THE (barn) QUILT TRAIL

Donna Sue Groves wanted to surprise and honor her mother, Maxine. Maxine was an avid and somewhat well-known quilter so Donna Sue decided to paint a large quilt square on wood and install it on the family barn.  The family barn - and family - resided in Adams County, Ohio, and this was 2001. It was also the beginning of a “Quilt Trail” with tributaries now in 43 United States and 2 Canadian Provinces.

Decorating barns is not new. Barns mostly were unpainted until the mid-1800’s. By 1850, paint was affordable and easy to come by and Pa. Dutch had a heritage of painting on just about everything! It didn’t take a huge leap from painting red barns to jazzing them up with a big ol’ garnishes that came to be called “hex signs.” 

Hex signs were generally stars, triangles and flowers inside circles and there’s a bunch of theory as to their meanings, most commonly something about superstition, but those theories are all merely guesswork.  

Two important things happened to set them in front of the american folk art eye: Pennsylvania Dutch farms were/are among the tidiest communities in our Country . They are simply beautiful and happened to be set among the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, itself a lovely part of our nation. These communities were stamped with every attribute we associate with agricultural/societal perfection and populated by equally perfect people: clean, self-reliant, creative, nurturing, and successful but humble. The combination made this a microcosm so foreign to the rest of us (Disneyland hadn’t been invented yet) that it became a tourist destination and wham-o!, (2) an enterprising speculator started selling hex signs as souvenirs.

I first came across Quilt Trails in North Carolina and jumped to the obvious (and wrong!) conclusion that North Carolinians were especially clever when it comes to crafts and how to market them. We began seeing squares on barns when we visited Penland. N.C. still holds a special place in my estimation; you can actually pick up tourist maps at any N.C. visitor center to follow barn trails. Digging a little further, I came across a web site for Ontario, Canada, where they hold workshops where you can design and paint your own squares and spares for people who agree to install but don’t want the dirty work.

Here’s a map of New York with counties that have quilt trails.  Just like us Yankees, however, nobody seems to know how to put it all together in a tourist package deal. Here’s another site that describes the mechanics of the whole enterprise.  

Or you can join me some summer day when I plan to paint my own barn quilt square.

   

MEMORIES OF WILLIAM CHRISTENBERRY

I walked into a large chalky white room with high ceilings, bare floors. The room itself seemed oddly vacant but for a smattering of little buildings about the sizes of most doll houses - maybe slightly smaller scale. The models sat on tables and pedestals only slightly higher than my waist. As expected in any museum, these objects were perfectly spotlighted from overhead; after all, this was the Museum of Modern Art. 

These obsessively detailed pieces of architecture were miniaturized churches, gas stations, general stores and fruit stands. They embodied life in the American south - or perhaps any part of America’s poor backroads communities where stores sold Nehi Grape soda and signs outside churches announced “Special prayer meeting tonite for Sister Grace.” 

Roofs more often than not were pieced together rusted sheet metal; most buildings were one room and a porch. Who knows when they were built? Or if they were built on purpose? More likely, they grew along the dirt road as naturally as milkweed.  

And after half a century or more, the buildings were abandoned, the road itself little more than tracks through the dirt. Customers gone to Walmart. All that remains are the ghosts.

I fell in love with William Christenberry that day nearly forty years ago.

Christenberry grew up in the deep south and says “I find beauty in things that are old and changing, wearing away.” He has spent his adult life documenting this now-obsolete way of life.  The models he builds are only part of the diary. Christenberry was one of the first artist to use color photography as an art form, pointing his Kodak brownie to these same objects and compiling the photographs into art collections. He’s collected metal signs along the way that now fill his 20 foot studio wall from floor to ceiling. I’m saving my money to someday buy a copy of his book “Working from Memory.”

Christenberry is 78 years old. Four years ago he was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. He’s at the tipping point with more bad days than good now and has just opened his very last exhibition at the Hemphill Fine Art Gallery  Logan Circle, Washington, D.C. The 26 works will be on view until August 1.  His love of the rural south and his exquisite eye will be missed.

IS IT LEGAL?

IT MAY BE ART BUT IS IT LEGAL? AND IS IT REALLY ART?

I came across this video documenting wall murals painted by Mona Caron. I think she lives in New York City but I don’t know where these images actually exist. Most of you know by now that I am not a big fan of wall murals. I’ve read most of the pro arguments and I’ve scouted out the photographs “before and after” and heard the words of various city art council proponents and still, I am pressed against the outside of the window while everybody else is indoors drinking the Kool Aid.

One of my biggest gripes about wall murals is the interchangeable nature of the things, especially the roving band of international painters whose snarling animals, swimming mer-fish, dots, and triangles shoot up brick walls regardless of city, county, country or continent. 

But here are these charming weed wisps, climbing across walls - thank you, Mona - and the accompanying video clearly illustrates that the inspiration is right there underfoot, nature growing between the sidewalk cracks.  Nice, right?

And there it is. They ARE nice but are they ART? Should it matter if they ARE “A”rt or simply “nice?”  And my only answer is “yes, it matters”…for the same reasons that illustration and decoration can be clever, pleasing…illicit all sorts of responses…and still not be ART. 

In spite of my tantrum, our city like most others, has a growing mural program. But Rochester, New York, has no “process” in place for these things and that bothers me as much as the installations themselves. Here are a few considerations:

Usually, a city has a process in place for submissions, reviewed by a public art committee or consultant. Committee choices are another of my “not favorite things” but the process insures that truly bad or distasteful images are not plastered across city streetscapes.

Accepted submissions are usually awarded money…an amount often representing at least the cost of materials and sometimes in the form of a matching grant.  This seems to me to be a much needed democratic process to avoid a patron’s personal dictatorship of taste.

An artist must in advance have the approval - signed and certified - of the property owner whose wall is about to become canvas. This “Art Easement” conveys with the property and should be recorded with the County.  MAINTENANCE of the work is the responsibility of the property owner.

Beyond this basic beginning, the contracts should include such decisions as reproduction rights and artists’ compensation and removal guidelines- by whom and under what circumstances.

Legal rights of artists are spelled out in the Visual Artists Rights Act, a fascinating look into the complexity of ownership.

Finally, I confess. What bothers me most about “public art wall murals” is that they are too often band aids. They are rarely painted across beautiful buildings, usually not allowed or wanted in the “best” neighborhoods and should never be seen on a truly unique architectural or historic structure. Somehow, we accept that they are just fine  - in fact, an improvement ! - in “blighted” areas of our city. 

Seems to me this is exactly like putting lipstick on a pig; there's still a bad smell to the whole theory.  

THE UBER-RICH

Let’s consider the uber-rich.  

Have you had that fantasy where, by some quirk of fate, you become a zillionaire?  If you are like me you begin by saying “first, I’ll give a bunch of money to (charity of choice) and then I’ll set up trust funds for all the members of my family.” (Because naturally, this will make you especially beloved and cherished even though historic examples show that your family will probably turn into jackles.)

I just spent a week in Oklahoma, my home state. Oil and gas accounts for the income of 1 of every 5 people in the State and about a third of that 20% are among the uber-rich. Everyone else is pretty much uber-poor. O & G have always been close to the hearts of Oklahomans but fracking created an entirely new batch of zillionaires. Consider the case of Harold Hamm.

Harold is a self-made zillionaire, the youngest of 13 children born of a cotton sharecropper in Enid, Oklahoma. He graduated from high school and yadda-yadda-yadda, now aged 72, is CEO of Continental Resources and in 2014, his net worth approached $20 billion (that’s a “B” for billion).

Sue Ann is divorcing Harold and she wants half of everything. On Jan.6, 2015, Harold tried to buy her off by sitting down and writing her a check for $985,000,000. In true Oklahoma style, she ripped the check up (later amended story: she cashed the check.)

The 2015 State Budget just changed the top income tax rate to 5%, a decrease from 5.25%, allocating $50 million dollars (total) to the Department of Education to support state local schools.  Oklahoma ranks 46 among the 50 United States in public school spending per pupil. Sue Ann could - all by herself - pay for one terrific public school system and Harold could complete the job by sending every single graduate to college. 

Meanwhile, the 6 Walton heirs (Sam Walton: founder of Wal-Mart) hold a combined net worth equal to the bottom 30% of all Americans. They are not Oklahomans; they are Arkansawyers, just over the border. 

So last week, I visited Bentonville, the corporate home of Wal-Mart and site of the brand new Crystal Bridges Art Museum, built by daughter Alice Walton.  Here’s a picture of said museum, designed by Moshe Safdie. Remember him Rochester people? He’s the architect that the County of Monroe paid somewhere around $3.4 million to design Renaissance Square Performing Arts Center that never got built.

Crystal Bridges Museum sits in a surprisingly beautiful rolling terrain surrounded by woods that were frosted with purple wild redbud and white dogwood trees. The collection itself is o.k. There’s a walking trail outside that meanders past large sculptures and lunch was above average.  Admission is free - courtesy of Wal-Mart Foundation and groups of school children may attend courtesy of a $20,000,000 gift from anonymous donor to offset transportation, substitute teachers, etc.

All very nice. But employees of Wal-Mart earn on average $8.81 per hour. There is no health insurance provided for employees working fewer than 24 hours a week and the company is one of several that is pushing to erase  worker comp laws.  Employees work - and shoppers shop- in possibly the Country’s ugliest buildings. Obviously, the bottom line is CHEAP and CHEAPER and American shoppers apparently see no connection between quality of life and quality of goods.

Today, the 30 year old CEO and Founder of Gravity Payments, Dan Price, announced after looking at significant scientific input showing that American workers reach “primary comfort” at earning benchmark of $70,000 per year, that every 120 employees of Gravity Payments would earn … you guessed?…a minimum of $70,000 per year (including himself.)

Mr. Price earned more than a million dollars annually until today’s “voluntary pay cut” so perhaps he has a few dollars set aside for a rainy day. His employees are quoted as saying such things as “my wife and I can start a family now” and “I can finally afford to buy a house for my son and myself.”

Does all this smack of socialism? I don’t know. I have spent my adult life preaching and selling the necessity of art and the value of culture. I want a healthy city symphony and beautiful parks. I protest ugly architecture and hate that the public must often choke down easy, cheap solutions to civic planning.

But in our search for the solution to “what to do about the poor?”, the obvious answer is to start by paying workers more money. And if there must be a choice between education and another art museum, I vote for education. 

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.