On the 4th (Farce) of July

Independence Day. Really? When can we change the name of this holiday to Interdependence Day?

I have no definite plans until five o'clock when I will drive to the edge of the county to spend a few hours with some remarkable friends of mine. We won't be roasting hotdogs. We won't be singing "I'm a Yankee Doodle Dandy." We won't be waiting for the fireworks at first dark---unless, as my friend K. said, "It's conversational fireworks." We will be sharing ideas and opinions about world politics...because these friends are my very savvy and articulate experts on many aspects of politics and on the realities that accompany the confounding and disappointing political movements of our world---our interdependent world.

Meanwhile, I am organizing my mind to beat in rhythm with my heart so that I can articulate the throbs and aches that give meaning to this life of mine. I am struggling to "hearticulate" these things!

The Gallery is closed this Saturday--4th of July--so my young staff can go to parades and pancake breakfasts on the Plaza and prepare family picnics and outings to see the displays of fireworks. I don't like displays of fireworks. So there, I've said it!

I have stayed at home all day--alone, naturally--doing stay at home-type things: re-hanging some artwork; finishing a couple of books that have been on my night table for far too long; doctoring my forlorn geraniums; watching a bit of tennis...and thinking.

What has happened to The good old United States of America? How did it become a country of frightened and greedy and somnabulent people who feel no connection to most of the people they encounter on the aforementioned picnics, parades and other community events? Why do so many judge and condemn and dismiss those who are different on the outside (skin, age, dress, accent, choice of mates)?

I plan to explore these personal posings for the remainder of the month...or so I'm telling myself right now!

We are interdependent, you know. I'm not making that up just because it offers a bit of semi-clever wordplay for the day.

Confusion/Confucius

"When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them."

...Confucius (and/or one of his followers) said or wrote that!

In a mood of confusion, while searching for a mite of comfort in the words of any ancient philosopher, I chose to peruse The Chinese Classics---thinking that (perhaps) Confucius could extricate me from the discomfiting mental space into which I had plummeted earlier in the day.

I must have been word-marrying "confusion" with Confucius.

The quote that stood out, as I skimmed the page, is the one you see above. A mistake. It caused a continuation of my plummeting state of mind. Confusion is now coupled with contrition. Oh, yes! I have faults. And I am fearful of abandoning them! Without my faults, I fear, I would be bereft of enough je ne sais quoi to sustain my myriad tasks, my commitments, my follies, my veritable Life's purpose!

Confucius say: "...do not fear to abandon..."

Confusion say: Should I stay or should I go?

Later in the evening, I found some useful quotes by Chuang-tzu (369-286 B.C.) whom I had never read before. He is said to have said (or written): "All [wo]men know the utility of useful things; but they do not know the utility of futility." Great that he could rhyme so cleverly in English lo! those many years B.C.

Confusion say: Utility, futility, ability, humility, shumility...

It seems to me...that through all these years of working for and playing with and learning from THE ARTS, I have neither fully grasped nor completely conquered that which would eliminate the recurring futility of my ability to marry humility with utility. Hence: Shumility!

But seriously, Folks!

I lament the fact that the arts (especially the best contemporary painting, sculpture and photography) have such a difficult time finding respectful places in the lives of most people in this vast country of ours...I'm keeping this lamentation confined to the situation in this country--it could be a world wide lament. Quien sabe!?

I'm looking for a solution...some sort of action that would catapult the Art World to a place of prominence on our national list of priorities...

Got any ideas???

LOVING ART

Loving, in this case, is not an adjective. It's a gerund. As in: I am loving Art.


Sometimes I find it almost painful to love great art---serious, brilliantly conceived, divinely inspired, well-crafted, personal art. It's painful because it doesn't fit inside my hungry being. It's too big. It stretches my consciousness to the bursting point. It spills out and slips away from my most earnest efforts to contain it. I guess I must accept the fact that really good art can't be completely contained. That is an awesome fact! Sometimes looking at masterpieces makes me dizzy. I have to close my eyes before them and take a breath and struggle to absorb them; to be absorbed by them. Sometimes, when I am standing before a true work of art, I start to weep inside and tears appear in the corners of my eyes. It doesn't happen all the time. It doesn't even happen frequently. But when it happens, I am forever changed.

I am remembering a small Annunciation work by Leonardo DaVinci that hangs in a dim corner of a small room in The Uffizi in Florence...
And now my thoughts leap to a tearful reunion I had with one of Rodin's Burghers of Calais in a stairwell at the Chicago Art Institute...
My memory bombards me with Art for which I harbor respect and awe...my mind's screen flashes quick images of works by Ribera, Cezanne, Gorky, Guston, Hopper, Diebenkorn, Martin...I celebrate the enormity of the possibilities great art has to elevate the spirit, to inspire, to heal...

...oh, I'm beginning to wax a bit too poetic, too mega-dramatic, methinks.

My plan, this morning, was to write about a current personal experience of awe...but I seem to have gotten self-conscious---even here in the privacy of my sun-filled writing room. So, without intending to, I retreated into the relative safety of past masters! I became self-conscious because what I want to say is difficult to say without the words sounding like hollow Gallery Owner-ese. And these feelings/thoughts are too important to me to risk sounding like a commericial gallery owner writing self-serving business-type hype.

I know/believe that the show opening tomorrow at Linda Durham Contemporary Art is... Remarkable. Rare. World-worthy. Amazing. Brilliant.

It's been a long sleepy winter at the Gallery. The months-long, rotating show of works from our Inventory offered the relatively few January-to-May gallery visitors a fine look at the strength and beauty of the work we represent. It was what it was! It was what we do in the "off season." The weather was tough. The financial world was in deep disarray. The town was quiet. I spent most of those months wondering what in the world would happen to the Art World---given the perilous political/economic times that we all faced---and still face. I had some gloomy thoughts that I worked hard to keep at bay. But gloom sometimes had its way with me. And so, in a gesture towards optimism, I catapulted my hopes forward to May when our so-called season would begin. I survived my harnessed fears of doom. They disappeared...completely...yesterday! Poof! Whoosh!

Thank you Erika Wanenmacher and Lucy Maki!

All day Thursday, I wandered around the Gallery, in a state of semi-bliss, looking and (re-looking) at two rooms full of MASTERFUL paintings by Lucy Maki and observing the progress of Erika Wanenmacher's REMARKABLE "Ditch Witch" installation...I couldn't stop smiling. Two exhibitions, opening on Saturday. Two excellent exhibitions worthy of International praise and respect. The more I reveled in the beauty, power, originality and integrity of these two bodies of work, the more I realized and embraced a treasured facet of the Art Business, my Art Business:

What makes me most happy, most satisfied and proud about having a gallery is (surprisingly?) not those moments of financial success. No, it's excellence. Excellence! It's the privilege of participating, in a small way, with the extraordinary art of my time and community. It's about introducing the Art World to the work of brilliant, passionate artists. It's about mounting and presenting that work to a curious, inspiration-seeking public. It about being astonished and then...having the opportunity to astonish others!

Don't miss this ASTONISHING show!
Walk, run, ride your bike, skip, drive, fly to Santa Fe.

Lucy Maki's Architectonics
Erika Wanenmacher's Ditch Witch

Wondering Woman

That's it: Wondering Woman!
That's my secret code name for myself. I've been searching for a proper secret code name for a very long time. For years I have been deceiving myself, flattering myself by thinking (hoping) that the powerful moniker "Wonder Woman" suited me. I know, I know, Linda What's-Her-Name really owns the title...and before that there were the comic books...and before that there were (surely) countless wonder women wandering anonymously around the world--wondering. Identifying with the Wonder Woman character has long been a way for me to entertain myself, a way to boost my wildly vascillating sense of self worth...It amounted to nothing more than a chronic case of wishful wondering.

(note to readers: sometimes a perverse penchant for accidental alliteration overtakes my marginally more measured means of word selection--my apology)

Onward!

Why, I wonder, have I collected so many random, kitschy Wonder Woman items: magnets; a jelly glass; note paper; dolls; books...The piece de resistance---because, when I saw it I couldn't resist it---is a Carol Sarkisian Wonder Woman doll, with a gold-leafed body, bejeweled in ersatz rubies and diamonds, standing stalwartly on a snowy peak, in a glass and powder-coated metal diarama--fantastic!

And now to answer my own question:

I collected (accumulated is the better word here) all those odds and ends of "wonderwomaniana" because...well...pretty much just because! The book bag, the lunch box...they simply appeared (as gifts and from wanderings in flea markets and second hand shops) and I simply found a place for them in my life--on shelves, in drawers, on my refrigerator...

In an attempt to find clarity, through pondering possible answers to a loose variation of the chicken and egg puzzle, I posit that first there was the wonder and then there was the wonder woman and then there was the wondering...Or was the wondering first?

This started out to be a personal celebration of the wondrousness of the act of wondering. It was meant to be serious. Profound, perhaps. Now, I see that it has morphed into an unintentionally (and embarrassingly) exposed view of a not infrequently frequented part of my mind---the part that gives me no peace of mind. May I add that it's late, late at night!

I'm wondering (I can't help it) how chains of thought are linked...There is a drinking/parlor game that, from time to time, I've played with others---but that I play most often with myself--when I am caught without people or books. It goes like this: think of a common two word phrase...take the second word of the phrase and make a new two word phrase starting with the aforementioned second word...and so on...like this:


table top---top hat---hat trick---trick pony---pony tail---tail end---end paper---paper trail---trail dust---dust bin---bin Laden...

Oooops!
Now what, I wonder!?

Brother, can you spare a smile?!

Today my thoughts center around problem-solving---make that "puzzle"-solving. The word "puzzle" is much more optimistic. It implies a definite solution. The word "problem" does not. So, I'm wondering (I seem to wonder again and again) about possible solutions to the multitude of troubles facing our endangered WORLD. On this beautiful Earth Day morning, having saluted lovely Venus and the exquisite sliver of moon--a glorious gift to the early risers who looked to the East--I am searching for a clear and righteous question. I'm searching for a question to pose to myself and the Universe...the kind of question that will lead to the kind of answer that will lead us to the kinds of beauty, safety, happiness and opportunities that we ALL seek. I think we all do seek our own kinds of beauty, safety, happiness and opportunities.

I'm envisioning a growing, world-wide acknowledgement of the strength and fragility of our planet. "Envisioning" works better (for me) than praying. When I envision, I can "actually" see; when I pray, I can only hope!

Everything about our global community seems both fragile and strong these days---environmentally, socially, politically, spiritually, emotionally. Some people look at what's working, what is fixed or (relatively) pure and say things like "it's all okay...don't worry...no problem." Other members of this World of ours point to the terrible poverty, wars, pollution and ignorance that threaten our health, livelihood and Peace...and they weep or tear their hair or rant or cry out about our threatened wilderness, our unhealthy children, our homeless, hungry...


In this country, these days, I sense so much isolation---between us, among us, within us. How is it that so many "citizens" who live somewhere between "the redwood forests" and "the gulf stream waters" fail to find pride in this country! What has befallen the people of these United States to cause us to thwart the many opportunities to join with others to celebrate what's right about America and Americans and to work to fix what is wrong about this country of countless possibilities?

My question is: Given that I believe that power, opportunity and solutions can be found in those places where opposites meet (friend/foe; right/left, light/dark, big/small, strong/weak...) how can I (and how can we and how can the World) meet the important issues of our time on those lines in order to solve the issues that threaten the life, liberty and happiness of ALL?

Naivete is one of my strengths. It seems to me that when one is too naive to believe that something can't be done, one just might envision it being done and one just might work to make a difference. A positive difference.

I read a poem (a jingle, actually) long ago. It stays with me to this day: "The World would stop if it were run by those who say 'it can't be done.'"

A few thoughts on Architecture

Today I will participate in a distinguished panel on Architecture. I am the only non-architect on the panel. The most famous panelist is Ricardo Legoretta! It's the second time this panel has convened. The first time was to choose the recipient of the 2008 Jeff Harnar Award for excellence in Architecture (we did not award the award!!). Today we meet to talk about excellence in architecture in front of a few hundred interested (??) people. I wrote the following a few months ago...but thought it was time to share it.

THE HARNAR AWARD: It was with curiosity and a soupcon of trepidation that I drove up the driveway to Lori Harnar’s house, parked my car and found my way through the tunnel and up the winding staircase to the living quarters where the Jurors for the Harnar Award, as well as those who had organized the events and those who were facilitating, had gathered. It was not my first time in a Harnar house but it was my first time in Harnar’s house. It was remarkable! And yet, something bothered me. I was uncomfortable in the structure…It took a while to realize that the house was not designed for such a gathering…Oh, yes, everyone was accommodated---but in the process of accommodating them, the house was…and I use this word with hesitancy…abused. This house, in my opinion, was designed for Jeff and Lori. It is a highly personal expression. Far more than personal: it is a brilliant, sculptural object in which a private couple could dwell! A sanctuary. A respite from the outside world. The Harnar House is a thoughtfully conceived, creatively designed, masterfully sited and constructed personal monument to a set of ideals. No wonder Garrett Thornburg, who lives in a Harnar designed home, was moved to establish the Harnar Award for Excellence in Architecture in honor of Mr Harnar’s life and in celebration of his work. In 2007, a Jury Awarded the Harnar prize to Suby Bowden. Although I was not on the jury, I know the property and I know Ms. Bowden’s work. She was a most appropriate and most deserving recipient of the first Harnar Prize.

This year seven applicants presented their submissions for this award. After our first review of the material in the folders and the power point presentations, I had troubling thoughts. Where was the remarkable (and sexy) innovation that I experienced in the Harnar properties? Where was the superior design, the careful attention to site, the special use of materials? In short, where was the innovation?
I am not an architect. I am a Dealer of fine contemporary art. My life is about considering ideas, form, geometry, color, originality, execution, truth, beauty and the relationship of these elements with the whole. My responses are more intuitive than intellectual, more emotional than practical. With that caveat in place, I state that, from my vantage point, not one of the submissions came close to meeting the criteria for the Harnar Award. From first view of the seven submitted projects, I felt that no award should be given. To select the best of the uninspired would be to do a disservice to Harnar’s work and memory and to reduce significantly the honor that was given to last year’s honoree.

“Science works with chunks and bits and pieces of things with the continuity presumed, and (the artist) works only with the continuities of things with the chunks and bits and pieces presumed.”

---Robert Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance


The connections between art and architecture---like the connections between aesthetics and ethics---are subtly present in all sorts of contrasts and comparisons. One can be found inside the other, or enfolding the other, or supporting or confounding the other. Architecture is the new glamour career, the new passion, fad and/or hobby. Everyone is an expert. Everyone has an opinion. Today the interested public is easily (all but blindly) lured or swayed by the hype that surrounds the creations of certain “famous” architects. Some architectural projects turn into sightseeing wonders---sometimes at the expense of their implied or original function. Some new museums eclipse or outshine the art in their collections. Some simply do a disservice to the collections by flaunting faux architectural genius above function. Not that form must always strictly follow function but shouldn’t it do more than merely pay lip service to it? But where is the dialogue? Where are the arbiters of taste or should there be no arbiters of taste.
Here in Santa Fe, architecture has been turned into a game: how many ways can adobes (and faux adobe walls) vigas, portals, copings, small windows, latillas, Mexican tiles…be designed/ assembled, re-designed/re-assembled to create an original look in the historic zone!


It seems that this current, all-consuming culture of ours, is embracing the idea of art and architecture more and more but ignoring the study of aesthetics and authenticity. We have lowered out standards of excellence. We “worship” the big and strange and famous and hyped at the expense of simple genius and elegance. Ersatz satisfies! There is not enough general education available or desired---education that would give people the tools to see rather than just look. We have become addicted to "syte bytes" rather than sites and sights. To consider excellence takes time. One must look at details. Not everything can be seen and appreciated in an instant.
We have the start of the slow food movement…now we need the slow observing movement.

To Wisconsin (an infinitive)

Picture this, if you dare: It's late at night. I am in a small, meticulously appointed room in an over-the-top quaint Victorian bed and breakfast inn in Whitewater Wisconsin. I am the only guest and I have not seen the proprietors of the establishment for forty-eight hours. I have nothing to read but a week old Newsweek magazine...There is no television, no radio and I have a full-blown case of insomnia. Maddeningly, there is a gospel tune stuck in my head and I can't stop singing it: "Oh, Sisters let's go down, let's go down, don't ya wanna go down, oh, Sisters let's go down, down in the river to pray..."

I am tired. I have just finished two long (albeit rewarding and great) days lecturing in the Art Department at the University of Wisconsin in Whitewater. I keep singing (ahhrghh) and reviewing the high points of those high point-filled days...My flight to Minneapolis--connecting to Albuquerque--leaves Milwaukee at 8:40 am. Milwaukee is more than an hour away. Do the math.

"As I went down in the river to pray, studyin' about that good old way..."


Fortunately, I am able to sing and think at the same time. It's a multi-tasking trick that has served me well on the countless occasions when I've been caught in a sleepless, bookless, conversationless state. This time it's the State of Wisconsin.

And so, I think!
What made me fall in love with Whitewater, Wisconsin, I ask myself--because I am clearly, clearly (double "clearly" intentional) smitten with everything Whitewater-ish. I'm moved by the kindness and friendliness of everyone. I'm in love with five or six brilliant and engaged members of the faculty of the Art and English Departments. I'm crazy about the students. And (surprise, surprise) some of the Art is almost remarkable. However, most of the food is not very good---which may be why I'm wide awake singing and recalling the mistake that was the penne pasta with chicken cubes and some kind of flour-y cheese paste.


There is a special sort of delight in finding oneself somewhere one has never fantasized about going and finding that that "somewhere" has a headful of surprises to bestow on the aforementioned self. To lose the ignorant (yes, let's call it ignorant) notion that one knows where the artistic excitement, cultural relevance, sophistication, pleasure and authenticity can be found is to lose a notion so narrow, so parochial, so self-defeating as to be intellectually crippling. I lost such a notion.
I went to Whitewater, Wisconsin to share some of my professional experience and knowledge (and to collect a small honorarium). I returned rested and renewed (yes, I slept on both planes). I returned home with a more open heart and with a secret embarrassment (now shared with you) regarding my narrow preconceived notions about things I should refrain from preconceiving--if I ever hope to become any sort of enlightened individual!


"...and who shall wear the robe and crown, Good Lord, show me the way..."

The infinitive "to Wisconsin" is newly defined as the ability to find inspiration, satisfaction, wisdom and/or love in an unexpected place. Wishing you "Wisconsin"!