Shifting balance

I often remind my students that balance isn’t static. Many of us (myself included) would like to imagine that balance is a goal, an endgame, and that—whether standing on one leg, on our hands, on our toes, or even simply with both feet flat—if we work hard enough, we’ll at some point reach some magic moment of equilibrium, and never have to work at balance again.

Kakum National Park Canopy Walk, Ghana

Of course the reality is that balance is more like reaching for some point on the horizon. We can focus on that point, while we continue to ground, to expand, to adjust… One day we feel pretty steady and then the next, well, we can feel like a real mess again.  We may know that we are capable of being strong, steady beings, and yet on any given day, our minds wander, our legs wobble, and we lose compassion for ourselves as we begin to cling and accost ourselves for not being what we think is our “best.”

As I get older, and my body inevitably weaker, I acknowledge this internal narrative. I recognize how being able to step out of myself and observe may help me release a little bit of unconstructive anger or aggression. But I still feel what I feel, and sometimes the frustration, the disappointment, and even occasionally fear take hold, and I still let myself chase those emotions.

This happened for me in a big way last week in ballet class. I still go to ballet classes several days a week simply because it’s always been part of who I am and what makes me whole. I get depressed when I can’t go (even when I am otherwise off having a lot of fun!), and part of my efforts to maintain life Balance includes making time in my busy schedule of work, teaching, and travel, to make sure I have my ballet. Like many dancers, that means I go to class and try to do my best even when something hurts, which is pretty much always…

So last week, I felt a little twinge – something new, a calf muscle starting to pull. And as I kept coming back to class for Balance during a stressful week at work, a little voice told me to be careful. But I wanted, needed to dance, to feel whole. Not surprisingly, but quite suddenly, three classes later that twinge exploded into something more. I was afraid even to try to walk, and knew immediately that ballet class, as well as a more active yoga practice, are simply off the table for me for a few weeks. Even though my calf hurt, I found myself crying because it’s hard to know who I am without these things that I believe are so important to my Balance.

So important that I sometimes cling and fight and forget about making other parts of my life equally whole. And here it is, a lesson from the universe, a reminder not only that I need to give enough to my work to be able to love that a little as well (or at least like it, because I am indeed blessed to be working in a very interesting and rewarding field), but also that I need to give myself some opportunity to rest.

I am allowed to be a little teary that, between this injury and upcoming travel, I may be missing out on some of the favorite parts of my routine for the next month, or even longer. But something was out of balance, without my even knowing it, and perhaps I needed this reminder—needed to have no choice but to slow down, rest, give more attention to other things that bring me joy. I’ll be back in class when it’s time, but for now this is where I get to wobble and ground and expand and focus on today’s horizon.

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by Jennifer on February 3, 2013  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on February 3, 2013

http://terpsichorepauses.wordpress.com/2013/02/03/shifting-balance/

Class playlist 7/11/12

Song Artist Album Time
Dance of Shiva Karmacosmic Yoga Salon 5:57
Streamside The Album Leaf In a Safe Place 3:34
Latin Flavour Funkanzazenji Putumayo Presents: Latin Groove 3:04
Let Love Rule Lenny Kravitz Let Love Rule 5:42
Near The Black Forest Vanessa Daou Zipless 4:50
Angel (Lust) Joe Jackson, Suzanne Vega, Dawn Upshaw Heaven and Hell 7:11
By Your Side (Cottonbelly’s Fola Mix) [Edit] Sade Red Hot + Riot: The Music and Spirit of Fela Kuti 4:40
Black Night (DJ Baba G & Dan The Automator Remix) Badar Ali Kahn Putumayo Presents: Asian Groove 4:36
Home Depeche Mode The Singles 86>98 5:46
Signs Of Love Moby 18 4:26
Take My Hand Dido No Angel 6:43
Gatekeeper Feist Let It Die 2:16
Dear Prudence The Beatles The Beatles (White Album) [Disc 1] 3:56
La Valse D’Amélie [Piano Version] Amélie Soundtrack Amélie Soundtrack 2:39
A Warm Place Nine Inch Nails The Downward Spiral 3:23
On The Nature Of Daylight Max Richter The Blue Notebooks 6:12


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by Jennifer on July 11, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on July 11, 2012

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Teaching yoga like a lawyer?

There were many things I resisted when I first went to law school, although it ultimately put me on a fascinating and rewarding, if not altogether conventional, career path that supports women’s rights, development, and learning programs. Looking back, I even see the groundwork it laid in my decision to become a yoga teacher: I first heard, during a moot court practice (known for 1Ls’ manifestation of insecurity with either fully bared rhetorical fangs or complete meltdowns), that my “argument” was so calmly delivered that, to my surprise, I sounded like a yoga teacher. My first experience in a community activism project in sub-Saharan Africa made me recognize I had a few more of my mother’s “teacher genes” than I realized, and that I in fact had a passion for adult learning and empowerment methodologies. And when—still not quite knowing what to with myself after I graduated, but that I had no interest in working for a law firm—I found myself struggling to communicate and connect with a group of Berber artisans in the rural, High Atlas mountains of Morocco, I started practicing yoga with them, watching these incredibly strong women pull off amazing feats, and even greet me by telling me that they were “exercising” at home now and their bellies were getting smaller. There is no easy translation of “downward dog” into Tamazight, but I made do, and in the end learned more than I realized.

Of course I learned more than I realized in law school as well (and probably have forgotten twice as much!). One of my biggest points of resistance, particularly during my first year, was the “CRAC” model of legal writing: Conclusion, Rule, Analysis, Conclusion. Boring, choppy stuff. No drama. Yawn. You see, I love writing in circles, building up, diverting, keeping the reader guessing about what grand conclusion I am leading up to, while I continue to weave my tapestry of thoughts. That said, every now and then I come across an old college paper—usually something I thought was brilliant at the time—that 15+ years later and with a Harvard Law degree under my belt, I cannot begin to understand. (Never mind that I wrote it!) I still get feedback on my professional writing that I have a bizarre capacity for writing sentences that should, instead, be paragraphs, but which are nevertheless grammatically correct. And I think back to law school, and realize there was something to the idea of simplicity: if you make it too hard for people to read your work (or listen to you), then they won’t! Even those who are most motivated to hear what you have to share will become frustrated, perhaps even blame themselves, and pass over it superficially if not altogether give up.

When I began my formal yoga teacher training, despite years of experience in practice (and a body awareness bolstered by just as many years of formal dance training), I was a little distressed to discover that my experience in practice and facility with words in other contexts did not automatically merge into any capacity for clarity in my languaging as a teacher. Indeed, there were and continue to be days that I don’t feel like I am able to speak to my students any more clearly than I did when I was trying to teach in Tamazight (and, embarrassingly, I far too frequently forget the names of simple body parts even in English)! As I began to teach, I observed (usually with the best of humor) how wrong things can go if I don’t keep things simple and clear. Importantly, I have learned that what resonates for me as a student is also least likely to cause trouble when I teach: as we move through various sequences, I tell the class where I am taking them with each posture, and then tell them how to get there. So here I am using CRAC when I teach!

No matter how much we resist, life gives us the lessons we need, sometimes unexpected foundations for paths not yet contemplated… I am not a great lawyer, but I am constantly discovering the many ways in which law school taught me how to teach.

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by Jennifer on June 1, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on June 1, 2012

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Apollo’s Angels: On the Ebb and Flow, and Future of an Art Form

Far too long in coming, my much abbreviated thoughts on Apollo’s Angels, cross-posted at Goodreads. It left me with much to chew on, and to explore in more detail, hopefully, in future posts:

This book offers a rich historical context for the evolution of ballet – both in choreography and technique. Of course I struggled most with the era in which I have the least expertise (and to which Homans has dedicated considerable research) – early ballet and the European courts. Interestingly, the voice becomes increasingly subjective, and at times imbalanced as the book progresses, just as the subject matter became more accessible to me, so I found myself really wanting to engage with its many layers – appreciating its depth in some spots, and profoundly aware of lapses in others.

The book of course features many pivotal figures in the history of ballet, but I wonder if Homans has given them different weight, at times, based on her own interests and expertise as much as on their relative contributions. For example, the extensive and reverential analysis of everything that Balanchine did to advance and integrate the art form in the 20th century is warranted, informative, and beautifully written, but I was also disappointed to see such an overt dismissal of other choreographers, particularly those whose work emerged in continental Europe, who also continue to influence new directions (and occasional missteps) in contemporary ballet.

Ultimately, I felt Homans boxed herself into the need to pare this history down to a single (flawed) thesis: that ballet can evolve no further. As an avid audience member of both ballet and other forms of contemporary dance, I share her disappointment, perhaps too frequently, with flat performances and uninspired new choreography. That said, I also disagree with the Epilogue’s suggestion that such disappointments are so specific to our current era or to the loosening of geographic barriers and strong national identities in the art form. If anything, the geographic cross-pollination of technique and ideas, as well as the misfires and faltering she describes in the oeuvres of many of the great choreographers and companies highlighted throughout the book should serve as evidence that the process of creation and artistic innovation is inevitably a bit of a roller coaster, but we should never consider it over.

This history is hardly exhaustive (nor could it be), though I cannot fault the author for letting her most beautiful writing and natural voice flow most easily when she is clearly discussing work that she knows and admires best. There is indeed much to be learned from this book, but happily, even more out there to take in – it doesn’t end with this!

*        *        *

And, simply because I haven’t taken the opportunity to share one of my favorite dance videos in quite a while, this is a perfect excuse to repost an example of the great places ballet continues to reach, with Alina Cojocaru (noted by Homans as an exception among what she considers to be a current crop of two-dimensional performers) working her magic in Wayne MacGregor’s breathtaking Chroma:

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by Jennifer on March 22, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on March 22, 2012

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Lean on Me

Zoja Trofimiuk, glass panel, 2001, from TWO FAIR LADIES series, PAS de DEUX, via Wikimedia Commons

In my emerging life as a yoga teacher, I very much enjoy assisting classes with some of my mentors at Tranquil Space in Washington, DC. This is a wonderful way to focus on the physical side of teaching, and as someone who has been the recipient of both very bad assists—often by teachers who spot the dancer in me and try to force me into some crazy overstretched pose rather than, well, assist me in finding it—as well as many amazing ones (particularly at Tranquil Space, which is one of the reasons I completed my RYT-200 certification there), I love this opportunity to hone these skills and connect with yogis bringing a range of experience to their mats.

My type-A ballet upbringing, which was with me on my own mat for the first decade of my yoga practice (and still creeps in a bit some days), makes me a stickler for alignment, and I still work on not overwhelming students with too many alignment-motivated tweaks, pokes, and tugs. But as one of my mentors puts it, assisting—particularly in vinyasa practice—can be like a bit of a dance with the student, and more and more I find both the sense of connection and support, when it works, often makes me think of partnering. With that sense, one of my goals when assisting students is to provide that same sense of stabilization and grounding that allows students to find an opening to explore alignment.

As with, for example, a supported arabesque, the real strength is with the person executing the pose, but psychologically, she feels so much more secure with a well-placed hand or hip support, that suddenly she blossoms. This is especially evident in twisting postures and standing balances, and when it works, the opening, the grounding, the alignment, is evident not only in the yogi’s body, but also in her face, and I take such joy in seeing someone shine like that. It is one of the reasons I decided to teach, because, in my own dancing and yoga practice, I know there is nothing quite like really feeling something click and work in a new way—in knowing without seeing how beautiful the line can become…

I write this because, after one of those classes this weekend, when every student seemed so grounded on the mat, and when every assist I delivered seemed to be received with such trust (which is not always the case!), someone came to me, beaming, after class about her trikonasana, and I knew it, because I was there with her. Is it selfish of me, to want to be this type of ‘dancing partner’ in someone else’s practice?

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by Jennifer on February 26, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on February 26, 2012

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‘Pina’ and the aging dancer

After what seemed like an interminable wait following its initial European release, and all the excerpts I could hunt down online in the interim, Wim Wenders’ beautiful, reverent ‘Pina’ finally made it to the DC area a week ago. Bausch has always been in a league of her own—making the work of other significant and brilliant choreographers appear almost pedestrian in comparison.  Her work is consumed with with a rare combination of energy, emotion, and stunning visual composition. While she is not always accessible for the dance neophyte or for those whose tastes lean toward the more purely classical, I have found that some of the most discerning (picky?) contemporary dancers and choreographers I know will label her as among the few artists who truly have broken new ground.

Despite my high expectations and inability to resist a few sneak peeks, the film did not disappoint. A combination of remembrances and vignettes, poignantly compiled in light of Bausch’s unexpected illness and death just prior to filming, the film also delved deeply into the development and presentation of several major works.  What I didn’t expect was a core theme that dominated some of the works shown as well as the undercurrents of the film itself: that the execution of great dance works is not for the young alone. In fact, more than simple “maturity”—which every “older” dancer wishes he or she could have combined with a younger body—the sheer physical power of Bausch’s dancers is overwhelming.

From the opening scenes, depicting portions of Bausch’s “Le Sacre du printemps,” which combines ominous emotional moments with explosions of raw energy, it is clear that these dancers—many of whom would be considered past their prime in most circles—possess a conditioning and energy both at a basic, physical level, as well as something transcending their bodies, that far exceeds the strength of many 20-ish dancers who we would think of as being at their peak. I hardly qualify as “young” in the dance world, but consider myself reasonably fit and always wanting to move just a little bit more than what I am given in class. But two minutes of any of this choreography would without a doubt leave me on the floor in a heap.

In other parts of the film, we see the issue of aging addressed more directly. A 40-ish dancer who calls herself “old” is among several interviewees who consider themselves stronger and more capable for their years. We spend extensive time with the piece  ”Kontakthof,” which asks us to confront aging head on, as these excerpts emphasize three different casts of three different generations, and reminds us of a certain universality of experience that is not lost with the changes of time.

And of course the theme of mortality, with Bausch’s own life, artistry, dancing, and death, permeates the film. We see images of her dancing from time to time, always uniquely emotive and beautiful. We hear her describe her struggle to recreate her role in “Café Müller.” But that struggle is not in the physicality, but in the “feeling” of the role, as she eventually relearns where her gaze must remain, behind closed eyelids, in order to feel the role in its fullest.

Importantly, to Bausch’s credit as an artist and coach, so many of the dancers shared the simple, psychologically evocative feedback they received from Bausch in rehearsal, which reflected a form of servant leadership and no doubt further cultivated a sense of ownership, autonomy, and strength that I can only assume led to the longevity of so many dancers with the company…

I also learned that perhaps all I need is a little raw meat in order, at last, to get those pointe shoes on again!

*          *          *

There are of course other examples of strong, “older dancers”—Jiří Kylián’s Nederlands Dans Theater III, comprised of dancers over 40, of course comes to mind, although they have sadly been unable to maintain consistent funding.

And, to note one last treasure I discovered not long ago, an example of pure youth and performance, regardless of years, can be found in the documentary ‘Ballets Russes,’ which follows the company’s (and eventually companies’) progression and eventual dissolution following the Diaghilev years. One of the “baby ballerinas” recruited by George Balanchine, who was the first artistic successor in the company’s new incarnation, was Nathalie Krassovska. We see her in the film, during a company reunion when she must have been well into her 80s, playing in the studio, and depicting as girlish and innocent a Giselle as I have ever seen. I had never known of her, and she died in 2005, long before I saw the documentary, but the joy she gave me in that one moment of film was another reminder that a true dancer knows no age.

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by Jennifer on February 11, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on February 11, 2012

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Reflections from a reformed college dancer

It may have taken me years to absorb, but I realize now that the slow transition away from “serious” (?) dancing that I experienced thanks to a fairly strong college program at Duke University (in more recent years made stronger with the option of a full dance major, although I agree with Wendy Perron, linked below, that I am not sure this is meaningful for truly talented and driven ballet dancers who, to have a full career, need to be on a dedicated path before the age of 20), has probably made me love ballet—again as a (recreational) dancer and far more strongly as an audience member—far more than I ever would have expected here in the slightly northern end of my 30s.

Wendy Perron’s reflection on the role of ballet in colleges struck a cord with me, not because I shared her sense of envy for the opportunities afforded college dancers today. Not quite of Perron’s generation, as a mediocre, non-career-track ballet dancer, I apparently had a few more opportunities to dance and perform into my early twenties. Indeed, more than I had expected. I began my freshman year with the plan to reduce my dancing hours from 20 hours/week (40 in the summers) to just one. Not surprisingly, this initially was quite evident in my weight and technique. Until then, like many teenagers, I had no idea, how important the consistent discipline and practice really had been for me!

However, I quickly realized, with opportunities for more classes and to stay onstage, that I didn’t quite know who else I was. And frankly, the friends I started making in ballet class and rehearsal were far more interesting and fun than what I saw in the sorority culture that, despite early curiosity about participating in rush, just didn’t interest me. I also found some colleagues who had come in with more professional experience, now returning for a focus on education. And between them, and others like me who had a solid discipline and training, found that some of our university outreach and support of a local youth company further bolstered the training and discipline of those other, younger dancers, by example.

I look back not with the skepticism or envy Perron expresses toward college dancers today, but certainly the same knowledge that going to ballet class, or even joining a small local or university-based company and spending a few more years on stage, solidifies a personal understanding that a ballet career is not meant to be.

For me, I had come to terms with this from the beginning—loving ballet, but never seeing myself being good enough to pursue a career (only in hindsight, and seeing how much hard work and practice have also factored in allowing for some sort of career for dancers of moderate talent, have I wondered if this thinking diminished my willingness to work or to want… but I don’t reflect on this with a sense of missed opportunity most of the time). What I did gain was an understanding that this was part of my identity (unfortunately, also manifest in some disordered eating for a couple of years, long after the stereotypical wispy “ballet body” could have made a difference in my career path), and it put me on a path to nonprofit arts/dance administration, studies in art history, and ultimately becoming an avid modern-dance-goer (alas, unlike Perron, I could never embrace that kinesthetic shift in my own body), yogini, and (10 years later) adult ballet student.

So as an adult ballet lover, who certainly experienced a few more bumps in my love and practice as I moved into adulthood, I nevertheless look back and am grateful that a seed was planted during my university years that enabled me to resist, in time, a perform-or-nothing attitude toward the art of ballet that diminishes that love in so many who were blessed with performance careers.

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by Jennifer on January 23, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on January 23, 2012

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Les Saisons Russes

Following my excitement yesterday, on the whole I would say the performance did not disappoint, despite a few glitches (most notably an early curtain at the end of Firebird!).

Perhaps my most pleasant surprise came at the beginning, with an absolutely lovely performance of Chopiniana. I suppose that, in part, my expectations of a sleepy ballet, not worthy of the technical prowess and showmanship I normally want to see from the big Russian companies, stems from its overexposure as an “easy” ballet among many young, amateur companies. And while I may have stifled a sympathetic yawn in solidarity with the corps, the Mariinsky nevertheless demonstrated all that this ballet can and should be — positively ethereal!

Petushkova was our Firebird, and again, in her power and presence just blew me away. (In fact, she seemed nearly to overwhelm our Ivan-Tsarevich, but then, perhaps that’s not so inconsistent with the story!) Petushkova seems frequently featured, but not moving up the promotional ladder… and this year, as I sat a little closer to the stage, I considered that she doesn’t quite have the look of her colleagues. Something in her dancing seems far more American to me…

Scheheraazade was the unfortunate weak point of the evening. As with Firebird, the sets and costumes were vibrant and stunning, and the violin solo made me melt. But the dancers appeared not at all interested in what they were doing, and our Golden Slave, Anton Korsakov, delivered a technically clean performance that was otherwise somehow vacillating emotionally between apathy and anger. I can’t remember the last time I saw so many people on stage appearing so unhappy to be having a party… If I were to give them unnecessary credit, I’d say their characters possessed some premonition of the carnage that would follow.

In any case, it was a lovely evening, but I think I am looking forward to a more traditional program next year.

 

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by Jennifer on January 21, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on January 21, 2012

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Fokine Revisited

After much too long of a hiatus as an audience member and would-be groupie, I am looking forward to trekking back to Kennedy Center this evening for the Mariinsky’s “Les Saisons Russes” program.

Ironically, in a decision to locate a little more work-life balance, I have put myself in a position where the “life” side of that is a quite a bit harder to finance, now that I have the time. While I vigorously work to relocate that balance that allows me to support all of my passions, I have been catching up on a bit of delinquent reading and activities, including my embarrassingly stalled completion of 2010’s Apollo’s Angels by Jennifer Homans (ok, it’s not that I don’t read with a busy work life, but I also got stuck with the French court era in the early part of the book… not at all the part of ballet I cling to or love, despite its historical import).

In any event, I was thrilled with the timing of this program, having just finished reading about the Ballets Russes in Homans’ book. And of course, what makes this Mariinsky program particularly interesting is that Fokine’s choreography represents something more than purely Mariinsky, but rather something transformative, and significant for ballet’s transition into the twentieth century and all that I have come to love not as a dancer, but as an audience member and supporter of modern dance and ballet alike.

While I thoroughly enjoy Firebird and am struggling to remember if I have ever even seen Scheherazade live (with apologies—there was a time when I could hardly bear attending ballet if I wasn’t dancing), I am particularly interested in Chopiniana (or Les Sylphides, as we American-trained dancers think of it). Once upon a time, I considered it a boring ballet of Romantic influence, and I mainly remember kneeling in the back, as a sort of balletic wallpaper, trying to stave off the giggles with a colleague of mine. Now, I embrace its subtlety, acknowledging how much I absorbed physically and mentally as a result of its learning and performance—the refinement of gesture and upper body that is not at all what I think of now in connection with the showmanship, technique, and power I relate to the great Russian companies.  However, I consider that last year I was moved to tears by Anastasia Petushkova’s second Act entrance—simple bourrés—as Myrthe in Giselle. Which makes me think that tonight will be something special as well…


Will tonight’s experience be about kinesthetic empathy or even awe for technical showmanship? Doubtful. But a merging of what I love about this art form as a former bunhead turned modern dance administrator and amateur art historian? Perhaps. And a different Mariinsky  from that which has come to be such a treat for me as I venture to their performances here in DC.

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by Jennifer on January 20, 2012  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on January 20, 2012

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Rediscovering Rembrandt, but which one?

Rembrandt van Rijn, Self-Portrait (Study in a Mirror), circa 1629. The Indianapolis Museum of Art, The Clowes Fund Collection

Whenever I visit my family in North Carolina, one of my biggest treats is to plug back into the ever-deepening cultural scene in the RTP area. Among my favorite organizations and venues are the obvious: the Carolina Theatre in Durham, the Carolina Ballet (my uncontrollable critical eye – and mouth – notwithstanding, this is a quality company with marketing savvy that has done wonders to cultivate a dedicated ballet audience in the area), and the recently expanded North Carolina Museum of Art.

No, the Triangle Area is no New York, or even DC (although rapidly approaching the latter). I grew up with none of the above treats save the NCMA (which was solid, and a fond memory for school field trips and museum tours, even in French!), albeit not in its current state. More than its core collection, which I remember from my youth, the NCMA now prompts a great deal of traffic with various “blockbuster,” accessible special exhibitions, which hopefully bring attention to other gifted, if less famous, artists highlighted in other exhibitions.

This week, I went to the NCMA’s current blockbuster, “Rembrandt in America,” organized in cooperation with the Cleveland Museum of Art and Minneapolis Institute of Arts. I wasn’t sure what to expect beyond big crowds owing to the famous name. For one thing, my appreciation for northern European art didn’t happen for a good ten years after I cultivated my initial modern and post-modern tastes (eventually, I realized that all art represents a series of innovations – and even those that weren’t “new” within the last 150 years are still no less daring, beautiful, or brilliant to a contemporary viewer). Also, however, I wondered how a decent representation of Rembrandt’s work could be amassed by these mid-sized American museums.

Well, kudos to the curators for not only tackling this potential limitation head-on in their concept, but also taking the opportunity to craft a unique and accessible educational moment for its substantial audience. This thoughtful exhibition walked viewers through Rembrandt’s personal history and stylistic evolution while deconstructing the theories and conventions informing American collectors and their once generous attributions to the early master. The audience is actively invited to examine each painting for evidence of Rembrandt’s style, his workshop, his touch, or his full investment. For the truly engaged, it became a bit of a game. The advanced technology used to help assess provenance today was presented at the end – almost an afterthought. And rightfully so, because while technology can certainly eliminate some forgeries or false attributions, it often remains inconclusive, even in partnership with an expert eye.

Many of the ideas presented were not necessarily new, even for those of us who admit to remaining at the level of dilettante art historian. But what made me walk away feeling thrilled with the experience, despite the holiday crowds, was the fact that I and my father (attached to the other end of my downloaded audio tour, and – to me – the true litmus test for whether an art-going experience is sufficiently engaging, especially in a crowd!) walked through it talking about the details of the work, and coming to an understanding that perhaps attribution isn’t such an all-or-nothing endeavor. Those American collectors may have been “wrong” in some instances, but they were usually right to have seen something.

Of course I couldn’t resist the catalogue…

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by Jennifer on December 30, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Jennifer on December 30, 2011

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