Started this post late June, just getting around to finishing it. Sorry for the delay.
A couple of weeks ago, I traveled up at MASS MoCA for a wedding. My friend Meredith was marrying her boyfriend of 10 years, Andres. There's many places I would have traveled to in order to help them celebrate their wedding, but I was excited that I had a reason to go up to MASS MoCA.
MASS MoCA opened in 1999 on the site of a vast complex of 19th century factory buildings in North Adams, Massachusetts. They curate a range of shows, from student shows from William's College, a current show featuring Anselm Kiefer and Joseph Beuys, and a group show featuring Sam Taylor Wood and Pawel Wojtasik. The show I was most excited about was the Sol LeWitt retrospective.
Sol LeWitt has been one of my favorite artist since I first saw one of his pieces when on an architectural travel trip in college in 1991. His work was featured in a group show at CAPC, Musee D'Art Contemporain in Bordeaux, France. What struck me was the simplicity of his earliest works where the art is a set of instructions to be followed by anyone. His art was pure concept that could be installed anywhere. I really considered trying to install one in my apartment. Over the years anytime I've seen his work that feeling returns. This has been joined by appreciating the ephemeral aspects of his work once it's installed. Although the pieces installed at DIA Beacon are in one of their permanent galleries, the wall drawings at the Whitney were gone once the show ended.
The show at MASS MoCA is installed in a three story mill building, one floor each for his early, mid-career, and late work. The entire show will be there until 2033. Yes, that's right, a 25 year long installation. The show was installed over a period of six months by students from Williams College, students from Yale, and other art professionals from various colleges along with artists who had worked with Sol LeWitt over the last 25 years. My first thought while watching the installation video was 'what I would have given to have the opportunity to participate in this show.' Here are some other thoughts about selected works:
WALL DRAWING 51: ALL ARCHITECTURAL POINTS CONNECTED BY STRAIGHT LINES http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=51
This is one of his works that affects me the most. It is only one of the only works that changes drastically depending on where its installed. The number of openings in a wall affects the lines, if there are soffits, the work changes - it the work that is most influenced by architecture. It is also created by one of the most basic building tools - a chalk line.
WALL DRAWING 38: TISSUE PAPER CUT INTO 1 1/2" (4 CM) SQUARES AND INSERTED INTO HOLES IN THE GRAY PEGBOARD WALLS. ALL HOLES IN THE WALLS ARE FILLED RANDOMLY http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=38 This work appeals to my most anal side. All holes are the same size and spaced evenly. All paper to be inserted is cut to the same size. If any of you have seen the sewing on my ditty bag, you will know why I find an affinity to such precise work. I also enjoy the trickery where the rolls of paper appear to be straws all cut to the same size. The difference here between installations is the color pattern created by the grouping of straws.
WALL DRAWING 146A: ALL TWO-PART COMBINATIONS OF ARCS FROM CORNERS AND SIDES, AND STRAIGHT, NOT STRAIGHT, AND BROKEN LINES WITHIN A 36-INCH GRID (90 CM). WHITE CRAYON ON BLUE WALL http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=146A
There is a clarity of intention here. A curve or a line was assigned a number. The artist designed a grid, laying out the numbers, creating a play between curves, lines, and angles. And the blue is a fantastic background. WALL DRAWINGS 822: A WALL DIVIDED HORIZONTALLY BY A CURVY LINE. THE TOP IS FLAT BLACK; THE BOTTOM IS GLOSSY BLACK. http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=822
A beautiful work of simplicity. One color, one continuous curve. The only difference is the texture of the paint above and below the curve. The black is oppressive, but with the light ceiling and the natural light flooding in from the windows, the space still feels open and dynamic due to the movement of the defining line between paint textures.
WALL DRAWING 1260 AND 1261: SCRIBBLES http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=1260 http://www.massmoca.org/lewitt/walldrawing.php?id=1261
These are two of his last works, and he never saw them installed. Although I'm saddened by the fact he never saw these two drawings realized, I think it speaks to the intent of his work that they are still successful although he never applied his own hand in them. These were both created with squiggly lines, placed in varying proximity to each other to create light and dark areas. These remind me of my own efforts with sketching with stippling in college. My own efforts were not nearly as fantastic, but I do have an appreciation for how much work goes into drawings like this.
Out of the three floors of installations, these six works had the biggest impression on me. I walked through the exhibit hours prior to the wedding, but it was upon the ceremony that the beauty of the work came through. One of the galleries was the backdrop for the wedding. I can't imagine a better setting.
I know I always dream, but I don't always remember what I was dreaming about when I wake up. This morning was one of those that I did.
MONDAY, JUNE 15TH, 5 OR 6 AM OR SO It was a summer day on the waterfront, and we were getting Pioneer ready for a day's sails. However, there was snow on the gangway and the float. One of those rare summer snowstorms, I reckon. So the first order of business was to clear the snow. Of course. The volunteers got out of their snow wear and stripped down to shorts and t-shirts since it was summer, and got down to work.
The boat was twice as big in my dream, and one could stand down below. For some reason, the bowsprit was accessed from there, and I had to chase a bunch of volunteers that were dressed as pirates and were just lazing about, as pirates are bound to do.
Since I was so busy corralling some volunteers to clean snow and others to just do something to prepare for the day's voyages, I had no time to do what I would normally be doing before we leave the float, like assign docklines. The captain starts calling for lines to be removed, and I end up doing all four. I then realize that the captain is Aaron - those of you who know the boat know that that just wouldn't happen these days.
We get off the dock, and I start to relax, and then Frank - who was mate - tells me that I better go get a handle on what's going on up on the bow. I look up, and there's about 15 volunteers up at the bow, all but two I don't recognize. I go forward to assess the situation. As I start assigning watches, telling most of them that they're off watch for now, the realization slowly creeps in that none of these people (other than Primoch and Crystal, the only two I knew) had never been on a boat before. No training sails, no drug test, and of course about half of them were crowded forward of the traveler bar, a place where non-trained, non-drug tested volunteers are not to go.
I start to get frustrated with them, telling them that they are basically of no use to me without having been on a training sail. One woman whips out the sail training manual, shaking it at me, and asking me to tell her where that is stated in the manual that two training sails and a drug test are required to work public sails. No telling where she got it since she hadn't been on one, and had not talked to the coordinator.
Then I woke up. It didn't take long to start wondering what in the hell was going on with that dream. Although the indignant volunteers who knew nothing may have been inspired by some of the people that were sitting in front of me during my flight back from California last night.
I rarely have illogical dreams like this, although they are the most fun to think about. When I was younger, probably around 6 or 7 years old, I used to have a reoccuring dream, where Abbot and Costello had taken on the form of Humpty Dumpty, and would just chase me endlessly. Try to explain that one. Although it could have been prompted by this: Yeah, my sister's and I were big fans of Scooby-Doo.
Typically my bad dreams are more of the garden variety work/family/friend anxiety dreams that have no bearing in real life. Occasionally, these dreams can seem so real. There are also the dreams, usually not bad or good, about people that are no longer in my life. The dream will be more like a film clip of something that happened, sometimes the facts have changed, or things happen in a different order, or sometimes its something i wish had happened or had been said. The worst of these result in waking with a hollow feeling of really missing the guest star.
A man's Self is the sum total of all that he can call his. --William James, 1890
This quote strikes me as speaking directly to American consumerism. I'll admit, I'm not immune to it. As some of you may know, I have a shoe collection. For serious collectors, its a modest collection (46 at current count), but its still obvious when standing in my apartment. Yes, some are strewn around the studio floor, but its in looking at the shelving unit separating the 'living space' from the 'sleeping space' (those of you who live in NYC studios know what I'm talking about) that one becomes aware. Four out of the twelve shelves are taken up by either shoe boxes or loose pairs.
I blame (or credit) my mother for what some may call a problem? an obsession? a worthwhile investment? Growing up, every year my mother would take my two sisters and I shoe shopping. Being a very pragmatic woman, shoe shopping with her as a child was about 180 degrees from shoe shopping as the adult me. Shoe shopping would consist of replacing the oxblood oxfords that were good for growing feet. Sometimes we could break out and get some sensible Mary Janes. See Buster Brown ad to the left.
On one of these trips, I saw something different. I saw what I wanted. I imagined wearing them all the time. They were a pair of turquoise blue, patent leather, Mary Janes. Three straps, fastened with snaps. To my eight year old self, these were the height of fashion. I brought over the sample shoe to my mother and told her that I wanted to try them on. She shot me down, and listed the reasons as to why these were not a proper purchase. These reasons, I don't remember. I do remember the shoes.
I think I was in college when I bought my first pair of shoes with my own money. It was in Georgetown, and I bought my first pair of Dr. Martens. Funny enough, they were oxblood in color. They were 8-eyelet boots. I wore them all through college, and they moved with me to San Francisco. I think they eventually fell apart.
My latest pair I got at DSW a couple of days ago. They are a pair of 3" high Calvin Klein silver wedges. Two straps, one across the toes, one across the front of the ankle. The wedge is a stacked wooded heel, the sole is lined with a beige linen which has a silver thread woven through it, and is a lovely contrast with the thick silver straps.
Over the span of 20 years, that's quite a lot of shoes, and quite an evolution. Below are the stories of some of my favorites.
FLUEVOG VARIOUS STYLESACQUIRED: 1995-1999 I discovered Fluevog's while living in San Francisco. Although all Fluevog's are all distinctive, there share a quality of craftsmanship that is somewhat unparalleled. On a lot of their models, the detailing goes right to the sole, where there would be a design that could be left behind you (Campers seem to have followed in this tradition). I've had three pairs. Fluevog's have a following, and Firefly, a great shoe store down in Raleigh (unfortunately, RIP) curated an exhibit at their store in 2007 of previous shoes, collected from their customers. I didn't have time to send mine in, but I sent photos.
The first pair I owned were a gift from my friend Jody. He got them at Villains on Haight Street. I had seen them when we were out shopping one day, and he picked them up for my birthday. I loved the big buckle! They reminded me of pilgrim shoes, or what we were told the footwear of the pilgrims looked like. I wore these a lot when I lived in San Francisco. The second pair I bought were also purchased at Villains. This place always had a great sale going on, and they always seemed to have my size. My friend Heidi had recently gotten a similar pair, and when I saw her's, I was immediately envious of her purchase. They were very baroque looking, and her's were baby pink patent leather. I walked into Villains one day, and there they were, the same style in lime green suede. In my size. I bought them without question.
The third pair I bought here. It was right before the Millennium, and Heidi and I were hosting a New Year's Eve party. There was still an air of not knowing if all computer systems were going to shut down, and what would happen at the chime of midnight. Would we return to the dark ages? Would we dance to Prince and just forget about it all? I think most people thought if there were any glitches, we'd just have a couple of leisurely days off before the computer geniuses figured it all out, and life returned to normal. I for one, was looking for a unique pair of shoes to go with my black dress. I immediately headed to the Fluevog store on Prince Street. I'm looking, I'm looking, and then I spot a great pair. Leather strappy sandals on wooden platforms like geisha shoes. Perfect for a December/January party, at least one that you were hosting, and didn't have to leave the house. Midnight passed without incident, and I still have these shoes.
PRADA, WEDGE HEELED ANKLE BOOTS ACQUIRED BARNEY'S WAREHOUSE SALE, WINTER 1999 I had just moved to New York to attend Columbia for Grad School the previous summer, and this was the first time I went to the annual Barney's sale. Bernardo and I had made a plan to go, he wanted to get a suit (Prada or Hugo Boss) and I went just to see the crazy atmosphere. I had heard stories of no dressing rooms, women disrobing in the middle of aisles to try on the discounted wares. After walking through the rows and rows of clothes, nothing really catching my eye, I headed for the shoes, aisle of size 9. I couldn't believe it. There they were, a pair of Prada boots that I'd seen, probably in Vogue. They were marked down to $100 from $500. I tried them on - they fit. I've worn them only a couple of times, but still consider them one of the most beautiful pairs I've ever bought (they are a perfect example of the ridiculous adage that you have to suffer for fashion). The silky fabric, the line of the heel is a work of art. Bernardo didn't find a suit at the sale, so we headed down to Century 21. He found something proper and met his goal for the day, then we went to Windows on the World to end the day with drinks, something that unfortunately cannot be done anymore. I hold on to this pair for the memory of that day that they were purchased, and that time in my life.
MARC BY MARC JACOBSRUST COLORED SUEDE BOOTSACQUIRED 2004 Overall, these are my favorite from the collection. The color and texture are amazing, and they make me really tall. They have a 4-inch stacked wooden heel, and cowboy boot details. To the left is a photo of me in the boots, rocking out during the company office party. My decision to buy these are murky, but I do believe it was done with the help of Carrie, otherwise known as The Enabler. These boots were going to stretch my budget, and there were questions raised, such as, "Will you regret not buying them? Will you always remember pining for them?" This line of questioning recalled my thoughts of the turquoise patent leather shoes of my childhood. I did not want to remember passing these by in my 60's.
These boots also have a certain power to them. These boots have brought a man to his knees. They have also made another man carry me for a couple of blocks since my feet were killing me. Sometimes, power is good.
I know that there are some of you out there scoffing at what you see as frivolity. You're allowed. Do I need these shoes? No. I'm well aware that no one needs nearly 50 pairs of shoes (give me to the end of the year, I may get there). In grad school while helping me move, friends called me Imelda. We all know who they were referring to. Out of all the excesses of Marcos - the second palace, the office tower in Manhattan, the charges of vote buying and election fraud, the ordering of martial law...what is remembered is the 2,700 pairs of shoes that had their own room. There's something about owning more shoes than you need that smacks of excess to some. I'm not going to claim that all my shoes have meaning, but there are a lot of them that carry a memory for me and are part of my history.
