Of the Asian disciplines I’ve dabbled in over the years, such as yoga and taekwondo, I am most grateful for tai chi. During a particularly tragic and difficult year in my life, it saved my sanity. I needed focus and balance. Tai chi provides both. It’s possible I felt greater benefits since I practiced alone in a room that had a big window. In that unconfined space, I felt my energy flowed freely and allowed me to find peace every day.
Author Archives: rebecca
On the face of art.
I am very fortunate with the ease of today’s technology to share stories and images. Giotto di Bondone didn’t share this fortune. I can’t imagine the efforts it took, even with a team of people, to stage his fresco production. Draw, apply plaster, paint. And do it quickly—in manageable squared-off areas—before it dries.
Overcoming the physical challenges of art is one thing. Challenging society’s norms in religious art is another. Giotto was among the artists who moved away from traditions of stiff and somber stoicism. I’ve always felt detached from the expression of earlier (Byzantine) human faces, but my heart is warmed by Giotto’s images. He treated the illiterate masses to church walls containing the wailing sadness of angels, joyful reverence of Christ’s disciples, and glowing adoration of Mary.
I sketched out this picture from Giotto’s fresco cycle in Padua. It shows an intimate expression of the most human kind—a kiss. Imagine seeing this kiss for the first time. Yet I wonder how many actually saw this image. A rich man paid to have this cycle created, allegedly in an act of penitence, hoping its creation would provide passage to a better after-life. If indeed that was the case, I wonder what sort of gallant overture he’d produce on today’s Internet to achieve the same purpose.
My saffron and violet birthday.
One of the most favorite days of my life was spent in NYC’s Central Park with my sister and a group of great friends. “The Gates” by Christo and Jeanne-Claude were on display over vast portions of the park’s paths during February 2005. I asked this group if they’d join me in walking this exhibit on my birthday. Not knowing what the weather would be, I brought umbrellas for everyone. I spent a good deal of time considering the choice of umbrella… sensing the color or pattern had to go with the art. Afterall, Christo and Jeanne-Claude had an exhibition 14 years earlier called “The Umbrellas.”
For their fabric, Christo and Jeanne-Claude chose the color saffron. I went with my gut and chose violet. My gut provided a good answer. It generated unexpected attention and discussion with strangers. Some people saw violet and thought we were celebrating NYU by displaying the university’s color. By good fortune, it snowed the previous day, so the saffron rectangles and violet circles against white snow set a picturesque backdrop. I was interviewed by a cable TV crew at the start of our walk and blabbed on about “being the art” as I distributed the umbrellas. A hilarious moment of paparazzi entertained us at the south end of the park.
The culmination of it all was when my friend Margo, a photographer, returned to Central Park the next day to shoot more pics. Margo happens to love the color purple, and she wears it with reckless abandon. She was approached by an elderly couple while taking a shot of her umbrella. She told them about our previous day and she was invited to join them for lunch right then and there– they were coincidentally on their way to eat with Christo and Jeanne-Claude! In one of her life’s greatest regrets Margo declined the invite. She could only think of the layers of long underwear, shirts, sweaters, and stockings she’d need to shed at an indoor luncheon! But I’m happy to think about those imaginative artists hearing about our tribute to their colorful display.
Doing my own thing.
My own paintings generally don’t provide the thrill that I feel when I copy a Van Gogh. By the time I complete one of my own paintings, I usually don’t like the composition anymore. This pic is an exception. I based it on a photograph I took, so perhaps that’s the approach I need to take.
“How do you get to Carnegie Hall?”
Answer: Choose an instrument that hardly anyone else plays. You may just get a seat on the stage at Carnegie Hall. I picked the E-flat alto clarinet in freshman year of high school since the flute wasn’t cutting it after all those years (it was too quiet and there way were too many flute players). I passed auditions for regional band and NJ all-state band. Then I was chosen to play in a special concert with a university band at Carnegie Hall! The thrill for me was the enormity of the hall.
It’s important to have the correct tool to do a job. And the alto clarinet, although a good choice for classical music, didn’t cut it for the high school marching band. Choosing the alto saxophone in sophomore year was the solution. Football games were much more fun. I could make a lot of noise with a saxophone.
I get a new puppy every week.
In 2008 I was looking for ways to volunteer in my community. Puppies Behind Bars (PBB) was the answer. It’s a non-profit that trains prison inmates to raise service dogs. The dogs are then selected for work in law enforcement as an explosive detection canine, or as a companion dog for a war veteran with PTSD. PBB needs volunteers to socialize the puppies. So once a week I take out a puppy to run my errands. When I started volunteering, I was single and thought it would be a great way to meet guys. But I ended up meeting 11 year old boys. Oh well. I didn’t stop volunteering.
And I didn’t stop after embarrassing moments when puppies acted out or when a puppy pooped at the Shoprite. I kept volunteering after a 65-pound puppy dragged me a few feet as I tried to hold him back from running into the road after a deer.
PBB helps people in so many ways – the inmates learn a skill and possibly unconditional love, some puppies sacrifice their olfactory system to prevent people from getting blown up, other puppies help soldiers who are serving our nation. As a volunteer I meet incredible dog lovers and curiosity seekers. And let’s not forget, puppies are adorable.
Lessons in physics.
During my home remodeling adventures, my most notable realizations in physics involved removing kitchen cabinets and transporting wood.
Uncle Ted received my phone call of bewilderment one day when I was preparing to haul down a cabinet for refinishing. “I can only find 3 screws!” I had a friend whose cabinets crashed down in the middle of the night at her Brooklyn apartment. Surely there was something else supporting all this weight which wasn’t used in my friend’s kitchen? But no. And my Uncle patiently explained I must stuff mounds of pillows underneath them, mindful to increase the height nearest me so I’m not crushed when the last screw is loosened and the cabinet falls down. I found they were 5” screws, and they were firmly entrenched in the studs. Wow.
Sticking a 12-foot piece of base molding out the passenger window of my station wagon to transport it up the highway provided additional insights to physics. If you must do it, don’t exceed 45 mph. Enough said.
Shadow boxes.
The annual July art show at State College, Pennsylvania, can easily drain your wallet as well as your body after walking what seems like miles of phenomenal artists’ booths. My approach to this feast of visual creativity involved creating three lists: 1) things I’d like to buy, 2) things I’d like to make, and 3) things that are completely over the top amazing that I don’t have the skills or money to ever obtain. Shadow boxes fell into category #2. I’m grateful to Tony for his photography skills. He captured the interiors of Rome’s churches in spectacular detail and composition. And I took great joy in cutting apart multiple copies of his photos to create layers of miniature architecture.
Virility of the orchid.
Before completing this flower, I finished two other paintings on this canvas. Both paintings subsequently lost their lives. The yellow orchid lives on and why not? to the ancient Greeks, orchids symbolize virility.
Fire away.
As a color junky, my foray into ceramics was necessarily short lived. I painted greenware then fired it in a kiln I owned. Such muted colors were achieved on these bird tiles. Perhaps with the exception of yellow. The difficulties of formulating a reliable true red glaze was the death knell for ceramics. The kiln sat in my basement for a couple decades until it found a new home. It’s now being used by an artist friend, Mira, to create lovely pieces of fused glass.