iPhone

Did you try to buy one this weekend?
A friend of mine did, I dropped her off at 8:30am to stand in line with about 1000 other people at the Mac Store. The line wove through the mall out to the parking lot. Some had arrived at midnight the night before, only to be chased out by security. A guy we talked to spent a few hours at Denny’s and then returned at 4:30am for the opening at 8am. A few people paid several hundred dollars to take someone's place near the head of the line.
AT&T was totally overwhelmed, as this scene was probably played out all over the country. So is there a need out there for this phone, or was this just brilliant marketing on the part of Apple? Seemed like an awful lot of smart, hip people standing in line for hours in the hot sun to get this toy.

Virginity Lost

Today I fell for the first time. Skating, I mean. Luckily I was wearing wrist guards, or I’d be messed up. Haven’t had a raspberry since I was a kid. I guess I had gotten a bit cocky.
Am enjoying another month in a studio. What a luxury, to have space to paint. Yesterday the place was hopping, artists in and out, a casting call for an online video in the photo studio, people walking through. Both distracting and what you want from such a place. But the rent is just too high.

Neon Poem

Love & die
Fall & live
Suck & die
Play & live
Hate & die
Touch & die
Hear & live
Run & live
Fuck & live
Laugh & die
(Bruce Nauman at MCASD--Brilliant show, very male, wicked funny.)

What’s Up in Turkey?

Oh dear, am getting sort of ominous emails from my friends in Turkey that things are not good. They all sound worried about the political situation, which seems to be disintegrating.
And today there was an attack on the US Consulate in Istanbul.

Haystack

I’ve lost the thread of this blog a bit. Does that mean I’ve lost the design of my own life?
I want to talk about how hard it is to get my work out there, the age-old problem of the artist. I am so frustrated at my lack of success. I work, I paint, I teach, and yet I have no tenured job, I rarely show, I never sell my work outside of my gallery in Turkey. I am almost always rejected from shows I enter.
In the past artists had patronage, an aristocrat or the Church. My patrons, my fallback, has been my parents. But it makes me feel like a failure, that in my mid 40s I cannot support myself; that I’m extremely accomplished, but can’t make it.
I’ve decided to rent a studio down the hall from my friend for another month. Can’t afford it, but am hoping more time in a professional space will be worth it. A collector may visit me, and a gallerist, and I can hardly have these people visit my garage, wading through rusted bikes and moldy couches. I need a break, like thousand upon thousands of other artists out there right now.

Happy 4th

Have two writers from the East Coast visiting me, very fun women. My kind of women: one brought 9 pairs of shoes for 4 days. Shoes, meaning heels.
Tonight we’re doing Turkish BBQ: mercimek kofte, lamb kofte, shish, leeks in oil, imam beyildi (stuffed eggplant), baklava, raki, cay.
Kisses, and have a great 4th.

I am OK.

I think things will be OK. It was traumatic, but now that I’m calm, I can handle it. Isn’t that just so like life?

Greek Paintings

Here are some of my new paintings. Showed them to a few friends last night, the reaction was mostly positive.
I have only a few more days left to paint here. Then my time, sadly, is up.

What is Coming

What do you do when there is no happy ending to the story? When every possible outcome is painful? You can know that it is coming, but it still blindsides you every step.
This is what I’m faced with.

Poem by a Sweet Boy

MOM
Pretty nice
Cooking working playing
Mom Mom Mom Mom
Buying working dancing
Good smart
Great Mom

Missing You, My Anatolian Venice

Wish I was there, too.

Friends

Friends have always been an essential part of my life. Except those few years I had babies. During those years I just didn’t have time or energy for my friends. But most of my old friends hung in there.
And now I find myself with lots of new friends, and feel so blessed. We get together to drink coffee or beer, talk art or education or blogging, We walk and travel and eat sushi. My friends message me, send me photos of their new work, make me laugh with funny emails.
My friends are mostly women, but some men, younger and older than I am, artists and athletes and neighbors. I even have some teen friends who keep me laughing with their exploits.
Kisses to you.

Painting Frenzy

Every day I go to my borrowed studio, slide the door shut, and layer the paint, fling it, slap it, slather it on my unstretched canvases. My “white” paintings start out very colorful, painfully so. I suppose I like the challenge, how to be generous with pure hue, and then slowly take it away, gray it down, layer by layer.
I’ve got six paintings started now, all based on iconic Classical and Hellenistic Greek sculptures of women—the Phidian wet look, which I adore (clothes so thin you see the body underneath, because women were not allowed to be depicted undressed). At the same time I’m again trying to reach abstraction, as I did a year ago with my knitting paintings.
I paint a body underneath the sculpture, and let it show through a bit.
Have been inspired by a friend’s work, and am trying to convince him to show with me. Are you convinced yet?

Sugar Museum

This show was a benefit for the Sugar Museum, a virtual museum (doesn’t have a building) dedicated to making art with sugar and other foods to promote awareness and creativity. My part was a performance involving all the kids: we made pancake faces at the opening and the kids “sold” them. Very fun, especially when, on his very first attempt, 01 squeezed chocolate frosting all over his tie.
(two dioramas made by kids)

Foodish

Here are some snaps from the show I helped curate last week. The art was created by both kids and artists, and it was to be made mostly of food, perishable or non. Very fun.

School’s Out for Summer!

Last day of elementary school. I spent the morning teaching 60 kindergarteners how to hula hoop, five at a time. We did hips, arm, neck, foot, jump rope, tossing… felt like circus school. Some of the boys especially were ecstatic to learn the mechanics of this so-called girl activity, and a few even came back a second time. And yes, I did get a welt around my bare arm from repetitive friction…
So somewhere the Great Elementary School Goddess looked down upon me and smiled. Kid.01 tested into the Gifted and Talented Program. Even better, 02’s kindergarten teacher, an amazing woman famed throughout the region, is teaching first grade next year and he has the option of looping with her (two years consecutive with the same teacher). I was so relieved I cried, cause we were faced with the prospect of a weak teacher for him next year.
See, volunteering has multiple payoffs.

Worrying Signs in Lalaland

• Went into a Subway the other day, all the workers were behind plexi. I thought it was for sanitary reasons, but the cashier was also enclosed. He told me they’d been robbed multiple times, along with the other businesses around. This was in an OK neighborhood.
• Went into my bank, and there were big signs to take off hats and sunglasses. Again, robbery, in a supposedly safe, upscale suburban neighborhood.
• Went in to teach, and found out the week before the entire school had been shut down and classes cancelled for a day. The brass handles on the water main had been stolen, which meant no water for flushing.
• Went to a pretty classy dessert bar in the downtown area. There was an armed guard at the door. He was nice. Explained that earlier there’d been a shooting. Right there.
Angels are falling. (Artwork by a student.)

Fear/Pity/Anger

The other day I was parked downtown, waiting in my car, and a homeless man walked by. I noticed him because he was using two artist drawing boards bungeed together for a suitcase. He was very tall and dressed all in black; he didn’t look like he’d been on the street long. I locked my car doors because I felt a twinge of aggressiveness in his stride.
He changed his course right in front of me and crossed the street to a Mexican restaurant, obviously checking out the garden patio. My fear turned to pity as I guessed he was looking for a place to stay the night.
He passed his “suitcase” through the bars of the eight foot fence and climbed over it. It was dusk and he walked into the shadows. I saw him moving some chairs around to make a shelter. But then he folded the chairs up and passed three of them through the bars, hopped the fence, and carried his goods away.
I’ve eaten a burrito at that restaurant, it’s family owned and not fancy. Should I have done something?

Reclamation

This wall hanging (Dusasa II, 2007) is by El Anatsui, an artist from Ghana. From far away it looks like seashells in a net, but close up you find it is discarded bottle caps and liquor seals woven into copper wire. He is considered one of Africa’s foremost living sculptors.
(at the Met)

Artists are so Weird

We spend tons of time doing strange stuff that really has no point: making unsellable art, attending art openings, curating shows, carting stuff around, spending precious money and resources on art that won’t get us anywhere in the long run. It’s hard to understand, even for me, who does these sorts of things frequently (like today, will show pics soon). We do them because that’s what turns us on. As a friend told me, it keeps us in the game.
Another SoCal tree in spring bloom. Coral, I think.

Back Home…

In SoCal, where the jacarandas are in bloom, gas is $4.40/gallon, and school is almost out. A generous and supportive friend has offered me the use of her painting studio while she is out of the country for a month, and I’ve already moved in (thanks so much, J!).
And to my other lovely friend in NYC, you gave me such a gift to let me work in your studio, paint with you, share your home and friends with me, give me honest advice, encourage me, inspire me! Wish I could be there more often.
And miss you already.

Sigalit Landau

At the Museum of Modern Art there was a strange circle/spiral themed show (strange because of the simplistic-to-the-point-of-being-dumb idea, and yes, Spiral Jetty was included). One artist redeemed the show for me: Sigilit Landau, an Israeli video/performance artist and sculptor.
Above are stills from DeadSee (2005), a video of 500 watermelons strung together, floating in a spiral enveloping her nude body. Over the course of the five minute video loop the spiral unwinds, and she slowly floats out of the frame. Magical and weird.
In Barbed Hula (2000) she hula-hoops nude on the shores of the Mediterranean with barbed-wire, gradually cutting welts into her skin. It is mesmerizing and horrifying at the same time. I loved this work, really fresh but so connected to older female body artists like Yoko Ono, Marina Abramovic and Hannah Wilke. It functioned as a metaphor for both Israel and beach culture, and really thrashed the male (or any) gaze.

American Girl

Here I am with friends on the beach in the Hamptons…
Not really, I’m at the flagship American Girl store in Manhattan. What a total freak out. Not my kind of place, let me tell you. And the noise level, I thought boys were bad. Wowza.
As a Bratz, I feel I’m affordable, a big plus. They may make the AG in all skin tones, but I’m sure they sell mostly white chicks to daddy’s little girls.

Painting Maniac

I painted more in the past three days than I have in six months. I got a much clearer picture of where I need to go.
Here I am with an old painting we just stretched. Pretty dramatic, no?

East Hampton

Today I painted in a large studio all day. Worked on four paintings, one small gouache from a model, two from a previous series, and one trial for a new series of white paintings. It was good at the end of the day to sit in front of all these paintings and look at them; the studio is very large and can handle multiple works. I’m realizing I need a place to work, not just in my garage or my classrooms. If I had a studio I could look at multiples, comparing and making critical judgments. I need to address this.
East Hampton itself is moneyed. And all white. When to breakfast and an omelet cost $16, cup of coffee $4. And I saw three men in the space of 20 minutes in pink shirts.

Museum Day

Went to our most illustrious art museums yesterday: the Met and MOMA. It was fantastic seeing the Egyptian, Greek and Roman stuff that I studied and taught last semester.
I’m very inspired by both the old and new, and will start painting today.
Here are a few "things I'm digging" (get the idea I'm going to work with white?):

Flying Away

Kloe’s on a plane bound for NYC. She needs this break. She’s felt the stress of the past semester taking a physical toll on her plastic limbs and her shiny hair. She’s upped her coffee consumption to kick-start her mornings, and noticed herself talking way too fast lately.
Her suitcase is packed with acrylics and gouache, a roll of canvas in the overhead bin. She’ll to do museums and galleries, and paint in a friend’s studio up in the Hamptons. Try not to go shopping too much. Will send photos soon.

Purple

Kid.02 and all his classmates are on a color-coded behavior system to finish out the year. Every child starts each day as a “good kid” with a green. If you get a warning for poor behavior you move to yellow, then orange. The worst is red. I’d be very upset to get a red coming home.
But if you’re quite good you can progress to a blue. And if you’re SUPER, a purple. The first kinders to get purples were girls, of course. But when my kid came home with a purple in his little hand, I was beyond proud. Partly because he's a bit wild.
As reward, he got to choose a ColdStone pint: white chocolate ice cream with double brownies, chocolate chips and sprinkles. Sweetness well deserved.

Civilization Central Beckons

Guess where I’m going back to in just a few days? Woo Hoo!

Very Short Poem on One of My Favorite Things

Bread is reason to eat butter
A sandwich a vehicle for mayo
Sliced tomatoes are best soaked in olive oil.

However
You need nothing
No reason or structure
Time-table or setting
To eat chocolate.

(can you tell the semester is done???)

Burned

Today I had a student show up for a final who had missed at least 15 class periods—over half my lectures. Do you think I was feeling very charitable? I was not.
I told him we are required to keep attendance and 30% of the grade is based on “class participation.” I watched him take the final carefully, cause the previous test he got a B, so someone was helping him, or he was cheating. I really can’t stop someone from cheating, but they’re going to feel my Kloe Eye on them. It’s evil and icy blue.
I just graded his test. It sucked, and my final was easy for anyone who studied.
I can have compassion for the student who shows up and does poorly, but one who doesn’t even bother to come to lectures?
Outta here.

Finals Week: Lessons Learned

OK, I’ve complained a lot about the art history classes I just had to teach this semester. It was a huge learning curve—to lecture, to deal with so many students (most of whom I never got to know) and to evaluate such masses.
But I learned quite a bit. I suppose that makes me a more valuable teacher, maybe more hirable if and when higher ed starts to get positions again. I made mistakes and my students still liked me. I’ve filled in huge gaps in my knowledge of Art and made myself more confident in front of large groups.
There were a few great successes, students who came into my class not knowing Thing One about art, who rarely missed class, whose grades steadily improved. I had a black student tell me he never knew there were black artists. I had a student cross over to Mexico to search out a folk art sculpture to photograph, jumping fences and putting himself at personal risk. I had a pregnant student come to class today, whose baby is due next week. Pretty devoted.
So I guess it was worth it (she said in a quavery voice).
The administration has asked me to teach the art history again in Fall. It’s a hard class to fill because it’s so much work. I’m just afraid they’ll think I’m good at lectures and forget about my studio teaching. Can’t have that. Must figure out what to do.

Staying In-Line and Fit

I skate on very rough asphalt and my in-line skate wheels were worn down to the point of danger. I went to my local sporting goods store to buy replacements. And guess what, no stock. Same at other stores. Seems blading is no longer popular in SoCal, except for indoor hockey.
So I found an online source and had the wheels mailed to me. Which was probably cheaper than driving around looking for them with gas prices the way they are. The new wheels are stiff, I have to expend more energy on my workouts. But it’s still great. I recommend fitness blading to anyone who can’t run because of joint problems.
There’s a tour/race here soon, I might go check it out to meet other bladers (read: oogle a bunch of great quads in spandex…)

For Profit

I’ve been teaching at a for-profit educational institution on and off for a couple years. A corporation. I'm pretty stunned at how different it is compared to public ed. Everything from facilities (better) to students (different in many ways) to dress code (we dress to teach art) to management (I have about six bosses above me, just at my location). The hierarchy is incredible in corporations. The pay is not, nor is there tenure. The paperwork is daunting. And change comes like a flash from above (as opposed to teaching in the public system where there is almost never change).
The question is, should education be money-based? (This school is Majorly Expensive, like 100 G = degree, non-accredited.) I think it can work, but it’s easy to get off track. What if higher-ups make decisions not based on what is best for learning, but based on what gets more students to enroll? I’m not saying this happens where I work, but I do know the people who run things are not artists, designers or art educators. They are business people, who are responsible to share-holders. Dealing with these people leaves me mute with wonder. Not to mention envious of their fabulous suits.
Then there is the sales staff, although they're not called sales people. There are lots of them. At public institutions the State of CA doesn’t give a damn if you attend or not, there are too many students wanting in. But at the for-profit we are keenly aware of our numbers. It’s sort of … different.
In class recently I was shocked to hear students discussing suing a teacher who they considered was grading unfairly. SUING. I supposed it’s better than shooting a teacher, but it makes me realize I have to be careful. Very careful.

kloe.500

This is my 500th Post. I never thought I’d continue this far. Have thought I might quit, and have slowed down a bit. But maybe Kloe still has things to accomplish…
I send you all much love from my beautiful, plastic world.

A Real Mother’s Day

• Slept in til 8am, wow!
• Got up, made breakfast (although I was promised it in bed, I don’t really like the crumb/sheet factor).
• Cleaned up the house after it was destroyed by window installers (yeah, double panes!).
• Skated with my kids (meaning I coast, they fall).
• Helped kids to paint cards for grandmothers.
• Helped Kid.01 make imam beyeldi (Turkish stuffed eggplant) and lava cakes.
• Prepared rest of food.
• Cleaned up yard for BBQ.
• Served, ate, cleaned up.
• Played tennis with kids.
• Got kids ready for bed.
• Did laundry.
• Finished art history test and blogged this.
That was my WHOLE DAY. Kid.01 wanted to know why there are no Children’s Days, and I gave him the standard line that EVERYDAY is children’s day. I was not lying.
Special highlights: Kid.01 tripped (on trail of fish juice) while serving dessert, sending lava cake, creme anglaise, and scoop of vanilla ice cream flying into my open briefcase. Kid.02, while playing tennis, realized he had to use the bathroom and a bush would not cut it. We did not make it to the park toilet in time…

MDay

I’ve talked a lot about my grandmother. In my family closeness skips a generation. My kids are very close to my mother; I’m not jealous of this, it’s the way it should be.
My mom had her own life when we were growing up. Of course she wasn’t perfect, but as a mom myself I realize perfection is a moving target. My mom had her career, her friends, and her vacations away from us kids. She was a diver and went out weekends on a boat. She often ate a civilized dinner after we went to bed. My friends all thought she was glamorous and adventurous. From her I learned to be independent.
Someone told me she had a super-mom as a child (read: part martyr), and now this woman feels guilty about being less-than for her own kids. That model is hard to live up to and not the best for mental health. After all, our kids will grow up and be gone, and then where will we be?
Thanks, Mom. Love ya.
K

Blogging Pasttime

Partially influenced by me, a student recently started a blog. She’s enthusiastic, but I overheard a colleague tell her, “You must have a lot of time on your hands.”
I wonder about that, do we take time from our real lives to do this narcissistic thing? I regularly dip into about a dozen blogs, but no one’s story is worth reading every day. No writer or image-maker can sustain that kind of interest. Sometimes an interesting narrative arc develops (and we may not even be aware of it as we are writing), but other times our lives are filled with mundane details that would only interest a sociologist.
What’s the value of blogging? For me, who has always kept journals, it gives an order to my days and months. I see threads, I think about bigger stories, I keep my eye above my petty anxieties while I’m experiencing them. It’s like free therapy.
I don’t read blogs of my on-ground friends. I like to hear what’s happening with them over coffee. I somehow feel it’s a violation of privacy for me to read about them without them knowing about it.
So to my flesh-n-blooders, sorry, but please tell me in person (better yet, read me poetry, a theme in my life right now). And you know not to tell me that you read this, right?
sculpture by Andy Goldsworthy