Forgot to mention…. went to the National Gallery of Scotland Royal Scottish Academy Building on Saturday to see the Ron Mueck exhibit. Was of the impression that the National Galleries are free and therefore it would be an inexpensive day out in the city. What I didn’t realize is that only the main Gallery is free. The exhibits in the Modern Art, Dean, and Portrait Gallery, and the Academy Building each require an individual fee of 6 quid (although if you purchase tickets to all 5 shows collectively it is L20; they become collectively less expensive.)

WARNING: this may be a spoiler for those who wish to experience the exhibit.

It was an astounding show. Your first sculpture walking in is Baby - a breathtakingly realistic newborn baby girl, umbilicus recently cut and still spotted with birthing blood but one eye just starting to open and take in her new environs. At 20′ large, this monstrously huge infant is remarkably still fragile, pathetic, loveable. The tender grooves on baby feet and curling toes, pursed lips and wrinkled forehead all remain adorable and sweet kissable objects. The maternal (or paternal) instinct to cuddle and caress is instantly invoked. That actual father with baby in belly-carrier was adjacent, observing, certainly added to the pathos of the scene. Leave Baby and you enter the room of woman In Bed with covers drawn - the image used to advertise the show. Now there is no reason for me to say she is the mother of our newborn but our mind leaps to false causative connections and mine did question the relationship. In the advertisement she is sickly and pathetic looking but in person she is gains unexpected beauty. There, across the room and leaning on the wall, eyes askance, is a Teenage Girl with unnaturally long legs but no longer the GIGANTIC proportions of our previous beings. She and the painfully vulnerable, terrified Wild Man introduce in alternate direction the gradual transmutation into equally emotive lilliputians including Man in Boat, and Lovers Spooning. There are several additional undersized or oversized beings, including a disembodied face which hangs like a mask on the wall; on a podium under the scrutiny of Two Women (old ladies gossiping over the hubris?) rests the self-portrait mask of the artist’s face which served as both a bragging gloat by the artist as he unveils the mystery and a reminder that the work being judged here is magnificently rendered with patience and technique from basic raw materials, talent not to take for granted. The informational plaquards whose interpretation is often “off” in my opinion may be the only flaws in the show.

Here is an official review written for the Festival Previews.

Doing Sunday afternoon laundry and the dryer was broken (quarter-sized hole in the face plate) so I ran a load longer than hoped or planned for which led to conversations with a girl from the class who I have never spoken with and after our long session of complaining about finances and financing wound down she started talking about that art student who is in our class, how she doesn’t understand how someone can just decide to jump fields like that and how do you even get accepted since she’d been turned down from schools the first (three?) times she applied and I said, “yeah. I’m the art major.”

How do you just switch gears? Can I say you just DO because the world is an enclosed system which means all things are related no matter how obliquely? Or that it’s not just a switch of gears but an attempt to cover all ground of interest simultaneously and while you can do everything you want, you can’t do it all at the same time and need to parcel out a schedule that allows for some coverage of some area at some time (and boy oh boy do I need a schedule set up NOW)? I don’t know. I’m blind to it so I didn’t know exactly how to answer. You just do. I tried to express the frustrations of attempting to register for both science classes and art classes, the way they refused to mesh up and how I sacrificed some ideal choices for necessary ones. I certainly don’t usually consider myself an overachiever but our conversation left me thinking, ‘well, maybe I am?’ Funny because I have barely been an achiever. I guess it’s all where you set the bar?

Went out last night (after agreeing to a flat! near Summerhall, very small 3-bedroom but will be saving us money on housing if we can just find the third roommate.) with some of the new friends to celebrate a few birthdays (there were 5 altogether I think but we were in several different groups - ours celebrating 3) which is my first time out and I made it a late one. Spiegel Tent (ooooh, Scottish Rugby player, sigh) then they went home I ventured to TigerLily with a new group of the ladies (the POSH neighborhood of Edinburgh - rather ick and L7 for drinks!) but quickly migrated to Hard Candy for dancing. Yay! Dancing! Made me very happy but I had to keep it very sedated because it felt like showing off to let the hair down and really get loose. Had another episode of the locals being very aware of my American heritage. Not clear on what it is about me that grates their nerves and steps on their toes. Gonna have to work on that. Gave the bartender a pound for the water and he seemed particularly pleased. Sometimes you just gotta look out for your own.

The three birthday girls, Laura (7 Aug), Amanda (19 Aug) and Megan (20 Aug)

I didnt get laid I got in a fight
uh huh, It ain’t no big thing.

Actually, Saturday afternoon and much later into the evening than host/ess with the mostest expected. My bad. Twas Lisa’s birthday nod one more time and belated MFA graduation celebration, Maggie’s [slightly belated] birthday, and my second going away party. A good (dare I say great?), busy weekend: friends on Thursday, on Friday, on Saturday and family Sunday. Took a bunch of people pictures but not too many of the city itself. (Was reminded, there are plenty enough of those already and I have limited space.) The city no longer allows smoking in public but they do have hookah bars; smokin’ apples. yum.

If you have a chance, there’s an article in the Village Voice to read about my friends’ apartment plight: How Not to Pay Rent (The lofty ambitions of tenants of illegal apartment buildings), by Maria Luisa Tucker, July 18th, 2006 11:04 . Just remember, their shoes could be your own.

Whether the weather be good,….
The national government might tell you the weather,
after debating whether or not they should.

The above info link provided by Kevin Jordan who additionally points out that the privitazation of such information could quell once and for all those pesky disagreements over Global Warming.

Speaking of bad weather, I’m in Portland - having a lovely time that has been interrupted by only one very welcome thundershower. Have gone to the Portland Art Museum to see John Singer Sargent’s exploration of children…  

One reads the placards ("this sitter had trouble being still as you can tell from her clenched hands, pointed toes, and surly glare towards the painter") and wonders on occassion if there were more explorations occurring than just artistic. As "they" sometimes say, Anyone who wants to spend time alone with children probably shouldn’t be allowed to. But truly, his portraits exhibit vast depths of personality and beauty. Lovely works.

Rewatched the start of The Children Of Paradise (which, sadly, is too long a movie to watch at the end of my day) and was truly angered by knowledge I’ve gained over the last few days regarding the "general" (?) opinion… that the actress is too old for the role. Since when and why is a 30+/- year-old-actress too young for 40+/- year-old-actor? Who decided that it was acceptable and preferable for barely out of their teens actresses to be "leading ladies" and women who truly are women to play their mothers if anyone at all while "leading men" would be in their mid-to-late whathaveyous and whatevers? It’s a beautiful movie (current public opinion about aging not withstanding) about art, theatre, love, and politics. The sort of project I would consider myself lucky, graced by the Goddess or whomever above (or if there is no such thing, then just plan lucky), to have been granted a role in and not at all the sort of poetic vision that most of us will ever truly be a part of but the reason, at heart, any of us breathe and strive. Perhaps not, but since I have trouble thinking of any reason to get out of bed other than fine art, yes. If you disagree then say so.