Tears and Smiles

November 19, 2015 – Tears and Smiles

It was nearly a week ago.  It was an ordinary day.  Elliott was taking his afternoon nap, and I was working on a new blog post, a light-hearted entry I was going to call A Reason to Smile.  As usual, when I’m writing, I lost track of the time.  Around 5:00 p.m., I decided to take a break.  For some reason, maybe to catch the local weather report, I flipped on the television news.  And that’s when I learned about the attacks in Paris.  One horrific detail after another, one disturbing image after another – part of me wanted to shut it out, but instead, I stood transfixed in front of the screen. 

I tore myself away to wake Elliott and we sat together, stunned, listening to the news coverage.  It would be terrible anywhere on the planet.  Yet Paris holds a special place in our hearts.  It’s the city where we met.  And now our beloved Paris was reeling from this savage attack.  We felt a certain numbness, similar to what we felt at the time of the 9/11 attacks in 2001, when we wondered if life could ever return to “normal.”  Although the obsessive worry subsided over time, our sense of security was shattered, never to be completely regained.  This is the world we now live in, a world where random acts of terror threaten the lives of every man, woman, and child.  Yet we learned to go about our lives, as we must, and eventually we learned to find joy again. 

In the last couple of days, when I thought about going back to my writing, I knew that A Reason to Smile was no longer an appropriate title.  However, I still want to share with you some of the brighter moments from the past week or so. 

First of all, Elliott is smiling again.  That’s because he has his lower teeth back, and they’re even better than before.  No more mush meals!  He’s relishing “real” food, and he’ll be ready to chomp his way through Thanksgiving dinner next week.  In addition, his new hearing aids are working out extremely well.  Also, in a recent marathon of medical appointments, Elliott got a good report from his ophthalmologist.  His eyes are stable and he’s experiencing less bothersome irritation since he started using antibiotic eye drops and ointment on a daily basis.  Finally, Elliott’s pulmonologist is extremely pleased with the condition of his lungs.  We’ve set up Elliott’s next appointment for May of 2016, the same month he turns 104. 

I’ve had reasons to smile as well.  I’ve done several days of subbing at Annandale High School, which requires me to get up a little earlier than usual.  While working takes a big chunk of time out of the day, it has certain advantages, such as allowing me to witness the sunrise.  Of course, there’s a financial benefit (paychecks!), a social benefit (seeing old friends), and a psychic benefit.  After much reflection (and a few good therapy sessions), I’ve come to the conclusion that I retired a bit prematurely.  Teaching was a huge part of my life and I really wasn’t ready to give it up four years ago.  Although caring for Elliott takes up much of my time and energy, I realize it’s important to continue working in a way that’s useful to society.  Already, I’ve noticed that I feel more content. 

I’m even feeling good about the shorter days.  Strangely enough, I’m looking forward to a few months of evening hibernation at home.  However, if you’re craving more afternoon daylight, did you know that you don’t have to wait until the winter solstice for the sun to start setting later?  It’s true.  I just discovered that, in Washington, DC, the sun will begin to set later on December 14.  On the other hand, the sun won’t start to rise earlier until January 12.  This is due to several factors:  the elliptical shape of the Earth’s path around the Sun, the axial tilt of the Earth, and the latitude of the particular location.  You can read more about this at the time and date website where I found this information. 

 

And for your edification, here’s the quote of the week from my art history class, where we’re studying Post-Minimalism:  “The tautological play in Conceptual Art is a linguistic play on Modernism’s emphasis on art being self-reflexive and self-referential.”  What fun! 

Last but not least, I get my daily dose of smiles by looking at Sylvie pics.  A big thank you to Elisa and Christian for the wonderful photos and captions.  It’s hard to believe my adorable granddaughter is four months old.  What joy she brings to our lives!

Playing Catch Up

November 9, 2015 – Playing Catch Up

It’s time to stop being so busy, busy, busy so I can catch up with my writing.  This seems like the right moment:  a drizzly fall afternoon, while Elliott naps.  Wrapped in a cozy sweater, I’m sipping my cup of vanilla almond tea and watching the gray sky darken.  Sometimes, it’s just good to be home.  I haven’t had that opportunity very often these past few weeks. 

Shortly after Elliott and I returned from our road trip to Orange, VA (which I wrote about in my previous post), I packed up for a 4-day trip to New York.  As usual, I had a whirlwind of activities planned.  First stop, Brooklyn, for some fun time with Elisa and Sylvie.  (Sorry, it was a workday for Christian.)  Activities included reading books, giving Sylvie a bath, and taking a walk in the neighborhood.  My granddaughter is bigger, more active, more alert and communicative, and, if possible, even cuter than before!  

with Sylvie (3 1/2 months)

It was hard to tear myself away but my next stop was Manhattan for a long-awaited reunion with two dear friends from my school days on Long Island.  I re-connected with Sherry, who was visiting from California, and Hilary, who still lives in the New York area, through Facebook.  We had a lot to talk about after more than 46 years, and I must say that the three of us looked great!  We’ll definitely plan another get-together in the coming year.  

with Hilary (left) and Sherry (center)

Next stop was Greenwich Village, where I checked into the Washington Square hotel and met up with my longtime friend Gale, who relocated to Florida after she retired from teaching in Alexandria, Virginia.  Thanks to Gale’s research, we had made our reservations well in advance to coincide with the famed Greenwich Village Halloween parade on Saturday night.  We may not have been the oldest spectators lining 6^th Avenue, but members of our generation were certainly not in the majority.  It was fun to watch the colorful, noisy spectacle making its way north, although the crowd was so dense that it was hard to see many of the participants.  After an hour standing in one spot and craning our necks to get a glimpse of the parade, Gale and I meandered back toward Washington Square and Eighth Street, admiring the costumes of the revelers.    

In addition to joining the Halloween festivities, we found time to see two Broadway shows over the weekend.  The first, Something Rotten, is a wildly clever, witty and high-energy musical set in Shakespearean London.  The outrageous storyline centers on a not-so-successful playwright who’s looking for a way to compete with the Bard.  He consults a soothsayer who tells him that in the future, plays will feature characters bursting into song and dance.  There are numerous references to past musicals, and if you’re a fan of the musical theater like I am, you’ll find this show extremely entertaining. 

The second show we saw was the Tony-Award winning musical, Fun Home.  This was a beautifully constructed, staged and performed show that is based on the graphic memoir of Alison Bechdel.  Although it’s a musical and has its funny moments, Fun Home is primarily a serious piece of theater about growing up in a dysfunctional family and dealing with gender identification issues. 

Of course, there was time for eating.  Before the Friday evening show, we had a very tasty Greek dinner (lots of mezze) at Dafni Taverna in the theater district.  And since it was unseasonably warm, some frozen custard from Shake Shack was de rigueur on our way to the theater.  After the show, Gale had her obligatory slice of Junior’s cheesecake while I munched on my customary evening chocolate.  (I never travel without a bar of Trader Joe’s 85% dark.) 

On Saturday morning, we took a quick subway ride up to MOMA to see the Picasso sculpture show (and to shop at the gift shop).  The exhibit showcased Picasso’s range and development as a sculptor over more than 7 decades.  Some of my favorite pieces were the assemblages he did in the 1950s while living in the South of France.  By the way, we had very good quick lunch in the museum’s café.   

I spent my last morning taking a leisurely walk through the Village right after breakfast.  Barricades still lined many of the streets.  In Washington Square Park, most of the evidence of the previous night’s events had been cleaned up.  The only people out at this early hour seemed to be runners, dog walkers, and a few neighborhood children with their parents.  

Washington Square Park, Greenwich Village

My thoughts traveled back in time to the late 1960s when Greenwich Village was my escape from suburbia.  In those days, a wave of excitement would sweep over me as soon as I exited the subway at West 4^th Street.  On sunny afternoons, I’d sit on the ledge of the fountain in Washington Square Park, talking to strangers (don’t tell my parents!) and listening to scruffy boys playing guitars.  The sweet smell of marijuana would fill the air.   Picture a girl 17 or 18 years old, dressed in bell bottoms and a flowing Indian print top, with long brown hair rippling down her back.  That was me.  Now, on this grayish morning, the once familiar streets – 8^th Street, Bleeker, Macdougal – conjure up memories, but they don’t hold the magic they once did.  I’m not a teenager anymore, but it seems impossible that I’m 65 years old.  Somehow, when I’m in Greenwich Village, I always feel young and free.  

Even though I had a wonderful time in New York, I looked forward to getting back to all the good things that awaited me at home.  Also, I was eager to show Elliott my photos and to tell him all about my trip.  I was disappointed, but not surprised, when Elliott welcomed me with a harsh statement about "abandoning" him (his words).  It turned out that he had a couple of problems while I was away.  The first problem, with the remote control for the TV, took me only a second to fix.  The lack of heat in the house, however, was a challenge I couldn’t overcome.  It took a visit from the heating repair person to pinpoint the cause of the problem:  a bat had gotten into the heating system.  Once he had extracted the bat (fortunately, deceased), our heating system worked perfectly once again.  And Elliott gave up his grumpiness, too.  Good news – he can hear much better now, thanks to new hearing aids.  Bad news – he dropped his lower dentures on the floor and they broke in half. 

After my New York getaway, I plunged right back into my regular round of activities (exercise, concerts and lectures, Elliott’s medical appointments, classes, etc.).  I even did a couple of days of subbing last week, which left me exhausted.  Over at George Mason, in my jazz class, we’re learning about bebop, and in art history, we’re studying minimalism.  The reading for art history isn’t getting any easier to understand.  Here’s an example from an article by artist Robert Morris, written in the 1960s:  “The trouble with painting is not its inescapable illusionism per se.  But this inherent illusionism brings with it a non-actual elusiveness or indeterminate allusiveness.”  Got it?  Want to hear about gestalt, the known constant and experienced variable, phenomenology and embodied perception, relational composition and serialization?  No, I didn’t think so. 

A three-dimensional piece by Robert Morris

At least I’m having a great time with my fused glass.  I wish I had more time to spend at the glass studio but I’m pretty much limited to one day a week for the time being.  However, I’m sketching out lots of ideas and experimenting with materials and techniques.  And at the Mantua Made Market last Saturday, I sold quite a few pieces.  

My table at the recent Mantua Made Market

Some of these pieces are still available.

Somehow, I’ve been able to find time for reading and have enjoyed two excellent books.  Night in Shanghai by Nicole Mones is a novel set in Shanghai in the 1930s, Shanghai’s Jazz Age.  It has an international cast of characters, including an African-American musician as the main character.  It’s a very atmospheric novel, full of music, nightlife, organized crime, and political strife (Nationalists fighting the Communists) at the same time Japan is taking over China city by city and establishing its brutal rule.  There’s an interesting subplot that features Jewish refugees who have found a safe haven from the Nazis.   Next, The Marriage of Opposites by Alice Hoffman is a work of fiction based on the life of Impressionist artist Camille Pissaro, in his birthplace, St. Thomas, and later in Paris.  It provides fascinating insights into the small Jewish community on this Caribbean island in the 19^th century.  

That’s all for now.  As I wrote this post, I realized how these recent days and evenings have been too full of scheduled activities, and I will try to reserve time for reflecting and writing more often.    

Feeling Orange in Orange, Virginia

October 24, 2015 – Feeling Orange in Orange, Virginia

The Virginia I've known for nearly 30 years is not representative of the state as a whole. So a couple of days ago, the world oldest road tripper (aka Elliott) and I set out to explore a different side of Virginia. We didn't have to go far.  Less than two hours down Route 29 (Lee Highway) and Route 15 (James Madison Highway) brought us to the colorfully named town of Orange.  Set in the gently rolling hills east of the Blue Ridge Mountains, Orange was an ideal base for our exploration of the scenic area. 

An Orange Invasion in Orange, Virginia

I chose this destination for several reasons.  First of all, it gave us an opportunity to view the brilliant fall foliage in a rural setting.  Secondly, I was eager to see Montpelier, the historic home of President James Madison.  And last but certainly not least, we were eager to visit our dear friends Millicent and Andy on the farm they recently purchased in the vicinity.  While they have not permanently traded suburban living for the life of gentlemen farmers, they’re enjoying getaways to their old farmhouse and ten acres of land.

Millicent and Andy on the farm

The part of Virginia we visited is still primarily agricultural.  In fact, I listened to a few minutes of the farm report on TV while I used the treadmill in the hotel’s fitness center.  Orange, like many other small towns in the area, has a historic downtown with a compact array of commercial streets.  This is where you’ll find the courthouse, the post office, a couple of law offices and banks, churches (Baptist and Methodist), several antique stores, some real estate agents and a few restaurants.  Everything you need is here, just on a small scale than in suburbia.  

Elliott in historic Orange

Antique shopping

Seen in a store window on Main Street

Right away, Elliott and I noticed how easy it was to drive around town.  Much to my delight, there were ample parking places.  All the people we encountered were polite in a quaint old-fashioned way.  I heard “Yes, ma’am,” and “Yes, sir,” on several occasions when we conversed with locals.  I’m not saying I’d want to move to Orange, or a similar town, but there’s something appealing about a place where life seems easy.  In fact, as Elliott and I were strolling up and down the hilly streets, we remarked to each other that in many ways, Orange reminded us of the small French village where we lived a simple life for four years. 

Of course, a big reason I might not feel comfortable living in this part of Virginia is that I’m a born Yankee (although my ancestors were on the other side of the Atlantic during the Civil War) and this is Confederate country.  A monument to the Confederacy is prominently situated beside the courthouse.  I haven’t heard any talk of removing it, as some of the more progressive cities in northern Virginia have done with their Confederate statues. 

Another reason I’d be hesitant to relocate to this area is the dearth of ethnic restaurants.  Apart from a single Chinese restaurant and a lone Mexican place, the choices were confined to fast food and American cuisine.  However, at The Light Well on Main Street in Orange, we enjoyed an excellent dinner one night.  And my glass of merlot, produced by the nearby Barboursville Vineyards, was quite acceptable.

For those of you who are familiar with Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello or Washington’s Mount Vernon, James Madison’s home may be a bit of a disappointment.  It isn’t nearly as large or as well restored.  The visit was worthwhile, however, as I learned a lot about our fourth President from the film and guided tour.  For example, I didn’t know that James was a sickly child who read every volume in his father’s immense library by the time he was eleven years old.  He was mostly home schooled until his father sent him to college in New Jersey (to what is now Princeton University).  Although he was the youngest of the founding fathers, he was extremely well versed in history and government.  It was Madison who was given the task of writing a new plan of government for the United States when it became apparent that the Articles of Confederation were unworkable.  With regard to Madison’s personal life, I learned that he didn’t marry Dolley, a Quaker widow with a young son, until he was in his early forties. 

Archaeological work is going on at the site of the slave quarters (yes, Madison owned about 100 slaves), and the mansion is still undergoing restoration.  The goal is to furnish more rooms in the house, so that it accurately reflects the lifestyle of James and Dolley Madison during their later years.  Unfortunately, the grounds and the house are not very handicapped accessible.  In any event, Elliott stayed at the hotel to take his afternoon nap at the time I visited Montpelier.  Since photography was not allowed inside the house, I can’t share any photos of the interior.  But you can see the exterior and the beautiful view across Madison’s property to the Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance.  

The view from James Madison's house

James Madison's Montpelier

This journey was also significant for Pearl (the vehicle formerly known as Frosty) as it was her first road trip.  Let me explain about the name change.  It seems I have a transgender vehicle.  I originally gave my new car the name Frosty, which seemed appropriate on account of his/her white color.  However, shortly after he/she arrived at my home, Frosty called my attention to the fact that he/she wasn’t actually a bright snowy white, but rather a subtle iridized pearl-like shade, hence the name change to Pearl. 

It’s hard to believe that this was Elliott’s first overnight trip in over a year.  We loaded up Pearl with both walkers (3-wheel and 4-wheel), his medications, and of course, all the oxygen-related equipment.  Yes, it was a lot of work, but travel is always challenging, and it was good for him to have a change of routine and scenery.  Who knows?  Maybe another road trip is in our future.  

On Millicent and Andy's farm (in Ruckersville)

Boo!

October 17, 2015 – Boo!

Congressional Cemetery, Washington, DC

It was a dark and stormy night – no, wait a minute.  I’m not writing fiction.  It was actually a typical October afternoon, with a bit of sun and a lot of clouds in the sky, as I approached Congressional Cemetery for a pre-Halloween visit.  This cemetery, in the southeastern quadrant of the District of Columbia, is the final resting place of ordinary Washingtonians and many notable figures from all walks of life.  They include members of Congress, architects, musicians, explorers, and veterans of every war fought since the cemetery was established in 1807.  John Phillip Sousa and J. Edgar Hoover are only a couple of the well known individuals buried in Congressional Cemetery.  

 

Approaching the cemetery’s entrance on E Street, I peered through the open ironwork fence at the cascade of hillsides strewn with gravestones.  A cloud passed momentarily in front of the sun.  A stiff breeze made me wish I’d wrapped a scarf around my neck.  Too late now.  I had arrived at the main gate of what was once called the “national burying ground.”  I hesitated.  The double gate was closed.  I took a step closer and found it wasn’t locked.  I pulled open the gate, stepped inside, and heard the heavy metallic clang as it shut behind me. 

What drew me to this particular cemetery was more than its history.  I was making this visit in large part because of its association with Elliott.   You see, during Elliott’s childhood, Congressional Cemetery served as a playground for Elliott and his fearless young friends.  His house on Potomac Avenue was just a few short blocks away.  Rather than using the main gate, the boys would climb over the brick wall on 17^th Street to enter the cemetery.  The chunks of broken glass embedded in the top of the wall didn’t deter them.  They simply loosened them and removed them.  The cemetery’s grassy slopes and abundant stone markers were an ideal setting for games of hide and seek.  

The former Thompson residence on Potomac Avenue (where Elliott grew up)

I wish Elliott had been able to accompany me on this excursion.  I know how much he wanted to go.  But the past couple of weeks, since he suffered the compression fracture, have been especially difficult for him.  Even his strong painkillers haven’t brought him much relief.  He has tried to minimize his activities and spends much of his time resting.  It’s such a shame, especially because he had gotten so involved in working on designs for painting.  I remind him that the healing takes time and he’ll eventually feel better.  But patience isn’t all that appealing when you’re 103 years old.

On a much more positive note, we had a visit from the director of American University’s art museum last Monday.  Jack Rasmussen was familiar with Elliott’s work and he was very encouraging when he saw the paintings we have at the house.  We hope that this will lead to either a show or gallery representation.  Elliott’s last show was in 1990 and he hasn’t had gallery representation in quite a while.  I’ve wanted to get more involved in promoting his work for several years, but Elliott refused to cooperate – until very recently.  It must be the realization that he won’t be around forever.  If you’re interested in seeing some of his paintings, you can take a look at the website I set up.  The photographs aren’t professionally done, but I want to thank my stepson, Marshall, who spent many hours taking and editing the photos.  In the coming days, I plan to add information to the website, including a list of Elliott’s exhibitions. 

Lastly, I’d like to share a couple of photos of another family member who’s getting in the Halloween mood.  Miss Sylvie can’t make up her mind about what costume to wear.  Should she be a witch, or a ballet dancer, or little pink riding hood?  Such a dilemma.  I’m sure Elisa and Christian will help her figure it out.  

A Halloween Witch

Ballerina

Little Pink Riding Hood

Uncovering a Treasure Trove

October 8, 2016 – Uncovering a Treasure Trove

Look what we discovered in the crawl space under the stairs!  Maps to buried treasure?  No, even better – rolled up paintings by Elliott Thompson.   

Six unstretched paintings from the HVD series

These six canvases were painted in the 1970s and were never even put on stretchers.  Hidden away for decades, they’re in pristine condition.  We discovered them when I was hauling four of Elliott’s very large paintings out of the crawl space.  These large paintings had been taken off their stretchers and rolled up prior to our move to France over 30 years ago.  We haven't unrolled any of the paintings yet.  The big reveal is scheduled for next Monday.

So the painting inventory continues to grow.  And the excitement of unearthing these works has re-energized Elliott.  He’s a working artist once again, which makes him a much happier person (as well as a much easier person to live with) despite having some new pains. 

On Tuesday morning, Elliott admitted that he’d been having pains in his back and chest for a few days.  He feared the worst, i.e. a heart attack, which in turn triggered an anxiety attack.  However, we were able to get in to see his doctor that morning and were reassured that his heart was fine.  As his doctor expected, X-rays showed that cause of Elliott’s pain was a compression fracture in his spine.  It will heal in 4-6 weeks and it hasn’t kept him from spending time in the studio, working on his designs and pouring over old correspondence, notes, and exhibition catalogues.     

Last night, we shared a celebratory dinner at Silver Diner.  Elliott got his usual sugar high from a big serving of waffles doused in maple syrup and a super-sized strawberry milkshake.  I allowed myself a sip of the milkshake and a bite of syrup-drenched waffle.  Of course, that’s not all I ate.  I had a bison burger with arugula, cremini mushrooms, and tomatoes, with a side of steamed vegetables.  According to my most recent blood tests, my blood sugar level and A1C remain stable and I’m trying to keep them from creeping up into dangerous territory.  Remembering how my diabetes destroyed my father’s health and quality of life is incentive enough for me.  

On the Sylvie front, my 12-week old granddaughter is already a bibliophile.  She favors Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar and a board book of Matisse cutouts called Dance for Joy.  Mom Elisa is doing a great job of introducing Sylvie to the joys of reading.   

photo by Elisa

I’m keeping busy with the usual activities.  Classes at GMU are going well.  In my jazz class, we’re learning about different swing bands from the 30s and in art history, we’re learning about Post-Painterly Abstraction, as seen in the works of Helen Frankenthaler, Morris Louis, Kenneth Noland, and Jules Olitski. 

With the cooler weather, I’m spending more time in the kitchen.  I cooked up a big batch of butternut squash soup a couple of days ago.  Over the years, I’ve tried so many different recipes for squash soup that are all delicious.  This version includes corn, black beans, cumin, red peppers, and cilantro.  It’s great with an avocado and tomato salad, and some sweet potato tortilla chips (Trader Joe’s) with Fall Harvest Salsa (also Trader Joe’s).  There's pumpkin in the salsa - yum! 

Great flavors for the season - from Trader Joe's

Finally, I’m working at least once a week at the Workhouse glass studio and getting ready for this season’s Mantua Made Market, where I’ll be selling fused glass once again.  Put a note on your calendar for Saturday, November 7 from 10 am until 2 pm.  

Why can't I rotate this photo 90 degrees?

September Report

September Report – September 28, 2015

When I first retired from teaching and started my blog, I used to post on a daily basis.  Over time, daily posts gave way to weekly posts.  And now I’ve found that the frequency of my posts has tapered off even further – a result, no doubt, of a schedule that’s busier than ever.  So as the current month draws to a close, I’ll update you on September chez nous. 

Visitors!

The most memorable event was the highly anticipated visit of Elisa, Christian, and Sylvie.  At the tender age of two months, Mademoiselle Sylvie made her debut into Virginia society with style, poise, and characteristic charm (no doubt inherited from her completely unbiased grandmother).   

Miss Sylvie getting to know GrandDaddy

Great-Grandma Katie meeting Sylvie

For three and half glorious and exhausting days and nights, life revolved around the baby.  We welcomed a steady stream of neighbors, friends, and family members who came to meet her.  We vied to hold her and play with her.  In the mornings, we attempted to elicit smiles and in the evenings, we attempted to console her during her screaming episodes.  It’s funny how someone who weighs barely ten pounds can take control of a household.  Of course, we all loved it!  And for Elliott, who was seeing his new granddaughter for the first time, the experience was very moving. 

The Cheslaks weren’t the only guests at the Thompson B&B in September.  Just prior to their visit, two of Elliott’s adult granddaughters from Texas came to stay with us for a few days.  We kept them busy with a variety of activities, including dinner at our favorite Afghan restaurant (Mazadar) and a wine-tasting and picnic lunch at Molon Lave Vineyards in the beautiful Virginia countryside.  

Dana and Erin at Molon Lave Vineyards

Adventures in AbEx Land

As for my academic pursuits, I’m finding that my art history class is giving my brain quite a workout.  My fabulous prof has given us a quick rundown on academic art, which held sway for centuries, followed by challenges to academic art in the 19^th century resulting in Modernism, and then completely new developments in the art world, starting with Abstract Expressionism in the period following World War II.  In order to understand AbEx (as it’s affectionately known), we’re reading and discussing articles by two major art critics.  Harold Rosenberg describes AbEx as “Action Painting.”  From an existentialist viewpoint, he sees the artist searching for meaning.  The process of creating the image is more important than the image itself.  He describes the never-ending dialectic of the painting process whereby the artist puts a stroke of paint on the canvas, then struggles to respond to the resulting image, which leads to another stroke of paint, and so on. If you take a look at a Jackson Pollock painting, you’ll get an idea of what Rosenberg is talking about. 

Another critic, Clement Greenberg, offers a formalist view of AbEx.  He espouses the idea of “pure painting.”  Unlike Rosenberg, Greenberg states that the value of the painting is in the image.  He stresses that the artist must embrace the unique characteristics of painting as a medium – its 2 dimensionality, its flat and defined plane.  In other words, the goal of painting is not to create an illusion of three dimensionality.  That’s the goal of sculpture.  And as far as content is concerned, the function of painting is not to tell a story, since narrative belongs to the domain of literature.  Mark Rothko was one of the artists that Greenberg admired.  Not to be outdone by Rosenberg, Greenberg also refers to a dialectic.  In this case, the dialectic is the artist doing something new (the avant-garde) as he strives to approach pure painting, which leads to a reaction from other painters, creating a new avant-garde as they try to advance the quest for pure painting.   

So, take your pick - Existentialism or Formalism.  Having fun yet? 

Artists at Work

The 6-week break between the summer and fall sessions at Workhouse Arts Center turned out to be a real test of endurance.  I did some half-hearted design work at home, but I was seething with impatience to get started on new fused glass projects that I’ve been carrying around in my head since mid-summer.  Fortunately, I had my first class of the fall session yesterday.  Many familiar faces were back.  And Matt is the instructor’s teaching assistant. 

Elliott has been busy working on his own art recently.  Most days, he spends at least a couple of hours in the downstairs studio.  He has worked up some designs and is eager to start painting.  Today, we spent a couple of hours shopping for canvases, paint, and related supplies.  I attribute this renewed interest in painting to (1) the stronger dosage of his pain medication, and (2) working with me on the painting inventory.  He’s quite pleased with website I created.  It contains some biographical information and images of his earlier work.  If you’re interested, you can take a look at the Elliott Thompson Art website.  

Taking a break and enjoying the fall weather

My September Problem

T.S. Eliot wrote, “April is the cruelest month.”  I disagree.  In my opinion, September is the cruelest month.  It seems that every September, as I gear up for the new schedule of activities (classes, house guests, etc.), I also start to sense a creeping dread invading my psyche.  It becomes a constant struggle to keep the dread contained.  If I’m not vigilant, it will jump out of its box and strangle me.  The image that has been swimming in my brain, perhaps from a dream, for the past few weeks – I’m swimming in the ocean, amid the waves but close to shore, when I suddenly realize the force of the undercurrent is drawing me further and further out and I fear that I’ll never touch down on land again.  Terror!

I’m convinced that it’s tied to the change of seasons at this particular time of year.  It isn’t so much the cold that I fear, but the shortened hours of daylight.  I hate getting up before sunrise, even though I woke up at 5:00 a.m. during all those years I was teaching.  Actually, once I got out of bed and turned on lots of lights, I was absolutely fine.  But peering into the morning darkness from the cocoon of my bed is a cruel way to start the day.  Maybe I’ll have to trick my brain by installing one of those programmable lights in the bedroom that gradually illuminates the room to mimic sunrise. 

So now we’ve passed the autumn equinox and we’re in the worst period.  The knowledge that we’re on a downward trend regarding amount of daylight compounds the anxiety I feel.  How many days until the shortest day of the year, when we start to add minutes of daylight again?  

Big Excitement!

September 6, 2015 – Big Excitement!

We’ve had some exciting days, and one exciting night.  Let’s start with the nighttime excitement:  It was the middle of last week.  The night was quiet and calm – no rain, no wind, not even a gentle breeze.  Elliott had already gone to bed and I was sitting in the living room, reading.  Out of nowhere came a series of gigantic crashes at the back of the house.  I ran to the family room, looked out into the darkness and saw leaves and branches pressed right up against the windows.  Immediately, I went onto the deck to investigate.  It looked like a tree had fallen over, which seemed bizarre, given the absence of windy or rainy conditions.  When I went out into the yard with a flashlight, I discovered that an enormous limb had broken off the tallest of our towering oaks.  Fortunately, the structure of the house seemed to be intact.  The only real damage was minor, i.e. a couple of torn window screens.  What a relief!   

And now for the rest of the exciting recent happenings:

  

For Elliott, the excitement was finding a solution to his pain problem.  As I’ve mentioned before, this summer had been a difficult time for him due to nearly constant pain that was increasing in severity.  It impacted his quality of life and his outlook had become very negative.  Elliott’s doctor was hesitant to increase the strength of his pain medication because of possible side effects.  But we were desperate to give him some relief and I urged Elliott to make another appointment.  Finally, last Friday, we convinced the doctor to prescribe a stronger dosage of Elliott’s pain med on a two-week trial basis.  And, guess what?  It worked!  Elliott noticed an immediate and drastic reduction in his pain, and I’m thrilled to report that the old cheerful Elliott is back in action.  We’re being vigilant about watching for side effects, but all seems fine for now. 

As for me, although I’m retired from my teaching job, the academic calendar still structures my life to a large extent.  There’s something about the beginning of a new school year that signals new beginnings in general.  Every year, by mid-August, my excitement level starts rising.  I’m eager to see my teaching colleagues (both those still working and those who have retired).  When we’re together, we talk about the new problems teachers are facing (which sound a lot like the old problems I faced) and we reminisce about past dramas and comedies that played out in the classroom and with the administration.  Lunch this past week with my AHS ESOL pals reminded me that some things never change.  Do I miss teaching?  Less and less each year.  However, I’ve already put one sub day on the calendar for early October. 

My focus now is on being a student, and the fall semester at George Mason University is already underway.  I registered for three classes, but will only be able to find time to attend two of them: Contemporary Art and Jazz.  In the art history class, we spent most of our class time last week in thought-provoking discussions, trying to decide what contemporary art is.  I look forward to doing lots of viewing and reading as we tackle this hard-to-define topic.  I’m especially excited about the jazz class, which is taught by Darden Purcell, a noted jazz vocalist.  I like jazz (at least, I like some jazz), but I freely confess my ignorance about the subject.  Fortunately, I have five years of serious classical piano study in my background to help me understand some of the music theory.  Now, through lectures, reading, and listening, I’m learning about blue notes, chord progressions, and the role of improvisation.  I am totally in awe of musicians who can sit down with an instrument and improvise.  My goal is to be able to do a little improvisation myself by the time the semester ends!

The major excitement in our lives comes from our little granddaughter.  For Sylvie, every single day is full of discoveries and new experiences.  It’s amazing how she’s grown and developed in the past seven and a half weeks.  I am so grateful to Elisa and Christian for sharing Sylvie’s world through their wonderful blog, The Big Adventures of Little Sylvie.  We look forward to introducing Sylvie to Grandpa Elliott in person very soon.  

Elliott looking at a recent Sylvie photo