By the Queen of Free
Then there is the photography exhibit on the first floor ("Portraiture Now: Feature Photography"), many of the photographs which can be seen online.
If you are looking for a cheery spot over the holidays, if you need a bit of a psychological lift amidst all the Christmas cheer, this is not the exhibit to visit.
Is the National Portrait Gallery becoming the National Photography Gallery?
Anyway, if you want your daughter to grow up to be a body builder not, take her to this exhibit and take a gander at the two photographs of female muscle giants. Yeeks! My gender stereotypes shaped my impressions to put it mildly.
Photographer Alec Soth shows all grim women, heads tilted, meaning ? , their heads are not on straight? Jocelyn Lee's photographs are mostly women, some boys and an old man in environmental settings.
Up too close for comfort and way too personal are Martin Schoeller's Jack Nicholson (immediate words which spring to mind are “The Shining” and “The Old Cuss”), Barack Obama (“handsome dude”), John McCain (his bloodshot eyes and other age realities make him look far older than you've grown to know him), and Angelina Jolie (how many lip injections?).
It’s a sad, depressing world we occupy nowadays, and and these photographs bear testimony to the whole negative lot, especially Katy Grannam’s child in an adult prison in New York (is this still lawful?) and a few which show female veterans and the dreadful psychological effects of war.
The artists took many of the photos on assignments for the New Yorker, Esquire, and the New York Times magazine. This exhibit is not to be confused with the magnificent “Women of Our Time: 20th Century Photographs" show in another wing. More on that later.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Christmas at the U.S. Botanic Garden
By the Queen of Free
No matter how many times you have been, the glory and peace of the Botanic Garden is a cure for what ails you in the middle of a wintry afternoon with no sunshine and grey skies.
The soft lighting, the contemporary quiet music which meshes into the background like so many of the ferns, the whispers of the crowd, the colors, the gigantic tree beautifully decorated, the leisurely pace of the visitors, the artistic works here and there and green green everywhere, mix to soothe troubled minds and bodies.
I call it a "salve of peace" unlike that found anywhere else in D.C. Even the exterior of the building adds fitting elements to the serenity.
It helps to accompany a child to the Garden and see more of the wonder through her eyes, but she is not vital to enjoyment.
And the trains! The trains!
They fascinate all the big and little ones as they weave terrific preludes to “The Polar Express” showing down the street at IMAX at the Natural History Museum where most of the audience is adults, and I know why: We want to believe. Go and see for yourself and tell me I am wrong.
No matter how many times you have been, the glory and peace of the Botanic Garden is a cure for what ails you in the middle of a wintry afternoon with no sunshine and grey skies.
The soft lighting, the contemporary quiet music which meshes into the background like so many of the ferns, the whispers of the crowd, the colors, the gigantic tree beautifully decorated, the leisurely pace of the visitors, the artistic works here and there and green green everywhere, mix to soothe troubled minds and bodies.
I call it a "salve of peace" unlike that found anywhere else in D.C. Even the exterior of the building adds fitting elements to the serenity.
It helps to accompany a child to the Garden and see more of the wonder through her eyes, but she is not vital to enjoyment.
And the trains! The trains!
They fascinate all the big and little ones as they weave terrific preludes to “The Polar Express” showing down the street at IMAX at the Natural History Museum where most of the audience is adults, and I know why: We want to believe. Go and see for yourself and tell me I am wrong.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Must See: Abraham Lincoln at The National Portrait Gallery
By the Queen of Free
The Kate Guenther and Siewchin Yong Sommer Gallery housing the new Abraham Lincoln exhibit of photographs, prints, and a wood engraving of the Emancipation Proclamation at the National Portrait Gallery has the ambience of a funeral parlor: The lighting is low, and the mood, somber and subdued among the many visitors who were young, old, of many nationalities and interests when I dropped by. (Several Capitols hockey fans identified by their big red jerseys stopped in on their way to a game.)
The gallery is not large, and the etchings and lithographs of Lincoln big and small are well worth a trip. That the artifacts are all owned by the Smithsonian Institution is astonishing.
Photography came of age during Lincoln’s tenure, and he willingly obliged many requests to be recorded on film, glory be.
In one of the last prints made before his assassination April 14, 1865, Lincoln is labeled a “messiah.” Tad, his son whom Lincoln spoiled especially after the death of his beloved son, Willie, is shown with his father in another “last one” dated February 5, 1865. One photo shows Lincoln with Frederick Douglass, the first African-American to visit the White House.
The exhibit continues the perpetuation of the negative depictions of Mary Todd Lincoln in photographs and words. (With all the many omnipresent evil descriptions of her, it is easy to compare her to Eve and taking another step, blame Lincoln’s downfall on her, but I imagine that's already been done. Is there anything positive about her? He married her.)
An accompanying description for another print says Lincoln was hesitant to speak much publicly, aware of the importance citizens placed on his words.
Why the name of the exhibit “One Life: The Mask of Lincoln”? Yes, there are two masks made of his face, one before the war (1860), and the other after (1865), which visitors may see close up, and which clearly demonstrate the effects of war on a president, but the title suggests a dark environment which Abraham Lincoln's legacy contradicts. Ask Barack Obama.
Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Ball was held March 4, 1865 in the very same building of the "Mask" exhibit (oh, what a lovely hall for an upcoming ball) and another exhibit on the second floor about his inauguration make a fitting tribute to the president we hear more about daily as the momentum for the celebration of his bicentenary birth on February 12, 2009 builds.
Except for Christmas Day the National Portrait Gallery is open daily from 11:30 a.m. until 6:50 p.m. when the guards begin throwing visitors out quickly. It is located across from the Verizon Center at the corner of 8th and F streets, N.W.
While at the exhibit cell phone users may dial a number to receive more explanation including the reason behind Lincoln growing a beard. Many of the images and labels are available online at the Portrait Gallery's web site.
The Kate Guenther and Siewchin Yong Sommer Gallery housing the new Abraham Lincoln exhibit of photographs, prints, and a wood engraving of the Emancipation Proclamation at the National Portrait Gallery has the ambience of a funeral parlor: The lighting is low, and the mood, somber and subdued among the many visitors who were young, old, of many nationalities and interests when I dropped by. (Several Capitols hockey fans identified by their big red jerseys stopped in on their way to a game.)
The gallery is not large, and the etchings and lithographs of Lincoln big and small are well worth a trip. That the artifacts are all owned by the Smithsonian Institution is astonishing.
Photography came of age during Lincoln’s tenure, and he willingly obliged many requests to be recorded on film, glory be.
In one of the last prints made before his assassination April 14, 1865, Lincoln is labeled a “messiah.” Tad, his son whom Lincoln spoiled especially after the death of his beloved son, Willie, is shown with his father in another “last one” dated February 5, 1865. One photo shows Lincoln with Frederick Douglass, the first African-American to visit the White House.
The exhibit continues the perpetuation of the negative depictions of Mary Todd Lincoln in photographs and words. (With all the many omnipresent evil descriptions of her, it is easy to compare her to Eve and taking another step, blame Lincoln’s downfall on her, but I imagine that's already been done. Is there anything positive about her? He married her.)
An accompanying description for another print says Lincoln was hesitant to speak much publicly, aware of the importance citizens placed on his words.
Why the name of the exhibit “One Life: The Mask of Lincoln”? Yes, there are two masks made of his face, one before the war (1860), and the other after (1865), which visitors may see close up, and which clearly demonstrate the effects of war on a president, but the title suggests a dark environment which Abraham Lincoln's legacy contradicts. Ask Barack Obama.
Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Ball was held March 4, 1865 in the very same building of the "Mask" exhibit (oh, what a lovely hall for an upcoming ball) and another exhibit on the second floor about his inauguration make a fitting tribute to the president we hear more about daily as the momentum for the celebration of his bicentenary birth on February 12, 2009 builds.
Except for Christmas Day the National Portrait Gallery is open daily from 11:30 a.m. until 6:50 p.m. when the guards begin throwing visitors out quickly. It is located across from the Verizon Center at the corner of 8th and F streets, N.W.
While at the exhibit cell phone users may dial a number to receive more explanation including the reason behind Lincoln growing a beard. Many of the images and labels are available online at the Portrait Gallery's web site.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The National Press Club's Book Fair
It must have been Antonin Scalia and his seven bodyguards.
Or maybe it was the “Triple Crown” (as one of his adoring fans called him) winning wrestler Bret “The Hit Man” Hart, author of, hmmm, “Hitman.”
Whatever! They were big draws at the National Press Club’s annual Book Fair where nonclub members had to fork over $5 to get in and then have the chance to talk with favorite authors and get books signed and have a drink or two.
One author served martinis; some chef authors served up delicacies from their cookbooks. I don’t know if Neil Connolly, the Kennedy family chef and co- author of In the Kennedy Kitchen, had any food to dispense since there was none around his table when I reached him, but he’s grown to even look like the Kennedys which, he said, several people had observed, too. (You know, like in a long marriage you grow to….and you even begin to resemble your dog after a while, or is it vice-versa?) His book was beautifully designed with many color photographs.
The crowd never slowed. Or thinned. A fan of Hitman’s told me he waited a hour in line to get in and drove from West Virginia for the sole purpose of obtaining Hitman’s autograph. The lad was aghast at Metro’s fares.
Most of the wrestler’s fans, I would guess in my stereotypical way, had never attended a book fair. They were mostly in their 20s, male, in the gear you’d expect, and very courteous. “Hitman’s” addition to the Fair was fortuitous!
At times it was difficult to maneuver the floor which made it more fun (and desirable). I only drank beer, a martini (which a mystery writer supplied at her table), red wine (another author supplied) and munched on sweets which waiters brought around occasionally.
I heard Scalia sold out. I didn’t hear one thing positive the whole night from anyone about the man’s decisions on the Supreme Court, so who was buying? The lawyers who plead their cases in his courtroom?
The Press Club’s own centennial book about itself sold a healthy three copies (before I left), but who’s got $39.95 these days for a coffee table book? At least, that’s what I term it.
Roger Mudd looks a lot younger and healthier than you might imagine since he broadcast for CBS about 50 years ago, it seems (actually, it's not far from 50). He has a new book out all about it, The Place to Be.
Helen Thomas was there reigning supreme with cartoonist Chip Bok promoting their new children’s book, The Great White House Breakout.
Russell Baker, now age 83 (!), looked fit and selling David Halberstam’s book(s) for the family, someone told me. Where was Chuck Hagel?
Congresswoman Barbara Lee gave a t-shirt to each buyer of her book, Renegade for Peace and Justice, but being sandwiched between the wrestler’s long line of fans in one direction, and I think it was Scalia’s “fans” in the other, she was, like, holding her head out of water. “My” author (I was a volunteer) told me he felt sorry for her, and I went over and promptly bought her book.
The evening began with a wonderful reception for authors, their guests, and volunteers. I was horrified to hear the volunteer assigned to Helen Thomas wonder who she was.
Funds raised at the fair are designated for the Press Club’s Eric Friedheim National Journalism Library, certainly a worthy endeavor. So much to do! So little time.
Or maybe it was the “Triple Crown” (as one of his adoring fans called him) winning wrestler Bret “The Hit Man” Hart, author of, hmmm, “Hitman.”
Whatever! They were big draws at the National Press Club’s annual Book Fair where nonclub members had to fork over $5 to get in and then have the chance to talk with favorite authors and get books signed and have a drink or two.
One author served martinis; some chef authors served up delicacies from their cookbooks. I don’t know if Neil Connolly, the Kennedy family chef and co- author of In the Kennedy Kitchen, had any food to dispense since there was none around his table when I reached him, but he’s grown to even look like the Kennedys which, he said, several people had observed, too. (You know, like in a long marriage you grow to….and you even begin to resemble your dog after a while, or is it vice-versa?) His book was beautifully designed with many color photographs.
The crowd never slowed. Or thinned. A fan of Hitman’s told me he waited a hour in line to get in and drove from West Virginia for the sole purpose of obtaining Hitman’s autograph. The lad was aghast at Metro’s fares.
Most of the wrestler’s fans, I would guess in my stereotypical way, had never attended a book fair. They were mostly in their 20s, male, in the gear you’d expect, and very courteous. “Hitman’s” addition to the Fair was fortuitous!
At times it was difficult to maneuver the floor which made it more fun (and desirable). I only drank beer, a martini (which a mystery writer supplied at her table), red wine (another author supplied) and munched on sweets which waiters brought around occasionally.
I heard Scalia sold out. I didn’t hear one thing positive the whole night from anyone about the man’s decisions on the Supreme Court, so who was buying? The lawyers who plead their cases in his courtroom?
The Press Club’s own centennial book about itself sold a healthy three copies (before I left), but who’s got $39.95 these days for a coffee table book? At least, that’s what I term it.
Roger Mudd looks a lot younger and healthier than you might imagine since he broadcast for CBS about 50 years ago, it seems (actually, it's not far from 50). He has a new book out all about it, The Place to Be.
Helen Thomas was there reigning supreme with cartoonist Chip Bok promoting their new children’s book, The Great White House Breakout.
Russell Baker, now age 83 (!), looked fit and selling David Halberstam’s book(s) for the family, someone told me. Where was Chuck Hagel?
Congresswoman Barbara Lee gave a t-shirt to each buyer of her book, Renegade for Peace and Justice, but being sandwiched between the wrestler’s long line of fans in one direction, and I think it was Scalia’s “fans” in the other, she was, like, holding her head out of water. “My” author (I was a volunteer) told me he felt sorry for her, and I went over and promptly bought her book.
The evening began with a wonderful reception for authors, their guests, and volunteers. I was horrified to hear the volunteer assigned to Helen Thomas wonder who she was.
Funds raised at the fair are designated for the Press Club’s Eric Friedheim National Journalism Library, certainly a worthy endeavor. So much to do! So little time.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Surrealism at the Smithsonian
At the Smithsonian Associates’ recent presentation on “Surrealism,” the Institution’s representative described Judy Pomeranz, the evening’s featured speaker, as one of its favorite guest lecturers in art.
Ms. Pomeranz is an attorney, a freelance writer, and an art aficionado and clearly one impassioned by art, but I suppose it was information from a professional I was seeking rather than art commentary which was delivered.
I wanted to hear the “why,” the “how come,” and analysis which form the basis for Dadaism and Surrealism, but I heard little of it at the lecture. More of the history of these two movements would have been desirable.
World War I, its death and horror gave birth to Dadaism, Ms. Pomeranz said.
What connected Dadaism and Surrealism? How are they different? Little explanation was offered other than Dadaism (the name came from where?) began as a completely absurd movement whose artists rejected all tradition as they responded to the War. When it became too mainstream, Surrealism took over around 1922, Ms. Pomeranz said. (A definition of each with contrasting examples would have been welcomed.) If she included criticism it was so mild it was hidden.
Man Ray, Marcel Deschamps, Giorgio De Chirico, Magritte, Joan Miro and lots of Salvador Dali were the highlighted artists whose works were shown. Since just a third of the paintings were familiar to me, how can I complain about lack of satisfactory content?
But I do. Others may have felt the same since several left before Q&A ended. Of all the educated and trained art critics in this town, why isn’t one of them delivering lectures?
Lecture specifics:
Cost: $30, SA members; $40, others
Average attendee age: 55
Number who attended: 60 approx.
Location: Ripley
Ms. Pomeranz is an attorney, a freelance writer, and an art aficionado and clearly one impassioned by art, but I suppose it was information from a professional I was seeking rather than art commentary which was delivered.
I wanted to hear the “why,” the “how come,” and analysis which form the basis for Dadaism and Surrealism, but I heard little of it at the lecture. More of the history of these two movements would have been desirable.
World War I, its death and horror gave birth to Dadaism, Ms. Pomeranz said.
What connected Dadaism and Surrealism? How are they different? Little explanation was offered other than Dadaism (the name came from where?) began as a completely absurd movement whose artists rejected all tradition as they responded to the War. When it became too mainstream, Surrealism took over around 1922, Ms. Pomeranz said. (A definition of each with contrasting examples would have been welcomed.) If she included criticism it was so mild it was hidden.
Man Ray, Marcel Deschamps, Giorgio De Chirico, Magritte, Joan Miro and lots of Salvador Dali were the highlighted artists whose works were shown. Since just a third of the paintings were familiar to me, how can I complain about lack of satisfactory content?
But I do. Others may have felt the same since several left before Q&A ended. Of all the educated and trained art critics in this town, why isn’t one of them delivering lectures?
Lecture specifics:
Cost: $30, SA members; $40, others
Average attendee age: 55
Number who attended: 60 approx.
Location: Ripley
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Veterans Day at the U.S. Navy Memorial
By the Queen of Free
Veterans Day occurs every November 11 to commemorate the ending of the World War I when an armistice on the eleventh day of the eleventh hour of the eleventh month stopped fighting between the Allies and Germany.
Today at the U.S. Navy Memorial at 7th and Pennsylvania about 350 gathered to see the laying of the wreath of red and white carnations at the Lone Sailor statue, and to hear a few words and a benediction by Navy personnel who came to honor those past and present.
On the splendid afternoon in glorious sunshine we listened to magnificent music played by the Navy band, marred only by construction sounds emanating from across the street at Archives. (Could not someone have ordered construction to halt 30 minutes in honor of our servicemen and women?)
About 30 chairs sat on Memorial Plaza to accommodate veterans and family members. The rest of us gathered in the circle around the memorial to witness and to hear.
What a delight and heart rendering to see at the ceremony's end a veteran of likely World War II vintage standing beside the sailor statue wearing a slight smile and his Navy cap bedecked in ribbons. Many captured him on film while he stood with a cane beside the wreath with a shiny blue ribbon labeled in gold: Veterans Day 2008. One could only imagine what histories the gentleman carries.
Three D.C. Boy Scouts proudly joined him to have their pictures made, and the youths with the older gentleman reminded us of the changing of the guard down the street.
With awe and silence we had come to watch and admire the dignified ceremony to commemorate those who give in the name of the United States. We are grateful.
Veterans Day occurs every November 11 to commemorate the ending of the World War I when an armistice on the eleventh day of the eleventh hour of the eleventh month stopped fighting between the Allies and Germany.
Today at the U.S. Navy Memorial at 7th and Pennsylvania about 350 gathered to see the laying of the wreath of red and white carnations at the Lone Sailor statue, and to hear a few words and a benediction by Navy personnel who came to honor those past and present.
On the splendid afternoon in glorious sunshine we listened to magnificent music played by the Navy band, marred only by construction sounds emanating from across the street at Archives. (Could not someone have ordered construction to halt 30 minutes in honor of our servicemen and women?)
About 30 chairs sat on Memorial Plaza to accommodate veterans and family members. The rest of us gathered in the circle around the memorial to witness and to hear.
What a delight and heart rendering to see at the ceremony's end a veteran of likely World War II vintage standing beside the sailor statue wearing a slight smile and his Navy cap bedecked in ribbons. Many captured him on film while he stood with a cane beside the wreath with a shiny blue ribbon labeled in gold: Veterans Day 2008. One could only imagine what histories the gentleman carries.
Three D.C. Boy Scouts proudly joined him to have their pictures made, and the youths with the older gentleman reminded us of the changing of the guard down the street.
With awe and silence we had come to watch and admire the dignified ceremony to commemorate those who give in the name of the United States. We are grateful.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Alliteration at the Caps Game
What?
C’est vrai.
Male high school sophomores from Hermitage High School in Leesburg sat behind me at the Caps game Tuesday night. They were utterly charming and gentlemanly.
“Fight! Fight!” they screamed. “We want to see a fight! Fight ‘em!” they yelled constantly at the teams on the ice throughout the night (Caps and the Nashville Predators). My daughter would credit testosterone for it all.
“Let’s start a wave. I know we can do it. Come on, you guys,” urged one. I turned around and agreed to join them in “the wave” but it never got going.
“Washington Wizards. Where are they?” one asked. The Wizards’ banners hung from the ceiling. They play at Verizon Center, too.
“Where did that name come from?” a buddy wondered. “Alliteration,” said another.
I was stunned. How many adults can define “alliteration”?
I turned in my seat and asked: “What did you say?”
They smiled and said in unison: “Alliteration.”
“Are you studying that in English class?”
They all gleamed and nodded yes.
“Your teacher would be proud,” I exclaimed.
Amidst the “fight, fight!” they practiced their third-year Spanish including “Por que, Jose, por que?” which they shouted at the Capitols’ goalie, Jose Theodore, whenever Jose would almost miss a stop.
When some of the group left their seats momentarily, the rest of the crew decided to play a trick when they returned.
I half listened. Hockey is fast moving and one must pay attention!
Sure ‘enuf, they played their trick.
“Oh, no! I don’t believe it! “ one grimaced as he took his seat. “We missed a fight?” one yelled.
Soon unbelief and consternation led to action and I felt a tap, tap tapping on my shoulder, and the ones who “missed” the fight wanted confirmation from me: “Was there a fight?”
I could not tell a lie which led to big hoo-haws and guffaws and laughter, and the guys put up their fists for a fist-bump with me.
They came with the DECA Club from their high school, a big impressive group out to have a good time with their schoolmates and show a stranger a good time, too.
It was a good night for victories all around for the Caps won 4-3 , and so did I.
C’est vrai.
Male high school sophomores from Hermitage High School in Leesburg sat behind me at the Caps game Tuesday night. They were utterly charming and gentlemanly.
“Fight! Fight!” they screamed. “We want to see a fight! Fight ‘em!” they yelled constantly at the teams on the ice throughout the night (Caps and the Nashville Predators). My daughter would credit testosterone for it all.
“Let’s start a wave. I know we can do it. Come on, you guys,” urged one. I turned around and agreed to join them in “the wave” but it never got going.
“Washington Wizards. Where are they?” one asked. The Wizards’ banners hung from the ceiling. They play at Verizon Center, too.
“Where did that name come from?” a buddy wondered. “Alliteration,” said another.
I was stunned. How many adults can define “alliteration”?
I turned in my seat and asked: “What did you say?”
They smiled and said in unison: “Alliteration.”
“Are you studying that in English class?”
They all gleamed and nodded yes.
“Your teacher would be proud,” I exclaimed.
Amidst the “fight, fight!” they practiced their third-year Spanish including “Por que, Jose, por que?” which they shouted at the Capitols’ goalie, Jose Theodore, whenever Jose would almost miss a stop.
When some of the group left their seats momentarily, the rest of the crew decided to play a trick when they returned.
I half listened. Hockey is fast moving and one must pay attention!
Sure ‘enuf, they played their trick.
“Oh, no! I don’t believe it! “ one grimaced as he took his seat. “We missed a fight?” one yelled.
Soon unbelief and consternation led to action and I felt a tap, tap tapping on my shoulder, and the ones who “missed” the fight wanted confirmation from me: “Was there a fight?”
I could not tell a lie which led to big hoo-haws and guffaws and laughter, and the guys put up their fists for a fist-bump with me.
They came with the DECA Club from their high school, a big impressive group out to have a good time with their schoolmates and show a stranger a good time, too.
It was a good night for victories all around for the Caps won 4-3 , and so did I.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
