BirchLane.org
April
Tuesday 30
If It Is Tuesday It Must Be. Back to New York City today. Dinner with Dad. And tomorrow morning breakfast with CEO of prestigious TV Network (honest) who heard about my magazine, BirchLane, and wants me to publish some writing of his in it. I am thinking of asking him two things: 1) Help me to get some printing work from your company and 2) How would you like your network to sponsor next issue (i.e. run an advertisement for say $1,000 on inside back cover) to cover my expenses. Then: a visit to the MET; lunch with a friend who owns a top-notch photo lab that caters primarily to fashion industry; and visits to some galleries in Chelsea.
My appointments last week at Unilever Cosmetics (Calvin Klein, Nautica, Vera Wang, etc.)
and Christie's auction house could not have been any better. I spent one and one-half hours with the woman at CK and one hour at Christie's (that is a lot of time to be given). At CK I discover there is a great opportunity for beautiful printing work and the woman and I really hit if off: like me, she is a gourmet cook; she writes poetry; and her father-in-law is a pretty well-known photographer--I give her the recent issue of BirchLane. And at Christie's, well, it is simply one of those appointments you always hope for--an interesting person and the potential to print beautiful art-related work.
My Dad and I meet for dinner that night and I ask the waitresses if they will come outside so I can take their photographs.
Monday 29
The Frame. We know from our Art History classes that Clyfford Still said, "To be stopped by a frame's edge was intolerable." Yet the edge of a frame is somewhat of a premise of painting and Still had no strong argument against the physical fact of the frame; it was, rather, the metaphysical frame that he fought against; images therefore seek to become unenclosed by the frame.
Sunday 28
On Great Pond. Today I read a poem in church in celebration of National Poetry Month. I introduced it by saying Mary Oliver is one of my favorite poets; her work both spiritually and creatively inspiring.
At Great Pond
the sun, rising,
scrapes his orange breast
on the thick pines,
and down tumble
a few orange feathers into
the dark water.
On the far shore
a white bird is standing
like a white candle ---
or a man, in the distance,
in the clasp of some meditation ---
while all around me the lilies
are breaking open again
from the black cave
of the night.
Later, I will consider
what I have seen ---
what it could signify ---
what words of adoration I might
make of it, and to do this
I will go indoors to my desk ---
I will sit in my chair ---
I will look back
into the lost morning
in which I am moving, now,
like a swimmer,
so smoothly,
so peacefully,
I am almost the lily ---
almost the bird vanishing over the water
on its sleeves of night.Saturday 27
Partnerships. Our computer fix-it man saves my website and installs WindowsXP and Photoshop.
Friday 26
Crash. Our computer crashes and all e-mail disappears---forever.
Thursday 25
Angi. She e-mails me and says "please go to the Museum of Modern Art in New York City to see Life of the City." Go here to read more (please): This was my third or fourth time through the exhibit; Angi e-mailed me the night before and asked me to go for her. Why "Forever Transfixed?" The show is that powerful and the section of the stills from "Here Is New York: A Democracy of Photographs," will forever make people stop and be transfixed.
Wednesday 24
Good Vibrations. Simply--a beautiful day and excellent appointments at Unilever and Christie's.
Tuesday 23
Big Red Tomato. A photo of Lillian, a waitress from Brazil, who works at the Big Red Tomato in Fort Lee, NJ.
Monday 22
Art and Improvisation.
"Sometimes it is the artist's task to find out what music he can make with what he has left." Pincus Zuckerman, after completing a violin solo with three strings.
Sunday 21
Mechtild of Magdeburg. Today in church we hear a poem by her:
Do not disdain your body, for the soul is just as safe in
its body as in the kingdom of heaven -- though not so certain.
It is just as daring -- but not so strong
Just as powerful -- but not so constant
Just as loving -- but not so joyful
Just as gentle -- but not so rich
Just as holy -- but not yet so sinless
Just as content -- but not so complete
A celebrated medieval mystic, b. of a noble family in Saxony about 1210; d. at the Cistercian nunnery of Helfta near Eisleben, c. 1285. She experienced her first inspirations at the age of twelve, when, as she herself states, she was greeted by the Holy Ghost. From that time, the greeting was repeated daily. Under this inspiration she desired to be despised by all without, however, deserving it, and for this purpose left her home, where she had always been loved and respected, to become a Beguine at Mageleburg in 1230. Here, under the spiritual guidance of the Dominicans she led a life of prayer and extreme mortification. Her heavenly inspirations and ecstatic visions became more frequent and were of such a nature that they dispelled from the mind of her confessor all doubt as to their Divine origin. By his order she reluctantly wrote her visions.
The noblest joy of the senses, the holiest piece of the heart, the most resplendent luster of all good works derives from this: that the creature puts his or her heart wholly into what he or she does.
— Mechtild of Magdeburg quoted in Meditations with Mechtild of Magdeburg edited by Sue WoodruffSaturday 20
Terry (aka Diversify).
I do not remember the first time I talked with Terry. But she was one of the original contributors to the first issue of BirchLane. She is someone who I have always thought was blessed with purity of heart and spirit which in turn pervades her beautiful, eloquent, honest photographs. Today an unexpected gift arrives in the mail; a photograph from Terry.
Friday 19
Blah.
Thursday 18
My Life is a Tapestry. "Tapestry in the Renaissance" at the MET is one of the most inspiring and wonderful exhibitions I have seen in a long time. The tapestry below is "The Miraculous Draft of Fishes," Pieter van Aelst, after a cartoon by Raphael Sanzio, c. 1519 (tapestry in silk and wool, with silver-gilt threads; height 490 cm, width 441 cm).
From the MET online:
Tapestry in the Renaissance: Art and Magnificence
March 12, 2002–June 19, 2002
Special Exhibition Galleries, The Tisch Galleries, 2nd floor
The first major loan exhibition of tapestries in the United States in 25 years, and the first extensive survey of tapestry production between 1460 and 1560, this exhibition highlights the great cycles of the late 15th and first half of the 16th centuries as the unsung glories of Renaissance art. Considered the art form of kings, tapestries were a principal part of the ostentatious "magnificence" expected of any powerful ruler, and courts and churches lavished vast sums on costly weavings in silk and gold thread from designs by leading artists such as Raphael, Giulio Romano, and Bronzino. The exhibition features some 41 of the greatest tapestries of the period along with about 16 preparatory drawings and designs drawn from 33 collections (including the Vatican, the Louvre, and the British Royal Collection) in 12 countries. The exhibition explores the stylistic and technical development of tapestry production in the Low Countries, France, and Italy from 1460 to 1560 and highlights the contributions that the medium made to the art, liturgy, and propaganda of the day.
Above we see The Month of March, tapestry from the Maximilian's Hunts series (Brussels, circa 1528-1533 Tapestry, wool, silk, gold and silver thread
H 4,40 m; W 7,50 m) Woven in Brussels, the largest centre of tapestry weaving in the 16th century, this piece belongs to a set of twelve tapestries depicting hunting scenes in the countryside around Brussels. The set is organized around the twelve months of the year; it has been attributed to Bernard van Orley, a Flemish painter who was prominent in tapestry design. In all probability woven in the workshop of Jan Ghieteels, the set has been dated to sometime between 1528 (from the communal stamp which became obligatory that year) and 1533 (from the building progress on the old ducal palace in Brussels shown in the month of March), Called Maximilian's Hunts because of the supposed portrait of Maximilian I killing the wild boar in the month of December, the set belonged to Mazarin and then to Louis XIV.It is generally estimated that a weaver could produce slightly more than one square yard of coarse tapestry each month. Higher quality production, with a finer wrap and weft count, was much slower, yielding perhaps half a square yard per month. To put this is perspective a tapestry on display, "Nobilitas," which is regarded as of the "most sumptuous and visually complex ever produced," has a surface area of 482 square yards, incorporating depictions of 336 different figures.
I left the exhibition feeling renewed and mindful of the need to be more patient in my art--writing and photography. An example: My friend, Angi, who lives in Germany, e-mailed me Wednesday night and said "Bruce, check out this exhibition...... I'll be jealous as hell, but hey......" It was scheduled to open Thursday night, but I went thinking maybe I could get to see it early; I did and it was fantastic--amazing photographs. And then five minutes after I arrive in walks the photographer; I just knew it was him. He spoke little English but I asked him if I could take his picture and he said yes. Afterwards, I felt I did not heed what I learned at the tapestry show, which was to be patient; I rushed the photo and didn't do a particualrly good job directing him. See:
Wednesday 17
Stacy.
Tuesday 16
There is a Girl Hiding in Daryl's Closet! The story starts here: On Saturday we woke early and drove 4 1/2 hours to Ithaca College. Danielle was accepted in the P.T. program there (and at Quinnipiac; she told me she did not like Quinnipiac because she saw no people of color on the campus--I was so proud of her). We were all greatly impressed with the faculty, staff and students we met. And that's it. She's going to Ithaca and as one of the PT profs said the school has "great colors, a great team nickname and there is a lake nearby!" It is a five year masters program with the last year being conducted on campus at the University of Rochester, one of top med schools in country. Lots of people of color on campus. And she will try out for the soccer and lacrosse teams.
We left an hour or two earlier for home than expected. Daryl was, we thought, eating dinner at a neighbor's house--and spending the night there as well. As we drove up Birch Lane toward our house, I thought, hmmmmm, that is strange--all the lights in the house are turned off. I get out of the car and see enough lacrosse equipment to field a team on the front steps. Daryl and Michael are at the door as I open it. "Should we walk Daisy," Daryl asks. "Ah, No," I say. "What's all this stuff?" I ask. Daryl says "Oh, Sean didn't want it anymore and dropped it off." Alarm. Alarm. Alarm. There are 15 lacrosse sticks and helmets on the steps. But nothing else seems suspicious---yet. I take a shower. Meanwhile, Besty confronts Daryl and he says, yes, he had a little party "BUT" he didn't mean too. Keep in mind I am upstairs--naked. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass. Maybe 30 minutes. I get dressed and check Daryl's room; everything seems fine (no beer bottles!)I go downstairs to the basement and just as I thought everyone had snuck out the back trap-door. Except for one person. Chelsea. And she is still hiding upstairs in Daryl's closet. Not to embarrass her (or ourselves) we let Daryl take her outside without seeing anyone. All I can think is thank god I didn't check Daryl's cloest and thank god she is is dressed. Oh, to be thirteen again.Alaina said I was being "evil and old" grounding him......so I took him to hit golf balls.
Good swing!
Monday 15
Inspiration. Here.
Sunday 14
First Bear of Spring.
Saturday 13
God and Nietzsche.
"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."
Have you not heard of that madman who lit a lantern in the bright morning hours, ran to the market-place, and cried incessantly: "I am looking for God! I am looking for God!"
As many of those who did not believe in God were standing together there, he excited considerable laughter. Have you lost him, then? said one. Did he lose his way like a child? said another. Or is he hiding? Is he afraid of us? Has he gone on a voyage? or emigrated? Thus they shouted and laughed. The madman sprang into their midst and pierced them with his glances.
"Where has God gone?" he cried. "I shall tell you. We have killed him - you and I. We are his murderers. But how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained the earth from it's sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions? Is there any up or down left? Are we not straying as through an infinite nothing? Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is it not more and more night coming on all the time? Must not lanterns be lit in the morning? Do we not hear anything yet of the noise of the gravediggers who are burying God? Do we not smell anything yet of God's decomposition? Gods too decompose. God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers of all murderers, console ourselves? That which was the holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet possessed has bled to death under our knives. Who will wipe this blood off us? With what water could we purify ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we need to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we not ourselves become gods simply to be worthy of it? There has never been a greater deed; and whosoever shall be born after us - for the sake of this deed he shall be part of a higher history than all history hitherto."
Here the madman fell silent and again regarded his listeners; and they too were silent and stared at him in astonishment. At last he threw his lantern to the ground, and it broke and went out. "I have come too early," he said then; "my time has not come yet. The tremendous event is still on it's way, still travelling - it has not yet reached the ears of men. Lightning and thunder require time, the light of the stars requires time, deeds require time even after they are done, before they can be seen and heard. This deed is still more distant from them than the distant stars - and yet they have done it themselves."
It has been further related that on that same day the madman entered divers churches and there sang a requiem. Led out and quietened, he is said to have retorted each time: "what are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?"
from The Gay Science (aka Joyous Wisdom)Friday 12
Do Not Forget This. After dinner I drive Daryl to his friend's house where he will spend the night because Betsy, Danielle and I are waking at 4 in the morning to drive to Ithaca College and won't be home till midnight. As soon as we get in the car Daryl turns on the radio and System of a Down, Toxicity comes on and we look at each other and say "wow." And then "In The End" by Linkin Park. We pick up his friend and then Shaina Twain comes on singing her hit "Man I Feel Like a Woman" and they both say "Wow, this is great." So much so, in fact, Daryl is singing pretty loud and the window is open and the radio is loud, too, and a little kid riding his bike next to us looks at Daryl and, oops, crashes into a wall. And then it is push, push for another station and "In the White Room," by Cream comes on and both kids go "Yes, yes" and play air guitars in the car till we get where we are going. It was fun. And good music, too. "I feel like a................."
Thursday 11
Regarding Emma.
It is a new book of photographs taken by someone I went to college with a long, long time ago. The photographer, Melissa Ann Pinney, writes:
My mother, at seventy years of age, told me that every time she looked in the mirror she wondered who "that old bat" was looking back. In her mindıs eye she still had the face she had at eighteen. This, after eight children and forty years of marriage. The photographs explore both the persistence of the child in the woman and the early cultivation of the woman in the child. Girlhood may be understood as a part of a continuum that women revisit regardless of age.
I e-mailed this link to a few people today and got back this note from Angi, my friend/photographer/gallery owner in Germany:
oh my god.
i am in awe. do you think she'd ever want to do an exhibition over here.
i'm just thinking of a small gallery that i know of that will be opening up later on this year...
thank you so so so much for sharing this bruce. i am really in awe. and i needed something like this. right now. tonight.
just walked in the door.
angi.
Wednesday 10
She Had a Dream. Today I saw an exhilarating exhibition of story quilts by Faith Ringgold; part fictional, they are based on the racial experience of fleeing to freedom. She writes: "I became an artist for the same reason I became a writer - I wanted to tell my story." And from her site:
Faith Ringgold, began her artistic career more than 35 years ago as a painter. Today, she is best known for her painted story quilts -- art that combines painting, quilted fabric and storytelling. She has exhibited in major museums in the USA, Europe, South America, Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. She is in the permanent collection of many museums including the Studio Museum in Harlem, the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, and The Museum of Modern Art. Her first book, Tar Beach was a Caldecott Honor Book and winner of the Coretta Scott King Award for Illustration, among numerous other honors. She has written and illustrated eleven children's books. She has received more than 75 awards, fellowships, citations and honors, including the Solomon R. Guggenheim Fellowship for painting, two National Endowment for the Arts Awards and seventeen honorary doctorates, one of which is from her alma mater The City College of New York.
Tuesday 09
Why.
Of course, there will always be
those who look only at technique, who ask "how,"
while others of a more curious nature will ask "why."
Personally, I have always preferred
inspiration to information.
- Man RayMonday 08
In My Room.
Sunday 07
The Madness of Love. As is tradition in our church, poems are read every Sunday during the month of April in celebration of National Poetry Month. Today, the minister reads a poem by Hadewych, undeniably the greatest Dutch poet of the 13th century. Hadewych of Antwerp lived and wrote before the year 1260. Although not much is known about her life, we know that she was of noble birth and lived near a church. Some of her works seem to portray that she had telepathic powers. Hadewych was greatly influenced by Love-Mysticism, which stressed the worship of Christ and God as the most perfect Love. She was a strong-willed, high spirited woman who expressed the passions of her philosophical ideas through her literary works. Her books, essays, manuscripts, and poems portray her concepts of God's Divinity and humankind. Hadewych of Antwerp had many mystical visions throughout her lifetime. Unlike Beatrice of Nazareth and Mechtild of Magdeburg, Hadewych believed that her visions were her "intellectual imaginations of the soul's perceptions." She wrote a book, titled Visions, in which she describes the spiritual visions from her soul to her mind. Only the seventh Vision in this work resulted from the appearance of Jesus Christ to Hadewych by transforming into his true figure from the form of an eagle.
At some point she was criticized for her views, perhaps forced out of her community, and separated from women for whom she cared. Her need to keep in touch with them and to continue to teach and encourage them seems to have led to her writings: 31 letters (Brieven), 14 descriptions of visions (Visioenen), 45 poems in stanzaic form (Strofische Gedichten), and 16 to 29 poems in mixed form (Mengeldichten).
Hadewijch also compiled a "List of the Perfect," describing 86 persons, living and dead, whom she described as "clothed in love"; the list includes a beguine who had been executed, probably in 1236. It is from the datable references in this list that Hadewijch has been assigned to the mid-1200s.
The following note is quoted from "Hadewijch: the Complete Works" by Mother Columba Hart, O.S.B.; preface by Paul Mommaers, S. J. (Paulist Press, 1980):
"Hadewijch, a Flemish Beguine of the 13th century, is undoubtedly the most important exponent of love mysticism and one of the loftiest figures in the Western mystical tradition. Love mysticism sprang up during the second half of the 12th century in the area roughly corresponding to present-day Belgium. It is a predominantly feminine phenomenon, and its essential hallmark, as shown by the term "love" (minne), is that union with God is lived here on earth as a love relationship." (Paul Mommaers, S.J.)
The madness of love
Is a rich fief;
Anyone who recognized this
Would not ask Love for anything else:
It can unite Opposites
And reverse the paradox.
lam declaring the truth about this:
The madness of love makes bitter what was sweet,
It makes the stranger a kinsman,
And it makes the smallest the most proud.
To souls who have not reached such love,
I give this good counsel:
If they cannot do more,
Let them beg Love for amnesty,
And serve with faith,
According to the counsel of noble Love,
And think: 'It can happen,
Love's power is so great!'
Only after his death
Is a man beyond cure.I like this, too:
You who want
knowledge,
seek the Oneness
withinThere you
will find
the clear mirror
already waitingSaturday 06
Spring Cleaning. I was cleaning my desk and my desk drawers and found this poem (I don't know who wrote it, but I like it):
Sunny
Look,
they are coming out pretty this morning!
A neighborly Blue pushes rickety-clack baby carriage
outside Venetian blinds,
the sun in sullied garden gloves,
pours from a pitcher
great SLOSHING up floods
in the valleys of the Child's cotton night gown,
and all the doting angels of Silence,
like frisky maiden aunts,
potter around the miniature room,
tidying the air--
while
drooling on her pillow
like a tiped cup,
the Child
yawns a big O,
mouthful of cloudsFriday 05
An Image. Terry Palka took this photograph. I have not been able to forget it; I think it is powerful, creative, original; it brings to my mind the best of the Surrealists.
Thursday 04
What Kind of Monster Have I Created?
It is 6:40 in the morning. Daryl calls me into the living room to watch MTV with him before he leaves for school; to hear System of a Down sing "Toxicity." I love this song so I sit and listen/watch with him. Time for school. Daryl gets into the car and plugs in his CD players and says "Now listen to this Dad." It is "One" by Metallica, a song I told him about as soon as I heard it. I said, "Daryl, you got to hear this song. It is awesome." And now it is non-stop Metallica. "Dad," Daryl says. "I can't stop listening to this song." Hmmmm.
Wednesday 03
Alaina. She has one of the most interesting sites I have ever seen (self-portrait by Alaina).
Tuesday 02
Earth Pubic Lending Library. I am thinking of something the artist, graphic designer, and teacher Jouke Kleerebezem wrote last year that particularly interested me. He wrote:
"Imagine now the creation of databases where my work as an artist--text, audiovisuals and still imagery--is banked, together with the work of my peers...the bank would be a collaborative studio, an industry--or a bar, a meeting place, a true place of exchange." I was reminded of this quote/idea today for a number of reasons. First, something Paul Perry wrote got me thinking:
Why pay attention to how we tell stories? Beyond recognising the need to capture our experience (and represent ourselves) in stories (reflecting our need for what? ...closure?, ...sureity?, ...death?) might we not consider the possibility of a choice -- being able to choose from a repertoire of potential procedures and patterns -- such that we can alter our relation (identification/identity) to what we experience? Story hacking -- to operate on the 'how' of our own stories -- might be the best way to play with 'reality' (why try to act like a normal human being when we all know that the muppets have so much more fun?). Second, a few weeks ago, my friend Angela Gwinner, a artist/photographer/gallery owner who lives in Germany sent me a photo and said:
write the words...
a story...
of the woman within the girl...
and the secrets she holds.
or whatever it is, that provokes a thought, a translation within...I did write a few words and a "stranger," Ben Bakelaar, found them on the internet, sent me an e-mail about them and that he was working on re-touching this image and a few others (if I didn't mind). He created this:
Third, a doctor in India e-mails me poems today for the next issue of BirchLane.
Monday 01
Play Ball. At my high school reunion two years ago, someone remarked how they had always thought I would grow up and become a famous baseball player.
That's me in the middle with the basball bats & glove
