Thursday, May 17, 2012

LUKA WEDNESDAY


I was reading somewhere recently--and I regret that my short term memory is such, these days, that I no longer remember where--a piece by a young mother who confessed that she found her baby boring.  As I recall, there was general agreement by other young mothers that young children are, yes, indeed, boring to their adult parents.  The generally accepted conclusion was that this was a sad, but undeniable and inescapable truth.

(With Grandma, at Whole Foods)
Well, I have the remnant tatters of an adult brain that sees exactly what they mean.  I was sitting with my now six-month old baby grandson Luka yesterday--it was his Wednesday at Grandma and Grandpa's--and watching him with the doting attention of a grandfather.  He was sitting--for the first time at our house--in a high chair, having just devoured a hearty meal...


... and amusing himself by bashing a couple of his toys on the white plastic tabletop...


... and throwing them off the edge for Grandpa to pick up and replace in front of him.


The process was repeated endlessly, with no apparent loss of interest on Luka's part: like the energizer bunny, he kept going and going.


Boring?  My "adult" brain would say so.  What Luka found so fascinating was not the occupation my own brain would have chosen to amuse itself.  In fact, I could actually watch it beginning to respond as those young mothers did.  But I am fortunate these days to also have a "senior" brain, much closer to the child's.  Tempered not only by age and the loss, I'm sure, of many zillions of busy cells, but also by years of meditation practice, this brain can step back from its important critical work into what I experience as "mind," which makes fewer judgments and observes with more stable attention.

From this place, I find I have no need to be amused or, particularly, informed by the action of each passing moment.  In this place, if I have the wisdom, I can simply participate in each present moment as it passes--much as I suspect Luka's does.  There's immense, deep pleasure in doing nothing more than sitting there, with him, and sharing the joy of a moment unsullied by the ego's desires and needs.


Wednesday, May 16, 2012

ONE HOUR/ONE PAINTING


If you're in the LA area, please join me for a "One Hour/One Painting" session at Gregg Chadwick's studio next Tuesday evening at 6:30 PM: Studio 15, Santa Monica Art Studios, 3026 Airport Avenue, Santa Monica.  Gregg is a marvelous painter and a fellow blogger at Speed of Life.  The session will be (discreetly!) videotaped for possible use at the Tricycle magazine's meditation site.  The picture we have selected for the occasion, A Balance of Shadows (see detail, below), is especially appropriate for the "slow looking" experience.  I think I can promise a richly rewarding hour.  Information and reservations with Emily at emilypersist86@gmail.com.

AN EXEMPLARY PUBLIC ART PROJECT


It's always a pleasure, for me, to find the work of contemporary artists outside the context of the conventional, white-walled gallery space, installed where it can speak to a public that otherwise would likely never see it.  As a human endeavor, art has the capacity to serve a purpose other than itself: the notion of art for art's sake tended to dominate 20th century aesthetic thought, and I for one am glad to see it put to a worthy social purpose now and then.

I drove down to the USC-Los Angeles County General hospital in East Los Angeles yesterday, to join a walk-through of the new installation of paintings in the lobby and reception areas of the recently-opened Violence Intervention Program.  The clinic is the result of years of dedicated work by the program's director, Dr. Astrid Heger, who worked for years out of a trailer in service of the needs of inner city children traumatized by violence and rape, for too long neglected because, as Dr. Heger told me, they were deemed "too brown, too black, too poor" to merit serious attention.  She had to do battle with the LA County authorities--she enlisted first the support of Supervisor Gloria Molina--to wrest the hospital warehouse space from its planned use as a police facility, and converted it instead to the purposes of VIP.


Dr. Heger, I learned on meeting and talking with her for a few minutes, is a woman of vision and formidable determination.  Her vision for the VIP center goes beyond its purely medical purposes: it should also be a community.  Outside the new center, she commandeered what was a parking lot and has begun to convert it into a mini park--the lawn is already installed--where patients and visitors can enjoy a picnic outdoors and frolic in the sunshine.  For the interior, she looked at the long, vacant walls and envisioned... an art gallery.  She rejected as uninspiring the initial thought for a mural in the reception area, something that after a while would dull into a wall that people would eventually no longer see.  A changing art exhibition, she thought, of uplifting art would enhance her vision of the center as a community, serving the interests of her patients and their visitors.  And she wanted to encourage doctors and others on her staff to think of buying art to support the work of locally-based artists.  With Supervisor Molina's help, she enlisted the Los Angeles County Arts Commission to support her.

Enter, if I have my history straight, the Green Public Art Consultancy and its representative, Rebecca Ansert, to get the program started; and enter Kathy Gallegos at Avenue 50 Studio in Highland Park, a thriving and culturally diverse community of artists just a short hop from the hospital.  Avenue 50, an energetic "non-profit arts presentation organization," has served appropriately as the source for most, if not all the paintings currently on view, with Kathy acting in a curatorial capacity.  The result of this collaborative effort between institution, government and art community is an exemplary and, yes, inspiring display of paintings.  Dr. Heger assured me that her intentions are already being gratified by enthusiastic responses from all quarters.


I'll have more to say about the walk-through and the art in another entry.  Suffice it to say, today, that I was enormously impressed by the dedication of everyone involved.  I was once a Los Angeles County employee myself--indeed, as Director of what was then Otis Art Institute of Los Angeles County, I was a county department head.  I spent a good deal of time with the civil servants working in the Hall of Adminsitration, and grew to respect the sense of service with which most of them went about their jobs.  Our bureaucrats are too easily dismissed and dumped upon.  Without their backing and administrative support, I imagine this project could not have been realized.  Despite its critics, government provides us with services we all need and use--even services less easily measurable in practical terms, like this one.  So hats off to the County, and to those in the art community who evidently also put their hearts into the project.  And most of all, today, to the indefatigable Dr. Heger, whose dedication to the most vulnerable amongst us--and whose understanding that their needs go beyond the purely practical--should be an inspiration to us all.

Monday, May 14, 2012

DO SOMETHING

I am one of my "do something" phases of self-deprecation for sitting around in the comfort of my life even while I know that millions are suffering everywhere throughout the world.  I tell myself I "should be" working in a soup kitchen, raising money for Planned Parenthood, flying to Africa to work in a health clinic...  I read, for example, Nicholas D. Kristof's columns (like the one in yesterday's New York Times  about women suffering dreadfully as a result of fistulas in yesterday's New York Times,) and I berate myself for not traveling the world, as he does, and using my writing skills to draw attention to its miseries.  I read in his book (I reviewed it last week) about all those wonderful people who devote their time, their energy, their money and their very lives to serving other human beings in distress.  I am in awe of such selfless people... and compare myself the them unfavorably.

When these moods strike, as they do from time to time, I find myself defenseless against them.  All my attempts to justify what I judge to be my inaction seem pretty thin: I do what I can with my writing, I have passed the time when I'm much use to anyone, I try to live an honest and humane existence, I send money as I can to help with causes I believe in, and so on.  Then I start to accuse myself of self-pity, laziness, inertia... and end up throwing the book at myself and landing it pretty much on target.  I can't be the only bleeding heart in the world who remains content to bleed, as though that in itself were action enough to respond to the world's problems.

Tomorrow, I plan to "do something."  I'll doubtless report on it in a couple of days's time.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

EDWARD LEAR


(I have no idea why they typography is so screwed up today.  Apologies!)

Today marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of Edward Lear, the Victorian nonsense poet whose poems were familiar to me as a child (I still remember a number of them, word for word!) and which I read constantly to my children.  I hope they read the same poems to their children. I'm sure you all know The Owl and the Pussycat and The Jumblies.  Here's "Calico Pie."  It's less familiar--and a little bit sad.  And another favorite, "How Pleasant to Know Mr. Lear."  Lear's dark side is omnipresent in his nonsense, like Maurice Sendak's, whose loss we learned of this past week. Thanks to Verlyn Klinkenborg of the New York Times for drawing this anniversary to my attention.  Enjoy!

Calico Pie

Calico Pie,
The little Birds fly
Down to the calico tree,
Their wings were blue,
And they sang 'Tilly-loo!'
Till away they flew,
And they never came back to me!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me!

Calico Jam,
The little Fish swam
Over the syllabub sea,
He took off his hat
To the Sole and the Sprat,
And the Willeby-wat,
But he never came back to me!
He never came back!
He never came back!
He never came back to me!

Calico Ban,
The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea,
Flippity-flup,
They drank it all up,
And danced in the cup,
But they never came back to me!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me!

Calico Drum,
The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
Over the ground,
Around and around,
With a hop and a bound -
But they never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back!
They never came back to me! 

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear

How pleasant to know Mr. Lear,
Who has written such volumes of stuff.
Some think him ill-tempered and queer,
But a few find him pleasant enough.

His mind is concrete and fastidious,
His nose is remarkably big;
His visage is more or less hideous,
His beard it resembles a wig.

He has ears, and two eyes, and ten fingers,
(Leastways if you reckon two thumbs);
He used to be one of the singers,
But now he is one of the dumbs.

He sits in a beautiful parlour,
With hundreds of books on the wall;
He drinks a great deal of marsala,
But never gets tipsy at all.

He has many friends, laymen and clerical,
Old Foss is the name of his cat;
His body is perfectly spherical,
He weareth a runcible hat.

When he walks in waterproof white,
The children run after him so!
Calling out, "He's gone out in his night-
Gown, that crazy old Englishman, oh!"

He weeps by the side of the ocean,
He weeps on the top of the hill;
He purchases pancakes and lotion,
And chocolate shrimps from the mill.

He reads, but he does not speak, Spanish,
He cannot abide ginger beer;
Ere the days of his pilgrimage vanish,
How pleasant to know Mr. Lear!