Kevin’s wife Juli is my biggest supporter.
Archive for the Science? Category
Paper City Studios Announces Spring Open Studios and Installation Event! May 8, 9 and 10, 2009.
Paper City Studios’ “Pulp Science Fiction” spring event offers open studios with resident artists working in painting, drawing, photography, sculpture, multimedia, performance and fashion design. Guest artists featured in our 5,000 square foot special exhibition space present gas masks for elephants, video by alien invaders and close encounters with spaghetti and marshmallows. Friday, Saturday and Sunday, May 8, 9 and 10 at 80 Race Street in the Holyoke canal district. Admission is free. Information at www.papercitystudios.wordpress.com
SCHEDULE OF EVENTS:
Place: PAPER CITY STUDIOS
(MapQuest – 80 Race St, Holyoke, MA, 01040)
Dates and Times:
Fri, May 8 Opening night reception, open studios and installation exhibit – 6 to 9 p.m.
Sat, May 9 Open studios and installation exhibit – 12noon to 9p.m.
Sun, May 10 Open studios and installation exhibit – 12noon to 5p.m.
ARTISTS SHOWING AT PAPER CITY STUDIOS
Bernard Banville, sculpture/installation
Michal Barrett, sound
Neil Broome, collage, painting
Christopher Blair, video
Torsten Zenas Burns, installation , video projection
Karen Dolmanisth, sculpture/installation
Bruce Fowler, sculpture, video installation
Unique Fredrique, unknown artistic direction
Kari Gatzke, installation
Gary Hallgren, sculpture
Amy Johnquest, installation
Charles Jones, sculpture
Ruth Kristoff, sculpture/installation
George May, photography
Rebecca Migdal, multimedia
Mia Nacamulli, installation
Chris Nelson, sculpture/installation
Dean Nimmer, painting, drawing
Twyla Reardon, installation
Mo Ringey, sculpture
Kim Rosner, clothing design
Nancy Sachs, sculpture
Dan Warner, installation/video/sound
Christopher Willingham, painter /installation
FOR MORE INFORMATION CONTACT:
Bruce Fowler, brucefowlerart[at]yahoo.com
Dean Nimmer, deannimmer[at]gmail.com
HAPPY NEW YEAR GIFTS FOR YOU! FOR EVALUATION PURPOSES ONLY.
I was at a loss as to what to get you all for a Holiday/Good Luck/Happy New Year gift so, I looked around and decided on a goodie bag of recipes and music because I have that stuff around and can share it here. If you like the music I will regularly rotate in new music. I have a lot of Ottmar Liebert and Barry White which is just love to hear. XoXo
I have been concocting my own pear liqueur which I call Pear MOscato. Simple. Buy Moscato. Buy Bartlet pears. Sliver them up and put in bottles of Moscato. Leave at room temp for a week, shaking once a day, and then refrigerate. Then you have a pearishly delicious, sweet dessert wine with no high fructose corn syrup! Seriously, have you looked at the labels on bottles of liqueurs in stores? Even Bailey’s Irish Cream has HFCS. And all those flavored vodkas? Fake flavor, HFCS.
My Pear Moscato is organic. And this is not an endorsement to drink alcohol, these recipes are FOR EVALUATION PURPOSES ONLY. I’ve had my days; now I am mostly a one glass of wine a month gal, as alcohol wreaks havoc with my neuropathic meds (neuropathy is different then neurotic-y). So that one glass has to be good.
I made a pear chocolate cake the other day in my Easy Bake Oven. Actually it’s a toaster oven but still, it has about the same technology as did my Kenner Easy Bake Oven which I LOVED.
My grandfather would eat all my concoctions from that little pink oven. Even the vanilla cinnamon cake I made once; he ate the whole thing without flinching and only later did we realize that, since I could not yet read, I had taken the thing from the cabinet which most resembled cinnamon and sprinkled it all over the top which was, in fact, paprika. Evidently I was still learning my colors.
Anyway, for my cake that I made (for a friend’s birthday) I had to cook all the layers separately in a rectangular pan, and then caramelize the pear slices, and then build the whole thing and soak it with my homemade Pear Moscato (Liquors 44 was out of pear liqueur and I only do one errand stop per day; Agoraphobia is the mother of invention) and top it with creme fraiche. That little Easy Bake oven worked for hours! This is my version of a rum cake, or maybe a variant of that Harvey Wallbanger Cake that was so popular at my parents’ parties in the 60s. This is hereby called a Moey Pearbanger Cake.
Another fun thing that I learned from a friend is to freeze a bottle of vodka into a container to bring to parties and make a lovely splash and also provide the conversation piece/centerpiece/perfect chilled-ness. I loved the one she made with flowers frozen into it so I made a few, but I had no flowers. You just put the bottle in a container, add miscellany, freeze deeply and itallically, and then after a minute or two at room temp the container will slide off and you can set the little ice sculpture/decanter in a dish and pour and drink, and repeat.
Your hands will get chilly though, gloves might be needed for pouring.
Then I decided to make the back alley version of this fabulosity, and so I put a bottle in a brown paper bag, crunkled up the bag around the neck of the bottle, and put the whole thing in a bucket with water inside and outside the bag. I thought it rather clever, especially for around a bonfire or burn barrel.
And then, digging around in the digital goodie bag I made for you, I chose 5 random songs FOR EVALUATION PURPOSES ONLY. Of course you can right click, ‘save as’, and step, twirl, all FOR EVALUATION PURPOSES ONLY, so as to evaluate in the privacy of your home. And for a limited time only because I can only afford to lease so much extra GBs for this blog. Act Now! These Mp3s might be deleted later.
I grew up on Herb Alpert, which I listened to in my little girl scout apron while Julia Child-ing with my Kenner Easy Bake Oven so I sorta love him.
-Herb Alpert – Green Peppers
I also grew up on Barry White, but that was later. This is my car’s favorite song. My dashboard lights up purple, to go with this song. Barry White, Love’s Theme
Oh and knowtoryous-bomberclaad-joint-kd-session. Every fucking car trip as kids we’d beg to sing “You Are My Sunshine” or some such thing but nooooo… we’d be all driving down the road singing along with Knowtorious, singing, “bOomberclaaaaaad, Boomberclaaaad, blah-di-blah-di-blah, di blah … Bomberclaaaad…” because no one really knows the lyrics to that.
Ditto Dj Cesar… Blu Mambo/DJ Cesar – Big Nowhere
And lastly, Henri Salvador, who was the silly little French guy always hanging around the kitchen, singing fruity little love songs while I baked. We never knew a thing he was saying.
Enjoy! May the breadcrumbs you leave behind as you traipse about in the new year be little bits of pleasantries, spread everywhere you go.
ALL IMAGES HAVE BEEN SCANNED WITHOUT PERMISSION BY MY ANONYMOUS MONKEY ASSISTANT AND FOR WHOM I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE, AND HAVE NEVER MET.
As published in NEST, A Quarterly of Interiors, Spring 2003
What with the weather and all that, it seems like the perfect time for an underground house. While snow or tornados and other extreme weathers swirl above, you could be comfy swimming in your non-chlorinated pool (for algae does not grow underground) and having a cookout while the smoke is funneled out through the pipe that runs up through the fake hollowed out ‘tree’ behind it.
Imagine calling up your friends and saying, “Come on over for the weekend and stay till they plow us out above. We have a well-stocked fridge and a new recipe for shish-ke-bob that will amaze you! Bring the scrabble, grab your bathing suits…”. And yes. there isn’t often snow in Vegas but this year they did have snow and, as things go, that snow stayed in Vegas.
This all may or may not be what Gerald Henderson was thinking back in the late 60s when he began construction on his underground home, which is accessed by an elevator that takes one 25 feet underground via an old mineshaft. Above ground all one can see is a wrought iron fence and a rock garden and then one enters a small ‘house’, which (it is not exactly clear from the article) appears to be mainly an above-ground door and hallway, leading to the elevator.
Gerald Henderson was a longtime board member of Avon, and “a pioneer in the nascent Cold War-era discipline of subterranean architecture.” He was a bit paranoid, did not much like people and feared radioactive fallout. He built two other such homes in Switzerland and Colorado which are reportedly no longer standing. There is no mention of why those other two are no longer standing however, and I wonder at that why behind dismantling such an architectural feat, particularly since there are times when being underground seems such a great idea.
Anyway, according to the article, algae does not grow underground and so no chlorine is needed for the pool. The walls are murals painted to resemble Gerald’s childhood home in New Jersey as well as his sheep ranch in New Zealand. The muralist, Jewel Smith from Plainview, Texas, lived in a cottage in Continue reading
A SIX PACK OF OH MY
With “Clocks scattered throughout the universe beat[ing] to their own drummer.”
I have an appointment with the Psychic tomorrow. I capitalized that because I believe in this Psychic. I saw him last winter as a belated birthday gift from a fabulous friend.
I have been to many psychics before. I always saw it as entertainment. Back in that day, we would often go to the Boston Tea Room in Downtown Crossing – Boston’s oldest tea room. It was dark, with beaded curtains and incense and you would be assigned a psychic when you went in. They’d serve tea and then read your leaves and then do your cards. After, we’d go to the nearest sushi bar and compare notes and have one of those grand old times. I think about Boston a lot lately and wonder why having lived there for so long nags at me, and if I might like to be living there again. But I also toy with moving to San Francisco and thus escape those pesky annual winters. I wish they were Perennials. I’d disdain to plant them most years. I am about to find out where I am meant to be, perhaps (I can say this here because the Psychic does not read my blog).
I do believe this Psychic is the real deal, the elusive and rare breed that can actually see things. Maybe time is a continuum. Maybe it is not linear. Perhaps everything has already happened and some gifted souls can see how things have been; the things that for us who don’t see that way, will be. The Quantum Physicists, if one is to believe that movie, “What the bleep are we doing here”, maintain that we make associations at a cellular level, based on familiar associations that are perhaps repetitive and based on past events and outcomes. Makes sense. But maybe said associations are also based on the future, which in actuality has already happened but is now playing out linearly, or so we perceive. Who can know? I will ring up Stephen Hawkings and ask. Please hold…
“What in the world (or in the universe) are quarks and quasars, nebulae and neutrinos? How can time be imaginary? Is a wormhole anything like an anthill? For definitions and descriptions of the tricky terminology of the universe, this is where the strange stuff becomes a little less so.” and, “Imaginary numbers can be used to help explain tunnelling, a quantum mechanical process in which, for instance, a particle can spontaneously pass through a barrier. In trying to unify general relativity with quantum mechanics, physicists used a related idea in which they would measure time with imaginary numbers instead of real numbers. By using this so-called imaginary time, physicists Stephen Hawking and Jim Hartle showed that the universe could have been born without a singularity.”
See!? If time is measured in imaginary numbers then of course it can occur in imaginary sequences; imaginary meaning that it is not how we think, and those sequences labeled as imaginary not because they are imaginary but simply because they go against the grain of our willing comprehensive capacity. Commonly-held singularities are just that, which does not leave much room for multiplarities which, being multiple, are more likely to be on target. Like a scattershot approach perhaps with one fired particle or theory hitting that nail on its head. Sniper shots, or singularities, are less likely to be on target in this vast universe. I have it all sorta figured out. Science supports my psychic’s ability. He is a deity of sorts.
And then Michio Kaku says (responding to my email), “Einstein gave us a much more radical picture, Mo. According to Einstein, time was more like a river, which meandered around stars and galaxies, speeding up and slowing down as it passed around massive bodies. One second on the earth was NOT one second on Mars. Clocks scattered throughout the universe beat to their own drummer.
However, before Einstein died, he was faced with an embarrassing problem. Einstein’s neighbor at Princeton, Kurt Gödel, perhaps the greatest mathematical logician of the past 500 years, found a new solution to Einstein’s own equations which allowed for time travel!
The “river of time” now had whirlpools in which time could wrap itself into a circle. Gödel’s solution was quite ingenious: It postulated a universe filled with time that flowed like a rotating fluid. Anyone walking along the direction of rotation would find oneself back at the starting point, but backwards in time!”
<–This all means Aha! Time is not what you think it is. Therefor the Psychic deserves his capital P. I realize now that I am only really a particle but I hope to be a Neutrino one day. And time for me is a whirpool and many eddys and also a meandering river, which explains this blog. I am backed by Science.
By the way, “Neutrinos are elementary particles that travel close to the speed of light, lack an electric charge, are able to pass through ordinary matter almost undisturbed and are thus extremely difficult to detect. As of 1999, it is believed neutrinos have a minuscule, but nonzero mass. They are usually denoted by the Greek letter (nu).” per my pal, Wikipedia. [source]
Back to the Psychic – One time I was on the phone with a very self-absorbed (but lovable) friend; I was recanting what the most recent psychic had said and she interrupted with, “I don’t care about all that. I want to know what he said about me.” I laughed (and sorta gasped) – she was seriously serious. I said, “Actually my whole reading was about you and the fabulous guy you will meet next and all the money you will make.” And she believed me for a minute because she really thought my psychic reading would be about her. That is a true anecdotal aside.
My friend Elisabeth used to do tarot readings for me. She was learning the ropes and I was her willing test subject. She lived above a store in Cambridge that sold fresh-killed chickens. That made her readings seem more real somehow.
I went to a psychic once on a street in New Orleans at midnight. I can not resist psychics when traveling, for it seems so romantic, traveling to far-flung places and finding out who you are and what lies in store. Imagine finding out your destiny at the Iowa 80 Rest Stop or the dirt roads of Chaing Mai. But in counties where I don’t speak the language (that would be almost all of them), I cannot indulge in such romantic searches.
I went to the Musée Mécanique in San Francisco years ago and put a quarter in the machine of The Mystic Ray, and he spit out a little card that said, “One of the prominent features of your make up is self-reliance and confidence in your ability to accomplish what you undertake; your courage is strong; you do not hesitate to lead. The Mystic ray advises you not to be impetuous…” and I do try to heed that advice although, as the Psychic with the capital P points out, I am very impetuous. But knowledge is power! I can change. I try to choose my impetuousities carefully and dissuade the crazier ones. I often count to ten.
Anyway, the meeting with the Psychic began at 6:30 pm on a night which was wintry, cold and dark, it being winter. He started by reading my palms. He looked at my left palm and said, “This is your past, where you’ve been” and told me things only I know. He moved on to my right and said, “This is your present, where you are at; it is also where you are going and what lies ahead.”
I wonder if that’s where that “On the one hand…., but on the other hand…” thing comes from?
And psychics are easy to find, they can be found in every town. Maybe because we are always searching. And that’s ok. What happens when we stop searching? There’s that infamous road to hell and it’s pavement and maybe sometimes it is perhaps paved with a failure to grow and search, along with breakings of commandments and unbought stuffed racehorses, a la Ernest Hemingway. Oh, the ubiquitous drama.
So the Psychic looked at my right hand and said, “OMG, were you _______? Are you ______?” I started scribbling notes furiously. I found some orange napkins and an orange pen and tried to balance listening and hearing with note-taking. He was talking my life; strumming telling my fate with his fingers cards, singing my life with his [psychic] song, and all that. The orange on orange looked quite lovely. I have those napkins in a drawer. I kept that orange pen, but I politely asked first. I don’t still have that pen. I hope there will be an orange pen tomorrow.
He said I have a true artists’ hands and went on to speculate that my work was three dimensional. He recounted my path; the people in it; the this and that. He knew all of my neuroses. Although, I wear those on my sleeve so there’s that. But, He was pretty amazing.
And is it really so hard to believe in such psychic phenomena? Scores of books are written about coincidences and fate. Remember the Celestine Prophecies? That sold millions. As we are making plans to be somewhere at a certain time, and elsewhere someone else is making different plans to be in a place at a certain time an alignment is happening perhaps. So many times my path has crossed another’s and one thing has led to another and next thing I know I am in a show or this or that happens as a result, and in retrospect it is clear that, but for said fortuitous paths-crossing, this outcome would not have happened.
After the palm-reading he read my cards. He told me about things relevant to my life which had happened. For some of those things I was not present but had already heard of them. It was uncanny to say the least. When the session ended I got in my car. It seemed that hours had passed. I felt drained (yet enlightened). I looked at the clock in my car and it was almost 1 AM – my reading had lasted 6 hours.
Later, as things unfolded in my life exactly as the Psychic said, I started to wish I could see him again. Last week the feeling was so strong I decided to contact him and set up a meeting. But before I could dial his number I got a voice mail from the same fabulous friend; she had prepaid for two visits and the other person had canceled. Could I take that appointment? And again she insisted it was her treat. See what I mean?
So off I go.
My favorite reader of this blog, Gnome de Pluehm, sent me the most fabulous link this morning to a blog called, “Art Vent”, written by Carol Diehl, in which she critiques the language of the labels at the Whitney Biennale. This reminds me of my, “Scintillating Art Dialogue”, post which includes actual lines from my favorite movie, “I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing”.
Actually, the text pasted below makes the faux convoluted dialog from the movie seem almost commonplace. And reading this label text makes me think of literary plumage which makes me think of human plumage which makes me think of fashion!
Carol’s blog (and post) is a great read and I am quoting some of her quotes below. But you should really read her post. And regularly read her blog.
And I will illustrate this post born of her post born of crazyass label text using fashion!, for what better way to take this artspeak ensemble down the art loftified runway it seems to so crave, so to speak, than fashion!
[Disclaimer–Being a differently-abled, “writer”, and abstract punctuationist, I wish to assert that I am not critiquing the writing in the labels but am merely rejoicing in Carol’s estimation of such. I am not a credentialed anything.]
I fixed the saturation in the images to better illustrate the writing and the fashion! Yes–I keep adding an exclamation point after the word fashion!, because these images are not of fashion: or of fashion~. No.
At first glance they, like the text, might call to mind question marks but my charwoman and I (now) agree that they really need exclamation points. I voted for semicolons and tildes but got overruled.
Actual label text from the WhiBi courtesy of (stolen from) Carol Diehl, my new favorite blogger.
…invents puzzles out of non sequiturs to seek congruence in seemingly incongruous situations, whether visual or spatial…inhabits those interstitial spaces between understanding and confusion… (Trinie Dalton on Amanda Ross-Ho)
…features dozens of strips of junk mail spliced together and “stacked” in two zigzagging towers as if piled atop a desk: it is a conflation of art space and work space whose subtle allusion to the increasing corporatism of the art world is tempered by its intricate polychromatic delicacy…. (Lisa Turvey on Frances Stark)
… Bove’s “settings” draw on the style, and substance, of certain time-specific materials to resuscitate their referential possibilities, to pull them out of historical stasis and return them to active symbolic duty, where new adjacencies might reactivate latent meanings.” (Jeffrey Kastner on Carol Bove)
…creates space for the articulation of intention….(Suzanne Hudson on MK Guth)
…. This early work’s active impediment of a unified spectatorial vantage point has led the artist to investigate, in his words, “a variegated relationship between painting—a practice whose ossified discursive and speculative value I want to mark with its various economic and technical support systems—and the contradictions of discursive engagements that subsist largely outside the site of display, but which are value-producing sites nonetheless.”…. (Suzanne Hudson on Cheney Thompson)
This year I got the gift of a shooting star on that day which we know as Christmas. When you see a shooting star you get to make a wish. And in making this wish during that split second when you spy the shooting star, you learn something about yourself because you didn’t know you were going to see that shooting star and subsequently get that wish so you don’t have more than a bite of a (yes, I meant bite) second to think about what you might want. I think at that moment our subconscious blurts out our most burning desires. And the gift of hope is always a valuable one because it’s so easy to lose, likely due to its elusive and indefinable characteristics. Hope can’t be bought, sold or traded, at least not in its most sincere form. Anyway, because of my shooting star I now know what I want most and therein lies the gift of the gift. Although, there’s the be careful what you wish for thing which I have experienced and now understand but this wish was not a crazy caution-needing thing. Hope is a great gift.
Image: faux free-wishes-meteor-shower as seen by squinting at the bridge outside my studio window.
So I looked up shooting stars at space.com and they aren’t really shooting stars no matter how much we call them that. I wasn’t wearing my glasses and so I read *grit*, below, as *gifts*. I read other words wrong too – like the time I was parking and saw a sign that seemed to say, “It’s really awful to park here”.
Anyway–I thought I’d post what I read at space.com but I fixed it to display how it read to me. I kinda like not wearing my glasses. I like squinting too. If you squint at the canal outside my studio at night it looks like Venice, or at least how I remember it from never having been there ever.
Shooting stars are mostly grit gifts from space colliding comingling at very high speed with air molecules hair follicles high up in the sky. As Earth travels travails in its orbit around the sun it runs into cloudsgrit gifts, generally pulverized pummiced rock that also orbits exhibits the sun. Many shooting stars are produced by grit gifts no larger than a grain of sand. Some of the more spectacular ones are pea-sized and the really stunning (but very rare) fireballs furballs are the size of an orange or larger. These objects slide collide with air molecules some 60 miles (95 kilometers) above Earth’s surface and,due to their very high speed, they begin to glow white hot. We see a streak of light as they burn up.
Then I looked up what I wrote in my newsletter at this time last year when I was in San Francisco and it seems I was waxing scientifically then too. As a matter of fact, I wonder about the me that wrote that as it seems familiar but not. And today I don’t know if I could match that so I will excerpt some of that here today because it was about predictions for the new year which is this one, which is just about to turn over to a new 2008 one:
Still unclear, in a rice crispie kind of way, about 2007 and LIFE, I turned to my favorite nonagenarian blogger, Don to Earth, who starts the new blogging year with a bit about gravity (excerpted):, “There is a limited number of ideas that hold up under examination, however insistent, repeated, or challenging. One of these, so far, is “Everything in the universe attracts everything else with a constant and unfailing force”. We know it here as gravity. In our solar system, the planets zoom about in elliptical orbits that slowly decay over time. Eventually, the sun will win and swallow the planets. Further out, all the stars attract all the others, affecting the motions of stars within groups of stars (galaxies), within groups of groups of stars (galaxy clusters). The attractive nature of stuff, or matter, cannot be denied.”
I then decided to google “Predictions for 2007” today and, of the non-doomsday musings, I found a few snippets interesting:
From OMNI Opinion Poll Results: PREDICTIONS FOR 2007 (From 1987)
“The results of the second OMNI Opinion Poll, concerning predictions for the year 2007, turned up some interesting ideas. The least change is envisioned in terms of religion and the arts, while progress is seen for the medical and educational arenas.”
Straightforward enough. And yet then there was this, “Richard Selzer of Yale Medical School believes boredom will be the major medical problem of the future.” It will be interesting to see what the medical community prescribes as the antidote to ennui. In California medicinal herbs are a commonly prescribed antidote for the nausea that follows chemotherapy and I accidentally discovered that a lot of the cookies in this house are “medicinal”. Just tonight I accidentally found out that even the rice crispie snacks on the counter are “medicinal” (is nothing sacred?) and so perhaps that explains the haircut I gave myself and this random train of thought.
So gravity is like a totally infallible flirt and the universe falls for it every time, sometimes to its detriment, and the medical field will make so much progress that our biggest malady will be ennui. I guess I never thought of it in that way and so I found these posts both comforting and disconcerting. Not comforting was that bit about the sun swallowing up all the planets. But since the arts is one area the Omni Poll sees the least change in, I guess that means that they won’t be swallowed up by the Sun or fall prey to boredom soon. And so I have decided that part of why I am here is to miss being there, which is my usual here. I am feeling the horizontal, gravitational attraction to going home.
P.S. The rice crispie comment was because while in SF, I one day found myself suddenly and inexplicably stoned. Later, after a few hours of total yet unfocused fascination with the satellite TV channels, I learned I had accidentally eaten the medicinal peanut butter-cranberry cookies which had special herbs to combat the resulting nausea from my friend’s chemotherapy and radiation. oops.