'TIS THE SEASON" (ALMOST)

The family crowds into my dad’s 1949 black Ford for the ride into downtown Tulsa.

Outside! In the City! At night! A HAMBURGER DINNER - chili dogs and hamburgers at White Castle for a dime each - a once a year extravagance!

Crowds of people on Tulsa sidewalks hug themselves to stay warm while glittery floats featuring pretty ladies wearing beautiful bare-shouldered gowns and tiaras crawl down center streets.

Homage to the NY Philharmic, BG Christmas window

High school band members strut and play Noel and school fight songs in spite of freezing fingers and numb multi-stockinged feet.

Finally, the main event, Santa Claus riding behind a team of earth-bound horses. The kids (me included) are riled to a state of ecstasy. 

At the end of the parade, we walk back to my dad’s insurance office to warm ourselves before heading home. By then, our hands are so cold that putting them near radiator heat bring tears to our eyes.

But along the way, we slow to check out major department store windows lighted up like full-screen movie sets, in each one a unique depiction of happy families, cute elves, Victorian streetscapes complete with moving carolers and music spilling onto the sidewalks.

One year - I was about 9 years old - on the walk, I found a wallet on the sidewalk full of dollar bills - over a hundred! A fortune! Nothing inside identified the owner and so my parents handed me $20 to spend anyway I wanted as reward. I bought velvet ribbon, packets of sequins and tiny pins to cover cork balls and produce bastardly necklace/scarf/tie thingies that I was positive my older sisters would adore.  They didn’t but I never lost the sensation - the joy -  of “making” something on my own for someone else. I carry that gene to my grave.

Christmas memories of my youth.  Is it any wonder that many of us feel inadequate, depressed, disappointed no matter how much $$ we spend, how much shopping and how many twinkle lights we drape?  We can’t quite match for our own family - our own children and grandkids - the thrill we experienced back in those days when we knew nothing of politics, when newspapers meant no more to us than looking for the comic strips, when we never worried about retirement accounts or health. 

Was it as simple for the grown ups? They aren’t around now to ask.

And so, with a sigh, I put cash in envelopes for each grandchild. I ask my talented grown-up daughter if she will host Christmas dinner this year and what should I bring? the wine maybe? My other daughter regrets that her family will be too busy this year to join us for dinner - hockey games and part time jobs for the college student - but they’ll get over sometime soon.

I just saw these photographs of Bergdorf Goodman windows in New York. They celebrate different aspects of cultural organizations in the City.

I swear I can smell White Castle hamburgers and chili dogs.

CONGRATULATIONS, MR. BINSTOCK

Painting in Motion - Bill Viola

I don’t understand video art. I’ve seen too many art videos featuring fruit being shot or otherwise maimed or some obscure act or sound repeated ad infinitum and wondered “what was THAT ABOUT? Why should I care? Who cares?! Who pays for this nonsense?”

But every now and then, something beautiful changes my mind.

Bill Viola is nearly one of our own. He’s a New York State native who graduated with a BFA from Syracuse University in 1973, and stayed around Upstate New York for nearly a decade working as the video technician for the Everson Museum in Syracuse and presumably honing his craft and his eye.  

Earth, Wind, Fire, Water = "Martrys"

Several jobs, geography changes and decades later, Viola was the United States representative in the 1995 Venice Biennial and was proclaimed a major “pioneer of new media art.” He’s produced some seriously creative and unique projects with live performance rock groups (Nine Inch Nails), opera (Tristan and Isolde).  He’s won a roomful of international awards, been the subject of books and major news articles here and abroad and was invited back to the prestigious Venice Biennial ten years after his debut there. 

After the 9/11 New York City mass murder, Viola set out to produce a major piece built around the theme of suffering. His challenge: to answer the huge question we must all ask at one time or another “what are you willing to die for?”  His inquiry looked at faith, conscience and love of others. Part of the resulting video (Martyrs) is on view now at Memorial Art Gallery; the Museum prologue tells us that the Greek root meaning of ‘martyr’ is ‘witness’ but I haven’t sorted out who is “witness" - we the viewers or the figures in each of the four panels?

“Martyrs” is a separated, four screen video; in each video, the lens is trained on one central human withstanding an onslaught by one of the four classic elements: fire, water, wind and earth. The figures are filmed  (in a rectangular format like paintings - not horizontal as with most film) against stark black (the video lasts 7 minutes). They look like paintings that have moving parts and (insight!) is that the purpose of video art? 

If I understand correctly, “Martyrs” and its second part “Mary” are owned by St. Paul’s Cathedral (London) but are either on long term loan to the Tate or gifted to the Tate and in either case, I’m unsure how Viola’s work happened to find its way to Rochester but I’m glad it did. I have scoffed at the inclusion of video in our little provincial art space and wondered why we were spending money on the physical needs of that medium.  Frankly, I still wonder why the George Eastman Museum didn’t jump big time early on into the video art arena and suck up the air from any nearby art film wannabes and I can only conclude “uh-oh, another lack of forward thinking by a Rochester Eastman.”  (Cornell’s Johnson Museum launched big-time space for video art a few years back.)

And so here I am again…swallowing my words along with my morning coffee.  Congratulations, Mr Binstock. You are making a difference.

DEATH OF AN ORGANIZATION

Private Garden from 2017 Tour

The Rochester Civic Garden Club died last week.

Some of its members are stunned.  Others are pissed.  Still others say “who?”

This was an organization chartered by New York State 70 years ago to help home gardeners, property owners and non-professionals answer questions, find solutions to horticulture problems and inspire the pursuit of all gardening. RCGC was ensconced in “The Castle,” a property near Highland Park on Mt. Hope, owned by Monroe County. 

I think RCGC was first to arrange tours of private gardens, a fund raising strategy that’s since been adopted by many not-for-profit organizations.  Both the Spring all day symposium and Summer Tour of Gardens saw upwards of 600 participants in its best years.  Those numbers trailed off to slightly more than 175 last year.

Private Spring Garden

So what went wrong? It’s easy to say “falling membership/dwindling interest in programs/elusive funds/poor Board and leadership decisions.”  All those things would be true. Organizations such as Girl and Boy Scouts, Elks, Rotary, University Women’s Associations, and League of Women Voters are all facing similar increased pressures.

People are busy, they have more free-time options, they have increased stimulation from technology and don’t need the same social encounters, and more women - the backbone of many of these organizations - have careers now.

I guess all that’s true. But I see two other glaring reasons.  

Siberian Irises

One is that civic participation and public service aren’t valued and passed down by anybody. We are a much more selfish, egocentric society and distrustful of anyone who isn’t!  We are jealous and miserly and mean spirited. (Am I being too harsh?) I include all those people unwilling to shoulder aid for children, the poor, veterans, elderly, sick and disabled. Also anyone unwilling to pick up trash - even if it isn’t theirs, tell parents next door when they see kids misbehaving or in danger, and regularly visit elderly neighbors.  It’s the rarity of empathy that’s contributed to this state. 

Next!  Lack of risk taking, imagination, creativity and enterprise is ripping through the land - Rochester particularly. “This is the way it’s always been done.” “Don’t rock the boat.” “Where will we get the money?” (That one is always front and center!)  “What if we try and fail?”  We are horrified of failure, so afraid that we are paralyzed. With no new direction, organizations atrophy. Elected leaders - and board members -  don’t speak up. In Rochester: “Remember the Fast Ferry!” stops ideas in their tracks.

RIP Rochester Civic Garden Center. Who’s next?