Wordless Wednesday: "Still Life with Pear"

"Still-Life with Pear" by Flora Mace and Joey Kirkpatrick

in the collection of the Glass Pavilion of the Toledo Museum of Art

Go check 'em out on AnnArbor.com:
Yesterday: National Raspberry Cake Day
Today: Israeli Salad

Peeping Into the Art Exhibit

There were some amazing artworks shown at the Riverside Arts Center's reception this past Saturday evening, in honor of the Annual Docent Art Exhibit. Last year's had a few striking pieces, but this year's offerings were truly exceptional!

There was also a buffet table, which was unfortunately heavy on grocery store sweets as well as chips 'n' dip; however, there were fruit and vegetable trays, which always make me happy, in addition to guacamole and Pigs in Blankets and a really lovely cheese assortment.

We brought the peanut-and-chocolate-coated pretzel sticks that Tom had asked me to make specifically for the event, which turned out to be so popular that Tom didn't even get to eat one!

We also brought a surprise offering. The idea had come to me in a flash of inspiration (or foolishness, depending upon your opinion!). It was festive, it was seasonal, and it was reminiscent of all the colors displayed upon an artist's palette.

So scroll on down to meander through the gallery with me! See some more of Tom's works, the rain and hail we drove through on our way to the party (which unfortunately kept attendance fairly low), some other notable pieces from the exhibit, some distinctive attendees, a display of the food and -- at the very bottom -- our whimsical contribution to the cause ... :)

My two favorites of Tom's (with apologies that the lights and flashes and reflections spoil the viewing somewhat):

House Fire by Thomas Boulan



Spring Equinox by Thomas Boulan



Like Mother Like Daughter by Corinne Vivian



Muse by Joan Newberry



Spring Fling by Laurie Clark



Ypsi Trashart: 1 Block, 1 Week, 3 Hours by Michelle Shankwiler

Invitation to an Art Exhibit

After Nancy Left Him, Roy Painted Everything Pink

by Thomas Boulan

My boyfriend Tom, for those who are new to my blogging family, is a very accomplished artist and writer; and starting Thursday, eight of his digital collages will be part of the extremely prestigious 7th Annual Docent Art Exhibit at the Riverside Arts Center in Ypsilanti [ip-sih-LAN-tee].

The exhibit itself runs from March 31 - April 30, 2011. The reception -- where you get to schmooze with the artists -- will be this Saturday night, April 2, from 5 - 7 p.m. Come that evening and enjoy a buffet of treats, a jazz trio, and immersion in some of the best that the Ann Arbor-Ypsi art scene has to offer.


It's wonderful for Tom to have such a fabulous opportunity to showcase his work! There are abstracts as well as figurative pieces; and I haven't even seen them all, so it's very exciting that my first viewing will present them matted, framed, and hanging in an exhibit as the works of art that they are, rather than merely as thumbnails on Flickr.

Of course, in addition to supporting Tom as well as the other docents and the gallery itself, we all know that I'm all about the food. And I always look forward to mixing two of my very favorite subjects in life -- art and eating! -- as I'll be able to do at Saturday night's reception.

Each of the exhibitors is expected to contribute treats for the guests. Tom has his heart set on my making chocolate-dipped pretzel sticks, rolled in crushed peanuts -- they're easy to do, inexpensive, flavorful, and readily totable while walking around and admiring the artworks. We're also bringing a special festive surprise dessert, but that's still a secret ... shhhh.

If you're in the area, feel free to come on down to join us for the reception -- we'd love to see you! You can also check out Tom's photostream on Flickr. And he's just been featured on Downtown L.A. Life, an online magazine which offers some samples of his work as well as a brief biographical statement.

All of the docents who work at Riverside are volunteers, and it is truly their dedication -- whether newcomers, like Tom, or those who've maintained regular shifts for years and years -- that keeps the gallery open and available to the community for no admission charge. So that they get the honors that are due to them, here are their names:

Steve Allen, Tom Boulan, Laurie Clark, Lois Dowling, Dennis Gordon, Bill Knudstrup, Joan Miller, Joan Newberry, Marilyn Prucka, Sebastian Rataezyk, Michelle Shankwiler, Tara Truax, Corrine Vivian, Ken Warner, Carolyn Weins, and Angela Wilson

Special accolades must also go to Dee Overly, curator of the Docent Exhibit and a one-woman force of nature who supports the art gallery through coordinating shows, managing staffing, envisioning exhibits, and investing her passion into the Center. She and her team of docents (whether artists whose work is on display or not) are amazing ... and you have an opportunity to reap the rewards of their efforts for yourself and also meet them all on Saturday night! Don't miss it!!!

P.S.: Many of the artworks will be available for purchase, hint hint ... :)

Riverside Arts Center
76 N. Huron Street
Ypsilanti, Michigan 48197


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Merry Mary-ness

"4 Candles to Illuminate the Christmas Cookies I'll Sneak from the Kitchen and Eat in a Closet"

by Thomas Boulan

Today is Christmas Eve, a day on which people will engage in activities as varied as attending Midnight Mass, shopping at gas stations and drug stores for last-second gifts, eating Chinese food, cursing while trying to put toys together according to incoherent schematics, watching "A Christmas Story," making pierogi or serving 7-course seafood feasts, stuffing stockings and leaving cookies for Santa ... an entire buffet table of choices, each continuing a tradition whether cultural or religious or individual.

And so, in honor of that variety (and because we all know how notoriously bad I am at making decisions!), today I'm offering an assortment of my own: one of Tom's beautiful artworks, which began life as a simple photo of our menorah at Chanukkah, as well as a most festive and fabulous song. These are bestowed as gifts to my friends and followers, albeit without a bow or curling ribbon or wrapping paper.

In closing, let me also share a strikingly poignant note that I found while perusing a display of Christmas cards as I waited for a friend who works at an office which serves the homeless and mentally ill; this was written in one of the cards, and it truly brings tears to my eyes each time I read the words:

"Thank you all for helping me find & keep a Home where I can have a Christmas."

How many Christmases did he wake up, knowing what day it was and feeling alone, forgotten, heartbroken ... and cold??? (His card also offered prayers for those who are still outside or in tents.) How many times did he feel isolated, not a part of the festivities and the joy of a day which clearly means so much to him??? If only we could all be so grateful for our blessings and for the important people in our lives, and have such a deep appreciation of the specialness of the season! I do hope that all his hopes and dreams come true, however simple or grand his plans are for celebrating.

May all of you receive the most precious gifts this Christmas: peace, love, health and happiness. Each is more priceless than any material item, and I wish them to you with all my heart ... :)

"You Deserve a Break Today ...."

Today there is no break from the week's Chicago postings; however, there is a break from the parade of restaurant reviews. Today, we're going to view some art ... and food-related art, no less.

But we're not going to the Art Institute. Nope. I've got something better planned for our tour!

I'm loathe to admit that, despite my being an avid non-smokers' rights advocate (and former volunteer and intern with the Lung Association, no less), Jeremy smokes. Where did I go wrong?!?!? Sigh .... And his latest fetish is cigars.

Now, it's a toss-up as to whether Tom or Jeremy is the hardest person on Earth to shop for. Me? I'm so easy -- food (prepared or ingredients, doesn't matter), chocolate, sweaters, dishes for photo ops, ancient cookbooks, jangly bracelets, dangly earrings, nail polish, lotions and oils, sparkles for my hair, coffee, scented candles, cocoa, books about languages and linguistics, Judaica, flowers, kitchen equipment, donations to good causes ... you'd have to buy me a lawn mower or something equally unnecessary and unromantic to disappoint me.

Tom, though, is very -- VERY -- particular about items, often spending months doing research, buying something and then still sending it back because it is somehow insufficient. And his material needs, thankfully, are minimal. Jeremy is a musician whose wish list is so sub-specialized that all he can do is give me catalogue numbers for items because there's no way to buy anything generic (other than the assortment of guitar picks Santa puts into his stocking every Christmas). He's a typical teenage male who will wear clothes off the floor, not caring if they're either new or clean. And he doesn't play video or computer games. What am I supposed to do when trying to buy gifts???

But sadly, Jeremy does smoke. And since there was no way to bring a deep-dish pizza home for him on the train, he didn't want any jewelry from the fancy shops along the Magnificent Mile (even if I could have afforded any!), and he didn't need a doll from the American Girls shop, we decided to try to buy him a cigar in that Midwestern bastion of male-ness where one would have presumed (wrongly, it turns out) that cigars are still in fashion.

We schlepped up and down streets to no avail, and finally gave in by asking a pair of policemen if they knew of a cigar shop. They directed us around the corner to the Cultural Center, which neither of us had ever been in before despite numerous trips to Chicago, in which we'd find a tourist help desk.

Inside, we found a coffee shop, a reading room, a writing workshop and a gift shop, and ultimately stumbled into the comparatively boring assistance area for lost travellers. The very helpful woman wearing a lovely many-stranded beaded necklace coupled with a vibrant purple gauzy scarf looked for the information and told us that a shop could be found just a few blocks away. (FYI: The information was out-of-date, and the shop has closed.) We thanked her and walked out, looking around as we did. And at that point we found some wonderful art galleries.

We saw sculptures like the one pictured above by Jason Peot, which was very delicate and beautiful despite appearing to be nondescript strings in the photo. We saw heartbreaking and inspiring photos taken in Nicaragua. We saw some truly ugly greyish-greenish paintings and ink drawings. And then, as we meandered through the corridors, we saw a sign that said something along the lines of "Artists at work." And so -- artist and girl who once considered graduate study in art history that we are -- we simply had to wander in.

And that's when we found Project Onward -- a studio for artists with mental and developmental disabilities: "Project Onward provides studio space, art supplies, and professional guidance to emerging artists in a communal workshop environment. With the program’s support, Project Onward artists develop a professional body of work that reflects both a devotion to their personal vision and a desire for artistic growth. We believe that artists with special needs deserve a voice in the world of art and ideas, and that their extraordinary work has a universal audience. Project Onward exhibits, promotes, and sells the artists’ works as a means to provide earned income and a sense of personal achievement, as well as to integrate the artists into the wider arts community."

Well, bleeding hearts and art aficionados that we are, how could we resist???

There was a wonderfully friendly retiree who greeted us and chatted all about the program. We explained to him that not only are we avid art fans and that Tom is an artist, but also that people with disabilities have special places in both of our hearts (as Tom works with the homeless and mentally ill, and several of our most precious loved ones have varying forms of mental illness). He welcomed us to look around the studio, talk to the artists (some of whom were more outgoing than others, of course), and to peruse the gift shop; not only do the artists create, but they get to sell their works as well and even keep 70% of the proceeds. Our host explained that to many of them, it's like a day job -- they come in each morning, do their work, sell their masterpieces, and get picked up by their family members in the afternoon and show off what they've accomplished that day. It's therapeutic on many levels, and a boon to both the artists and those who care for them.

So naturally, Tom and I weren't going to leave without supporting this amazing project. I saw shelves full of dolls with hand-made clothes and decoration ... a series of paintings of skulls, with lots of glitter sprinkled onto them ... a cane decorated with festive colored feathers ... pictures of an imagined world called Loudemar -- complete with moats and fortresses -- which a man with autism "escapes" to when the sensory onslaught overwhelms him ... complex and delicate pencil drawings reminiscent of Celtic knots ... brightly colored drawings of animals .... Oh, there was such an extraordinary variety!!!

But I kept hearing the call of some pictures drawn on pieces of cardboard which seemed to have been cut from boxes. There were small portraits of late performers (Janice Joplin, Lena Horne, Michael Jackson); medium-sized pictures of food items and restaurants; and still larger -- and very complex -- depictions of television shows such as "I Love Lucy," showing episodes and numerous characters, or of "American Idol" and its many contestants. In the tradition of Andy Warhol, these works celebrated pop culture.

And as I perused the extensive collection, hoping to find one for Jeremy -- now, who else but me would buy him this kind of gift??? -- Adam Hines, the artist who had created these many works, came into the shop. He has a radiant smile and is extraordinarily friendly; Adam could talk to absolutely anyone, and make them feel like his best friend within minutes!

I spoke with him about his work, telling him that Jeremy loves Hot Pockets when I found an image Adam had drawn of them; immediately, Adam started singing the theme song from the commercial. When I saw the McDonald's piece pictured at the top of the post, again there was a performance -- Adam instantly started singing "You deserve a break today, at McDonald's!" He is truly a proverbial "walking encyclopedia" of cultural trivia! And as you can see from the photo, he was inordinately proud (and practiced!) to pose with his work when I asked if he'd let me take his picture ... :)

So, McDonald's unfortunately being one of Jeremy's favorite places (I think he and his buddies should all get jobs there, for the employee discount), it was easy to pick Adam's tribute to that institution as a souvenir. Adam even signed the back of the artwork for Jeremy, and made sure that I promised to say "Hello" for him once I got home. He is such a sweetheart! And when I brought it home for him, Jeremy absolutely loved the piece! When he and I next go to Chicago, I will have to bring him to Project Onward and introduce him to our new-found friend, Adam. After all, how can you not love an artist who states in his bio: "I want to grab colored pencils and markers to start drawing whatever I want and make it into a masterpiece. Art making takes a lot of courage, especially to do such a fantastic job as I do!"

So, while I am a tremendous fan of the Art Institute and have immersed myself in its collection more times than I can count, I cannot enthuse and effuse enough about Project Onward and its unique offerings as well as its truly life-alteringly important mission. These two widely varying exhibition sites are just across the street from each other; if you go to one, be absolutely sure you don't miss the other ....


Now, before I go, let me take this opportunity to wish my sweetie a HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY today!!! Tom wants to go out to lunch to celebrate (we both have the day off -- he because he simply took a vacation day, me because it's yet another Jewish holiday -- Simchat Torah [sim-KAHT toh-RAH]). And then we'll go home and enjoy his chosen cake: chocolate layer cake with walnuts, slathered in a mocha-flavored whipped cream and drizzled with chocolate and caramel sauces. Photos, delicious details and recipe to come next week ....

"The World of Liking"

As he's received a baptism by fire through his immersion in my High Holiday preparation chaos, Tom has offered repeatedly to help me in any way that he could. Well, he hasn't been at my house most of the time to do laundry or dishes for me, since he's been mired in moving to a new home; and he couldn't go to work for me and prepare program booklets for the Selichot ([slee-KOTE] -- prayers of repentance) service held this past Saturday night. I suppose he could've made dinner at some point, but cooking is actually a stress release for me so I held tightly to that one. So how could he make things a bit easier for me??? By providing a guest post, that's how!

Tom is an extraordinarily accomplished writer, having had 24 stories published (with the latest, in the journal Oyster Boy Review, due imminently). He is also an enormously talented artist, whose digital collages been exhibited at the Riverside Arts Center and as part of a nationally-touring show entitled Vital (A)(R)(T). I am very, very proud to show off his work here ... :)

The story below was published in the April 24, 2005 issue of Pindeldyboz.

"The Shine of Her Lips" by Flickr artist *It's My Party*

The World of Liking

by Thomas Boulan

You pass Dad on your way to the bathroom and encounter an eye-watering funk that reminds you of a petting zoo. Holding your nose for a count of forty-five and finishing your pee, you then gasp for air in the hallway. Here you bunch your underpants and nightgown between your legs and wipe yourself, a habit you've had for years. Mom has told you this may cause something called UTI?"a horrible disease that rots one's kidneys." But this did not frighten you. She exaggerates everything.

Back in your room you hit PLAY on your boom box. Britney Spears' world merges with yours, and you sway your hips on the way to the dresser. There you find your collection of My Little Ponys, three plastic storage boxes, and several plastic containers of liquid. Everything you own is plastic, because somewhere you've learned that plastic is good. Next to a bracelet spelling "Megan" in white cubes are your favorite red and purple pens and a heart-shaped jewelry box. Inside the box are Skittles, and you scoop a grape and lime into your mouth.

Standing behind your ten-year-old-girl's-collection-of-stuff are vessels of lotion: bubble gum, tutti-frutti and peach. After applying tutti-frutti to your face and arms, you toss your greasy, shoulder-length hair with flip of your head. You gaze into your green eyes in front of the mirror, as Brittany sings, "Isn't she lovely, this Hollywood girl ..."

You pull on a yellow sweatshirt and your favorite jeans. Then skipping downstairs to the kitchen, you pour a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, while Mom makes your lunch and unemployed Dad watches Nickelodeon. Mom then sneaks up behind you and brings order to your mop of black hair, reminding you that hair is to be washed often, not just on holidays. "You're getting that old dog smell," she says.

You reply, "Mom ..." because it's what your friends say to their moms and because you like the sense of power it brings. You then remind her that you may have this smell but she should not compare you to a dog. She says she was only comparing smells, and you say "Mom ..." and this exchange continues for thirty seconds.

Emptying your cereal bowl, you then run upstairs for more Skittles. Your supply is low -- three grape, one lime, two orange -- and you plan your evening. You'll volunteer to accompany Mom to the grocery store before she asks, and also volunteer to take everyone's plate at dinner. Because without Skittles, your life is empty.

With your backpack you then run for the foyer.

Dad yells, "Don't use drugs," and you respond, "I won't."

Then through the front door you follow your mother. She kisses you good-bye, and leaves for her job at the electric company, and you wave in small circles like a beauty queen.

*

Waiting at the double doors of the Gertrude Stein Elementary School are your two best friends, Allison and Jennifer. Allison has a girl-boy face and hair of no particular color; she's one of the shortest girls in class and likes Skittles more than you. Jennifer's a head taller and has long, blond that flows to her waist. Her teeth are completely wrapped with fine wire and miniature plates, stainless steel correcting a dramatic overbite. You stare at these teeth whenever she talks, often initiating conversation just to see them.

The three of you stroll the halls before entering Miss Hennigan's classroom. You wander through groups of kids, along locker-lined hallways, and then into the girl's bathroom. Here, nausea balloons in your stomach. But it's not the pukey green tiles and rusting stall doors that are to blame, or the toilets that require three flushes to empty. It's the questions you know Jennifer will ask.

As the three of you preen before a bank of mirrors, she stands next to you and studies your mouth. "Megan," she says in a tone much like Mom's, "where's your lip gloss?"

You haven't yet convinced your mother to buy lip gloss; $3.49 is not in the family's budget. Thankfully Jennifer is benevolent today and hands you her strawberry Bonnie Bell Glitter Gloss, with its sponge applicator. You awkwardly paint your lips, as she looks on, shaking her heard with disapproval. The stress almost knocks you to your knees, and you question your worth as a girl.

Jennifer coats her own lips with finesse and then addresses you and Allison: "Remember, you have to wear lip gloss all the time, wherever you go. The boys like our lips to be shiny."

"How do you know?" Allison asks.

"I just do."

Mouths now covered with sparkling pink sludge, you and your friends begin brushing your hair. Your arm quickly tires, and Allison and Jennifer brush on and on, as though brushing will get them discovered for TV. But then Allison stops, and you turn to Jennifer?she never breaks rhythm. Clean strokes from the crown of her head to the full length of her exquisite tresses. Your short, fevered strokes do manage to keep up with her long, practiced pulls, but a cramp grows in your bicep. So you cave. And Jennifer wins. She smiles and slips her brush into her purple patent leather purse.

*

In Miss Hennigan's classroom you sit next to Jennifer, with Allison in the row behind. You value this ranking, after all, Jennifer's brother is in eighth grade. He's growing a mustache and plays soccer on two teams. The class falls into a cadence of chatter and Jennifer leans over, with her mouth nearly touching your ear.

She whispers, "Who do you like?"

Before you answer, you're told you must be liking someone all the time. No further action is required?just the liking. She then says that boys never even know they're being liked and, if they did, they probably wouldn't like you in return.

"Megan, boys have no interest in liking," Jennifer says, with a toss of her hair, "but they absolutely love to be liked. And when you do like someone, you have to write his name on everything. Even your hand if your mom will let you. You have to pretend to kiss him when you're alone. You can use your arm or a stuffed animal."

"Really?! That gross."

Jennifer nods. "That's why you do it in private."

You'd give anything to write these sage-like principles in your spiral notebook because you absolutely have to be "a liker." Instead, you repeat the facts to yourself under your breath: Always like someone ... boys like to be liked but don't like you back.

Jennifer begins to discuss the candidates for liking, and you shift in your seat.

"Tyler and Ronnie are the only ones you can like, Megan. And nobody can like Justin, because Amanda Peters does."

You're then told there're some boys who, without question, should not be considered for liking: Hunter and Christian.

"Hunter smells gross, like a cat food," says Jennifer. "And I heard his stepfather uses a wheelchair." She punctuates this statement with a full exposure of braces. "And Christian has problems. He takes Ritalin and throws chairs. I'm liking Eric, so you can't. I'm even starting to like-like him, and could be his girlfriend by next year. Eric has an iPod and always has candy."

Jennifer again places her mouth above your ear, almost swallowing it. "So," she says, "who do you like?"

It's never occurred to you to be liking someone, and you haven't yet taken the time to consider your choices. Swallowing hard, you say, "I'm not sure, I'm making up my mind today."

Jennifer tosses her hair. "Well, okay then. Just let me know."

Miss Hennigan begins her lesson. Now feeling self-conscious, you sniff a shank of your hair. Dirty -- it is time for a bath. You then fold your small hands in your lap, not content with your choices for liking. Ronnie sometimes barks like a dog and wears an earring; he bites his nails until they bleed. And then you think, oh please, not Tyler. You saw him shove Alexandra into a locker last winter, and she sprained her finger. Tyler has that voice, too, much too big for his body. Every time you hear it your shoulders contract; a voice in your head tells you to run.

You can understand not liking Hunter, but there are other boys that seem likable. Like Ethan. He says hi to you at the drinking fountain and answers most of the questions in class. He makes you laugh, even when reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, and you find yourself staring at his cowlick. You glance in his direction, and think Jennifer could be wrong.

*

After seeing the school nurse about an itchy rash between your legs, you walk to the lunchroom and find Jennifer sitting alone. When you ask about Allison, she replies, "We're mad at her. She actually told Eric I was liking him, and Eric pretended to throw-up. We can't talk to her anymore. We can't even say her name."

"What if she calls me?" you say, slouching in your chair. "What if she wants to come over?"

"Megan, I said never. We can't let her get away with this; it will make her a bad person."

Back in Miss Hennigan's room she teaches everyone to write haiku, and your poem is about Ethan. You consider a second poem about Allison and turn in your seat. Seeing her sad smile you consider abandoning Jennifer, but then snap back to the reality of middle school politics. This act may invite her chilling wrath, and you may have to find all new friends.

When the day is through you follow Jennifer through the double doors, leaving the fifth grade behind. It's now drizzling, and your oily hair clings to your neck and ears.

At home you sit at the kitchen table with a cherry Popsicle. Dad is shooting baskets in the driveway, with a neighbor kid who goes to your school. You can't wait to talk to Mom about the liking, but then decide not to. She'd probably interrupt with another lecture on global warming and complain about the family wasting electricity.

Once dinner is over and you take the plates from the table, you study math and ask Mom to wash your hair in the bathtub. You're now the compliant child she's always wanted, because she's told you that she plans to go shopping tomorrow. Soon you're wrapped in a towel, and take time to experiment with brushing your hair. You find a stroke that doesn't tire your arm, and smile triumphantly in the bathroom mirror.

In your nightgown you sit cross-legged on the bed. Lotion now covers your arms, legs and face, a mix of tutti-frutti and bubblegum. The day has pummeled your emotions but you fight to stay awake, because there's so much to figure out. First, you've got to have lip gloss. You can't be without this necessity. You'll call your grandmother tomorrow; she's always good for a few dollars. Then after scratching the wrinkled bottom of a foot, you exhale enough air to fill a balloon. It's time -- Ronnie or Tyler.

Your mind races from theses names, like a cat being chased by squirrels. You attempt to recall Jennifer's logic, why these boys were the only choices and not Ethan. But you've forgotten, in the same unexplained way you forget many things. Wanting desperately to be someone who likes, you leap from your bed and go to your dresser, where you pop a grape Skittle into your mouth and click open the purple pen. You then stand there and wait, with a churning stomach and drumming heart, ready to ink your future onto the palm of your hand.