A Fair-Weather Health-Nut on the Broad Street Run

It's kind of silly that it took me this long to blog about the Broad Street Run that took place on May 2nd, but better late than never.
Emily asked me to participate in the 10-miler with her about 6 months before it happened and I gave her a hesitant 'yes.' While most people were training for the challenge, I shoved running to the back burner with the excuse, "I can always quit and catch the subway." I started "training" about a month before the race. I was surprised how easily my body adapted to running, and quickly realized that my stamina is better now than it was in high school... you know, when I was taking 5 dance classes a week and cheerleading for 2 hours every day after school.
In my junior year of high school, Kristin and I tried to train to run a mile for our presidential fitness testing in gym class. The fitness testing was insane. As a student, you were graded on how flexible you were, how many chin-ups and sit-ups you could do and how fast you could run a mile. The grading was not based on improvement, it was based on ability, and as one of the more 'in shape' students in the class, I couldn't even imagine what it would have been like to be an overweight or sedentary student. The mile grading scale went like this: under 8 minutes= A, 8-9 minutes= B, 9-10 minutes= C, 10-11 minutes= D, 11+ minutes= fail. I got a "C" and felt like someone had hit me with a bus when I was finished. If you had told me then that in 12 years I would do that x10, I would have peed myself laughing.
Before the Broad Street Run, I had been eating uncharacteristically well under the supervision of my hippie-holistic-chiropractic-dietitian-spirit guide. He had put me on a strict diet of no red meat, dairy, sugar, vinegar, coffee, alcohol, corn, or wheat. I lined up the first week of the cleanse with my period, so I had this amazing coffee and sugar withdrawal mixed with menstrual exhaustion and I was a miserable bitch. After that hump, I started to feel light and amazing. I carried over some of the dietary suggestions to my everyday life (it was a 30-day diet), and by the time the run came along, I had begun to re-introduce food items to my diet. For some months before the run, Emily and I had gotten into the habit of (in my case, erratically) attending spinning class at the 12th street gym. The intense cardio must have prepped me for the run, because the first time I practiced I ran 3.2 miles in 30 minutes and didn't have to stop to walk.
The Actual Run:
Standing at Broad and Olney, City Hall is nothing more than an imaginary dot behind gently rolling hills of concrete. Suddenly running for 2 hours solid sounded horrifying. The morning was hot and the Broad Street Run staff decided to open the fire hydrants along the route to cool us of as we rolled down the street in a river of bouncing Phillies caps. Emily and I ran for the first 4 miles solid and then lost each other. RAN FOR FOUR MILES SOLID. INSANE. Obviously, the run got harder and harder as the miles ticked away, and progress seemed a lot slower when I hit mile 7, but overall the experience was inspiring. 30,000 people moving together in relative synchrony. From Olney to the Naval Yard, spectators lined Broad Street with signs to encourage their friends and family members. I never thought I would be so excited to see Girard Ave.. Around mile 8 or 9, I started to feel really worn. Nearing the finish line my feet clumsily slapped the ground without rhythm, and I eeked out one more bit of energy to finish as strong as I could, crossing the line at 1 hour and 57 minutes. I felt very peaceful and happy for about 4 hours afterward, and around 6pm I experienced a depressing crash. It was kind of annoying that I am so emotionally sensitive that a natural endorphin rush can result in an emotional low. My joints ached that evening, and for the next 3 days my muscles ached... but that was it. My knees kept with me the whole time, only complaining the evening after I made them do twice what they had ever done in the past.
Needless to say, I haven't been back to the gym since... but I am going to try spinning tonight.

Kiki Smith: Sojourn, at the Brooklyn Museum

I "met" Kiki Smith in Philadelphia in 2007. She was here for an opening of an exhibition that featured her print work at the Fabric Workshop. I immediately recognized her from an Alex Katz painting that I had seen in W magazine. I began swatting at my companion, whispering raspily "that's Kiki Smith, that's Kiki Smith!!! What do I do???" when she touched my arm and said, "The other artist will be speaking in the next room in a few minutes." I turned and stared at her with wide eyes, saying nothing until she wrinkled one of her eyebrows and walked away from me. I'm smooth.

The point is, she is my absolute favorite artist. Her work is so diverse and inspiring- I frequently think of her when I feel like I am dipping my hand in too many pots and need more focus. I believe she chooses her media in the same way that I do; first the idea comes, and then you think of a way to translate that idea into something visual or experiential, hopefully finding the method which enables the most people to feel something of it... And then you have to go out and learn how to use that media. Her drawings are my favorite, but she also works in paper mache, cast plaster and metals, paint, wooden construction, and cut paper. It's freeing to see her work because you feel simultaneously stimulated by many different types of work, as well as unlimited in your own methods of communicating with the public.

I found out a few months ago that she was installing a solo exhibition on the fourth floor of the Brooklyn Museum where mostly feminist art resides, and I knew I needed to see it. Now that I have seen it I know I need to see it again. Dan and I decided to make a day of it and see Sojourn, and the William Kentridge show (as well as the Tim Burton show) in the MoMA. We started out in Brooklyn, which was beautiful- I had never actually been to that part of New York, and we spent a good long time taking in Sojourn, and happening upon Judy Chicago's Dinner Party, which I had never seen in person.

Sojourn was incredible. Smith chronicled the lives of a few women, and in her intimate, awkward way, displayed private moments, dealt with platonic love, death, and lonliness, and filled and utilized the space in her many rooms with greatness. Lightbulbs covered with glitter hung from the ceiling, beaming rays of wax paper and toothpicks. The image shown is my favorite moment from the show. There is the old woman with a young woman flying from her lap (which I loved only slightly more than the sexy lady in lingerie with a little dove perched on her hand). I'm not going to pretend I know what she was trying to express, but there was all at once, a serious sense of letting go, loss, and freedom. I especially loved the way her world surrounded me and held me. The good news is, it is up until September 12, and the Museum is right next door to the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens... I smell a girly day coming up!

I would encourage anyone to go see the show; it's endearing, inspiring, and heart-breaking.

The Kentridge show was also incredible. I have to go back to see it again, because it was extremely heavy and political, and there was a lot of video work, which I can only watch for so long without getting museum-head. I saw about 60% of it and needed a break, but what I saw was fantastic, visually stimulating, masterfully executed, and full of intense messages of loss, depression, and the emotional effects of racism. I need to go back to take in the other 40%.

The Tim Burton show was overcrowded and a little disappointing. It was more of a collection of his movie paraphernalia than an exhibition of his works. There were lots of dolls from his stop-motion movies that he did not create, lots of storyboards that he didn't draw, and interpretations of his drawings in the form of sculptures that he did not mold. If you love Tim Burton's movies, and know what you are going to see from the get-go, then go see it. If not, it's completely missable.

New Artist's Statement

I had to come up with something a little new because I am applying for a few exhibitions and I think my last artist's statement does not apply to my current body of work. Let me know what you think:

My current bodies of work deal with sequence and storytelling. Born from the stuff of illustration, these intricate drawings and embellished sculptures enable me to bring my dream life into the realm of the real. I am frequently inspired to give a visual voice to my own writings, inspired by my overactive nocturnal imagination, as well as the poems and short stories of friends and professionals. The result of this is sometimes embarrassing, often beautiful, and always uncomfortably intimate.

this is a holdover

i know it's been a while, and i plan to post some smarty-arty-farty writing soon. but for now, enjoy this; my favorite animated music video. xoxo, gretchen

2 girls with no sense of direction take a day trip to New York

Mariya and I planned to meet around 10:15 at 10th and Market to take the 10:30 Chinatown bus to New York for the day. I was a couple of minutes late, and we decided we were hungry, so we stopped into Wawa for macaroni and cheese and bottles of water before sitting on the 11:00 bus and waiting the 20 or so minutes for it to fill up and depart. The trip was relatively un-notable. There was a baby who made surprisingly little noise, a squeaky bar in the stowing compartment, and everyone slept in silence like a big group of old friends when a slumber party finally dies down.

Neither of us have ever navigated New York. Each of us were used to coming from Philly with someone who knew where they were going who would guide us around, neither of us independently paying attention to street names or whether we were walking North or West. When we got off the bus, we realized we didn't even really know what direction we should be walking in to get to Chelsea. Finding our way to things proved difficult. Remembering our way back was braggably easy. We asked strangers for directions, texted friends for advice and high-fived when we realized we were actually better at getting around than we had previously given ourselves credit for.

Chelsea,

Let's go join the circus.

You can take the trapeze.

I will tame the lion.

Walking around Chelsea was interesting. The first 10 galleries were awful and we were starting to collectively lose our interest in stopping in any more when we stumbled upon the work of that guy up there. Paolo Ventura. Actually it was that exact piece that made us stop and turn around to check out the Hasted Hunt Kraeutler Gallery. His work was delightful. He puts together these little models and photographs them. This exhibition was titled "Winter Stories" and included mostly circus themed scenes, or circus-y happenings. In one scene a man is being lifted off the ground by a cluster of balloons tied to his back. There was just something excited and pure and lovely about the little models which were available for viewing in a plexiglass case in the center of the gallery. In this gallery, there was also the work of photographer Edward Burtynsky- that guy that photographs industrial sites. His work was beautiful, too. And for me to say that means something- I am not typically partial to photographs.

We walked a little further and noticed a sign outside Kent Gallery that announced a show for Irving Petlin who was one of the critics at Pafa when Mariya and I were in grad school. We climbed the stairs and were excited to see his interesting and beautiful paintings that blended various styles and, to me, seemed obviously the work of someone who has been making art their whole adult life and is effortlessly cramming all of this information into a single picture plane. It was mature and lovely, and each piece had enough variety of subtle colors and textures to keep a girl interested for a significant amount of time. We walked toward the back of the gallery and noticed a group of important people in the backmost room, talking shop. I asked Mariya if one of them was Irving, and she said yes. At the receptionist's encouragement, we went in and said hello, and he was kind and happy to see us.

We ate in the garden section of an Italian restaurant between 24th and 25th street on 10th avenue.

We left Chelsea to look for KGB Bar in Greenwich Village.

Oh, the building numbers in New York, why don't you make any sense?!?!

We picked up the C subway to 4th Street and made our way east looking for KGB Bar at 85 East 4th Street, but got really confused when we found 86, and crossed the street to find 91, and nothing else but a Bank of America. Frustrated and walking around in circles, we finally crossed to the opposite block and found our destination. Seriously, New York City, 85 and 86 should be on the same block. It's confusing enough that you are mostly comprised of numbered streets and avenues, with random names strewn in between. Paris is the same way, 88 and 59 are across the street from each other.

So, we found the bar and went up to the second floor to find a charming red-draped room with a long bar at one end. I found my cousin Matthew, hugged, and exchanged introductions. Mariya and I found a place at the bar and got cozy with a drink. The bar was full of candlelight and it was warm. Before the poetry reading there was a buzz of conversation that kept itself at a reasonable volume. Shelly Reed got up to start the reading and Matthew was first in line. I was familiar with a few of the pieces from Pearslip, and he read a few poems that I hadn't heard before. His voice was soothing and had a beautiful performative quality about it. It was nice to hear a combination of familiar and new pieces. This was my first poetry reading ever. I did not know if I would enjoy it, or feel uncomfortable. Something about poetry sometimes makes me feel 17, like it's so personal I shouldn't be reading it. But the nature of the reading alleviated my discomfort, and I think I was able to diagnose the problem. When I read poetry, it is my voice in my head, my stories being told, and the subject matter is usually alien to my own life experiences. I have a hard time getting out of myself. The truly fantastic thing about a poetry reading was that I could let them be someone else's stories. I could hear them, instead of telling them to myself.

The combination of dim lighting, warmth, and collective silence in the room allowed me to leave the building, and my head behind.

Matthew finished and the crowd applauded emphatically.

Other readers followed. Elizabeth Rees's work was good, serious work, and was, at times a little merciless. Some of the stories were painful to listen to, and written in such a way that it took me a second to understand the actual events taking place. I picked up a copy of Elizabeth's chapbook for Nicole on my way out. Christina Olson's work was hilarious. I met her for a minute in the bathroom line only to find out that there wasn't actually a bathroom line and I had just sauntered up and joined in on a group conversation with a bunch of ladies I didn't know. The girls were gracious, giving me compliments on my boots and ushering me through to the ladies' room. Christina gave me a pin with a lobster on it that said her name, encouraging me to keep an eye out for her book that would be published in a few months. Damian Dressick read last and his work was really wonderful. He would quickly switch back and forth from funny to shocking to awkward, leading the listeners through a full range of emotions while never losing our trust. I am excited to see his work in the future. It smacks of McSweeney's in it's unexpected intimacy.

Mariya and I chatted with Matthew and his roommate for a few minutes before walking to the Chinatown bus to go home. We walked down Broadway to Division and Forsythe and wandered around a less-than comfortable chunk of Chinatown before finding our way to a couple of buses parked on the street near 88 East Broadway. Hear that, Mariya? 88 East Broadway. Now we can always get back when we take a day trip.

I won't get into the scene from Malibu's Most Wanted that unfolded a seat behind us on the way home, but I think if I heard the phrase "nah, son" one more time from one of those polish northeast Philly mama's boys, I was just going to lose it.

All in all, it was a stellar day.

TODO2010

It's my favorite time of year. Time to think about all of the awesome things that happened in 2009, as well as all of the hard lessons learned. New Years is becoming more and more my favorite holiday because, to me, it marks a point to make promises to yourself that can spark dramatic self-improvement. I love making lists and setting goals, and it has become a tradition for me to create an ambitious year's checklist to keep the momentum of the previous year going, and to mark turning points in my personal goals and priorities. Last year's list proved to be pretty challenging, and I completed only 11 of the 30 things I set out to do. Regardless, I may not have tried to do any of those things, had I not made the list in the first place. So, pat on the back for the 1/3 of the list which was completed, and let's make myself a promise to get a little closer to completing the list this year.
Problems with last year's list: 1. I only looked at it at the beginning and end of the year. This year's rough draft is written out in my checklist book, so I should not be able to ignore it for months at a time. 2. Some of the goals are a little ambitious while still remaining vague. "#23. complete 2 bodies of artwork" No, Gretchen, "complete all drawings for the 'I'm already married to my habits' series" is much more specific and therefore, more likely to be achieved. 3. dance classes are expensive and I was paying by the class.
So here goes, the New Year's Checklist 2010:
1. Read 1 book a month and post a blog to review
2. Complete 1 drawing a week and post image to myspace.com
3. Submit 1 short story to McSweeney's
4. Complete and update BirdQueenDesigns.com with links to purchase items
5. Apply to vend at ArtsFest (by Jan.29, 2010) and the ArtStar Craft Bazaar
6. Participate in 5 charity events (AIDSwalk: October 17, and others to be named later)
7. Obtain a balance of $5000.00 in savings account
8. Pay $5000.00 extra towards student loans
9. Clean up banking: get rid of M&T, clear CC debt
10. Go to the gym twice a week (starting in March)
11. Show artwork in NYC
12. Finish 'I'm Already Married to my Habits'
13. Get jewelry into a boutique in NYC
14. Finish 'In Loving Memory of Yellow'
15. Visit the West Coast
16. Take 1 week off of buying things per month
17. Cook 1 new meal a month
18. Have a me day once a month (massage, pedicure, facial, haircut, somethin like that)
19. Attend PB critiques at Pafa
20. Apply for 5 grants
21. Watch Art 21 Series
22. Subscribe to McSweeney's AND collect the entire 33 existing volumes
23. Go to NYC once a month
24. Visit the PMA once a month
25. Get a SOLO exhibition in a gallery in Philly.

The End! Keep on me about it!

29

I went to Borders Bookstore a few weeks ago (or a couple, or a month, you know i have a shitty sense of time), and was looking for books of short stories to add to my to-read list and asked for assistance. The customer service rep pointed me in the direction of the short story and essay anthologies in the literature section. I was looking for Dave Hickey, but was pretty open to anything. I found a beautiful hardcover book with creative cutouts on the front cover and a 60's-looking silkscreened image of 2 space dogs on the first page. I leafed through it and it was certainly beautiful. It was called "McSweeney's 29" which of course didn't mean anything to me until I noticed the 4 or 5 other books with McSweeney's written on their spines. Eack book looked completely different, all hardcover, all beautiful, but in various sizes and with completely contrasting designs and color schemes. Nothing connected them apart from the name, and I immediately wanted all of them. I settled on the space dogs book I had originally picked up and went to the register. I started reading it that night, crying by myself in my room at 2am during the first story by Brian Baise (which is a pretty big deal- I have never, to my memory, cried from something I have read before). The rest of the book did not disappoint, and though 2 or 3 weeks is not fast for most people to read a 178 page book it is a pretty big deal for me so back off.
At any rate, I have begun my collection, and am planning on having the whole lot AND a subscription by then end of 2010. That's one goal. The other McSweeney's-related goal for 2010 is to submit a short story for inclusion in one of their anthologies. Inspired by the book, I wrote a short story based on one of my dreams from this summer at 4am last week, and am considering it for submission. I also did a drawing (shown) based on this dream which will be featured in January's "Things we've made since September" show curated by Gabrielle Lavin. Stay tuned for opening dates and submission updates.