Weekend

I spent nearly all my spare time this weekend with my nose buried in Bob Spitz’s book “The Beatles,” which I finally finished. (All 800-plus pages!)

It’s interesting to learn more about the band I thought I already knew so well. I never knew, for example, that Ringo Starr was so sickly as a child, and as a result had little formal education. I also never knew just how strung out John Lennon got, or how much Paul McCartney worked to hold together the Beatles’ empire (in ways that often made him seem controlling and demanding). Spitz clearly isn’t enthralled by Yoko Ono, but drugs were the real villain in the Beatles saga. How could anyone work and maintain a business empire with that much LSD and pot and, in John’s case, heroin coursing through their veins?

I loved learning about individual songs and how they came about - I never knew that “Bungalow Bill,” for example, was written about a pair of American guests at the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi’s ashram in India who went off on a hunting safari one day. Fascinating!

Anyway, when I wasn’t reading, I was out exploring. My friend Kate and I went walking through parts of Queens and Brooklyn on Saturday - we ultimately spent about six hours on the hoof, and I have lots of photos to show for it. Then Bob and I went out Saturday and again last night, and I went to the gym.

I skipped the Zendo. I am definitely in a retreat phase in my formal Zen practice. I could say that I’ve had a lot going on, and that’s certainly true, but the real truth is that at the moment, I just don’t feel like practicing much. I’ve been feeling some doubts lately - about whether I’m replacing the distractions of daily life with the distractions of ceremony within the Zendo, for example. Aside from the sitting, which I do believe to be important and effective, isn’t it all - the robes, the incense, the liturgy - just another distraction?

(Photo: Bench at the New York Botanical Garden, March 2008)

Criminal

Until this weekend, I’ve been an observer in the world of street art - a watcher, an archivist. Now I’m a participant.

I didn’t make my own art. But I helped out an artist from another part of the country who wanted to get up in New York. I got to know him through Flickr, and offered several months ago to put up a few of his pieces in the Big Apple. He sent me a couple and they sat under my kitchen sink for months as I debated where and how to do it. They began to seem like a huge burden.

Finally, yesterday, I went out and put two of them up in the early morning. Then I put two more up in the afternoon in a different part of the city. I was careful to put them in places where they wouldn't do damage and no one would be angered, yet where they would be seen. I picked popular street art locales.

The act itself was kind of exhilarating, knowing that I was giving the city an artistic boost. (And knowing that what I was doing was technically illegal, even if dozens and dozens of people had done similar things in the same spot already.)

Still, I’m glad it’s done, and I don’t think I’ll offer to do it again. It’s such a relief to have the obligation fulfilled. But as it turns out, when it comes to street art, I would much rather just watch!

(Photo: East Village, March 2008)

Art: the rest

As I said yesterday, a reader asked for a quick guide to the rest of my very small art collection. (None of this stuff is very valuable, so if you're tempted to go to the trouble to break into my apartment and steal it, I'd advise against it.)

The print above is called "Triad," by Helen Yaker, c. 1978. I bought it at a flea market in the mid-80s, where it was in a water-damaged frame and mat and looked like it had been through some hard knocks. The print was fine, so I just had it reframed. It reminds me of ocean waves on a stormy night. (I actually contacted Yaker via Google a few years ago and she told me how and when she made this.)


This is a woodblock print by Margaret Orchard, 1972. I bought it unframed at an antique shop in Tampa around 1988. I think it's very maternal.


An American friend of mine in Morocco, Stacy Elko, painted this watercolor view of a saint's tomb near Ait Baha, the town where I lived.


I bought this in Zurich in 2003. It's called "Herbst," or autumn. Signed Martin-Guy, 1982.


This is a pencil drawing by Dale Jarrett, an artist from Kansas. I love its spacious feeling, that immense sky and the suggestion of a landscape at the bottom. I bought it at an art show in 2000.


This is called "Payne's Prairie," after an area near Gainesville, Fla. It's by John Richard Caputo, who studied printmaking at the nearby University of Florida. Dated 1980.


This photo is by Clyde Butcher, a well-known Florida landscape photographer. It's called Cody Island #1. A friend bought it at an art auction for AIDS charities and gave it to me right after I moved to New York in 2000.

And that's it! Sorry for the weird sideways perspectives, but of course all this stuff is framed with glass, so I can't shoot it head-on. You can see it all in context here.

New Art, Part 2

So here’s the finished product -- Sebastian and Bryce in their frames. Bryce lives in the dining alcove and Sebastian has a place of honor over my bed. They look really great, I think. And as it turns out, I didn’t need to move anything else around, as these walls were already blank -- just waiting.


Someone asked me several weeks ago, when I posted the pictures of my apartment, to talk about all the art. So I took shots of the rest of it, too. But maybe I’ll save that for tomorrow. I think brevity is definitely the secret to a good blog entry!

My boss has been out the past few days, so keeping the office running has been my task. I’ll be glad when she comes back today, if only to have someone else to talk to. People say the mice play when the cat’s away, but really the mice are just bored.

Bob came over last night and we watched “Muriel’s Wedding” -- one of my all-time favorite flicks. I am a devoted fan of Toni Collette and that’s the movie that started it all. If you haven’t seen it, RUN, don’t walk, to your nearest video store, or add it to your Netflix queue immediately!

New Art

Those of you who keep an eye on my Flickr account undoubtedly know these images. They're by the street artist Gaia, and until recently they've been available for viewing only on walls and doors in New York and a few other cities. Then Gaia ran off a limited edition of prints for sale. I couldn't resist buying them, since I've liked his images on the street for so long.

The one above is titled Sebastian. The one below is Bryce.


I took these photos when I dropped the prints off at the frame shop. Last night, I picked up the finished, framed prints and hung them in my apartment, where they seem really HUGE. (They are quite large -- I'm not imagining things.) I'm going to have to reshuffle some of my exising artwork to accommodate them and balance out the room.

Still, I really like them! What do you think?

Chippendales

I was thinking the other day about the objectification of the male form, and how we never used to see men’s bodies used in advertising the way we do today. Twenty or thirty years ago ad models were almost all women, with long Farrah hair and glossy lips. It was’t until the ‘90s, I think, when companies like Abercrombie & Fitch discovered a gold mine of advertising potential in attractive young men.

I mean, there was always the Marlboro man, but male models were usually like him -- dignified, rugged and clothed. I’m not sure whether seeing more male skin represents social progress or regression, but we’re definitely seeing more of it today.

Remember the Chippendales? When I was in high school, they were about the only guys I knew of who took their clothes off for commercial purposes. (For those of you unacquainted with the Chippendales, they’re a cheezy dance troupe of muscly male strippers.)

Funny story: When I was a high school senior, my girlfriend went to Spencer Gifts at University Square Mall and bought a deck of cards showing the Chippendales in various states of undress. I remember thinking they weren’t that attractive, all oiled and kind of greasy-looking, but I still wanted a deck of those cards myself. (I’m not sure what was going on in my tangled-up psyche at the time -- girlfriend, Chippendales cards -- but whatever.)

I went in to Spencer’s, picked up the cards and bravely approached the cashier, a woman.

“I think these are the cards my girlfriend wants,” I said, uncertainly. The cashier gave me a knowing look (her brain was saying, “Gay!”) and rang them up.

I kept those cards for a year or two, but like I said, I didn’t really think any of the guys were all that great. Oily men in bow ties and thongs just don’t do it for me. Call me crazy.

(Photo: East Village, March 2008)

Easter Parade

Bob and I went to Fifth Avenue yesterday afternoon to see what was left of the Easter Parade. We got there pretty late, so all we could find was this lone dog, named Cookie, dressed in her Easter best. When I asked Cookie's owner if I could take a photo, she insisted on putting Cookie's bonnet on first.

People are so strange.