Yesterday, it appears as though I roused the excitement of the one known as Malach. (also of Mojo, but that's a story for a different day...and one that might take you putting your perve suit on. I am just saying, is all.)
This is a dangerous thing to do, the excitement-rousing of the Malach, being as how Malach is a powerful pitcher of the soft ball, and could prolly bean me with a slider allaway from Boston right NOW if he wanted to. However, I am nothing if not a laugher in the face of danger (why, once I even ate a burger that was PINK on the inside!); it's something I do to feel aliiiiiive, and thus I rouse on a regular basis.
Malach had this to say about yesterday's bit on Ye Olde Marc Chagall, who lived to be a venerable old age in his old age, and who eventually died of exactoplexy: CHAGALL ROCKS! Also move up to Picasso, Matisse, etc, then Basquiat, Jim Dine, Tapies, etc.
I know everybody up to Matisse.
Obviously, it's time for another learning experience. Come along with me, won't you? I promise it won't hurt. Much.
Basquiat was a neo-expressionist who died at 28 years old in 1988 (oh, the 80s!) after rising from tongue-in-cheek graffiti artist to stylistically influencing all modern art and befriending Warhol. This is one of his works:
Allrightie then. I KNOW this took time, thought, and talent to pull off. Dood was only 21 when he did it, which is impressive. I rather like the layering and colors, and of course there's plenty to look at. What I'm not sure of is if I'd buy a print of it at the art museum's gift shop.
Sooo, let's take a look at Jim Dine, who is not, as one might imagine, a place to get Adam and Eve on a raft, but is instead an American Pop artist. He is sometimes considered to be a part of the 'Neo-Dada' movement.
It might surprise you to know that I can get behind the Dada-ism. I rather like the Dada-ism, actually. Maybe we're on to something here. Let's look at a representative Dine-er:
I like this. A LOT. It's a study for a set of gates he made that are not currently part of a fence, which is a imposition of superfluous order that appeals to me...
Then there's Tapies.
TAPIES! TAPIES, you fool! Don't you know Tapies?
Let's learn. Together! Let's learn by looking at his art, which evolved (so I've just now read) from Surrealism to Dadaism to, finally, abstract expressionism.
Huh. I've had run-ins with abstract expressionism before. Can't say as I'm sophisticated enough to 'get' it, but I'll take a peek. Even before I do though, you should know that when someone mentions 'abstract expressionism' (or it's more shy cousin, abstract impressionism, which is almost so perfect an oxymoron as to swallow its own inscrutable tail) it never fails that it's going to take a lot of looking before you understand even one smidge of what that artist, in this case your friend ol' tapeworm, has to offer.
I REALLY don't get it.
But that's OK, right? I don't HAVE to get it. I don't even have to like it. I could HATE Tapies, and still like Malach. I could loathe each and every artist that he's suggested, and still respect the man, because let's not forget that not only does Malach know what art he likes, there's that fastball to consider.
For the record, I'm a Jim Dine fan now. Sorry Basquiat and Tapies, but the man with the hearts and robes has my vote. I'm gaga for (neo)Dada, and that's all I need to say about THAT.
There is a painting that hangs on the wall of the second floor lobby of the Westin Copley Plaza that I would have loved to take home with me, and I'm still trying to figure out why I like it so much. It's done in shades of red, with a luminous center and nearly black corners. The middle slides out to the sides visually; it looks like the painting is hiding many deeper layers of possibility, which sounds like a really weird thing to say, but it's true.
I wish now I'd looked at the name of the artist who did it, because maybe there's a print of it I could get, but the print would naturally pale by comparison to the luminous sheen of the all-red painting, and I would thereby be disappointed.
I made banana bread the other night, with basmati rice and chocolate chips in. It's much tastier than it sounds. The rice, which I ground up in a blender with the oils and eggs, gives the bread a deep moistness that carries the taste of the bread very well. It's a dense textured treat that toasts up nicely, isn't too sweet (I cut the sugar in HALF and it's fine because of the nutty flavor of the rice and of course the lussciounessssss of the chocolate cheeps), and is destined for a 'try again' once I have more leftover rice.
Don't laugh until you've tried it. I think I'm on to something here!
Daggone, this is gettin long. I could go on (and on. y'all know.), but it's time to get going to work and the vast landscape of joy that comes along with it.
Yes, that was an ART METAPHOR. Deal with it, and have a nice day.