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.

Thankful

On my cab ride to 2300 market street today I caught a little NPR on the cabbie's radio and heard a man being interviewed by the dude that assists Terry Gross on Fresh Air. He was talking about "cultivating gratitude" and about the benefits of keeping a "gratitude journal" to remind yourself of all of the wonderful things you have in your life to appreciate. He claimed that keeping a journal like this helps people to recognize good things as they are happening in their lives, and helps them focus on the positives, rather than dwelling on the negatives. (He goes on to claim that people who keep gratitude journals and train themselves to think positively have experienced a decrease in blood pressure by about 10%).

In the spirit of this broadcast, in conjunction with my second-or-third-favorite holiday, I'd like to engage in a little exercise that takes this idea to heart.

#1. My Friends. I have always been lucky in my friends, and always surrounded myself with supportive, generous people who consistently demonstrate their excellence through acts of kindness and witty banter. My friends support me, laugh with me and challenge me, and I believe they have had a better-than-positive effect on my physical and psychological health. Emily keeps my stress levels at a minimum and shares so many interests with me that I rarely have to ask, "do you want to...?". Nicole keeps me creatively motivated and grounded, reminding me of real-time demands and the practicality of my own endeavors. Kristin keeps me smiling, Kathryn keeps me thinking, Jeanette keeps my ideals where they are and Jaimeson keeps me questioning and critiquing (I'm sure he will find this optimistic spiel vomit-inducing). This year, because of Didier, I was able to visit Paris, get my jewelry in a French boutique, and network with tons of international artists and gallerists. This has truly been a year of new opportunities.

#2. My Family. It's far too easy for me to under-appreciate my family. Visiting only 3 or 4 times a year for extended periods of time can make any group seem overwhelmingly insane. My parents and both brothers currently live in the same town, wearing on each others nerves for months on end between my visits, so I usually walk into arguments that have been going on for weeks. Regardless, as uncomfortable as 5 people sitting at a dining room table arguing about one of our cousin's facebook accounts can be, I have a delightful one-on-one relationship with each of the people in my immediate family, and I don't know if many people can say that. My parents have always been a good balance between friend and disciplinarian, they have never imposed their religious or political beliefs on us and always made me feel free to pursue any kind of career and education.

3. My Job. I consider myself extremely lucky to have landed a full-time gig during these rough economic times and try to keep other people in mind when applying for extra classes or hours. Teaching has also allowed for me to learn about the business side of art and craft. Without this teaching experience, I would not have taken my jewelry business as far as it has come. In the winter, I will be taking on an intern to help me with all of the extra work, and for Kathryn and Emily and Jeanette helping me out at Moore, I am extremely grateful. This job has also allowed me enough free time to work on my jewelry, my drawings, and to start painting again. I have learned so much in preparation for classes here. I was not necessarily expecting that when I got the job, but it is a delightful mingling of ideas and information; going from buying at the Mood to teaching at the Art Institute, to making jewelry and drawing and showing my work.

4. My Art. I am lucky in my artistic interests, they keep me busy and entertained. I have yet to get bored with making things, it takes up almost all of my free time, and makes me happy. I am lucky in my varied artistic interests. I need variety to keep me balanced. The book of stories, the illustrated short story, the jewelry, the dolls and the new painting projects have all contributed to what I percieve to be a healthy balance of creative interests. Everything influences everything else, and it all feeds me.

Feel free to post some stories about what you are thankful for. Even if you think it's cheezy, it might lower your blood pressure, or something.

Art is for Nerds

Recently I received an invitation to join the Bookish project from my fried Stephanie Beck, and since then books just seem to be appearing all mixed in with my art viewing. Text in artwork has made me nervous in the past, and I find, as I get older, I am starting to develop a taste for it. All of the books I have read by Haruki Murakami have fed my imagery and fueled my artistic practices, and even inspired me to take up the pen. My most recent drawings have been inspired by poetry, song lyrics and conversations about theories of existence.
I have been lucky that in recent months I have been exposed to some outstanding works that involve looking at literature not only as an inspirational tool, but also as a building material, a physical medium. Chava has constructed an entire playhouse (would she be offended to hear me call it a playhouse?) about 5 or 6 feet high, comprised entirely of the rolled pages of romance novels. I was instantly tickled when I saw the images of the finished piece. In my imagination, Chava has kept all of the adult-themed sections of the novels in a binder somewhere and only used the boring storyline to construct the awe-inspiring building. I just love the piece. It seems so serious and so time-consuming, and the material takes it to a place that is much more joyful and giggly. I had the pleasure of meeting Daniel Hoffman at Bambi Gallery at First Friday last weekend. We had a great conversation about utilizing new media, teaching, and creating, and when I got home I had the pleasure of attaching a name to some amazing artwork. The giant elephant head protectively hovering over a stack of love-worn books punched me in the heart. It is just the right amount of something I cannot describe.
There are few things I find more potent than the image of stacked books, piled written pages, or notebooks crammed with handwritten text. In high school and college I would frequently fill notebooks with class notes, and intentionally spill out into the margins so that every inch of page was bursting with words. I would fit two lines of text into one barred line of the paper, keeping my lettering small, and my pen pressure hard. I would segment the paper into little boxes or more organic shapes, separating ideas from drawings from the information from lectures. At the end of class, if I was without a friend in the classroom, I would run my fingers over the tortured paper. It was so satisfying to know that I had recorded so much, and at the same time, I couldn't bear to look at the pages again. Studying was a nightmare, pulling out the necessary bits and mining for questions that may or may not appear on final exams.
It was an obsessive habit, and I occasionally find myself falling back into it, sacrificing order for visual pleasure. There are few things I enjoy more than running my fingers over a handwritten page, and feeling the work that I have done.

What I read about when I read about running

I just finished reading Haruki Murakami's memoir "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running." I finished the book in 3 days. For those of you that know me well, this is a pretty big deal. I was not disappointed.

About a year ago I told Michael Moore (not THAT Michael Moore, a personally influential faculty member at Pafa) that I was interested in creating a book of short stories based off of my bizarre, visually striking dreams (see dream exerpts here), and he suggested that I look at Murakami's work. His books are fantastic, and are a perfect complement to the visual and verbal work that I am doing now. He seamlessly moves from realistic representation to fantasy, and is never predictable or melodramatic. It is all so human. I have read "The Elephant Vanishes" and "After the Quake," and I have many many more books on deck. I was trying to complete my collection while shopping on amazon the other day, and chose "Dance Dance Dance" and "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running," not realizing that it is a memoir, and not a book of short stories.

The exciting part is, I can really relate to his sentiments, and I can apply a lot of his discoveries to my own writing and artistic practices. He talks about running to achieve a meditative state, that the repetitive action creates a blank space in which the mind can find clarity. I respect his discipline and drive. He runs daily for about an hour and participates in one marathon per year. (I only run twice a week if I go to the gym. More if I am angry about something) He also describes his experience with running an ultramarathon (62 miles, sweet jesus). He spends little time talking about the process of writing, but he communicates very clearly the way that this physical practice has has influenced his strength and stamina as a writer.

In one chapter he talks about his bicycle which is inscribed with "18 til I die" the name of a Bryan Adams song. He explains that it is a joke because, "Being 18 til you die means you die when you're 18."

The whole book is written in this simple and honest and human way, explaining what the process of creating is like for Murakami. It is entirely relatable and I finished the book feeling struck by something profound. This 58-year-old man I don't know is supporting me in my actions as an artist. I have NEVER made this kind of an imaginary connection with an author before. He, by way of this book, is allowing me to do whatever I want to do. I feel more now than ever that I can show my work, I can write this book, I can choose to perform a live-action piece, I can become an athlete, and I don't have to choose any one of these things. It was the perfect time for this text in my life. I had been feeling, quite recently, that it has come time for me to focus on one thing and really try to excel at it. But it has become quite clear now that if I would like to excel on my terms, I will have to do all of these things. I am not only a writer, or a painter or a sculptor or a teacher. I am tiny pieces of all of these things in different percentages. I need all of these facets to be the person I am. It's funny how you can realize the same thing multiple times in one lifetime, and it's not for lack of memory. How many times must we be reminded of who we are? Or is it an infrequent occurance in an effort to keep that feeling sacred and special?

I am inspired.

Highly reccommended reading for anyone who writes or makes art. i definitely went for a jog afterward.