This morning, when I woke up, the temperature was that perfect, golden medium for laying around in bed, even while the sun was blazing in through the window. Sitting in the kitchen, there's a wonderful cool breeze coming in the window. Over our neighbor's house, a huge tree (oak? elm?) is silhouetted against a perfectly blue sky, its leaves flush with that "new green" color, and the birds are singing. Today is the unofficial first day of summer, but after a month of chilly days, it finally feels like spring has arrived. Everything feels just so full of potential.
Yesterday I went down to the city for lunch with the Fairfield crew, before Anna and TJ make their move official to Boston. At some point, as we were all discussing our jobs, Pimp Juice commented that we're all in such diverse fields--publishing, tech companies, finance, theater design. That's the beauty of liberal arts educations; your major should be less consequential to your future career path than the habits of mind you acquire during your education. Art history majors don't need to be art historians, political science majors don't need to be politicians, to have had their understanding of the world around them shaped by the methods they learned to analyze and respond to it. I'd like to think that even had I not become an art historian, I would have been grateful for what art history gave me; certainly I'm not a writer or a poet, but I'm grateful for what my English major gave me in terms of approaching literature.
Sean told me that his students, upon finding out that I, too, have a doctorate, asked him in this sort of mystified way what our conversations at home were like, and I laughed and said they'd probably be pretty disappointed (internet kitties! Sean grumbling about Republicans!), but then last week we had a great discussion about the character of Tom in Great Gatsby, and Sean took one of my points back into the classroom the next day to share with his students. I haven't re-read Gatsby in a while (and in fact my last effort may have been the Italian copy I have upstairs; news alert: Fitzgerald's amazing repertoire of adjectives actually made for pretty challenging reading) but that book has really stayed with me. I told Sean during our discussion that I didn't read it in high school, which he had a hard time believing, but a quick sweep of the Archives here reveals that I read it only after reading The Beautiful and Damned, which means Bayers' American Lit class my senior year of college. Maybe it helped that it wasn't analyzed to death in high school? Though I can't believe I was subjected to Catcher in the Rye and not given Gatsby. Heh, for my project I wrote an epilogue where Holden throws himself in front of a train (had I already read Anna Karenina??), just so I could have the pleasure of killing off that little shit.
Anyway, back to New York! After parting from our friends, I headed up to the Frick to see the Moroni show, which Carey had raved about. I liked it, too, but I didn't find it quite as revelatory as she did (she'd never heard of him before). I've seen many, though certainly not all, of those portraits in their homes in Bergamo, Berlin, and Vienna, but it was cool to see them together. The level of detail, was, of course, extraordinary--so much openwork lace, and pink-embroidered white cuffs and collars, and brilliant silks, satins, and velvets. The wall text acknowledged that Moroni's realism earned him a rather poor estimation for a long time (though I noted that their reference to Titian's encouragement of a Bergamasque to be portrayed by the painter wasn't given its full sardonic heft as it is in my understanding--to wit, that Titian was implying that Moroni's "simple realism" was good enough for a provincial, who might not appreciate the kind of portrait a Venetian artist like him would provide). The placement of Il Sarto at one end of a short wall, with Alessandro Vittoria at the other, was fantastic, because the label pointed out something I had certainly never noticed before; in both portraits, the faces are painted quite thinly, so thinly that the background paint layer is coming through and giving their flesh a grey cast. Standing back, looking at the two of them (and I love Alessandro Vittoria) in the context of the ruddy flesh of the other portraits, it was so obvious, and so fascinating! I also liked the exhibition's staging; they brought in some comparable objects like those that appear, in marvelous detail, in the portraits, including a mail shirt for the Man with the Wounded Foot, a marten fur with a jeweled head for Isotta Brembati, and a pair of 16th-century shears for Il Sarto.
It was also a pleasure to revisit some famous friends in the Frick's other rooms: George Romney's Lady Hamilton, Rembrandt's Self-Portrait, Holbein's Thomas More, Titian's Young Man in a Red Cap. I once had a conversation (with whom? idk) in which the question was asked to name your favorite single gallery in a museum, and I said the parlor room at the Frick: Bellini's St. Francis, flanked by the aforesaid Titian and (usually) his Pietro Aretino; on the other side, two Holbeins with an El Greco above the fireplace. It's not just the artworks themselves (I'm sure the Titian room in the National Gallery might compete, for example), it's what they've meant to me. The Young Man in the Red Cap was the first painting I really fell in love with, thanks to being sent there on assignment by Jesus (wow that looks weird without the accent mark!). Thomas More was my laptop background all through college and into graduate school, when it was finally replaced (courtesy of Alan Braddock's Eakins seminar) by the combination of Eakins' Thinker and Velazquez' Juan de Valladolid, which remains there to this day--whenever I fire up my ancient Dell instead of this Chromebook, anyway. The Frick is a magical in part because of its small size; the Met has so many more treasures, but it will always exhaust you before you exhaust it.
In short, today is a beautiful day!
Monday, May 27, 2019
Friday, May 24, 2019
Sean's a Doctor!
The downside of my visit to New Orleans was that I missed Sean's graduation from Yale. He is now officially Dr. Sean Gleason! Here he is in his fabulous (and fabulously expensive) doctoral robes:
He had actually worn these once already at the Honors Society induction at ND, and his students were so excited they they got to see them first. He'll wear them again for the ND graduation in a couple weeks, and then they'll be put away until October (for $1000, those robes are going to be his Halloween costume until the end of time).
He's so happy at Notre Dame, and the students adore him. We were reading his student evaluation comments last night, and glowing is not a strong enough word. Multiple kids said it was the best class they'd ever taken in high school (and this for American Lit, not technically something he's trained to teach!), multiple kids said how they'd learned so much outside of class as well as inside, and two kids advocated for him to get a raise, haha. It was really awesome. I mean, I already knew they loved him; it's not every teacher that gets greeted when showing up to sporting events (or, in one instance I have on film, during prom) with chants of "DOC-TOR GLEA-SON!" but it was really sweet to see them putting into words how much it's meant to them to have someone who cares so much and is such a good teacher. One of the other faculty told him that it's really important for the kids to have alumni faculty, because they're natural role models, and since Sean is, as he puts it, "just a kid from East Haven" that got a PhD from Yale and is back teaching at Notre Dame, it shows them the value and the power of their education.
It wasn't a given that it was going to be this rosy. Sean acknowledged that a year ago, starting a high school job after realizing academia wasn't going to be a viable path--even as he still had to struggle to finish the dissertation he'd already defended--felt like a defeat, but he's come to embrace it as a source of real joy. As he said last night, he was never excited by academia; interested, yes, but never filled with excitement the way he is to teach these kids. And it's not just teaching at any high school that's so meaningful for him, it's that he's at Notre Dame. ND has a culture, a sense of community between teachers and students that Northwest, for all its many good points, just didn't have. As Sean has pointed out, we invited several ND faculty to our wedding (Michael and Lucy Abbott, who are wonderful, and Jack Schread, RIP, in whose shoes Sean is following), but I couldn't have imagined inviting Mrs. Juda or Mr. Tressler.
Speaking of weddings, last night was our ten-year wedding anniversary! And we spent it at ND, haha. There was an open mic night last night, and Sean had been asked to duet "Me and My Shadow" with one of the seniors. It was adorable, and it's on video! The kids were so talented, I was really impressed (choreographed yo-yoing, magic tricks, plus the usual assortment of Broadway singers and garage bands). Michael Abbott joked to me not to be surprised if we spent many more anniversaries at ND; he and Lucy got married in June, and their anniversary apparently nearly always coincides with some service trip that Michael's leading, so they're usually apart! It's fine; our celebration is actually tonight. We're going to stay at the Gwyn Careg Inn and have dinner at the Mansion at Bald Hill, which catered our reception. The weather is beautiful, and I'm so lucky to have spent the last ten years of my life married to this incredible man. Last night when we came home we opened the mini-bottle of prosecco that was part of his graduation gift from his department to have a toast. To the next ten years!
He had actually worn these once already at the Honors Society induction at ND, and his students were so excited they they got to see them first. He'll wear them again for the ND graduation in a couple weeks, and then they'll be put away until October (for $1000, those robes are going to be his Halloween costume until the end of time).
He's so happy at Notre Dame, and the students adore him. We were reading his student evaluation comments last night, and glowing is not a strong enough word. Multiple kids said it was the best class they'd ever taken in high school (and this for American Lit, not technically something he's trained to teach!), multiple kids said how they'd learned so much outside of class as well as inside, and two kids advocated for him to get a raise, haha. It was really awesome. I mean, I already knew they loved him; it's not every teacher that gets greeted when showing up to sporting events (or, in one instance I have on film, during prom) with chants of "DOC-TOR GLEA-SON!" but it was really sweet to see them putting into words how much it's meant to them to have someone who cares so much and is such a good teacher. One of the other faculty told him that it's really important for the kids to have alumni faculty, because they're natural role models, and since Sean is, as he puts it, "just a kid from East Haven" that got a PhD from Yale and is back teaching at Notre Dame, it shows them the value and the power of their education.
It wasn't a given that it was going to be this rosy. Sean acknowledged that a year ago, starting a high school job after realizing academia wasn't going to be a viable path--even as he still had to struggle to finish the dissertation he'd already defended--felt like a defeat, but he's come to embrace it as a source of real joy. As he said last night, he was never excited by academia; interested, yes, but never filled with excitement the way he is to teach these kids. And it's not just teaching at any high school that's so meaningful for him, it's that he's at Notre Dame. ND has a culture, a sense of community between teachers and students that Northwest, for all its many good points, just didn't have. As Sean has pointed out, we invited several ND faculty to our wedding (Michael and Lucy Abbott, who are wonderful, and Jack Schread, RIP, in whose shoes Sean is following), but I couldn't have imagined inviting Mrs. Juda or Mr. Tressler.
Speaking of weddings, last night was our ten-year wedding anniversary! And we spent it at ND, haha. There was an open mic night last night, and Sean had been asked to duet "Me and My Shadow" with one of the seniors. It was adorable, and it's on video! The kids were so talented, I was really impressed (choreographed yo-yoing, magic tricks, plus the usual assortment of Broadway singers and garage bands). Michael Abbott joked to me not to be surprised if we spent many more anniversaries at ND; he and Lucy got married in June, and their anniversary apparently nearly always coincides with some service trip that Michael's leading, so they're usually apart! It's fine; our celebration is actually tonight. We're going to stay at the Gwyn Careg Inn and have dinner at the Mansion at Bald Hill, which catered our reception. The weather is beautiful, and I'm so lucky to have spent the last ten years of my life married to this incredible man. Last night when we came home we opened the mini-bottle of prosecco that was part of his graduation gift from his department to have a toast. To the next ten years!
New Orleans
Last weekend, Carey and I flew down to New Orleans for the American Alliance of Museums conference. Neither of us had ever been, and I admit I was kind of more interested in the opportunity to visit than in the conference itself (though I did get many good ideas from the sessions I attended).
The day we arrived was really the one day we had free time, so after checking in we got an Uber to take us to one of the famous cemeteries in the Garden District. Alas, we arrived at 4pm, just as visitors were being shuffled out! I wasn't too bothered; if you've seen one above-ground cemetery (Pere LaChaise, anyone?) you've seen them all. From there we wandered around the neighborhood for a while. The architecture was beautiful, but I've never encountered less walkable public pavements in my life! You could hardly look up because you had to keep your eyes on the ground--gaping holes, upthrusting cement, jagged breaks in the sidewalk. I assume this had something to do with the swampiness of the ground combined with the roots of the many lovely trees that lined the streets. However, the roads themselves weren't much better; there had been a huge storm right before we arrived, and there were potholes that looked about two feet deep full of water. It was like the worst of Rome and Naples combined, and honestly shocking to me to see in an American city--but that tells you something about New Orleans' financial situation, even in a neighborhood that is home (according to our Uber driver) to the likes of John Goodman and Beyonce. The latter tidbit inspired us to Google where the latter's home might be, but we wound up at a deconsecrated church that she and Solange may or may not have purchased last year (some Googling has just told me that we missed her actual gigantic house by a few blocks).
The weather was hot and humid, but honestly not quite as bad as I was expecting. There were no bugs, for one thing, which was a blessing. It was strange to come from the still-chilly north and find that we'd already missed the peak flower season. We did get to sniff some lovely gardenias from a huge bush, and some of the magnolia trees still had a massive flower or two clinging amid the branches. From the Garden District, we took another cab to the French Quarter, and stopped at Cafe du Monde for beignets. Now, I was planning to try one of these in Linda's honor, since they're her favorite, even though I'm not a dessert person, but I must say: damn they were good! The pastry itself wasn't overly sweet, which is probably why I liked it. I could have dunked it in maple syrup, honestly. Sadly, we learned later that having your first beignet at Cafe du Monde means you're only going downward from there; there were beignets available at the conference the next day and they were distinctly inferior.
From Cafe du Monde, we strolled around the French Quarter, and neither of us were impressed. Even on a Sunday evening, Bourbon Street and its surroundings were full of people doing what they came to New Orleans to do (be drunk and loud), there was the constant smell of beer, and a lot of street people. We had a drink at a bar with an interior courtyard garden that reminded me a bit of Venice, killing time until the "shippers party" we had scored an invite to. This was a private pre-conference party sponsored by all the major art-handling and art-transit companies that museums use; technically Megan is our registrar now, so Carey and I shouldn't have qualified, but she got us on the list. A good thing, too, because one of the passed hors-d'ouevres was this fried crab cake ball thing that was one of the best things I put in my mouth during the whole trip! I also tried a charbroiled oyster at Drago's (tasty, but then you could hardly tell it was an oyster you were eating) and had a po'boy fail (roast beef + juice + weak French bread = collapse). The local brand of kettle chips, Knapps, was also thoroughly sampled; decent, but not the equal of Cape Cod.
The AAM conference is huge, about 5,000 attendees, and costs about $550 just for the ticket. I was not particularly impressed with how they spent this money, honestly. Did we need an elegantly-printed "passport" to all the neighborhoods in New Orleans? Probably not. Did we need to be greeted by a brass band and Carnival dancers at the opening remarks on Monday? Nope. Did we need to be subjected to a gospel choir on Tuesday? Nah. Did we need the drum line that opened on Wednesday? Again, no. What I would have liked, at either of the two evening parties that stretched across multiple museums, was a "free drink ticket" that actually applied to beer or wine, and not water, soda, or a signature cocktail no one wanted. I said as much on my conference evaluation.
All in all, I'm happy I saw New Orleans, but Carey and I both agreed that we'd feel little interest in going back. Next year the meeting is in San Francisco (way to pick the most expensive city in the US, guys!) and neither Carey nor I are particularly interested in attending. What I am excited for is the AAMG meeting in June, even though it's in Minnesota; this is for academic museums and galleries, so it's museums that, like us, are focused on teaching and don't charge for entrance or programs. We'll be among friends!
The day we arrived was really the one day we had free time, so after checking in we got an Uber to take us to one of the famous cemeteries in the Garden District. Alas, we arrived at 4pm, just as visitors were being shuffled out! I wasn't too bothered; if you've seen one above-ground cemetery (Pere LaChaise, anyone?) you've seen them all. From there we wandered around the neighborhood for a while. The architecture was beautiful, but I've never encountered less walkable public pavements in my life! You could hardly look up because you had to keep your eyes on the ground--gaping holes, upthrusting cement, jagged breaks in the sidewalk. I assume this had something to do with the swampiness of the ground combined with the roots of the many lovely trees that lined the streets. However, the roads themselves weren't much better; there had been a huge storm right before we arrived, and there were potholes that looked about two feet deep full of water. It was like the worst of Rome and Naples combined, and honestly shocking to me to see in an American city--but that tells you something about New Orleans' financial situation, even in a neighborhood that is home (according to our Uber driver) to the likes of John Goodman and Beyonce. The latter tidbit inspired us to Google where the latter's home might be, but we wound up at a deconsecrated church that she and Solange may or may not have purchased last year (some Googling has just told me that we missed her actual gigantic house by a few blocks).
The weather was hot and humid, but honestly not quite as bad as I was expecting. There were no bugs, for one thing, which was a blessing. It was strange to come from the still-chilly north and find that we'd already missed the peak flower season. We did get to sniff some lovely gardenias from a huge bush, and some of the magnolia trees still had a massive flower or two clinging amid the branches. From the Garden District, we took another cab to the French Quarter, and stopped at Cafe du Monde for beignets. Now, I was planning to try one of these in Linda's honor, since they're her favorite, even though I'm not a dessert person, but I must say: damn they were good! The pastry itself wasn't overly sweet, which is probably why I liked it. I could have dunked it in maple syrup, honestly. Sadly, we learned later that having your first beignet at Cafe du Monde means you're only going downward from there; there were beignets available at the conference the next day and they were distinctly inferior.
From Cafe du Monde, we strolled around the French Quarter, and neither of us were impressed. Even on a Sunday evening, Bourbon Street and its surroundings were full of people doing what they came to New Orleans to do (be drunk and loud), there was the constant smell of beer, and a lot of street people. We had a drink at a bar with an interior courtyard garden that reminded me a bit of Venice, killing time until the "shippers party" we had scored an invite to. This was a private pre-conference party sponsored by all the major art-handling and art-transit companies that museums use; technically Megan is our registrar now, so Carey and I shouldn't have qualified, but she got us on the list. A good thing, too, because one of the passed hors-d'ouevres was this fried crab cake ball thing that was one of the best things I put in my mouth during the whole trip! I also tried a charbroiled oyster at Drago's (tasty, but then you could hardly tell it was an oyster you were eating) and had a po'boy fail (roast beef + juice + weak French bread = collapse). The local brand of kettle chips, Knapps, was also thoroughly sampled; decent, but not the equal of Cape Cod.
The AAM conference is huge, about 5,000 attendees, and costs about $550 just for the ticket. I was not particularly impressed with how they spent this money, honestly. Did we need an elegantly-printed "passport" to all the neighborhoods in New Orleans? Probably not. Did we need to be greeted by a brass band and Carnival dancers at the opening remarks on Monday? Nope. Did we need to be subjected to a gospel choir on Tuesday? Nah. Did we need the drum line that opened on Wednesday? Again, no. What I would have liked, at either of the two evening parties that stretched across multiple museums, was a "free drink ticket" that actually applied to beer or wine, and not water, soda, or a signature cocktail no one wanted. I said as much on my conference evaluation.
All in all, I'm happy I saw New Orleans, but Carey and I both agreed that we'd feel little interest in going back. Next year the meeting is in San Francisco (way to pick the most expensive city in the US, guys!) and neither Carey nor I are particularly interested in attending. What I am excited for is the AAMG meeting in June, even though it's in Minnesota; this is for academic museums and galleries, so it's museums that, like us, are focused on teaching and don't charge for entrance or programs. We'll be among friends!