Dem Bones
Blogging For Naught?
Maybe I don’t get it, don’t quite understand blogging and the point of it. The November Atlantic has a fine feature (Why I Blog), which explains the author’s take on blogging. I still don’t get it, even though he calls it “writing out loud,” and seems to think it beats regular writing with editors breathing down his neck. I’m beginning to think that I’m lost in blog land. It’s been around for a decade and the field is pretty crowded. Is there a secret that successful bloggers use to get attention? Nastier writing? Wildly controversial content? Or does one have to be a star? Should I cut back on my blog postings? Should I escalate my postings? Reinvent my persona? I’ve written hundreds of blogwords, and only received two comments: one was from fellow VS blogger Bobrow and the other you can read about in my “The Big Louse” posting in Dem Bones. I never go to blogs other than the VS blogs. Maybe that’s the problem. IS that the problem? Do successful bloggers spread themselves all over the place? Do they advertise in hardcopy publications? Do I even care? I guess I do, or I wouldn’t be blogging on about it. Frankly, the most fun I have with “Dem Bones” is digging up fun images from Wikimedia. Perhaps people are actually reading my blog and are too busy to comment. Or too lazy. Or too blogged-out. Perhaps the blog craze is reaching the bottom of the word-well.
Nov 11th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Shameless Shirt-Tailing
I’m going to be in Kansas City in December and plan to stroll over to the Kansas City Art Institute to see “Political Persuasion” Street Posters for Barack Obama.” The posters are from the private collection of a professor at the Institute. It’s near the splendid Nelson Gallery of Art (with a splendid new addition described by Paul Goldberger of the New Yorker magazine as the best museum addition of this decade). A few blocks away is the Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art. MAM’s current executive director, Daniel Keegan, was in charge there prior to his California sojourn. Interior, Steven Holl addition, Nelson-Atkins Museum, Kansas City People imagine K.C. as a big cow town, and yes, at one time it was home to some impressive stockyards, but it’s way more than that these days. The Missouri river rambles through downtown, a downtown gripped in the condo craze, but also the site of the revival of a number of old venues. I’ll be Amtrak-ing there via the Hiawatha to Chicago and then on to the Southwest Chief for a ride across Iowa and south to Missouri. Seven hours and twenty cups of bad coffee and I’ll be in the grand old Union Station, and directly across from Liberty Memorial Hill where 175,000 Obama fans rallied recently. Like all cities, K.C. has some really bad public art and some awful galleries with awful art: schmoozy florals, cowboys on horses, big eyed kittens, etc. The Nelson will certainly be on my list of places to view art worth viewing, and the new addition features contemporary art, plus a Noguchi sculpture garden. The landscaping surrounding the building was designed by Mr. Kiley, who also designed the gardens at MAM, as well as the Chestnut Grove adjacent to the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts. Exterior, Steven Holl addition, Nelson-Atkins Museum, Kansas City
Nov 10th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
The Big Louse (Pl. lice)
I’m not going to give the louse who commented to my “Big Snooze” blog much space except to say thank heavens for the “Details” section that allowed me to track down the perpetrator. The lousy comments had nothing to do with my blog content (about a day at the Milwaukee Ballet), but instead was a rant about drug use. Eureka, I traced it back to a site that sells booklets on “How to Pass A Drug Test.” Oddly, it came from Sand Point, Idaho, where Sarah Palin grew up. I spent a week in that town, enroute to Seattle, on the trail of a louse-lawyer who screwed me out of quite a bit of money. It was a useless trip as the attorney I consulted in Seattle told me it would cost me greatly to chase the creep and get my $$$$ back Ah yes, Stella was a fool back then, but the trip wasn’t a total bust. I did get to visit the Pacific Rim, and (in Montana) was stopped by a cop who advised me not to be hot footing it across the countryside at night. Those were the days when Montana had no speed limit. In the pursuit of art, I’ve included a decent line-drawing of a louse. Just so you know.
Nov 7th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
November Fifth
Up in the morning; out on the trail. Actually Prospect Avenue was the former route of Sauk Indians, but yesterday, November 4, 2008, it’s treked by people headed to the Charles Allis Museum to vote. By 7:30AM, I turn around and head home because no way am I fighting that line. The sun was splendid, so instead, I sat on the south facing balcony and read the New Yorker’s cartoon issue. R. Crumb & company have a few pages poking fun at their family reunion in Minnesota. One of the drawings shows them waiting for a train in Columbus, Wisconsin. Hey, since when does a train run through Columbus? Below the balcony, a U.S. Navy destroyer has parked on the rim of the lake and cars are unloading people eager to see the latest in weaponry. Bob Barr, a Libertarian, remarked that we live in a cartoon world, and it seems he’s right. Pundits are already busy yapping about whether Obama will swing to the far left when he takes office. He won’t, but it’s a frightening thought. President O will be busy enough trying to unscramble the global mess. Even with a tsunami of Democrats in the Senate, I’m betting it will be a year before anything substantial is accomplished. I’m greatly offended by non-thinkers who rush forward to gush, “never in my lifetime, or even in my kid’s lifetime, did I think a black man would be elected to the office of the President.” This smacks of reverse racism, all schmoozy and woozy. Much to the disgust of my Republican family, I wrote in former Nebraska senator, Chuck Hagel, a friend of McCain’s who is likely to join Obama as Secretary of State. I decided to do so, shortly after reading a feature about him in the New Yorker.
Nov 5th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Sometimes A Donut Is Just A Donut
This morning on my way to Schwartz on Downer, I stopped in at the Obama headquarters and helped myself to a plain old unfrosted old-fashioned donut. The workers were busy firing up the troops for the final days of the world’s longest presidential election. On the north wall, a large portrait of Obama (resembling a Chuck Close painting), stood guard over the laptops and walls plastered with directions, instructions, phone numbers, blah, blah. I strolled around eating my donut trying to decide who I was going to cast my vote for on November 4. Earlier in the day, I drove by the Zeidler building in hopes of finding a parking spot to cast an early vote. No luck, but no problem either. On November 4th I have only to walk a few blocks north of where I live, and vote at the lovely Charles Allis Museum. The good news on Downer Avenue, is that the huge Gokhman parking structure has decided to get rid of the puke-green accent on the front of the building. In fact, it looks like the whole paint job has been changed. It’s much better….quieter in understated shades of ivory and white. The bad news is that Lixx is for sale, and well, Downer was spookily quiet, almost deserted. That section needs help big time. A block north, things are much livelier. It was quiet at Schwartz too, but they had my copy of Mishima’s “After the Banquet” ready to take home. There’s an air of tension everywhere this week, or is it just me? When you set your clocks back on November 2, you had a whole extra hour to feel tense. For many voters, the choice of our next president will be clear. Me? I’m still in a fog. The donut I ate weighs heavily as I write.
Nov 4th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Monkey See, Monkey Do
I have three basic rules for reviewing art. They address the content, the craftsmanship, and the consistency of the work. Making art does not involve “magic,” nor does writing about it. What’s needed is an experienced eye, clear thinking, and, unless you are some kind of whiz kid, long hours. Computers are great tools, but I know of none that “think.” We live in a world fraught with “information” rushed to deadline: words mashed and tangled beyond recognition, words spewed from press release re-writes. Angry words, dumb words, and here and there, intelligent words shaped into cohesive thoughts before they are fired into space. I’m a big fan of the latter. All of this chaos makes me ponder the role of the art critic. Those two words, art critic, are attached to responsibilities, and words devoid of thought are zero. It’s easy these days to plunder websites (so many, so diverse) and pack a review with clever asides, so as to create the illusion that the writer has been thinking. Oh well, (you say), the virtual universe has infinite space, so what’s the excuse for not giving as many folks as possible their fifteen minutes of online fame? What’s the harm? Brain dead coverage is the harm. Description without opinion or conclusions well considered. One of the prickly problems in solid coverage of visual art, is that all artists yearn to be loved. They hope that writers covering the arts, will (naturally) rave on about what they’ve produced, and in return, the artist will rave on about the critic, and so goes the lie. Awesome, Astounding, Magnificent, Glorious, Amazing…. words tumble forth, even though it’s clear in almost all “preview” writing, that the writer has not seen the work. The same holds for “reviews” where the words may be pretty, but the writing is vapid. A weak reviewer (in Milwaukee) can not get lost in the crowd. My skin isn’t so thick that I desire running into an artist at an opening, an artist who will snarl that his or her work was not given the accolades he or she absolutely knows it deserves. On the flip side it makes me uncomfortable to meet up with an artist I’ve given a “good” review to. When they smile and pat my shoulder, I suspect it’s just another form of grooming. Consequently, I avoid art openings. I’ve observed that artists who receive lukewarm (or worse) reviews, are unable to separate reviews from their personal selves. I’ve been on the receiving end of a disaster review, written by Tom Strini who was sent to West Bend way back when, to cover an exhibition of my work. My phone didn’t ring for weeks, as friends who read the review were too embarrassed to call. I wrote Strini a note thanking him for his coverage. He told me years later that it was the only thank you he’d ever received for a devastating review. He moved on. I moved on. I continue to be a […]
Nov 3rd, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Pea Green
With apologies to Edward Lear (1812 – 1888), author of The Owl and the Pussy-Cat. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped in a five-pound note… Revised version pre-election 2008: Sarah and John went to sea In a beautiful Republican boat They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped in a stock market quote… I just returned from my second visit to the 2007 Nohl Fellowship exhibit at inova/Kenilworth. Seven artists, each with their slice of the competition’s modest money honey, dance by the light of the moon. The moon, the moon, they dance by the light of the moon. The show closes in January 09 and shortly thereafter our new President will be sworn in. Colin Mathes’ drawings and sculptural forms define America as honky-tonk carnival, and among the various installations, stand out as the most political.
Nov 3rd, 2008 by Stella Cretek
The Big O
No, not that one. Or the other O’s either. I’m talking here about the O that counts on Tuesday, November 4th. You’ll be setting your watches, clocks, and other timepieces back one hour on November 2, which means you’ll have an extra hour before casting your vote two days later. It’s almost over, all the months of waiting, considering, reading and arguing. I’m beginning to wonder what I’ll do with my time when the die is cast. And what will all those pundits do? The Atlantic has redesigned their magazine in keeping with the times, which is to say, they’re trying to be hip and with it. In the publishing biz for 151 years (1,791 issues), the November issue has a great piece on “China’s Neurosis,” and for the hipsters, a feature by Andrew Sullivan on “Why He Blogs.” Jeffrey Goldberg writes about the “Idiocy of Airline Security,” and there’s more, much more, between the screaming black, gold and red cover. And just so you know, the New Yorker is going to be publishing online (totally dude) in a few months. Yesterday I picked up a copy of John Irving’s A Prayer for Owen Meany, a novel that set my hair on fire and set me on the track to reading everything he ever wrote. The lone copy of Prayer looked lonely sitting next to Irving’s unimpressive Until I Find You. Over the years I’ve purchased several copies of the former and have given all the copies to friends who I deemed worthy of reading his work. Sadly, it seems when the author went Hollywood, he also slipped into a deep depression and well, his writing hasn’t been the same since. Updike and Oates are still writing, so life isn’t entirely grim, but they’re getting old and soon I need to tap into authors of equal quality. Who are they?
Oct 29th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
The Big Snooze
It’s Sunday, October 26 (Halloween weekend) and I’m sitting in Box H at the Marcus Center, waiting for the curtain to open and reveal the Milwaukee Ballet’s Sleeping Beauty. My watch says 1:30 pm, which means I’ll be missing my afternoon nap. My seat is so comfy that I could sneak in a few ZZZZs, but then I’d miss out on all the fairies (good & bad), and the likes of the 16-year-old who pricked her finger on a rose and fell into slumber in the days before sleeping pills. It’s likely that most in the audience remember Sleeping Beauty as the honey-haired beauty who slept in the 1959 Disney film, but the tale was writ long before that, in 1697. Tom Strini, Dance Critic for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, deemed the October 23 performance tepid, particularly the segments prior to intermission. He was right. If it hadn’t been for the wicked Carabosse and her wicked sidekicks, I would have been out like a light. Before the curtain rose I wandered around in the atrium taking notes on the large abstract paintings on loan from the Milwaukee Art Museum. The area was filled with kids and their parents and/or grandparents, and one little girl arrived dressed in a long white satin princess gown. A bartender (Phil Brich) poured me a nice shot of Canadian Club (with a twist of lemon), and then confided that he didn’t like the “Pasquin” 1992 painting by Luis Roldan, who I seem to recall was formerly (in the Way Back Days) married to the lead flute player for the MSO. “Pasquin” reminds me of a bear,” he said. He was right. He then remarked that he’s trying to get press coverage for his poetry and song lyrics, and perhaps because I was taking notes, he thought I was the key to fame. Seeking refuge, I took my notepad and drink and perched on the ledge of a splashing fountain to listen to a player-less piano churning out “As Time Goes By” near a big bronze sculpture, “Leap of Faith,” cast in 2006, number 44 of 50. That was a mistake because the woman next to me, apparently noted my notes. “Oh, I’m a writer. I write job resumes,” she said, adding that business is good these days. Another woman recognized my Iowa drawl and identified herself as a fellow Iowan (but not a writer!), and I’m thinking as I write this that perhaps my conversation with her was the high point of my October 26 ballet foray. Onward and onward, into the churning crowd of kids, my next stop was an area where the ballet was hawking various items, including pen and ink drawings by east-sider, Jason Fricke. 50% off the sign said. If you appreciate delicate line drawings of dancers, Jason’s your guy. Just so you know: don’t expect the ticket takers to rip your ticket in half anymore. The newest ploy is to scan your ticket, so you’re not left holding the raggedy […]
Oct 28th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Bee Bomb
Nicole Hauser, the lively staff person at Tory Folliard Gallery searched high and low for the right guy. Last year she married him, “him” being Racine-based sculptor Bill Reid, the focus of a November 2008 feature in Milwaukee Home Magazine. Actually, he was right under her nose all the time….as a regular exhibitor at Folliard Gallery. Their wedding reception at South Shore Park in Bay View was something to behold! Everything was made by the bride and groom, who arrived at the reception in a wildly colorful sculpture on wheels known as the “Bee Bomb,” built by Bill who teaches at the Prairie School in Racine. It gives new meaning to the words “hot rod.” Theirs is a match made in heaven. When Bill exhibits at Folliard in March of 2009, Nicole will (naturally) be part of the crowd.
Oct 27th, 2008 by Stella Cretek
A Dead Rodent Plus Two Carrots
What’s small and elegant and depicts a rodent, and in another work, two carrots? I first saw these paintings by the late John Wilde (1919-2006), at the Tory Folliard Gallery. Sandwiched between another Wilde (a green pepper), the terrific surrealist trio knocked me out. Let’s start with the painting of the rodent, and beyond that, an obviously dead rodent. It’s one of the finest paintings I’ve ever viewed, bar none. But why depict decay? Why not depict the firmness of living flesh? Wilde seldom settled for the ordinary, which isn’t to say he slacked off while producing his juicy Cucumber Regal, a small Silverpoint and wash. Magic Realism is tricky. It often takes us where angels fear to tread. Wilde wasn’t afraid to go there. Microtus Pennsylvanicus, 2003, Oil on Canvas Mounted on Panel. 6 x 8” So here rests the rodent, memorialized in oil on canvas. Microtus Pennsylvanicus is, at 6 x 8 inches, charmingly small. There’s no trap in sight, no traces of poison, and not a drop of blood anywhere. The bundle of raggedy white fur appears to have dropped in its tracks, weary (I’m imagining here) of living the rodent life, or more properly, the life of a meadow vole, which is what Microtus Pennsylvanicus is. Burrowed under ground, the vole is the food of foxes and fowl. On the other hand, the lowly vole enjoys decimating vegetable gardens. Untitled (Two Carrots), memorializes a duo of carrots entwined. They’ve obviously lost the garden-freshness of their youthful days, the days when their leafy heads poked above the earth while they waited to be snatched and eaten. Now they resemble worn-out lovers lacking the will to go forward, their best days behind them. Untitled (Two Carrots), 2003, Oil on Panel, 6 x 10” Do yourself a favor. Go to Folliard Gallery and ask to see their full selection of Wilde’s work.
Oct 22nd, 2008 by Stella Cretek
Sludge Suckers
Early this morning, the day after the third Presidential debate, my phone rang. On the other end an aggressive recorded voice, informed me that Obama consorts with terrorists, i.e. Bill Ayers. The voice did not identify itself as being aligned with any particular group. I slammed down the phone in disgust. How much lower can we sink into this cesspool of crap? Years ago when I lived in a suburban tri-level, our sewage system consisted of a septic tank dug into the side of our yard. I’d never dealt with one before, but it wasn’t long until I had to, and I soon learned that the Honey Wagon that came around each month didn’t sell honey. No indeed. What it did was suck out the stinking contents filling the concrete receptacle.When the lid was lifted you could smell the shit all over the leafy confines of our block. The guy who serviced the shit removal, inserted a long hose into the tank, flipped a switch, and voila, the gunk disappeared into the bowels of his truck which hauled it off to god knows where. What disemboweled voices spewing shit need, is a long hose stuck down their throats. I envision it as a snake-like device that clamps onto their rotten mouths and then works its way into their intestinal tract. Not once in this arduous political race have I ever received a call from an Obama supporter that was anything less than polite. Don’t try calling me again whoever (or whatever) you are.
Oct 22nd, 2008 by Stella Cretek
