Wednesday, April 10, 2013

Not all is a cheery blossom...

Consider that zillions come to DC each spring with hopes of seeing cheery cherry blossoms a'bloom - and then find the weather has tricked them.
But not everything worth seeing in the city is a tree. The National Museum of African Art this year has a sumptuous earth art exhibit displayed around the Castle and the Enid Haupt Garden that features works of an entirely different sort: inspirations of African artists (some live there; some in the US). Take, for instance, the multi-textured cement, stone and wood piece that landed like some asteroid beside some early blooming magnolias. Behind it, not far away, is a triangular construction in progress, mirroring in shape the glass dome that erupts on the National Gallery of Art's west plaza - or the Egyptian pyramids and the visions of I.M. Pei when he put angles on the NGA's East Wing. Attaching natural materials in manmade ways to their natural home, the earth. Open to all.


Tuesday, December 18, 2012

METRO NOTES

METRO NOTES
Passengers stand out as characters on a stage because the platforms are so dark for anyone or anything to be recognized except on the interior of cars. What's with the obscure lighting of stations?

Of men and hair: from the back of one with braids tight to the head and flowing down the neck, I could not tell the gender. (From the large leather jacket I guessed a man.) Across the aisle a man with copper-colored sneakers and a head full of rasta braids in full flower.


 Sights to behold: The immaculately made-up woman in the wheelchair, stylish throughout, with an artificial leg swinging from rear handle of her motorized wheelchair  complete with high heel shoe. And the very self-absorbed woman who spent at least three station stops brushing with a dark pencil, over and over  on a single brow to form a perfect arc. Not to mention the abundance of intriguing and inventive hair styles on African-American women.

Ok, ok, I know this is redundant even patronizing talk, and Chris Rock did the subject a queasy favor with his "Good Hair" film. When the irony is how self-mutilating much of the 'creative' styles can be; the insane use of harmful chemicals to promote - freedom?  Ironic, too, how much of the money in the hair trade stays out of the country. Isn't there a pushback of sorts? Yes and no. It seems to be too profitable for too many people, and attitudes change too slowly. Rock wimped a bit at the end, showing off his kids and saying that what is important about their heads is what is inside... yah,ok.

And what is the sense of this nonsense, on a poster far up on a Dupont Station wall: "When you believe more, you sleep less."A Verizon post, I found hidden among squiggles in the background. This line was followed by the words "Powerful Answers." Oblique intrigue. The person who spends her time trying to parse the sentence will undoubtedly lose sleep.


'Time keeps on slippin'' is the refrain that the lavishly overpaid Metro establishment uses to excuse its inexorably bad performance regarding upgrades on the system. So the poster promising that Dupont Circle's repairs would be completed by July 11/11 has a black notice attached in the corner of the original saying that April 12 is now the estimated completion date. 'Better Hurry up' was written underneath the slogan, presumably by one of DC's frustrated commuters. A polite request, under the circumstances. Graffiti is the only defense method a rider has...
There is some value to the Metro platforms besides their use as holding pens  - perfect performing venues.
Perhaps  overpaid system managers could hire musicians to entertain between long waits and delays, especially on weekends. One distraction available has been a group at Metro Center turning up ad hoc with their doo-wop a cappella songs providing much-needed charm and cheer. The be-hatted men with rhythm belt out harmonies so smoothly syncopated  they might as well be under stage lights instead of the lusterless bulbs of our once reputable public transportation system.








Mind Your Brain

Leave it to the American Association for the Advancement of Science  - www.aaas.org - to tackle one of the most debated questions of the moment: "Are We Only Our Genes?", sponsored by the AAAS Dialogue on Science, Ethics, and Religion. It was a call-and-response scenario between Dr. Denis Alexander of Cambridge, England, and  American author-journalist Steve Paulson, known for his public radio program "To the Best of Our Knowledge,"  the respondent.

Dr. Alexander's wry approach included some subtle disclaimers about the plausibility of any sort of dichotomy. Genes, the blueprint of life, are so integrated into our environmental surroundings and inheritance that he felt 'driven' to create a new slogan he calls DICI - for Developmental Integrated Complementary Interaction. (At that point, the audience was warmed up enough to laugh along with him, because of the seemingly limitless implications of those word.) New mutations constantly change the original blueprint, he asserted. He also tackled the word 'heritability' by saying this "relates to variation in the traits but is not what causes traits themselves."  No single gene encompasses any single form of behavior and the there is  also the issue of  RNA, the switching mechanism whereby "genes function according to the company they keep."

Determinism is a very slippery concept, indeed. The gene stew is just that, a nearly indecipherable melange. Bacterial genes in our bodies also influence us.

Who are we, after all? And what is the mind - if not "consciousness' and a property of nature? Mr. Paulson is producer of a forthcoming series on just that subject. Stay tuned.


Saturday, December 15, 2012

Italian Hoopla in 2013

How else to describe the upcoming festival of all things Italian that will take place in 70 venues in 40 US cities except as a veritable pageantry of promotion?
But first, a timely segue from the Madagascar post (see below): that  both Italy and Madagascar have the same red, green and white colors in their national flags, blocks of each in different positions. (Italy vertical; Madagascar, horizontal). Otherwise, the civic and cultural traditions of the two countries could not be more different.
Back to the hoopla: '2013 - The Year of Italian Culture' had its announcement party December 12 at Washington's National Gallery of Art  with its splendid mascot - Michelangelo's David=Apollo statue in place in the West Building through March 3. The diminutive gold-hued marble piece is on loan from its home in Florence for only the second time in the museum's history. David up close is a 4 foot 7 inch piece of sinuous perfection that has a mysterious history not even NGA's chief European sculpture curator can fully explain.
And as if to underscore the range of activities promised in a variety of  (mainly) urban locations next year under the cultural year banner, a splendidly attired Italian man (in a stunningly beautiful blue velvet suit) walked among the preview crowd holding a hand-carved wooden Pinocchio figure. Ah, yes, there is a relationship to the David statue, he said: the texture, the quality of the material, the loving hands that carved them both. (The performer will be at the Kennedy Center in January.)

Saturday, December 8, 2012

A City Down Under Lost in TIme

No, I'm not writing about the Australia zone. Have yet to go there. But being recently returned from Madagascar ("Le Grand Isle" as it is known by its most loyal residents) I can comment about its somewhat urban capital, Antananarivo, whose 'urbanity' is a special one .

I say that having observed the patience of its drivers and the peculiar insistence of the city fathers (whoever they may be) not to post many street names  nor bother  with traffic lights. Consider that there are millions in and around the city, many  more flocking in daily to find some subsistence, out of a country's population of roughly  22 million. In spite of  blocked roadways, mere like country lanes, NOBODY USES THEIR HORN! It is strange to be part of long rows of cars and trucks waiting patiently to go a few yards at a stretch.Traffic is so deplorable that the illegal government's free newspaper even publishes stories regarding the mayhem of its so-called urban transportation system. I recall that news- in French and Malagasy - was second to the day's announcement that fresh lichees could now officially be sold for export and a warning to readers not to eat too many mangoes then in season lest they incur digestive disorders.

The musical sound of the nearly unpronounceable name Antananarivo - Tana for short - tempts a first-time visitor to relate the native Malagasy language to the strikingly mellow personality of the Malagache people. Outwardly easygoing, friendly, gentle, it would seem. But this hides a very mixed political history and range of extraordinary social customs in a country that only achieved independence in 1960. For long years before that, Madagascar was more or less a French colony  plundered for its valuable wood and mineral products in just the way it now is being exploited by outsiders - China among them - and mismanagement by its own citizens. (A former radio disk jockey helped mastermind a military coup three years ago and is now president; the coup inspired western democracies to institute sanctions against the country - US included - thereby harming further the economic wellbeing of its people.)

Lost in time because Tana has lost a great deal of time catching up to the 20th century, much less the 21st. Rice paddies provide a gorgeously green and brown carpet practically right up to the city center - wherever the hills permit. Its most famous historical monuments are closed; apparently there is no money or willpower to repair and guard them. Geniality exists, possibly, due to the fatalism required to endure deprivation. Still, there is great promise here. One of the most underdeveloped countries in the world, Madagascar at least has a relatively high literacy rate, said to be upwards of 60 percent in the capital. People look busy and energetic, by necessity in  most cases since public services such as fresh water and trash collection barely exist. They have to make do with manual labor. Crime is up, as expected  - but then what capital city doesn't suffer this way.

Monday, October 29, 2012

Not Just For the Birds

Never mind the humdrum moralizing behind Folger Theatre's latest offering, "The Conference of the Birds, " taken from a 12th century Persian fable.  The creative team behind the work - first reinterpreted by director Peter Brook and actor Jean-Claude Carriere in 1971 - provides a mesmerizing display that is a delight for the eye whenever the ear tires. The text takes second place to the action directed by Aaron Posner. Rough brown fabric panels and mirrored posts cover the theater's small stage in front of which a talented cast of 11 actors improvise various bird and animal forms. Choreography and costumes are  top-notch.  Literally rising above the action is musician Tom Teasley, appropriately outfitted a colorful Arabic/Persian cap on a platform and accompanying the players with a range of traditional instruments. Kudos to the Folger (www.folger.edu) as well for their equally imaginative exhibit on view in the Great Hall called "Very Like A Whale," showing the Renaissance mind at work combined with original photography of the present day.
The play runs through Nov. 25, 2012.

Matching Up

Maybe the stigma has gone out of online dating, but what's the proof that it has gone from the idea, or image, of really older people (especially women) wanting dates?
It just seemed a lot easier in the olden days for women and men seeking a companionable relationships: families took care of such matters. Jane Austen famously outlined  stratagems at play in class-conscious  early 19th century England. The situation between the wars in early to mid 20th century America perhaps was different only in the relative lack of hypocrisy and deceit. A 91-year-old  widow recalls how, at the unfashionably single age of 28 as one of five daughters, four of them already married, found herself - thanks to parental maneuvering - in the company of a single man newly returned from service overseas.
'So you are the sister who needs to get married," is how the returned soldier introduced himself to the eligible daughter. Needless to say, she wasn't very impressed  - not until he turned out to be a very able fourth hand at bridge. Marriage soon followed.

 The nonagenarian recounted her story in the company of her 99-year-old friend, both now widows and members of the Washington Club, the first women's organization to be incorporated in the District of Columbia. (Men were 'accorded privileges' in 1979. The current 'clubhouse', on Dupont Circle, is the only intact example in D.C. of the work of Stanford White.)

Update to the early 21st century and matchmaking  in the digital era. A willowy Washington, D.C.,  'woman of a certain age'  (a recent 70 but looking 20 or more years younger) signs up with OK Cupid on the Internet, hoping to meet a compatible man but not necessarily anyone set on marriage. Like many self-sufficient  contemporary women, she cherishes her independence as well as her social skills. Now semi-retired and busy with a number of civic  organizations, she has been divorced and widowed and is, as the French say, "very much at ease in her own skin." But, taking precautions, she lists herself under a fake name and gives her age as 64, on grounds that few men ever want women older than 65.

 A 67-year-old local lawyer responds, explaining that he was divorced "after a long marriage," is a Princeton grad "who used to be athletic," and is currently involved in filmmaking and his old college's Triangle Club productions. Though wary, she  agrees to meet for coffee. (Why does he stress his 'former' side? she wonders.)

He was nice enough though "paunchy and said he needed a hip and knee replacement, walked with a limp and was blind in one eye," she reports. Curiously, he seemed concerned  about he called "a cougar trend - older women wanting to go out with younger men." Upon learning of her arts background, he sends her a long email as a follow-up to their meeting. "It was all about him. What is it with these guys who never ask you about yourself ?" The email asked for advice about his unsuccessful film career to date and, only secondarily, said he hoped they would meet again.

 No concrete offer was forthcoming so she dismisses his appeal in favor of broadening her scope. Her stepdaughter, who lives in New York, has a friend who is a professional matchmaker charing men a steep price for introductions "to very special women." She finds herself quickly paired in quick succession with an economist from Chicago who has a daughter living in DC, a  Manhattan-based French photographer, and a nonprofit executive living part of the year in Rome. The economist  puts a ten-minute limit on their initial phone calls but eventually concedes control, saying how much he enjoys their conversation. The photographer mistakenly misses their appointment time and place by calling her home phone rather than her cell, then claims that she "stood him up."

 The executive, after several hours spent talking by email and phone, suggests she meet him in Rome but doesn't offer to pay part of her way. They compromise with an invitation from him to come to his country house in Rhode Island. A weekend by the New England shore can't be a complete waste, she tells herself, even one involving a long round-trip by train. He meets her on arrival and within minutes she realizes there is 'no spark' - no physical attraction, and probably no future for them as a couple. Over the next three days, he confesses that he has been married three times and is "feeling drift, moving sideways," unable to make commitments. "It's not you," he tells her as she is leaving.

  A classic line that is so confusing because it is so often true.

Luckily, another OKCupid option suddenly is open to her - a New York real estate entrepreneur  who wants to meet "special women no younger than 50." The man claims to value experience and the wisdom that comes of age claiming that "anyone younger is apt to be spoiled."

 By now she is becoming  hardened and  keeps going by insisting that she is as intrigued by the process, if not by the men. Yes, she says, she would be glad to see the latest possibility on her upcoming visit to the city. One of her favorite spots is the fountain at Lincoln Center where they agree to meet. She will be the short-haired brunette wearing red-rimmed glasses, she tells him.  He is  dark-haired, tall and thin, he replies.

They retreat to the cafe across the street and she senses at once they are "in sync," They find they have much in common; in addition, both are upbeat and energetic. They decide to take a long walk, during which he asks if she wouldn't mind coming with him to his apartment so he can drop off his briefcase. She dismisses what to some women seems an obvious ploy, preliminary to a sexual advance. "I knew by instinct that I could trust him."  Besides, she is curious to see how he lives and is becoming convinced they may have a future together. The well-appointed apartment confirms it: carefully chosen modern furnishings and art on the walls - her favorite surroundings.

 "I can't believe what is happening to me," she tells herself. "I have been hit by a thunderbolt. It is an out of body experience." He seems to share her emotion. They have dinner and agree to spend the next day together. Before leaving the restaurant he kisses her lightly by way of goodnight. She hails a cab and immediately texts him: "Is it possible I have just kissed a man  whose last name I don't even know?"

He calls  the next day, ostensibly to make arrangements to meet. Instead, he is apologetic. He "can't go through with it," he says. He feels he has been tricked; he looked her up on the Internet and discovered that she is not the age she pretended to be. He can't trust a woman who would lie. He is sorry because she is smart, funny and sexy and they had got along so well. She naturally is  devastated and tries to explain, to make him see the reality - to understand why she did it: that most men never would call, much  look twice at, a woman who is 70 or older. Such women are perceived as washed-up, sexless. She desperately wants him to see her point of view, but he is adamant and insists that he needs a few weeks to sort out his feelings.

"The problem isn't you, it's me, " he says.

She never hears from him again but decides to correct her age on the OK Cupid site. Months go by. The only man who contacts her is the ex-boyfriend of a good friend of hers. He has recognized her photo  - she  uses a flirtatious pseudonym in place of her real name - and asks her out "for old times' sake." Over dinner, he asks her advice on how to attract women.

Several months later the Rome-based executive with the Rhode Island manse calls her out of the blue to ask her for dinner on his forthcoming trip to Washington. No explanation for the long silence. She acquiesces to the extent of agreeing to meet him for lunch - at her house, along with his Washington-based daughter. (Update: he gave her a kiss on the cheek upon leaving and asked her to tell him when she was next in New York. She felt nothing, she said, and hide from him her travel plans.)

 In the interim, the 'friend' who had had a long relationship with one of her woman friends confesses he has "romantic feelings" towards her. They had been spending casual evenings together - outings to cultural events, etc. She claims she had no clue. Never mind his slightly awkward method of confession, it had the desired effect.

"I was apoplectic," she says. She doesn't say she was entirely surprised; nor does she reveal what are her true feelings about the man although in retrospect she will admit she once had thought 'how good it would be to meet a man like him.'

 She tells him what are her doubts, relaying what she had heard about him from her friend. He gives his side and asks her to spend a week with him to celebrate his birthday in Mexico. She agrees to go knowing that first they would be spending most of the Christmas and New Year holidays together at various social occasions on the same platonic plateau. Still the plateau has shifted. Irony abounds. Online messaging has made possible a relationship after all.