Neither Church nor Kitchen

But David Hockney!

Hockney has been an abiding passion of mine nearly as long as liturgical aerobics and swinging in the kitchen. My sister worked for the Andre Emmerich gallery in the 80's and I was exposed to Hockney's fabulous landscapes. And then the local museum carried a show of his photo collages and I was completly smitten.
Imagine my happiness when the Museum of Fine Farts announced a retrospective of portraits! I don't even really like the portraits, but a junky must get her fix...

Caveat: I am not an art writer, please bear with me.

The show is an investigation of Hockney's ability to work in many mediums with many faces. What I liked most was the feeling that the viewer was really allowed to get up close to the work and LOOK at it. I don't know if it was because the show was hung salon-style or because the write-ups were focused on technique, or if it was just my giddiness, but I really appreciated getting right up next to the paper.
The curators did a great job of showing off Hockney's appreciation of and internalization of Picasso. One piece is part of a series of sketches riffing on Wallace Steven's poem that was inspired by Picasso's painting The Old Guitarist. I am not a fan of Cubism (in fact, I nearly ran through the Cubist show a few galleries past the Gund Gallery), but I was captivated by the bold pieces of almost rearranged faces on one of the last walls. And, peaking around that free-standing wall, there were the photo collages! The are truly a movement of Cubism, but more emotionally attached. In all of Hockney's portraits you see the person as the painter sees: motion, expressions, postures, all at once. As such, the photo collages are a perfect expression of vision: all-at-once singularity of multi-faceted personalities. I could have sat in that little alcove all day!

Except that I got hungry and toddled off to the basement cafe.

But on the way home, I remembered that Milton, over at Don't Eat Alone had blogged about the blue guitar during Lent. So, in a way, my day was a little bit about theology and food.

The Kitchen Blues

If April is the cruelest month, does May become more cheerful by default?

Early Spring in New England is a difficult time for the cook. Who wants a hearty stew, or even more soup when that's what we've been slurping for months now? We're tired of roasts and starch-heavy dishes, especially considering how near the ocean lies, and how close the warmer months seem. Produce in the grocery looks anemic and dull and has driven who-knows-how-many-miles to find the shelf, but not even sorrel is poking it's head up through the newly turned fields.

Sigh.

At least we can celebrate Cinqo de Mayo with margueritas!