art – Sharon Lee, Writer

First time

So, I’ve been seeing clips forever from the Royal Ballet Company’s production of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” and really enjoyed every one. It occurred to me yesterday that there must be a Whole Ballet streaming Out There Somewhere, so I went looking, finally finding it on Marquee, which I was able to subscribe to through Prime, and get seven! free days. Since “Alice” was leaving the service in 11 days, this seemed like a message from Euterpe, and I signed up.

I watched it last night, with Tali and Rook’s interested support.

Rookie’s Interested Support:

It was? Amazing. The very first ballet I’d ever seen. Since I still have six days, I’m inspired to watch more.

And that? Brings us to!

Wednesday

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail
And pour the waters of the Nile
From every golden scale.

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spread his claws
As he welcomes little fishes in
Through gently smiling jaws.
–Lewis Carroll

Someone yesterday had said they’d never read Alice, and my wonder is, how did you manage to avoid it? And what did you make of the metaphors that, in my childhood at least were Everywhere.

I don’t think it was assigned school reading, though we were surely tasked with memorizing poems from the text. I particularly remember a poster of Alice talking with the Caterpillar, Your Viewpoint is looking over the Caterpillar’s shoulder, as he sits tall on his mushroom, hookah at his side, looking down at the girl who has grabbed onto the edges of the mushroom, trying to pull herself up — with a certain amount of success, as her shoes are slightly off the ground. I’m not sure what that poster was telling us to do, though I remember another, of the Cheshire Cat’s head and the word IMAGINE! beneath.

For my Ballet Conscious people — a question. How broad is the vernacular in the Royal Ballet’s “Alice?” I could follow it easily, but I know the story. How lost would I be, do you think, if I attempted a ballet wherein I didn‘t know the story?

. . .though, while I have this seven days of grace, I may well view “Swan Lake,” of which I’ve only seen bits. And, again, I know the story, and the music.

All that said — Frequent auditors of this space will recall that I swore off superhero movies, but last night I broke my word. That woman danced for two hours with only two intervals, which were certainly not long enough to count as “rest.” Eeep.

And now to find something to eat for breakfast.
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And in the realm of We Live in a Random Universe, the judge approving the Anthropic judgement is named Araceli Martinez-Olquin.

Back when I met Steve, he and his friend Drew had just started a business called Araceli Kari. As far as I ever knew, these were coined words meant to be easy to remember and also alien-seeming without being difficult to say. (Araceli Kari’s primary mission was to produce a newspaper — The Starswarm News — which reported from the Alterverse (fiction. Mostly.) and also featured New Science (fact). Steve roped me in to help him write classified ads from said Alterverse, which is where we found out that we could, and willingly did, collaborate.

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I wrote about 550 words, and may get back to it later.

Broke for PT homework and changing the water filter in the fridge, which has only been begging attention from the householder for the last two weeks.

Am trying to build a modified pillow fort on the couch, which may make it … less painful to watch television, and possibly even to write. Or at least be able to read. I really want to finish reading Horngard.

I do need to find something to eat, which is being annoyingly difficult to come to terms with.

I am going to buy a ticket to “Hadestown” — Monday coming. All that remains is to decide which show. If I have to stand at the back, it won’t be the first time.

And I think that’s the news — a little sparse, but some days are like that.

Hope everybody’s having a pleasant Wednesday.

A Day at the Museum, OR Ain’t dead yet

So, I did well, today.

… I don’t say — or feel — that very often, so maybe a repeat is in order.

I Did Well Today.

I was betrayed slightly by the internet, which had led me to believe that the Free Street Parking Lot was (1) convenient to the art museum, which it may have been in Portland terms, but I don’t have that vernacular, and (2) easy to use. That? Was An Untruth. When you enter the garage (note: garage, not lot), you’re given the choice of inserting a credit card (I was unprepared; credit card in back pocket) or taking a ticket. I took a ticket, which I have done many times before in my life, if not in this location, only — this ticket says: TEXT TO PAY, and gives a phone number.

I freak. On the other hand, I was already in the damned garage, so I managed to back-burner the freak out, to be revisited after I had toured the museum.

The Conveniently Located Museum.

So, I used the axe murderer’s elevator to get from the 5th level to Free Street, and queued up my phone so it could lead me to the museum.

Only, the phone had lost its mind, and wanted to send me in a nice circle, which even I knew better than, also, I kept assuring myself that my goal was “conveniently located.”

I wandered for a bit, the phone sporadically sending me even crazier messages — No, I did not want to go to the Boston Museum of Art — and I was about to give up on the whole scary deal, when I saw, just ahead, two middle-aged couples having what sounded like an agreeable and normal conversation. I approached, said “Excuse me,” and asked if they knew where the art museum was. One of the men gave me very kind and concise instructions — “You’re good, really. Just keep on up the hill on this side, Don’t cross the Big Street, and you literally can’t miss it.”

And he was right.

The Portland Museum of Art is a very nice little city museum, and a pleasant way to spend three-ish hours of a too-hot-even-at-the-beach day. My brain tried to engage me in dithering about the car, but I managed to concentrate on the art, and had a lovely time.

I even got to be That Patron.

I was watching a documentary done by a photographer who was discussing the reasons for altering a photograph. In this case, he had taken a picture of autumn-red trees, then deepened the reds and limned the trees with gold, evoking Autumn, The Season on Fire. And the reason he did this — mind you, what he’s saying is also running along the bottom of the screen, so I’m reading, because — words! — and he said that he had taken this artistic decision because he wanted to bring attention to the fact that woodlands in Maine are so often — he said “razed” and the word on the screen was “raised” — a classic case of two words that sound alike and mean the exact opposite of each other — in order to create farms. (This is an interesting mirror to something a forest ranger said to me, years ago, that the forests of Maine are a graveyard of farms; that you can walk twenty miles in, and literally trip over a stone wall.)

Back to the museum and the subtitles.

I explained the problem re “razed”/”raised” to floor security, who sent me down to the desk. The person there had me write a note to the Curators, and attached my card to it.

I do hope they fix this. Otherwise, people who depend on the captions are going to have a very odd idea of where farms come from.

Ate lunch at the museum cafeteria, bought some cards, and left just as the entire graduating class of Wherever descended en masse.

Walked down Free Street, took the axe murderer’s elevator to the 5th level, got in car, called the other number on the ticket and explained to the young man who answered where I was and that I was old and had no idea how to text money anywhere. He was very kind and patient, and it turned out that, if I showed my ticket to the scanner at the exit kiosk, it would let me pay with a credit card. Also, he reassured me, there was a panic button right on that kiosk, so if something went wrong, I should just push it to be reconnected to him, and he’d be pleased to help me out.

I didn’t have to hit the panic button, and home I came, stopping for chocolate raspberry ice cream on the way.

One of the exhibits at the museum was called Precious, which talked about the difference between “fine” art and the common sort of everyday, and useful art that people make — marbles, jewelry, glassware, pottery. It’s a topic of some interest to me, as I contemplate my lifetime collection of … Things. I had cried for 20 minutes one day when I realized that nobody was gong to love that jar full of glass marbles I’d collected over 60 years, and they’d end up in a dumpster.

Anyhow, visitors to the Precious room are challenged to pick a piece of art from the exhibit that spoke to them and write a poem. I chose People Like Us and here is my poem:

People like us
hold small treasures
against large fears.

Sun is cold and rain is hard

What went before ONE: Wednesday. Cool, cloudy, damp. Heading for warm and humid.

Off to the chiropractor in a few, then back home for a bit before going to lunch.

Not much else to report, save that the guy who takes care of the neighbor’s lawn is out there doing his thing. I’d’ve said it was too damp for that. OTOH, I’m not driving the lawn mower.

What’re y’all doing today?

What went before TWO: The Langlais exhibit downtown was fun.Bernard Langlais, “Lion’s Head,” 1970. Painted wood and wire

What went before THREE: So, knocking off for the day. I’ve finished proofreading the material intended for the 2025 chapbook.

Need to get up early tomorrow to take Trooper to the vet for his tests.

G’nite.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Thursday. Cloudy, damp, and warm.

Breakfast was a cup of raspberry skyr and a mug of tea. Second mug of tea to hand.

Trooper is at the vet’s. They’ll call me after they’ve administered and scored the tests.

Stopped at Hannaford on the way home. Prices continue to rise, though cherries were, relatively, cheap. Bought cherries. It was a small list, but I still scored over $100.

I got Trooper into the carrier, put them both in what I like to call “the foyer” and went out to open the car door. When I came back in, the grandkids were surrounding the box. The girls left when I stepped forward, but Rook stayed stretched out in front of the door until I picked the carrier up.

Trooper was very good and quiet on the ride across town, which is not at all like his usual car trip manners.

I’m going to finish my tea, then get the cat litter delivery in from the garage, and try to get some writing done while I wait for the vet to call, and weigh whether the better part of valor is to put the big yellow rose bush into the actual ground in the front garden.

What’s everybody else doing today?

Somebody took my deck plantings in dislike:

Today’s blog post title via Creedance Clearwater Revival, “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”

Art storm

What went before ONE: So, I report a Tragedy. There was a traffic jam between me and home about an hour ago. So, I was forced to turn off at Gifford’s Ice Cream and partake of a chocolate milkshake (yes, with whipped cream) while I sat on top of a picnic bench, and watched the traffic sort itself out.

Alas. O! Alack.

What went before TWO: So, sewing was fun; I got a good start on my next project.

It’s going to be Summer tomorrow, really Summer on Thursday, Summer on Friday, and! rainy and cool on the weekend. Guess I’d better close the windows and crank up the heat pumps.

Everybody stay safe; I’ll see you tomorrow.

Wednesday. Sunny and heading for the mid-80sF/20sC.

Breakfast was the last of the noodles with an egg scrambled in, tea on the side. The rest of the eggs that vacationed in the fridge while I was away are on the stove for hardboiling, because lunch? Will be a summer meal: salad with tomato, and potato, and olives, and tuna, and egg — I think that’s all I’ve got that can go in a salad, but yanno? That actually sounds good enough to eat.

I slept long and hard, and did not dream of zombies, which has been the default for the last week, and let me tell ya — I’m not a fan. I did dream of having to escape through tunnels, but I attribute that to the book I’m reading.

Woke up with a determination to, yeah, sign up for the watercolor class at the senior center. I mean, it’s been proved many times over that I Am Not An Artist, but I haven’t tried watercolor in half a century or so, and at the very least, I’ll learn something about technique and philosophy.

I also have a couple of errands to run — to the vet for Trooper’s Special Sort, and to Uncle Dean’s for some dried lavender, and to the bank to tell them that, no, I do not want them to just roll the CD-about-to-ripen into another CD of similar length, but Sekrit Interest Rates.

Then I thought I’d go to Agway and see about buying a rose bush, which has blossomed — or do I mean exploded? — into this notion that, since I’m so often at the back of the house overlooking the deck — could I grow roses in containers on the deck, so I could see them from my windows?

The answer is — yes! This is possible. I need pot(s) and probably wheels for the pots, so they can be moved at need; the deck is plenty sunny, and — this is no longer a Case For Agway. So, I’m guessing I’ll go out to Fieldstone Gardens and see if I can get the ear of an expert.

So that’s the morning taken care of, and I’ll be getting on the road as soon as the eggs are done.

Who else is Exploring Art today?

Oh. I hung the plaque in Steve’s office; there was space on the wall behind his desk: