Bamboo and Gehry

The road has taken me to Seattle this weekend, to visit dear friends Karen and John, recently transplanted here from LA.

They've been clever in their exploration of the area, saving visits to the touristy sites for touristy visitors like myself. Thus, yesterday, Karen and I headed down town to the Experience Music Project, a fun few hours of interactive music activities housed in a Frank Gehry creation.

A few months back I saw Disney Hall, LA's own Gehry, so I find that my first impressions of the Seattle building are those of comparison. DH is all silver - EMP has multiple colors. One side is silver, another gorgeous, subtle shades of copper and bronze. But interspersed among the metallic finishes were sections of glossy red, opaque baby blue and iridescent purple. Yuk. It sort of looked like he was testing color concepts on different corners and never really got around to deciding on a final finish. That said, both buildings are marvels of engineering and "How the heck did they do that?" Hats off to the talented folks that make real Gehry's wild visions.

Next to the EMP was a great outdoor sculpture installation of tall, metal bars, abstractly rendering a bamboo fence. They were cleverly created, three layers deep at the base, thinning to one at the top, so they had the ability to flex a little in the wind. As you can see from the picture, it was a lovely, sunny day for such a touristy moment.

Lighting a Candle

Most of the big churches in Europe offer you countless chances to light a candle as you shuffle quietly through. A euro or two will get you a tea light or a small taper, ten euros will get you a candle in a tall glass jar that will burn for hours.

The above picture is from Sacre Coeur in Paris - taken earlier this year. This was a forbidden picture too, as the entrance vestibule of the basilica is patrolled by a terminally frustrated keeper, yelling stridently at the visitors to variously keep quiet, put their cameras away, and remove their hats. The candles were beautiful, but I was more interested in the shadows.

This summer, Alexis and I lit a lot of candles as we made our way through Europe - she lost an uncle this year, and I lost an aunt and an influential art professor.

We lit candles in Notre Dame and St. Denis in Paris, in St. Paul's and Westminster Abbey in London. St. Peter's in Rome had no candles at all - although plenty of offering boxes. I didn't think much of it, until we went to Santa Maria della Vittoria (the church with Bernini's St. Teresa in Ecstasy). Instead of racks of candles, there were banks of electric candles. Pop a euro in the slot, and one of the flame shaped bulbs lights up. In another Italian church, you get to flip the switch under the candle of your choice. I was so dumbfounded I forgot to take pictures!

We both agreed that flipping the switch took some of the reverence out of the ritual. But when you think about the decade it took to clean the soot out of the Sistine Chapel, perhaps electricity is the more prudent option. At a minimum, the Italians deserve credit for creatively solving the problem.

Women at War - in Memoriam

This week's Newsweek includes an article about Emily Perez, the first West Point graduate and the 64th woman to die in the current Iraq war.

War memorials can be powerful things. They are complicated too, needing to address many facets of honoring the dead such as inspiring pride in patriotism (raising the flag at Iwo Jima); inspiring awe (the smoke stacks of the USS Arizona); inspiring perpetual gratitude and perpetual remembrance (the perpetual flame of the Australian War Memorial); giving closure to the living (any Tomb of an Unnamed Soldier); and naming the dead (the inimitable Vietnam Veterans Memorial).

Whilst in London this summer, I came across a memorial to The Women of World War II. I think the design is brilliant in the way the artist used fashion - something that women are known for, and often ridiculed for - to illustrate the many roles that women filled during the war. Right down to the hat or bag that went with the job.

It made me appreciate the versatility of the "weaker" sex as they stepped up to help out. It makes me appreciate it still today as I watch the women folk in my life juggle so much (and please understand that this is said with no disrespect to the lot of today's men).

So this one is for the ladies, those here and those gone. Thanks for making me proud to be a woman.

Making your mark

Graffiti is nothing new. For some reason, making your mark is an animal imperative, and in humans it takes the form of writing and drawing on things - things that society would rather you didn't write and draw on.

In Westminster Cathedral in London, the guide showed us the coronation throne - a wooden throne that has been used for the coronations of English kings and queens for centuries. Once upon a time it was out in the cathedral where you could touch it, and sit on it for a photo. Now it is on a pedestal, awaiting Charles or William - and covered in the initials of countless school children who were probably bored silly whilst on a visit.

I remember the first time I climbed on Stonehenge as a little girl (yes, back then, you could mingle with the stones and sit on them). I remember seeing names carved into the stones and I had a real visceral feeling of sadness about it. It struck me as so wrong, even at such a tender age.

Wrong or not, I find it fascinating as a historical document. Some of the sculptures in St. Denis in Paris were liberally peppered with graffiti, all deeply carved into the marble flesh of the effigies and guardians on the tombs. "Chevrier" even dated his on a saint's knee - in 1618. I doubt it would happen here now as the works are closely guarded, never left alone in the public eye for more than a few minutes. It strikes me that this kind of graffiti isn't really an impulse affair as it would take a true commitment of time to carve out words on marble. Check out "Gabriel Pascot" on the woman's collarbone - the letters have serifs!

I wonder who Chevrier and Gabriel were.