Questions, asked and answered

First up: it's ask a curator day on twitter. Museums around the world are open for questions from around the world. Things are buzzing so far (in the woken-up time zones), with questions ranging from "What parts of the job do curators hate?" to "Could the heist from the Thomas Crown affair really happen?" Their main site is at www.askacurator.com/ and their twitter stream is at #askacurator

In other news, I've been meaning to post these lovely images from 'Eleven Heavy Things,' a sculpture exhibition by Miranda July. It was set up this summer at Union Square Park in New York; I love the fabulous contrast between weight and play.

The NY Times pointed out that the art will take on a life of its own beyond the exhibition, as messages and experiences spread through photographs taken and shown to other people, parents, friends.

Delightful, thought-provoking; would love to see that in the flesh :-)

Morning harmony

I tend to have routine songs that go through my head on a regular basis: On the Road Again (Shrek-style) for starting the car, that kind of thing. They're sometimes annoying, sometimes endearing, to me at least.

Anyhoo, in this house there is a mug that I tend to use for coffee in the morning. It's a Christmas mug, and the mornings find me heating milk, singing "Oh, the weather outside is frightful..." Sara switched it one day to a cat mug, and the two of us appraised it, considering the possibilities.

One morning of What's New, Pussycat was quite enough.

So, there's a new mug. And with it, a new song. About a laydee in satin tights, fightin' for our rights...

Truly, she is a wonder.

Glamour

Ah, the V&A does it again.

On Friday the museum's late night was devoted to Retro Hollywood glamour. The place was swinging with classic songs, and there was much milling around with a glass o'wine, watching the glammed-up world go by. You could play Golden Age dress up in vintage clothes, have your hair backcombed and set, and get your red lipstick & black eyeliner applied by the professionals. There was a curator-guided tour of the Grace Kelly exhibition; and the world of Edith Head was evoked by Oscar-nominated costume designer Deborah Nadoolman Landis (the lady who gave Indiana Jones his fedora and Michael Jackson his red 'Thriller' jacket).

Of course, no human being could squodge all that in to one evening. We chilled out in the garden, took in some of the live old-style radio theatre (spooky murder mystery, of course), then somewhat unplanned, we did the Hitchcock & Friends table quiz in the sumptuous cafe. In true table quiz fashion, it ran very late (in a museum locking up kinda way). And though we were a team of two, 'The Women Who Knew Too Little' ranked!

Lovely atmosphere. And as intended, it got us thinking about glamour, which reminded me of the photographer Toni Frissell, who conveyed glamour exceptionally well.

Here's one I've posted before, taken at Weeki Wachi (home of live mermaids!) in 1947.

She makes it look effortless :-)

Carnival Dress

I rarely warm to advertising, but this makes me smile every time :-)

Have a lovely weekend, all X

Citylife Report: When Foxes Attack...

...Sandals. When foxes attack sandals.

I should back up a little. Due to the Three Kitties in a Catflap-Free House situation, night-time tends to be active; inevitably, some/all of them want to come in or go out. We got into the habit of leaving a sliding door ajar but security-grilled. The cats slink through the grille; everyone gets to sleep; easy-peasey.

Until the fox slunk. As foxes do. Beatrix Potter tried to warn us. The fox slunk in and - well, "upset" the general living room area. And then chewed Sara's nice leather sandals into teeny pieces. Little sandal apocalypse, right there.

This morning we surveyed the downstairs, hypothesising how much more damage he could have wreaked (handbags, laptops, sofas, coats). All things considered, it wasn't too disasterous.

But really, why on earth would a fox need footwear?

Light as a feather

My mom gave me a lovely collection of Emily Dickinson's poems years back. At the time, I hadn't read Emily's work for ages (since being scarred by the whole 'you can sing all her poetry to The Yellow Rose of Texas' revelation).

Anyhoo, that edition, which had a bright yellow flower on the cover, is one I think of from time to time. I thought of it - and its optimistic cover - this morning, when talking to someone who's coping with physical pain, facing an operation; someone with a clear sense that life's going to have more than its share of difficulties for a time.

  Hope is the Thing with Feathers

  Hope is the thing with feathers
  That perches in the soul,
  And sings the tune without the words,
  And never stops at all,

  And sweetest in the gale is heard;

  And sore must be the storm

  That could abash the little bird

  That kept so many warm.

  I've heard it in the chillest land,

  And on the strangest sea;

  Yet, never, in extremity,

  It asked a crumb of me.

    --Emily Dickinson

And Emily's hope led me on to Thich Nhat Hanh:

Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today.

 

Jingle all the way

Pineapple Dance Studios in Covent Garden is a little universe unto itself. Since 1979, when its founder turned a former (pineapple) warehouse into dance studios with spin-off branded clothing emporium, it's been all go.

Never having set foot inside any dance-related building before, I was fascinated by the distinct worlds of the myriad studios. The ballet folk looked austere and serious; a girl band were rehearsing with gusto before a line of seated men; contemporary jazz folk hung out in the corridor, looking suitably chic.

I however, was there with our little Hips-Don't-Lie group, for belly dance. Because it's always good to be able to laugh out loud at oneself :-)

We wear little jangly hip scarfs, which let you see and hear any kind of movement your hips make. And we go through the basics of swaying and hip-dropping and shimmying, little scarves jingling as we learn. 

"I love the hip scarves," says one dancer, as we're packing up. "Even if you just hang them up. Like a decorative wind chime..." 

Talk about on the same page.

Bedraggled Monday

Following a night of torrential rain, it's now simply lashing. The cats of the house react variously to the weather: Dubh is fascinated but mostly stays in (her current bout of cabin fever will be soon eased by 'Murder, She Wrote'); Max goes out in the rain specifically so that he can bounce back in and be towel-dried (loves the pampering); and The Lady Cat of the House, well, she *really* hates this weather.

In coffee terms, it's a two-pot day.

And in other, delightful news:

Ruminations

Overcast, blustery day here. I was dipping into various collections of poems this afternoon, and went back to Rumi's The Guest House. I like its take on non-discrimination between 'good' and 'bad' feelings, that the human, in acceptance and laughter, is somehow more than all of those transitory emotions. One that leaves me happily pondering...

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

-- Rumi

Have a lovely weekend, folks. And for those whose birthday parties I'm missing, we shall catch up before too long X

The Seedpod

Continuing on a bird theme, I'd like to introduce you to today's postal treat: The Seedpod.

Friends of mine designed and turned these gorgeous pods from native Irish oak. They're supereffective when hung singly, or in groups of three.

With their lush colour and contours, they enhance any backdrop: they look funky against cement, rich against lush foliage. If we had invented Tactil-o-vision, you could feel their silky smooth grain & satisfying weight... but images will have to do for right now.

The bijou size of the feeder encourages small birds into your garden (though I'm curious to see how the Krypton-Factor-esque South London squirrels tackle them).

Anyhoo, they're the ideal mix of beauty & practicality, and are available at an internet near you: theseedpodbirdfeeder.blogspot.com. For any questions email: theseedpod@yahoo.com



I'm off to play in the garden :-)