The Dinner Party

Remember, all men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice of representation.
--Abigail Adams, in a letter to her husband John

Most of you have probably seen this painting (or read a terrible book about it):

(Leonardo, The Last Supper, c. 1498, image from Wikipedia)
I'm starting with it because Christ, both with and without his disciples, is well represented in Western art history, and this is historically what studying Western art was about (Jesus, Leonardo, perspective, and so on). One of the major problems when revising this art history is how to combine such important works of art with inclusiveness about women and their contributions (or if you even should revise history. My answer would be "OF COURSE," but not everyone thinks so). One response by contemporary artists is to address the history*, change it around, and make something new.

Enter Judy Chicago, 400 volunteers, and The Dinner Party (1979), the monumental work (both in size and scope) which has been on permanent display at the Brooklyn Museum since 2007. Chicago's work came at a time when art history was shifting to be more inclusive of women's contributions, as scholars, artists, and patrons. This change is odd for me to think about, because the art historians I know are all (for the most part) very conscious of gender and a discussion of it within art history. Like good ol' Abigail Adams, certain scholars have been waging a rebellion to bring about this change, and they are awesome (y'all know who you are). Chicago's goal in the 1970's was to create a dinner party unlike the Last Supper, as the seats would celebrate women, not men.

(all images from here on out from the Brooklyn Museum's website. Thank you!!!)
The piece is rife with symbolism--it's triangular shaped (a shape associated with women) and there are 13 place settings on each side (13 being the number of Christ + 12 disciples). Each of the 39 women is emblematic of a certain period in history, and their respective sisters' names are written on the tile floor beneath--999 names, all told. The work is comprised of painted place settings and embroidered table cloths--chinawork and weaving were historically dismissed as "women's craft," and Chicago wanted to reappropriate them, as the artforms that they are. The silverware and glasses are all identical, which symbolizes the solidarity and unity of women's experience, which is a nice sentiment, but not really true. Most of the plates have flower and vulvic themes (think Georgia O'keefe) and they get progressively more defined and 3-dimensional as time goes on and progress is made.

The usual suspects are represented: Queen Elizabeth, Amazons, Sojourner Truth, Mary Wollstonecraft. However, here are a few of my slightly less well-known favorites (and in no particular order):

Elizabeth Blackwell (1821-1910) received her medical degree from Geneva Medical College, and so has a great deal of significance for my alma mater (there is a statue of her there, which people do creepy things to. Anyway.) Here's something I learned, though: she graduated first in her class, and then the college barred women from applying. Blackwell did a lot of amazing things with the sanitation movement, and founded a Women's Medical College, as she learned from her educational trials how hard it was for women to be accepted in the medical community. And I love the butterfly motif of this setting, and the spiraling stethoscope wrapping around the "E" in her name.

Natalie Barney (1876-1972) is actually someone I had not heard of prior to viewing this work, but I was initially drawn in by the colors, and the star design on the plate. Turns out Barney hosted a salon in Paris for over 60 years, and was an openly gay writer of poetry and other works.

Sophia was (is?) the personification of wisdom (Sophia means "wisdom" in Greek). She stands in for Athena, Minerva, and is a key figure in Gnosticism, which was then subsumed by Christianity. I like this place setting because the colors are muted and look like desert sands and skies. Also, this is one of the first plates, so it is pretty flat.

I am one of about three people in the entire world who cares about Marcella (c. 325-410), but I truly do. She was a colleague of Saint Jerome, and she did a lot of his dirty work (translating the bible, building monasteries, backing him up in Jerusalem, giving him a TON of money, etc etc) and she didn't get any of the credit. We owe contemporary Christianity to her work. That might be overstating it slightly, but I don't really care. The bottom of her place setting (the brown bit) is made of coarse material and looks like a hairshirt, which represents her piety and sacrifice. Marcella is the first figure in the second line of 13 plates, and this when women's contributions to Christianity (and culture, really) begins to be systematically devalued.

Do I have any criticisms? Well, yes. The work includes a lot of women, but very much focuses on white women. A few non-heterosexual women are included, but not enough. There are no place settings (to my knowledge) that celebrate African and Asian women, although there are a few African-American examples present (and some might make an appearance on the Heritage floor, but I haven't read all of those names.) It is very essentialist, and a bit segregationist, but at the same time, I think we have to give Chicago credit. This was a big undertaking, at a time when these things weren't really done. I walk around the table about once a week, and it is invigorating, and inspiring...and sad, because of how many things are still broken and need to be fixed. But it makes you feel--something--and that is important.

If you are in the city, I urge you to check it out. There is a neat system where you call a number (even after you leave the museum) and you can find out about all the different women (for more on that, see here). The museum guides that are stationed there LOVE it, too--they have read all the booklets and really want to help show you around. You have to enter in a specific way--past the heritage tapestries (which I also love), through the room with the table, and then back to an area with biographical notes about all the women. I like that there is a set path--it becomes a ritual, as you pay respect to people that were too long neglected.

For more info and a totally cool interactive guide, check the museum's website here. For the curators summary, check here. And for more on the Sackler Center itself, check here (they have rotating exhibits that are always worth a look.)

*the museum makes a point of substituting "herstory" for "history," which I like but which also feels silly to type.

Snippiness, and the Antidotes for It

I haven't written much lately for the sheer fact that my camera is being a bit dodgy, it is kind of cold, and I haven't been doing much. And, well, I've been feeling a little snippy. Here's why:
--unemployed, peppering independent bookstores with resumes, will probably have to resort to corporate succubus bookstore, *if* I can get hired there.
--going blind from looking at slides of papyri at the museum for 8 hours a day.
--starting of spring semester, and I miss school, my friends, Thursday wine/coffee/tv nights, and the general silliness that ensued. Yes, I was up until 3 am every Sunday night my final semester, and yes, I do sleep a lot more now, but everytime I pass the rowhouses in my neighborhood I think of S Main St, Geneva, and wish I was there instead.
--feeling in limbo, re. future, grad school, jobs, and feeling unable to help solve major problems in world, and in the city. I am spinning my wheels, and that gets old. Quick.
--impending grad school interview next weekend, must buy dress skirt, read a few faculty authored books, stop biting my nails, and relearn major amounts of art history and German verbs. Have so far done none of that.

However, there are plenty of antidotes to snippiness:
--today was sunny and although I was on a fruitless mission to buy a business skirt and find a job (see above) I had a nice amble through downtown Bk.
--I went to Greenpoint, which is in north Bk (on an indy bookstore quest.) It's a heavily Polish neighborhood, so it's a much different feel than here. It was a nice mini-adventure.
--I also got a bubble tea and sat for a bit and flipped through the NY Post, which features stories of people whose lives made me feel good about myself (the Kardashians!? Remind me WHY these people are famous.)
--PBS's new adaption of Emma is really good.
--We are currently watching White Collar, which is the best bad show on tv. And shortly the state of the union will be on, and we will probably watch it on mute and eat ice cream.
--Continuing the tv theme--the Winter Olympics will be on (comparatively) soon too. I love the Olympics!
--my friends and family are amazing at sending mail. AMAZING. It truly makes my week.
--I do still love the Brooklyn Museum, and especially love it when it's closed to the public and I can be in the galleries by myself. Not much better than drinking a cup of green tea in the half-light of early evening and looking at a row of Monets.
--I am attempting to cook more (I'm going to make bread soon! Zut alors!) and I made salsa this weekend which was waaay easier than I thought it would be.

So really, all is well. I do have some back posts (with pictures!) to get out into cyberspace, and will do some art reviews soon too. Truly. Just bear with me through my mini pity party.

These Boots are Made for Walking

I owned a functional pedometer for a day and a half.

Well, it had a good run. I got it on Monday and broke it today (actually it fell off my pants and the battery fell out and went..somewhere). I don't really need one, I suppose, but it would have had an impressive step total today. I attempted to get a cheapie ticket to the opera, but erred in that it was Carmen (popular) and apparently a really, really good production. So I didn't budget enough time and when I got to Lincoln Center, still 3 hours early, there was a massive line, and there was no way I would get a ticket. As I had already taken the afternoon off, I decided to go to the Guggenheim but rather than pay another $2.25 for a subway, I decided to walk.

Here are the problems with this: Lincoln Center is around 62nd St, on the West side of Central Park. The Guggenheim Museum is on the East side of Central Park, at 89th St (note: my sister had to look up the address for me, as I knew it was north of the Metropolitan Museum, which is on 82nd St, but that was all the info I had. And I don't have an internet-phone.) It actually didn't take me as long as I thought it would, and it was a sunny and crisp day, so I had a very good walk through Central Park. There was some good people watching, too. And I really like the area right around 75th street where there are a series of ponds and streams. Anyway, when I got to the Guggenheim, it was closed, which I know, because I have tried three times to go there on Thursdays, and it is ALWAYS closed. I apparently just had no idea what today was...I also witnessed a woman trying to get into the museum, by banging on the door, even though there are huge signs that say it's not open. So that was pretty funny to me.

I walked back to the Met, wandered around the American wing for half an hour, and then walked BACK to the 86nd St subway stop, and home. If you're keeping track, that is about 30 blocks of walking. I'm currently slumped in the VERY comfy chair in the living room, rocking my pajamas. We're going to attempt the opera soon, but for now--I'm just resting my feet.

All Aboard

I am on the train back to Brooklyn, and am writing this somewhere by Batavia, NY (and proofreading somewhere by Rome, although I'll be posting it when I get back, as there is no internetz on the train). I hear you all breathe a collective sigh of relief that this blog is back, Ha-Ha. I should be hitting there about 8 hours from now. And how will I keep myself occupied until then? Here are some notes from the road (or rather, track.)
1. Gosh, this stretch is bumpy. The computer is shaking. I am anticipating some sort of freezing on the tracks which will slow us down some (this usually happens.) Actually, we’re slowing down right now. Aaannd now we are stopping. Now we are going again! (vicarious thrills; I promise and I deliver.)
2. It is a good thing I have plenty of snacks with me. I’m a train snacker (which prevents me from biting my nails). This time I am lucky to have leftover pizza (with pesto and mushrooms, oh my!), pretzels, and all the candy from my Christmas stocking, which includes (but is not limited to) candy cigarettes (eating now), candy canes, and peppermint-chocolate stick things. Oh, the prevalence of mint is due to the fact that I get motion sick and that seems to help. Plus I’ve got a stash of Dramamine, just in case.
3. The train is REALLY not crowded. I think there are four people on my car. That’ll probably change the closer we get to the city.
4. I should probably use this time to update my resume, but I probably will not do that (note: by the time we got to Poughkeepsie I was so bored that I did, in fact, update my resume.)
5. Instead, I am going to watch Up, which my sister got me for Christmas—for anyone who hasn’t seen it, it is lovely. I cried within the first 10 minutes because I am a huge sap, but it is sweetly funny and deals with love and loss and adventure; and yes it is Pixar!
6. I will be glad to be back in Brooklyn. I missed it.
7. I am going to be sad not to be in Jamestown. I miss it.
8. I miss Geneva, too.
9. I really enjoy this train route, especially as I have a window seat. As barren as the landscape is this time of year, it is beautiful—I love the rivulets of frozen water and the starkness of the trees against the sky, which right now is a pale robins egg blue. I’ve counted five hawks so far, and a bunch (a brace?) of pheasant, wild turkeys, and deer. When we pass the Hudson it’s even better, although it will be dark by the time I get there. Now we’re passing a series of frozen ponds.
10. Two plugs for Western New York stuff: Forte, which is a very tasty restaurant and bar in Jamestown, makes White Russians with chocolate vodka. I didn’t actually get one, but I sampled my friend’s, and it was good stuff. (Aunt Sue, as a White Russian connoisseur, I thought you might like to take note of this.) Also, Wegmans has introduced a line of vegetarian soups. I have Butternut Squash packed, and will report back.
11. My cousin told me once to pick carefully what song you listen to when beginning a journey, as it is something you will remember. Traveling music, as it were. I have some stand-bys (America—Simon and Garfunkel, Beethoven’s 6th Symphony, Hey Jack Kerouac—10,000 Maniacs, Sweet Jane—Velvet Underground, New York, New York whenever I enter the city—corny!) but this time I went with Mausam and Escape from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack—it makes you want to drive fast and dance. What is your journeying music??

Notes from the Homefront

Hello hello! I am still in Jamestown and as some of you have noticed, have not been blogging, partly because I have been having too much fun to be on the computer, and partly because nothing outrageous has really happened. So, updates: my favorite coffeeshop closed (rip Timothy's, and your beautiful kona mochas.) Wegmans is awesome, awesome, awesome, and its wireless internet is useful when turning in ones grad school apps. The library is being renovated, so I have been forced to read things in my room that I bought years ago, and have never read. One of my best friends got engaged (YAY M! YAY S!!). My cat has taken to sitting in my bathtub and drinking out of the faucet, and when you pet him, his back is all wet. He also, apparently, has a usual seat at the dining room table. We have feet of snow. This week I have been to see two movies in the THEATER (this is big for me): Avatar (beautiful, a lot of explosions, iffy plot, fun) and Sherlock Holmes (too much slow-motion punching, good good casting, excellently realized London, fun plot) and two movie classics: A Lion in Winter (Katherine Hepburn for queen of the Universe!) and Carousel (arguably the worst movie I have ever seen. And I like musicals. Rodgers and Hammerstein get a big ol' FAIL on this one..plus there is a ton of unaddressed sexism, and it annoyed me.)

I did take a roadtrip to Framingham, MA for a friend's 21st birthday, which meant that I got to stop in Geneva, and then roadtrip with the author of this guest blog, and pick up another in Amsterdam, and then on we went to MA. We surprised our friend, very spectacularly, and got to spend a little time with her before she goes to Senegal next semester. This whole trip involved 5 buses for me, and roughly 3 days in the car, but as it was with (and to see) some of my favorite people, it was WELL worth it. The main excitement (and with me, there is usually some travel excitement) came on the return trip, which happened to be on New Years Eve. I caught the bus in Syracuse, to Buffalo, where I would have to get another bus down here. We stopped in Rochester, and were searched by border patrol. This happened again while I was sitting in the Buffalo bus station, too. I don't know if this was increased border security for New Years, or what, but the oddest part was that they ask you your citizenship, and if you say, "American," they don't even check your license. I was talking to my dad about this and we agreed that if anyone should be checked for hijacking a bus, it is more likely going to be me than the group of Japanese tourists, or the Pakistani couple with children (all of whom, incidentally, I watched get questioned, and have the passports extensively examined.) Whereas I am young, unpartnered, solo, and wielding knitting needles. And I am betting that if I had been non-white, and said my citizenship was American, they might have insisted on seeing proof. It makes you think, doesn't it?

Anyway, I got to spend two hours in the Buffalo bus station on New Years Eve, which was a hot mess, to say the least. And then when I got on the bus to Jamestown at 9:30, we had to stop...twice...because a guy threatened the bus driver. He was either drunk or mentally ill, and if he had done something again they were going to pull over and wait for the police. When we got into town he was sound asleep. I made it home with 10 minutes to spare before the New Year rolled in, so I wolfed a plate of food, had a glass of champaigne, and went to bed.

Happy, happy 2010 to all of you. Regularly scheduled programming resumes next week, when I return to Brooklyn. And thanks for reading. I'm still having fun.