The Runner

The Runner 7/25/10

All my life I’ve been a runner. My first stint as a runner was as a child running away from a chaotic home. Then I ran relay races in grade school. As a pre-teen, I was a star short-distancer, running 100 yard dashes until I hit puberty, the turning point to an inconvenient truth: I was not built for competitive sports. Then I noticed another kind of running. It was also highly competitive; the kind of running that makes some people insanely happy and others just insane. Running to keep up with the you-know-who’s made me insanely insane. By then I was living near-enough-but-not-next-to Central Park, where jogging became the obvious escape. Solo running saved me until my knees and feet rebelled.

Lately I notice I am running again. This time, information is the culprit. There is simply too much of it, and I find myself alternately running to keep up and running to get away. What has this age of information done to me? Am I the only one to feel this way? Based on the proliferation of Blackberries and iPhones, I’d have to say, “let’s be honest.”

I recently, embarrassingly, had to defend myself from the taunts of my son who couldn’t believe (I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud) I didn’t know where the World Cup was played. “How could you miss it, mom? Are you living under a rock?”  Boy, did I feel stupid! I simply (and defensively) explained that I had to carefully choose how I spend my time. Obviously, he and I did not share the same interest in the World Cup. “But really, mom, how could you not know?” Is it any wonder I feel I must be totally-informed-about-everything-all-the-time?

While my escapes afford me the time to write, I wonder how can I write if I am not informed? Which things do I need to be informed about in order not to sound like an ignoramus? After all, one cannot possibly be informed about everything, can one?

These are the questions that plague me at 3AM. These are the ideas that interrupt me as I go through my day, weighing the importance of the various things demanding my attention. These are the things that keep me running. I am a runner, chasing my tail. Am I the only one to feel this way?

The Idealist

The Idealist 7/20/10 Facebook tells me I have 209 friends. Pretty shabby, I’d say, in this most inventive of competitive venues. I am neither proud nor ashamed. I find it remarkable that I, one step removed from a Luddite, can claim that many friends via a computer connection. Were it  not for the gals at the cell, I doubt I’d have a Facebook page, let alone friends!

Geni (http://www.geni.com/home) tells me I have 1035 relatives in my family. I find this startling! But it’s not because my extended family is so large. I am startled by technology that allows us to see how we are all linked. In this case, I think computers serve us, rather than enslave us.

I find it mind- boggling that I have relatives in Israel who are related to Ethiopians who are related to Arabs. I have relatives in Iran who are related to Muslems who could be related to members of Al-Qaida. This makes me hopeful! It makes me hopeful, despite my inner pessimist, because I think if people can see how they are connected, maybe my inner idealist can someday be vindicated. For too many years I have suffered the indignity of being idealistic, as if believing that humans can evolve to live in peaceful coexistence is just an infantile wish.

Okay, well maybe it is. But I am not alone. Think John Lennon. Martin Luther. Gandhi. Okay, well maybe I am alone.

Still… When I think about the paternalistic powers that rule, I think those powers do not believe in the capacity for human spiritual evolution because they do not possess the capacity to open to new ways of being. I see them and us. I see leaders who are stuck, resisting spiritual growth, and consequently leading us according to an outdated paradigm. What exactly is it that keeps us peaceniks in our place? Maybe, in my simplistic, idealistic mind, I can only imagine a world of people who can change things, themselves, and the world through communication. But that’s just me. Am I a pessimist, optimist, or an idealist? Maybe I’m just an old deluded hippy.

My inner pessimist sees a perpetration of hateful action. I wonder, how does strong-arming others to your will honor the humanity in the Other? My inner idealist believes in spiritual evolution. Will those of us who believe in a peaceful way forever be strong-armed into submission? I am an idealist who believes that humans can participate in the creation of a better world through awareness, understanding and connection.

Maybe Facebook and Geni are onto something.

Yikes!

YIKES!!!

I didn't mean to start a war! All you optimists have chewed me down. Especially my husband. Calm down! All I'm sayin', we see the same thing differently. Because I am pessimistic by nature, I think that is what drives me to "fix" things. This is certainly not to say optimists are not fixers! I do, however, think optimists tend to be more accepting of an imperfect world.

Egads. Maybe optimism and pessimism have nothing to do with activism. Maybe there is no divide. Just like the glass half full/half empty. There is no difference. It is all in our perception.

Hot Stuff

Hot Stuff 7/18/10 Everyone is talking about the summer heat wave, as if it is something that will pass. I hate to be pessimistic. I prefer to think of myself as someone who is hopeful. A hopeful pessimist. To all you optimists, I pose this question: do you think the problem of global climate change, documented to be caused by human activity, is going to vanish without human intervention?

I have often wondered about optimism and pessimism and the idea of the glass half full, half empty. As an avowed pessimist, I tend to look at the dark side of things and curse my nature. Why can’t I see the good in things? Why am I the arbiter of the dire? Is this a curse?

Or, could this propensity be a blessing in disguise? If it weren’t for the worrier, the pessimist, the kvetch in me, I would probably never think about the question of climate change. I might, for instance, be like, say a George Bush or a Rush Limbaugh (both optimistically ignorant) and be able to brush off the reality of these summer warming trends while basking in the glory of a let’s live for today, God is in control philosophy. Or if I were a Sarah Palin (heaven forbid), I might be inclined towards greater population growth, abortion be damned, at any cost. Whatever happened to ZPG?

I am surely blessed because I know there are many, like me, who stir up enough trouble to keep the earth spinning. We look at an imperfect world and ask “How can I make it a better place?” I am pretty sure that if we leave the world in the hands of the cockeyed optimist, we’ll have a pretty good time. We won’t worry about our deficit, oil spills (“dig, baby, dig”), or health care. We won’t worry, because they don’t worry. In fact, if we pessimists stop trying to fix things, I’m pretty sure there will be nothing left to worry about.

A Tale of Two Freuds

A Tale of Two Freuds 6/27/10When we stumbled into the recent Lucian Freud exhibit at the Pompidou, it induced in me a moment of consolidation. The exhibit entitled L’Atelier casts a profoundly penetrating eye on “interiors” and “reflections.” After a lifetime of preoccupation with art and psychology, I discovered a vivid display of their intersection: art as psychology, psychology as art.

Lucian’s overtly grand-scale nudes and personal quotes naturally brought to mind the great Sigmund Freud, his grandfather. Stated Lucian, “I work from people that interest me and that I care about, in rooms that I know.” Sigmund, too, cared for interesting people in familiar rooms. I was suddenly struck by the notion of Sigmund using his own monumental imagination as a canvas for revolutionary ideas. No doubt his thinking influenced Lucian in art and ideas. His radical pronouncements also provided a foundation for thought, perhaps even a way of life, for many of my generation. Consider the title of Lucian’s self-portrait, “Interior with Hand Mirror” and its implications both as mirroring and self-awareness, and for intensity of scrutiny. Lucian Freud’s paintings are like journeys through the minds of his subjects. Isn’t that what Sigmund was attempting with his patients as well; to discover, uncover, explore and perhaps invent the secret of the self? The two Freuds evoked a confluence of meaning satisfying my intellect as deeply as my emotional experience of Lucian’s paintings, art at large, my own analysis.

I see the two Masters Freud as master plumbers. For many, the 70’s were about plumbing the interior. We did it with everything. We did it with sex, drugs, rock and roll, psychology and art. For others, I think these kinds of explorations were as untenable as a transition from the figurative to the abstract in art. And still there are those who maintain that art should remain an emotional experience, not one subject to analysis. I am journeying towards the abstract, but not without my need to dissect.

In pictures larger than life, Lucian Freud shows us how curiously alike we all are: naked and invulnerable, naked and frail, naked in all our permutations from the plain to the pretty, trying, oh so desperately, to feel comfortable in our skins. Is that different from what Sigmund Freud was illuminating for us?

Guppies IV: Sentient Beings

Of Guppies, Big Fish and Ponds, Large and Small

IV. Sentient Beings

For those sentient beings who may be following my thoughts about Big Fish and Guppies, I had started reading that awe-inspiring but ultimately unreadable “Theory of the Leisure Class” by Thorstein Veblen. OY! After the ol’ college try, the best I could do was to follow some highlights, underlined by my father so many years ago. In so doing, I got a strong sense of why I have, as one critic observed, “made a career of skewering the rich.”

Let me clear something up. I don’t hate the leisure class. Not the whole class. Just some of its members. To be honest, what gets me is the three E’s: Ego, Elitism, Entitlement. What I mean is those individuals, who through noeffort or fault of their own acquire great wealth and/or status, yet demonstrate a blatant disregard for those who are less fortunate or “gifted.” No doubt, there is a pathological socio-economic system which allows, perhaps encourages such behavior. And, no doubt there will always be BIG FISH and guppies. I’m not against free enterprise, but I’m not a big fan of greed and excess, either.

What I’m talking about is very simple. Honestly? I’m so sick of the excess I see; the gains of the rich and famous through nepotism and meritless-ocracy, the Wall Street  debauchery not withstanding. I suppose that is why shows like American Idol have succeeded. But shouldn’t we question the value in that? What does it say about us when we create a desire for everyone to become an American Idol? What happened to just becoming? When did it stop being valuable to just be a sentient being?

We all want. That is human nature. I am as guilty of wanting as anyone. When I traveled to India I saw unspeakable poverty. I saw unspeakable wealth as well. I am sure there is enough of everything on this planet to go around(…except maybe oil, and now look what we’ve done…) Enough so that each sentient human can live a reasonably comfortable existence.

We’ve seen the fall of Socialism, Communism, and now Capitalism. I simply do not understand why we don’t value sentient beings more than money and the havoc it wreaks on humankind.

If you are concerned as I am about our future, there is a very comprehensible and comprehensive discussion of Chris

Martenson’s Three E’s: Economy, Energy, Environment

http://www.chrismartenson.com/

Generation Generic

Generation GenericAs the world shrinks and every place starts to look more and more like everyplace, it is heartening to see how many new ideas are coming from a generation that was raised in Shopping Malls and on Starbucks. Maybe the disappearance of the Mom and Pop Shop has shaped the creative urges of Generation Generic (Gen Gen?). Judging by the numbers of requests we get on a daily basis, I’m pretty much convinced of the deep longing for something that’s been lost, both by artists and by patrons.

Please take note: Remment Lucas Koolhaas”…the generic city, the general urban condition, is happening everywhere, and just the fact that it occurs in such enormous quantities must mean that it's habitable. Architecture can't do anything that the culture doesn't. We all complain that we are confronted by urban environments that are completely similar. We say we want to create beauty, identity, quality, singularity. And yet, maybe in truth these cities that we have are desired. Maybe their very characterlessness provides the best context for living." —interview in Wired 4.07, July 1996

I couldn’t agree less. Little boxes have taken on new proportions in every sense. Much as I admire the impressive slivers of glass and other fanciful new architecture, my heart gravitates to brownstone and brick, the little boxes of a lost era. I ache for grass, trees, wooden floors and brick chimneys. I want to live with the kinds of precious things that feel beautiful. I am certain that characterlessness does not provide the best context for living. That is simply an excuse to create soulless art, a reflection of a soulless culture. Perhaps characterlessness makes us want to create that which makes us feel. I’m holding on to the hope that there are still soul-seeking neighbors who feel as I do… we need to provide spaces that nurture us.

Could it be that the more things stay the same, the more they change?

The Speigel Connection

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Okay, so this is a kinda funny story. To me, anyway. Which isn't saying much, 'cause I'm a person who laughs at my own jokes. I really don't mind, though. I care mostly about keeping myself entertained. In life. Which is why I want to tell this story.

Spike Jonze is interesting. I know, I know you're saying "interesting? "  So, if you wanna tune out, so be it. Still, when I saw the NYT Mag cover page of Spike Jonze, I was drawn in because he looked interesting and I love his movies. As I read the very interesting story, I was fascinated by Spike's personal history and creative energy, particularly because I identified with him. It was deep. Deeper into the story I learned he was a descendent of the Spiegels of Spiegel Catalogue fame. To myself: OMG! My grandmother was a Spiegel.  Exponentially interesting. Was there some mysterious DNA glitch that might actually explain my  dark, quirky sense of humor and doom?

My mother, many years ago, told me her mother was a sister of that Spiegel. My grandmother, the story went, had eloped with a defector from the Czar's army (from a family of horse thieves, no less) and fled to America (with a daughter, the first of their 11 children)  in 1901. No one ever offered much more about their family histories, so it seemed the Spiegel connection was a legit possibility. Except that my mother was a great fabricator of facts, a.k.a. a pathological liar. (That alone can predispose you to dark and quirky.) However, a quick calculation (I inherited a good head for birth order) and I determined that I was the same generation as Spike's dad, the grandson of the founder of Spiegel, which would make my grandmother the exact right age to be a Spiegel sister (and me old enough to be Spike's mother's kid sister). This is where it starts to get weird.

Naturally I went to the internet and started my research. I did an extensive search for "Spiegel"  which yielded lots of info, but nothing on the Fannie Blacksin nee Spiegel who was my kin. I went out on a limb and looked up my own maiden name. I found a site for a music festival by the same name. Gruntfest. I suppose it could have been worse ( I once had a friend who referred to me as Nancy Orgy). I persevered. Eventually I went to Facebook and contacted any possible connection. No replies. My last effort was a cousin in Scranton, an artist whose mother was my mother's sister. Another granddaughter of Fannie Spiegel. I once asked her if the Spiegel myth had merit. "Probably not," was her glib reply. Her name is Judy Heep nee Matloff.  "What" you may ask, " does her name have to do with this story?" In my last, desperate attempt to get some facts, she was the only connection I had to anyone who possibly had any ties to our past. So I dashed off an email, hoping that she might actually have some leads. Then, I solemnly went off to my bedroom. As is my habit, I took the Sunday NYT with me and, on my way to the crossword puzzle, I turned to the inside back page to eye the story by, lo and behold,  Judith Matloff. Could it be???

No, it wasn't. But, coincidentally (?) her story was about her search for her grandmother's home in the Ukraine! That very same NYT Magazine where Spike Jonze nee Spiegel graced the cover. Now, this may not seem like much to to you, but to me it is quite interesting.

Guppies V: The Middle Way

Of Guppies, Big Fish and Ponds, Large and Small V.  The Middle Way I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! How unenlightened of me to boast. But boast I must! Whether or not he labels his path (I’ve never asked) it is evident that Preston (I know him as Skip)Stahly is walking the Middle Way.

Last week I had the intense pleasure of being his guest at a concert that was truly out of this world. Two of my favorite musicians performed that night: Mary Rowell and Geoffrey Burleson.

The NY Art Ensemble http://www.nyae.org/ has been modestly presenting fantastic new American music for years. Finally, Skip’s slow and steady practice has resulted in a huge leap from the downtown Flea Theater to the uptown Merkin Concert Hall. Skip’s audience got too big for the downtown venues, including the cell. I knew it! People are people finally getting hip to what’s hip! Could it be that soulful art is back in style? No fancy sets, no expensive seats, just great stuff from remarkable artists. Skip may not be a BIG FISH, but he’s no guppy, either. Bravo.

If it is in the walking of the Middle Way that one discovers Nirvana, I think we’ve found the path. For a review: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/07/arts/music/07tribeca.html?scp=1&sq=NYAE&st=cse

*Kudos to the BIG FISH: "RED" was amazing.

We Worked like Dogs

We worked like dogs. We had two weeks. Non-stop physical, emotional, creative juices flowing. Pat Jones, the miracle worker, with a backbone to match her background… I had a hunch that our team could pull off an impressive demonstration of collaboration. I was right, and I love to be right (who doesn’t)!  For those of you who were there, you know what I’m saying. The idea, from Stephen Starosta, was simple (and brilliant); to create a performance to fit an immense art installation of bizarrely inspiring rooms. The result was greater than the sum, as they say. Mission fulfilled: to mine the mind, pierce the heart and awaken the soul. The whole evening was magical. THANK YOU to all participants: artists, and spectators. It was truly a marriage of theater, art and audience! WRITERS: Joan Baker, Pat Jones, Brian Rady, Stephen Starosta and me (NM)

DIRECTORS: Diana Basmajian, Jeremy Bloom

ACTORS: Aidan O'Shea, Lee Stark, Betsy Sanders, Jonathon Bock, Marco Formosa, Brett Aresco, Teddy Yudain, Tony Torn, Almeria Campbell, Heather Refvem, LaChrisha Brown, Mason Rosenthall, Britt Lower, Diana Beshara, Harry Einhorn, Molly Einhorn, Sara Pessa, Tjasa Ferme

MUSIC: FLUTRONIX***

***SPECIAL, SPECIAL THANKS to the incomparable

Nathalie Joachim and Allison Loggins-Hull