Quarterly Roundup
A little existentialism, among other things
While I was unemployed, I had no desire to write.
This is not the same thing as having nothing to write about. There were many moments during which I took a mental note, thinking how nicely they would translate into a blog post. I just didn’t know the point, or meaning, of these moments, which debilitated me from writing them down.
Like when I was in London in March, sitting in front of Noah Davis’s Painting for my Dad (2002) with my friend Cecily at the Barbican, and I felt myself tearing up. What was it, exactly, that brought me to tears? As someone who has seen a lot of art, getting emotional in front of a work is a rare occurrence (it has to be… imagine if I was just constantly sobbing). Was I tearing up because of the fact that the painting reflects on the then recent death of the artist’s father? Did this conjure my own fears surrounding the fragility of life and the death of those I love? Or was it even simpler than that, unbound to the object’s contextual meaning, and more closely associated with the lone figure looking out into the universe’s abyss? Maybe this recalled feelings associated with isolation and the heavy question: what next?
Months later, at the MoMA, I saw Michelle Obama and Thelma Golden walking through the Jack Whitten exhibition. I was starstruck to be in the company of two women I so deeply admire—so much so that I awkwardly told them this when we crossed paths (this exchange went something akin to me rambling: “yOu TwO ArE mY iCoNS,” followed by Michelle touching my arm and saying thank you. My arm remains unwashed). My heightened adrenaline only skyrocketed as I shifted my focus to the artwork on display. Among my favorite pieces: Martin Luther King’s Garden, from 1968, responding to Reverend MLK Jr’s speech in Montgomery through a flurry of vibrant color and energetic brushstrokes camouflaging the inclusion of surrealist faces. In Whitten’s own words, “The content of my paintings from the sixties dealt with my search for identity.”
Then, after that, in Rome on a sunny Friday morning, visiting the Galleria Borghese before a pasta-heavy lunch in preparation for my dear friend Cati’s rehearsal dinner at Galleria Doria Pamphilj. In Borghese Gallery, I finally found myself face-to-face with the Bernini sculptures that enraptured me as a freshman in Art History 101, and led to my declaring art history as my major. Despite all the pictures I had seen and all the words I had read on these particular objects, I was beside myself as I stared up at The Rape of Proserpina. Finally, in person, I observed how Bernini’s masterful handling of marble translated hard stone into soft flesh, stagnant rock into a dynamic narrative, stone faces into expressions of tearful terror and greedy power. Most of all, I found myself touched by a mother sitting in the shadow of the canonical object, explaining its meaning to her two children who expressed ingenuous awe in return. In that tender moment, I saw flashbacks of myself at the Met, twenty years prior, experiencing the same wonder in the face of art.
Now I am employed, and all I want to do is write.
Not bogged down by cover letters and rejections, I look back on these moments I had with art– moments that I knew were important, but couldn’t verbalize why– and I understand them better. I rerun the tape and see a version of myself overcome with an identity-criss that manifested in writers-block. In different museums, I watch unemployed-Allie as she witnesses distinct renderings of extreme emotion or discrete quests for identity, and I see her inner core shook by a personal lack of clarity on her own sense of self.
At CUNY’s Shirley Fiterman Art Center, where I am now the Assistant Curator, there is an exhibition on display of Susan Weil’s work. Weil is 95 and, as the director writes in our brochure, is “nothing if not voracious.” She has been making (incredible) art for over seven decades, although her position as a woman artist (and as Rauschenberg’s early collaborator, brief spouse, and mother to his son) has held her back from true recognition in her own right.
Nonetheless, Weil moves onwards, continuing to create art every day, for, as she explained to me, the process of making art is something she simply has to do, like scratching an itch. Every day she also produces “Poemumbles,” or short poems to be shared with her friends and family. A repetitive practice of free-flowing word play that takes on many forms.
When the going got tough, or when the art world continued moving forward with complete disregard to Weil’s talent, she kept on creating. She continued writing, painting, drawing, and believing in herself and her process.
May Weil’s voracity be something I– all of us, really– learn from. May my own Poemumbles take on the form of these blog posts, and may I not feel the need to wait for clarity on what something means or what I want to say before writing. May I simply find pleasure in the act of creating– whether my sense of identity is clearly defined in these moments, or not.
And, also, may it not all be so existential all the time. Other notable aspects of my Quarterly Review (in no particular order):
A beautiful trip to Portugal for a wedding that was briefly interrupted by a stomach bug acquired from drinking a rogue smoothie
Ghost writing James’s speech for said wedding (he will deny this)
A wedding at Hadrian’s Villa where my highlights included the parmesan cheese cart at cocktail hour and the desert table that I spent approx. 45 minutes grazing, solo
My first paycheck
My first big paycheck purchase (a coffee machine)
My second smaller and less exciting paycheck purchase (cockroach traps)
A cockroach issue in my apartment that is totally under control now I think
A pottery class where I was humbled by how hard it is to make pottery
My first published critical review (!!!)
James’s brief hyper-fixation with an over-priced rice cooker that sings to us in Korean, which led to our learning how to DIY sushi, which now prevents James from ever letting us just buy takeout sushi (James: It’s SO much cheaper to do it ourselves!!! Allie: And it also takes 10x as long).
My friend Amy visiting me from med school in Seattle and us finishing an entire pitcher of frozen margs alongside a copious amount of Mexican food
My friend Amy suffering from serious food poisoning the next day (origin remains formally undeclared) and me taking on the role of med student
A picnic under the cherry blossoms in full bloom at the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens
Me making my new bike, Miranda, my main personality trait
The fact that James bought us both helmets for our bikes and he got himself a size small and me a size medium with a flashing light
The fact that I am going to Poland this week for my third international wedding in three months (no comment)
The fact that my AC broke during New York’s heat wave
A new debilitating fear of cockroaches causing a minor case of insomnia
My new self-declared Brooklyn Cyclones mega-fan status
Various notable moments
