heart's on fire

Happy Billy Ray Valentine's Day!

nba wwf

The other night I went to see the New Jersey Nets play the Chicago Bulls. Total blow out. The Nets killed it. Obviously, that is a joke. Speaking of joking, I wish Will Ferrell introduced *our* game:

maurizio cattelan at play

Maurizio Cattelan's retrospective was terrific. A totally playful, refreshing, and invigorating use of the actual museum space, and a welcome visual upset of the idea of a traditional retrospective, as such. I often feel flustered and crowded trying to negotiate other exhibits at the Guggenheim. The grotto-like galleries and hanging space along the walls are dimly lit, too contained, and the ramps too prone to traffic jams. Just the idea of going to a standard fare show there makes me drowsy, unenthusiastic, and mentally immediately heading to the cafe for dessert instead.

The giant mobile as the centerpiece of the building shifted the entire focus of the space to the bright, airy, atrium core of the building—an about-face that energized the space, transforming it into a bright, buzzing hive around a curatorial crescendo of the artist's work, with the pieces and installation as a whole conveying more dark, darkly humored, and weighty messaging steeped in inertia, limbo, death, rebellion, revolution, anarchy, persecution, dystopia, the apocalypse....etc.

The presentation alone looked at once like an actual capturing of imagination, a career hanging from the gallows, a sculptural birdcage (there were fake pigeons roosting on many of the cross beams!), an absurdist play on a Baroque Ceiling fresco, wildest dreams come true, a sculptural symphony with cartoonish Picasso as the commanding conductor...and so on. I really enjoyed winding around, rediscovering each work around every turn of curated chaos. Here are some snapshots:

god jul

Season's greetings!

just testa

The verdict is in: I would like an antelope chauffeur.

soothing sounds of the sixties

This song has been in my head for days. An oldie, but goldie.

gracias

My whole family is thankful my dad is alive one year after having grueling experimental surgery. Last year's Thanksgiving was a zombie show. This year everyone was cheery and being their funny selves while my dad ran circles around us, building fires, eating like a champ, and watching football—he even went to a Northwestern football game. He also pretty much threw a pick on me and stole my breakfast when he mistook a dish of oatmeal for stuffing.

My mom and I took a long walk and passed by the zoo where some wolves were singing their song.

Later my mom encouraged me to go through some file boxes. I did a half-baked job of refining the metamorphic pile of binders, papers, and programs, and a bang-up job of photographing some greatest archival hits.

A selection of reading material:

A still life:

And a few highlights from my eraser collection:

Tip of the iceberg. My poor parents. Housing all this crap for their adult daughter. I am thankful for their lenient storage policies. And for patiently encouraging me to travel to the beat of a different drum.