Not much happened this week except for some frustration at art experiments that didn't work. I saw a lot of gold art when I was here in the summer. And I started thinking about it, thinking how it reflects the extreme light here. It's so bright that when you walk in the sun you're almost blinded. You want to get into the shadow so you can see. I bought a baseball hat just to keep the sun out, so I could see when I walk in the morning- otherwise I can't see the ground from the strong light blinding me.
There are lots of ways to use gold- you can get gold paint of course, but that's cheesy. Then there's powdered gold pigment, and gold leaf. I've been playing around with the pigment and the gold leaf, both of which require adhesive and a sealer afterwards. It looks really cool on black. I got very seduced by it. But I'm still not sure about the cheese factor. I go back and forth between thinking about what I would try to show in New York, and what intrigues me here. It feels very different.
I had dinner with someone I met on Sunday, a doctor. He proceeded to inform me about enneagrams, telling me how Rumi is a type 4, like him. The artistic, melodramatic outsider. There are 9 personality types. I took a test online and it was something like "The Achiever" with a bit of "The Investigator" and some of "The Helper." Nowhere near type 4. I was pretty skeptical, but this man was really into it and kept referring to people in his life as being a type this or a type that- and his own behavior over the years, he was a type 4, so of course he'd be a certain way in a certain situation. I had never heard of the enneagram, but that's only one of many ways that people here seem to like to use to explain the mysteries of the universe.
One thing that throws me a lot is the time difference from the east coast. I have to keep reminding myself that it's two hours earlier- so if I think of calling someone at around 9 PM, it's too late. When I wake up in the morning, my friends and family have been up for two hours or more. First thing I do is check my email. I don't like the feeling of being on a different schedule.
I finally started receiving my NY Times in the morning. It took a week and a half and a lot of phone calls. I figured it would get here eventually, but when I called the Times I guess they called the manager of the newspaper delivery for the district and he called me a few times to ask if I'd gotten the paper. I hadn't. So he thought maybe someone was taking them, but he rode by here himself to see what the situation is. He moved the address sign for the house next door so there wouldn't be confusion. I wonder what they thought of that- they're from Texas and have a big ol' SUV sitting out there. Anyway I started getting the paper, finally. But it's strangely organized. It has about 10 sections, because they're not put together, it's kind of in bunches. No matter, though. I do enjoy reading it and doing the puzzle until Thursday or Friday when I can't do it anymore.
I've been thinking about dogs, too. Lots of dog-walkers behind the house, along the river. I look on the humane society website every few days. I stop myself though. Not time yet, but it would be great to have a little companion here.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The limits of language
This weekend I'm taking a seminar on Rumi at St. John's College. St. John's is in a lovely spot, above Canyon Road in the hills. It's one of the last of a particular kind of college- committed to the liberal arts and discourse. Not at all what I experienced as an undergrad. I'm not sure I would have been up to it.
I met an artist from Iran this summer and she kindled my interest in Persian poetry, telling me about a poem called The Conference of the Birds. More about this at some point. My friend Dom and I were browsing at the used bookstore here and I found a book on Sufism and a book of some of Rumi's poems- so seeing the seminar on Rumi listed on the St. John's website, I was excited at the opportunity. Because I have to say, Rumi's poems are a little hard for me to relate to. But now I see that it's the translation that is a little opaque to me. And by the way, off-topic, is the Kindle meant to suggest sparking an interest? You can get samples of books before ordering them. But it's a sweet word in a way, isn't it? Kindle. Like kinder (children) it almost seems like a diminutive.
The seminar is for the weekend only- six hours spread over Friday Saturday and Sunday. There's food, and on Friday, there was wine. The food is kind of fancy, like last night it had a Persian theme, and there was a predominance of round balls. Some were beef with spices, some were pistachio/apricot rolled in confectioner's sugar. Then there was hummus and two kinds of home-made pita chips. So of course I had a little wine and then I was sort of sorry I had, because I couldn't think as clearly. And this is a very smart crowd. Almost all are women, different ages; one male poet who is the least talkative, and the "tutor" who is an expert not only in Middle Eastern literature, but Western lit as well; reads Farsi of course, and is very good at framing questions to direct the discussion. He gave us a great deal of material to read, and also to listen to. It was password protected online and I couldn't drag an audio file off to post here. But probably listening to a Rumi poem in Farsi is not what you planned to do with your time.
I will say this, that besides hearing different peoples' responses to the poems, I've become much more familiar with the depth of Rumi's writing, and learned that the most popular and famous of his interpretors, Coleman Barks, has taken tremendous liberties with the text, often draining it of the Islamic, mystical aspects which seem to me to be very important. So seeing several translations together has been really interesting, and makes one wonder what Rumi's intentions were, but in fact, one could ask if that is even relevant, if the poems that result from the interpretations are meaningful in their own way.
Here is an example of four interpretations of the same quatrain:
1. Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase, "each other"
doesn't make any sense.
2. Beyond belief and disbelief
lies the vast expanse of ecstasy
where the mystic lays his head
on the cushion of Truth.
3. This valley is different.
Beyond religion and cults.
Here, silently, put your head down
Engulf yourself in the wonder of God.
Here, there's no room for religion or cults.
4. Beyond Islam and unbelief there is a 'desert plain'
For us, there is a 'yearning' in the midst of that expanse.
The knower of God who reaches that plain will prostrate in prayer.
For there is neither Islam nor unbelief, nor any 'where' in that place.
I'll supply a bibliography for anyone who's gotten this far! The first interpretation is Coleman Barks'. I'll bet if you've got a book of Rumi poems, they are translated by him. Tomorrow, our last day, we'll be mostly listening to the poems being read in Farsi. But it's amazing how many ways Rumi's poems have been interpreted musically- from folk/country to Philip Glass to chanting. Our tutor says he is the best selling poet in this country. Could that be true?
I met an artist from Iran this summer and she kindled my interest in Persian poetry, telling me about a poem called The Conference of the Birds. More about this at some point. My friend Dom and I were browsing at the used bookstore here and I found a book on Sufism and a book of some of Rumi's poems- so seeing the seminar on Rumi listed on the St. John's website, I was excited at the opportunity. Because I have to say, Rumi's poems are a little hard for me to relate to. But now I see that it's the translation that is a little opaque to me. And by the way, off-topic, is the Kindle meant to suggest sparking an interest? You can get samples of books before ordering them. But it's a sweet word in a way, isn't it? Kindle. Like kinder (children) it almost seems like a diminutive.
The seminar is for the weekend only- six hours spread over Friday Saturday and Sunday. There's food, and on Friday, there was wine. The food is kind of fancy, like last night it had a Persian theme, and there was a predominance of round balls. Some were beef with spices, some were pistachio/apricot rolled in confectioner's sugar. Then there was hummus and two kinds of home-made pita chips. So of course I had a little wine and then I was sort of sorry I had, because I couldn't think as clearly. And this is a very smart crowd. Almost all are women, different ages; one male poet who is the least talkative, and the "tutor" who is an expert not only in Middle Eastern literature, but Western lit as well; reads Farsi of course, and is very good at framing questions to direct the discussion. He gave us a great deal of material to read, and also to listen to. It was password protected online and I couldn't drag an audio file off to post here. But probably listening to a Rumi poem in Farsi is not what you planned to do with your time.
I will say this, that besides hearing different peoples' responses to the poems, I've become much more familiar with the depth of Rumi's writing, and learned that the most popular and famous of his interpretors, Coleman Barks, has taken tremendous liberties with the text, often draining it of the Islamic, mystical aspects which seem to me to be very important. So seeing several translations together has been really interesting, and makes one wonder what Rumi's intentions were, but in fact, one could ask if that is even relevant, if the poems that result from the interpretations are meaningful in their own way.
Here is an example of four interpretations of the same quatrain:
1. Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I'll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase, "each other"
doesn't make any sense.
2. Beyond belief and disbelief
lies the vast expanse of ecstasy
where the mystic lays his head
on the cushion of Truth.
3. This valley is different.
Beyond religion and cults.
Here, silently, put your head down
Engulf yourself in the wonder of God.
Here, there's no room for religion or cults.
4. Beyond Islam and unbelief there is a 'desert plain'
For us, there is a 'yearning' in the midst of that expanse.
The knower of God who reaches that plain will prostrate in prayer.
For there is neither Islam nor unbelief, nor any 'where' in that place.
I'll supply a bibliography for anyone who's gotten this far! The first interpretation is Coleman Barks'. I'll bet if you've got a book of Rumi poems, they are translated by him. Tomorrow, our last day, we'll be mostly listening to the poems being read in Farsi. But it's amazing how many ways Rumi's poems have been interpreted musically- from folk/country to Philip Glass to chanting. Our tutor says he is the best selling poet in this country. Could that be true?
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Thoughts about Oz
The wind has been fierce since last night. This morning it was 39 degrees according to my phone, but it felt very cold as I took my morning walk/run. I've posted a photo taken on the path, which today was full of elementary school kids from the school across the street. It runs behind my house as a dirt road, crosses a big street, then goes through fields and a park, alongside the riverbed.
I've started working here, and catching up on my podcasts while I work. Today I listened to the broadcast on Studio 360 about The Wizard of Oz and had an epiphany about how it's possible that this movie had a profound affect on me as a child. I watched it every year without fail. Salman Rushdie wrote a book about it and he talked about how it was really not about coming home, but rather about getting away from home. Scholars talked about how the Baum book was proto-feminist: Dorothy and her little dog, taking off for a place that was so much more beautiful and exciting. Could this be the story of my life?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Book is sealed
Yesterday I went to Yom Kippur services. This summer I had lunch with a wonderful woman whose partner is a rabbi at a shul, HaMakom, which holds services at a pretty little church in town, so I decided to go there. It's a progressive synagogue, both rabbi and cantor are women, and though I don't know all the history, someone told me it broke off from the larger reform temple here, Beth Sholom.
First thing was, everyone (except for me and a few others) were wearing white, or almost white. In all my years of going to High Holiday services, I knew the rabbi and cantor would always wear white, but never the congregation. No, it was always an event to dress up for, wear new fall clothes and all that. In Miami Beach, it was still sweltering but you wanted to wear a little suit, and when I was a kid, it was unthinkable to wear pants. That has changed, obviously. But here people were wearing white jeans, crocs, and the like, some were dressed beautifully in long flowing garments, many had little yarmulkes pinned on their heads, pretty crocheted ones, even beaded ones. The rabbi invited all of us to put on a talit, the prayer shawl that is usually worn by men. I've never had one on, in my recollection, and it was a nice feeling, to be wrapped up in it. Especially since it was cold in there.
Another thing was, there was a dog there. It had a little outfit saying it was a service dog, but it was a cocker spaniel and the person who brought it was most definitely not blind. Who knows though. It was pretty well behaved but at one point started to bark (it wasn't a particularly loud part of the service, perhaps it saw a vision of some sort.) I thought maybe Lucy would have enjoyed going to services and she was already dressed in white, but maybe she would have been bored. For a portion of the service a beautiful little girl, barefoot, pranced around the synagogue giving hugs to almost anyone. It seemed she knew everyone, and she was quite enjoying herself. Her mother was on the bima and the little girl particularly enjoyed hopping on one foot up and down the aisles. Everyone seemed amused.
I'm making it sound like it was bedlam in there, and it wasn't at all, I just found it refreshingly, but disconcertingly casual. After all, this wasn't some happy holiday- it was the Day of Atonement. I atoned for the snarky remark I made about the dead flies the other day (which I've vacuumed away.) It was a beautiful, moving service. Instead of a sermon, there were three people who are involved in the Judaism course- the teacher (mother of abovementioned child) a woman of 75 who will be Bat Mitzvah in May, and a man of 60-something whose partner is Jewish and who is converting. Their commitment to the religion and their willingness to immerse themselves in theory and ritual was very inspiring. I felt a real sense of community in that room, and a lot of acceptance and love. Most of the congregation (and Santa Fe as a whole) is comprised of somewhat older transplants. The rabbi referred a lot to her sermon of the night before, about "sageing instead of ageing." Something I would like to remember. When I would tell my story, they'd say, you won't want to leave. We'll see. I met some lovely people and it was the first time I've spent the entire day of Yom Kippur at synagogue, culminating in a beautiful pot luck break-fast.
First thing was, everyone (except for me and a few others) were wearing white, or almost white. In all my years of going to High Holiday services, I knew the rabbi and cantor would always wear white, but never the congregation. No, it was always an event to dress up for, wear new fall clothes and all that. In Miami Beach, it was still sweltering but you wanted to wear a little suit, and when I was a kid, it was unthinkable to wear pants. That has changed, obviously. But here people were wearing white jeans, crocs, and the like, some were dressed beautifully in long flowing garments, many had little yarmulkes pinned on their heads, pretty crocheted ones, even beaded ones. The rabbi invited all of us to put on a talit, the prayer shawl that is usually worn by men. I've never had one on, in my recollection, and it was a nice feeling, to be wrapped up in it. Especially since it was cold in there.
Another thing was, there was a dog there. It had a little outfit saying it was a service dog, but it was a cocker spaniel and the person who brought it was most definitely not blind. Who knows though. It was pretty well behaved but at one point started to bark (it wasn't a particularly loud part of the service, perhaps it saw a vision of some sort.) I thought maybe Lucy would have enjoyed going to services and she was already dressed in white, but maybe she would have been bored. For a portion of the service a beautiful little girl, barefoot, pranced around the synagogue giving hugs to almost anyone. It seemed she knew everyone, and she was quite enjoying herself. Her mother was on the bima and the little girl particularly enjoyed hopping on one foot up and down the aisles. Everyone seemed amused.
I'm making it sound like it was bedlam in there, and it wasn't at all, I just found it refreshingly, but disconcertingly casual. After all, this wasn't some happy holiday- it was the Day of Atonement. I atoned for the snarky remark I made about the dead flies the other day (which I've vacuumed away.) It was a beautiful, moving service. Instead of a sermon, there were three people who are involved in the Judaism course- the teacher (mother of abovementioned child) a woman of 75 who will be Bat Mitzvah in May, and a man of 60-something whose partner is Jewish and who is converting. Their commitment to the religion and their willingness to immerse themselves in theory and ritual was very inspiring. I felt a real sense of community in that room, and a lot of acceptance and love. Most of the congregation (and Santa Fe as a whole) is comprised of somewhat older transplants. The rabbi referred a lot to her sermon of the night before, about "sageing instead of ageing." Something I would like to remember. When I would tell my story, they'd say, you won't want to leave. We'll see. I met some lovely people and it was the first time I've spent the entire day of Yom Kippur at synagogue, culminating in a beautiful pot luck break-fast.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Chapter two- the signs
A friend of a friend was offering this place to rent. It's in a great location near the railyard, where the farmer's market, Site Santa Fe and a number of galleries are. It's also an easy walk to the Plaza. Not sure if I feel okay walking home at night, though- no one else does except the drug dealers. Yes, there are drug dealers in Santa Fe. Anyway, it was being used as an art studio by the owner, but it's really a large 1BR 1.5 Bath apartment with two patios. So I figured I could work and live here. So far, my second day here, I'm far from being settled and organized, but that will come. First I have to clean it better and get rid of the dead flies. I did not leave dead flies in my apartment for my subtenant.
It is so odd the way people show up when you don't expect, and how Santa Fe seems to create a vortex of those experiences. Hours after I arrived, I was getting into my car when a woman walked by with a dog that started barking at me. I looked over and the woman said, "Donna!" It was Eileen Torpey, a woman I know from grad school who lives here, and whom I've been in touch with, but not recently. She happened to be walking along the "river" (it's really just a tiny stream at this point) which is behind my place. I also ran into a woman who owns a gallery in the little town of Madrid in Target- she had been sitting a seat away from me on the flight out here. I was so excited to see someone I knew that I gave her a little hug, and she laughed.
However, last night I went to an opening of a group show because someone I had met at open studios this summer had a piece in it. I talked to him, but didn't see anyone else I know, except for the guy who works at the art supply store. I kept in mind Jackie Battenfield's advice to talk to at least four people at any opening you go to and I forced myself to say a few things to people I was standing next to, looking at the art. But no one continued the conversation. In fact one woman looked at me like I had two heads. Slightly discouraging, but it's early in my stay.
I loved the double rainbow I saw as I came out of (of course) a natural food store. It had just started to rain and I took a few photos with my phone. As I drove, it looked like I would drive right below it, as if it was the St. Louis arch. Could there be a more perfect sign than a rainbow my first day?
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
at long last
Something most people don't know about me is that I have two master's degrees. The first one is in Art History, and my thesis was on Marion Mahony Griffin, a woman who was one of the first to finish architecture school, and who worked in Frank Lloyd Wright's Prairie School studio in the early 20th century. Wright gave her the job of designing motifs for detailing and such, but also she was an exquisite draftsman and my thesis maintained that she did many of the beautiful architectural drawings that are attributed to Wright. I published an article about this back in 1974, and now it's common knowledge that this is true, although many (male) historians of Wright's work don't give her the credit. The Wikipedia entry does point to her important contribution of drawings.
Anyway, I've never been to Wright's Fallingwater, the Kaufmann house in Pennsylvania, and friends in Santa Fe suggested I go, since it wasn't far from Pittsburgh. There comes a time in your life when you start to think, will I ever be here again? And I thought: no. Furthermore, I will not do another cross-country car trip, because while it was fun going out, it was way less fun coming back. I kept imagining that I was having a stroke or something, but it was just headache from muscle stress and tension. I mean, if you're driving in hilly territory and you've got double semis bearing down on you on the downhill, you get a little tense.
So I did go to Fallingwater on my last driving day, and it was well worth the long but beautiful detour on one of Pennsylvania's "scenic auto tour" roads. There were lots of people there and you have to reserve a spot on a tour. On Labor Day they had over 60 separate groups of 10 or 12, but Tuesday was quieter, if still quite briskly busy. The house is wonderful, really interesting and lovely. What a crazy commute it must have been back when the Kaufmanns spent weekends there. It's all open, lots of glass, eclectic furnishings that include the built-ins that Kaufmann the younger designed, as he was an apprentice in Wright's studio; but also Diego Rivera paintings, several Hiroshige prints plus a Hokusai, Southwest stuff, Picasso prints, books galore (I spotted a Vincent Scully, wondering when that would have been added.)
There is often a little waterfall inside the house, but it's been a tad dry, I guess. You can see from the photo that there is a stairway that goes right down to the stream from the living room and of course the sound of rushing water is everywhere. I bought a few gifts, grabbed a sandwich, and left at around 2:15 to continue my drive home.
Construction and road painting in the area caused traffic to stop. Then, I missed an exit, feeling too confident that I knew where I was going, which caused a severe delay as I wended through cornfields, praying that I would once again find the desired route 78. Once I did, I was again delayed as an accident stopped all traffic on the highway. Needless to say, it was ridiculously late by the time I got home, having practically propped my weary eyes open and going around 55 mph in the right hand lane because I couldn't see all that well at night.
And so, dear friends, my blog comes to an end for now. I'm back in Brooklyn, amongst the Poles, hipsters and pizza by the slice. Have I reached the enlightenment I sought? No, not really. But it was a great summer and life has shifted- not sure where, but as Rilke said, "Live the questions and one day you will live into the answer." Or something like that. Thank you to everyone who commented or emailed me to say they enjoyed it. Now we turn to the entertainment that is called electing a president. Check out Huffington and Kos.
And until the next time- Good night, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.
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