Similies

Breaking into the art world is like an adult version of Red Rover.

Perfect Imperfections

I found this photograph on deviantART.com, it is by an artist named Siols. To see more of her work, check out her website. In case you can't read it, the quote on the model's legs says "I am far from perfect but I will be perfect for that imperfect someone who is perfect for me."

Being Busy

During my short blogging hiatus I've been busy with several exciting things:

1. I became Annie Cohen-Solal's assistant. Those of you who don't know of Annie should definitely Google her because she's an incredibly important writer, teacher, and figure in the world of art and culture related politics. Knopf is about to release her third book, Leo and His Circle: The Life of Leo Castelli. The book has already been reviewed by countless news sources and tomorrow there will be a review of the book in the New York Times, so keep your eyes peeled! (By the way, I am now working for Annie in the mornings and interning at Gagosian Gallery in the afternoons - talk about pressure! Oh well, nothing better than a thrillingly full, and might I add hectic/stressful, life!)

2. I submitted my MoMA twelve-month internship application, (though sadly I realized that when opened on a version of Word other than mine, the link to this blog gets cut from my resume).

3. I started a new blog: www.rookietoart.blogspot.com . Unlike this blog, through which I share events occurring in my life as well as my own aesthetic preferences, my new blog will be filled with imaginary conversations that take place between me and an art rookie. The conversations intend to show ways that art can be made accessible for people with absolutely no knowledge of art at all; in other words, I'm showing how engaging art can be, even for newbies. The idea for Rookie to Art stemmed from a question I responded to on the MoMA application, which was something like 'why are you applying for this position at MoMA?' I realized that quite clearly the reason that I applied for the curatorial internship at MoMA is because I have grown up on MoMA, have a deep love for their collection, and I want to help make their artwork meaningful to others. I fear that currently modern art museums cater toward an audience well versed in art history and theory, leaving those most in need of guidance, (the majority,) to fend for themselves. So, I thought, what better way to express the sentiment that art can be brought to life for everyone than to show my ability to do so?! And next thing I knew I'd written imaginary conversations between me and art-rookies, in which I help people feel confident in their ability to understand MoMA's art, giving them a taste that leaves them wanting more... The first of my MoMA rookie conversations is the one I submitted to MoMA within my application - it takes place in the Jackson Pollock gallery. The second conversation is the one currently posted on the blog - feel free to check it out. I have many more pending and hope to expand beyond MoMA's collection one day.

On a side note, though as always not entirely, I must say that I have the most interesting conversations about art with Andrew Kurland, (the friend who introduced me to the work of J. Siegan, who I posted about a few weeks ago). He often sends me links to artists and works he finds interesting; in fact, I think he told me about Maira Kalman vis-a-vis her New York Times blog And the Pursuit of Happiness, through which she never fails to churn out the most engaging and funny illustrated, completely random stories.

Anyway, I've been thinking about Gerhard Richter lately in light of my promise to share details/thoughts on the Richter exhibition that Alexander and I saw in Florence. I haven't yet come up with a full riff on Richter, but I did find the piece below which I shared with Andrew because I find it both interesting and beautiful.

I told Andrew that I like the colors, the movement, and the silky feeling which the medium produces. He agreed, adding that it looks like an ocean. I thought for a second and said, "The ocean!?! Yeah, maybe when the plague of blood hit Egypt!" So this piece changed from conjuring the image of a child exquisitely attuned to color theory, to a plague infested mess. (Or as Andrew noted, it could be the backdrop of an 80's dance party, shoulder pads and all, but that's besides the point...)

But fun and games aside, one of the qualities I admire about Andrew is his deep effort to be psychologically aware and emotionally conscious. So, channeling Andrew as I rode the subway home today, I thought of the potential subconscious reasons I might like the piece. Call this analysis simplistic but to me this painting is a bundle of excitement in an aggressive environment, that all in all seems to be a bit of a mess, a little confused. I cannot tell my life story in one sentence, but I'd say that describes me pretty aptly right now.

1. Cover of Annie Cohen-Solal's new book Leo and His Circle: The Life of Leo Castelli, which is for sale this week!

2. Gerhard Richter, G.A.4 (21.1.84), 1984. Colored ink, watercolor, pencil, and crayon on paper. Museum of Modern Art, New York.

Art History Jokes

I apologize in advance to the victims...

Edgar Degas, Cafe Concert Singer, 1878. Pastel on canvas. The Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusettes AND my beautiful best friend Sharon at the Meatpacking District's Brass Monkey, late last Saturday night.

George Grosz, The Poet Max Herrmann-Neisse, 1927. Oil on canvas. MoMA, New York, New York. AND a very unflattering shot of Victor, Alexander's father, relaxing at Robuchon on Christmas eve of 2008.

Being Back!

"New York City... the center of the universe." -Angel, Rent

Go ahead, write me off as another crazy New York egomaniac, but honestly there is nowhere I'd rather be than right here in NYC. I've been home for less than a week and I've already wandered through neighborhoods that are homes to various cultural mini-meccas; I've seen some provocative public art like the creations on the Highline, (and arguably the Highline itself); I've explored the parks in a state of bliss inspired by the color green, (which does not exist in Venice,) and the hyperrealistic, dare I say romantic, blooming cherry blossoms; I've gathered my fashion bearings through a hefty amount of window shopping and perhaps a bit of real shopping as well; I've seen types of people I never imagined existed, (man walking another man on a leash?); and I've obtained an internship position at Gagosian Gallery. Need I explain further?

For those of you who don't know of Gagosian Gallery, I urge you to visit the gallery's website at www.gagosian.com, because it is undoubtedly one of the most important galleries in the world with several national and international locations. Gagosian has exhibited countless huge name artists, and I'm talking mega stars: Basquiat, Calder, Fontana, Giacometti, Gorky, Klein, Kline, Koons, Lichtenstein, Manzoni, Murakami, Picasso, Pollock, Serra, Twombly, and Warhol, just to name a few personal favorites. The gallery has always exhibited, represented, and sold art contemporary to the given period, as well the modern masters. In fact, Gagosian often helps to cement artists into the western cannon - think Jeff Koons and Cy Twombly - selling their works for record breaking prices, (see ARTNews, the Economist, and the NYT for details). Speaking of financial success, Wikipidia shared with me that in 2006 Gagosian sold William de Kooning's Woman III for 147.9 million dollars, making it the second most expensive work ever sold. Money aside, one of the qualities that differentiates Gagosian from most galleries is their museum scale exhibitions. In fact, in yesterday's NYT Arts section there is an article by Roberta Smith titled "Artful Way To Expand A Museum," in which she proposes that the Whitney hire Larry Gagosian as a consultant to help them create a successful downtown offshoot. The article ends with a statement on Gagosian's recent Calder exhibition, "It was a heart-stopping, art-loving show that rewired and strengthened both the sense of Calder's greatness and one's own personal ability to see art. Affirmations like that keep people coming back." Now, you can't get a more glowing review than that, eh?

Though all of the exhibitions currently on display at the Gagosian Galleries are notable, there is one artist, Tatiana Trouve, who I'd like to share a bit about. Trouve is an Italian born, Paris-based artist whose work often embodies dualities, namely the interplays between fiction and reality, as well as memory and matter. Her most well-known project Bureau of Implicit Activities (1997-present) is a large scale installation that incorporates forms of art ranging from drawing to architecture. Currently containing 13 modules that have been exhibited both together and separately, the work tells the story of Trouve's path to becoming, and career as, an artist. Her works are eerily absent of any direct depictions of human, mysteriously ambiguous when it comes to time, and magically able to raise an infinite number of questions on everything ranging from science to Trouve's own biography.

While we're on the topic of contemporary female artists, I received word from E-Flux on an exhibition opening in May at the Contemporary Arts Museum Houston, called Hand+Made: The Performative Impulse in Art and Craft. The exhibition will display works that utilize traditional craft techniques in an innovative way, thereby blurring the boundaries between the once distinct categories of craft and art. The piece to the left by Lauren Kalman called Hard Wear or Tongue Gilding (2006), will be shown in the exhibition and is a prime example of this trend.

1. Lauren Kalman, Hard Wear (Tongue Gilding), 2006. Digital print, laminated on acrylic. On loan from artist to Contemporary Arts Museum Houston.

The End...

... If only because I've learned so much about art, myself, and life at large... Dyanu!

... If only because it means new beginnings... Dyanu!

Wish I had some wonderful, introspective, retrospective insight about my three months in Venice, but as I lie awake in my bed, on the last night I will call this my bed, all I can think about is how blessed I am to have had this experience and how lucky I am to top it off with a trip to Miami, where I am meeting my family for Passover... Chag Sameach!

Obsessions

Turns out Tuey and I have a mutual idiosyncrasy: we both listen to our favorite song of the moment on repeat until a new song becomes the favorite, at which point we listen to that song on repeat. Fortunately we have very similar taste in music - listed chronologically, are our favorite songs of the PGC experience, give or take a few.

1. John Mayer, Who Says (2009)
2. Alicia Keys, Sleeping with a Broken Heart (2009)
3. Graham Nash, Simple Man (1971)

4. Great Lake Swimmers, I am Part of a Large Family (2007)
5. Ryan Bingham, Weary Kind (2009)
6. Lykke Li, Little Bit (2007)
7. The XX, Islands (2009)

I always say that I wish I could have someone psychoanalyze me based on my top ten most played songs. In this case, I think I have a pretty clear understanding of why I was drawn to these songs in this order. The more comfortable I became here, the more open I was to listening to edgy, experimental, (or as some might say, synthetic,) music. In other words, as I settled into my Venetian lifestyle and routine and began to feel content and safe here, I was able to stretch, or open my mind, to new sounds.

Ironically, in my first post from Venice I wrote that the best way to learn is to put myself outside of my comfort zone, and here I am saying goodbye to Venice and noting that some of the best learning came in the moment when I felt comfortable again... Funny how the mind works...

Names

Last year I went with one of my best friends Sam Goodman, who has always been a supporter of my passion for art and is a phenomenal artist himself, to his winter formal in Toronto. During our one break from partying I convinced him and some friends to come with me to The Museum of Contemporary Canadian Art (MOCCA), where I fell in love with a piece that is of the Gestural Abstract Expressionist vein.

Quick art history lesson: There are two types of Abstract Expressionism, Colorfield and Gestural. Colorfield Ab-Ex is characterized by the presence of large, flat planes of color – think Mark Rothko. On the other hand, Gestural Ab-Ex is focused on the artist’s movement across the canvas – Pollock being the popular example.

For a long time after our trip, I thought about the beautiful piece that was made up of large gestures in deep reds, burgundies, and oranges on a (creamy) white, almost unfinished background, with bits of contrasting light aqua blue unexpectedly thrown in. However, I couldn’t recall the name of the artist, or the painting for that matter. I kept my eye out for word on the artist in the NYTimes arts section and all of the popular art magazines, to no avail. This morning I took it upon myself to Google every artist listed on MOCCA’s website, and guess what? I didn’t find an image of the exact piece from MOCCA that I loved so very much, but I found the artist!

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present Deborah Friedman. *

And Deborah Freedman.

And… Deborah Freedman!

Oh and lastly, Debbie Friedman!

Let me explain. During my search for Deborah Friedman, the Michigan based artist whose work I saw at MOCCA, I found two other awesome artists and was reminded of a used-to-be favorite singer/songwriter, all of whom have the same name, (though different spellings).

The first, a writer and illustrator of children’s books and poems, who uses a super fine point black ink pen and minimal colors to create quirkily detailed, paradoxically sophisticated yet child-like drawings. In 2007, this Deborah wrote a children’s book called Scribble that won a ton of awards. Lack of English book stores here in Venice has prevented me from seeing the entirety of the book, but the sneak peak that can be seen on Deborah’s website (www.deborahfreedman.net), indicates that the book is about children creating art and the coming to life of a scribble – looks adorable. However, she's also made freestanding illustrations of nursery rhymes and hymns, and creations from her own imagination. The one to the right is from her Montage series. Oh and her blog (www.deborahfreedman.wordpress.net) is also great, especially because she features a clip from Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (1972), my all time favorite kids’ book!

The second, a New York City based artist, who creates richly hued abstract landscapes that seem to have emotional depth emanating from the colors. Though some of her works appear to have white mixed in to lighten colors, and thereby the feeling, a tactic that I am not a fan of because I don’t find pastels aesthetically pleasing, I do like the work to the left called West Shokan (2007). The profile on her website (www.deborahfreedman.com) indicates that she has exhibited works at a large number of big name galleries and museums, though I don’t recall ever seeing her art… But you know how that is, once you learn about someone / something you begin to see it everywhere…

And lastly, good old Debbie Friedman, creator of the all time greatest (Jewish) hit: Mordechai the wonderful, wonderful, Mordechai he’s so handsome and pretty he’s our favorite hero in all of Shushan City… Oh and even better, I am a latka, I’m a latka and I am waiting for Hanukkah to come… Okay, okay those two were favorites of the Kurzweil children, (and I say Kurzweil as apposed to Kula deliberately because while Mom was a fan, Abba was certainly not,) but not Debbie Friedman’s greatest hits by any stretch. Debbie Friedman’s most well known songs are probably her version of Mi Sheberach, a traditional Jewish healing prayer, and Not By Might – Not By Power. I tried to find some good Youtube clips of these songs for you, and though I was so moved by some of her songs that I practically cried, my roommates nearly killed me, which lead me to believe I’d be best off allowing all of you Jews out there to seek her out on Itunes at your own discretion, and all of you non-Jews to just go listen to some Joan Baez instead.

So, there must be something about the name Deborah Friedman / Freedman, that inspires creativity. After all, Freakenomics authors Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt do have all those sociological, socioeconomic theories about the power of names…

*Check out more of Deborah Friedman’s works on her website, www.deborahfriedman.com. I’m particularly enamored by her series Changes and Windows/Alpha. Perhaps I can convince you to go to her website by telling you that the vividness of the flame colors in the first work from Changes is extraordinary, and the only reason I didn't feature that work is because when I copied it into my blog the colors faded. (And actually the colors of the work I posted are also faded.)

1. Deborah Friedman, Changes. Oil on Wood Panel.
2. Deborah Freedman, Lollis. Pen, Ink, and Watercolor.
3. Deborah Freedman, West Shokan, 2007. Oil on Canvas.

Personality

I have to admit, I'm not the best gallery-guard ever.

When an elderly person is leaning on a wall, or taking a photo of her grandchild in front of their favorite work of art, I tend to look away...

However certain things are unquestionably unacceptable. 1) No learning on Peggy's very fragile dining room table. 2) No touching the art! (You might think that's a 'duh,' but people nearly do it all the time.) 3) No sitting on the window frames - though I'm probably adamant about that because of the jealousy factor; after all, I don't want to watch you sit, while I'm on my feet guarding!

With that said, it's very interesting to watch peoples' reactions when they are told not to touch, or do, something. Half the people stop whatever it is they are doing as soon as they see the guard coming over, and sometimes even walk away from the area in which they were doing whatever it was that they weren't supposed to be doing. A quarter of the people say "I'm so sorry" nearly 1,000 times; honestly, you don't need to be over apologetic, I guarantee whatever you were doing is not that big of a deal. And the last quarter of the people take the denial route and say, "I wasn't doing that."

However, the other day I had an experience that didn't quite fall into any of these categories. A man was pointing to a Picasso while leaning against Peggy's table and I walked over and said "Please don't touch --"

Before I could finish my sentence harshly responded, "I didn't touch..." so loudly that other people in the gallery turned to see what was happening.

When he stopped his yelling I finished my sentence, "the table."

"Oh," he responded and walked away.

Interesting how even this small interactions speak volumes about our personalities.

So, what type of museum visitor are you? And perhaps more importantly, how much weight should we place on first impressions?

Sigh... Just a day in the life of a PGC intern...

Capturing a Moment

Maybe it’s me.

Over the course of January, on two separate occasions, people asked if I’d take a picture.

“No problem,” I said. “Hand me your camera.”

“No, no, no,” they responded. “We don’t want you to take a picture of us, we want to take a picture of you.”

This was strange the first time, but I didn’t give it much thought. Strange the second time, but also moved on pretty quickly.

In February, however, the experience was so bazaar that I’d label it unforgettable.

I was guarding in the museum and a middle-aged man ran over, put his arm around me, and next thing I know his wife is snapping photos, as if she was a paparazzo. The fact that photos are not allowed in the museum aside, I was mortified that a stranger was touching me, and that without asking someone was taking photos!

Just as I began to yell, the woman said, “It’s okay, it can’t be a bad thing. You just look like a creature from another planet, who will only be here a short time.”

Ummmm... Puzzled, the only words I could muster up were, “I don’t really know how to respond to that.”

Unphased, the woman asked, “I’ll take one with you too?”

Blown away by having just been told that I’m an alien, I was speechless.

Her husband took several photos of her standing beside me and then they proceeded to continue looking at the works on the walls, as if our extremely odd interaction never occurred.

Later, the couple found me again, guarding in another room, and proceeded to ask me questions about myself like what I’m interested in, where I’m from, how old I am, etc… They refused to tell me much about themselves, but they did note that they are from Romania and that she paints as a hobby.

Next, they went outside and took dozens of pictures of Peggy’s grave, from every angle.

Seeing as guarding galleries provides far too much time to think, I spent the next hour contemplating all of the reasons these people might have found me intriguing. I came to the conclusion that perhaps their deceased child looked like me.

Or maybe…

I’m a stolen child! Mom and Ab, did you kidnap me in the 80’s causing the news and the entirety of popular culture to spend these past couple of decades looking for me? Nah, probably not…

Anyway, despite having recharged my internet less than a week ago, as is monthly ritual, today my internet ceased to work. Bright and early, I walked my computer over to the Vodafone store and sat on the Rialto Bridge until the shop opened.

Lo and behold, a group of tourists came over and asked if they could take photos with me!

Finally used to this now fairly frequent request, I responded “of course, but let’s take one with my camera too…” So above, is a picture of me with my very own group of strangers…

Call me a narcissist, but was that movie The Truman Show based on my life? If so, I better stop those silent raves I’ve been having in my room, because that’s just embarrassing.

Originality

As I mentioned in a previous post, Linda was here this week. This meant adventuring to new neighborhoods, visiting new art galleries, discovering new beautiful buildings and corners of the city, being introduced to new types of coffee, eating delicious food, (Baccala, which is creamy-pureed-dried-salted-cod, a Venetian specialty, being her new favorite,) conversing about art and life, (two of our favorite topics,) and being reunited with New York City.

In my mind, Linda has always been representative of New York City. Yeah she may be from Kansas City, but she's lived in NYC for longer than I, and she's totally the quintessential New Yorker; you know, the artsy type who's always running from meetings at museums, to get-togethers with friends, to some hidden chocolate shop or patisserie to pick up a perfect little treat that might get squished on her way uptown but is destined to be utterly delicious nonetheless. She's the type who always knows the best place to find anything one might want or need, from food, to clothes, to beautiful things, to services, etc, in NYC or abroad. Oh, and she has the best taste in everything. As I think about it, perhaps you don't know a Linda type, because truthfully I don't really know anyone else like Linda. Linda is unique.

Unique is a funny word. On my Heschel high school application I was asked a very strange question: "what one quality makes you unique?" Well, I guess the question isn't as strange as asking what your preschooler's greatest accomplishment is, which is a question that’s asked on many NYC preschool applications, but that's a side point...

Anyway, I responded with a critique of the question. No one quality makes me unique. Any one thing I think, feel, love, or do, has certainly been experienced by someone else before, thus the only thing that is unique about me is the amalgamation of qualities that I embody, passions that I have, and experiences that I've lived through and learned from, which together make me who I am. And the best part is that at any given moment we are all in states of evolution. In other words, I am Gabriella-ing, Linda is Linda-ing, and the rest of you are in the midst of your own processes. And those combinations, those processes, are precisely what make us each unique.

With that said, it is natural that we seek to find what makes us, and the things we love and find interesting, unique. This desire stems from a fear, or a distaste for being a copy, or nothing but a number.

This is a feeling we often project upon works of art. We long to find works that we consider original – a sentiment I expressed in relation to Erwin Wurm’s work, which sparked interesting conversation about unique-ness and originality among my friends. (See their posts in response to my post.) Though we tend to agree that different feelings are produced by seeing, or experiencing art that we deem unique, we may not agree on what is unique or reappropriated, original or imitated. Regardless, we deal with this desire to find what is original, by using language to convince others of our point of view.

So desperate to communicate the experiences we feel, we continuously clarify ourselves, using a continuum of terms… We converse, and sometimes argue, but in the end there is no getting it right, because ultimately the question of uniqueness, the question of originality, is all a matter of interpretation. However, the reasons for those differences in opinions, along with the differences in the ways we express them, in and of themselves lie at the heart of what makes us each unique.

On that note, I can confidently say that Linda is among the most unique people I have met, and New York is among the most unique cities I have been to. And god, less than 48 hours after Linda has gone, I’m missing her and missing New York more than ever. But, leave it to New York Magazine, the most unique magazine I know, to come up with an article that reminds a girl that there is no place like home, at least if New York is where you call home… Check out New York Magazine’s "The Ultimate New York Playlist": http://nymag.com/daily/entertainment/2010/03/the_ultimate_new_york_playlist.html

(Too Much) Time to Think

You know when you are carrying a lot of things and you drop one, lean down to retrieve it, and drop another on your way back up?

I had an analogous experience when uploading my last post. Each time I added one photo, another one changed locations, or disappeared altogether! In fact, it took me as much time to upload and format the post as it did to actually write it! And it doesn't even look so great!

To avoid overwhelming amounts of frustration, I headed to the sunny outdoors, (yes one whole day of sun in Venice,) several times during the day for breathers and to hang out with Linda, who is in town visiting!

At one point before I met up with Linda, I sat on the monument in Campo S. Stefano, which you can see on the left, (who is he by the way?) and watched the pigeons. I strongly dislike pigeons, in fact so much so that I will not, under any circumstance, pass through Saint Mark's Square, (the city center,) which is known for being home to abnormally massive flocks of pigeons that some tourists enjoy feeding, petting, holding, and taking photos with.

Here are some questions and thoughts about pigeons:

1) How come I've never seen a baby pigeon? Discovery Online revealed to me that this is because pigeons hide their nests and don't let their children leave until they are full grown. However, in the spring and summer it is possible to spot young pigeons, as they occasionally have some down poking out from beneath their feathers, and they also have narrower heads. Based on the picture to the right, young pigeons are actually just the pigeons I always thought were diseased. (On a side note, Discovery online also taught me that the calcium in a bird's bones is amassed through the eggs shell which thins during the incubation process.)

2) Why do pigeons peck at each other's faces, as if they violently kissing? I learned from a pigeon breeding website that yes, in fact pigeons do kiss - it's called billing, and it's part of the courtship and mating process. (By the way, this question lead me to wonder how pigeons have sex. If you are interested in learning the answer search it on Youtube, home to hundreds of videos on the subject.)

3) Sometimes I see pigeon on the menu at restaurants here. Are those wild pigeons or farm raised? I could not eat a pigeon for the life of me - I know that's totally a matter of socialization, but even thinking about that grosses me out. Now that I've yucked what might be your yum, have you ever eaten pigeon? If so, what's it like?

4) What if pigeons had arms? I unsuccessfully Googled this one. Guess I'll have to invent a pigeon with arms in my sketchbook, or perhaps I'll leave that image to my imagination - at least then I'll smile, instead of run, each time I pass a pigeon...

Traveling

I know I’m always making excuses for my lack of updates, but this time I actually have a good one. My boyfriend, Alexander, was in town! He got here on the 20^th, his birthday, and we spent three days in Venice, two in Milan, and three in Florence. The week was the best of my life, though naturally too short…

The first few moments were surreal. 56 days had passed since Alexander and I had last seen each other and when I surprised him at the airport, part of me felt like no time had passed at all, while the other part felt like it had been forever. But enough with the sentimental, cliche stuff, since I already gave you a full dose of that in my last post…

Onto the art we saw and some of the fun, and funny, experiences we had during our travels!

Here in Venice we visited Palazzo Grassi and Punta Della Dogana, the Francois Pinault Foundation museums / two of my favorite museums in the world! I was excited to take Alexander to the museums because I’ve already been to both several times, analyzed the works, and learned enough to give him guided tours. Though I focused my academic studies primarily on modern art, my love for Palazzo Grassi and Punta Della Dogana have gotten my contemporary art juices flowing as of late. In my typical fashion I cannot select just one favorite work from the collections, however a piece that stands out in my mind is Takashi Murakami’s Kawaii! (2002). Kawaii is the Japanese word for “cute,” however according to Japanese culture, these flowers are not cute at all because it is considered quite rude to show your open mouth, as the Kawaii flowers do. As such, Murakami’s intention here, as is the case in many of his works, is to question the Japanese fetish with cutesy, kitschy things. He has suggested that this strange obsession stems from the emasculation of the Japanese people and their culture during WWII. When I told this to Alexander, he noted that paradoxically Japanese business is still very connected to the Samurai mentality, or code; for example, Honda didn’t trash talk Toyota when they were having issues recently, though of course in the U.S. Ford and G.M. had no problem doing so.

On a side note, over the past few weeks I’ve learned a lot about Murakami, and I really wish I could rewind a year or so and revisit his massive retrospective that was held at the Brooklyn museum, which I found interesting though I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time. Does anyone have thoughts about the exhibition or about Murakami in general? I know his work is controversial in terms of it’s relationship to consumer culture, sexuality, etc…

Anyway, in Venice we also visited the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, obviously, and while I worked, Alexander wandered the museum and enjoyed coffee with my lovely coworkers, which made me happy because one of the things I love most about Alexander is that he always makes an effort to connect with my friends…

The Milan segment of our journey began in a (mildly) unpleasant way: first Alexander and I walked to the train station in the rain – Alexander doesn’t like walking, or rain. Our train was delayed. The four-star Splendido Hotel, which we booked online and was supposedly located in the city’s center, turned out to be a negative-four-star dump, two miles from the city, which Alexander and I dubbed the Splendoodoo. The distress caused by the situation led Alexander and I to cab our way to the Four-Seasons where we sat in silence drinking our ten-euro coffee for the next several hours. That’s when our fairy godmother arrived on the scene, i.e. the phone, to save the day, or perhaps the trip – within moments we booked a new room in a chic, “design hotel” called the Straf, which was just steps from the Duomo. Unfortunately, while the grand hotel switch turned on the lights in our new room, the lights were turned off at Santa Maria delle Grazie, disabling us from seeing Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, for which I had booked a reservation three weeks ago. The experience was reminiscent of my having missed the Sistine Chapel in Rome, so I cried for a few minutes and then went to relish in the comforts of the Straf and prepare for one of many delicious dinners.

Milan day two: We woke up and went to Novecento, Milan’s Civic Museum of Contemporary Art, however upon our arrival we found out that the museum will be closed for renovations until 2011, or 2012, which seemed nothing less than fitting, given my range of recent art viewing failures. Without skipping a beat we hit the Duomo, and though the outside is astoundingly detailed and gorgeous, the inside is not nearly as impressive as Venice’s fully mosaic-ed, golden interior. Regardless, Alexander and I enjoyed hypothesizing about how people were able to build such a colossal structure, over 500 years ago.

Next we went to the Steve McCurry exhibition, which was beautiful and moving, but also a painful reminder of all of the injustice in our world. With exception to the famous picture of the Afghan girl that was on the cover of National Geographic, (who by the way was found and photographed again just a few years ago,) I hadn’t seen any other works by McCurry. Aesthetically speaking the works are just beautiful – vibrant colors and handsome people – in fact, based on a quick glance at his lighthearted works, I’d venture to call him The Sartorialist of the developing world (See www.thesartorialist.blogspot.com .) However, as Alexander and I proceeded deeper into the exhibition it became clear that McCurry’s works are in fact quite heavy, as their content often relates to the effects of war and the oppression of children. Below I've posted McCurry's photograph of a Peruvian boy that I found just heart wrenching and continued to think about for the rest of the trip. There were no text panels discussing the content of the photos, however the curators did post the Declaration of the Rights of the Child as devised by the U.N. in the 1959. Seeing McCurry’s photos alongside the Declaration reminded me of the amazing animated shorts Seth did on the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the rights of minority children, for the Human Rights Action Center and UNICEF respectively, which you can check out on his website at www.sethbrau.com.

A couple of food related pit stops later, we ventured on to the Triennale Design Museum. Though their permanent collection was entirely uninteresting to us, (and in fact featured many things that Alexander and I personally own, like an espresso maker I just bought for him and Mitch and my Persol sunglasses,) the institution was housing a Roy Lichtenstein retrospective, which was quite comprehensive and very well curated. When I say well curated, I mean that the organization of the works and text panels spark a sense of curiosity in the viewers that create excitement to enter the next room and continue to learn more about the artist and works on display… Though Lichtenstein’s most famous works, like Whaam! (1963) and Drowning Girl (1963) were not on display, there were several works from his Brushstroke series, which I love because of their ability to combine two of my favorite, though they are nearly opposite, movements, Abstract Expressionism and Pop Art. To the left you can see a picture I took of Naomi last summer, in front of Brushstroke (1996-2003), which stands outside of the Hirschhorn Museum of Art in Washington D.C.

After the Triennale, we headed back to the hotel for the Louis Vuitton fashion week party, which was hosted by our hotel! There we drank lots of champagne and observed Milanese hipsters at their finest. Interestingly, many of the men were dressed as women, and women as men, (Alexander called this “tranny-chic,” which I thought was very funny,) and lots of people brought their dogs as accessories.

Off to Florence!

In Florence we stayed with good family friends Amy and Richie at their beautiful apartment. In addition to hospitably opening their home to us, they also helped us find fun things to do, and took us out to dinner, both nights of our stay, to two delicious restaurants… So thank you, thank you, thank you Amy and Richie for your generosity.

We devoted our first day in Florence to wandering the city, which in and of itself was a beautiful experience. The second day, we visited Palazzo Strozzi where we saw the Gerhard Richter and Giorgio De Chirico exhibitions. The Gerhard Richter exhibition was fabulous and deserves its very own post, which is coming soon. The De Chirico exhibition was only okay, though perhaps I’m biased because my favorite De Chirico is at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. Additionally, Palazzo Strozzi’s De Chirico exhibition was cluttered up with Max Ernst works, (Max Ernst and the rest of the Surrealists were heavily influenced by De Chirico,) and I don’t like Ernst’s work at all, though the PGC owns dozens because, as I previously mentioned, he was, for a period, married to Peggy.

Next we headed to the Boboli Gardens, which were utterly stunning – the weather was beautiful, the trees were budding, and from the top there was a beautiful vista of the entirety of Florence. We proceeded to visit the Duomo, of course, and then headed home to prepare for dinner and a night of dancing at the Michael Jackson tribute night of a local discotechque.

On our final day, we went to the Accademia to see Michelangelo’s David (1501-1504), which we thought was displayed alongside Robert Mapplethorpe’s photos, but unfortunately, or should I at this point say expectantly, that exhibition had already been taken down and we thus saw nothing more than the exhibition catalogue at the museum’s gift shop. With that said, I was very moved when I saw David in the flesh, or maybe I should say in the stone, because it is a sculpture that I have seen, or has at least been referenced in every single art history class I have taken.

On that note, I’ll leave you with this funny little photo-log of “David’s visit to the U.S.” To wonderful adventures and good health! Enjoy!

1. Takashi Murakami, Kawaii, 2002. Acrylic on canvas mounted on board. François Pinault Collection, Venice.

2. Alexander on the train to Milan, smiling excitedly about having been forced by me to walk in the rain for thirty minute carrying both of our suitcases. Thanks for being the best boyfriend / friend ever.

3. Alexander and me in front of Milan’s Duomo.

4. Steve McCurry, Afghan Girl, 1884.

5. Steve McCurry, Young Boy in Peru, 2004.

6. Naomi in front of Lichtenstein’s Brushstroke outside of the Hirschhorn Museum in D.C. in 2009.

7. Alexander and me in our room at the Straf just after the Louis Vuitton Fashion Week party in Milan.

8. Me in the courtyard of Palazzo Strozzi.

9. Me at the top of the Boboli Gardens.

10. Michelangelo’s David after his trip to the U.S.