Dan Flavin Retrospective

My friend Stefan and I saw the Dan Flavin Retrospective at the Hayward Gallery. It was REALLY great. Dan Flavin (1933-1996) is known for his light installations using industrial flourescent lighting in a variety of colours. You might think, "Whoa, flourescent ligts, big deal." But to see fifty of his best works all in the same place is really a magical and inspiring thing. The whole gallery is illuminated by his work, which I found mesmerising and whimsical and fantastic!

You're not supposed to take pictures in the exhibit, but that didn't stop Stefan the stealth photographer...he totaly has a paparazzi job waiting for him if his software design career doesn't work out. ;) Anyway, these are all shots he managed to take -- as I provided cover.

(I call this one the Star Wars Light Saber)

If you're interested in learning more aout Dan Flavin and the exhibition, check out the gallery microsite at http://www.hayward.org.uk/flavin/

There is also a super-cool game where you can design your own Flavin-like work of art, it's guaranteed to provide hours of artistic inspiration...here is the link: http://www.hayward.org.uk/flavin-dedications/create.html -- click on "Create a Dedication" and have fun!

Amsterdam: A Lesson in Bike Culture and Other Things

February 9-11, I spent a nice, long weekend in Amsterdam with my gal-pals Kate (from DC), Molly (from NYC) and Cristina (from London). Talk about a great girl's weekend!

I approached the city in my favourite way: With no real knowledge and no expectations – which means no disappointments! Ok, one disappointment…it was FREEZING there, but other than that, we had a great time.

Amsterdam is really a very pretty place, especially for a city in winter. The city centre is sliced up by an endless series of canals, and the streets that line them are a showcase of lovely brick buildings with pretty windows and warm, inviting storefronts and cafes. It’s picturesque and unique.

It’s All about the Bikes!
The city is pretty, quaint, and….strangely quiet. That’s because there is very little traffic -- everyone gets around on bikes, the main mode of transportation year round. Not Vespas, not motorbikes, not motorcycles -- not even fancy bikes like Cannondales or Schwinns -- just your basic generic bike. So, as you can imagine, Amsterdamians are also quite fit given all the pedalling they do.

I’ve never seen anything quite like it…..aside from the people riding them, bikes line all the streets and canal bridges…they are clustered in parking areas all over the city. And the way people ride bikes there is an endless study. You see parents with babies and young children riding on the front – sometimes a kid of the front AND back. You see doggies in baskets; grown men in business suits pedalling to work with briefcases; women and men with violins (and guitars, and basses, and lots of other musical instruments). You see friends hitching a ride on the back after a running start; you see couples sharing a ride. It’s a serious skill and way of life. And weather be damned, Amsterdam bikers are rugged and go year round…in the rain, sleet, and hail (and I think we saw all three while there).
Most importantly, bikes RULE the road and have the right of way – not pedestrians….so when you’re walking down the sidewalk and you hear that bell ring behind you, you’d best get out of the way, unless you fancy unsightly tracks down your back. There aren’t really sidewalks, just roads and bike lanes, which puts pedestrians in precarious positions. In one particularly comical instance, Kate and I were walking down the sidewalk and heard a bike coming up behind us and then a “click” sound as the bike’s bell failed to ring. So, the rider just called out “DING!” and we promptly got out of her way. Oh, the international language of bikes.

The other form of major transportation in Amsterdam are super-modern electric street trolleys, which emit an occasional “gong” when coming through busy streets. And it’s a very "zen" gong…almost like those meditation bells.


The Flower Market
Even in the dead of winter, Holland has scads of flowers. Lots of them. Bulbs in particular, of every imaginable variety. I don’t know where they all came from, but we walked the length of the city’s flower market, past colourful rows of live cut flowers, buckets of bulbs ready for planting, seeds, and plants. I can’t even imagine what spring and summer look like there.


The Anne Frank House
The most memorable part of Amsterdam for me was touring the Anne Frank House. To walk through the secret entryway hidden by a book case that kept she and her family hidden for so long; to walk through her room and still see the pictures she pasted on the walls; to see the one bathroom everyone in hiding shared; and to wander through the room in which they all prepared their meals and ate together was just incredibly emotional. At the end of the tour, you see her diary and notebooks. The tour is superbly crafted so that even amidst the empty rooms absent of all their original furniture, the story is clearly told through the visitor’s guide; TV displays and short videos placed throughout some of the rooms; and photographs, captions and quotes scattered throughout. The reality that hits you in the house in intense: The realisation of how recent her story is, and the magnification of just how many people just like her were brutally murdered in the Holocaust. It left me heavy-hearted, with my insides tied in knots. I couldn’t speak the last 15 minutes of the tour, I was welled up with tears and just trying not to bawl (because when I get going, I can’t stop!). It was a powerful experience to be there, but so very impactful and memorable…it is something that I will never forget….but, I suppose that is precisely the point.

Happy Birthday Rembrandt!
Did you know that this year is Rembrandt’s 400th birthday? Well, it is, so we celebrated by going to the Rijksmuseum, which is the most famous art gallery in Holland containing works by all the Dutch Masters. In honour of Rembrandt’s 400th, the gallery had every single Rembrandt in its collection on display, so we saw them all. There were several Vermeers on display as well. “The Night Watch” may well be the most notable piece in the collection (it’s huge), as well as a famous self-portrait of Rembrandt wearing a splendid gold turban. I like Rembrandt ok, but I much prefer his drawings and sketches to his paintings (I saw a large collection of those at the Met before leaving NYC).

Sin City: Cannabis & the Gals of the Red Light District
Aside from tulips, canals, and Amstel beer, Amsterdam is also known for prostitutes and marijuana – woo hoo!

We only took a couple quick passes by car through the Red Light District on the way home from dinner both nights. Not to sound pervy, but I kind of wish I had seen more, it’s really interesting the way they "advertise." The women stand in windows at night, in their bra and underwear, surrounded by the glow of coloured neon and fluorescent lights. And they just kind of stand there, filing heir nails, jiggling around, whatever….until they entice a customer. It’s a bit of theatre, really. Kinda like any other retail window showing its wares, I suppose!

And marijuana (or cannabis as they call it in Europe) is legal in Amsterdam. So if you need a little high, you just go into any place marked “Coffeeshop” and they will show you the menu. (No worries Mom and Grams, we good girls honestly did not partake in any Coffeshop fun, other than the kind that comes from an espresso machine…)

The Official Favourite Pastime of Girls Weekend? Eating and Drinking, of Course!
While we didn’t smoke pot, we did eat and drink well. Thursday night when Kate and I arrived, we didn’t get to eat dinner since it was late and everywhere had stopped serving food. So we just went into a pub and had beer instead (hey, beer is filling). But halfway through our second beer and 10 minutes to closing time, the management clearly wanted everyone to leave, so they chased everyone out by blasting bad, 90s pop music at eardrum-busting decibels. All I remember was hearing MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” before quickly chugging the remainder of my beer and running out in agony.

Amsterdam has a large variety of Indonesian food (I think because at one time, Indonesia was governed by the Dutch, but definitely don't quote me on that), so Friday night we went to an Indonesian restaurant and enjoyed a tasty sampling menu of about 15 different little dishes…none of which I can remember now. But it was good.

Saturday morning we had breakfast at a cosy French café with a fireplace. The coffee was good, and there was a cute kitty that lived in the café. He had a little bed in front of the fireplace and came out to join the customers at one point snuggled up on the hearth. Totally sweet. Sent pangs of missing Maggie (my cat) through me. ;)

Saturday evening we had drinks at the super-elegant bar/lounge of the Hotel Americain, across the street from the hotel we were staying at. The bar was a very large, atmospheric and elegant space, touting a violin, piano and bass trio. We all sipped Kir Royales (one of Molly’s favourites) as we gabbed, relaxed and listened to music...it was great. For dinner, we went to a place called Pur. The food was underwhelming, but the atmosphere was good. Monday was Molly’s birthday, so we had many toasts to her.

A Rainy Day Canal Cruise
Sunday it was really rainy all day. So we grabbed coffees and pastries from a bakery and then jumped on one of the many boats that run canal cruises. We spent he next hour and a half cruising through the waterways of Amsterdam, enjoying the perspective from the water and relaxing with the other tourists. We couldn’t really understand anything the tour guide was saying (it all sounded like Charlie Brown teacher-speak….WA WA WA WA WA WA), but that wasn’t really the point, we were just chillin’.

The Van Gogh Museum
After the canal cruise, it started to rain and snow, so we needed another indoor attraction…and fast. So we went to the Van Gogh Museum where we spent a couple hours. Got to see lots of his great works, my favourite being the painting of his bedroom in Arles (where he pretty much went crazy and lost his mind). I had seen another version of this painting at the Orsay in Paris, where I first discovered I loved it. And “The Yellow House” painting is there too, which I also really like. But my very favourite paintings -- ones I had not seen before, were his many renditions of wheat fields. I LOVED these….must look them up online again. I think they sort of remind me of the farm I grew up on, I just loved them.

After seeing the museum, we had a nice lunch in the museum café. Have you ever noticed that museum cafes have the best food? I had a delish soup and salad and a glass of red wine. We sat inside watching the snow fall down, talking, and wondering if our flights would actually leave on time that evening. I was also kind of wondering at that point if I’d like to live in Amsterdam at some point in my life.

And of Course…Wooden Shoes!
Finally, what would a trip to Holland be without wooden shoes? I hit a souvenir shop and bought three pairs of colourful wooden shoes for my three little nieces, as well as some mini-shoes for some other friends and family. I can’t believe people actually wear those…if they still do!

I’d like to go back to Holland in the Spring, perhaps to the country to see the tulips in bloom among the windmills. Ugh -- trying to see all of Europe in a year is daunting (but I’m having fun trying)!

The British Museum of Non-British Stuff

Um, how is there anything left in the Middle East, Greece, and Egypt (among other places) when the British took it all? For some reason, I thought “The British Museum” would have British stuff (silly rabbit!), when in fact it is a giant trophy case for everything they have swiped from all over the globe. I know, I know….the Met in NYC has lots of Egyptian goodies too (although in their defense, they purchased their Egyptian temple after the government decided to let it fall to the bottom of a river valley they were flooding). But the British Museum -- holy crap. I only made it through one small wing of the place in an entire afternoon before I suddenly got a severe case of “museum head” and had to run out screaming. (For those of you who don’t know, “museum head” is a very real condition, diagnosed by Elaine on a particularly hilarious episode of Seinfeld.)

Where to start? Well, the Rosetta Stone is the marquee attraction, so I got that out of the way at the beginning. I think my favourite thing was sculpture from the Assyrian Empire….especially the beautiful friezes that once adorned palace walls with the sacred tree and the eagle headed guardian spirits. The Egyptian mummy showcase is pretty impressive (if you are into that sort of thing). The Portland Vase is exquisite -- it's a dark blue Roman glass vase with white detail -- and the inspiration for Wedgewood!

Actually, I was ok with all of this stuff, but then I wandered into “The Parthenon Galleries,” and it all started to seem uncomfortably wrong. On display is a large variety of sculpture from the East and West pediments of the Parthenon in Athens. Seriously, shouldn’t they put that back where it belongs?? The place is still standing for God’s sake…people go there to see it, give it back already! I find it odd that if you want a comprehensive idea of the Parthenon, you have to go to Athens AND London to see it. I want to know a few things: Who the heck just walked up and carried that stuff out, and why has no one demanded it back??

Anyway, the place is choc-full of amazingly beautiful things that completely blew my mind -- jewellery, crowns, tombs, vases, coins, sculpture, art, paintings – stuff from literally every corner of the globe. Another one of my personal favourites is a tiny hippopotamus figurine carved out of blue stone, from Egypt. In itself the place is a free-standing world history lesson, and walking through it feels like a tour through the spoils of a massive treasure hunt (probably becuase it IS). The Reading Room is also extremely beautiful and impressive, as is the main atrium space that gives you the feeling of being outdoors.

I need another full day to skim through the rest of it and enjoy more audio tours. But you can check it out too! Visit the website for a “virtual” tour: http://www.thebritishmuseum.ac.uk/.

Toilet Trouble

There's something I really have trouble with over here. It's saying the word "toilet." In England, as in most of Europe, people refer to the "bathroom" as the "toilet." Often times, "bathroom," "restroom" and even "ladies' room" do not carry any meaning...the whole room is considered "the toilet," not just the fixture itself (I can say the word comfortably when referring to the thing, just not the place.) Even in the nicest of restaurants and shops, it is perfectly acceptable and decent to ask where the toilet is. In America, this would seem a bit crass (at least, I think so, hence the discomfort).

I don't know why this is so hard for me, but when I am in a public place, like a restaurant, I cringe to have to say the word when asking for directions. The word is literally hard and painful for me to form. In England, you can also say "loo," which I had been doing for some time, but a friend told me recently that is sort of a low-brow word to use. I have no idea if this is true, but I've stopped saying it anyway.

Restrooms in England are labeled "WC" for "water closet." But I don't think anyone actually says "water closet," so I have taken to saying "WC." But that only works in England, and even here, I never hear people actually say "WC."

This weekend, when I am in Paris, it is inevitable that if I plan to visit the ladies' room and need directions, I must say "toilet" again, so I am practicing. Especially since I don't speak a lick of French.

My reaction to saying this word is completely third-grade -- when I say it, I get a little warm, my face turns red, and I break into an uncomfortable giggle. I visibly cringe. Which only makes me seem creepy and weird to the person I am asking. So, I practice often -- in the privacy of my own home, saying it to the mirror, asking for directions -- concentrating all the while not to bat an eyelash. I think the true test of my fluency here is to be able to ask where the toilet is (see, I can barely write it!) without feeling the need to run and hide.

Lake Como

After work was finished in Milan on 3 February (and after seeing The Last Supper), I took the train to Lake Como for the weekend -- about an hour north of Milan. What a GORGEOUS place, even in winter! I stayed in the town of Como, at a cosy hotel right on the lake. Como is a sweet little town, with a few large squares, a giant cathedral (which is really beautiful inside, I went in at night), and narrow, winding, cobblestone streets. The town is framed by the mountains, and of course, the lake.

Saturday, I started the morning by taking a small tram (called the Funicolare) up the mountainside from Como to the village of Brunate. It is 2,500 feet up and affords a spectacular (though almost scary) view of Como and the surrounding area. From that height, Como looks like a toy village. After walking around Brunate a little, I came back down to Como and jumped on a ferry. Spent the rest of the day riding around on the lake, cruising past all the sweet little towns and weaving in and out bends in the lake that gave way to grand, sweeping views of the snow-covered Alps which rise majestically above the blue water. It is amazing.

On the ferry, I passed by the towns of Chiasso, Cernobbio, Tremezzo, Lenno, Urio, and Menaggio. I got off in the village of Bellagio, which was really something to behold. It is a lovely town of red- and yellow-walled buildings situated on a hillside, nestled in the Alps on the crystal lake. Since it is the off-season, not much was open, but I spent a glorious 3 hours walking around on back roads, taking in incredible vistas and looking at all the stately villas. The place was so silent, and the scenery was etheral. At times, I felt like I had the place entirely to myself as I wandered back paths, leading through empty gardens, and bottoming out on dead-end roads ending in panoramic lakefront vistas. I had about an hour to kill as I waited for the ferry back, so I sat outside at a cafe on the water where I had some wine and a ham and cheese panini. I didn't have my book or iPod, and I was sick of my Blackberry, so I just sat there in silence taking in the view and thinking about nothing in particular. Bliss.

Sunday, I took the train back to Milan. I left my suitcase in storage at the train station, then taxied quickly to Piazza del Duomo to see the inside of the Duomo (cathedral). I then grabbed a quick bite at the Galleria across the square, bought myself a pair of tan leather gloves (my hands were cold and I didn't bring my gloves...impulse buy) and then took a taxi back to the train station where I caught the bus to the airport. Got back to England later that night. It was a really nice little weekend. I just love Italy, I can't get enough of it! Everywhere I go is more enchanting than the last place!



On the ferry back from Belaggio







The Duomo in Como









View of Como from Brunate









Collection of pretty things in Belaggio











Leaving Bellagio






Pretty view









The Funicolare











Inside the Milan duomo

The Last Supper (and my most recent supper)

I’ve been in Milan for work the past two days, so after work tonight, I went to the church of Santa Maria della Grazie to see DaVinci’s masterpiece “The Last Supper.” I wasn’t sure what to expect, being that I’ve only seen it in pictures, but upon walking in the room, I was taken aback by how big it is. It takes up the entire wall of an otherwise bare chapel. The size of a movie screen, I started in close, and almost had that sensation of being part of the picture. The colours are rich, soft and lovely, all blending together harmoniously. The action taking place in the picture is palpable to the point where you can almost sense the movement and emotional tension resulting from what has just taken place. The lighting and dimension of the thing are truly compelling…it’s mesmerising. I went at 6:15 pm, so seeing it at night was enchanting. They only allow you 15 minutes with the painting though, so you have to study quick – it’s definitely not the 1.5 hour experience I had straining my neck at the Sistine Chapel to take in every detail.

“John” as he is called in the painting is DEFINITELY a woman, anyone can see that. But for all those “DaVinci Code” freaks out there, let’s just keep our heads about us and remember that DaVinci painted this personal interpretation of the scene over 1,400 years after Christ died. He was not actually at the dinner, peeping through a keyhole. It is not a photograph or a first-hand account. Perhaps DaVinci knew some other secret that hasn’t made it out yet – maybe that John had a tendency to dress in drag on occasion (and very inappropriate occasions at that)…who knows. You know artists, they’re eccentric people who get famous long after they’re dead for seeing things differently – that’s what we dig about them.

Of particular interest is the thing you don’t typically see in the photographs and textbooks….the large doorway that cuts into the painting, completely wiping out Jesus’ legs and feet under the table. You can see the rest of the disciples’ feet, but not the main man’s. Apparently, in the 1600s, some rocket scientist (or maybe it was one of those Christ Scientists like Tom Cruise) decided that the door underneath the painting should be enlarged, so he made it taller, cutting out Jesus’ legs and feet, which apparently were originally crossed, one over the other, symbolic of what was to come. Something we obviously can’t see now. I was also interested to hear (I got the audio tour, of course) that the painting had at one time been completely covered over by something else and had to be uncovered. Huh. I can hear the guy now who painted over it, muttering the whole time with snide grin on face: “DaVinci, SchmaVinci – What a has-been! Wait til they get a load of MY new painting – ‘The Last Breakfast’ – it’s gonna rock the world!”

But my laugh-out-loud moment (FYI: Laugh-out-loud moments NOT appreciated in the chapel) came as I turned to leave. There is another large painting on the wall opposite DaVinci’s, of the crucifixion, by Giovanni somebody-or-other (don’t worry, the crucifixion is NOT what made me laugh). You never hear about this painting, even though it is just as large in scale and in the very same room. The audio tour lady instructs you to look at that painting in contrast to DaVinci’s while on your way out. The narrative (which gets about 1 minute airtime as you’re being shoved out the door) goes something like this: “Now you will see that this painting lacks any depth or emotion or beauty like DaVinci’s. It is very flat with no feeling and no movement and no texture. It is very static and boring and ugly. Extremely ugly. Horrid, actually. We see what he was trying to do, but he failed. Miserably.” Ok, it didn’t say those very words, but that was the gist. Poor Giovanni. Had he just painted his mural in another church across town, it probably would have gotten a much warmer reception. What a bad career move.

In the spirit of “The Last Supper,” let me tell you about MY last (or most recent) supper. If I lived in Italy, I wouldn’t care about gaining weight because at least I’d enjoy doing it. Last night, my colleague Donatella took me out to a cosy enoteca called Barabba. We started off with some sweet Parma ham and a selection of Italian vegetable antipasti. Then, I had a magnificent fresh orechiette pasta with broccoli and cauliflower, which melted blissfully in the mouth – pure pleasure for the belly and soul. I was stuffed after eating less than half the plate, but I couldn’t help but finish it just for the taste. Donatella had something I’d never seen before. She ordered a piece of very tender beef, served raw, along with a square, slate-like (and very, very hot) stone that the waiter ground some fresh sea salt over. Then, she cut the meat up into small pieces and cooked it herself on the stone, which sizzled away for much longer than I would have expected. Kinda like fondue, but grilling on hot stone vs. frying in oil. I have no idea what you call that, but it was really neat. For dessert, Donatella had a strudel and I had yogurt gelato, drizzled with honey and walnuts. It was heaven. Then we each had a glass of ‘Montenegro’ per Donatella’s suggestion -- a herbal aperitif with a citrus-like finish. It was very tasty. I plan to have one again sometime soon. Like, tomorrow.

So, that is my complete “Last Supper” experience. I could make a wisecrack about DaVinci painting Jesus and the disciples enjoying a last supper of antipasti, self-cooked beef on a hot stone with some pasta, finished off with a scoop of gelato and a nice aperitif -- but I won’t because some might see that as wrong. But c’mon, if he can blatantly paint “Paul” as a woman and insinuate it is Jesus’ wife as an inside joke for his buddies back at the Masonic lodge, then why can’t I do a little food styling? After all, it was painted in Italy, the gastronomic capitol of the universe, it would only be right.