Qu'ils Mangent de la Brioche!

I've always wondered what Marie Antoinette must have been thinking when she uttered these cold words. She truly couldn't have been so foolish! It has been suggested that her intention wasn't as cynical as is generally supposed. French law required bakers to sell loaves at fixed prices and fancy loaves had to be sold at the same price as basic breads. This was aimed at preventing bakers from selling just the more profitable expensive products. The let them eat brioche (a form of cake made of flour, butter and eggs) would have been a sensible suggestion in the face of a flour shortage as it would have allowed the poor to eat what would otherwise have been unaffordable. It's rather a mouthful, so to speak, but if the phrase had been reported as 'let them buy cake at the same price as bread' we might now think better of the French nobility.

Alas for poor Marie.

Anywhoo-This past weekend I attended an 'art wake' as part of Eyedrum's amazing Dead Flowers show. I missed the actual procession from beautiful, historic Oakland Cemetary, but I've heard it was fantastic. My friend Susan made this cake. It is AMAZING. So much so that I hardly dare share it as I hope it becomes a signature creation of my own. Savory cake-lord what could be better.But, my teachers in primary school said it's good to share, and I always got satisfactory marks in that column, so why change things now. Please do enjoy.

Susan Cipcic's Rosemary-Lemon Cake

Serves: 6

Preparation time: 1 hour

Ingredients:

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp rosemary, fresh or dried
1 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
1/8 tsp salt
½ cup sugar
3 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1/3 cup plain non-fat yogurt
½ tsp vanilla extract
¼ tsp almond extract
1 large egg
1 large egg white
2 tsp grated lemon rind
¼ cup currants or raisins [I used golden raisins, chopped]
Cooking spray
3 tbsp lemon juice
1 cup confectionary sugar

Preparations:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Combine first 5 ingredients in a bowl; set aside. Combine the ½ cup sugar and olive oil in a large bowl; beat at high speed of a mixer for 2 minutes. Add yogurt, extracts, egg & egg white; beat for 1 minute. Add flour mixture; beat at low speed until well-blended. Fold in rind & currants or raisins. Pour batter into a 9-inch springform pan coated with cooking spray. Bake at 350 degrees for 25 minutes or until golden and cake springs back when touched lightly in center.

While cake is baking, combine confectionary sugar with 3 tbsp of lemon juice. If it is too thick, add some drops of water until it is a desired consistency. Pierce cake lightly with a fork several times.

Spoon glaze over cake.
Cool on a wire rack.
Eat.

Remember to be a good little child and share!

Klimt- The Austrian Cometh

Thank GOD New York City is the city that never sleeps. Okay-so that’s a bunch of whooey they close way too early, but a girls got to hope. Especially since I'm going to be there in just about a month and my "must see art exhibits" list is growing exponentially. In my various “good lord I need a break from work” moments today I wandered upon a little snippet somewhere that mentioned the first museum retrospective of the work of Gustav Klimt to be held in the United States. And its going on right now! In New York! Guess what I’m going to see when I’m there in a month. You’re dang right. Whoo-hoo.

Besides paintings and drawings, the exhibition contains vintage documentary material, from letters and photographs to personal effects, such as the artists cuff links and personal seal. Not that seeing 8 of his paintings and over 120 of his sketches up close and personal wouldn’t be amazing-but apparently the Neue Galerie which is hosting the exhibition has re-created the interior of the receiving room from Klimt’s studio at Josefstadler Strass 21, Vienna. Including the original furnishings designed by Josef Hoffman, and based on the original floor plans and a 1912 photograph. The installation will apparently be accompanied by music of some of Klimts personal favorites. No doubt some Mahler will be played.

So-do you suppose I can find a way to get completely out of work and training when my job sends me to New York in December? I’ve got so many things to see while I’m there. So far the list contains the found Courbet at the Metropolitan, this amazing show, an odd little sculpture show at Jack Shainman’s gallery by my dark darling Nick Cave called “Soundsuits.”

Go see the show. Can't wait to check out this gallery:

Neue Galerie New York
1048 5th AveNew York, NY 10028
(212) 628-6200

Look Skyward

“I love the clouds… the clouds that pass…up there… up there… the wonderful clouds!”
-The Stranger, Charles Baudelaire

I try to stop and look towards the heavens as often as possible. Its like instant meditation for my eyes. The sight of a beautiful sky lightens my heart and calms my soul. It makes me breathe in deeply and savor life, even if just for a second.

Apparently, I am not the only one who feels this way (not that I believed I was). There is actually a Cloud Appreciation Society. Their Mission Statement is truly lovely, here's just a snippet:

WE BELIEVE that clouds are unjustly maligned and that life would be immeasurably poorer without them.

We think that they are Nature’s poetry, and the most egalitarian of her displays, since everyone can have a fantastic view of them.

Clouds are so commonplace that their beauty is often overlooked. They are for dreamers and their contemplation benefits the soul. Indeed, all who consider the shapes they see in them will save on psychoanalysis bills.

I realized yesterday that I have a few favorite spots that I always stop at and look up whenever I am near them. There's a church steeple near my local library that seems to simply attract a beautiful sky behind it at all times. There's a restaurant patio where I nearly always see what I like to call "the hand of God" clouds-those absolutely beautiful cummulus clouds like the ones that Maxfield Parish captures in nearly all of his work.

There are skies that are burned in my memory and part of who I am. A sunrise when I was 16, an afternoon on a balcony in Rome, the clouds through the redwoods in Muir Woods. A night alone on a beach, the low clouds in my sisters backyard in Seattle.

They are illusive things, clouds. Tricks of light and vapor. Sometimes easy to photograph and paint, sometimes completely impossible to capture accurately.

One thing they almost always are is beautiful. Don't forget to look up. If you don't, you'll be depriving yourself of one of this worlds most beautiful, simple pleasures.

Rufino Tamayo's Trash Treasure 'Tres Personajes'

It's not often that I just cut and paste something into my blog-but this story from Bloomberg was just too well written and it goes to so many things I'm all about-dumpster diving for one-and fine art for another. Enjoy-and imagine this happening to you.

Mexican artist Rufino Tamayo's ``Tres Personajes,'' a 1970 painting vibrating with reds, yellows and purples, may fetch as much as $1 million at a Sotheby's auction on Nov. 20, the work's first public viewing since Elizabeth Gibson spied it in a mound of garbage on a Manhattan sidewalk.

Gibson, a tall, blond 53-year-old resident of the Upper West Side, went out for a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning in 2003. She spotted a large painting poking out from among the garbage bags left on the sidewalk on West 72nd Street. In her pre-caffeinated haze, she kept walking.
``I'm all about de-cluttering, so why was I going to take it home?'' she recalled in an interview.
A few minutes and a cup of coffee later, Gibson returned to the trash pile, saw the painting and reconsidered.

``I saw it was a big painting,'' she said. ``It needed a sleek, large apartment.''
Gibson, who works in radio and as a writer, said her apartment, which she shared with a roommate, was neither sleek nor large. Also, the chipped silver frame looked cheap. Despite these reservations, she lugged the 4-foot-wide painting back to her apartment and hung it on the living room wall.

Thus began a lengthy and at times anguished journey to discover the Tamayo's history. Gibson said she contacted lawyers, art dealers and friends in an effort to determine whether the painting was anything special. Once she learned that Tamayo was among the most important and valuable Mexican artists -- and that her colorful painting with three abstract figures had illustrated the cover of a 1974 Tamayo monograph by journalist Emily Genauer -- she hid the painting in her closet, creating a false wall using plywood and a shower curtain.

Burden, Not Blessing

At this point, the painting was more of a burden than a blessing. ``I kept researching but I knew I had to do something,'' she said.

In 2005, Gibson watched a PBS television program about missing artworks, part of the ``Antiques Roadshow'' series, that featured the Tamayo. Sotheby's expert August Uribe, who hosted the segment, explained that ``Tres Personajes'' had been stolen in 1987 and missing for almost 20 years. The painting's owners, a Houston couple whom Sotheby's declined to identify, had purchased the painting at the auction house in 1977 for $50,000. It later went missing from a storage facility in Texas.

The FBI and Houston police had investigated, according to Sotheby's, but the painting vanished until Gibson's discovery.

``I remember my heavy heart,'' said Gibson, who liked Uribe's spunk and lack of art-world pretense when she saw him on TV. ``Why am I not bringing it in?''

`Mystery Woman' Calls

Gibson contacted Uribe, initially identifying herself as ``Mystery Woman.'' She visited him at Sotheby's with her minister and the next day took him to her apartment, where she pulled out piles of clothing from her closet and revealed the Tamayo.

Uribe immediately recognized the painting, with its rich palette and Tamayo's signature rough surface, made with sand and ground marble dust mixed into the paint. Uribe wrapped the painting in cardboard, gingerly placed it in a taxi van and returned to Sotheby's headquarters.
Sotheby's contacted the FBI, Uribe said, and soon called the owner, who was stunned and decided to sell the following day. The painting had been a gift from her now dead husband.
The theft ``was such an emotional trauma,'' Uribe said. ``She had emotionally divorced herself.''

Tamayo, who died in 1991, remains one of the most sought- after Latin American artists. His 1955 ``America (Mural)'' fetched a record $2.59 million at Christie's International in New York in 1993. Christie's also has a major Tamayo for sale next month, the 1945 ``Trovador,'' a jaunty guitarist estimated to go for as much as $3 million.

After finding a million-dollar painting in the trash, Gibson has reaped some gain herself. She collected a $15,000 reward from the owner as well as an undisclosed fee from Sotheby's. Her experiences have inspired her to begin writing a book. Uribe, meanwhile, is focused on the sale in November.

``We have high hopes for the picture,'' he said. ``The sky's the limit.''

Picasso's Weeping Woman- Dora Maar

Dora Maar is usually depicted as a fragmented, sharp-toothed, tortured soul in the paintings of Picasso. And maybe she was. When they first met in the Café Les Deux Magots in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Paris, Picasso was attracted by her classic beauty, and by the fact that she sat, smiling, cutting her fingers and the table at which she sat. Picasso was so moved by her bizarre behavior that he kept her bloody gloves and exhibited them on a shelf in his apartment.


This meeting was the beginning of a nine year relationship between the two artists, and some of Picasso’s most memorable, if not disturbing work. When they were first together they inspired each other to create beautiful work-her in photography, and him with such great images as Guernica (inspired by the devastating bombing of the town by the Fascists). As their love began to sour and Maars mental state to deteriorate against the rocks of Picasso’s sadistic indifference he created the Weeping women series-featuring of course, his lover Dora Maar.

Dora kept all of his paintings of her for herself until her death in 1997 at the age of 90. They were souvenirs for their extraordinary love affair which made her famous forever. For him she was the "woman in tears" in many aspects. She suffered from his moods during their love affair. Picasso sent Dora to his friend, the psychiatrist Jacques Lacan, who treated her with psychoanalysis. Also she hated the idea that in 1943 he jilted her for a new lover, Francoise Gilot (mother of Paloma).

In Paris, still occupied by the Germans, Picasso left to her a drawing of 1915 as a good-bye gift in April 1944; it represents Max Jacob his close friend who had just died in the transit camp of Drancy after his arrest by the Nazis. He also left to her some still lifes, and a house at Ménerbes in Provence-which he had received in exchange for one of his paintings. She hated the house, and while it was his gift to her, Picasso and Francoise lived there for a time in spite of her.

But there was a time when he loved her in a way that only Picasso could love a woman. She was his “secret muse” and as usual it came through in his work. It is not often we are able to see these rare pieces when their love was new and Picasso portrayed her as a beauty rather than a harpy. Currently, Sotheby’s is releasing images of Tete de femme, Dora dated from 1941. This bronze sculpture depicts her sans the tears and jagged teeth, without the gnashing claws and red gaping mouth. Tete de femme, Dora is almost sanguine and serene-her wide eyes, softly curving ears and tiny rosebud mouth. Sotheby’s expects the piece to sell for $20 to $30 million dollars.

Ah, to have all the money in the world. Lets just hope that whomever does buy the piece doesn’t lock it away in their private collection. It would truly be a shame not to be able to view this piece beside the Weeping women and gain perspective on the woman who gave Picasso so much inspiration.

"Nude Woman Reclining" Rediscovered and Revealed

A few years ago my mother passed along to me a collection of prints that she bought at an estate sale. Centered on women in fine art, in her lovely Southern accent she warned “there are a couple of dirty ones in there as well”. Needless to say I was more than a little interested to see what my mother considered dirty. No doubt, she was referring to Gustave Courbet’s “Origin of the World” – the controversial cornerstone of the French painter’s career.

Created in 1866, and now a resident of the Musee d’Orsay in Paris, this still somewhat stunning portrait of a, how shall we say, “Le blason” (a delicate paean to the “most beautiful treasure of the female anatomy) still draws scandalized gasps even in the 21st century. Several of the paintings previous owners kept it concealed. A Hungarian baron hung it in his bathroom, while the celebrated psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan bought it and hid it behind a panel that he uncovered for guests.

Courbet’s work is drawing a new round of gasps these days, but for different reasons. Until recently art experts believed that another of his salacious works ‘Nude Woman Reclining’ had been lost, maybe even destroyed, a casualty of Red Army or Nazi looting in Hungary during World War II. Fortunately for us, they were wrong.

Previously owned by the same collector who hung ‘Origin of the World’ in his loo (Baron Ferenc Hatvany) the painting was stolen from the bank vault where the baron had put them for safekeeping during WWII. The baron, who was Jewish, survived the war but lost all of his art, the largest collection in Hungary. He tracked down and bought back some of his lost works, including ‘The Origin of the World,’ but he never knew what happened to the other Courbet nude.

During the war, 'Nude Woman Reclining' wound up in the possession of a Soviet soldier who gave it as a gift to a doctor in Bratislava (part of Slovakia). The painting hung in the doctor’s home for decades until his death. His family then attempted to sell it. After negotiations and a reward of nearly three-quarters of a million dollars to the doctor’s family, the painting was returned two years ago to the baron’s heirs.

Currently the painting is appearing at a special show at the Grand Palais in Paris through January 28th. Then it will come to New York and be shown at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York from Feb. 27 to May 18.

As the Musee d’Orsay is actively seeking funding to purchase the painting for its collection, it looks like another trip to New York is in order.

“Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.”

When was the last time you were in the reference room of your local library or university? No doubt, not as often as in years past thanks to the Internet. I don’t remember the last time I referred to an encyclopedia. But, I still love those giant tomes full of “famous quotes”. It has always amazed me that these things get written down. Who was Bartlett and did he really spend his time putting together the best quotes ever uttered? And who made him the judge above all others? Don’t get me wrong. I find them fascinating. I have learned to love and admire certain politicians, artists, philosophers and such by just their witticisms.

One-hundred and fifty-three years ago one of my favorite and most quotable authors was born- Oscar Wilde. Brilliant, viper tongued, terribly kind, self-deprecating and self-destructive, Wilde is considered to be one of the wittiest men ever borne in England. The fact that the foul-mouthed Liam Gallagher (of Oasis fame) is mentioned in the same breath as Mr. Wilde is seriously disconcerting. But, I feel a bit better when also adjacent to Wilde is Stephen Frye (who coincidentally played Wilde in a film several years ago).

So, a happy birthday to you Mr. Wilde! Thank you for all your truisms. I leave you with a few of my favorites.

"It is absurde to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."

“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

“Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.”

“Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.”

“I see when men love women. They give them but a little of their lives. But women when they love give everything.”

Magnificent Jewels…Indeed

Oh to have all the money in the world. I would be kind to my fellow man. I would do good for others, share, be kind. Help kitties and bunnies, cure world hunger, avoid crooked politicians and garden for good. I wouldn’t become a snotty, manicured charlatan and swan off to Biarritz to play cards with the hoi-polloi. I promise I wouldn’t.

Jins trapped in bottles in the deserts of Egypt and Saudi Arabia…are you listening?

If I had all the money in the world I’d be front and center this coming week in the great halls of Christies Auction House in New York. I’ve been reading Manon Lescaut of late, so maybe I’m primed to be taken advantage of by the French and their great ability to make even the most decadent look stylish. With that in mind, I’ve fallen in love with a little beauty created by the House of Boucheron that goes up on the auction block this coming week. First- it’s a Boucheron. Enough said? The audacious 28 year old Frederic was the first jeweler to open premises on the Place Vendome in 1858. Luxurious and utterly opulent, decorated with crystal chandeliers and velvet fabrics, his boutique quickly attracted a prestigious clientele. His experiments with diamond engraving are simply breathtaking, and were the precursor of the “nature” style that he created by using snakes and other symbolic animal figures of the 19th Century Art Nouveau period.

Simple but intricate, like the very subject itself, this divine Art Nouveau bumblebee brooch is adorned with diamonds, sapphires and enamel. Valued at a paltry $60,000 to $80,000 dollars its a bargain of the day in my humble opinion.

Oh, this piece must have such a history. Where has she been? What balls and fine restaurants and soirees has she attended? What envious eyes have been cast upon her graceful beauty? The unknowable history of the piece makes it more appealing to me than its monetary value.

Come on-give a girl a present. You know you want to.

By the way, should you feel so moved, there’s also a pretty scrumptious Belle Époque diamond aigrette bandeau by Cartier (estimated to auction for $450,000 to $650,000) that would look divine on my cat Meshinko.

Sigh. A girl can dream. And with creations like these, what sweet dreams.

Book Autopsies

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I love books-any book. I love the smell of them, the feel of them, the fonts, the paper, the words that tie them together, even most of the people who are brave enough to write them-even twaddle. I hate going into a bookstore and seeing someone slamming books on and off shelves. I literally shudder when I see people mistreating books. Not being a fan of small human beings I hesitate to compare them to babies-but they are-they are like delicate things to be treated with caution and love.

So, the concept of someone taking a scalpel to an old tome to make it into a piece of art should raise my hackles? No? Well-I thought it would but I’ve found a considerable exception to the rule. I can barely find a way to explain the amazing work that Brian Dettmer is doing. They are called Book Autopsies.

I’ve tried to find more information on the artist, but there’s not much on the Internet about him other than lots of images of his work, which in my opinion is a harmonious balance between the collage work of Joseph Cornell and the intricate perfection of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

Brian Dettmer-I’m looking for you. I want to own some of your work. I want to see inside your head. I am officially fascinated.

Very superstitious, writings on the wall....

A black cat crossing your path signifies that the animal is going somewhere. --Groucho Marx

Yes, I am actually pretty superstitious. I admit it. I embrace it.

I'm 36 and I lift my feet when I go over railroad tracks.
I cross myself when a hearse drives past me.
I throw spilled salt over my shoulder.
I don't walk under ladders.
I get the willies when a broom falls.
I never put my shoes on the bed.

I started thinking about superstitions the other day when I was out shopping and watched a man take four umbrellas from a Marshall's store, walk outside and open them to see which he liked best. Nobody jumped him. Nobody yelled "STOP THAT WILEY UMBRELLA THIEF!". It was just like he was stopping to tie his shoes. He made his selection, went back inside and made his purchase. In these cynical, wary-eyed days I thought it was fairly amazing to see that our superstitions are still so prevalent. We might not believe in the words of the press-but dangit, we're not breaking a mirror in fear of 7 years bad luck.

These things seem so amazingly silly. I mean, do you know anybody who has ever broken his mothers back by stepping on a crack? Have you seen someones car break down after they said "this thing never breaks down"? But still we do it. It's like blinking-it just is.

I honestly think that we're a bit superstitious whether we're willing to admit it or not. I've never gotten the "evil eye" but I think I'd know it if I saw it. And, I'd probably follow suit by going "phoo, phoo" while spitting between my pointer and middle finger of my right hand. Hey, just being cautious. Why the heck not.

I think the thing about superstition is that it's not provable. Why did Uncle Jethro loose his job? Not because he was a total slacker, or the stock market plunged. It must certainly be because his daughter touched his shoe with a broom while sweeping the kitchen.

Why did I get a raise last week? Because I had an itchy palm.

See-good or bad. There's a superstition for everything.
So, I admit it. I'm superstitious. Why not? If there's fate, then maybe there's superstition. Meanwhile, I'll continue to terrify my passengers by lifting my feet while going over railroad tracks. Chill. I haven't killed anybody...yet.

Resume for a Season

Fall is here, and I'm far from down at the mouth about it. I, unlike many others find that the dying days of summer and approaching of winter is my most vibrant time of the year. While others are knocking up their daily dosage of Prozac, fall seems to bring an absolute calm to me. Maybe it means I should go live in Portland. When I tried to explain my "spring blues" to my psychiatrist this year he gave me a quizzical look, and said "I should write a paper on you." I love that. Someday I'll grow up to be a lab rat.

A friend just called and said he'd procured a book for me at a Salvation Army in Gastonia, North Carolina. It's "Might As Well Live" about Dorothy Parker. I've been meaning to buy the book forever. Thank you Clay! Thank You Gastonia Goodwill!

In tribute to my favorite time of the year, and my favorite melancholy mistress of dark prose, I give you this poem. Smile when you read it, it makes life look much brighter.

Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

When Art Inspires Literature

There is a story which has been handed down through literary history, which may be an urban myth, and might well be fact. It is that of a nightmare sparked by a famous (or rather, infamous) painting by Henri Fuseli upon the opium addled mind of Mary Shelley which led her to create the story of Frankenstein.

Years ago, I saw a rather bad film called “Haunted Summer” which was based loosely upon the relationship between Shelley, her husband and Byron. The painting by Fuseli looms throughout the film and eventually causes the nightmare which spawns Frankenstein. This was my first encounter with the famous painting and my first with the incubus, which I have since often mixed-up with the other soul sucking demon, the female of the type; the succubus. So remember boys and girls- incubus is a boy, succubus is a girl. Both are nasty little buggers who suck your soul out and rape you in the night.

So-other than a nasty nightmare, how do the two intersect? Interestingly enough, the artist is said to have had a very odd affair with one Mary Wollstonecraft- Shelly’s mother. Seems that Wollstonecraft fell utterly in love with the married Fuseli, and she poured her platonic love over him like the waves of a turbulent storm. So enamored with him was she, that she approached
Fuseli’s wife with a proposal. Since her love for him was so utterly platonic, wouldn’t it be lovely if the three of them lived together? With that, Fuseli had to end their odd unconsummated affair. Heartbroken, Mary Wollstonecraft went on to marry someone else. Then she died giving birth to the girl who would become Mary Shelley.

Nineteen years later, back in Fuseli's homeland of Switzerland, Mary Shelley penned Frankenstein as an exercise in Gothic style. The day of Gothic novels was past by then, but Frankenstein became the most famous Gothic novel of them all.

There are two versions of this painting-once much more sinister than the other. In the first, the incubus seems almost munchkin-like, and there is less terror in the scene overall. In the second, it seems that Fuseli delves deep into horror for inspiration. The eyes of the horse are stricken with fear, and the face of the incubus is much more sinister.

As a final tasty little note; Sigmund Freud was known to have an engraving of this work in his Vienna apartment in the 1920s.
Interesting, eh?