which have all been fully restored. I found it slightly strange that you can not enter the home, only peer into the windows. However, the architecture was designed to maximize that coastal breeze so large windows and shallow spaces allow you to see everything despite being regulated to view from the porch. 

Henry Ford lived next door and you can sneak a peek into his Craftsman style house too. I'm obsessed with the wood floors and ceilings of the Ford home. The wrap around porches on both homes are also a dream come true.

Last but not least you must pick up some chocolates at Norman Love. If it's cold(ish) then try the Mexican Hot Chocolate otherwise just pick up a few truffles. They are so delicious that your mouth waters with anticipation of the next bite.

Destination: Glendalough, Ireland

This week I wanted to journey back to Ireland after getting distracted by out-of-town guests, going to The Bahamas and Thanksgiving.

While Gman and I were in Dublin we decided to take a day trip out to the countryside. The receptionist/concierge at our hotel, TheKingfisher Restaurant and Townhouse (Gman’s parents go to Dublin often and always stay here, it’s really lovely), recommended we take the Over The Top tour of Wicklow and Glendalough. It picked us up in the wee hours of the morning and took us out and back in the same day. As we left the city center of Dublin and drove into the suburbs there was a subtle transition into the working class neighborhoods. The architecture didn’t change, nor did the density of people. The homes kept their simple, clean lines and were packed in right next to each other, only now they had tiny gardens.

People were going about their everyday errands, grocery shopping, filling up at the gas station, waiting in traffic, tiding up the lawn, and gossiping on street corners. But what changed was the air. It was harsher, colder, and wetter. Low lying fog swept in and slithered across the peat moss as we drove further into the countryside.  Deep rolling mountains had only patches of dense forest. I imaged all the battles fought on those grounds. Our tour guide was good at telling us about significant events while also letting us quietly look out the windows and take it all in. Gman and I agreed that this was the Ireland of our imaginations.

Before arriving to the main attraction we drove up to a few vistas to snap some pictures. We saw herds of sheep scaling the steep slopes on the side of the road and little towns nestled in valleys. We stopped in one of those towns to grab a quick bowl of Guinness Stew. The restaurant we stopped in was not just for tourists; many people were there on their lunch break. I thought they would have been slightly impatient with our presence, as I’m always in a hurry for lunch, but they were kind and even pointed out the best desserts without eye rolls or long sighs.

Over time, Glendalough has absorbed a lot of Ireland’s history; from its founding as a monastery in the Middle Ages by St. Kevin, through times of religious and political strife, and nearly becoming obsolete. Since the 19^th century it has been partly restored and is a destination for domestic and international tourists alike, including historians and outdoor enthusiasts. The nearby lakes provide great hiking and water activities for all ages and abilities. It was raining while we were there so we didn’t venture too far from the bus. The ruins were impressive and haunting. I felt as if all the events of the past soaked into the ground and lingered in the air. We were forced to participate in hokey tourist rituals, such as rubbing a good luck stone, which despite my annoyance towards them, were actually fun.

Just as we jumped back into the van it started pouring rain and I napped (I’m a sucker for car rides). Back in Dublin, freshly intoxicated with the nostalgia of a past we never experienced, we ended the day in some pub, drinking some local brew, pretending that we lived there. Someday, maybe, someday.

Shoe Love: Alexander Wang



via shopbop

After re-living my outdoorsy adventure for a week, I'm looking for something a little bit ridiculous to balance it out. These completely fabulous Alexander Wang heeled loafers are exactly what I'm looking for. They remind me of images I've seen of Louis XIV's high court at Versaille. I would seriously consider buying these just to wear them casually with jeans and a white t-shirt at my local neighborhood bar... just to throw people off, ya know?

Destination: Seattle, Washington

 

When I think of Seattle I imagine flannel shirts, throwing fish, Nirvana, and The Real World. It never caught my attention until I met Gman. He raves about the crispy, fresh air and how one can go boating and mountain hiking in the same day; then go to a fancy dinner downtown. He loves the ease at which a Seattleite can navigate a vibrant music scene while discussing the finer points of literature and the best brew of coffee or beer. They are both cultured city dwellers and outdoor enthusiasts.

After a month of separation we wanted to get reacquainted and what better way than with a trip? Seattle would be the best compromise of my wanting to go a new city and Gman’s desire to be in the fresh air of the Pacific Northwest Mountains. We took five days off giving us four full days of exploring. I was determined to dismantle my preconceptions about Seattle and find that real city Gman’s soul connected with.

As soon as we landed I noticed the crisp, clean air. Because of the mild humidity the air seems sharper, in HD as one of my friends noted. I couldn’t get over how even dirty cars and the bricks in the streets seemed more in focus.

Perhaps the most striking feature of Seattle is the lack of segregation. By that I mean the industrial factories are next to the baseball and football stadiums which are next to the downtown corporate scene which is mixed with the sustainable fish and flower markets. The neighborhoods aren’t separated by rich or poor but by style and there was a striking mix of people in each shop we went into. Even in the more seemingly conservative neighborhood we saw some impressive tattoos. People with similar interests were in the same spaces and were not separated by age, race, or gender. I found the city more casual than New York or Washington D.C. in that way.

The produce, meat, cheese, wine, coffee, and spices are local, sustainably produced, seasonal, and perfectly fresh. The high standard of ingredients in each meal we enjoyed showed where the priorities of the rebellious foodies of Seattle lied: from a quick pulled pork sandwiches at Rub with Love, Shack, to elegant beet salad at Champagne to sweet corn risotto with Dungess crab at Pink Door to thin crust specialty pizza from Serious Pie. Each meal was carefully chosen by the chef or owner based on seasonally available ingredients and paired with local beer and wine.

I was surprised to see that many people still enjoy a good flannel shirt and in fact also still wear Doc Martins (See mom, they are still in style 10 years later!). The fish throwers are a tourist trap at best; although I did enjoy watching brawny young men manhandle my potential meal.

As I walked through the streets of Downtown, past the modernist architecture and wires overhead from street cars I kept asking myself, where is the real Seattle? Masses of tourists flanked us on the sidewalk as we passed the flagship Nordstrom store and outdoorsy people nearly peed themselves with excitement at the REI flagship (I went there, shocking I know.)

I normally balk at guided tours but heard a lot of great reviews for the Underground Tour in the Pioneer’s Square neighborhood, where Seattle was founded. The tour takes you beneath the streets and gives you the dirty truth about the beginnings of the city as a logging port in the late 1800’s. Prostitution became the most profitable profession, though the ladies were taxed as seamstresses. The occupation was so lucrative in fact that one famous madam’s estate, almost $500,000 at the turn of the last century, was used to start an endowment for the city’s public education system. Knowing a bit more history helped put into context the counterculture personality of the city.

We ventured off to Ballard and experienced the most impressive farmer’s market (dare I say it trumped Union Square in Manhattan?) where we picked up some smoked salt (I swear it adds the flavor of bacon to everything it touches, yums!) and ogled at the bountiful summer veggies, fish, and pork. This market even had soaps, oils, and grains. Which made it as close to one stop shopping as a market can get. After shopping we had brunch at Bastille Café and Bar. The floor to ceiling windows were wide open and the 70 degree breezy air swept across our skin as we sipped a French Kiss and Bloody Mary. The bustle of people somehow made the moment quiet and peaceful.

In the Capitol Hill neighborhood we experienced the same peaceful vibe though it was much more urban. Still the superior quality of food, coffee and shopping prevailed and we enjoyed thoughtful conversation with each other and a few locals. It didn’t matter so much what you looked like but you clearly had taste if you walked into Stumptown Coffee or Frock vintage shop.

Early Sunday morning, we took a ferry tour of the harbor. We cruised past the iconic Seattle skyline, Space Needle and all. Then past crowded boat docks bursting with pleasure craft. We were told many Seattleites commute by ferry or personal boat and that there were so many boats that the city devised an emergency escape route using them should Mt. Rainier ever decide to erupt (it’s an active volcano but more on that next week). We drove past naval vessels and tug boats and enormous freight ships. The old port is now a tourist destination, filled with souvenir shops and beggars.

I thought again where is the real Seattle?

As I sipped some locally grown Shiraz at The Tasting Room, smack dab in the middle of Pike’s Place, an unassuming local woman gave us a brief lesson in Washington wine and culture. She was very well spoken, knowledgeable, and friendly. Her appearance was unkempt but she seemed satisfied with herself and enjoyed chatting with other locals. I realized then that I was sitting in the real Seattle. 

Seattle isn’t necessarily a particular neighborhood or building. It isn’t segregated from the tourists or a myth in my mind. The history of the city is woven into the fabric of the buildings, food, and people. Gman’s soul didn’t connect to a landmark or favorite bar but with the come-as-you-are (Nirvana reference intended) attitude, outstanding food and drink, and a casual complexity that lingers in the crispy air.

 

{Special thanks to my local guides, Joe and Jenni! 

We would not have eaten such great food or seen such Seattle specific sights without your kind advice.}