DUMPED: THE SEQUEL

DUMPED: THE SEQUEL

Yesterday, Nina Gaby came to my house. She’s just had her book published about women’s friendships gone sour and has begun “the propaganda tour.” About a dozen women showed up to listen to Nina’s writing/publishing/personal experiences and perhaps - the plan was -  we could get a few books sold.

My granddaughter and her friend were visiting; the group age span stretched from two 16 year olds to one or two women nearly approaching or tilting to the other side of 80. Imagine that conversation! I think everybody left feeling a sense camaraderie, not like the old feminists rallies of the 70s, but a gentler, kinder realization that we are human beings who experience painful interactions with other people and sometimes the scars just don’t fade no matter how much cocoa butter you smear on.

That’s the nugget that makes an anthology like this one valuable - certainly to read but also to talk through in a group. (Too bad not everyone will have the benefit of including a talented writer/moderator/psychotherapist leading the discussion!) From reading to discussion, somewhere along the route one begins to look along the lifeline and think about those warts - the times that we acted with total disregard to another’s esteem or to remember instances when we were the target of acquaintances gone toxic.

I am a friend-ogamist. Looking back even into early childhood, I see the pattern of having only one or two good friends that last through large patches of my life. Consequently, I hold on tight. I invest history into these friendships and like life partners, they are the witnesses to my life just as I become the witness to theirs.  

Yes, I’ve had one or two of these relationships take bad turns and I’ve thought a lot about forgiveness and reconciliation. Certainly, when I was younger, I immediately wondered “what did I do wrong?” and “what’s wrong with me?” “why did I say/do/act….?” Self-recrimination is amazingly powerful, one that can send us straight to the couch…or the bar.

Now I prefer thinking about these relationships as having fallen into dormancy. I still know where the tender spots are in that person and she knows mine. I’ve seen her behave with the courage of a warrior and she’s cheered my successes. She knows where I’ve planted the trees.  Our friendship may be different; I might not count on her to administer the hemlock as she once promised. But in this life, I count on her/them to mark my life journey as more than just a greasy smear.

A TRIBUTE TO MICHAEL GRAVES

In my next life, I want to be Michael Graves. If given a “do over”, I aspire to being an architecture but not just any architect. If I’m making a choice: famous painter vs. ——, discoverer of cancer cure vs.——, or writer of the great transcendent novel vs. —-then my —- must be Michael Graves (Susan Susanka, a close second.) 

Michael Graves died March 12, 2015.  He was 80 years old. He was paralyzed from his mid-chest down following an illness 10 years ago. But he continued to teach at Princeton and gathered a team of devoted designers - many of whom were former students of his - that stayed together for 50 years.  The Michael Graves team developed everything from hotels to salt and pepper shakers, hospitals to tea kettles, schools to ironing boards.

And that’s what I want to talk about. In the 1980s, I watched a massive swing in the craft world. The movement that began in the 1960s as a re-awakening of crafts - a reverence for the art of handmade - took a big detour into the realm of ART. 

The 60’s and 70’s were a whirlwind of exploration and discovery: how to actually build a functioning art glass studio, build a forge independent of a major factory, create and fire clay in ways used by Chinese master potters who worked 2000 years before. These were remarkable achievements and brought with them a lifestyle: “the way of the artist.” 

Colleges began turning out graduates with degrees in fiber, wood, metal, clay and inter spliced was a philosophy that “sculpture” got more respect (museums, academics, critics) and pieces titled “art” commanded higher prices. From then on it seemed that nearly everybody began making objects described as the “essence of a chair,” “teapot forms”, or whatever thing that looked vaguely recognizable but with no earthly utility.

At about the same time, Michael Graves picked up the thread from Morris: “Do not have anything in your house that is not beautiful or useful…and aspire for BOTH!” (That isn’t a direct Morris quote…I’ve improved.) The Graves team launched a line of beautifully designed objects that nearly any homeowner could purchase. First produced by expensive manufacturers like Alessi, the Graves team went full out with the same level of design for Target - a $20 toaster or a $4.99 colander.

Some of the clay/wood/metal/textile/glass people have persevered; most have not. The world can only use a limited number of “teapot forms.”  Graves team set out to improve design for average households and it’s that intent that sways me.

(An exhibition of design and objects created by Michael Graves is on view through April at Princeton.  For information:  www.pastasprologue.com

A memorial in his honor will be held at Princeton, April 12.

(Photographs:    I love the colorful cubes of St. Coletta School in Washington, D.C. built for children with intellectual or multiple disabilities.  The houses are part of the Wounded Warrior Home Project at Fort Belvoir, Virginia. This is a fascinating military housing project for soldiers with physical limitations following service in Iraq or Afghanistan and their families.  The colander is available at Target.)

JUST CALL ME “GRUMPY”

Memorial Art Gallery has me spinning in my juices again. 

First, let me give applause where it is due.  The new manager of the Gallery Store is doing a superlative job! The space looks good. Positioning a small jewelry case as transition between totally wasted hallway space leading into the store was brilliant. The entry now seduces you inside.  Inventory is well presented and thank heaven! It’s still filled with original, hand-made art and objects. (To see a gallery store that is NONE of those things, visit Burchfield-Penney in Buffalo.  The building is beautiful. The gallery store is filled with “museum repro” junk.)

The true test of MAG store success? I spent $$$ both times I visited recently and let’s face it, there is a bottom line and it’s sometimes hard to adhere to prinicipals and still produce income.

So who came up with the idea for the new MAG lecture series? Inviting respected artists/designers/writers to talk about their hobbies? I don’t get it. Why should I care that world reknown furniture maker Wendell Castle likes vintage cars? I want his thoughts about collectible furniture and who’s designing it. (Disclaimer: I don’t know if Wendell is a booked speaker or if he is, what his topic.  He’s also a life-long tennis player - just an idea.)

John Beck as speaker? Terrific...he’s one of the world’s leading percussion instructors (retired) and I can’t get the movie WHIPLASH out of my head. I’d love to hear a conversation about his profession and he’s ideally qualified to talk about it but his hobby of WINEMAKING?  I personally can name a half dozen basement winemakers. Their conversations are alike and equally boring to someone like me who simply doesn’t care as long as the chardonnay is good.

A world leading japanese garden designer lives in Ithaca. He makes ceramic pots sometimes too. Which would you like him to speak about?

One day years ago when Dawson Gallery was still an East Avenue “destination”, a youngish woman came in to see a show and as usual, conversation followed. It turned out she was a leading restoration expert of antique museum quality textiles. She spent time in museums all over the world and had staved off malaria and almost died from a weird lung fungus during her work and I wondered then “why haven’t I ever heard of her?” I don’t know what her hobby was but boy, the lecture she could give on a topic most of us know little about.

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Graffiti....wall murals. I’ve written before and I’ve done more research and yes, I know that some historic wall murals are invaluable and graffiti existed probably from the first neanderthal picking up a piece of shale to draw on a cave and both have added to our evolutionary sense of aesthetics and social progression.

Nevertheless, I’m conflicted. Here are two reasons. Our national parks are becoming prime attraction targets for “muralists.” These two examples (and I won’t divulge names of the makers) are at Crater Lake and Southern Utah. 

I admit it:  I like Banksy.  I like the total latino influence of certain urban neighborhoods.  I dislike the growing traveling band of painters whose images are interchangeable whether it be Berlin or Rochester, New York. I see no difference between what they do and any billboard except that painted walls last longer and are totally ugly as they deteriorate.

Oh my....just when I have the issue of life’s meaning figured out, here comes another mental wrestling match.