Quick Thoughts

I turned 24 yesterday!! June 28th, 1985 is when I started this life. The world's most perfect birthday. Here is the DCist "Photo of the Day" from yesterday, June 28th 2009-

Some kind of party train going on somewhere in the District? It looks like the Artomatic show, but I can't tell. At any rate, yes, people, my birthday IS a good day to don a mustache costume (see the half-naked person on the left) and dance around. Glad you could celebrate with me. Sad I spent a lot of my time in the Minneapolis Airport, coming home from my Utah trip to marry off my best friend, Jessica Brothers, to Adam Clayton.

BUT I'm so happy I got to be a part of their wedding!!! Worth every second and every penny! Thanks to my family for coming up to see me and Jess as well! In the aftermath of great life moments like this weekend, I feel like I can be up for almost any challenge, knowing I have such great people in my life who love me so much and who I can love back, with equal joy.

Auntie Chey- I LOVE MY PRESENT!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOU!!! And I definitely saved the wrapping paper as legal proof that you have bequeathed me your beautiful Ferdinand the Bull drawing when you die. I feel the honor of such a present :) My family rules.

Job search continues, although I'm starting an hourly, seasonal stint as Wendy Peffercorn, aka a lifeguard at the Upton Hill Park Pool in Arlington. HOORAY FOR PAYCHECKS AND FREE TANS!

My siblings rule. My best friends are the best. My airplane landed safely, and my new bright yellow rain coat was the perfect gift (thanks mom!). I got to go be daring at the Mona pond rope swing Saturday morning with some of my favorite guy friends, the only other thing I wanted to do this weekend besides see my best friend emerge from those temple doors with her hand in Adam's and a blissful smile on her face. Thus today, June 29th, finds me one very happy camper.

The OTHER Pop

My dad calls people whose name he can't remember "Lucky" or "Chief" depending on their gender. He cannot convincingly lie, ever, and as my mom has observed with wicked laughter, his nostrils flare tellingly when he tries!! My dad has hated fish my whole life long, but loves those little scalding-hot pepper flakes on all his other meals (weirdo). Whenever he tries to dance he... well, we'll just say it tickles our funny bone to watch. My dad has been a faithful home teacher his whole life, a feat accomplished by very, very few. His voice gets really small when he has to convey something important, which can either be terrifying because you know you're really in trouble, or awesome because you can feel how close his heart is to his favorite subjects. My dad is the 5th of 6 kids, and maintains a strong love of family; the C________s are a wild and crazy bunch of teddy bears and I love how often we see each other year in and year out.

My dad loves to think outside the box, and his way of conceiving new ideas and pushing the boundaries of thought has left an indelible mark on the minds of his children. He is a completely devoted husband and member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and the best part of his personality shows forth when you talk to him about these two subjects. He was the first person to show me how to swim the butterfly. He was the maniacal boat driver that left me wary of going tubing forever! (Yet I still love to wakeboard... haha! Can't wreck that out of me! Although... he tried. Once he just left me all by my lonesome in the middle of Lake Mead after a run, afloat in my gear. At twilight. I just had to lay back and talk to God in the sunset for half an hour while he and the kids packed up camp back at the beach. Good times). My dad never lets a good subject for debate rest, particularly if it involves architecture or Mitt Romney.

When I went to Europe in summer '07, it was as if he was always there; everywhere I went I observed cool buildings and artworks that I wished I could show him, because he's so good at pointing out to me what's so ingenious or copycat-errific about them. By the end of that study abroad all my classmates practically missed him, too-- I was unafraid to share with them the lens through which I view the world, which my dad in particular gave me (my co-traveller Ashley just confirmed that to me this weekend- we went to the National Gallery together and she said she wished I had gone with her on her latest trip to Belgium, cuz she missed all the times I would remark, "My dad loves glass walls that do this..." or, "My dad thinks architecture can be inspiring without gargoyles stuck all over it!" etc.) I love him especially for the way he and my mother both raised me with a special eye for things that just shine. For ideas, people, buildings, flavors, sunsets, stories and adventures that make life so dang worthwhile. It is the never-ending search for the new and exciting that I hope to be able to pass on to students, friends, and loved ones throughout my life.

My dad is a great man who works harder and with more honesty and commitment to building the kingdom than anyone I know. I love him. I'm really grateful that he has continually lead our family on a great and glorious path. I know I just showed you this photo, but it really is my favorite, so you get to see it again. I love it because it symbolizes my favorite part of my relationship with my dad- the way he puts me on an equal level with him, allowing me to see the beauties and mysteries of the world as he does, while encouraging me to form good ideas, make good observations, and ask great questions, too.

All My Thoughts on Pop

(Stay away from the whine, Lindsey. Stay away!!) I had to do a couple of things I didn't want to do this week (so I did them with misgivings). Oh well. Living your dreams won't ever come easy, and I think my beginner's luck has just simply, officially, run its course. Notwithstanding, I've just realized I haven't put up a serious post about art in a long while. I've been headed creepily towards the self-absorbed blogs deliciously satirized in seriouslysoblessed! Heaven forbid! So I am putting off my daily resume dispersion for a moment of fun for me, and (hopefully) enjoyment for you as well.

Mom asked me why she recognized that picture of a woman crying in the last post. "Is that famous?" she asked. "Yes, but not as a cartoon," I answered, "It's pop art. By Roy Lichtenstein. He and Andy Warhol and the other Pop artists were so sick of seeing museums buy artwork essentially of nothing, cuz they were entering the art market right after minimalism's heyday, where all the famous art was basically painted boxes and monochrome canvases with one spot or one stupid vertical line on them. So the pop artists decided to paint or sculpt what seemed to them like the last unheralded realm of imagery: popular things.(Hence the name of the art movement). They began to figure out little tongue-in-cheek ways to play with items you see every day, like Campbell's soup labels, Marilyn Monroe's face, or in Roy Lichtenstein's case, comic book illustrations." (Yes, that was pretty much a word-for word summary of my reply to my mother's question.)

Breaking down 20th-century modern art history into its most elemental pieces (which a good art historian should never do but does anyways... small trade secret for ya), avant-garde art went like this after WWI: Cubism (think Picasso, who was one of the first to say, "I've painted beautiful women's faces long enough! Let's mess up her eyes and ears and colors and see what happens!").

Abstract Expressionism (i.e. Jackson Pollock, who said, "Forget women's faces! Let's just look at paint, glorious, paint when I throw it around majestically!").

High modernism (With artists like DC's own Morris Louis, who said, "I'm not even going to throw it around! I'm going to let it slide down the canvases on its own, so I can say I've truly got the essence of painting- canvas and color, no artist's hand involved!").

Minimalism (the aforementioned boxes and stupid vertical lines). Artists like Sol LeWitt decided they didn't want art to look like ANYONE made it anymore. Like a machine could make it instead. Incidentally, Sol LeWitt just completed a wall design that the LA Times art critic calls the Sistine Chapel of America. Read here and feel free to disagree, if you feel so inclined. Me and many other art-worlders certainly do.

Then, THEN, like a cheeky ray of ironic sunlight, came Pop art. Roy Lichtenstein, like many others of his generation (the big Pop names include Robert Indiana, Claes Oldenburg, James Rosenquist, Wayne Theibaud, and the illustrious Mr. Andy Warhol) bounced unsatisfied from style to style in the wakes of these quickly-changing art movements, all of which had the unfortunate and probably very annoying habit of setting up their originators as the saviors and primmadonnas of the art world (this process was helped along by the various dramas that unfolded in the artists' high-roller lives: Pollock, as you know, crashed his car into a tree and died at age 44, taking a female passenger along with him, while Carl Andre, a Minimalist, pushed his wife and fellow artist Ana Mendieta off a balcony to her death, though he denies it. Rubbish.)

Poor, talented, unfamous, and probably drunk, the pop artists essentially decided to scream, Howard Beale-like, "I'm mad as H#%! and I'm not gonna take it anymore!" Enough with this hoity-toityness! I'm tired of stupid lines and inflated egos!

When you look at their art, the thing the pop artists most often hoped you would see lies beyond the familiar, cheap subject matter. Most of the time, they want you to realize, with misgivings, that this ordinary part of your world is now suddenly out of the ordinary, and maybe always has been. You, and they, and most of the people around us, are constantly and completely assaulted by images from the news, ads, packaging, billboards, TV, internet, etc., which all mean very little and affect no lasting change. We are all in a state of being either engrossed in, disgusted by, or amused at the commercialism and mass-media-type images that saturate our cultural landscape. So these Pop artists, they used bright colors, and ginormous canvases, and unusual sculpting materials (Claes Oldenburg created giant bath tubs out of stuffed canvases), all in an effort to poke fun at both the prestigious and pretentious world of fine art up to that point, and also the ubiquitous base of low-class design that formed the very foundation of society's visual atmosphere.

Now, the discomfiting fact is that some of these Pop artists stepped beyond the boundaries of good art (A fledgling Modern Art Historian asserted that there is such a thing as good and bad modern art? Yes, yes she did.) and chose to create works that are pornographic and/or despondent. However, they also simultaneously affected real and lasting change in the landscape of the avant-garde by their ironic and methodical musings on the "normal" experience of life. For that reason I study and admire them, albeit with my own occasional misgivings about their choice of subject matter and mood.

Today, while in the midst of sending out resumes like Obama sends out stimulus money, I wanted to relate to you what I consider to be my prickly future task as a Mormon art historian: weeding through demoralizing trash to find and properly admire the art that is truly our marvelous cultural heritage here and now, at the beginning of the 21st-century. FYI, all of the selected images this post are artworks I consider great, if not classic, cultural gifts. I adore Morris Louis' beautiful "Veils," as he called them, and I just smile and want a sandwich every time I see this^ James Rosenquist. When I told a guy in my ward this week that I plan on studying Modern art, he scoffed, "Huh. The worst art of all time!" I vehemently disagree with him, though I don't know all the reasons why just yet (hence, more school). I just know that I'm here at this time in history for a reason, as were these Pop and Modern and Contemporary artists, and that I will share more feelings and experiences with them than I ever will with some dead Greek who painted wings and lightning bolts on a vase. I like knowing that I can see what my chosen artists saw, and feel what they felt, and I can certainly empathize with their frustration and confusion at modern life's overflow of inane images. THIS is why it does not SUCK to study Modern Art. After all, isn't that the best part of all art, and the whole human experience: being able to connect with other human beings??

From the Top:

Pablo Diego Jose Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno Maria de los Remedios Cipriano de la Santisima Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso. :) Le Reve, 1932

Jackson Pollock, Lavender Mist, 1954

Morris Louis, Dalet Kaf, n.d.

Sol LeWitt, Open Modular Cube, 1966

Roy Lichtenstein, Sunrise, 1965

Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe, 1967

James Rosenquist, White Bread, 1964

PS Something in me is screaming to make sure this is understood: All of these are white males. Yes, historically, that is who called the artistic shots. Helen Frankenthaler was actually the true mistress (as in, the feminine version of master) of Color-field Painting, what Morris Louis did, better (they were friends, and Morris benefitted greatly by her lead). There. I said my peace, and all my feminist art historian friends can put down their torches now.

T- minus

14 days!

That's when takes me back to this place - so I can do a lot of this - because, you see, the pink shiny half of this, the wild Lindssica- plans on going here- and getting married for time and all eternity to THIS dude in the orange jacket- :] In 14 days I will also be reunited with The Asian, seen above, and maybe even get some face time with this high school BFF- - though if I don't, it's ok, because in T-minus 4 months or so, I'll get back with to watch that one do a little marrying of her own! (though you didn't hear it from me... yet! Good thing she doesn't read my blog.) The point is, I'm marrying off BFF's left and right, and I couldn't be happier with their brave and wonderful choices. Nor could I be more grateful for cheap airline flights that enable me to witness the ends of era's and the beginnings of eternity all summer long. I sure wish I could have hopped on a plane to be a part of this- though. Congrats, my grown-up sissy Wee! I'm so proud of you! Man, what a big, crazy transitional year for our family!

In other news, unemployment continues. That story, as you know, gets old real fast (cold off the press, if you will), so instead of focusing on the tragedy of it all, I work hard, and remember the sage advice of my "Elder" brother in Florida- "it does NO GOOD to be sad. Doesn't do ANYTHING. Brings YOU down, brings everyone around you down, you get lazy, and eventually get fat like me." Hee hee. Wise old Marticus. I am keeping a job-hunting journal that will enable me to look back with pride and a wry smile when I DO finally get my amazing job. I'm actually kind of glad I get this chance to learn how to really network, interview, and work and pray in the pursuit of a grown-up goal (just let it end in time for me to pay July's rent!). I know these skills will always come in handy and I know that as I exercise faith and work as hard as I possibly can, putting out as many "stones" out there for God to touch, he will eventually and at the perfect moment, bless the applications I send out. I don't doubt that he delights to bless his girls that are giving it their all, with Him always in mind. Thanks, everyone who prays and fasts for me. I feel greatly blessed by the people who are cheering me on as I try to forge a good name and a good future for myself.

In other OTHER news, DC has been the site of several Noah-esque floods the last two weeks (BOOOOO what fun is unemployment if you can't hit up your apartment complex's pool once in a while??) But it did create at least one great memory, as me and roommates Breanna and Marin left sensibility in the dust, er, mud, and went for a little run through the parking lot during a downpour. The streets had turned into large rivers with strong currents, and this is us post-frolic- . I'm pouring water out of my shoe, if you can't tell. Also, I now have the time to run around with a couple other girls (we've christened ourselves the "Day Club" because we're free during the day), enjoying all the arts and tourist sights of big beautiful DC. One of the most intriguing adventures was the annual DC-based arts fair, Artomatic, where the art entries ranged from amateur to perverse to really cool, like this print, entitled, "Four- Leaf Clover of Friends,"

I like it because it looks like they're all praying. Another neat one was this large installation sculpture by a local arts class; they made a forest all out of recycled material! It was so visually compelling!

And that's all for now. A bientot!

Tales of a housewifey... sans house. AND spouse :)

I'm on Day 3 of unemployment. And officially ready for it to be over. Day 1 (Monday) was cool, I got a lot done, including putting up a lot of the art I've had stuffed into corners and folders since I moved (aaaah... it feels like home now). But then... Day 2 came. And that giant TO DO list I made on Day 1 was now reminding me of all the UN-fun stuff I still needed to do (I crossed off all the fun stuff on Day 1... dang it, why didn't I think to ration it out??) So I rolled up my sleeves, er went running :), and then later, begrudgingly, tackled a few of the unpleasantries.

And here I sit, Day 3, facing the few miscellaneous items remaining on the TO DO list, with all the time in the world and not a single shred of motivation. And I find myself thinking about this newest adventure, my (hopefully brief) stint as a "housewifey," waiting to hear if I got my job as a swim instructor for the summer and if my other resume-required applications have impressed their addressee's. And then my mind skips to the REALLY important matter at hand: What works of art will I hang in my future permanent residence? I've been staring at the bare wallspace of my tiny apartment for three days now, can you blame me??

Anyone who has ever witnessed a room of Lindsey's in the last couple of years can testify that I am a visual person; I fill my surroundings with things to look at. And not the cutesy normal things to look at like Anne Geddes photos or Relief-Society-spawned fake flower arrangements. I go for the thought-provoking and memory-triggering. In my future house I am also sensibly considering what kinds of artworks my kids would be inspired by (aka which works will require me to regale them with art legends) and which artworks will create the kind of pleasing ambiance and sacred space I try to create wherever I live. (woo... I'm starting to sound like my dad, huh?)

Now, keeping in mind the fact that my list of future house-works changes continuously as I come across more and more enchanting artworks from every stage of art history, here are the all-stars that have been hanging on the walls of my mental dream house for years now:

In my bathroom:

Matisse's Goldfish, 1912 (?) I'm not too official on dates... these pictures are family, not homework!

In my office (or in the hall if I don't have an office):

Caillebotte's Floor Scrapers, I can't remember when- 1880's? Parisian, naturally.

Durer's Melencolia I, 1514, which I did my undergraduate senior thesis on. Aaaah the memories... the hours and hours and hours of research... good times. I knew I was in the right line of work when I could spend 5 months looking at something and still be excited to see it later.

Over a couch somewhere:

Yes, it's a Dan Flavin light installation. Hey, a girl can dream!

Kitchen-Time:

Wayne Thiebaud, I can't remember the title. Although I might replace this with a decent still-life or a Morandi if I can find one to suit my tastes.

Entry-way (cuz it's one of my all-time favorites and it still makes me smile when I see it):

Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night

For Memory-Triggering's sake:

[Insert perfunctory pictures of family and friends here, hopefully they look as good as Genna's pics] and also:

Dad and bebe Lindsey, in Virginia, probably 1987

Hung in a prominent place like a stairwell or mantle (because yes, I do appreciate the importance of having images that inspire devotion in the home, and am veeeeeeery selective about it):

This big beautiful sketch is something my dad did long ago of the Cardston, Alberta Canada Temple-- I definitely have a post-it note stuck to the back of this picture, claiming it after my parents die :)

Confession: I most definitely judge people based on what they have hanging on their walls. Now, don't be worried, your decor rarely says anything negative about you (except... if you use a lot of Andy Warhol, I may mentally scoff. He and I have an longstanding disagreement about art economics). I believe that what you choose to surround yourself with speaks volumes about who you are, what you care about, and what makes you happy. I delight in asking people about their choices. For example, I love going into guys' homes here in DC, because guys' walls are usually a lot more sparse and simple (similar to guys' overall approach to life). If they have any decor at all it's fairly utilitarian, with a specific purpose (like a love-sac) or a memory, e.g. it's from a mission, or has a great story behind it that really impressed them (or... it came with the house :) My Aunt Cheryl, on the other hand, has the most creative, alive home ever, with green and purple swirled rugs and a gorgeous hand-drawn enlargement of an illustration from my favorite children's book, Ferdinand the Bull (framed in a beautiful, candy-apple red, custom-made frame). From these pieces everyone can understand what an invigorating, creative lady she is. My dad's decorating philosophy is FAMILY PICTURES ONLY, which I've always disagreed with... I got in trouble one summer for daring to hang a van gogh print in the living room. But that should at least tell you what makes him happy and what he cares about.

Feel free to infer all sorts of things about me from the above compilation. Oh, and just for posterity's sake, the gaps in that list are:

American Color Field painting (I haven't found a favorite Morris Louis yet)

Whatever wall hanging my husband brings to the table

Photography!!!! (American landscape, visual Pop photography, etc.)

Portraiture (I have one in mind... I need to dig it up out of my 19th century European art book. The most lovely self-portrait, done by a Romanticist who died young... can't remember his name)

Modernist (Ikea furniture tries to fill this gap for me)

Something ancient... although that is by far my least favorite time period to study. Snore.

Incidentally, and completely unrelated to the rest of this post, Can DC Mormon Guys Get A Little Libido? I give you leave to hit on girls. We enjoy it. Thanks so much. You're all hot, by the way, don't even worry about it. My favorite moment of this week has been talking to my buddy Brian, who is Catholic, and nice and up front about liking girls. He never tries to submerge anything in shades of candor and friendship and stonewalling confusion. And to my friend James goes a close second for his gentlemanly remark: "Come back, we never made out!" Ah, soooooo refreshing. Best action I've gotten the whole time I've been in DC, thanks fellas :)

Some Times

Sometimes...

You discover that it's not in anyone's best interest to find flaws with loved ones. Because then you must say you're sorry. And mean it!

Sometimes...

You discover you have a friend where you least expected one.

Sometimes...

You call it a victory if you can hold it all in until you walk through your door at the end of the day.

Sometimes...

You end your internship at a museum you've come to respect, with a boss you've come to love and admire.

Sometimes...

You send your resumes out into the wind like so many autumn leaves, completely unsure of where they will land and which ones will pay off.

Sometimes....

Life keeps going on. So you take afternoon walks on the Mall, or laugh with the bus driver, or bake cookies with your roomies and the last of your earthly food supplies.

And at all times...

You must remember who you are, and whose you are.

DC Lyndz, former intern, signing out.

A break from precedence... Lindsey goes Cutesy.

For the sake of being well-rounded (because a certain original blogfriend of mine thinks I need to include some nice Mormon-girlish blog topics BESIDES art... sigh. :) I present a recipe I found for exceptional from-scratch whole-wheat bread. Yes, I made bread all by myself, yeast and everything. Now that I am without a tv, a personal computer, an iPod, AND Facebook (the first three not by choice), I spend a lot of time reading, experimenting with cooking, and maybe even a lil dating. Oh, and travelling. I'm going to spend this Memorial Day weekend with friends exploring The South! We're staying with my wonderful family in North Carolina! Oh yes, East Coast, that's right: I think outside the Duck.

Ahem.

Honey Whole Wheat Bread
3 cups warm water (110 degrees F)
2 (.25 ounce) packages active dry yeast
1/3 cup honey
5 cups whole wheat flour
3 tablespoons butter, melted
1/3 cup honey
1 tablespoon salt
3 1/2 cups white flour
2 tablespoons MORE butter, melted

1. In a large bowl, mix warm water, yeast, and 1/3 cup honey. Add 5 cups wheat bread flour, and stir to combine. Let set for 30 minutes, or until big and bubbly.
2. Mix in 3 tablespoons melted butter, 1/3 cup honey, and salt. Stir in 3 cups white flour. Flour a flat surface and knead until not sticky - just pulling away from the counter, but still sticky to touch. (I rolled in a ton of flour during this process... don't ask me if that's normal or not. I'm not a cook. I just know it was sticking to my counter like no other, and that my roommate said kneading was important to get it to rise, and I definitely wanted fluffy bread!) Place in a greased bowl, turning once to coat the surface of the dough. Cover with a dishtowel. Let rise in a warm place (like on top of your pre-heated oven!) until doubled.
3. Punch down, and divide into 3 little loaves or two big ones. Place in greased bread pans, and allow to rise until dough has topped the pans by one inch. Once risen, sprinkle with oats for decoration (ok, that's not in the recipe... but I had to do that. More aesthetically pleasing that way.)
4. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes. Lightly brush the tops of loaves with 2 tablespoons melted butter. Cool completely... or serve hot like me. Fresh bread's the bestest!

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My bread has fed me for two weeks now! I'm practically Michelle Obama! (Well, with bread, not home-grown veggies).

Since I am fully divesting myself of my inner girl on this post, I guess I'll show you my current secret music video obsession. I know everyone else probably says this, but she's totally ME in high school! Glasses, disdain for excessive hair straightening, love of studying and hoodies, dancing in her room like an idiot, crushes on dreamy men...... Holy crap, I haven't changed much. DON'T JUDGE ME:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTaPVlyEQc8

and did anyone else happen to notice this on Google? This isn't QUITE art, so I think I can get away with it:

First person to name this work gets a prize! I just talked about it... Happy birthday, Mary Cassatt! And kudos, Google, for having a little bit of culture! (And for running the world and being the best email provider EVER! love you!) Ok I think that does it for now. Lindsey's inner girly girl, signing out.

ABC's de ME. Et apres moi, le deluge..d'ART.

(It means, ABC's of Me. And after me, the flood... of ART. I'm paraphrasing King Louis XIV of France, you'll see why presently...)

A: Attached or Single: Single

B: Best Friend: Breann Hewitt (since high school!), Jessica Brothers (collegiate)

C: Cake or Pie: PECAN PIE! unless it's really a good funfetti cake...

D: Day of Choice: Sunday, with Saturday as an honorable mention.

E: Essential items: Bowls of cereal, cell phone, BLANKIES!, oil-blotting sheets, metro card, and Money (boo...)

F: Favorite Color: Green and Grey

G: Gummy Bears or Worms: Sour worms!!!

H: Home Town: Las Vegas

I: Indulgences: Overpriced, exotic meals/outings with friends. That's where my money goes. You only live single once, that's my excuse.

J: January or July: July, easy.

K: Kids: Once I find them a choice daddy, yes.

L: Life is incomplete without: The Gospel, my family, sunshine, bodies of water, something to learn about, adventures.

M: Marriage Date: hahahaha- well, my freshman year of college I decided I'd like to be married on 7/7/07. My conciliatory prize was a study abroad to Europe that summer, so I'm not too upset about missing that boat :) I guess I'll shoot for 11/11/11 now.

N: Number of Siblings: 2 little brothers, 2 little sisters

O: Oranges or Apples: Yellow apples. Oranges are a hassle.

P: Phobias: Ledges (I'm not scared of heights, I just get scared being on the edges of things... is there a name for that?)

Q: Quote: I love them. Here's a few:

“Expect nothing. Live frugally/on surprise.” -Alice Walker poem, and

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." -Wayne Gretzky, and

"Just heard news. No more bobby sox! Girls dresses to grow decidedly longer! Dignity everywhere." -I found this line in a letter from Minerva Teichert to her little sister in 1946. I don't know why I find it so funny!

R: Reasons to smile: SUMMER APPROACHING, boys with broad shoulders and rakish hair, cute little people on the metro

S: Season: SUMMER! THERE IS NO OTHER.

T: Tag: No. I'm not that girl.

U: Unknown fact about me: I just quit Facebook!!!

V: Vegetarian or Meat Eater: Vegetarian, if only because meat is expensive. When I get back to getting a paycheck, I shall return to being an omnivore.

W: Worst Habit: According to two very irritated brothers, I talk in a shrill baby voice sometimes. I swear I don't know when I'm doing it.

X: X-rays: Multiple head ones from breaking my nose while longboarding and undergoing sinus surgery; also from going to the dentist regularly.

Y: Yummy favorite food: I love sugar so much. I fear diabetes worse than death. :) Movie theater popcorn, peppermint ice cream, and oatmeal cookie dough round out the top 3.

Z: Zodiac sign: Cancer. Go crabs.

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Yes, I picked up an all-about me list from another blog. I normally never complete these... but this one was cute, with its little ABC twist. So there you go.

Art? Ok.

This is a new acquisition by the Hirshhorn, now on display in the Strange Bodies exhibition, which chronicles the various ways modern and contemporary art has manipulated the age-old subject of the human body. The show illustrates how 20th and 21st century artists have changed the body to express their own inner emotions, to diagram some "truth" about the human experience, to portray a political or social wrong perpetrated by and inflicted on humans, or to capture the irreverence and hilarity of modern life, and the changing notions of things like beauty, heroism, and the individual.

Yinka Shonibare MBE (which stands for Member of the British Empire, a title he was recently rewarded). The Age of Enlightenment- Antoine Lavoisier. 2008. Before I tell you what this piece is made out of, just look at it for a second, and take note of what stands out to you. Any questions arise?

"Fiberglass mannequin, Dutch wax printed cotton, mixed media." That's the official media tag line, as copied from The Age of Enlightenment's label in the gallery, four floors below me. Yinka Shonibare, the artist, who was born in England and raised in Nigeria, likes to re-imagine famous scenes from Western art and history... but he includes certain media and sculptural characteristics that hint at something more than just a portrait, something that reveals his "post-colonial hybrid" outlook on life (his words, not mine). The above work is his 3-D adaption of a famous portrait of the French chemist, politician, and economist named Antoine Lavoisier. The original portrait was painted by the French artist-to-the-aristocratic-stars, Jacques-Louis David, seen here ->

The brightest standout for me, when I first started researching this work back in Januray, was the costume the mannequin is wearing. Turns out, Shonibare's signature style is his use of Dutch wax batik textiles, which you might have mistaken for traditional African garb. Historically, those bright, crazily printed fabrics were originally manufactured in Holland, and shipped for trade to Indonesia. After meeting with low consumer demand there, the fabrics were consequentially exported to (aka dumped on) the poor African colonies, from whence most people assume they originally came. Shonibare replaces the stately fabrics of his aristocratic subjects with the materials his ancestors would have been wearing at the same time, thanks to the domineering economics of European colonialism. Hmm...

Another feature you might notice is the wheelchair. Antoine Lavoisier the chemist was never crippled; Yinka Shonibare likes to give all his historical figures some type of disability, as a shout-out to today's level of awareness for disabilities, and as a call for further accessibility. One month into his first year at art school, you see, Shonibare contracted a rare viral disease that left him paralyzed, and only after three years of physical therapy did he regained use of his right side. He remains disabled to this day, and contracts out the actual sewing of his costumes to a costumier. Learning all of this, I immediately wonder how history might have been changed, and what other stories we might have grown up with, if people with disabilities back then could have had the opportunity to function as equals, like he does now. How would they have changed the world? (I love how this work unfolds as you learn the story.)

The mannequin is headless, another typical feature of Shonibare's tableaux. In the Hirshhorn's work, however, this has special consequence, as Antoine Lavoisier was guillotined in the French Revolution. It becomes to me a marker of violence, of politics, and of the anonymity of crime.

Now, you know me, and how I have strong opinions about modern art. I tell you when I don't like it. I tell my bosses, too. It has been a joy to study and consider this piece, for not only does it speak out in bold, playful, and unassailing terms about race, colonialism, and disabilities, it does so with flair! It's a beautiful, arresting work. I've been waiting all five months of my internship to finally see it (I researched it in January, they didn't display it until last week!). Here's two more examples of his works, I get such a kick out of them:

^The artist himself, with a miniature mock-up of his ship-in-a-bottle, with Dutch wax-print sails, that will occupy the presitgious fourth plinth at Trafalgar Square, outside the National Gallery in London. *Because mom asked for clarification: there are four plinths, or big statue bases, the lie by the big steps that come down from the National Gallery into the Trafalgar Plaza (Yes, the plaza with the lions we tourists love to climb). Every year, they select one British artist to design a work to go on the fourth, empty, plinth. In 2010, Shonibare's giant ship will take over that spot, the first time a black British artist has been given this honor.

MOMS!

Aren't they neat?

I can't write enough about my mom, EVER, and so I won't. I'll save the thoughts in my heart and tell them to her privately. Suffice it to say, I would not, could not be the person I am without her incredible love and sustained example. Thank you, Mom. I love you. And thank you to the other wonderful women in my life who have acted as caring mentors and taught me important life lessons about service, courage, love, and faith: my aunts, grandmothers, sisters, cousins, and friends. I consider myself richly blessed in the women department. (If only I could say the same about the other department... hehe. Ahem.) Thank you all. How amazing you are.

I sifted through the Hirshhorn's files for art works bearing the title "Mother." Not one of them fit the bill for the type of indescribable beauty and awe I feel for the position of Mother. The closest my modern art museum got to the warm cuddly aura I was seeking was this little fella, hee hee:

Daughter and Mother. 1959. Bronze. Thanks, Max Ernst. You tried. But that looks like a salt shaker set. I hereby dub the long, slender, beautiful one my mom! When I was little I totally felt like that little stubby one with the dog collar thing around her neck. Little Lindsey, following her mom around, hoping she gets to look like her one day.

No, that just won't do.

A painting that comes closer to what I'm seeking (which my art history friends should all recognize):

Mary Cassatt, The Bath, 1893. An American in post-Monet Paris, Mary Cassatt is widely known for her simple, evocative, delightfully patterned pictures of domestic life. Women art historians especially appreciate her for the way she spun the tale of womens' lives in a harmonious, pleasing style (there were other women artists working around that time, just like today, who felt the need to emphasize the stifling effects of child rearing. Tsk.) Incidentally, mom, remember when I taught you about Matisse's picture of his wife, The Green Stripe? And how I told you how she looked like an Asian warrior because all things Japanese were in vogue in Paris at the end of the nineteenth century? This painting by Mary Cassatt illustrates the type of fashionable composition style that artists picked up thanks to the newly opened trade agreements with Asia. From Japanese woodblock prints they learned how to flatten the picture plane and include more things in one scene. To see what I mean, look at how the floor slopes up to meet the wall behind the mom at a rather impossible angle, to the point where it all looks like one shallow space. It makes the sweet tenderness of the scene just go BAM! right in your face. Thanks, Japan!

But that picture still won't do. I need something that lights up my eyes, that I see and go, "YEA! MOMS! THEY'RE AWESOME!"

Behold:

Eric and Ann C_________ at their wedding reception, 198...3? :) One of my most favorite pictures of my parents ever. Dad looks like a Las Vegas magician- "Presto! I just pulled the world's most beautiful woman out of thin air!" and mom delivers what I like to call her "Queen of the Universe Smile." Anyone who's met her probably recognizes it. All at once it communicates to us her modesty, her joy, how she is delighted with her life, the way she always seeks to share her happiness with others, and certainly, her beauty. It's truly a great work of art.

Things That Keep Me Calm

"Have fun in DC. It's the most wild, energetic, intellectual city, and completely obsessed with itself, but for good reason."

My dad told me that shortly before I left. Another friend warned something about "the cold-hearted and over-ambitious" I'd be up against here. Those two phrases still pop up in my mind occasionally as I continue my adventure. Grr.

As a temporary respite for such a prickly day-to-day (ps thank you my friends who encouraged me at the end of last week's post. All women, if I remember correctly. I'm grateful for your support), here are images of Things That Keep Me Calm, because my life feels like anything but at the moment:


The Giver: My current read on the Metro ride to and from work. How have I never read this book?? I've heard of it all my life, but definately never read it! It's beautiful! I love that it's written with such clarity and depth that even a child can grasp its emotional implications. Thank heavens for liberty and agency. And colors.

My Cell Phone (aka my lifeline). Notice the absence of a camera on my baby. Or even an earphone jack. Or a touchscreen. So simple! I'm very prideful about that... although I must admit, I am smitten with envy everytime I dabble with my friends' awesome iPhones, if only for their GPS ability...


The now very familiar curving walls of the Hirshhorn Galleries, where I stroll for hours at a time, acting as a sounding board for visitors while they work through their experiences with modern and contemporary art. "Modern art is a riddle, and there is no one answer." -MM (yes, I've been blog-stalking.)

Any meal eaten with chopsticks. Why? 1. They're usually 10x as aesthetically pleasing as sloppy American take-out, or the blah-nothingness I throw together for myself tiredly at the end of the day 2. Sushi, Asian fusion, and other non-western menu items fill me up without subjecting me to the customary 2500 calorie serving size I'd ingest at Chili's. 3. I miss Sarah Oh. 4. There's something contemplative and peaceful required of you when you eat with chopsticks. No wonder ninjas are so wise.

Sunshine. Makes this desert girl a happy camper. (Haven't seen any for a while, it's been raining for what feels like a week straight... and I STILL don't own an umbrella!)

Self-explanatory. Or is it? My friends, this is the Mormon Temple in DC. We go there to do service, and every tiny aspect of it, be it the clothes we wear (simple white, a great equalizer), the ceremonies we participate in, or the feeling it brings you (clarity, peace) helps bring us closer to our loving God. Truly a little gateway to heaven.

My first love in DC: The metro system. Arched, soft-grid ceilings; a gently lit, hexagon-tiled floor; incredible daily people watching... and the roller-coaster-like rush and boom sounds of the constant influx of speeding trains. It's glorious. PS. the Foggy-Bottom/GWU stop is one I'll frequent a lot when and if I start my Master's in the fall. Hee hee.

Other calming influences without photos:

~ Counting my blessings.
~ Service.

~ Blogging. (D@#% it, I think I'm used to that word! My gosh I used to hate it!)
~ Watching the Caps hockey playoffs from the comfort of a friends' Lovesac.

~ Institute.

~ My big baggy BYU sweats (6 years old and I STILL offer a silent prayer of thanks to the universe everytime I pull them on.)

~ Formalist art. There's nothing to it but lines, colors, and shapes. Google Frank Stella and Morris Louis if you want a peek.

Elegant Stress

Lindsey is out of the frying pan and into the fire. I think there's a rock and a hard place in there, too. What a week and a half!

To recap: I went back to Provo last week to walk across the stage and receive my shining white diploma cover (I was mailed the diploma itself in January :) I'm on the last month of my internship at the Hirshhorn. I didn't get the job that I coveted here (though I gave it an incredible shot and it felt good to try. And one of the senior staff members sent me a kind email basically telling me, "Good game. Try again after you get a couple years' experience under your belt.") I got into my #1 pick for grad school, The George Washington University's Art History Master's program. I can start in the fall. But I am really getting disconcerted by the level of debt my studies will accrue, and the fact that there is absolutely no promise of employment, or hire-ability (especially not in this economic climate) once I graduate. The idea of taking a full-time job and hugging tight to its stable salary and health insurance coverage winks alluringly my way.

Be timid, employed, and resourceful. Follow your dreams and get wildly into debt. Oh what a tangled web we weave... when first our dreams we try to achieve!! Any advice, family?

Other thoughts and ideas bouncing around the fire with me: Virginia is beautiful in the spring. Greener that any place I've ever lived in. Truly, this is the first location I can ever remember where I can watch things grow, and grow wildly, without a human hand begging them forward. Daffodils, my favorite flowers, dot every long stretch of grass that runs intermittently alongside the 395 beltway. There are four trees outside my third floor window (they’re my morning breakfast companions). Two weeks ago they all flowered pink, and when I came home from Utah they had switched to a full-bodied, emerald green foliage. I recently read in one of my many art reviews (or was it a political essay? Aah I absorb so many of both out here!) how culture and science have replaced a connection with nature and religiosity in the modern life. SUCH A SHAME!

Elegant Stress. That's what I named this post. The present, er MY present, is one giant kaleidoscope of beauty, temptation, clarity, dreams, fragility, loneliness, AWESOME memories, glamour, frustration, and opportunity! Somewhere in there is a lot of love, but it's really hard to feel it out here in DC sometimes. Now I know, I know… stop whining!!! I'm incredibly thankful for my time in Provo, and all the playtime I got with family and my amazing friends there! And I am so grateful that I have exciting opportunities headed my way. I just need to decide, and enjoy the ride. In Provo I drank in the now-rare experience of being surrounded by people who share my ideals, who love life the way I do and are working hard and calling on God the same way I am. I ran around a dark cabin playing sardines with my friends for hours on end. I got to hug almost all of my BFFs, and I got to dance with all the Browns twice! Once at my graduation party (Thanks Aunt Betty and Uncle Gary! As always, you’re AMAZING!) and once at Jonathan’s wedding (congrats!). There’s something magical and timeless about being around people who will buy me a mug just because they think the cute saying on it resembles my handwriting. Or who will give me a card they bought three years ago because they noticed it made fun of art history degrees. Hee hee- I love you all!

And then I fly back to DC, and the warm fuzzy of Provo evaporates. Underdog, Lindsey! Underdog! You’ve got to fight! Immediately I am inundated with thoughts about how much there is to despise about modern life-- networking, the hideous strappy platforms currently in vogue, Obama, Obamamaniacs, Blackberrys, Bono’s ineffectual ONE campaign, Matthew Barney’s happenings in LA that ended up getting some of the crowd hurt, energy price hikes, Statist control of Congress, etc etc etc!! Boo!

Elegant, modern stress. I’m sorry. As a wise conservative once said, “Calamity is unhappily the usual season of reflection,” and I am no stranger to that tendency. ODviously. (What movie??) But as another conservative recently said (in bumper sticker form):

Annoy a Liberal: Work Hard and Be Happy!

Hee hee… no wonder the 19th century saw a resurgence of Utopian and escapist landscapes. Artists were sick of watching their countrysides turn into smoke-belching factories, as the Industrial Revolution altered Europe forever. And so they turned their paintbrushes into “Remember when…” sticks and waved them around until they were completely surrounded by cutesy pictures of peasants and ponds. Heaven forbid contemporary art do that. They’re certainly doing something these days. I don’t want to do a new artwork today. No more art. Nope, I won’t go there. I’m too tired. It’s too confusing out there…

Hee hee. Bah Humbug.

Lucas Samaras, Book No. 6 ("Treasures of the Metropolitan"), 1962. Straight pins, glue, and book in a plexiglass case on wood base.

That’s a lot of pins. And a painful read. Why do I get the feeling this artist shares my current distaste? (notice the title- why would he have chosen to cover a book from America’s most prestigious art museum with spikey pins?? Curious…)

Life is Good.

PS photos of my fabulous graduation to follow shortly. Once I upload them to my shiney new-ish work laptop. :) Have the best day ever.

Underdogs

My wee tiny computer at work died today. I turned it on, it looked like all was going well, running through a couple of normal boot-up procedures, and then... it suddenly blinks the dreaded blue screen of death --{Fatal Error}--. I have seen that screen a depressing amount of times since I started college (this will be the 4th computer I have inadvertently burnt to a crisp. What am I doing wrong??)

The remains of my shiny, healthy-looking computer have mocked me all morning; somewhere in that sad little heap is all my files, everything I've worked on for the past four months. Irretrievable. Lost, like the gold plates or Amelia Earhart. Which means that for the rest of today I am relegated to the wizened old computer at the back of the cramped Hirshhorn library. Yet another reminder that I am the bottom rung, the pressure point under the high heel of my industry. I am without glamour, without the ability to procure a new computer, and without much sympathy from any of the paid employees. Ah the glorious life of an intern!

It all makes sense, though, in a way; I've been pondering all week about what it means to be an underdog. Last November I remember feeling unusually confident as I watched CNN's coverage of the presidential election results. "It's all right," I remarked to my brother and dad and anyone else who seemed profoundly disappointed by the implications of the elections. "I fight better when I'm the underdog, anyways."

And it's true. That's always been how I operate. My bestest internet friend, Dictionary.com, defines an Underdog as, "One that is expected to lose a contest or struggle, as in sports or politics; One that is at a disadvantage." Whenever I think of underdogs, images of the various kids from The Sandlot flash through my mind. I am always attracted to any person/place/thing/ or cause that is disadvantaged yet has all the heart and smarts, like those kids did. Only 1 out of every 4 people in the world is an introvert, did you know that? I consider myself one of the 25%. I've striven all my life to shed the vestiges of being shy, but I don't think I'll ever quite make it. But it's ok! The fact that I am aware of my limitations, and that I know I have to work to befriend others, makes my true friendships all the more valuable to me.

Yesterday, American conservatives threw over 700 Tea Parties across the nation, protesting the spend-and-tax profligacy of the current administration. Most of them were protesting for the first time in their lives. Most major news networks ignored the protests, other than screening a couple of shots of the more loony participants. I loved this event! I am proud of them, and excited to see those with sense stomping into the wonderful field of grassroots activism. Good luck to them, and to us all. Can you tell my tenure in DC has made me increasingly political? I used to have a strict No Politics Among Friends rule, but it's almost gone. Except how I still try first and foremost to maintain peace and respect in these conversations (reasonably possible, I've discovered). Just call me utopian, I don't care...

Earlier this week the DC Nationals baseball team almost-- almost-- clinched a victory over the reigning world champs, the Phillies. The team (which I had never heard of before I moved here, BUT NOW LOVE WHOLEHEARTEDLY) is in dire need of a pick-me-up. I am pretty sure that my added support will produce a fairy-tale ending for these dismal underdogs. Yay Nats! I'm adding attendance to a couple of their home games to my list of things to do while I'm here.

The list of Lindsey's beloved underdogs goes on and on: Michael Scott Paper Company, Belgium, works on paper including intaglio and engraving (no one ever pays good enough attention to artworks you actually have to examine!), Mormon culture (hee hee... mom pants and cub scouts forever!) People who never dye their hair, people who think sky-diving is NOT that attractive of a life event, people who refrain from purchasing $200 jeans, people who didn't even know there WERE $200 jeans, Hercules, PBS, T. C. Williams High School's 1971 football team (the one portrayed in one of my favorite movies, Remember the Titans)...

... Nope, there's more. I cheer for Jack Johnson, not mainstream but better than anyone who ever picked up a guitar. I look up to Henry Ossawa Tanner (see my January post Guess What?? if you don't know who he is.) I read in the scriptures about TONS of prophets who were stoned, crucified, ejected, and ignored as they told their friends about God's will. I study art to learn who in history has had an interesting journey, and who has produced art that was different than everyone else's... and why.

I'm championing the underdog cause, if such a thing is possible. As long as I believe it is the correct cause. I think that's part of the whole appeal of underdogs; unitedly they proclaim, "I don't care what the majority thinks, I'm doing this my own way and thinking my own thoughts!" and their stories and examples give us courage to do likewise.
Jeff Koons, Puppy, 1992. 43 feet tall, made out of steel scaffolding, 25 tons of soil, an interior irrigation system, and 70,000 FLOWERS! Standing outside NYC's Rockefeller Center in 2000.

Woot woot.

*Addendum: it should be noted that on occasion, an underdog is picked up and championed by the majority. By so doing it sheds its underdogism and becomes a fad. Then, sadly, I have to leave it behind. I hate when this happens. I loved The Format and Maroon 5, then they got big. I rarely listen to either now. I used to be the only person I knew who liked wearing grey clothes (it's my favorite color... for secret, cheerful reasons). Now "charcoal" is one of the mainstays of fashion. BOOOO! And once upon a time I liked BYU sports... oh wait, they still have a couple hills to climb... I'm still a fan :)