Another bit of "Office Art"

I forgot to put up one of the best Office Art entries, by one of my favorite BusinessWeek writers. Here is Cathy's "idea":

"Arrange a bunch of useless promotional tchotchkes on your desk in a haphazard manner. Pile erudite magazines you will never read on the floor, alongside stacks of research on stories you may, or may not, write. Pile your bookshelf with equally erudite books you will never read. Tape ironic sayings on your wall about the the nature of work, and bad artwork by a kid (yours, or someone else's, to show you have a life outside of work). Hang a calendar featuring beautiful far away beaches, along with photographs of fabulous places you've been on vacation, far, far from the office, to keep you permanently dissatisfied. Be sure to prominently display any awards you've received, no matter how obscure, so any passing manager will remember that sometimes you do produce something worthwhile. Then scatter bits of papers, half-used notebooks, chewed pens and a layer of dust over all.

Some may call it just another messy office, but it is really an art installation."

Recently, I gave some friends on facebook a challenge: If earthworks artist Andy Goldsworthy, who creates elaborate ephemeral works of art out of twigs, leaves, rocks, etc., spent much of his time in a Manhattan office building, what might he create? The goal was to create theoretical projects using "natural" office resources-to create a whimsical work of art (complete with faux artistic rationale) that will start the day intact and be naturally worn away.

Here are some Goldsworth works, fyi.

























My idea--a silver screen made out of paper clips that covers the elevator entrance on my floor. Yes, employees must fight their way through it to get to work. Sure, you could see it as sending a hostile message, but, viewed another way, what says “I’m eager to get to work!” better than actually having to pry apart a barrier in order to get to your job?!


Marion responded by saying that "This reminds me of one of my daughter's art school projects: a "human trap." It consisted of a frame covered with opaque black plastic that had the same dimensions as the interior of the school elevator. On exhibition day, she set it up so her class walked out of the elevator and into the trap.

I don't know what I could think of that could top that, unless it was a pillar of Post-Its bearing phone messages, which I would entitle "Lot's Wife."

Edit Updika came up with this: "I think mine would be an electronic installation, perhaps an email that automatically replies to itself, creating an endless looping message that gets longer and longer and longer until it eats up all the bandwidth in the universe. Or until the sysops kill it.

This represents the boundless cycle of life, reproduction and growth ending in Armageddon, with or without (a) god(s)."

And Rachel weighed in with this: "I think that mine would be to take the utensils and napkins and affix them together as one unit and do this over and over and over again until i had enough for the next step...then I would take these units and build them into various symbols attached to one another with rubber bands and some of the various sticky stuff you've offered... there could be peace signs and butterflies and other images that suggest something other than the mess that this world mostly finds itself in...once it's done, people could remove the the utensil units and use it to eat with or whatever.

It would be utilitarian becomes arts becomes utilitarian once again representing the various dimensions of everything that we encounter but the cyclical nature of life."

What would you create?

Okay, this is what I love:

What I love is the fact that I start researching the Argentinian artist mentioned in the post I put up earlier today (and she is pictured below), Liliana Porter, only to find that she is the creator of one of my favorite whimsical pieces of NYC subway mosaic art, "Alice: The Way Out," made in 1994. I have passed this mural for years at 50th Street; it always makes me smile. Who knew?

Here is a bit of information about the mural, courtesy of the New York Times:
Q. On the walls of the 50th Street subway station of the 1/9 line, are tile pictures of Alice in Wonderland. How do these pictures relate to the neighborhood?

A. The mosaic art you're referring to is ''Alice: the Way Out,'' a 1994 work by Liliana Porter, an Argentine-born artist who lives and works in New York. There is no explicit connection between 50th Street and Lewis Carroll, who lived most of his life in Oxford, England. Rather, said Sandra Bloodworth, director of the Metropolitan Transportation Authority's Arts for Transit program, there is a genial conceptual link, a playful reference to the theater district above.

''Liliana is evoking the idea of the theatrical, and she's doing it with a sort of connection with the idea of being underground,'' Ms. Bloodworth said. ''You see Alice pulling the curtain back in one of the images, and you have the theaters above ground. It's her concept to connect it to the theater by way of 'Alice in Wonderland.' '

Alice in Wonderland images are in a number of her works--a description of one work (without a photo, agh) reads: "When Alice's White Rabbit and a bust of Che Guevara hold a private chat, Porter is questioning not only the nature of space-time but that of memory as a vast archive where anything and everyone can hold a conversation."

A Long Hiatus

This blog is basically on hiatus due to lack of time and perfectionist tendencies that make me spend hours on each post. But a note on Buenos Aires museums: MALBA (Museo de Arte Latinamericano de Buenos Aires) introduced me to some artists I'd never heard of and want to explore more, such as Liliana Porter (born 1941, is a prof at Queens College/CUNY; okay, I'm way behind the times--she's in MOMA, MET, reviewed in the New York Times, etc. but I'd never been aware of her before). She just launched a web project with NY-DIA Foundation. By the way, MALBA has a killer outdoor cafe, next to which a large white inflatable marshmallow-like structure went up while I was having lunch. Still haven't figured out what it is. (Museum shop rating: Eh. Seen a lot of it at MOMA.)

The museum's collection comes from the Constantini family. Peggy Dulany (Rockefeller), who is a connector extraordinaire in the world of wealth (my BusinessWeek colleague Aili McConnon wrote about Dulany in this philanthropy story), is on its international advisory board, as is one of the world's richest men, Mexican telecom mogul Carlos Slim.

The Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes had an outstanding exhibit called "Latitudes: Maestros Latinoamericanos en La Collection FEMSA." Artists I saw there and will now follow include Roberto Aizenberg and Emilio Pettoruti; I also saw works by Sarah Grilo (always looking out for female artists), Eduardo MacEntyre and Julio le Parc. It's not so easy to find information about Grilo, or good pictures of her work, but here is a link to the Blanton Museum's list of works by Argentinian artists, and they have one of her paintings, and a bunch by Antonio Segui.

Another museum discovery while checking out Puerto Madero (very nice development going on, but did there have to be a riverside Hooters??!?) was the extremely good-looking Coleccion de Arte Amalia Lacroze de Fortabat (at Olga Cossettini 141). There were more security guards there than visitors. If the collection had merged with MALBA rather than setting itself up separately it would have been killer for MALBA. Anyway there were Aizenbergs and Pettorutis, as well as works by Antonio Segui and Juan Batlle Planas that were intriguing. The primer piso was where I thought the best works were. The second mezzanine had works by Brueghels Pieter and Jan, Klimt, Rodin, Turner, but most of them didn't strike my largely uneducated eye as their better works.

A strange path to a discovery

While reading an article about the uproar over the word "scrotum" being on the first page of a new book by an award-winning children's author (the NYT article notes that "The book’s heroine, a scrappy 10-year-old orphan named Lucky Trimble, hears the word through a hole in a wall when another character says he saw a rattlesnake bite his dog, Roy, on the scrotum"), I saw a mention of www.librarian.net. (I'm going to avoid the whole scrotum debate entirely, thank you.) Along with art and travel, another passion of mine is libraries. A friend and I toyed with the idea of doing a coffee table book on private libraries, ranging from the homey, low-budget cookbook collection of a woman down south to the incredibly expensive, highly designed libraries of moguls like Philip Anschultz. It would still be a dream to do, but it would take a superhuman effort to work on it on top of doing the job that pays my bills. I haven't quite come up with that superhuman energy yet.

Anyway, back to the point of this post: On the librarian.net site, I saw a reference to an old post about a book blog, so clicked on it and wound up on www.barbarayates.blogspot.com. Yates describes herself as "an environmental artist who recycles dead trees into art for parks and retreat centers." A writeup of a workshop she did at Oberlin College in 2000 notes that “Yates began carving wood in 1990 in Ocho Rios, Jamaica. She is also a photographer and her work in both mediums has been exhibited internationally as well as in the U.S.” The book mentioned on the blog was this first one below; for stories behind the making of each book, read this article. (All of these photos are by her, I believe, or at least were all from her site.) But I found even cooler stuff she did when I dug further into her site, so keep reading.

















The next project of hers that caught my eye was a recycling project for the Avondale Forest Park in County Wicklow, Ireland. Yates: "With a one-inch chisel I carved a mural sixteen feet long and five feet high into the 42-ton beech tree that had been planted around 1750 and had died of old age. Even though the park had cut it down it was still ten feet tall; the project took me two months." You can read about her time in Ireland, where she met a good number of Irish celebs, here.














The whimsy of some of the work Yates did as an artist-in-residence at women's retreat Grailville, in Loveland, Ohio, is also fun. It would be pretty magical to be hiking along and come across this.












The "elf house" below, which was part of a project she did to recycle a lot of dead wood into artwork for a national park, was also cute. FYI, when I did a google search for Yates, I was directed to an interesting site (whose search function didn't work so I couldn't actually search for Yates). It's a dealer for sculptors; when you're on the site click on "wood" or just go here. I thought the work of Roberta Daar (a message may pop up saying there is no such site but just wait a few seconds and it will take you there, or at least, that's how it worked for me) and J.Mac looked interesting--Daar's is the white sculpture.

PENCIL ART

My friend Amy knows that I like offbeat art, so sent me pictures of this pencil art by South African artist Jennifer Maestre. There was no information attached to the photos but a google search on pencil art turned up an interesting site called sensoryimpact.com, which has photos of Maestre’s work. The site itself was a good discovery: “Sensory Impact is a web magazine about the culture of objects for both design enthusiasts and designers that offers a smart mix of news, views and reviews served fresh daily in bite sized morsels.” Sounds good.

From Jennifer Maestre’s web site:

“My sculptures were originally inspired by the form and function of the sea urchin. The spines of the urchin, so dangerous yet beautiful, serve as an explicit warning.

I started off in the direction of prickly things when I was in my last year at Mass College of Art. It all comes from one idea I had for a box with a secret compartment that would contain a pearl. The box would be shaped like a sea urchin, made of silver. In order to open the box and reveal the secret compartment, you’d have to pull on one of the urchin’s spines. The idea was of something beautiful, sculptural, but that you wouldn’t necessarily want to touch, and that also held a secret treasure. I never developed the small-metals skills to ever make the box, but it got me thinking about that kind of form. I started experimenting with different materials to make urchin forms. I found that nails, pushed through window screen, worked well, and I could use many different types and textures and colors of nails...

...I was constrained a bit with the nails, because I couldn’t get all the turns and twists I wanted. I loved the textures and the contrast between the industrial qualities of the nails and the organic forms of the sculptures, but I wanted more complex forms. I was also thinking about how bad the liquid rubber probably was for my health.

So, I experimented with other pointy things and techniques, and finally hit on turning pencils into beads and sewing them together. Using this combination of technique and materials allows me to retain all the qualities that I want in my work, with the potential for more variety of form."

Warm Place in a Cold Season: The Rubin

It started with the smile of the security guard in the lobby, and the women checking coats and taking tickets. Then, in that New York City is such a small place kind of way (which is actually more of a we-move-in-small-socioeconomic circles kind of way) it continued with the sighting of a work colleague, a delightful man who adds a wonderful polish to copy and says wonderful things like, "Before I realized it was you, I was going to tell my friend to look at the beautiful golden hair of that woman sitting there." (How can one not love someone who says things like that? For that matter, who can not love Paige of Louis Licari?) I was at the Rubin Museum of Art, at the corner of 17th Street and 7th Avenue, and already I was loving the place.

The beautifully designed Rubin Museum has been up and running since 2004, but this was my first visit. I knew it was housed in the old Barneys building and had kept the famed spiral staircase, and had heard that people left small offerings on the bases of certain statues. But aside from that, I knew nothing more about it than what is mentioned about its evening activities in the post below this (and there's even more going on there at night than I wrote about). It is a beautifully laid out, thoughfully curated museum with many wonderful examples of the art of the Himalayas--bejeweled sculptures, carvings, paintings, textiles. Many of the works are just awe inspiring in their intricacy--a textile that functions as a painting that is done entirely in gold embroidery, for example, that would have been originally viewed in the flickering light of a butter lamp. It really is a total aesthetic experience--there was a musician playing some lovely music at the base of the staircase that leads to the first exhibit, the colors on the gallery walls are warm, the lighting is great, the guards are unobtrusive.

Since I have a friend who spent time in a Mongolian "ger"--a sort of round heavy felt tent--I was particularly interested in the show "Beyond Chinggis Khan," on view until April 16. It "celebrates the 800th anniversary of the founding of the Mongol empire." (Chinggis Khan is the warrior many people know as Genghis Khan, and apparently he wasn't quite as bloody a warrior as legend has it.) There are contemporary photographs mixed in with the sculpture, paintings, ritual objects and masks, and, in keeping with the warm welcome of the place, my friend and I learned from a fellow viewer (who must work there in some capacity) that one of the photographers whose work was on view, Builder Levy, often comes to the museum, and that the photo of the two stallions rearing was quite a feat to accomplish. The stallions had the most beautiful wild manes.

An especially nice touch can be found on the 6th and top floor of the museum, where you can watch the artist-in-residence, Tibetan Pema Rinzin, and his assistants work on a large painting/mural in progress (his second at the Rubin). There's a table behind them, with pencils and graph paper and cushions on the floor, where kids can sit and get a sense of the work that it takes to develop the sense of porportion that is essential to paintings. Despite being, oh, 30 years or so above the target audience for this activity, my friend and I decided to take advantage of this, as did two other adults, and we merrily sketched away, trying to copy the designs shown in the examples of drawings left on the table. The artist eventually came over to speak with us and told us about his work, how he uses his brushes, the educational backgrounds and aspirations of his two assistants (one, Melissa, is an art historian interested in the conservation of Tibetan art, so what better way to learn than to apprentice with someone and actually participate in making the art? I think the other was a former "art handler" at the MET who wanted to become, or was, a teacher).

The museum is a very manageable size, and once you've made your way through the floors, there's a great cafe on the ground floor--you don't have to pay the entrance fee to go there. Off to the side of the cafe, opposite the decent gift shop, was actually the only place where I saw people leave any sort of offerings to the statues. It was actually in the alcove where the bathrooms are, and the statue was--excuse my ignorance--I think it's Ganesh--and the one item left that sticks in my mind is the hot pink guitar pick.

To wrap up, here's what Mark Stevens wrote in New York Magazine about the Rubin: "The Buddha works in mysterious ways. At the behest of energetic Jewish couple Shelley and Donald Rubin, the Enlightened One has symbolically claimed the former Barneys emporium in Chelsea, once the downtown center of hothouse fashion, and transformed Mammon into a temple of Himalayan art...Donald Rubin does not want his museum to become forbiddingly academic. He emphasizes the living quality of Buddhist art, its ability, he says, to stimulate an "emotional rush" in viewers. The floor-wide exhibitions around the staircase are therefore organized by theme rather than by particular time or place. Rubin himself, who lost much of his family in the Holocaust and continues to be troubled by the eruptive violence in the human heart, takes a special interest in the demonic strains of Buddhist art: the nightmarish imagery represents a Buddhist's determination to confront internal demon's—and tame them. "

A Night at the Museums

Okay, the special sleepover program at the American Museum of Natural History is sold out. So that option is closed at least until mid-August for those who think it would be fun to sleep on a floor, surrounded by vast amounts of taxidermied animals. But there are plenty of other NYC museums with late access and evening events, even if they can't boast a T-Rex.

To be fair, the American Museum of Natural History does have some good evening programs that don't involve sleepovers. The Rose Center is open until 8:45pm the First Friday of every month. There's a Spanish Tapas bar where you can enjoy sangria, wines and soft drinks while listening to jazz. Starts at 5:30. Here's the menu. There are also great lecture and movie programs. One coming soon: "The Upside of Down," Thursday at 7, at the Kaufmann Theater. It's $15, $12 for members. Here's the writeup; buy tickets here: "Author and conservationist Thomas Homer-Dixon suggests that the pressures we are putting on our planet are likely leading to an imminent breakdown in the economic, political, and ecological systems that sustain us. By examining the intertwined causes of these systemic crises—from growing energy shortages to yawning economic inequalities—his latest book, The Upside of Down: Catastrophe, Creativity, and the Renewal of Civilization, shows what we can learn from them and how we can mitigate them."

The American Folk Art Museum (45 W. 53rd Street): Open Fridays until 7:30. Normally, entrance is $9, but there are Free Music Fridays, says the site: "Each Friday, from 5:30 to 7:30 pm, the museum trustees and staff invite the public to explore our galleries free of charge, have a drink in the cafe, and enjoy live music in the stunning atrium."

Asia Society and Museum (725 Park Ave., at 70th St.; 212 288-6400): Open from 6:00-9:00 on Fridays (except July 4-Labor Day). Lots of cultural programs and talks like the one this week, on Jan. 24 (during the day, though, from 12-2), a "CEO Forum featuring Scott Bayman, President and CEO, GE India." (It's pricey, at $75.) Bayman "will speak on "Thirteen Years on the Inside: A Perspective on India"."
UPDATE: Turns out there are "Second Fridays" and "Third Fridays." Second Fridays are about corporate diversity networking at the Asia Society's Leo Bar. It's from 6-9 this Feb. 9 and invites people to "join fellow Asian and Asian American professionals for some art and ambiance...Exhibition tours at 7:15 and 7:45; $5 martinis from 6-7. Cash bar." On Third Fridays, its LGBT Night. Says the site: "February's event [for the lesbian, gay, and transgender community] is cohosted by the leading global networking and professional services organization specifically for gay and lesbian financial services professionals," the Financial Services Industry Exchange.
The Cooper-Hewitt National Design Museum (2 East 91st Street; 212 849-8400) Open Fridays until 9:00; $12.
Dahesh Museum (580 Madison Ave. (between 56th and 57th Sts.; 212 759-0606)
Open until 9:00 on the first Thursday of every month; free from 6-9 on First Thursdays. Here’s an upcoming event (March 1, 6:30 pm) that sounds fun:
"Daily Life & Feasting in Ancient Egypt: Talk & Tasting
Join Francine Segan, food historian and cookbook author, for a foray into the delicious foods and dining customs of ancient Egypt, which includes a slide presentation and tasting of modern-day Egyptian delicacies. Discover fascinating tidbits about Cleopatra’s dinner parties; why Egyptians kneaded dough with their feet; and the must-serve foods for pyramid builders. Learn the recipes from the fertile Nile Valley...and also the centuries old health secrets and remedies of the ancient Egyptian Pharaohs, including their long list of aphrodisiacs and the food stuffs that accompanied them in their tombs."
The Guggenheim Museum (Fifth Ave. at 89th St.): On First Fridays, "enjoy a drink with friends, explore the galleries, and listen to some of the best DJs in town, all in the spectacular Frank Lloyd Wright–designed building. From 9 PM to 1 AM, admission is $25. Free for members. " Next up on Feb. 2: "Composor [sic??], producer, and inventor of the mutanttrumpet, a hybrid electro-acoustic instrument, Ben Neill presents a short solo set of new and unreleased tracks. He is accompanied by an eclectic sonic stew of space rock, house, and downtempo spun by past Guggenheim partner DJ Ben Butler."
International Center for Photography (1133 Ave. of the Americas at 43rd St.; 212 857-0000) Open Fridays until 8:00; admission from 5:00-8:00 on Fridays is a voluntary contribution. Otherwise, it's $12.
Jewish Museum (Fifth Ave. at 92nd St.;212 423-3200): Just saw--in the ads on my blog!--that the museum is free on Saturdays (and closes at 5:45 on Sats.) Normally the entrance fee is $12. It's open until 8:00 on Thursdays.
Museum of Modern Art (11 West 53 Street, between Fifth and Sixth Aves.; 212 708-9400): Open Fridays until 8:00; right now the sculpture garden is open until 9:00 for the video installation by Doug Aitken (plays from 5:00-10:00), and entrance is free on 54th Street. For the museum's film schedule, look here.
The Metropolitan Museum of Art (1000 Fifth Ave. at 82nd St.; 212 535-7710): Open Friday and Saturday nights until 9:00; enjoy drinks and appetizers on the Great Hall Balcony (sample menu here) while listening to live classical music. The MET also has subscription lectures and events, some of which are at night. You can learn more here.
Museum of Art and Design (40 West 53rd Street; 212 956-3535) Open Thursdays until 8:00; pay what you wish from 6-8. Pop in and then head over the MOMA's 54th Street entrance to the sculpture garden at 8:00 and check out the Aitken installation--or just admire it from in front the the Museum of Art and Design, since it's right across from MOMA and the Aitken video is projected on both the front and back of the MOMA building.
Rubin Museum of Tibetan Art (150 W. 17th Street; 212 620-5000): Open Fridays until 10:00; gallery admission free from 7:00-10:00. Visit here to find out more about a Friday night jazz program; there's also one on Jan. 24--"Harlem in the Himalayas Special: Wycliffe Gordon performs a new score to accompany D.W. Griffith's Intolerance. Introduced by New Yorker humorist Patricia Marx; 7:00 - 11:00." For a calendar of events, which include films, go to this link. UPDATE: A friend notes that the snack bar has great healthy stuff, like edamame--and that you can access their very clean bathrooms without having to pay the entrance fee.

Tiffany's Home at the MET

Incredible. That is the only way to describe the lush, luxurious, intricately detailed home that artist and designer Louis Comfort Tiffany created in Laurelton Hall, his 84-room, 60-acre-gardened Oyster Bay, Long Island, home. That home is now the basis of a show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It's not just those incredible stained glass windows and panels and the beautiful, flowing glass vases. We've all seen those countless times, in countless museums. It's the massive, deeply and intricately carved teak Indian doors on display from his home on 72nd Street in New York City, the Islamic-style alcoves in a picture of the fountain room, the long iron chains with elephants that he hung in his atmospheric studio, the Indonesian wood block panels he assembled as their own sort of canvases on the wall. It's the gleaming, fantastical peacock headdress a young girl once wore for a party he had, when she walked in as Juno leading a real peacock, with friends behind her dressed in grecian robes and bearing stuffed peacocks on platters. The MET website on the exhibit describes his country home perfectly in saying that Tiffany created "a total aesthetic environment."

Unfortunately, the home in Oyster Bay burned down a long time ago. Many bits and pieces of it were sold before the fire, and some stained glass windows in the show were found mud-covered and just propped against a tree on the property after the fire. The exhibit includes items from, and pictures of, the Tiffany home on Madison Ave. and 72nd street. (Alas, also gone now.) Items that had been sold at auctions, such as a beautifully beaded Native American buckskin dress that Tiffany used to display above intricately woven Indian baskets, as well as amazing Japanese, Chinese, and Islamic artifacts, have been assembled into an beautiful, awe-inspiring (the money to collect this stuff!) exhibit. New York Times reviewer Roberta Smith has a great opening line in her review of the show: "“Louis Comfort Tiffany and Laurelton Hall: An Artist’s Country Estate” is the rare exhibition that comes with its own porch." (Yes, a gorgeous restored "daffodil" porch from the house has been transported to the museum.)

The exhibit displays a lot of works lent by The Morse Museum in Winter Park, Fla., which has an incredible collection of Tiffany items. The founder of The Morse was Jeannette Genius (great name, eh?), who came from a wealthy family in Florida that collected Tiffany glass. Around 1960, Jeannette, with her husband Hugh McKean, paid $10,000 for what they could salvage of the burnt-down Laurelton estate. Tiffany was considered passe at the time--his glass panels and lamps were pretty, but not intense, not abstract, not modern. McKean, a painter--as was his eventual wife--actually studied at Laurelton around 1930 in Tiffany's artist-in-residence program. You can read about the Morse's Laurelton Hall collection here and see some of the incredible things they have, such as the recreation of the 800-square-foot chapel Tiffany built for the 1893 World Columbian Expedition in Chicago.

There's quite a tale behind that chapel, and you can find the full story here. In a nutshell, Carol Whipple Wallace bought it and donated it to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine here in NYC. But it was relegated to a cramped space in the basement and it deteriorated. So Tiffany offered to take it back at his own expense and installed and refurbished it at Laurelton. But after he died, it fell into disrepair, parts of it were sold off by the Tiffany Foundation, and then Laurelton burned down in 1957. The McKeans assembled many bits and pieces of it that had been sold at auction and now it's on display again in sunny Fla. Here's another Tiffany room at the Morse Museum.















"Louis Comfort Tiffany and Laurelton Hall: An Artist's Country Estate" (at the MET 'til May 20) is the perfect exhibit to see before grabbing a glass of wine and a bite on the MET balcony on a Friday or Saturday night. I wish, though, that the MET balcony operation took names for a waiting list, because you feel creepy lurking around the tables, trying to unobtrusively check out how close people are to leaving and then staking your claim by waiting in the four feet or so between the tables and the gallery walls. But when I was there this past Saturday the service was great, the appetizers and wine were fine, and the music was wonderful. It's a nice way to start a night.

My one complaint with the Tiffany exhibit, since I'm addicted to museum stores (so shoot me, I sometimes like commerce with my culture): The merchandise sold at the end of the exhibit is not that great. There is a pretty purple velvet scarf, but the supposed "fine jewelry" looks cheesy and I feel like the MET lost a real opportunity there. The only thing I saw that I'd want in my home (okay, there were some purple and deep, almost-teal blue leather embossed jewelry boxes that were very pretty, but the smaller round one was $55 and I couldn't stomach the price) was a $175 decorated gold cross, and since I'm not particularly religious, it would be a little odd for me to have that hanging on my wall. Ah well. The aesthetic experience petered out at the gift shop, but the exhibit itself is gorgeous.

Morphing MOMA

The MOMA is getting ever more creative with its use of space. In an exhibit that starts this Jan. 16 and ends on Feb. 12 the MOMA paired up with New York public arts group Creative Time and commisioned artist Doug Aitken (here's his deal, courtesy of artfacts.net) "to create the artist's first large-scale public artwork in the United States," according to an article on MOMA's web site. "The project is also the first to bring art to MOMA's exterior walls.

Continuous sequences of film scenes will be projected onto eight facades, including those on West Fifty-third and Fifty-fourth streets and those overlooking The Abby Aldrich Rockefeller Sculpture Garden (photo). Inspired by the densely built environment of New York's midtown, the artist will create a cinematic art experience that directly integrates with the architectural fabric of the city while simultaneously enhancing and challenging viewers' perceptions of public space. The project, filmed in New York City, will be shown daily from 5:00 p.m. until 10:00 p.m., and is intended to be visible from many public vantage points adjacent to the Museum."

Aitken has exhibited in the past with video artist Pipilotti Rist, who is mentioned in the previous post (and, by the way, I'm not positive the photo in that earlier post is actually her, but it's just so perfect that I'm choosing to believe it is right now). Here's a picture of Aitken with another artist mentioned in the previous post, Jeff Koons (Aitken's on the right). Aitken's Sleepwalker features Tilda Swinton, Donald Sutherland, Chan Marshall (Cat Power), Seu Jorge, and Ryan Donowho. Read MOMA's full description of the upcoming exhibit on their site here), where you can also see the online Sleepwalkers exhbition.

Very cool. (And such a shame, she wrote selfishly, that my friend Glenn sold his apartment overlooking the MOMA.) And on top of using its existing vertical acreage in innovative ways, the MOMA is lining up some net new space. Having New York mega real estate power broker Jerry I. Speyer as a museum trustee ready to help you negotiate real estate deals must be a beautiful thing. Speyer and Katherine G. Farley are listed among the supporters of the project, so presumably that means providing money as well as influence.

Here's an AP item on MOMA that ran in the Washington Post arts pages this past Thursday:

NEW YORK, Jan. 3 -- Little more than two years after a major expansion, the Museum of Modern Art is set to grow again.

MoMA has negotiated a land deal that will yield 50,000 square feet of additional space to display paintings and sculptures, said the museum's director, Glenn Lowry.

The museum will sell a piece of vacant land for $125 million to Houston-based development company Hines, adding an estimated $65 million to its $650 million endowment after construction costs, Lowry said.

"This is a Christmas present," Lowry said. "It's a tremendous boon to enhancing what is already an extraordinary collection."

Hines spokesman George Lancaster confirmed the deal Wednesday and said Hines was "thrilled to be working with MoMA" but declined to comment on the sale price.

The property is one of several the midtown Manhattan museum acquired in recent years as it planned its expansion. In 2004, an addition made of glass and steel was completed.

In the latest plan, Hines will construct a mixed-use building with exhibition space connected to MoMA's main building on several floors, Lowry said. The building, part of a larger project, will include approximately 10,000 square feet of museum storage space.

The lot has about 200,000 square feet of building space, the director said.

Hines has developed other buildings in New York, including the 34-story office tower known as the Lipstick Building.

There is no architect or timetable yet, but the project is expected to take at least five years.

The museum closed during the last expansion and showcased its art in a temporary space in Queens, but it will stay open this time, Lowry said.

A museum trustee and real estate developer who helped negotiate the sale, Jerry Speyer, said the board agreed readily to the deal.

"Everyone felt great about the decision," he said. "There were no issues in anyone's mind."

Quick Culture Hit...

...or, as I described it to a colleague as I was leaving my office at lunch, "I've decided that I have to start going out and taking a half hour at lunchtime to get some nuggets of culture." Which is a strange way to phrase a desire to pack a little more culture into my everyday life. Hard as I try to think of nuggets of culture as burnished gold pebbles, my mind's eye inevitably settles on....Chicken McNuggets. Chicken McNuggets that somehow have the Mona Lisa's image imprinted on them, or Munch's "The Scream," or Van Gogh's "Starry Night." Or, ugh, Monet's "Water Lilies." It's kind of revolting. And an art project, I guess.

But I did get my...dollop...of culture today. (Much better. Makes me think of whipped cream.) Since my employer is a corporate member of the MOMA I get in free, so I took a half hour to go into the Contemporary Galleries. Note to people whose companies are corporate members--the MOMA is curbing corporate member benefits. Instead of being allowed to bring in four people, now you can bring in two (I usually don't go to musums in packs of five, anyway) and there's some other restriction with the passes to films, which I wasn't even aware we got a discount on. If anyone's interested in the changed terms, leave a post and I'll send the info. Or if you go get a ticket as a corporate member, they'll give you a slip of paper that lays it out.

ANYWAY, to get to the Contemporary Galleries you have to go up the stairs and through some Cy Twombly paintings, and past an enormous, bronze pencil-sculpture-thing. I perhaps need to gain a better appreciation for Cy Twombly. His "Leda and the Swan"? (pictured) And "The Italians"? Are they really great art? They kind of look like...bad art. Like, "I'm trying too hard to be cryptic" art, so I'm going to squiggle here, scratch there, slop a glop of ugly-colored paint here, and then I'm going to write random words on a canvas--yeah, in pencil!--and then...I'm a genius! Now decipher me! Okay, I'm showing a philistine side and it may just've been my mood on the first day back at work since Dec. 23. But it's an honest philistine side, if that counts for anything. (P.S. After writing that I read on wikipedia.org that Twombly "served in the army as a cryptologist, which influenced his work." Who knew?)

So, a discovery. The show in the Contemporary Galleries is "Out of Time/A Contemplation," and while I could do without the three basketballs half covered with water in a fishtank, by Jeff Koons, there were two items in the second room that I thought were very cool and/or interesting.

No. 1 interesting thing: Janine Antoni's "Butterfly Kisses 1996-99." Her medium: Cover Girl mascara on paper. Uh huh. The tag tells the tale: "The artist applied many coats of Cover Girl Thick Lash mascara to her eyelashes and then fluttered them against the paper. She averaged 60 winks per day and completed the drawing after approximately 2,124 winks, and over many months."

It's pretty cool-looking. (And any woman knows that applying mascara can be messy--I wish she'd taken pictures of herself after 40 winks.) It reminded me of Florentine swirly paper sold at Il Papiro, but in black and cream as opposed to greens and blues. The only other way I can think of to describe the effect of her eye-fluttering on paper was that it looks like a pelt, like fur--as if a polar bear rolled around in slush or had been covered with a light coating of soot.

You can read some good PBS articles on her. It's worth checking out--she does some very out-there stuff, as in Gnaw (2002), which involved 600 pounds of chocolate gnawed by her, 600 pounds of lard gnawed by her, a display with 130 lipsticks made with pigments and beeswax, and chewed by her...you get the idea. She also directed a 4-minute film inspired by the Shaker tradition of ecstatic dancing. The MOMA also has a learning page on her. And here's "Lick and Lather," self-portraits in soap and chocolate, that, of course, she either licked or lathered with.









The other piece I liked, just for its out-there-ness, was by a Swiss artist born in 1962, Pipiliotti Rist (yes, a nickname--you know, Pippi Longstocking; she was born Elisabeth Charlotte). It's called "Ever is Over All," whatever that means, and was executed in 1997. Her website is here. "Ever is Over All" is a video project and it involves two slow-motion projections on adjacent walls. One focuses on lush flowers in a field, and the other focuses on this attractive, ethereal-looking, blissed-out woman, dressed in a flowing baby blue chiffon dress and red shoes, as she strolls down a sidewalk.

All seems normal, except that she is carrying a large metal stalk with a red/yellow/orange flower on top similar to the real flowers you see in the other projection. She's meandering along happily on a sidewalk, and then she cheerfully and gracefully slams the stalk into the window of a parked car, which only seems to increase her bliss. She goes on to do it again and again, never losing her poise. It is bizarre. A red-lipsticked, hatted policewoman walks behind her for a bit, not seeming to think anything is amiss, and smiles at her in passing after she smashes her third or so car window. The tag summed it up well as a "whimsical and anarchistic scene."

So it was two cultural nuggets. And you know what? I really enjoyed them.

The Blanton Museum/Austin, TX

Nothing like a bomb threat to liven up a museum visit.

There we were, at 12:30 pm, passing the Attic pottery and entering Modern and Contemporary Art in the new home of the Blanton Museum in Austin, Tex., when a young polo-shirted, chino'd musem guard asked us to calmly exit the building. Most of the guards were, or professed to be, clueless about why the museum was suddenly closing, but one guard said there'd been a bomb threat that had apparently been found to not be credible. I guess protocol had to be followed. So out we went and across the street, vouchers for a return visit in hand. Happily nothing came of the threat that I could tell.

After years of controversy, the museum has emerged to be a good looking, but not very remarkable addition to the UT campus. (The photo above, by the way, shows a lamppost outside the Blanton where everyone seems to deposit their entrance stickers, as well as those from the Texas State History Museum.) The design of the museum doesn't make much of a statement, but its limestone facade and white, open interior with diagonal skylights is pleasant, if not wildly interesting. It was supposed to be designed by modernist architects Jacques Herzog and Pierre de Meuron, whose projects include the Tate Gallery of Modern Art in London, but the UT System Board of Regents didn't think the design fit with the surrounding architecture--too bold, accounts have said.

The UT Master Plan calls for building in the Spanish Renaissance style, using red-tiled roofs and limestone (given that, why ask minimalist-minded modernist superstars to design your building?). After the architects and the board when back and forth, the architects quit in 1999. There's a very telling back and forth between one member of the Board of Regents and Herzog here. One of my favorite points Herzog makes is that "universities should be places that encourage change and that value innovation more than imitation." The member of the Board of Regents, who clearly hates the modern buildings already on UT's campus, replies, "We are not willing to turn our campus into a proving ground for experimental modern design." There's a good Austin Chronicle article on the controversy here. The Dean of the Architecture school resigned in protest over the whole mess (though he's still on the faculty, just not the dean anymore). The Board of Regents went with the Boston firm of Kallmann McKinnell and Wood instead.

While the style of the building may be conservative, it has some very cool and very thought-provoking art installations. There's an amazing one by Brazilian artist Cildo Meireles, called "Missao/Missoes (How to Build a Cathedral)." (His other work is worth checking out on google images.)













It is composed of a black-veiled area that you enter to look up at a ceiling of 2000 hanging cow bones with a string of 800 communion wafers stretching down from the middle and connecting the bones with 600,000 bright copper pennies.

A fascinating bit of information found on the web (you can find the post here, but this is basically it): "Built in 1987...the artwork is unique in the fact that it changes wherever it goes. The artwork is a floating piece and the coins are the smallest denomination that the country it is shown in has. In the Blanton, where the piece is currently showing, pennies are used for the coins. In another country, however, the coins may be silver or gold colored instead of copper. Cildo Meireles illustrates this cathedral as a combination of the coins representing wealth, agriculture represented by the bones, and religion represented by the wafers. "The installation draws attention to the fact that the conquest of the Americas was as much about economics as it was about religion or saving souls" (Blanton)."

Another very cool installation is one called "From Texas with love 2002." It's by Emily Jacir, who was born in Amman, Jordan. (Good article about her recent project on a very interesting blog here.) She asked Palestinians living in Israel what they would choose to listen to if they could get into a car and drive for an hour without being stopped at checkpoints (what seems so easy to us is such an impossibility for them). There's a monitor showing video footage of a vast expanse of West Texas desert through a car's windshield, and a few iPods at the monitor play the songs the Palestinians chose. These are some of them; I focused on the Western songs, which made up a decent chunk of the choices:
-"Freedom," by Jimi Hendrix
-"The Thrill is Gone," by B.B. King
-"Ishta tellak" (sorry, can't get the right accents in there) by Fairuz (Fairuz was very popular)
-"Wild World," by Cat Stevens
-"Fly Me to the Moon," by Frank Sinatra
-"Patria," by Ruben Blades
-"Autumn Leaves," by Tony Bennett
-"Get Out The Map," Indigo Girls
-"I Can See Clearly Now," Drifters
-"Message to Love," Hendrix
-"Biladi Biladi" by Sayed Darwish
-"Material Girl," by Madonna

Both of these installations are part of the museum's great Modern and Contemporary Art collection, which features a lot of paintings from the Suida-Manning collection (formed by a family of art historians). The Blanton takes a very interesting approach in mixing its Americas in an "exploration of the frontier and historic notions of what 'American' means." (Interesting article on that here.)

Here's how they do that, in a nutshell: After a gallery of works depicting the American West, complete with Frederick Remington paintings and sculptures, and some incredibly realistic paintings by Henry F. Farny, like "Council of the Chiefs" (which is not the one shown here, by the way) you move into the America/Americas permanent exhibit, which examines "how Latin American and American artists responded to and incorporated European strains of modernism in the early 20th Century." It presents a work by Uruguayan artist Joaquin Torres-Garcia near a work by Arshile Gorky, and a Mark Rothko work (I had no idea that he was born in Dvinsk, Russia) by a David Alfaro Siqueiros painting of the torture of Cuauhtemoc (sp??), with the red and yellow fire painted in thick industrial paint that reaches out of the canvas. The painting tags tell you when and where the person was born, where they lived and worked for what period, when they died and where. My only wish: I'd like to know what the museum paid for each piece.

My wonderful 12-year-old nephew, Liam, had a favorite at the show, this painting by Kazuya Sakai, called "Filles de Kilimanjaro III (Miles Davis)". (I have to check with my equally wonderful niece, Jessie, to find out her favorite.) The painting is mentioned in this article, which notes that "It’s hard to get more international than Sakai, who was born to Japanese parents in Buenos Aires and lived in Mexico for a decade before the university invited him to teach as a visiting artist. He never returned to Argentina and died in Dallas. He is a Latin American artist of Japanese heritage painting a piece for an American jazz musician."

One quirky thing the museum does in its free audio guide is have Austin business owners (as well as UT professors, who make insightful comments) comment on paintings. So while you're looking at Domenico Paola's "Allegory of Youth" you're hearing the owner of Austin hair salon Anew comment on the woman in the painting and the symbolism of the hourglass. For him, the hairstyling client is the canvas, we learn, and God's gift to us is that he lets our eyesight get worse as we grow older so we can't see our decay so clearly, ha ha ha. He shows up again later, commenting on the subject's dress in "Portrait of a Man," by Nicolas de Largilliere. His focus here is on the "incredible center part" in the man's hair, and how it centers you, the viewer, with the person's body and face. O-kay. Thanks for that.

We also get a local landscape designer commenting on the flowers in Sebastiano Ricci's "Flora." "That's a yadda yadda flower, native to yadda yadda," etc. I like the attempt to connect the local community with the art in such a direct way, but the comments were not enlightening. Maybe a better idea would be to have a two-tier audio, where pressing No. 1 gets you the curator/expert's comments and then pressing No. 1a gets you the local businessperson's additional comments. Of course, here I am, blathering on about my views on art and I'm no expert, but people who are reading this have actively chosen to read it (perhaps with my prodding, but nevertheless!).

Additional stray Blanton info:

Right across the street is the Bob Bullock (yes, Sandra is related to him, or so someone told me) Texas State History Museum. You can also walk to the Ransom Center, which is another good UT art collection. And the State Capital is nearby.

There will be more Blanton to love soon: Once an adjoining building that will house a museum store, cafe, auditorium, classrooms and office space is completed in 2007, the Blanton complex will top Harvard as the largest university art complex, at some 180,000 square feet. Right now, it has more than 17,000 works of art in its collection. The museum site tells us that "In 1988, the Blanton established the first full-time curatorship in Latin American art in the country. The move solidified the role of the art of Latin America in the collection, and the collection continues to draw significant gifts to this day." The writer James Michener and his wife Mari have been big art contributors and financial supporters of the museum for decades.

Happy Goldsworthy

The perfect Goldsworthian holiday picture!*












*You might not want to break the ethereal mood by sharing the title: "Icicles, joined by saliva."

The Fabulous Frick

For high-quality art in a beautiful setting, the Frick Museum in New York (between 70th and 71st Streets, and Madison and Fifth Ave.) cannot be beat (that's Henry Clay Frick at the left, with granddaughter Adelaide, in 1918). Right now, you can enjoy a tiny (size of a modest walk-in closet) but wonderful Cimabue and Early Italian Devotional Painting mini-exhibit (closes Dec. 31), a Tiepolo exhibit (downstairs) and Masterpieces of European Painting from the Cleveland Museum of Art, which has closed its permanent exhibit while it undergoes an extensive renovation (it has loaned the Frick 14 works; exhibit closes Jan. 28).

CIMABUE. The exhibit has to be tiny, since there is very little work remaining by Cenni di Pepo, better known as Cimabue (roughly translates to “Ox’s Head”--umm, possibly not a highly complimentary moniker?) There’s something like only four portable works attributed to Cimabue. The Frick exhibit unites one panel from its collection with one discovered in a private collection in 2000 (it is now owned by the National Gallery in London). The image below is not one from the Frick--it's an earlier Cimabue and far more stylized, and you can't get the full sense of it from this image--but it's a striking painting nonetheless.

Wikipedia says the Frick's Cimabue panel, “The Flagellation of Jesus," was purchased in 1950 and long considered to be of uncertain authorship. But in 2000, the National Gallery in London acquired a Virgin and Child with many similarities (size, materials, red borders, incised margins, etc.) The two pictures are now thought to be parts of a single work, a diptych or triptych altarpiece, and their attribution to Cimabue is fairly secure.

While the Flagllation is owned by the Frick (and is the only Cimabue in the United States), the Virgin and Child is in the U.S. temporarily. For a short time, the two works can be viewed side-by-side. The pair are believed to date from 1280.”

The Cimabue exhibit is a jewel. It's an example of the Frick's incredible attention to detail that on the two Cimabue panels, the small clasps that jut a few centimeters onto the painting are painted to track with what is beneath them, so don't interrupt your visual experience at all. (Although since I noticed them, maybe they do.) But it's a very thoughtful touch. The museum also provides clipboards with a catalogue covering Cimabue works (and others), which lets you indulge your curiosity right while you're looking at the paintings. Another thing I love about the Frick is that your $15 admission fee gets you a free audio guide to their permanent collection--and, if you ask, you can get a list of local eateries from the gift shop if you're not familiar with the neighborhood. My sister and I opted to walk up to the Whitney Museum on Madison and 74th and eat at the restaurant there, Sarabeth's, which is good--and located right next to one of the Whitney's gift shops (a convenient stocking-stuffer shopping stop).

CLEVELAND MUSEM OF ART EXHIBIT. One of my favorite games is trying to decode the symbolism in paintings and the Frick's tags for its paintings are always interesting and informative. So there's The Cleveland Museum of Art's Nicolas Poussin's "The Holy Family on the Steps" (1648), with Joseph off to the side, studying a compass--an allusion, the Frick tells us, to the carpenter's trade and a traditional symbol of God the universal architect. (The writeup on the Cleveland Museum's web site says that "The representation of Saint Joseph is unusual, for he is depicted more as an architect than a carpenter.")

Another Cleveland pic on loan to the Frick is Jacques Louis-David's "Cupid and Psyche." Cupid has an incredibly mischievous smile, and the model was James Gallatin, the 19-year-old son of the American envoy in Paris.

And then there's Valentin de Boulogne's "Samson" (c. 1630; another of the loans from the Cleveland Museum of Art). In that painting, a detail like the bee on the clasp of Samson's garment alludes to the "fabled swarm of bees that gathered on the slaughtered lion's carcass and produced honey." The painting's tag notes that the bee is also the heraldic device of Cardinal Francisco Barberini, who commissioned the painting.

That reminded me of a visit to the Barberini Palace in Rome, where you can find the bee-laden heraldic devices carved in stone on the walls. I love the Barberini because it provided one of those unexpected moments of discovery when I wandered back behind the museum and came upon a gated field. Inside the field were dozens of grazing rabbits, and cats wandering around them. It was sort of surreal. I noticed a kindly-looking white-bearded old man in a hut next to the iron gate, who indicated that it was fine for me to look around. So sweet, I thought. What a cute old man. Then I noticed what lined the walls of the little wooden hut--hard-core porn torn from magazines. The little old man didn't seem quite as cute after that...

Anyway, even if you miss these exhibits--and I'm skipping Tiepolo, because we'd been at the Frick for about four hours and had reached museum burnout--a visit to the Frick is always time well spent. Top Ten items there: Its Vermeers. The Hans Holbein painting of Sir Thomas More. The Sargents. The Rembrandt self-portrait. The incredibly rich, gilded icons. Jean-Antoine Houdon's La Grive Morte (The Dead Thrush), dated 1782. (A press release a while back noted that it was on loan from a gallery in Boston until August 2006, but it's still there, so I guess the loan has been extended?) If you love the whimsy of trompe l'oil, you'll love this marble relief. It is a small slab of white marble with the upside-down body of a thrush carved out of it, and it rests in a deep gold frame. The frame can't contain the volume of the bird; Houdon has one of its wings juts over the frame, leaving a shadow. It's a very arresting image and makes the work so much more intesting than it it were simply mounted in an alcove as a marble sculpture.

At the Frick, it's hard to pick your favorite, because there are so many wonderful things there. They also have a really great website, with MP3 audio guides you can download. There are also very good virtual tours of rooms.

Prague Museums: Part II (Picassos in Prague)

Here's a name that provokes a jarring mental image: The Trade Fair Palace. To a New Yorker, it seems akin to calling our convention center "The Javits Center Mansion."

Just like Dan Quayle was no Jack Kennedy, the Trade Fair Palace is no regal residence.

When you approach the building, you have a moment of confusion--is this an office building? Is it a sales office for work furniture, as the ground floor salesroom suggests, with its row of red, green and blue Knoll chair knockoffs waiting to be filled by budding-capitalist behinds? And what is that big, ungainly metal....thing....in front of the building? It is sculpture, my friends. Art. Kind of...ugly art.

As is, to some extent, the Trade Fair Palace, which was built in the functionalist style and originally designed in 1926-28 to hold 10,000 visitors and 4,000 exhibitors. According to "art/shop/eat Prague" Le Corbusier was one of the first visitors, and "claimed that the building showed him how Functionalism could be applied on a pioneeringly vast scale." And the vast white space, which centers around an atrium from which you can see works of art on all four Gallery floors, is appealing, though I wouldn't rhapsodize about it to the extent that "art/shop/eat Prague" does.

The fact that I didn't particularly warm up to the Trade Fair Palace is partly because I'm used to lavish Western museums like the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Frick, the MOMA. I'm spoiled by being surrounded by well-funded museums with well-paid curators who have actual budgets to work with and pay great attention to how the works are displayed. The Frick, one of my favorites, even has a full-time horticulturalist on staff, who has been with it for 30 years and arranges gorgeous flower displays, which currently include red peonies worked into Christmas wreaths. (He may be the subject of a future posting.)

The Trade Fair Palace is officially called the Collection of Modern and Contemporary Art 0f the National Gallery in Prague. The lighting is basic, the partitions are basic, the floor is speckled linoleum. But it does have something on Western museums--you can pay just for the floors you want to visit. And the 3rd floor has some very good 19th and 20th-Century French Art. Favorites from a number of the floors: the van Gogh; the small Moore sculptures; the stylized paintings of Jan Zrzavy; the two Munchs; Klimt's "The Virgins," and the collection of Picassos, especially the one with the cubist frame by architect and leading theorist of the Czech cubist movement Pavel Janak. Here are a few of his designs you'll probably recognize (and can learn more about and even perhaps buy (well, some of them!) here).



Much of the collection was acquired by the Czechoslovak State in 1923, and a big chunk of good stuff (many of the Picassos and Braques) came from Vincenc Kramar, the director of the National Gallery in the 1920s. He was "encouraged" by the Communists to "donate" his extensive collection to the National Gallery before his death--I think that's how a tag at the Gallery phrased it. "art/shop/eat Prague" puts it like this: "He was forced to donate his collection to the Gallery in 1960, a few months before his death at age 83."

The logistics: A 15-minute or so tram ride from the New Town area of Prague takes you close to the Palace--you just have a 10-minute walk up a mild hill and a jog to the right. It's pretty easy to find. There is a great creperie with a painted red front to the left a block or so from where you exit the tram. (The actual name of the place--yeah, that would be kind of helpful!--will be added to this post soon.)