Remembering Shirley Temple

Shirley in Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, via

Late last night, I was sitting on the couch talking to Jonathan and randomly noticed A Little Princess (the book) sitting on my bookshelf, buried amongst the other books I've saved from my young years. I got so excited suddenly, and burst out to Jonathan that, "Oh my god, in the doctor's office waiting room last week, they were playing Shirley Temple's A Little Princess and I was so upset that I couldn't stay and watch it -- it's been years, and it was always one of my favorite versions of the story, and one of her best films." I even pulled Heidi (again, the book) off the shelf, another great adaptation of Shirley's, and then started talking more about how I adored her films as a kid, and how much watching them shaped my childhood.

via

Then Jonathan (the graduate student in Film Studies!) revealed that he had never seen a single Shirley Temple movie, and I was aghast! I vowed to him that I would now be dropping everything and dedicate myself to educating him on one of the most iconic (and adorable) film stars in Hollywood's history.

And then, this morning, he woke me up with the news that she had passed away.

I don't think it's a coincidence that she came up in my mind so vividly last night. I grew up watching Shirley Temple; her films are some of my earliest memories, and I have my parents to thank for recognizing the value of old movies, and trusting that Generation Y minds would have the patience to sit and watch movies that we could never get our young friends to watch with us, but that Kim and I cherished and have continued to cherish as we've grown up.

With her passing, I will celebrate by forcing Jonathan to watch whatever movie of hers I can get my hands on. (May I suggest A Little Princess, Dimples, Bright Eyes, The Little Colonel, or Heidi as great starting films to watch, in case you're looking to remember her, or delve into her work for the first time.)

We'll also be drinking some Shirley Temple Blacks, because we're grown ups now, and rum makes most things more enjoyable.

To Shirley: You won us over with your curls and dimples, but kept us watching because of your talent and charisma. You've done amazing work for film and the world, as a diplomat, and we have a better Earth because you lived on it.

xx

Stardust [Sergio Albiac]

If you have known me for longer than 10 minutes, you probably know that I have a bit of an affinity for all things constellation and celestial. (This is not to be confused with bigger ideas of space and the Universe, which despite being fascinating, by-and-large scare the hay-zeus out of me -- INFINITE SPACE whhaaaa? No thank you.) However, I realized that save for a brief mention of my constellation crush, Orion, in this post, I've never actually talked about it here.

That changes now!

First, though, I want to say that one of my favorite things about the internet today is how artists and creatives of various sorts have found interesting ways to collaborate with others, specifically: me and you and everyone commonplace. I went into great detail about my excitement (and involvement) with Foster Huntington's The Burning House, which was my first foray into these online (and free) collaborative efforts. When opportunities like this arise, I'm finding it impossible not to join the legions of others who want to be part of it.

This brings me to the Stardust Project by Sergio Albiac, who (to sum it up) created an imaging program that takes pictures submitted by internet users (those "commonplace" folk I mentioned above) and generates unique portraits using a mosaic-smattering of nebulae images taken from the Hubble. He'll provide you with three different portraits, and they'll also be posted with the thousands of others on his Flickr.

Stardust Portrait 11649

I honestly can't remember how I found out about this project (it was just over a month ago), but you can bet that it took me about .73 seconds to start hunting for a picture to submit.

For the record, finding an image for this was tough for me (*white whine*). I don't have a lot of simple front-facing ones where I'm not wearing sunglasses, or someone isn't in the image with me, or I don't look totally dreadful. Sergio's instructions say that (for the most part) you have only one shot at this, and what you get -- you get.

And most of them, by Jove, are simply stunning.

Stardust Portrait 9545
Stardust Portrait 5730 | Stardust Portrait 3214

There is an incredible variety, some with clear faces, and others that look decidedly more like, well... bursts of stardust.

Stardust Portrait 238 | Stardust Portrait 204

All of the images become clearer when you view them smaller (or squint), which I find particularly fun. Personally, I like the photos where the clarity is a little in-between: the face is not too clearly defined, but the contrast features of the face are still visible.

Derp

Naturally, when you're submitting your photo, there's no way to know whether you picked one that will turn out "well" or how you want; the randomness of it, though, is rather exciting, I think. Sergio recommended using something with good contrast, so I kept that in mind.

I decided to use this photo, mainly because of the lines of my and the contrast between my British-white skin and dark hair/background.

I spent a bunch of time looking for the right image, and even though this one wasn't front-facing, it still beat out all the other options, because I didn't want something where my teeth were showing. (This was taken NYE '09/'10, back when I was much thinner.) I bit the bullet and loaded it to Google Drive for Sergio.

Then, I waited.

Then I completely forgot about it.

Turns out Sergio's turnaround time is only about 2-3 days, but I didn't think to check it until almost 3 weeks later. I'm astonished that he can create so many incredible photographs (despite the help of a computer program) and get hundreds of them loaded and sent out nearly every day. I submitted my photo back on the 25th of July, and they were loaded onto his Flickr on the 27th. I had to scroll back 89 pages to find the actual links to my photos.

my Stardust Portraits 3009, 3010, 3011

These are certainly not as clear as I would have liked, but I think they're still really pretty and fun, and you can definitely make out the shape of my face. Without question, the middle one is my favorite!

I encourage everyone to do this, even just for the novelty of having a favorite personal photo "nebulafied." If you do it (or, by chance, have done it), send me or post a link in the comments so I can see how yours turned out!

Happy Monday, everyone!


** all images (except for the untouched photo of me) are property of Sergio Albiac, with links to individual photos available below each one

The Getty Museum [Elysium]

Last weekend, Kim, her boyfriend (John), Jonathan, and I spent Saturday afternoon at The Getty Museum in the Los Angeles hills. We've tried to keep doing interesting things around the area as often as we can, but it's consistently difficult to find the motivation to crawl off the couch or spend money after a long week. Jonathan is always on the move for work (still doing the 1 1/2 hour each way commute to West Hollywood from Orange four days a week), and both of our brains are on constant overload with computer stimulation that once they're off, they are off. 

With only a few weeks left before Jonathan's grad program starts up again, and he's neck-deep in work and a Masters thesis, we're filling up as much free time as we can.

Also, who could turn down this view of Los Angeles?



That freeway is the 405, and it is running perpendicular in the foreground to Sunset Blvd. Downtown Beverly Hills is the cluster of larger buildings in front, and you can slightly make out Downtown Los Angeles in the distance, to the left. Kim argues that it's the best view of the LA area, and I think she might be right.

If anything, it certainly gives you an idea of how sprawling and polluted the county is. (Hello, smog blanket!)

The trip seemed appropriate, given that we'd gone to see Elysium (with Matt Damon) that morning. The Getty, like Elysium, was clean, modern, idyllic, and feels like a fortress. I kept expecting to see droids walking around with cocktails. Which, admittedly, is the one thing missing from the Getty.

Top: The Getty, via | Bottom: Elysium, via

They were a good pair for a relaxing and beautiful LA day.

*        *        *        *        *

I realize that over the years I've developed into a bit of a "speed museumer." I don't go all the time, but for someone who doesn't study art, I've gone to so many museums in my adult life, that I've really figured out the right method for seeing as much as possible and only stopping for the things that catch my eye or resonate with me -- saving loads of time. (Unlike my father who stops to read every single description of every single thing oh my god let's GO.)

Vase of Flowers by Jan Van Huysum (1722)

Walking through a museum is always a bit of a game, where tourists stand confused / bored / enamored in the middle of the walkway, sometimes with cameras poised to take photos of photos, etc., and you know you simply want to move along, so you weave through the crowd and inevitably lose everyone who came with you.

When I was young, going to museums -- hell, any historical or scenic hot-spot (Pearl Harbor and the Grand Canyon come to mind) -- made me, how do I say... a crabby-bitch-monster. Truth be told, I think the majority of my attitude could be blamed on adolescent hormones, but in the end it didn't matter what was to blame, I was simply terrible to be around whenever we went somewhere that involved a lot of looking and standing and admiring and learning, etc. It might just be that I'm hard-wired this way, because that impatience has never really left me, even 15 years later. However, now, as a mostly-functioning adult, I understand that this leave me alone I hate you demeanor has nothing to do with not liking museums / natural wonders / landmarks, but rather the fact that I do not like to be told what I should think is beautiful, what is considered interesting, or otherwise interact with people at all when I really just want to think.

Looking and appreciating things or places is very meditative for me, and I prefer to revel in the silence and get lost in my own thoughts rather than keep track of where everyone else is or pretend like I care what they think. Truth be told, I care little about what most people think about things.

So really, it's in everyone's best interest that I move along at my own -- generally fast -- pace, and not let myself get caught up in what other people are doing, because waiting is simply the most irrationally annoying thing that can happen to me in a day.

Elegant Woman by Louis Rolland
Trinquesse (late 1700s)

A Young Girl Defending Herself Against Eros 
by Adolphe William Bouguereau (about 1880)

It's possible that I move too quickly through museums, but standing around looking at paintings / sculptures / drawings / etc. that bore me sounds like the biggest waste of time. I know that I could learn things, and that's all very well and good, but in the end, I'm not an art student and I don't feel the need to "experience" art with anyone. I've mentioned it before, but art is like music to me: it either moves you, or it doesn't, and no one should ever feel pressured to explain why they like something. It's personal. What is, is.

This isn't to say that I don't enjoy being places with people. I do. In fact, going places alone isn't really my cup of tea if I can help it. I liken it to being at a concert or seeing a play with friends: it's always more enjoyable to go with people, but it's not so fun if they talk through the show. Just be quiet and we'll discuss it at intermission.

misery happiness loves company, especially when you have a pretty view

This museum is large, but still manageable. It's nothing like The Huntington (where you pretty much have to plan your whole day around it), though you could easily take your time, have snacks and coffee, and make a day at The Getty if you wanted. I think it'd be fun to have lunch on the grass, or come when they're having an outdoor concert.

This is one of the few museums in LA that's actually free (though parking does cost $15). If I lived closer, I'd consider putting on my walking shoes, grabbing coffee at the coffee cart, and exploring the park / people watching. It's certainly nicer (and less pathetic) than going to the mall to walk around and look at housewares like an old married couple, which is something Jonathan and I are certainly guilty of, and the fact that we're doing preliminary wedding registry planning is only part of the reason.

Study of Clouds with a Sunset near Rome by Simon Denis (1786-1801)

I'm not all that well-versed on great places to visit in LA -- especially places that cost me [nearly] $0. Now that the wedding is 10 months away, it's time to actually get serious about saving for the things we know we'll need, which leaves us with the most pathetic spending budget.

Free is good. Tell me about free things to enjoy around these here Southern California parts, maybe?

Thank you. Happy Friday.

Jump Up and Touch the Sky

I know shit-all about music. Really, I know nothing, except what I like when I hear it. I couldn't tell you, from a technical or musical perspective, why I like it. All I know is that if a song is catchy / the lyrics are beautiful / a person's singing voice is top-notch / it makes me wanna dance / makes me wanna jump up and down like a monster, I'm probably going to enjoy it and play it to death.

Sometimes, I just want to play the same three songs on repeat, all day for a few weeks, because they infuse me with energy and fuel my imagination. Sometimes, I just want to imagine that I'm a rock star and smash up furniture.

What's playing now?

I'm glad you asked. (And if you didn't, let's pretend you did.)

The holidays make me tired, and it's the time of year when I'm usually listening to Rufus Wainwright and Norah Jones. Rainy days, gray skies... they lead to lazy day music. The kind where you turn off the lights, pour some red wine, lay on the floor surrounded by pillows and blankets, and play Rufus' "Poses" album over and over again.

It's not very conducive to getting work done.

How about you? Do you have any get-off-your-butt-and-start-moving-you-fat-pig music? Any particular songs that are just too infectious to stay still?

Send 'em my way. I'm itching to break something.

In Case of Fire

I found out something pretty fucking awesome today, you guys. So awesome, in fact, that I've resorted to swearing right at you.

OK, first: some background.

About a year ago, I stumbled across a post on Apartment Therapy's green sister-blog, Re-Nest, that asked "If your house was burning down, what would you save?"  The article led me to a blog created by West Coast-based photographer, Foster Huntington, called The Burning House, where people take a picture of the items they would save if faced with a catastrophic event (specifically: fire) that would likely destroy everything in its wake. They could then submit their photo and a blurb about the items, to perhaps be featured on the site.

Immediately, I knew I wanted to participate.  This is a question that Jon and I are constantly asking ourselves whenever we're sitting comfortably on our sofa, complacent with life, and looking around the room at all the crap we've acquired.  When we first thought about it, we recognized that there are a lot of things we love around our house and would absolutely rejoice in being able to salvage if everything else got destroyed (i.e. a large portion of our book collection, certain DVDs, necessary items of clothing like boots and underwear and pants, my beautiful armchair, blah blah)... but then, after giving it more thought, it was amazing the things we wouldn't hesitate to leave behind.

While assessing the items I would truly grab in a moments notice, I tried to keep an amazing entry by Sandra Belanger (she has experienced a house fire before) in mind, when she wrote: Word to all the folks with big piles of stuff: You have way less time than you think.

Cut to now. I actually took a photo right after hearing about this project last year, with just the things I was responsible for grabbing; I had plans to take pictures of Jon's items at another time... a time that never really came, because I'm terrible at follow-through. The plan was that he'd grab the cat, some more artwork, and other things personal to him. This means that Fry wasn't part of my picture, but Ennis and Peekay were.

I submitted my picture to The Burning House blog without worrying about Jon's things. I checked every so often, wondering if my picture had made it on. I never saw it. Then I stopped thinking about it.

Now we've moved, things have changed, Peekay is no longer living with us, and the picture that I took way back in May of last year, well... I'd decided that I didn't like the picture very much at all. The angle was off, the items were placed strangely, giving it a weird perspective. The blog post I had started in May of 2011 would be scrapped. "I'll take another picture—a better picture!—and rewrite the whole post," I declared. "I'll save less stuff, this time, too! Who needs all this stuff?"

Well. I started to compile everything again; just the stuff I really would try to save. I took a few snapshots (none very good, wahh wahh), then returned to look at my original picture.

Turns out, with the exception of Peekay and the addition of Fry, nothing was different. All of the same items were there.

Then I decided to return to The Burning House blog and get inspiration from the other photos.

I scanned through, admiring the photographs, admiring people's descriptions.

I noticed something: a book. Foster Huntington had published a book, released just last month, of pictures from his site.

Clicking on the link, I went to Amazon and started looking at the book.

I flipped through the "Look Inside" pages.

Click, click, click.

Then,

there it was:




My photograph. The very photograph I had submitted over a year ago, which was never featured on Foster's blog. My name, my dogs, my journals, Jon's artwork, Cassie's mosaic, my [old but still works] blog link... All was there, published, in a TWO. PAGE. SPREAD.

I about pooped my pants. Then I bought the book immediately.

After further research, I discovered that mine is one of 50 "exclusive" entries saved for the book. Why? I wonder.

Foster! If you're out there - contact me! Did you try to contact me? I am a lost soul.

Oy.

Well.

I can't change my picture now!

So, as I should have done over a year ago instead of being a stupid, arrogant, photo jerk, here is my entry just as I submitted it then:



List:

• Passport
• Original birth certificate
• ID
• Wallet
• 5 hand-written journals
• Brown bomber jacket from Paris
• TOMS shoes (or whatever slip-ons were closest to the door)
• Yellow and black heart painting from my boyfriend
• "Kicking Puppies" - original Justin Hillgrove watercolor
• "Blue Elephant" mosaic - handmade from scrap glass and a wine bottle by my best friend
• Cellphone 
• Old Chimney Farm canvas bag to carry everything
• Crocheted quilt that my mom made for my grandmother
• My dogs, Peekay and Ennis

Substitute "Peekay" for "Fry" and you've got basically what I would save now.

SO TELL ME!

All of you.

I want to know: What would you save? If you have a blog, post about it with a picture and link to it in the comments!



*Image property of The Burning House Blog and The Sleepy Peach

Untitled Works

Note to burgeoning artists: If you want your contemporary artwork featured in a museum, don't title it. Leaving something untitled basically guarantees its success. That's science.

It's been years since I've written about going to a museum. Seems like a random thing to think about, but I love them; I used to revel in picking out my favorite pieces and documenting them here. (Check them out in these posts of yore: Metropolitan Museum of Art and Museum of Modern Art in NYC; Le Louvre in Paris; the National Portrait Gallery and Tate Modern in London. Side note: Please ignore that Blogspot went inexplicably ape-shit on my formatting.)

Since that time, I've gone to many museums (Seattle was chock full of 'em!), but ne'er have I talked about it here. Time to change that.

Last night, Jon and I had a semi-spontaneous date adventure into the city, which was really about taking advantage of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art's Thursday half-price happy hours, and not so much about us having romantic fun times. But looking at art is always fun, right? You betcha.

Which leads me to the best part: sharing stuff I like with you, my four faithful readers.

Currently at the SFMOMA is an exhibit by crazy genius, Cindy Sherman—an acclaimed photographer who has been working since the 70's creating vibrant and shocking "self portraits" as social / art / pop culture commentary.



OK, this one isn't so shocking. Part of a series called Film Stills (this one is Untitled Film Still 58) Sherman created dozens and dozens of character portraits, which showcased the clichéd cinematic roles for women. Of the whole series, this one stood out to me as the most vulnerable and beautiful. Perhaps it was because the rest of her 150-photo exhibit focused on work like this:

Clockwise from top: Untitled 299 (1994); Untitled 408 (2002); Untitled 405 (2000); Untitled 205 (1989)

This is the tip of the iceberg. The portraits are all giant, breathtaking and unnerving. She uses elaborate costumes, make-up, wigs, and props to depict stereotypical "white women" and satirize classical portrait art.

Cindy Sherman seems ageless. She might be a ghost.

Since portraits (photography or not) are usually not my slice of banana bread, I was pleased to find the abstract / expressionist floors. Here are a few of the paintings that stood out:

Untitled 1957 by Clyfford Still

Untitled 2010 and 2005 by Richard Aldrich

Whose Blues by Leo Valledor

Untitled (ANT 154) 1961 by Yves Klein

Those look more like me, right? I can never get enough of beautifully chaotic abstract art.

Next week, Jon and I are going to New York City for vacation, and I plan to visit the MOMA again, as well as a few new museums, if I can manage it. And now that we're moving down to Orange, we'll have access to all the wonderful museums that LA has to offer.

When I was in Seattle, living by myself and fortunate enough to have at least one friend in the area, I would go to the Frye Art Museum (which is always free!) to browse around the small exhibits, see a movie screening, or listen to a guest lecturer. It was remarkably therapeutic, and I loved it. When I got busier, I stopped going; I'm not sure I went one time in the last year I was living up there. Sad. I was so very grateful for the mental clarity and peace of mind that museum gave me. Go there, if you're ever in Seattle. It's wonderful.

Speaking of which: Does anyone have any favorite museums? How about particular pieces of art that you've seen in person and can't quite get out of your head? Are there any places I need to make sure I visit in NYC? How about LA? Are there any happy hours or other tricks to getting in for cheap, or free?

While you ponder that, I'll leave you with this wonderful display by Barry McGee, who could come over and draw caricatures and cartoons for me all day long.

* Art work images property of their respective artists
* Barry McGee display image property of SFMOMA, via their Instagram

My Classic Movie Reel

With Jon deep in film school application mode, the process of talking through essay topics, master thesis options, and personal statement talking points has gotten my heart going pitter-pat for old movies.

Also known as "my favorite movies from childhood."

Just a few weekends ago, my dad celebrated his 4,500th movie (that is, individual movies seen). He is a movie fan through and through, and instilled the same appreciation and devotion to great (and not-so-great) films in us. Whether by choice or by default, we were raised on Turner Classic Movies and American Movie Classics, with box sets of Humphrey Bogart videotapes sitting front and center under the television.

Watching black & white movies never phased us and silent films were just as easy to watch and ones with sound.

Did you know that my sister's and my favorite movie at age nine was To Have and Have Not, starring Bogart and Lauren Bacall?

It's true. We would turn it on before school, and when our best friend would come by our house to walk with us, we'd casually invite her in and hope that this time she would stop and say, "Oouu, what is this cool movie?" and then agree that it was, indeed, the best movie around. Sadly, she never did.

But we loved it. There was something inspiring about watching a thin, deep-voiced, 19-year-old Bacall take a wicked slap across the face by a waterfront ruffian without so much as a flinch and then manage to hold her own in a room with someone as intimidating as Bogie. This girl was tough-as-nails... an incredible role model for a girly little tyke like me.

Other than Disney's live action and animated features, I don't remember watching anything other than old movies when I was a kid. And until I was in the 5th or 6th grade -- when my friends were all going to see Mission Impossible in theaters and I had to stay behind -- I never even considered it wasn't a widely accepted form of entertainment.

I mean, didn't every little kid spend Saturdays watching Shirley Temple and Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies?

Naturally all of my friends thought that Clark Gable was the dandiest leading man around... right?

And everyone knew that the comedy duo to beat was clearly Bing Crosby and Bob Hope.

Ahhh, floating head posters. Can ya beat 'em?? (That's a rhetorical question.)

Eventually I stopped daydreaming in black & white and technicolor and joined my friends at PG-13 rated movie screenings. I stopped letting my dad change the channel to TCM on a whim and refused to watch just any old thing that Robert Osborne happened to introduce that night.

My teenage years were difficult.

Now, of course, there is almost nothing I value more than my parents' choice of entertainment for us. Had it not been for those early years of Hitchcock and Bing Crosby, I don't think I would have been as open to these kinds of movies as an adult -- certainly not as a teenager!

When the holidays come around, I crave the comfort and warmth of old, classic movies... ones that make me nostalgic for holidays at home in front of the fire, listening to my father laugh at films that -- I know now -- have a special, nostalgic place in his heart as well.

Did any of you watch old movies as kids? Anything that's stuck with you 'til now? What was your favorite movie when you were nine?


Image Sources: 
(1) The Cameraman (2) How Green Was My Valley (3) Strangers on a Train (4) On the Waterfront (5) Dear Ruth (6) To Have and Have Not (7) The Big Sleep (8) Key Largo (9) Wee Willie Winkie (10) Top Hat (11) It Happened One Night (12) Road to Morocco (13) Road to Rio (14) The Best Years of Our Lives (15) The Kid (16) It's a Wonderful Life (17) Holiday Inn