"And chocolate ice-cream before it melts mami."
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Thoughts
As an immigrant in America, you live and you live and you struggle, and you live and you live and you struggle and then you discover that it gets a little easier.
And the mountains you sought out as a child, you find, exist in the new country as well.
You just never knew. That. It does get easier.
Monday, January 27, 2014
A rocking visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art
On a very very cold day last week (-13C or 9F), we layered warm clothes, packed a snack and headed to the one and only Metropolitan Museum of Art. There are many many museums in NYC, but this is the one that has always deeply and truly captivated me. First, there are the stairs. Then, there is the lobby. And then, there are the impressive collections of artifacts from ages past, things that were crucial objects in everyday life or in religious rituals from times and people that will never be again. Of course there is art as well, but again, it's mostly from the past. I call the Met my university, my vortex for getting inspiration, my place for meditation and discovery. I've been heard saying that the Met is the reason why I moved to New York. I've been heard saying it's one of the most incredible places in one of the most incredible cities. It's all true.
And now, enter my dear little one- Ava. Well, she's been there before. But this past week was the first time she took the kind of interest that history and art explorers take, and she became a proper Met lover. Going there with her was something of an experience. We have shed the carriage as I've become totally bored with it and Ava has demonstrated a wild interest in walking. But at 2 & 1/2 it was a bit ambitious to think that she can walk the 5 long avenue blocks and 3 short blocks that we had to from where I found parking (for free!) to where the museum is. But she walked, in the freezing chilly as ice wind, she walked.
Approaching the Met from 85th St is a sweet experience because once you turn the corner, its monumental grandness looms in front of you much like a mountain suddenly rises from a plain. The giant building is set against the beautiful Central Park and it rises above its treetop line. Then there are the majestic stairs. We always have an incredible experience at the stairs. It's a magical place. In the summer musicians come and draw crowds and in the winter, tourists feed crowds of pigeons. Ava promptly chased a flock of those resilient city birds and they flew up over her head but only as a tease, landing just a few feet away. Then Ava did something that sort of took me by surprise. She climbed all of the stairs completely by herself (!). By the time I took my gloves off and turned the camera on, she was already at the top, at the main entrance frame by two superbly large columns. The light changed at that moment and everything around me shone with a little more contrast, as the sun rays fell at a sharp angle, the sun already behind the museum.
Once inside, we felt like were the fashionable latecomers to a fancy ball. That't the effect that the marvelous airy lobby has on the unsuspecting visitor. It always has that effect on me, no matter how many times I go there. We checked our coats, gave our dollar each (yes, the ticket price of 15 per person is only suggested, which is totally awesome) and opened the map. That is some map! Ava had so much fun with it- tracing with her finger my suggested route and pretending to be a character from her favorite cartoon Umizoomi who is going to look for the treasure.
And looked we did. We started in a somewhat narrow gallery that contains liturgical objects from Byzantium, the empire that included my birth country Bulgaria prior to its founding in 681. It felt immediately personal, immediately deep. As an Orthodox Christian and a believer, I was standing in front of a Processional Cross from the 6th century and thus in front of 14 centuries of faith. The space was quiet and intimate and I felt an immediate connection to the people who must have labored over its intricate details as well as the people who must have walked after it on holy days, on streets less paved than ours and with shoes less fancy, perhaps, yet with hearts just as full of yearning and complex emotions.
Ava settled in a nook between two panels with engravings that spoke to my heart (picture bellow). Their simple yet timeless designs were reminiscent of ritual bread making as on Bulgarian Christmas Eve (Bydni Vecher, Бъдни Вечер).
Hours of exploration flew by and this little girl stomped on and asked me to read the tag of display after display after display. We flew through Medieval, then a visiting Venetian glass modernist collection, took a loop of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, and ended up in Greek and Roman Art. We had seen roughly 1/12th of the museum and I was exhausted. Four hours had disappeared in observing, dreaming and learning. On our way to the car, we stumbled upon the Big Daddy's diner, the perfect spot to wrap up the outing in a candy dream environment.
And now, enter my dear little one- Ava. Well, she's been there before. But this past week was the first time she took the kind of interest that history and art explorers take, and she became a proper Met lover. Going there with her was something of an experience. We have shed the carriage as I've become totally bored with it and Ava has demonstrated a wild interest in walking. But at 2 & 1/2 it was a bit ambitious to think that she can walk the 5 long avenue blocks and 3 short blocks that we had to from where I found parking (for free!) to where the museum is. But she walked, in the freezing chilly as ice wind, she walked.
Approaching the Met from 85th St is a sweet experience because once you turn the corner, its monumental grandness looms in front of you much like a mountain suddenly rises from a plain. The giant building is set against the beautiful Central Park and it rises above its treetop line. Then there are the majestic stairs. We always have an incredible experience at the stairs. It's a magical place. In the summer musicians come and draw crowds and in the winter, tourists feed crowds of pigeons. Ava promptly chased a flock of those resilient city birds and they flew up over her head but only as a tease, landing just a few feet away. Then Ava did something that sort of took me by surprise. She climbed all of the stairs completely by herself (!). By the time I took my gloves off and turned the camera on, she was already at the top, at the main entrance frame by two superbly large columns. The light changed at that moment and everything around me shone with a little more contrast, as the sun rays fell at a sharp angle, the sun already behind the museum.
Once inside, we felt like were the fashionable latecomers to a fancy ball. That't the effect that the marvelous airy lobby has on the unsuspecting visitor. It always has that effect on me, no matter how many times I go there. We checked our coats, gave our dollar each (yes, the ticket price of 15 per person is only suggested, which is totally awesome) and opened the map. That is some map! Ava had so much fun with it- tracing with her finger my suggested route and pretending to be a character from her favorite cartoon Umizoomi who is going to look for the treasure.
And looked we did. We started in a somewhat narrow gallery that contains liturgical objects from Byzantium, the empire that included my birth country Bulgaria prior to its founding in 681. It felt immediately personal, immediately deep. As an Orthodox Christian and a believer, I was standing in front of a Processional Cross from the 6th century and thus in front of 14 centuries of faith. The space was quiet and intimate and I felt an immediate connection to the people who must have labored over its intricate details as well as the people who must have walked after it on holy days, on streets less paved than ours and with shoes less fancy, perhaps, yet with hearts just as full of yearning and complex emotions.
Ava settled in a nook between two panels with engravings that spoke to my heart (picture bellow). Their simple yet timeless designs were reminiscent of ritual bread making as on Bulgarian Christmas Eve (Bydni Vecher, Бъдни Вечер).
Hours of exploration flew by and this little girl stomped on and asked me to read the tag of display after display after display. We flew through Medieval, then a visiting Venetian glass modernist collection, took a loop of European Sculpture and Decorative Arts, and ended up in Greek and Roman Art. We had seen roughly 1/12th of the museum and I was exhausted. Four hours had disappeared in observing, dreaming and learning. On our way to the car, we stumbled upon the Big Daddy's diner, the perfect spot to wrap up the outing in a candy dream environment.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
The Crazy Things That Mother Artists Dream About
I find myself constantly trying to find the time and the space to think. To take a breath and to think. About art- about my art and what I want to create. Sometimes I have the time, but not the space (think waiting for the whatever-is-in-the-oven to be done). Sometimes I have the space, but not the time (the house is empty, but for like 30 minutes). I feel like a total wanna be. It irritates me that I am.
On top of everything, I am also studying programming and trying to find a job in the field. I have been taking classes for the past yearish and feel confident that with a job sufficiently supported, I'll be able to patch together processes and fill in a position. Because I need it bad. First of all, I am in complete love with technology and have developed a passion for the machine that can only match my previous disenchantment with it. Second, I want to work in the real world and make real money so that I contribute to the family and am able to afford my own little studio in Long Island City(Queens) or Bushwick (Brooklyn). Why those neighborhoods and not Soho or Chelsea you might ask. Do I dare dream that high?
In time, only in time. For now my office is the kitchen. Or my bed. Yesterday in between the tasks of cooking, I would fall down to the floor and alternate downward dogs with push-ups. Then I'd get up and do some tendus and attitudes. Michael peeked and raised his eyebrows with curiosity and amusement.
Today after a tedious day of researching how to upgrade my Mac's OS (the poor thing is kind of old), I finally shoved my little family out the door and declared that we are to explore Long Island City. We headed over there and as usual, Avka fell asleep in the car. Which works nicely, because we can then take the time to have one of our nice usual arguments that we always have without our daughter listening to us. Though sometimes I'm worried she somehow hears us even in her sleep. It probably bores her at this point. I never am able to allow myself to argue passionately in front of her because even one glimpse of her absolutely incredible warm sweet smile thaws away any sort of negativity.
We ended up in our favorite LIC coffee shop- Sweet Leaf. A latte and a pleasant conversation with a stranger from Guangdjou, China, put us in the right mood for exploration, so we headed to the brand new waterfront playground and Avka got to play and chase us around and yelp in delight with the magnificent background of the Empire State, the UN and the Chrysler Buildings all lighting up the midtown skyline behind is.
On our way back in the car, after running around in the freezing cold (25F), and with the latte well settled into my neurons, inspiration started to flow freely and I quickly open up my notebook and start writing:
"Make 10 portraits of mothers who share their stories of unglamorous mother moments- cooking, cleaning, laundry, etc... with each photograph accompanied by a short personal story that reflects on the burden and monotony of these chores. Everyone pays so much attention to the cute mommy blogs, to the pretty staged photos of kids eating ice cream while their giddy moms snap away. And that's fine. But what if with the same zealousness, I examine what lies underneath that? Why is housework so unglamorous? Why can't one be famous because they do their laundry? (mine is staring at me unfolded from my armchair right now).
The final product can be a book with the portraits and stories in addition to 10 collages made from the printouts with perhaps fabric or other physical presence attached to them."
I like this idea. I hope I can go beyond planning and get to work and get over the seemingly constant high barriers that stand between me and my work.
From this morning: Heavy snowfall in -6C. We head to the grocery store and on the way back we are lucky to find a parking spot. But Avka does not want to go home. She insists: "Go straight mamiiiii". So I do. We go straight. It's a strange feeling- not having a specific place in mind but listening to the instructions of a 2 and 1/2 year old. "Straight Mami", she continues navigating. We keep going straight, despite the many warnings that the street might soon be hard to get out of because of the quickly piling snow. The back windshield is now covered. We get to the end of the street- to the tiny State Nature Preserve beyond which is the Long Island Sound. We go out and take a walk. Our hands freeze. Avka's little face grimaces in the snow and wind. But she persists. She's a strong one, this one. She walks to the edge and looks out toward the water, where the snowfall looks so quiet and peaceful. Suddenly the phrase, "If God is willing and if I will", comes to my mind out of nowhere. I say it out loud. It makes sense. If God wills and if I will, surely, I can achieve anything I aim to.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Little outings/ big ideas.
The weather was finally a little nicer this past Sunday and I pushed and shoved my little brood until I got them out the door and on the way to the New Museum. I had my eye on visiting since I had noticed the sailboat attached to its slick exterior a few weeks ago when we went to the annual Bowery Babes holiday party. A sailboat attached to a building, hovering over the heads of pedestrians! Lovely.
We parked right smack in front of the museum (a luxury) for free. Now that does not happen often. If you are a driver in Manhattan you will soon come to realize that Sundays are the best. The feeling of getting a spot and rolling out like you own the block is the right start for any outing.
Almost the entire museum, which is a new tapering 6 floor glass and steel structure with high ceilings and an airy lobby that invites the street in, is currently dedicated to Chris Burden's "Extreme Measures". His giant sculpture installations easily take up all of the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th floors.
Becoming familiar with Chris Burden's installations is like taking a walk in raw nature someplace new. It's beautiful, but there is always the possibility of danger. He hung a 1 ton cube off a boom carried by a restored Ford pick-up. He balanced an asteroid and a Porsche on a giant scale. He spun a huge wheel attached to a motorcycle's accelerator. He created a "beach" the size of our apartment upon the sands of which microworlds of military scenes play out in the viewer's imagination. For the "actors" and "decor" he used mostly children's toys (robots, soldiers, tanks, all sorts of weaponry, indians, etc) and miniature models of castles, train depots, tepees, houses, ships, towers, corals, plants and a lot more.
He hung a few hundred tiny submarines off the ceiling and provided us with a list of their names- a list that corresponds to a real list of submarines used in American military operations. He made a conical structure out of cement bags. And there is more.
My first reactions to his work was "Wow". The second was careful speechless examination. The third was "Noooooo". For you see, my little girl was feasting her eyes upon the extraordinary visual balancing acts in front of her, but unlike me, she could not stand still. She made quite a few determined fast and almost successful lunges toward the delicate artwork quickly and in panic intercepted by me. As much as I was mesmerized by my surroundings, my motor skills kicked in to the amused gaze (and in some cases annoyed) inspection of the museum guards.
Museum and toddlers! I can tell you something about that. Countless are the cases in which in complete desperation I have promised myself to never bring her again for I can literally feel my hair turn white as I try to navigate and "look" at precious artwork with my little girl in toe, a force that can hardly be contained. Yet I do it again. And I will do it again. It is worth every second because I expose my daughter to that what truly engages me. That what is truly special to New York City. To the reason why I moved here and stayed here. Her behavior, I argue, is a precious reaction to the world of artworks, and had the artist been standing there, I know that he would have seen the pure energy that is a response to the energy of the artwork.
I always feel recharged and inspired after I leave a grand museum exhibition and this time was no exception. The mere witnessing of these powerful pieces gave me so much hope. If others can, so can I. I have to keep trying. I have to keep going with my own work, no matter what, despite the obstacles.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Self-Portrait Series "The Mother's return to self"
This series began with the playfulness of matching lipstick and nail polish. It turned out that I have a blindingly bright red orange color of both, so I put it on and the transformation was immediate. The name of the lipstick is "Femme Fatale". I decided to play with that layer and mix it with the base persona of "mother".
Well, for me the two don't mix very well. The femme fatale gets up late and parties all night. The mother goes to bed early and gets up early to take care of her children. Or so it supposedly is (it does not always work out that way). But a femme fatale can turn into a mother and vice versa. And that's where we get something interesting.
So in these portraits we get a bit of the vulnerability and a bit of the coquettishness and a touch of the wisdom behind aging. We get measured liberation, rejection of being defined by the every day objects of mothering (notice the bath toy and the toilet seat) and determination to not be pigeonholed.
Ava noticed me setting up to take the pictures and in her stompy gait quickly arrived to bombard me with a million "Wha doing mami? Mami, mami, what doing mami?" I explained that I am setting up to take some self-portraits. She quickly grabbed the camera remote and started taking the pictures for me. It was nice. It was really easy to all of a sudden be able to pose freely. My little one did not stop taking the pictures until I indicated that we are done. It was a seamless collaboration, without that many words. And then this beautiful realization crept through the vine of my thoughts- even young children can feel the subtle shifts of mood that create unspoken communication during the creative process.
So bellow are some photos from the shoot that I edited in order to heighten the ideas behind them. I hope that they speak to you. I hope they help you undertake your own questioning of what's beneath the surface of a mother's persona. This type of question deeply motivates me- what is beneath, what is beneath, what is beneath the surface that we see. I can hardly ever look at something without questioning it especially if that something is widely accepted as a norm.
There are two other important aspects to mention- the use of hands to frame the face (inspired by the one and only Auguste Rodin, whose reproductions I grew up with and by Madonna's "Vogue" choreography), and the color processing I applied in order to create a slight surrealist feeling when it comes to perceiving skin (inspired by one of my most favorite artists who I revere beyond description- Louise Bourgeois).
And here is a quote by her:
"Sometimes it is necessary to make confrontation - and I like that." Louise Bourgeois
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