The Goal of Being a Cultured Person in this Money-Crazed Society We Live In

I’m currently teaching a large lecture course called Art Orientation. It’s for non-art majors, and satisfies a humanities requirement for general education. So my students are from all over the map. The course combines aesthetics (the study of beauty), basic design principles, art-making techniques, art history, and art criticism.
As opposed to my Art History course, which is difficult for me, teaching Art Orientation comes easy. I strive to turn my students on to Art, get them excited or outraged just a little bit. I want them to know about all aspects of art, to go to galleries and museums, not to make money or get ahead in life, but to become more interesting people (I sneak in that being art-educated also makes them more attractive to possible dates, art = sexy). This goal of becoming cultured is not at all valued by the average American, even those attending college.
Anyway, I’m about to give my first test, so we’ll see if any of this is sinking in. Attendance has been pretty good for such a large class with this bad flu season we’ve had here.
painting by Gail Roberts, and yes, still have dogs on the brain...

Soft-Centered Kloe

My kids are at that Why-can’t-we-have-a-dog stage. It might be nice (I’ve never had a dog), but friends have told me it’s like having another baby. And I’m so glad the baby stage is past.
Sometimes you feel yourself getting worn down, though. Like an ice cream cone slowly melting, leaving big chocolate rivulets.

Overwhelming Art

I love to experience art in a totally emotional way. Many times in my life I’ve attended live performance—classical music, opera, pop, dance, theater—that overwhelms my emotions. I find myself with tears streaming down my face, and I can’t help it. It’s not the same as being manipulated to cry during a Hollywood movie. I cry when I’m experience extreme and painful beauty.
The irony is that my own field of visual art rarely elicits this reaction from me. Maybe it has to do with the time-basedness of the performing arts. Or maybe visual art is just too cerebral.
But the other day I was watching Art 21, a PBS series of interviews with contemporary artists, for my Art Orientation class. Some of the artists are down-to-earth, some arrogant, some funny, some sarcastic, some all business, some cryptic.
But then came an interview with sculptor Louise Bourgeios, one of the grade dames of the High Art world. She is about 90 now, her French accent still thick. Maybe it was that I so rarely see someone of advanced age on video. Maybe that it was that she reminded me of my grandmother with her intelligence. It was certainly the artwork that broke me down and had me weeping at its beauty.
She took large rough blocks of black marble, about three feet high, and carved only the tops, from casts made of her own arms and hands, and the hands of other people, including children.
She then placed these fragile fragmented limbs on their pedestals in a wild grassy urban park, with no grand walkways or clearing, so if you came on them it was a surprise. The grace and timelessness of these sculptures totally tore out my heart. They are like the missing arms of Greek statues, or found limbs of those blown off by land mines. You should see them.

Yes, That's a Dead Pelican

I teach for three different institutions. Two public, one private (I’m working on a post on for-profit higher education, whole other story). The school I’ve been with the longest, we’ll call it School A, has a very strong teacher’s union, and as this union cares about its part-timers, it's gotten us a pretty good hourly. Not the top in Calif, but close. Now Arnie-Baby is messing with education at all levels here, and many cuts will be made in a few weeks at the elementary through high school levels. You will hear the screaming all the way to the East Coast, believe me. It’s affecting higher ed too.
Anyway, my new place, School B, is nice, good facilities, friendly people. But I got my first paycheck, and the hourly turns out to be quite a bit less than I expected. I’m totally shocked. (How, you ask, can you agree to work for a place when you don’t know the hourly?… state institutions are Byzantine—you tell yourself, “hey, I’ve got a terminal degree,” they must respect that fucking piece of paper and all the years of experience I have…) Even a PhD with 30 years of experience who comes to work part time for B gets the same low pay!
Teaching is really starting to FRY ME. I’m so exhausted most days, I spend all my free time prepping lectures and answering student emails. Now this pay. We’re public servants, yes, but there’s a limit.

Don’t even get me started on my first art history exam, which I gave a few days ago and is taking me about 10 hours to grade. Example: Give three reasons prehistoric peoples would have painted in caves. “For business.” "Because they didn't have pen and paper." "For kicks."

Dang

One of my best students just found out she’s getting redeployed. She was doing so well in class, excited about drawing, and now she’ll have to drop. When is this war going to end?

Rules

K: We have rules in our classrooms.
02: Like no talking when the teacher is talking.
K: Exactly, my students listen to me.
02: Well, they’re grownups—of course they follow the rules!

Wow

I was totally out of it yesterday when I wrote that post. Don’t even remember typing it. I guess all the stress just built up and I needed to PARTY. And that photo, really… bad girl, Kloe…

Happy Calorie Day,

In honor of you I ate many potato chips.
I get my news, all my news, from NPR (National Public Radio, yeah the liberals), then the NY Times followed by the LA times. Sometimes read the Turkish Daily News.
Carpe Diem, damn it!
k

Mustache

Turkey defends its rights to enter Iraq to fight the PKK terrorists, and US allows it with a warning to be quick.
Bulent Erson, Turkey’s most famous transsexual (now a woman), said if she had a son she wouldn’t send him to the army. She may face jail time for these statements.

That Mom Thing

I’ve been thinking about Hilary Clinton’s tone of voice lately, how she’s being compared to the Shrill Woman, the Mom. And that’s so unfair, but at the same time, accurate.
When you’re growing up, Mom is the one who usually cares if you eat with your mouth open, belch in company, leave your pajamas in a wad on the couch, get in trouble at school, spell things incorrectly (Dad sees more the “Big Picture,” which is important, but not more so than civilizing the heathen…).
Moms tell you, OVER AND OVER, the rules of society. If we had to say it only once, we wouldn’t sound so harsh. But that’s not reality—kids don’t listen until we practically shriek. We’ve all heard the voice of Hilary. And we resent it. I wish someone would tell her, but she probably can’t help it.
I can't either.

Sleeping in Class

Sometimes when I’m teaching I look out at the sea of faces and I see students sleeping. Their mouths are open, their heads propped up on fists. I don’t know what to do about it.
When it happens in my lecture classes, I can understand it. Eighty students, they don’t all want to be there, it’s early, maybe I’m not interesting (but I NEVER read my lectures, I always talk and try to tell stories--I know sometimes I’m failing.) But it also happens in my perspective class, when I’m lecturing about how to draw. WTF?
These are adults, if they want to sleep in class I will let them. But somehow I need to block it out, so I don’t get down on myself.
So if you ever find yourself dozing off in class, and you think the teacher doesn’t notice, think again. Get up and go home, or at least get yourself a stiff cup of coffee.

The Hype is Deserved

I’m totally in love with the music of Radiohead: smart, intricate, beautiful, varied. Listening to it constantly right now, to help me through.

Rant, or W. W. S-B. S?

It bugs me when someone disparages the “younger generation” for not being able to live without a computer, for not reading the newspaper and instead getting news online, or for having much of their social life online. I realize it’s often ignorance and fear that non-digitalizers exhibit with such nonsense. But to say everyone under 25 or 30 is stupid, it’s just outrageous.
I also hate when people dis our educational system. They have no idea how amazing American education is compared to how much of the world learns. Yes, there are big problems, but god bless it, we produce creative problem-solvers, not robots. We believe we can affect the world, or at least our little piece of it, while many non-Americans feel so oppressed by fate and circumstance that they are mostly paralyzed.
Wake up!!!

Ballet

I studied ballet for about 12 years when I was a child and teen (I bet you could have never guessed that, friggin' goodie-two-shoes that I am). I was never very good, but I loved it. Ballet is hard on self-esteem for a girl; you hate your body and you hate any sign of fat. But it’s great for posture, grace and pure diligence of practice. Later I became a modern dancer and then a ballroom dancer. Then I retired and was finished with dance, finally.
However, a few weeks ago I found my schedule accommodated an adult ballet class. So I began doing plies, tendues and fondues again. I remember all the French words, the body language, and the traditional order of exercises perfectly, as those who practiced a sport must keep it deep in their muscles. But my body cramps up terribly, and I’m deathly afraid of injuring myself, with good reason. I am very old to be doing this. The teacher is sweet and tolerant of me.
It’s weird how life can circle back on you, no?

Love Song

Your love, dear one, is as lovely to me
As sweet soothing oil to the limbs of the restless,
As clean ritual robes to the flesh of gods,
As fragrance of incense to one coming home
Hot from the smells of the street.

It is like nipple-berries ripe in the hand,
Like the tang of grainmeal mingled with beer,
Like wine to the palate when taken with white bread.

While unhurried days come and go,
Let us turn to each other in quiet affection,
Walk in peace to the edge of old age.
And I shall be with you each unhurried day,
A woman given her one wish: to see
For a lifetime the face of her love.

New Kingdom Egypt, c. 1200 BCE

How to Stay Home

My self-employed grandfather planned for his retirement and eventual demise carefully. His oft-repeated goal was to stay in his house until the end. As a young child I remember visiting my great-grandfather in a “home”—I never asked why or how he ended up there—but it was not a good place. My grandfather didn’t want that.
He ended up staying in his house, with my gram and nurses caring for him, until a few weeks before his death, when he had to be moved into a convalescent hospital; the end-stage of his disease was just too devastating for home care. I was eight months pregnant at the time, and thought my grief might throw me into labor.
My gram died at home. The last four months she was totally housebound because of 24-hour oxygen. I wonder if all that money and planning was worth it. It didn’t make dying any easier. She was depressed often, and furious at her helplessness. But she died in her own bed.
I’m studying Ancient Egyptian art, how the pharaohs prepared for death by building huge monuments where their spirit would reside forever. These tombs resembled their homes. They led short lives on earth: beautiful Nefertiti was probably in her late 30s when she died, Tut was only 19.
4000 years later we’re still obsessed with the same basic problem.

A Bad Year

Note: I normally try to keep this blog from being too personal. Kloe wants to talk about teaching and art and politics. But sometimes my life cries out to be explained a bit. So don’t read this if you just want to think of me as a cute doll in SoCal… or maybe it is comforting to know that Kloe, as perky and privileged as she is, also has bad, terrible years?

When I was a young Kloe, I thought each year was better than the last. So being 10 years old was better than being 9, 17 was definitely better than 16, it was better to be in college than high school, better to be a senior than a freshman, better to be married, better to be a mom, etc. I’m normally quite optimistic.
But this year, the last 12 to 14 months, has not been better. It has, in fact, been a year of tremendous loss, with very few gains. My prestigious grant in Turkey finished, where I was a faculty member with a big studio-office, and I returned to my role as an adjunct living out of her car. I miss my hard-won friends in Turkey, and realize I must work on my friendships here. I have lost my gram, one of the most important figures in my life.
But mostly I have lost love. My lost loves suffer me heavy grief, I almost can’t cope. I know this time will pass, and I’ll be happy again. But my naive idea that life continues to get better is obliterated, although it had a good, long run.

Lack

Well, my Valentine’s Day totally sucked, how was yours?
Felt under-prepared for my art history class, although have a couple great students who want to talk Middle East culture with me… sat in my car eating a sandwich and studying while it poured rain… taught into the night.
But at the end of my class, a student gave me a music CD after we’d listened to it while drawing. And that one little act of kindness almost broke my heart. You see I’m sort of a wreck now.

Another Death

Yesterday an artist colleague died suddenly, relatively young. Although I was surprised, I also understood. He led one of those hard lives we traditionally allow creative people. We want our artists to experience life sharply, extremely, and give this information back to us in their work. And so these men and women are fragile emotionally and physically, and they sometimes die, like Heath Leger, before they should have.
But we don’t consciously choose these highes and lows, this non-stable lifestyle so different from the norm. Most of us can’t really help that we crave deep, often painful experiences. It feeds our work, and our work makes us hungry for new ways of being. Not all artists are like this, but many, including me, are.
(Another Martin Puryear sculpture at MOMA.)

Rains, Pours, Etc.

Officially, after two weeks of school, I have 197 students this semester at three different institutions: 80 in Art Orientation, 70 in Art History, 22 in Perspective Drawing, and 25 in Drawing I. I was supposed to be teaching another section of Perspective on top of this, but it got cancelled.
I’m working my little fashionable ass off. I have no readers for the large lecture classes. My close friend, the Art Historian, is always reading student papers and preparing lectures in her car, and I understand why. I eat, work, read and occasionally nap in my car now (parked, of course).
The biggest challenge, apart from not sounding like an idiot in front of so many people, is managing all those students. It’s different when you know each by name. I get emails every day from students, I have to learn new techniques of assigning homework, I have to write multiple choice exams, I have to figure out extra credit and make-up stuff for huge numbers.
I feel like I put on a show with the big lectures, four times a week. It’s both exhilarating and exhausting.
And today I am very, very sad.

Headscarves on Campus

Uh oh, Turkish Parliament has voted to revoke the ban on headscarves on university campuses. You can read what Ms. Frizzle has to say about it here, but she didn’t teach on a university campus last year, and she also lived near Istanbul in a more liberal area. I strongly agree with most academics that headscarves don’t belong in the classroom. If I was a secular Turkish woman, like most of my friends there, I’d be very nervous now.
Have you ever worn a headscarf? I’ve tried it, and physically it changes the way you experience your surroundings. You have no peripheral vision. You don’t move you head or body as freely (I observed this many times watching covered women). It’s hot, and most places in Turkey don’t have air conditioning. Not to mention how it’s going to physically divide women in the classroom.
I don’t know if teachers, administrators and workers will also be able to wear headscarves to work on campus. Will let you know when I find out.
…
We had a small earthquake here lastnight, it felt very strange and unsettling in the pit of my stomach. Apparently there was damage south.

A Question Posed to my Art History Students

Why do artists, ancient to modern, abstract the human body?
To emphasize body parts of features they wish to draw attention to.
To exaggerate what matters most.
To express an ideal.
There is more imagination in abstract art, the person looking at the image gets to use their own creativity to dissect it.
The artist is not held back by the laws of naturalism therefore gets to add his or her own twist to the piece.
Our brains are pre-wired to think specific shapes are beautiful.
What is beautiful to humans changes with time and fashion, so we abstract the human form to show what is important to us at a specific point in time.
To defy normal—art can cause a certain amount of controversy.
An acceptance of the inability of the artist to truly capture human beauty.
Wishful thinking.

Divided Vote

OK, so for my foreign readers, here’s how things stand in our presidential politics (this is very GENERAL):

Republicans (the Right)
McCain: Has the most votes (delegates). Problem is that he’s not conservative enough for many Republicans.
Romney: Disappointed people yesterday, didn’t spend enough money. He’s the businessman.
Huckabee: The religious conservative, teamed up with McCain against Romney.

Democrats (the Left)
Clinton: Won the big urban states on the coasts yesterday. Supporters include Latinos, working class whites, older voters, women.
Obama: Won the smaller states yesterday. Supports include African Americans, affluent whites, people under 30.

I’m not unhappy there was no clear winner between Clinton and Obama yesterday. If they keep running and keep it clean, the excitement of Democrats and their issues will continue. If Obama loses, many younger voters may become apathetic. So it was a good outcome yesterday… I think….
(photo shot in Mexico, gotta love big gold talking heads)

California, Show Your Power

Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote!
Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote!
Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote! Vote! Vote!! Vote!

Sorry for these Short Posts, but I’m Swamped Writing Lectures…

A friend told me he has to re-recognize me every time he sees me. I do have the ability to radically change the way I look with clothing, hair and posture. It’s a blond thing…
The Superbowl was great, didn’t you think?

Gas

I only had five bucks to put in my tank yesterday. And at $3.35 per gallon the needle didn’t budge off empty. Those little cars everyone drives in Turkey would sure come in handy…
Now that I’m teaching at three schools again, I’m living in my car. With a trunk full of art supplies, history books, gym bag and snacks, I’m good to go.

Kloe and (Bill) Clinton

No, we were never a couple, although I’m sort of his type, no?
What I’m thinking about is his ability to “compartmentalize,” to separate the different areas of his life and hats he wears. So at the same time he could follow complicated foreign and domestic affairs, he could have affairs and conduct business, keeping each separate to preserve his sanity and his image.
I’m sort of like this too. I have many identities and threads going on in my life. Parts of my life stay totally private from other parts. Take blogging, for example—it’s separate from my life as a mother for the most part. My personal artwork and my client-based artwork don’t mix. I try to keep something that is hurting me in one of my lives from affecting my other roles.
When I get down or too stressed, I think of Bill.

Kitchen Garden

One of my winter beds. This is why we pay so much to live here.

Risk Analysis

Kloe hearts this (wouldn’t you just love this guy to be your science teacher?):

Power Trip

I just gave my first-ever large lecture. Imagine a sea of mostly young faces, over 100, every race, staring at you at 8am. Yikes! I even have some freshly-scrubbed high school students from across the street sitting in the front row. I planned to let them go early (a common practice the first day of class in colleges, no one has materials or book yet), but we stayed until the last minute. And most of them were excited about what we did, which was talk about what we like and hate in art, using art magazines I passed out.
I have to say it was a high, having that many people listening to me. I was so nervous I couldn’t eat, and my computer and projector didn’t show up, but I handled it. I think I’m going to be OK.
Image (and detail) is work of one of my favorite contemporary artists, Julie Mehretu, at MOMA. Empirical Construction, Istanbul (2003).
You see I just can’t get away from my beloved Turkey…

New Life, Part 2

Around the start of this year I came to a big decision. It hit me hard and in 24 hours I was sure:
I’ve decided to leave teaching. I’m a good, and possibly very good, teacher. A student told me last term, “Kloe, you’re a SuperStar.” And that made me feel, well, you know. But it’s not enough. The money and security just aren’t there because I don’t have the tenure track job. And I’m fooling myself that I can get it, especially cause I can’t move to another city or state.
I’ve been out of grad school and applying for jobs for seven years. Three times I’ve come close, but have been disappointed (during one interview with a college president there was an earthquake; I still didn’t get the position). Now with this economy money will dry up for new hires for a few years, especially at state schools.
And I’ve just been jerked around too much, asked to present courses I’m not qualified to teach, crazy schedules (nights and Saturdays), classes cancelled at the last minute.
And you know what? The College Professor thing was never really me, it was someone else’s dream for me.
So all of a sudden I’ve come to the realization that I have to give up on teaching as my career goal, and I’m starting something else.

Here’s what I cooked for dinner the other night

Wild yellowtail blackened in spices
Brown rice with homemade tomato sauce (the last of my 07 tomatoes)
Radicchio, pear and fresh beet salad (two purples plus yellow, very pretty)
Young, spicy red wine
Chocolate, of course.

Facebook

So I joined Facebook the other day. Have been meaning to look into it for a while, and you can’t snoop around unless you join (it’s free). I have a friend who is studying social marketing, which uses social networks like MySpace and Facebook to sell products/get clients/capture markets (although very delicately)—Facebook as the new golf club, where you mix “friendship” and business.
I’m not really interested in marketing, but I am fascinated by the cultural event of Facebook. I tried to explain it to my mom, who is skeptical to say the least, by saying it is like having your phone book in the computer, and then having a party line. And she said, “Oh, you could have some big cocktails.” And that pretty much sums it up.
I am increasingly aware that I must act as a bridge between the Baby Boomers and Gen X. I am right in between, but belong to neither group. Baby Boomers can’t quite get a grip on the younger generation’s desire to live life totally on line, seemingly with no privacy. Aesthetically, Baby Boomers like clean, clear communication, while Gen X piles on decoration, meaning, layers, games, in general multitasking to an unheard of level (whether successful in getting things done is up to debate).
Anyway, I’m going to hang around Facebook and figure out how to use it (have some ideas). If you know me, please write on my wall.
Kiss,

Hillary

Hillary’s win in Nevada has caused me a strange excitement. Women stood up for her, even against union endorsement of Obama. When my friends in Europe or Turkey ask me who will win, I tell them Clinton. But now it’s really starting to seem true. I never thought I’d see a woman president in my lifetime. Now it’s probable, and she’s capable, smart and experienced. Finally anyone can become president—simply amazing for a country that has never elected anyone but a white Christian male.
It’s about time, that’s all I have to say.

Boys and Books

I see a big problem with boys and reading. Even though there are many fiction and nonfiction books targeted to boys (like sports, horror and gross-out genres), the majority I observe still isn’t interested in reading for long stretches of time. I see most of the girls in my son’s class sitting absorbed in stories about horses, fairies, and detectives, etc, while the boys look through stacks of books, wasting time. If they do pick something, it’s often too easy for them (for example, my child still likes to read the Goosebumps series, even though it’s below his level and his teacher wants him to read more difficult books).
In fourth grade in California, there is a big emphasis on reading. I remember being 10 years old and reading for hours, almost making myself sick. I’m afraid this is where we start to lose the boys. What to do, except convince parents to read at home and turn off the tv…

Fourth Grade

Having missed a year of American elementary school while we were in Turkey, I can see a big difference between controlled second grade and free-wheeling fourth grade. My son and his classmates are developing tremendous self-discipline. They work on their own for long stretches of time, on multi-step projects. For example, the nine-years-olds are creating Powerpoint shows: researching topics online, downloading photos, making slides that often incorportate fancy backgrounds, fonts and transitions. They help each other. But a few kids are distracted and may be left behind without intervention or help with organizational skills.
I am astounded that so many of the kids, including my son, do well, when at home a simple list of get dressed, make your bed, and brush your teeth can’t be followed. It’s all about expectations.
(photo: inside of kid’s desk)

More Thoughts on Dying

I just watched the film La Vie en Rose, and it made me think of my gram. Edith Piaf and she were born in the same year, 1913. To think what my gram went through living the 20th century… My grandparents loved the songs of Piaf, and I grew up listening to her records at their house.
When people become elderly and sickly, it’s my experience that, even if they keep their marbles, rational thinking gets lost somewhere in their suffering. When you are dying it’s fair to become self-centered and self-absorbed (the movie portrays this well). The closest I’ve been to this state was going into labor, when you know something momentous is happening, but you have no idea how you will handle it emotionally or physically. I know labor isn’t death, but both are unavoidable and overwhelming and scary.
I went through an emotional rollercoaster living with a dying woman. She both wanted me to be with her and resented me for the things I wasn’t there for. She couldn’t handle my kids, but she loved them. She wasn’t always honest with me, but that wasn’t new; my family works in labyrinthine ways.
Last night my little guy, who is named after her father, said he missed his great grandmother. He’s such a sensitive boy, he was trying to comfort me.
Sorry to be so maudlin, but this is my blog and I’ll gnash my teeth if I want to.

Night Songs

Sometimes late in the evening I hear a man singing outside my window in Italian, a tenor. It’s eerie and beautiful. It reminds me of Turkey, where laborers might sing in public. Somehow expressions of male vulnerability and creativity are almost lost in American, or at least SoCal, culture.
But lest I make Turkey sound too romantic, I also used to hear celebratory gunfire in our neighborhood at night. That kind of emotional expression I can definitely do without.

Hiding my Work

For the past six months I’ve been making artwork, painting large and small pieces, blogging, performing. I’ve realized all this work has an over-riding theme—that it must remain hidden, or at least camouflaged. There are a host of reasons for this that I can’t go into, but I’m choosing to make work that I can’t show to the general public, or even to some of my friends.
So the next questions is, can I show it if I cover it up? Can presentation be part of what I’m trying to say? Can I physically put layers of opacity on the work, or hint at it through a peephole, as a metaphor for what I’m experiencing in my life right now? What does it mean, to make a kind of “private artwork,” in opposition to producing Art-to-Be-Conspicuously-Displayed?
I’m trying to figure it out with some small paintings; click here if you want to see more.

Xmas Memories

Kid.02 asked me what is my favorite part of Christmas. Keep in mind, this is coming from a Jewish kid. I told him it is early Christmas morning, when you’re just waking up, and your mom says you can go into the living room with your brother and sister, and you first spy all the stockings, full to bursting, hanging from the chimney mantle.
The next best thing is later in the day, when the opening and eating are finished: looking at the pile of stuff you got, all that potential fun yet to be had.
Lastly, Christmas is wonderful late at night, just sitting by the tree that is still lit up and smelling good.
Then he asked, Mom, how can Santa bring clothes if his elves only have hammers and bells in their workshop?

To My Sister

You are holding me up.
Thank you.

Prehistoric Ramble

I have to teach art history next semester. Can you believe it? I can’t either. And not just any art history. The first-half survey, known as Caves to Cathedrals—Prehistoric to Gothic. Double f***in’ yikes.
So I’ve been noticing and thinking about primal behaviors lately. How certain things satisfy me on a deep level that must be residual of life in caves and huts. For example, I love organizing a full pantry. I also like using up food stuffs so they don’t go to waste. I don’t really like food shopping, but I do like cooking. Lately I’m into meat.
I also enjoy watching plants, especially edible ones, grow. I like to groom myself and my kids, plucking hairs and cutting nails and cleaning ears (yes, like a monkey).
I think my visceral enjoyment of painting is also a primal behavior. And that’s one of the basic art historical questions, why did early people paint on caves? Was it only for religious reasons, to insure a successful hunt? Or did even prehistoric artists need to express themselves visually?
No doubt Kloe is going to learn a lot this semester.

Turkish Biennial

Here’s another video from my friends at dmovies. They attended the Istanbul Biennial, which went on after I left Turkey last summer (boohoo, I missed it). This piece is from a Turkish artist who is taking a big risk. We take it for granted that artists can say what they want, but in Turkey, they can also pay for criticizing the State.
Click here to view a short video that introduces the biennial. Isn't my friend beautiful?

Golden Teeth

I’ve been having teeth problems. I guess you get to a certain age…
Years ago I was in a dance performance and fell on stage, smashing my teeth together. I remember thinking, wow, I would have chopped my tongue off if it had been in the way. Later I had developed terrible headaches, which a quack doctor in LA decided I needed some kind of electronic therapy to fix. No, I needed a root canal.
Fast forward some years, and the tooth above also needs a crown. So recently one of these two crowns seems to be loose, but I can’t feel which one. I go to my new charming dentist, and he says, no, the problem is a different tooth, which also needs a crown. Chi-ching.
Fine, I have all my crowns in a row, and am eating licorice, and off pops the oldest crown, which I quickly put back in place. The kicker is that night I also get the stomach flu. As my head is in the toilet I’m praying, please don’t let the crown come off again now.
Double triple YUCK!

My Quest for a Worm Composter

Because I am a green fur-wearing girl, I need a small composter/worm bin that looks tidy and not like a plastic trashcan. You can order such a thing on line, but they are expensive. My NoCal compatriots say, trying not to sound condescending, doesn’t your city have a plan for low cost composters for the citizenry? I look on websites and yes, there is something run by the County. I go to several of the garden supply outlets where said item can be purchased, and get laughed off the premises. No composters for any price.
So I’m back to building my own, which will look, sigh, like the plastic bin it is with holes drilled in it. Composting garden and kitchen waste is such a no-brainer, but we in SoCal apparently don’t have a clue.

Pop and Pop

Today Bush met with Turkish President Gul, and came out in support of European Union membership for Turkey. Think that amounts to much? I don’t. We’ll have to wait for the next US President to see how he/she relates to Europe and Turkey.

Here’s a video I watched with interest when I was living in Anatolia. At first I was impressed that a woman singer would have her part lip-synched by an “older” man, but now I know that this is how singer Serdar Ortac sounds. He is very Turkish-looking to me, part Tartar (Asian features), slightly effeminate, but that’s totally allowable in Turkish entertainment. It’s staggering to start with young schoolgirls, then segue way to a stripclub, and end up in a traditional bellydance tent. The black dancer is very un-Turkish, the sexiness normal on dance videos. Oh yeah, and American football is also thrown in there. So, weird all around. But the song, like much Turkish pop, is quite catchy. And if you’ve never heard Turkish before…

This Explains It:

It Takes a Family (to Break a Glass Ceiling)
By KERRY HOWLEY
Published: January 5, 2008, New York Times
SOME women, even progressive ones, are surely celebrating Hillary Clinton’s third-place finish in the Iowa caucuses. Those of us who think 43 male presidents in a row is quite enough, thank you, still sometimes question whether a woman whose greatest political move was her marriage deserves to be the first woman in the White House.
But while there are plenty of reasons not to vote for Mrs. Clinton (as an antiwar libertarian, I could happily list them for you at length), her marital journey to power is not one of them. The uncomfortable truth is that political nepotism has often served feminism’s cause well.
…
Like it or not, the road to female advancement often begins at the altar. History books are thick with examples of women who broke political barriers because their family connections afforded them the opportunity.
If you’ve ever wondered why India, Indonesia, Myanmar, Pakistan and the Philippines seem readier to elect women than does the United States, here’s your answer: Societies that value a candidate’s family affiliation, and therefore have a history of nepotistic succession, are often open to female leadership so long as it bears the right brand. Benazir Bhutto, Indira Gandhi and Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, among many others, slashed through gender barriers on the strength of their family names.
…
Social psychologists have found that women in leadership roles are typically seen as either warm, likable and incompetent, or cold, distant and competent. To be a strong, competent woman is to be something culturally unattractive, which probably says something about why few American women even aspire to political office. Worldwide, even popular female politicians — Margaret Thatcher, Golda Meir, Angela Merkel — are slapped with the moniker “iron lady.”
Granted, women who rely on their last names to ascend to power are not especially likely to pursue explicitly feminist policies. They may even be less likely to do so, in order to seem worthy of office.
….
No mother wants to tell her daughter that she can aspire to the presidency only if she snags the most gifted politician of her generation. But Hillary Clinton’s rise to power, unsettling as it is, follows a time-tested pattern for the breaking of gender barriers.
The great feminist promise of a Hillary Clinton presidency amounts to this: If we elect a political wife now, perhaps we won’t have to later.

Kerry Howley is a senior editor at Reason magazine.
Painting by Raul Guerrero

Reality Check

OK, did you think I was always going to talk like a baby? No, back to serious life.
And this is serious: I’m an adjunct. If you’re sending your kid to college, or doing some college work yourself, you know us. And do you realize we are not on the faculty, and therefore have little say in what goes on in our institutions? Do you understand we have no job security (one of my scheduled classes was cancelled just a few days ago)? Did you guess we have no benefits? And that we have to teach at two, three or four institutions because there are limits on our teaching load so we don’t qualify for benefits?
Now you probably want your Baby back, don’t you?

Baby K Tells You Lucky Kids Seven Things about Her Babyship

1. Favorite food: Chocolate (duh?!?)
2. Baby K likes to talk politics, and this is the year! Only drawback: no Arnie in the race.
3. When looking in the mirror, she often sees a fat baby staring back. Isn’t that scary?
4. Baby likes to eat meat and wear fur. Sorry!
5. She wishes she’d been born a man. A black man.
6. She can only live here in Paradise knowing she’ll be away again.
7. Baby K has a filthy little mouth and selfish little mind, but she’s usually not fucking serious.
(Tagged to list seven things by Ms. Frizzle)

I Go Away for Six Days…

And what happens? Assassination in Pakistan (I’m heartbroken), ethnic killing in Kenya, bomb in Diyarbakir (not to mention sweeping smoking bans in Turkey), Obama wins in Iowa (he’s my man, although I think the final fight will be Hilary vs. Rudy, mark my baby words).
Was in Mexico with no cell phone or computer, can you imagine?
Lots of kisses and dark chocolate breath from
Baby K