CONCLAVE 4/23/25

 

What happens when good actors collide with a banal script? You get the film CONCLAVE (definition: a meeting of Roman Catholic cardinals secluded continuously while choosing a pope.)  With the death of Pope Francis, this film is grievously up-to-date, attracting large audiences on streaming sites learning about the procedural practices of choosing a new Pope along with personal rivalries, intrigues, and the mundane political maneuvering that goes on in every secular election including the use of “dirty tricks” and unearthing “shameful” secrets.

Ralph Fiennes and Stanley Tucci stand out as the “liberal” humanistic Cardinals among the various ideological men-of-the-cloth who are flown in to the Vatican to vote for one of their own who will become the spiritual leader and powerful voice to the “faithful” worldwide. We glimpse men who are ultra-right/left/center/and pragmatic moderates - a microcosm of commonplace politics.

Surprisingly, I was rarely moved or touched by CONCLAVE, but intermittently, Fiennes and Tucci woke up the laconic silence with passionate speeches on morality, tired and tattered beliefs like a delicate cloth that is slowly unraveling, and “doubt” was sanctioned for its allowance of free will and thought. The beauty in CONCLAVE was in the richly ornate ambience; since the Vatican is off-limits, the cinematographers and costume designers did a good job in simulating the Sistine Chapel and the surrounding courtyard, as well as the vestments that the Cardinals wore - a sea of red hats creating an ocean of religiosity.

Women were the helpmeets - nuns cooking for the men, delicately adjusting the chalices and utensils - a dance of black gowns slowly winding their way in a dance of obedience. Isabella Rossellini, as an outlier, figures prominently as a catalyst to CONCLAVE, which has been promoted as a “thriller”- as she steps out of the line of duty, running and turning corners, the long dark dress flying behind her like an awkward marionette doll.

Now we come to the ending, which I will not reveal, but this contrived “deus ex machina” finale totally ruined the film for me. If I were in a theater - instead of watching on Amazon Prime - my groan would have been audible. After all the attempts at accuracy, the ending flew in the face of reality. No more to be said.

A LAMENT 2/9/25

 

He no longer looks at me. Very rarely speaks. Recently, S. had Covid for the first time, and perhaps he is still recovering - accounting for his further withdrawal into indifference.  Sleeping all day and night, the blankets covering his face, eyes closed - he is still and immobile except for the occasional stretches when my husband S. decides to shakily rise and continuously go up and down two flights of stairs - up and down, up and down - an exercise he devised for himself when he abandoned the gym- despite serious heart problems. I beseech him to ease up, but he continues moving, holding on to the railings. I no longer know what to do or say - having become the adversary, the nag -  his blue eyes become black, dark with anger when I approach. We have been married almost 55 years, but I am no longer seen.  Empathy is also gone.

We still get the New York Times delivered daily, but most days, it lies tightly bound flat on the bed unopened. I will not unsubscribe because having the NY Times in the house is a ritual passed on from my father, a loyal and avid reader.  One day, I found my father attempting to read the newspaper upside down -  resembling his world, which had turned topsy-turvy after a paralyzing stroke. My husband does use an iPad - lying in bed reading about a world in flux. At 83 and 85 years old,  will we be around to witness the outcome of this horrific domestic and global devastation? 

On the other hand, I still feel intoxicating anticipation for what the future will bring - fortunate to be able to focus on art, losing myself in the art-making process by attempting to convey contemporary life through portraiture and “history paintings" evoking humanity and beauty that I believe still exists in a world filled with pain and carnage.

Having lived with a person for so many years whose values I deeply respect, watching the drift into the oblivion of a cloudless night causes me ineffable anguish and tenderness. As we age, our world narrows physically - often through illness - and sometimes, our minds go back in time to retrieve the richness of the past’s vivid memories.

 Sadly, this year has been one of loss of friends who have returned into the unknown vagaries that become the end of life.

SEEING IS BELIEVING 12/17/24

 Fidgeting while adjusting myself on the train riding back to NJ, I looked up wearily wanting to finally come home from NYC thinking about moving my seat since I was traveling backwards - confirming the inevitable that  time was speeding past me, when i glanced up and noticed a beautiful woman with radiant blonde hair pulled tightly around her face intensely absorbed in a laptop computer. Squirming around trying to find a comfortable position I then spotted a  curly haired, fairly large gray dog with printed signs discreetly attached to his blue coverall with neatly printed words - Do Not Pet,  Emotional Service Dog. 

I was fascinated by the sensitive and intimate relationship between them. Seemingly oblivious, the young woman kept working on the laptop while the gray dog snuggled  and gently placed his wet, furry snout and shuttered eyes under her arm, adjusting his position like a dance in rhythmic coordination  with whatever she was doing; head resting on her lap like a classic children’s book illustration; occasionally rising up to give the owner a reassuring and fervid wet kiss - tongue licking the young woman’s lips and face; the gesture returned in a matter of fact way exhibiting how effortlessly affection can be conveyed. 

I got off  the train at my stop sensing that there was something so deeply felt in this interconnection which awakened in me an awareness of the power of love - something that I have rarely observed - a profoundly moving connection that was both expressive and passionately elemental. 

BASCHA MON EXHIBITION AT TAPPETO VOLANTE

 

I left NJ early enough to meet my friend Cicely Cottingham on the train - arriving at Penn Station, NY around noon. It was a lovely day - the light was mellow - the air was clear and happily not too hot, and I had the opportunity to have a cherished long-time friend all to myself to catch up on art, life, and politics. We were on our way to Brooklyn (Gowanus) to see Bascha Mon’s first one-person exhibition in NYC in a long time. She and I have known each other for many years and I vividly recollect attending her inaugural show at Lee Ault Gallery about fifty years ago.

The car ride out to Brooklyn gave me an opportunity to see parts of the Borough I had not visited in years and the contrasts were both stunning and jarring. Construction was evident everywhere, the sound of drilling shattering conversations, and again I was struck by the stillness of the wide streets that felt like Midwest plains - a dry flat emptiness of low-lying factories/shops that seemed to extend beyond the horizon into realms of secrets and challenges.

Arriving at an industrial area where the Gallery, Tappeto Volante is located we entered a cosmos of blazing color and swirling shapes installed in a space that did not disavow its machine-based origins. Paintings, drawings on paper, and canvases varying in size from a tiny glowing yellow gem to two larger works affixed with “hitchhikers”- smaller works like magnets hovering around the edges of “the mother ship” - a few able to attach themselves, adding myriad layers of cohesiveness to the work. In some of these paintings you realize dreams have been dissolved into viscous paint and a face, bird or fish will emerge ghostlike haunting the artist’s psyche.

Going into the second room I felt time had been erased when I saw the group of larger, harmonic, and more tonal paintings - many in values of delicate blues and grays produced on a building material - homasote which absorbs and fuses the paint invoking a world bathed in muted light. Flecks of patterning and references to flying fishes, acreages of farmland, and buildings, all co-mingle into Bascha’s wildly hermetic vision. Nature as seen through the eyes of a child discovering it for the first time - but with complexity interwoven with naiveté.

Before going home Cicely and I found a great Pizzeria and gobbled up delicious slices of spinach pizza-the best I ever had topping off a lovely day!

Please click or copy the link for images and more information.

https://tappetovolantegallery.com/

https://tappetovolantegallery.com/exhibitions/bascha-mon-solo-show

THE JUDGE 5/9/24

 

Last night I watched a 2014 film titled THE JUDGE on Netflix which I recommend for its sensitivity and clarity, particularly at this period in history. It has taken me years to finally appreciate the depth and breadth of Robert Downey Jr.'s performances. Along with Robert Duvall who is "the Judge", each character in the movie is beautifully portrayed particularly Jeremy Strong who plays  Robert Downey's intellectually challenged brother exuding an innocence and sensitivity that can make your heart weep at the perpacity of his insights.

This could have been another courtroom drama - with a successful, cynical big-city lawyer son returning to his small Indiana hometown to defend his father who is on trial for actions that could ruin his judicious relationship with the community - but it is more than that..  We are made aware of the love/hate relationship between a perfectionist father and his rebellious, wayward son. Yet there is a tenderness and a spirited machismo to Downey's character; the sunglasses come on and off depending on the persona he is portraying at the moment

THE JUDGE has touched me with its moments of gentleness that penetrate the gloom of anger. Family dynamics are complex.

Definitely worth seeing.

HARLEM RENAISSANCE EXHIBITION AT METROPOLITAN MUSEUM 3/23/24

 

I squeezed my way into the Metropolitan Museum's HARLEM RENAISSANCE exhibition sidling past a crushing crowd of onlookers. I panicked and wanted to rush out barely being able to see the work- which made me whisper to my friend, "I gotta leave - hard to breathe..." Besides my Covid phobic masked face was a peculiarity in this environment. Yet, I was fascinated by the diversity of color, ethnicities, ages, etc that were discussing and viewing the art. FINALLY, I muttered to myself these artists and paintings are being seen. Most of the works in the show involve figuration and narration executed in various modes and techniques. Some were done in the period of Modernism when large abstract paintings were dictated by the critic Clement Greenberg as the supposed “march of history” thereby ignoring a whole slew of artists and their profound works.

https://www.metmuseum.org/.../the-harlem-renaissance-and...

I have been looking at William H. Johnson’s art for many years and expressly came to this exhibition to see his paintings which jumped out at me like a fresh breeze whenever they appeared in a room. His work, imbued with joy and humanity through a uniquely flat, patterned and colorful style is a penetrating look at his African American community infused with flecks of whimsy that never disappoint. Paintings of his parents, family narratives, children delighting in the playfulness of living, as well as adults dealing with life’s vicissitudes are permeated with compassion.

Another artist, Winold Reiss, whose beautifully rendered pastels (having spent 10 years of my own life exclusively drawing with pastels/canvas) of Native Americans and African Americans continues to dazzle me with his combination of incisive dexterity intertwined with a piercing search into his subject’s being.

“…Winold Reiss was a German-born American artist and graphic designer. He was born in Karlsruhe, Germany. In 1913 he immigrated to the United States, where he was able to follow his interest in Native Americans. In 1920 he went West for the first time, working for a lengthy period on the Blackfeet Reservation…Reiss illustrated Alain Locke's historic 1925 anthology The New Negro, an important book about African American culture at the time of the Harlem Renaissance. These included drawings of such key figures as W. E. B. Du Bois, Charlie Johnson (bandleader), and Elise Johnson McDougald. ( Wikipedia)

https://www.nytimes.com/.../winold-reiss-new-york...

Some names in HARLEM RENAISSANCE have become very familiar to us such as Jacob Lawrence, Archibald Motley, and Romare Bearden among others, who are represented in the show. Bearden’s THE BLOCK fills one whole room with 6 ambitious panels allowing for the viewer to experience a NYC street with its neighborhood stores, apartment buildings, and residents - some leaning out the windows, others participating in the drama of street life - engaging in the breath and energy of Harlem’s march of existence.

https://beardenfoundation.org/

In 2015 I went to the Whitney Museum to see Archibald Motley (18891-1981): Jazz Age Modernist - a surprising discovery for me of paintings that are an uneven mix of sensitive portrait studies of family members, blatantly brash, wild hues and other canvases where forms are butting up against one another like a dance, creating tension so tight there is no room to breathe - filled with extravagant gesticulations indicative of the explosive Jazz Age era. All seen through the eyes of a man who articulated the movement through the medium of paint in 1920's Chicago.

I adore opening up to artists whose body of work I barely know - giving me a sense of their person and the times they lived in - a real treat.

Many of Motley's paintings are in this show.

http://whitney.org/Exhibitions/ArchibaldMotley

HARLEM RENAISSANCE is a large exploration of a vital and historically influential period of our time. I recommend a visit and enclose some links and images with wall labels. Use arrows to navigate imagery.

Enjoy!

BARBIE 12/31/23

L. Margot Robbie  R. Ryan Gosling

Just finished seeing the overblown, overhyped film Barbie - I tried twice before and had to turn it off - I was so repelled - so tonight I decided to attempt again to see it through to the end. Hooray - I did just that and alas my original perception was never challenged as Ideas and even musical numbers were flattened out as if steamrolled into their hairline dimension by a Gerwig/ Baumbach screenplay. 

 Sure the graphics and costumes are cute and so are the Barbies and Kens, but this is a shallow, cliched movie - using war-between-the-sexes "word-speak" language to talk about the faults of a Patriarchy vs. the strength and beauty of a Matriarchy both of which are portrayed with pure Hollywood glitz. "Stereotypical Barbie" acted by Margot Robbie is as stereotypical as the film devoid of any emotion. The movie characters are plastic, smoothed to the touch physically, and leveled to the ground like talcum powder.

 I was a Ryan Gosling fan but jeez in order to see him again I will have to erase his loopy KEN performance from my mind's eye. 

 If this is considered a "feminist film" I would re-evaluate what people think Feminism is today. Is it PINK?