Batten Down the Hatches

Mother Nature (or would it be Poseidon?) had its revenge this weekend, when Hurricane Bill riled up the Brighton Beach waves. I went to check it out Saturday, and the best part was how deserted the beaches were, since they were technically closed. I say "technically," because Brooklynites don't really follow rules--like stopping at red lights, or signs saying "beach closed." The elderly Russians (the main inhabitants of Brighton Beach at 8 am) were heartily ignoring the signs and red flags, and still going for their morning swims. They also ignored the Park Service staff who were bellowing at them through Megaphones.

I walked on the beach for awhile, and the riptides were definitely stronger than normal, but the waves weren't too high. I saw a few people fishing, and a few people metal-detecting through the sand. And the sun was out! Here's a final shot of Coney Island, with the clouds starting to roll in.

5 Annoying Things Overheard in Museums Lately

Prepare yourself for some self-indulgent whining. But I'm sorta grumpy, because three of my cousins have injured themselves in fairly major, cast-needing ways in the past three days (gracefulness: a family trait!!), and I was going to the beach today and then there were dangerous riptides, and it's been 95 for the past week and we don't have air conditioning. Whew.

So, here is some general art history snobbery. I am a nerd and take notes in museums, so all these incidents are lovingly documented for you, lucky readers.

1.) The scene: Metropolitan Museum of Art, Caravaggio's Denial of Saint Peter (c. 1610) Here is an image. It should be noted that I have above-average attachment to this painting, due in part to a very wonderful class on Caravaggio (plus the fact that Caravaggio is straight-up awesome), and so was a bit disheartened to hear the woman next to me say, "Hmph. Kinda dark, isn't it?" before walking away. And when I say "a bit disheartened," I mean, "I wanted to punch her in the head." And then I wanted to tell her to look at Peter's hands. And the lines on his forehead. Instead, I put my headphones on.

2.) The scene: Metropolitan Museum of Art, the room with the Rothkos (for general Rothko-ness, see here.) No less than four groups of people said, "pssh. I could do this. It's just boxes!" Yeah, but DID you do it? DID you think of it, and mix the paints, and feel the way the brush moved on the canvas, and the way the colors looked together? NO. Rothko did. So zip it.

3.) The scene: Metropolitan Museum of Art, I think in the one of the early-Renaissance Dutch rooms--but it doesn't really matter. A woman on her phone walked by me (without looking at anything on the walls, mind) and said, "yes, well, I'm trying to hurry. I'm taking her for her doggy pedicure today." This would annoy me normally (dogs don't NEED pedicures!) but c'mon. Look around and better your inner-being or something.

4.) The scene: Museum of the City of New York (review to follow, sometime!), exhibit on Henry Hudson's New York. Two ten year-old boys were looking at a map and talking about it, and pointing at things, and being excited. The tour guide came over from across the room and yelled at them for talking during her tour, which they weren't even on. You think she would have been happy that they were interested in the exhibit, but apparently hearing her was more important.

5.) The scene: Brooklyn Museum, design section on the third floor. There was an exhibit on plates, one set of which featured a nude Eve, complete with apple and serpent. Here are some images of them. (note: I think these plates are super cool.) Two young women, about my age, were looking at them, and one said, "why would you want plates with Venus on them? And why is there a serpent?" And the other said, "serpents are fertility things. I don't know why Venus would have had an apple though." And then they left, none the wiser about the differences between Venus...and Eve.

Order in the Court, Round 2

Give 'em the old razzle dazzle
Razzle dazzle 'em
--Billy Flynn, Chicago

A few weeks ago, I paid a visit to the second division appellate court in Brooklyn (for the full story on that, see here.) Yesterday we returned, as this session was to decide whether Governor Paterson has the authority to appoint a lieutenant governor, or whether this violates the state constitution. Big doings. No judgments have been made as of yet, but here's what I can tell you:
1.) I know more about the state constitution than I ever thought I would, particularly Article 4, Section 6, and Sections 41-43. Also, words such as perform, exert, and fill take on a picky level of specificity and importance sometimes.
2.) Briefs of Amicus curiae are actually pretty interesting. Literally, Amicus curiae means "friend of the court" and are a bit like recommendation letters, whereby unions or individuals submit letters of support for the plaintiffs or defendants. Since my contact is a DA for the senators suing Paterson, the Amicus brief I read detailed how Paterson's actions are unconstitutional. In this case, the authors were four constitutional law scholars and professors, one of whom was the ex-mayor of my hometown, as well as being the ex-lieutenant governor himself. Western NYers--we're everywhere!
3.) The room where all the lawyers hang out before entering the courtroom is pretty spiffy. It looks like a nice, wood-paneled, glossy library, but everyone is either huddled around tables having whispered conferences, or pacing around.
4.) Courts are glorified circuses--especially when TV cameras are involved! The lawyer for the Republicans made an ending speech straight out of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, or similar. It was totally over the top, and I kept expecting Thomas Jefferson to blast through the wall. He also made a joke about Governor Paterson and Caligula, which I enjoyed. One of the judges also made a speech involving phrases like "Utopian meritocracy," which was great.
5.) I would be a horrible legal counsel. I thought about going into art law for about .3 seconds my freshman year of college, but watching someone get grilled (and I do mean grilled) by four judges is nervewracking. I prefer to remain the incongruous bystander with the black dress pants which always seem to be covered with cat hair, no matter how often I wash them. I do love yellow legal pads, though.
And here is a lovely picture of some shredded documents being disposed of outside the courthouse. The fact that I even took this picture makes me feel like a private investigator.

On the Road

I am going to the Saratoga Springs area to stay with a WSC friend for a few days, and then back down to Albany/Ravena/Coeymans Hollow where I get to see most of my family. It's my grandmother's 91st birthday. I am very, very excited about these plans. There was a raver outside my apartment circa 2 am, and I'd like to be somewhere where I can hear chirping crickets, warbling birds, etc., for a few days.

Also, this is some cool Brooklyn news: Brooklyn gets their own currency. Brooklyn as the new Ithaca? I dig it.

Be back Tuesday. Not bringing my computer. Have a marvelous weekend!

The Farmers Market

On Saturday, we went to the weekly Farmers Market, which is held on the plaza/road between the main branch of the library and Prospect Park. We've missed it every other week for various reasons, so we went a little vegetable crazy. The produce in the supermarket is pretty unfortunate, so this is a good chance to stock up.

And stock up we did! Here's what we got: four types of eggplant (deep purple, light purple, light purple with stripes, and white), zucchini, yellow squash, collard greens, multigrain bread, goat cheese, tomatoes (note: we would normally get a lot of tomatoes from my aunt, but hers--all 96 plants--have the blight. It is very sad for us all), green peppers, some awesome spinach/mozzarella/garlic bread, sweet potatoes, and Seneca Lake wine (whoo!).

Now we're struggling a bit to cook everything before it gets mushy, but it was well worth it. Last night we had sweet potatoes, collards, biscuits, and noodles--a meal which my Georgia-born grandma would be proud of! I think tonight might be an eggplant night.

Generation Kill

You know sometimes I think there should be a rule of war saying you have to see someone up close and get to know 'em before it's ok to shoot 'em. -- Col. Potter, M*A*S*H

Provocative post title, eh? A few weeks ago I finished a book by Evan Wright called Generation Kill: Devil Dogs, Iceman, Captain America and the New Face of American War (2004). Wright is a journalist at Rolling Stone, and Generation Kill originally started as a 3-part series for the magazine. He traveled into combat with the 1st Reconnaissance Marines in the initial invasion of Baghdad in March 2003. His writings focus mainly on the one Humvee he was riding in, as well as the other men in the platoon (Recon Marines, by the way, are the most elite Marines, who learn advanced tactical maneuvers, and how to scale walls, snorkle with all of their gear, things like that.)

I liked this book. A lot. It was by turns hilarious and truly horrifying. The marines were dealing with a shocking situation, and many orders from above which made no sense. The writing felt very authentic, and really captured the variety of people; from the Dartmouth grad who wanted to liberalize the military, to young men straight out of high school. If you are sensitive to swearing, this is probably not the book for you, since the dialogue is pretty raw and real. The marines are introspective, funny, conflicted, scared and wanting to do right for themselves and (usually) for the Iraqis. When I was studying in England I unintentionally went to a parade for the return of the Anglian Regiment from Afghanistan, which turned out to be one of the best things I did there (for specifics, see here). I had the same experience reading Generation Kill--it gave me a lot to think about.

All of this dovetails well (at least in my head) with a series of works I saw at the Whitney Museum a few days after finishing the book: Jacob Lawrence's War Series (1947).

(there are 14 works total, with 5 on display at the Whitney; seen here are Victory and Another Patrol. Thanks to Amica Library online for the images.*)

Jacob Lawrence was drafted into the Coast Guard in 1942, and served there until his term of duty ended in 1946 (for wikipedia-basics on Lawrence, see here). He received funding from a Guggenheim Fellowship in 1947, which is when he completed War Series. I sometimes forget that art history should predominantly involve *looking* at art, and Lawrence's use of color certainly makes looking worthwhile. These are small scale works, but the monumental blocks of color draw the viewer in. Although the figures are stylized and abstracted, there is still a strong sense of narrative and mood, particularly because of the coloration. Victory was the most poignant for me--the soldier appears isolated and dejected, and not victorious at all. Lawrence really portrays the individuality of the figures, while painting all of the works in varying shades of blue, grey, green, brown, and a splash of red--military colors, plus blood.

Also, Lawrence painted the War Series in egg tempera, an "archaic" medium made of pigment, water, and egg yolk (for more, see Jacob Lawrence: A Catalog Raisonn'e, Peter Nesbett and Michelle DuBois, U of Washington Press, Seattle, 2000.) Egg tempera paintings are made up of layered glazes, which creates a shiny finish. Why did Lawrence choose this medium? Well, I'm not sure. But here's what I think. Lawrence was commenting on the miseries and misinformation about war, and by using an older, antiquated medium, he challenged older, antiquated views that war was glorious and that dying for ones country was noble: dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.** Egg tempera was used to depict Christian icons and saints of old...and dejected, conflicted, determined young people of now. Jacob Lawrence, like the men and women of Generation Kill, show that there is a lot about being in war that anyone who hasn't experienced it can never understand. But it should be our goal to try.

*for whatever reason, the Whitney Museum's online catalog had no record of these works or any images. Get it together, Whitney!
**if you have not read Wilfred Owen's Dulce Et Decorum Est, read it. Read It Now!

Harriet the Spy

Today I people-watched, ala Harriet the Spy. (For those of you that were never a 12 year-old girl, Harriet the Spy is a fab, if kind of dark, book about a girl who spies on people and takes notes and then her friends/classmates get her notebook and read it and it's all crazy after that. Also, this book is the only reason I ever learned what a dumbwaiter was...because Harriet hides in one.) Consider this a free, less interesting version of the NY Times Metro Diary segment from Mondays. I didn't keep incriminating notes, but I did hop around for the afternoon, and here are some different things I observed:
1.) Tourists--I spent a scant amount of time at Battery Park, which is where the ferries to Staten Island and the Statue of Liberty leave from. I should have realized it would be tourist central before I went there, but I really like Bowling Green (which is the subway stop there) because it is also where the National Museum of the American Indian is. I decided to risk the park and was promptly asked for directions by multiple people, so I moved on. I have no idea how to get to the Statue of Liberty, so it's not like I was going to be much help anyway.
2.) The Suits--after leaving Battery Park, I went back to the National Museum of the American Indian. It's located in the Alexander Hamilton Custom House which is grand looking and marble and imposingly carved. (I might do a future post on the museum, because I like it and it's FREE! Also, the interior, which you can't take pictures of, is stunning. I recommend.) Anyway, it was lunchtime and it's near Wall St, so I saw lots and lots of suited people. I always like seeing people with ties and/or heels walking and trying to eat pizza at the same time. It's more coordinated than I am, at any rate. Blue seems to be the business shirt color of the season, in case you were curious.
3.) Yuppies--Back in Brooklyn, I went to get a bubble tea in Park Slope (YUM) and was immediately blocked in my speed-walking by yuppies with strollers, and occasionally yuppies with dogs. Sigh. Such is Park Slope, it seems.
4.) City as a Machine--I am living in a city comprised of 8 million people, with 2.5 million in Brooklyn alone. For that many people to co-exist without serious problems, the infrastructure has to be completely organized, which is something that boggles my mind. Today, for instance, as I was watching Bowling Green, I noticed that the garbage cans around the small park had to be emptied 4 times during the lunch hour. By 1:30 or so, when the lunch crowd had thinned out and I was leaving, there was a huge stack of filled garbage bags by the gate. Walking through Crown Heights, I saw 3 people going around and picking soda cans and bottles out of garbage cans to recycle them for cash. I see this every week--but it just struck me today for some reason: probably 12 garbage bags of cans in one neighborhood. That's a LOT of cans (and a lot of plastic, and a lot of compost, etc. etc.) Where does it all go? (now THERE'S a question to keep one up at night...) I know that small towns contend with these issues too, but it's the vastness that is so crazy. I also have renewed respect for urban designers as well--mazes of subways, warrens of 1-way streets, and planning, planning, planning. That isn't really a "people-watching" observation, I guess. It's just a general one.

So what did I learn today? No matter if I lived here for 100 months instead of just 1 month (so far) I don't think I could get used to, or bored by, the vast number and diversity of the people who live here. I am never going to Battery Park unless it's the dead of winter. People who lunch at Bowling Green should bring reusable bags. Sanitation workers should probably get paid more. And at Prospect Park, in Bk, no one asks you for directions.

Sunny Thoughts on a Rainy Day

I am reading Jane Eyre and she consistently describes her life (and the weather, and her location) as "drear," not to mention "rude" and "sombre." At the moment it is certainly drear out, although it is warmer than I think ol' Jane was used to. I am also too lazy to walk next door for paper towels and am instead holed up with some tea and listening to "Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me" on NPR.

And as I am not venturing from the couch anytime soon, here are some things I've seen recently that made me smile.

1.) We saw this on a stoop en route to the Whitney Museum. The note reads, "take one flower or take a bunch. Be kind to a stranger today. Enjoy." NYC = the city of sisterly love? Granted, the flowers don't look super healthy, but it's the thought that counts, isn't it?

2.) I tend to forget how awesome the Brooklyn Bridge is, both architecturally and as a spectacle itself, especially at night. We were at the Southside Seaport last week so I took a few pictures of the bridge, including one with a shark boat. (You can see the 3 bridges in this pic--Brooklyn, Manhattan, Williamsburg.) 3.) And here's the Statue of Liberty, as viewed from the Staten Island ferry. Every time I go on the ferry I think about how my ancestors must have felt, seeing all of this for the first time...and then subsequently getting quizzed and harassed by immigration officials and probably being incredibly scared. I think this picture is super touristy, which might be why I like it.
As for the poem associated with Lady Liberty, (you know, "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore" etc.) it was revamped by a bar on Flatbush Ave: "'give me your poor, your wretched...' and I'll mix 'em a refreshing Gin & Tonic/Watermelon Martini." Mmmm.
Also, the Brooklyn Museum has a model of the Statue of Liberty in their parking lot. See, Brooklyn really does have it all!