monday evening, new moon

Today it snowed! Fat, heavy flakes fell at the slightest angle and made all of us in the office happy. I've noticed that before, the way the first snow takes us by surprise & sends us to the windows, excited. Coworkers come in from the cold and report conditions to us, as if they mushed their team to our outpost; someone marvels at the timing ("seems late/early this year"); another acts aloof, letting us know this isn't real snow. Whatever. I love it. Today, winter feels so cozy, a nice change of pace. Not yet heavy and impossible.

What is impossible today is cooking anything in my oven. It's completely neurotic: 350 degrees to 540 then down to 415 to 325. Within 15 minutes. My cookies, my brownies, the roast—utterly baffled.

And yet, and yet—this week, I did yoga! And did laps at the pool! And walked a lot. And am at HALF my coffee intake for 5 days in a row now. The kids inspire me, the way they love using their bodies. I feel good. Of course, I enjoyed many drinks with House in Town & LazyMF & BBF Saturday night, but one had a raw egg in it, so that makes it healthy, I'm sayin. I've seen Rocky.

currently thinking about...

...the AMC Hornet.

not a minimalist

I just opened a file drawer here in the office to joyfully discover that everything in it was obsolete. Cleaning out clutter, purging, making room—these are tasks I relish. Jettison the unnecessary! Make space! Yes, I can be rash, I admit, and woefully unsentimental. And I never have anything to contribute to your yard sale or your clothing exchange. There won't be many heirlooms, either. Sorry about that.

Art community as an organism: A defense of criticism

"Life depends on the following environmental factors: Water, Food, Oxygen, Heat (Energy), and Pressure.

Pressure: An application of force on an object or substance. For example, the force acting on the outside of a land organism due to the weight of air above it is called atmospheric pressure. In humans, this pressure plays an important role in breathing."

--Hole's Human Anatomy & Physiology, 10th ed.

Onto art:

JERRY SALTZ:

"Everyone knows that dismissive, vicious, or not-so-positive things are said about shows. This is one of the things that make the art world lively, contentious, and fun. Yet when it comes to written criticism, seldom is heard a discouraging word.... Much art criticism is adulatory or merely descriptive. Many critics have never seen a show they weren't enthusiastic about.... Future generations will peruse today's art magazines and suppose ours was an age where almost everything that was made was universally admired."

THOMAS CROW:

"I don't like cults of personality, even minor cults. It gets in the way of observation and learning. Your material should be out in front, carrying the weight."

PETER SCHJELDAHL:

"You're not going to get a good art critic in St. Louis. To be a good art critic, you have to be able to make a new enemy every week and never run out of people to be your friend. In this country, that's L.A. and New York. Otherwise you're going to be moving a lot."

Some think there is no role for critical dialogue in regard to our brittle and precious local art community, yet I think that's what's keeping it from being dynamic and, frankly, a part of the real culture of our town. Saltz sums it up: "After I wrote a disapproving review of wild-style painter Cecily Brown, she told me how she disagreed, and slyly reported that she quotes a nasty bit from my review in her lectures to show that I'm wrong. Since then, we've managed to carry on conversations about art or whatever. This is the way the art world should be."

&

This weekend I will be cooking & painting & gardening & shopping & knitting & felting & sewing & planning & reading. & Eating. Always the eating & the drinking. Then the procrastinating & the sleeping & the not getting to any of it. Except the cleaning of the chicken coop. That HAS to be done.

art$$

On an excursion to buy paint, because I'm trying my hand at it again, I recoiled with sticker shock. Who can make that kind of commitment? I downsized from oil to acrylic, then down again to cheaper acrylic, and then cheaper still. Boo. One paintbrush, and I decided that some paper I had at home will suffice.

Friends, don't hold your breath. I'm not quitting my day job. Twenty years hindsight is loud and clear: No one needs more paintings of Chief Joseph, old blues singers, or ballet dancers. Purple is verboten. Late-night coffee, Ornette Coleman, and pretentious art-talk will be kept to a minimum. If you can't bear to go through all this again, I understand.

saint loouey

A couple of weeks ago, we went to St. Louis for a day. I wonder how the citizens manage day-to-day lives near the Arch--it's so gentle and striking, I think I'd be straining constantly to see it. Think of the conversations and data sheets and presentations I would derail every time I pointed out with relief, "Oh, okay. There's the Arch. I see it."


Also nice is that we're far enough away from Modernism that the cream has had time to rise to the top. The Arch can be appreciated apart from less poetic attempts at simplicity and function.

At the top, I managed to keep my cool when I could feel it moving in the wind. Kids are emotional sponges. I took deep breaths.

A testament to the harmony of architecture and landscaping.

When I grow up, I want to be a National Park Service Ranger.