Monday, December 1st, 2008
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The “101 words” writing exercise on my Open Salon blog reminded me of a similar exercise that I used as creative inspiration for the above painting. The exercise; select a historic palette and painting style, strip it down to its most basic elements, and create a bare bones simplified artistic interpretation. For my model I chose the Renaissance period, so in essence my goal was to create a Renaissance-inspired painting using an economy of color and form - just as in the writing exercise where the goal was to use an economy of words. The result of my exercise was the small painting on panel you see above. You may also have noticed that it is also the background for my blog banner.
As a painting medium I chose casein, a paint that uses milk as a binder. I chose casein not only because it is a workable and vibrant medium, but also because I was painting a set for stage production at the time and the small upstairs room that served as a paint deck for the theater was also doubling as my temporary studio. Casein is a common scenic paint, and at the time I had access to an endless supply since it was a rather large theater. I had a full set of keys so I could come and go at all hours. I especially liked painting in the theater when there was no one else there. There’s something magical about all that empty space and quiet. It was a wonderful environment for painting.
I’ve always loved the Renaissance palette; vibrant reds and oranges mixed with an earthy range of greens, golds and browns. The blue you see in the photo of the Sistine Chapel below is actually atypical of many renaissance paintings because blue paint was prohibitively expensive. The blue paint used by Michaelangelo on this masterpiece was likely worth a king’s ransom. No, you’re not supposed to take pictures in the Sistine chapel. My finger slipped?
Oil paints used during the Renaissance period were painstakingly compounded from natural substances ground to a fine powder and mixed with a linseed oil binder. Blue was made from lapis lazuli, a semi-precious mineral. It’s a wonder that any painter in this age lived long - many pigments used were highly toxic substances such as lead (white) , mercury (vermillion red) and arsenic sulfide (yellow). These toxic substances have been replaced today with a wide variety of synthetic pigments.
Sunday, November 30th, 2008
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Never mind the possible coup. I am experiencing serious wanderlust envy.
My sis and her husband left for their travels throughout SE Asia just in time to get hopelessly stuck in Bangkok. The airports have been seized by the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD), and are closed indefinitely. The incumbent government is scrambling to avoid a coup. But, I’m not concerned about their safety- and my sis is a retired nursing director and a capable triage nurse in any case. Uprisings in Thailand tend to be fairly well contained and relatively peaceful. If they stay away from the protest areas they will be safe. The protest is not targeting tourists, only the airports and the government. Travelers just can’t go anywhere. I’ve been getting regular SMS and email updates from my sis, and so far they seem to be having the time of their lives.
A few days ago they visited Wat Phra Kaew (The temple of the Emerald Buddha) . Wat Phra Kaew is perhaps one of the most beautiful and intricate Wats in all of Thailand. In a future Wanderlust I plan to cover it in more detail, but for now I have included some photos that I took during my 2005 visit to the temple. These photos highlight the extraordinary Ramakian mural, which is housed under a portico that completely encloses Wat Phra Kaew. These images are just a few of the hundreds of scenes depicting this most beloved Thai epic.
I wish I were there. Really - potential coup and all! There is no better place to be stuck than Thailand. Thai massage is heavenly. The food is unbelievable. EVERYTHING is cheap. There are hundreds of Wats, (temples) and each one is a unique treasure. The water taxi is exhilarating. The open air markets are extraordinary. The people of Thailand are perhaps the best treasure of all. Never have I been anywhere with more genuinely warm and welcoming people. The country is predominantly Buddhist and at some point in their life, every Thai male spends time as a Theravada Buddhist monk - whatever amount of time they deem appropriate.
In Bangkok, countless Thais approached me in the streets to offer a hello, a piece of history, or advice on what to see or do. One fellow even showed me which types tuk tuk ( 3 wheeled motor bikes) drivers to avoid, and then he proceeded to flag one down, negotiate a price that I could never have managed, and then mark a map for the driver. He sent me to some very special and obscure Wats rarely seen by Westerners. And, at each one of the Wats I met even more people who were happy to talk about their home, their work, their lives. Concerned that I was traveling alone, I was given countless business cards with the express instruction that I should call immediately if I found myself in any difficulty.
So, no, I’m not worried. My sis and her husband are far from the hot spots. Their hotel reservation expired and their travel organization moved them to a large apartment with a kitchen. They will be well taken care of.
From her latest email; “I have been for a ride on a Elephant & fed him. I have held a snake & bought clothes including 2 prs of thai wrap pants. The weather is cool and we need a light cover by night. We went about an hour out of Bangkok to the floating market which was beautiful. We went to a cultural center & saw a show that was very nice & I fed a water Buffalo….”
I wish I were there. Sigh.
Monday, November 24th, 2008
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The Zhengyici Peking Opera Theatre sits at an intersection on a main road within one of the last remaining hutongs (historic neighborhoods) in Beijing. A small road barely more than a path leads from my hostel to the theatre. During my short stroll I encounter the sorrowing sight of massive machinery haplessly bulldozing a section of the old buildings. I pause. Mere rubble is all that remains of what once were the lifelong homes of countless generations. Jostling myself from my reverie, I continue onward. Just ahead lies my destination. Approaching the intersection I look left. I look right. A forest of glistening high rise buildings in various stages of construction and completion stretch in all directions as far as the eye can see. They are interspersed here and there by utilitarian concrete mid rises, a reminder of the days of Mao.
Crossing the main road, my senses are on the alert. There is a hierarchy of street crossing etiquette in China, a protocol of hazard that basically bows to size and speed. Lowest and most vulnerable on the pecking order are pedestrians. Traffic lights are best treated with skepticism, for it seems that the appearance of red, green, or yellow is only construed as a hint to be ignored whenever possible. Having survived many a street crossing in China, I know to listen, to look, and to evaluate the best opening - and run.
Arriving unscathed on the other side, I sit down to wait on a low wall surrounding the small plaza outside the theater. I am early and have time to take in the day. At my feet romp two small dogs - appropriately enough, they are Pekingese. The owners, two women, smile and talk to each other, relaxed and at ease. It is a beautiful August day, sunny and warm and not too hot.
Hearing an odd sound from above, I look up. Curiously, there is a flock of pigeons circling in a tight circle directly overhead. Swooosh….. swoosh….. swoosh… the repetition is pleasurable; a mantra in the sky. Suddenly they alight on the top of the building next to the theater, and I realize that they have landed on their dovecote. They are out for their afternoon exercise.
The facade of the Zhengyici is colorful, extraordinary and deceptively small. Built in 1688 under the reign of the Kangxi Emperor (the Qing Dynasty), it is the oldest remaining wooden theatre in all of China. After the Cultural Revolution the building and grounds fell into disrepair but were finally saved and restored in 1995. Now the Zhengyici is considered a national treasure. It is rather astounding to think that it survived the Cultural Revolution at all.
Entering the main doors, I purchase my ticket at a small booth and walk inside. I find a small museum housing costumes of past productions and a memorabilia shop. Entering the theatre, I am amazed at its size. Though it is not large by any means, it is much larger than you might guess from the exterior. I take my seat at my table and wait.
The 400 year old myth of the Monkey King has its roots in Buddhist, Taoist and various Chinese religions. Known in China as Si You Ji (Journey to the West), this ancient allegorical tale is based on the legend of Xuan Zang,a monk who lived during the Tang Dynasty (602-664). It is one of the best known and most beloved epics in all of China and it lends itself well to the stage - the colorful mythic characters are prime material for the traditionally elegant and elaborate costumes of Chinese Opera.
The house lights go down as the stage lights slowly fade up, revealing a huge golden yellow backdrop of satin embroidered with elegant brocade detail. The Monkey King has begun.
Sunday, November 9th, 2008
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Driving south from Glastonbury, I check my map and conclude that I am about an hour from my second destination, Stonehenge. I settle in to enjoy the drive. It is an odd sensation - driving on the opposite side of the road in the opposite seat from what one is used to in the States.
The fabulous and uncharacteristically beautiful weather continues to amaze me. It is October,sunny, and warm - three words that usually don’t occur in the same sentence for any length of time in England, especially in October.
The English countryside is just as idllic as pictures suggest. Green hills roll by, spotted with farms and grazing sheep. The winding road is occasionally and artistically interrupted by small villages. Within the villages I see some modern structures, but there are many historic buildings, remnants of people and times long gone. The thickly textured thatch roofs are a feat of timeless engineering and show a proud art; a well thatched roof may easily serve longer than an owner’s lifetime, some have lasted a hundred years. It is a splendid thing to see, these villages.
Enraptured by my drive, I make a few wrong turns. I finally conclude that it is time for some technology. I pull into a lot next to a huge and weathered barn to dig through my bag for my handheld. I slap the GPS module into it, center the map on my location, and program the destination for Stonehenge.
My trusty but somewhat obsolete GPS leads me spot on to Stonehenge. Laughing inwardly, I wonder what the architects of this ancient place would think of such a device. The best estimates of modern scholars place the origins of Stonehenge at some 4000+ years ago.
The ring of stones are stunning in their simplicity. The afternoon sun gives a sharp definition to the angles and textures of the weathered and roughly hewn megaliths. Their majesty is evident, they stand stark in a wide open landscape. From horizon to horizon there is nothing to clutter the view. How Stonehenge has survived all these millennia I cannot imagine. Some fallen stones have disappeared throughout the ages, but overall the circle remains remarkably intact. It is rather hard to imagine, but in 1917 some misguided officials submitted an outrageously odd application to request the complete demolition of Stonehenge - with the claim that it was an unacceptable hazard to low flying aircraft! It seems that bureaucracy and ineptitude are timeless as well.
I am pleasantly surprised by the lack of obvious tourism. The only scar upon the otherwise uninterrupted green land is a smallish parking lot on the opposite side of the street from the ancient ring of stones. Pulling into to a slot, I exit the car and look for signs of an information center.
I find an information booth and a shop, both cleverly concealed in a channel cut blow ground level on the far side of the parking lot. I am glad that someone had this idea. Nothing would spoil the serenity and magic of this placid setting more than the usual gaudy badge of tourism heralded by blatantly tasteless signage and buildings. A small tunnel under the road opens innocuously at the edge of a meadow, in the middle of which stands Stonehenge. It is an unforgettable sight. It is indelibly and gloriously stamped on my mind.
Surrounding the circle of stones is a modest path. Seemingly mesmerized by the ancient tableau, visitors walk the path and lounge on the grass in near silence. Herds of sheep graze in nearby fields.
I get out my camera. It is a perfect day. I stand in front of Stonehenge, recalling my morning stroll through the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey. It is a perfect day.
Written at Stonehenge
Thou noblest monument of Albion’s isle!
Whether by Merlin’s aid, from Scythia’s shore,
To Amber’s fatal plain Pendragon bore,
Huge frame of giant-hands, the mighty pile
T’ entomb his Britons slain by Hengist’s guile:
Or Druid priests, sprinkled with human gore,
Taught ‘mid thy massy maze their mystic lore:
Or Danish chiefs, enrich’d with savage spoil,
To Victory’s idol vast, an unhewn shrine,
Rear’d the rude heap: or, in thy hallow’d round,
Repose the kings of Brutus’ genuine line;
Or here those kings in solemn state were crown’d:
Studious to trace thy wondrous origine,
We muse on many an ancient tale renown’d.
Thomas Warton the younger (1728-1790)
Friday, September 26th, 2008
Ming had her surgery as scheduled on Thursday, Sept 18th. She was in the hospital until the following Monday. It could not have gone better, and the folks at Johns Hopkins took exceptionally good care of us!
Thursday, September 4th, 2008
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I saw this van on a morning walk through the streets of Singapore. Stopped me in my track!. Painted on the side is “Hindu Casket One-Stop Funeral Service”.
Take a close look.
Thursday, September 4th, 2008
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It was September of 1989 in San Juan, Puerto Rico and I was enjoying my first day out after being flat on my back with dengue fever for 3 weeks. My girlfriend Sandra and I were enjoying a comedy by a local drama group when her pager started vibrating. Puzzled, she looked at me and gestured to come with her. Exiting the theater she told me that the message had been from the FBI, telling her to secure her Bureau car.
Sandra, a native Puerto Rican and in her 30’s at the time had been an agent since shortly after graduating from college. In the era before the www information age, she was about as close as an inside source as you could get. A few phone calls with a mobile phone the size of a brick (and weighing just as much) sent us scurrying to prepare for the possible onslaught of the first major hurricane to hit PR in decades.
When you are on an island and a category 5 hurricane is coming, you have very few options. You can’t leave, so you buy water, you buy food and necessities, you put all the furniture on the first floor of the house up on plastic milk crates as high as you can…. and you wait.
You are comforted by the fact that the house is, in fact, constructed of solid concrete reinforced with rebar throughout. You are, in fact living in a nearly indestructible edifice. While you’re waiting and thinking about the really solid house you are in (just a few blocks from the beach) , it suddenly occurs to you that even with the milk crates if the neighborhood floods too much, you’re still in a shitload of trouble because all the houses in PR have rejas (wroght iron security bars) over the outside of the windows and the ONLY way out is through one of the 3 padlocked downstairs wrought iron doors.
You are glad you are a strong swimmer, but you are wondering in a detached way if in the aftermath it would be possible to hold your breath long enough to unlock the doors. You think about the Poseidon movie and wonder briefly if you should unlock just one lock downstairs, but that thought is very brief since crime is rampant here and the police corrupt and if it does get really bad there will be looting and THOSE people will definitely have guns. Sandra has all her guns upstairs, they are ready too, but hopefully unnecessary. You are glad again that the house is made of thick concrete and has bars over all the windows. You are a pacifist at heart but know perfectly well how to handle a gun and would shoot someone if you had to but hope you never have to make that decision. You are exhausted from the weeks of dengue fever and preparing the house for the hurricane and you want nothing more than to sleep.
Soon, it is dark. Suddenly the wind whips up and the lights go out. They will stay out for the greater part of two months, but you don’t know that yet. Sandra, your little dynamo hard ass FBI agent girlfriend is most defiantly NOT relaxed. She is saying “coño, coño, coño”. You take a flashlight and a futon and Sandra and make a bed on the floor in the interior upstairs hallway. There are no windows there. It is safe. Leaving Sandra to fall asleep, you exit the hallway.
You are not worried; you are in fact, exhilarated. You wonder, not for the first time if that means that you are missing some fear factor that makes other people much more sensible than you. But you don’t worry about that either because that’s how you are.
Back to the storm; the winds sound awesome outside but it is too dark to see anything. You hear an occasional “BOOM!” like a cannonball hitting the back of the house and you know that the nearly ripe and very large coconuts from the giant palm tree taller than the top floor are barraging the house. Worried that the glass from the windows facing that side might shatter, you pull the blinds down. You sit and listen for a long time.
Finally succumbing to exhaustion, you go out in the hall and collapse next to Sandra, She is out like…….. well, like all the lights.
You wake. Sandra is still sleeping. You venture out of the hallway again. The storm is still raging but it is light. You go to the windows and see that they are not broken. The coconuts were too big to fit through the rejas. The wind is glorious in its violence. The palm trees are bent nearly horizontal under the onslaught of the gale and the pounding rain. You try the battery-powered radio, but all the stations are off the air. You are still exhilarated.
After a few hours, the wind winds down to nothing and the rain stops. The sun comes out. You and Sandra venture downstairs. You unlock the door and pick your way among the debris outside. You have no way to know if you are in the eye or if Hugo has passed.
You realize now that it was much more than coconuts hitting the house. At the back of the house is a road that leads directly to the beach and it has acted like a wind tunnel. There is a ten-foot high pile of trees and debris surrounding the downstairs floor. Some of the trees are huge, deposited in their entirety, roots still intact. You are once again glad you were in a concrete house. It is unscathed, but everything not firmly attached including the trees that used to make your yard a dark dense jungle, are gone. The few trees that are not gone look bizarre. Stripped of their leaves it looks like winter, which of course in Puerto Rico never happens. It is quiet. Too quiet. You hear no birds, no cars, nothing.
Your house miraculously is an island on an island. Most of the rest of the neighborhood is flooded from the storm surge. The north coast of Puerto Rico is now at your back fence being held at bay by a cinder block base that supports an ugly chain link fence. You and a couple of your neighbors are on a small hill you never noticed before and these houses are the select few not flooded.
Turning on the battery powered AM radio you find an English station that is broadcasting again. It is not the eye. Hugo is gone. Time to clean up.
In the days following, the news trickles in. During the day as well as at night, you hear gunshots. You hear that a family down the street was forced out of their house at gunpoint and stood there while the looters loaded up their truck and left. You are sad. You are a pacifist but the guns are ready and you and Sandra both know how to use them.
Wednesday, August 20th, 2008
Ming
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Well, this is not the post I had hoped to write about our adoption adventure, but such is life. We returned yesterday from taking Ming to see Dr George Jallo, Director of pediatric Neurology at Johns Hopkins. We took her to see him because she has a mild form of Spina Bifida that caused the abnormality of her foot (clubfoot).
We were hoping to get confirmation that her Spina Bifida was not to be any further issue. However, Dr. Jallo took one look at Ming’s wobbly gait and told us that she has Tethered Cord Syndrome and will need surgery ASAP to prevent neurological deterioration. In the simplest of explanations, Ming’s lower spinal cord is stuck when it should be able to move freely, so surgical intervention is needed to un-tether her cord.
Dr. George Jallo
However disappointing this news is, we couldn’t be in better shape with Ming’s medical care. US News and World Report ranks John’s Hopkins #1 in Pediatric Neurology & Neurosurgery, and Dr Jallo is Director of that department. We are also lucky that we are equipped with 2 very good family medical insurance policies that will likely cover most, if not all of those top ranking medical services. Phew!
Ming’s surgery is scheduled for September 18th.
Sunday, August 17th, 2008
As the Olympics go on, I find myself missing Beijing and having a terrible craving for the veggie steamed dumplings that are just a short walk from my favorite hotel/hostel in Beijing - the Far East.
The unassuming and very excellent Far East Youth Hotel/Hostel is in SW central Beijing, a pleasant 20 min stroll to Tiananmen. The tower has singles, doubles and triples with shower. Across the street are dorm bunks in an old traditional courtyard building. Located in one of the few remaining original Hutongs (i.e. NOT big shiny high rises) Clean modern and safe. My fav in Beijing
The unassuming facade of the Far East Hotel and Hostel, Beijing China
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Taxi map to the Far East. It’s VERY important to have a bilingual map or you won’t get there!
Below are some of my favorite spots in and around Beijing and the Far East .
Oh and if you want good steamed dumplings, hang a right as you exit the lobby and walk about 10 mins until you see a funny, life sized statue of a guy holding a dumpling in his hand on the left. It’s in one of the smaller, older and more tourist-free shopping districts in Beijing. After a yummy meal, (remember, no ice! no water! no drinks made with water except hot tea!) keep walking to the main road, then walk directly north to arrive at the south end of Tiananmen. On the other side of the loooooong plaza is the Forbidden City. In the middle is Mao’s tomb, which likely has a long line snaking all the way around the building.
Wednesday, July 30th, 2008
Ming Qiao and Kai Dong say “WOW!”
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Yesterday Ming received her “Big Shoe” as we call it. It’s a brace that is worn while sleeping to maintain the clubfoot correction, and it is just like big brother Kai Dong’s! KaI was very excited to show Ming how he puts his on before bed, and now they are happy to do “teamwork Big Shoe” all night.
This brace was developed by Ignacio Ponseti, MD Department of Orthopaedic Surgery University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics. Kai Dong has been wearing his for about a year an a half now. He often tells people how his Big Shoe is helping his foot. We tried other bracing methods, but this was what he was ultimately comfortable with. Ming seems to like it too. this is her second night, and both times we got it out to put on she said “WOW, WOW!” with a big smile.
