British Prints/El Greco to Velasquez

As gardening season really hasn't begun in earnest, I am taking the opportunity to get my fill of art. I have been meaning to see the British Print Show 1913-1939, at the Museum of Fine Art in Boston for quite sometime. It is there through June 1 and I highly recommend it. I went today....although I also highly recommend waiting until Art in Bloom is over. The place was shoulder to shoulder with women who wear pearls looking at artful flower arrangements plunked down in front of art.

The Vorticist Movement in pre-War (WWI) England was a parallel to the Italian Futurists. It was all swirling lines, movement, machinery and a dash of populism- what with all the heavily muscled working class men.

Almost all the prints in this show were lino-cuts. The blocks were linoleum instead of wood, so were not considered a real artistic medium, paving the way for women to grab their carving tools and make the medium their own. At least 1/3 of the prints displayed were by women. The second image, of a farm in his field plowing, is by Sybil Andrews- a British born Canadian. It is unusual for a show at a museum to prominently feature so many women artists without turning it into a political thing. They were included on their own merits.

I had an advance copy of the catalogue so was quite familiar the images, but was unprepared for the richness and nuance of the colors- especially as most of the prints were done with just four separate blocks- red, blue, yellow & green. The surfaces were like velvet- the real silk stuff, not the cheap polyester imitation-you can't imagine prints so rich with color. These colors just sat on the surface of the paper with all the preceding colors of ink shining luminously through. Sometimes a little off register the previous plate colors would bleed out from under the top layer giving a vibrating edge to the image. This added to the heightened sense of movement which was integral to the Vorticist's work.


El Greco to Velasquez opened up at the MFA a week or two ago so we felt obliged to take a look. After all these are the greats of Spanish art.

El Greco still looks as kooky as ever- that is the Ecstasy of Somebody or The Expulsion From the Garden. As my viewing partner pointed out "At least he has a point of view." He could really paint religious ecstasy and there is no denying what was going on. I think he really excelled at portraits. Without all the other activity going on in the canvas-just a single sitter- the viewer is really able to notice El Greco's brush stroke. They are broad and almost haphazard, yet they still build up to create a lifelike and convincing human.

Velasquez was good at portraying the more humble people. He was clearly a skilled painter and able to convey flesh and blood convincingly. He also excelled at portraiture- his veered more towards the Dutch model. His figure were solid, noble, supported by a dark background- and amazingly static.

Both of us became a little weary of this exhibition and all its crucifixes. I don't know if it was just that our modern sensibilities couldn't take in the old stories. Were the colors of El Greco & Peter Paul Rubens too lurid? I much preferred the clearer colors and straight forward compositions of the British Print show to the Spanish Painters.

Getting the Whole Picture

Just as a benchmark I want to show my garden looking pretty barren as it usually does this time of year. In about a month it will be a completely different story.

Looking past my border fence you can see one of le boyfriend's vegetable gardens and two fruit trees which look like they have laundry on them. They are actually sweaty, unwashed t-shirts clothes pinned to the trees to deter the deer. It isn't much worse than onion bags full of Irish Spring Soap tied to the branches. I don't quite relate to this particular outrage, but I do remember going WILD when I thought grubs had done in a very expensive birds nest spruce. I was forced to use diazanon. Remorse set in immediately as I spent the rest of the day trying to shoo birds from the fatally poisoned puddles.

A Day in the Life of My Garden

I am taking a cue from Black Swamp Girl and not holding back on the photos documenting every little thing of interest in my garden- at least to me. This is my bleeding heart, which was a gift from a dear friend of of mine, Madeline Farnsworth, who passed away two years ago at the age of 91. She encouraged me in gardening, among other things, was a fascinating story teller and until her medication prevented it, could toss back the scotch until 2 in the morning. I miss her- and this bleeding heart is a lovely remembrance of an opinionated but refined woman.


This is my lamb's ear....the first time I have gotten it to thrive. In my previous garden it fell victim to my husband's insistence that everything needed to be watered thoroughly everyday. That is fine unless you are a silver leafed beauty such as this. I bought this at my library's plant sale two summers ago from a woman who said "just keep the grass out of it and do nothing else." Well- I can't resist. Last spring I cleaned all the dead leaves out of it, fussed over it and killed about half of the plants. She really meant it when she said "do nothing else."

I remember one woman asking me why her shrubs were all doing so poorly. Never afraid to get dirty- I got on my knees and crawled underneath to find masses of mold growing on every stem juncture. I backed out, stood up and asked her if she watered frequently. She said her husband ran a sprinkler system twice a day. What is it about men and over watering?

I call this little path Succulent Way. It sounds a little sexual, but really, isn't that what gardening is all about? All of these plants primp and fuss and display and call out "yoo-hoo" to all the passing bees in the hopes of passing their genetic material on to some sweet young thing at the other end of the garden.

You can practically see this little sedum applying its lipstick. Isn't it adorable? I just want to pinch it! But I will probably wait until it is 6 inches high (it is a mini, but I forgot the cultivar) and THEN give it a little pinch so it won't be quite so floppy.

This is a path that I put in last year after cutting a hole through the fence that divides the yard and my gardens from le boyfriend's vegetable garden (or one of them anyways.) I bought this cheesy metal arbor for some roses to grow up because I figured in a couple of years you wouldn't be able to see how cheesy it actually was. I am also very proud that these Tiny Rubies pinks made it through the winter. I have never had much luck with them. And to boot I bought them for practically nothing because the nursery was sick of watering them at the end of the season and they had already, clearly, been left unwatered for two or three days. In the back is one of the ubiquitous Egyptian (or Walking) Onions. They are coming up all over my yard. I suppose their crazy hair-do's add a little humor to a garden.

He is a Lover Not a Fighter

Here is Henry playing with his elephant at work. He still isn't as vibrant as usual. I think the antibiotics and painkillers are making him dopey. He definitely perks up when he sees a dog though.

He has another appointment this morning to make sure everything is healing up properly. I am suppose to keep the Elizabethan collar on him, but he hates it so much. If I can be around him and tell him to stop licking I leave it off. If he gets obsessive, I put it on.

His wounds gave me pause to reflect. Clearly the poor dear is a lover not a fighter. They are located at his farthest end....the end that would present to another pair of teeth if it was running away. I love my little boy, but I see that, despite his swagger, he will never offer me much protection.

Woodcocks

I was out taking Henry for a somewhat abbreviated evening walk- I still don't think he is up for too much. It is a luscious spring evening- things are really coming up. Walked in the back pasture past some hidden banks of snow and felt the coolness roll off of them and around my ankles. It is delightful to feel the cool of the snow and the heat of a hot spring night all rolled into one lovely sensation.

I heard the distinctive buzzing "peeent" of a woodcock displaying his springtime wares. I walked slowly so as to not flush anything. Henry obliged by being still whenever I stopped. I could hear the whirr of a woodcock taking off but couldn't spot one displaying the distinctive mating flight. I was able to spot one landing near by....giving a very gentle buzzing call.

I'll be patient. I have a few week to catch their passionate courtship in my backyard. If you have never witnessed it, it is worth searching out.

Anatomy of an Accident

This is my sad boy Henry after a very sad event which has left everyone wondering what to do and whom to blame.

The facts: My mother was suppose to care for Henry over the weekend while I was away in DC. She forgot she needed to leave on a trip on Sunday through Wednesday. She asked Amanda to care for Henry at Michelle's house where Amanda was caring for Michelle's two Australian Shepherds- one of whom has some Henry specific aggressions. Somehow Ty was able to slip in to Michele's backyard where Henry was playing with Coco and bite him several times in the nether regions. This necessitated a trip to the emergency vets and an overnight stay to be sure that he didn't require abdominal surgery and that his urethra hadn't been severed.

Now the embellishing: Some of the words a"mother" does not want to hear- soft tissue trauma, surgery, severed, it's okay he is sedated now, multiple puncture wounds.

He came out Monday morning and was fine, or as fine as a dog with multiple puncture wounds could be. I was much relieved and was able to somewhat enjoy the rest of my vacation. But that is where the deep thinking came in. I had already received tearful calls from Amanda & Michelle thinking it was all their faults. I am still waiting for the arrival of my mother on Wednesday who might also think it was her fault. Of course, I realize it is all my fault simply because I was born. This terrible blaming and guilt weighs heavy on me. Especially as Michelle's husband is also sure it is Michelle's fault and that "something needs to be done." I am afraid of what that "something" might be.

The truth is that choices were made all along the way, no one ever suspecting that their small part in the decision making was going to add up to a tragic accident. No one made those choices with the intent of causing a tragic accident. People just made the best possible choices at the time. I am just relieved that my little, big man after a painful healing process is probably going to be the same old goofy mutt he has always been. I was likewise gladdened when he wagged his tail going into the vet's office this afternoon in anticipation of a chance interlude with some terrifically smelly and happy dog in the waiting area. He whined with anticipation. I love my dog.

I also have an inkling why families fall apart after the death of a child. Guilt is a terrible thing.

Color Field Painters

My sister and I took the metro into the city on Saturday to check out the museums. Saw these two cute and stylin urban girls playing with a toy on the way in. They jumped off-all smiles and giggles about two stops before us.








We finally found the American Art Museum, by way of the Building Museum where we found a great display of David McCauley's wonderfully funny drawings. They are both up in the Chinatown section of the District. The American Art Museum shares space with the Portrait Gallery which I always thought would be boring but is really fascinating in that it tells the story of our country through portraits - both of famous Americans and by them.

Wandering into the contemporary wing was eye opening. It was like being in a completely different museum- airy, light and sparely "hung" with offerings. A Jenny Holzer installation was fascinating in that it gets you to stop and stare in way that most art can't. There was a nice Ellsworth Kelly that was nice to compare to his sculpture we saw at the Phillips the day before. I like the sculpture better.

The Color Field show was a real eye opener. It was like walking into a bowl of sherbet. The colors were so lush and seductive. That is an Adolph Gottlieb above. While the works weren't about painting per se, the paintings were entrancing nevertheless. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.