LETTING GO OF JUDY

 

LA County Museum of Art, circa 1972 or 1973. I was a college student at Cal State Fullerton, visiting the museum with a friend, to see an exhibit of Picasso paintings. Those works were just not my cup of tea, so I ventured into another room and viewed some paintings whose design I will call organic abstract. Around the front border of the paintings were the artist's thoughts and feelings in old style handwriting font. OMG these paintings were by a woman! I had never seen an exhibit of contemporary pieces created by a woman in a major art museum. I didn't let that moment slip from my memory.

Years passed. Many museum visits. Most of them stunningly and completely devoid of women's artwork.

After moving to the Bay Area, I finished my B.A. in Art at Sonoma State University, graduating in early 1976. The first thing I did was continue working at my job because I had a student loan to pay off which had my mother's Standing Rock Sioux reservation land as collateral. Didn't want to lose that! I was able to finish paying it back within a couple of years. 

Then in 1979 publicity began appearing about an upcoming art exhibit in San Francisco by the artist Judy Chicago, called The Dinner Party. Instantly I recognized the handwriting element of her works, and knew that this exhibit was the next big step for the artist I had seen years before at the LA museum.

The visit to The Dinner Party installation was profoundly moving. The exhibition hall was like a holy shrine to the history of women.

To my great surprise, in 1980 there was an announcement in the media that Judy Chicago would be interviewing women to help with her next endeavor, called The Birth Project. And holy cow, it was in the Bay Area. So, I nervously arrived at the time and place publicized, to see if I could be of any use to her. She gave me the outline of a design to needlepoint, which I returned to her a week or so later. Joy of joy, I was accepted and placed into a group of needlepointers, and we were assigned a massive image, called The Crowning, to stitch.

Our piece on the left

Over the next three and a half years I traveled to the Benicia studio every Saturday to spend a long day stitching on the piece. This time turned out to be, in my opinion, my unofficial M.A. in Art. I was able to observe all the hoops that Judy had to jump through, and all the people she had to schmooze in order to keep the operation going. And it took her aggressive personality to educate and inspire a gaggle of non-professional artists tasked with bringing Judy's visions to fruition.

There were warm times of solidarity between us needle artists, but there were also times of disagreements, arguments, and tears. We learned that collaboration in serious art is far from simple or easy.

 

Megan at work 

Three years into my participation in the project, I realized I should not wait any longer to have the birth experience in real life, as I was not growing any younger. I became pregnant and about a month before the baby's ETA I stopped traveling to the Benicia studio. My son Sean arrived in May of 1984, and became my new and cherished focus.

So in the subsequent thirty plus years, from time-to-time media reports about Judy would pop up, and I followed with interest her continuing artistic evolution. I produced a few photorealist paintings in the 1990's, but I allowed all the challenges of daily life to preclude me from focusing artistically. I came to realize that I was not one of those people who could laser focus on their artistic aspirations, letting nothing get in the way of attaining them. That just wasn't how I rolled.

In 2019, just before the pandemic began escalating, it was announced that there would be a Judy Chicago retrospective exhibit in San Francisco the next year. I was happy and excited for her, and joked that if an artist lived long enough, she would be awarded a retrospective. I think she was about 80 years old at that time. I planned to go see the exhibit of course. 

But the pandemic turned out to be far worse than anyone had imagined, and did not just disappear with the change of seasons. Finally, Judy's postponed retrospective was rescheduled for 2021. The pandemic has lessened with the help of the vaccines, but not as dramatically as was hoped for. With my having two serious health risk factors, the thought of going into a crowd of people at a museum in San Francisco is still scary to me. Not going to do it.

The icing on that cake was an article about Judy and her retrospective that ran in the San Francisco Chronicle. Maybe it was the way the article was written, but it was all "I, Me, Mine" over and over again, rather than about the social messages that Judy's works represent. I suppose the focus on an artist's personality is what a retrospective ends up being about. It just rubbed me the wrong way. I am, though, well aware that artists in any of the performing or visual arts must have a grand ego as they pursue their art all the way to the top. So, the deal was sealed for me, that I would not risk getting Covid-19 to go and review Judy's body of work.

I'm glad I spent those years helping her out, and seeing what the rules and regs were for that real big grown-up art world. The course of these 40 years has shown me a lot about myself, about life, and my true values. Judy is no longer a gold merit pin on my art lapel, but she is an interesting chapter in my life's unfolding path. Thanks always for that, Judy.

WHAT, ME WORRY?

    Probably the largest gathering of people ever in Paris took place this past Sunday . The horrific attempts at censorship via assassination have struck a nerve with the European population like nothing else in recent memory.

Bertrand Guay via Getty Images

  Social and political satire is as old as our oldest civilizations. When one thinks of the brutality of rule in most major powers in world history, it is amazing that some individuals had the courage to question and/or poke fun in any of these eras. 

The French have a rich history of this. A historian and philosopher in the 18th century who went by the pen name of Voltaire, gave us a quote still often used today.

Englishman James Gillray was a highly skilled caricaturist who produced in 1805 a political cartoon often deemed the most famous of all time. It portrays Prime Minister William Pitt and Napoleon carving up the world for themselves as if it were their meal.

When I was an art student, I was introduced to the works of the French artist Honore' Daumier. He was an accomplished painter and sculptor who often portrayed the activities of the common people. He also excelled at drawings and etchings. He joined the staff of a satirical publication called La Caricature, which led him to be imprisoned for 6 months for his political cartoon titled Gargantua, which depicted King Louis Philippe.

Daumier's imprisonment did not slow down his expressions about the society he lived in.
In 1834 his Past, Present, and Future was published, again pointed at King Philippe.

Also the same year, he expressed his vision of the battle for a free press in France, titled Don't Meddle With the Press, showing an angry citizenry and troubled monarch.

In my life, I first became aware of satire thanks to my brother, who is eight years older than myself. When I was a young girl, my brother used to buy Mad Magazine. When he wasn't around, I would sneak into his bedroom and look through them. I was amazed and delighted at the caricatures of famous people, and the funny things that the magazine had them do and say. Though at first glance that publication seems like just an outlet for smarty pants boys, even this silly form of satire expresses commentary upon our times.

Begun in 1952, the publishers of this magazine are still commenting to this day, still using the iconic innocent trouble maker image of character Alfred E. Neuman.

Today the bountiful world of satire includes art, literature, music, film and tv. But we have recently learned that these are not to be taken for granted. Am I worried? No. Maddened by evolving events? Yes.

HOW MANY BIG MACS

This week's sales at Sotheby's art auction house in New York City blew the cover off the one percenters, if they ever had one. Here's a silly illustration of the insanity.

Andy Warhol's Triple Elvis sold for $81.9 million, or 14,393,673 Big Mac Meals (from here on referred to as BMM).

Untitled (I wonder why) 1970 by Cy Twombly sold for $69.6 million, or 11,677,582 BMM.

Another untitled, by Mark Kippenberger, 1988, sold for $22.6 million, or 3,971,880 BMM.

Balloon Monkey (Orange) by Jeff Koons sold for $25.9 million or 4,551,845 BMM. It also comes in other colors.

Untitled XXIV (not good at making up titles?) by Willem de Kooning, sold for $17.5 million, or 3,075,571 BMM.

Reflections on the Prom, 1990, by Roy Lichtenstein sold for $21.4 million, or 3,760,984 BMM.

Last year this Triptych by Francis Bacon sold for a record $142.4 million, or 25,026,362 BMM. Well after all, they did get three paintings for the price of one.

Ronald, you may have chosen the wrong business!

WHY THE RED POPPY

I love humanity. I hate humanity. The wonders of our accomplishments. The horror of our accomplishments.

Like some other species, we gather together in groups, then set out to destroy other such groups. Our very large, lovely brains do not stop us from doing this time and time again.

Even with feelings of such sadness for this propensity of ours, I am in awe of the sacrifices millions and millions of individuals have made.

As the 100 year anniversary of World War I in Europe is here, an amazing memorial has taken shape, temporarily, in London. Ceramic artist Paul Cummins and stage designer Tom Piper have created a memorial so stunning that it has attracted 4 million visitors in its three month existence.

It has the unsentimental name of "Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red". It is composed of 888,246 ceramic red poppies, the estimated number of Commonwealth souls who lost their lives fighting in World War I. It fills the moat area of the infamous Tower of London.

Much like the Vietnam War Memorial built in 1982, designed my Maya Ying Lin, in Washington D.C., this current memorial has garnered much more appreciation by the public than was ever anticipated.

No longer a number in a history book, viewers are struck by the reality of this human loss.

But why the red poppy? We have all seen it passed around by members of the VFW on Veterans day, but I figure most of us don't wonder how that came about.

In 1915, after attending the funeral of a fallen soldier friend, Canadian Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae wrote this poem, In Flanders Field.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields. 

By 1921 the red poppy had become the official symbol of remembrance of those who died in World War I. 

Small in stature, my Grandpa Howard made it home from the war in France, with a Purple Heart, passing away years later from the lingering injuries.

We will never forget their sacrifices.

NOW PANIC & FREAK OUT

The thing they seem to be failing to factor into the discussions about the virus which is currently terrifying our country, is human behavior.

Most of us live in a current of humanity that is somewhere between this

and this.

We have been connecting to each other since the beginning.

from Creation of Adam by Michelangelo Buonarroti Simoni
 

We gathered together early on in order to survive.

Our destinies intertwined and flowed like water.

Faith Like Flowing Water by Harriet Zabusky-Zand of Cape Cod

We reached out across the planet, to the enrichment of some and the detriment of others.

We gathered together to hear stories about humanity enacted before us.

Queen Elizabeth at the Globe, by David Scott, 1840

In celebrations of the amazing and the absurd, we sat together in awe.

The Circus, by George Seurat

No one could stop our advancement across the lands.

Watching the Wagon Train, by Oscar Edmund Berninghaus

When mechanization came, we gladly bunched our selves together for transport.

The Train Journey, by Tirzah Garwood, 1929-1930

Bus Riders, by George Segal, 1962

Modern coliseums were built so that we all could witness great games,

Earle Combes, by Paul Lempa of New Jersey

and grand parks were built so that we could experience fun just for its own sake.

Bumper Cars Amusement Park, by Heidi Malott of Indiana

What a comforting feeling to join others for a meal.

Diner, by Ralph Goings of California

The common joy of watching a parade.

PDQ, by Susan MacMillan of California

Sometimes we wait and wait and wait together.

Waiting on a Plane, by Jessica Cook of Texas

Sometimes we roll together,

Coming and Going, by Wayne Thiebaud of California

or not.

Taxi a New York, by Guido Borelli of Italy

We amble and mill about in our towns and cities

Restaurant Amir International Cafe, by Carole Spandau of Montreal

for purpose, pleasure, or addiction.

Starbucks Still Life, by Robert Joyner of Virginia

So, as mentioned at the beginning, our innate human behavior is a part of the mix in this viral drama happening right now. We cannot and should not stop these tendencies. Just be careful, not fearful. 
We can't let the media talking heads scare us away from each other.

Girl Watching TV, by Tracy, 1988