Visiting the Norton Simon Museum

Last weekend we went to the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, CA.  It was our first time to visit, but I feel like I kinda grew up with Norton due to the Cezanne poster that has hung for decades in various spots in my parents' house(s).

  

Current location: Mom and Dad's bedroom.
Photo credit: Thanks, Mom!

I hadn't given that poster a thought in a long while until we came across the original painting in one of the galleries.  It surely made me smile. :)

Paul Cezanne, Tulips in a Vase

It was exciting to see Degas and his many sculptures and paintings, including "Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen" and "Dancers in the Rotunda at the Paris Opera", as Jillian had studied him for a biographical report in her Freshman Art Class.

Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen
Photo credit:  Jillian Flaherty via Instagram

"Dancers in the Rotunda at the Paris Opera"
Apologies for the blurry photo.  By the time I noticed her and got out
the camera, she was on the move!

Jeremy was not enthused by the visit.  He was a bit miffed that he had been dragged out of his self-proclaimed "nerd cave" of a room, forced to put on *gasp* pants, when it was a 3-day weekend and he'd yet to have a pajama day.  I tried to pull him out of the funk by pointing out a few paintings and then bringing up Nina Katchadourian's hilarious airplane bathroom photos:  "Lavatory Self-Portraits in the Flemish Style" on my iPhone.  He was not amused.

www.ninakatchadourian.com

www.ninakatchadourian.com

(Funny, we were checking out the ranch house at William S. Hart Park yesterday, and as we walked back to the car he said, "Wow!  That place was, like, 100 years old!"  Jillian and I chimed in that some of the paintings we were looking at last weekend were from the 15th Century, and the Buddhist sculptures were  circa 150 - 350 A.D.  He was blown away!  It still surprises me the things that will go over his head unless they are pointed out specifically to him, and that they must be pointed out in a specific manner in order for him to truly register them.)  

I was, however, amused in the Flemish Style, and the paintings and pieces that spoke to me this first visit were all about bringing me joy, making me smile.

I love this 14th sculpture trio from the Pisan School.  The full cheeks of the bagpipe playing angel seem whimsically fun, being crafted in an era that I think of as so dark and serious.

And, how about these two portraits?  They are so fresh, real and unstuffy!  The first, a selfie by Maurice-Quentin de la Tour:  I love the twinkle in his laughing eyes that speaks even more than the slight smile on his lips.  The second, by Guillaume Voiriot, so seemingly candid as if this unnamed man was casually reading, heard his name called and looked up just as a photo was taken of him.  Knowing how long it actually took to capture this image in pastel--it's fantastic!

Maurice-Quentin de La Tour

Guillaume Voiriot

I love how a museum can "show" you different things depending on your mood and who you are with.  If you ever think, "Oh, I've already been to that one," I say, "Ah, but not today!" and I urge you to visit again and see how your perspective is different based on so many varying factors: the weather, your company or your solitude, current affairs, what you did yesterday, what you have scheduled in the upcoming week.  All of it, all of it will play a part in your experience.

I sure am looking forward to going back!
Plus, we found an excellent little Italian restaurant where we had lunch.  It was the smell that drew us inside.  :)

Wishing you a joy-filled day!

OLW #74: WANT

I laughed out loud when I checked out the August "Word Up" at One Little Word and saw that Karla had posted a video of the classic scene from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, where Veruca Salt demands a golden goose:  "I want it NOW!!!"  Yes, a classic for sure, and oft quoted in a fit of jest with, perhaps, a pinch of sincerity in an effort to loose the internal pressure of impatience.

WANT.

I closed my eyes and focused on the word.  Thoughts of wanting for myself quickly rippled out to encompass more and more people, things, my family, the nation, the world.   Ideas discarded one after another as being too small for such a powerful word.  Kind of like being careful not to waste one of the Genie's three granted wishes.

I collaged bits of a paper towel I had been using to blot and wipe ink and paint from another project.
 I love the texture, and enhanced the red radiating lines left from a stencil with red paint.

And then, my thoughts drawn back in again. To me.  What do I want?  What could make me a more powerful center that sends ripples into the world?  Well, something has been invading my peace, my ease of being, my ability - even my desire - to interact with the world.  My hips.  My hips don't lie.  

I'm actually embarrassed and feel quite vulnerable admitting it here. :(  Yes, my hips, especially the left one are in constant, CONSTANT pain.  I think it's because I am physically crooked.  My hair stylists have always had to deal with my off-horizontal shoulder line.  Since Junior High I always thought I had a knack for picking out pants in which the right leg was an inch or so shorter than the left.  I can only sling a purse on my left shoulder; it just slides off the right.  

Sitting at a desk job seems to exacerbate the condition, and stretching, yoga, walking, and ibuprofen don't seem to be making a lick of difference.  I feel like such an old lady.  I try to mask the pain in public, but when I get home my family gets to hear me whine and wince and groan.  It's debilitating.  I'm so over it.

So here's what I WANT:

"I want my pain to go away.  I want my strength and flexibility restored.  I want a solid plan of action.  I want to know my intentions are rightly focused on the path to health.  I want to dance and run and leap.  I want my life back.  I want to feel like myself.  I want to know that there is "getting to the other side" of this, because I want out."

Sometimes I feel like world peace would be easier…

Thanks for listening.

A Tale From 6 Year Old Me

I found a book at Goodwill the other day.  Actually, it's more like it found me.  It wasn't shelved; it was "randomly" sitting out on a piece of furniture as I walked by.  ("Randomly" in quotes because I don't believe The Universe deals in randomness.)

"Living Artfully" by Sandra Magsamen at Amazon.com

Naturally, the title drew me in, but when I sat down to read the preface, to see if it was indeed a book meant for me, I was surprised that the story there was one I had read on a blog (I apologize for not being able to find which) just a day or two before.  And if that wasn't a big enough sign that I was to buy and read this book, the half-price-tag-color of the day was yellow, and so was the $3.99 sticker on the spine. :)

So, I'm reading it, and I'm liking it, and on page 56 in Chapter 2 "Imagine the Possibilities: Rediscovering Your Creative Power" there is a quote by Pablo Casals:

Which brings me to this post's title, A Tale From 6 Year Old Me.

This is not an "uncovered" memory, but rather one that I've always remembered.  I think because I felt so misunderstood by my 1st Grade teacher, whom I liked a lot and trusted.  Do you remember this sort of paper?  Newsprint with a blank area for drawing and a few lines below on which to write a sentence or two?

Available at www.teacherssupplycloset.com

Well, on one particular homework assignment, I wrote like this:

as opposed to this:

Note the letters of each are the same height, and differ only in width.

Why did I do it?  Did I have a longer story to tell and needed to make sure I could fit it all in the confines of the paper?  Was I experimenting with developing my own unique font?  Or was I merely bored and messing around?

What I remember is Mrs. Crosby pulling my mom aside when she picked me up from school and asking her what table I did this work on (huh????) and telling her not to allow me to do my work there anymore.  My guess is that she assumed a grainy wood table was to blame for corralling my pencil into such a penmanship atrocity.  (Um, it was a laminate table if I remember correctly…)  

The memory inspired me to write dear Mrs. Crosby a letter:

Mom, I know you were just as perplexed by Mrs. C's demand.  And you have always told me that I am a marvel.  Thank you for that.  I love you!