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The Obliteration Room

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My friend Terence (a.k.a. “Akimblog” reviewer) recently sent me a link to Yayoi Kusama’s latest installation at the Queensland Gallery of Modern Art. For this show, the legendary Kusama built a large domestic environment, painted everything a dazzling white, and over the course of two weeks invited children visiting the gallery to apply coloured dot stickers wherever they pleased. It’s called The Obliteration Room and it appeals to me on so many levels—as a longtime fan of Kusama’s conceptual art, as a mother of two children who are constantly seeking interactivity, as a wannabe defacer of pristine art spaces….

There is a joyfulness and irreverence to Kusama’s work that makes her a rare animal in the art world. I saw a work by Kusama years ago at the Art Gallery of Ontario that consisted of a single sticker on the wall. This tiny red dot, otherwise known to gallerists as a “sold sticker,” knocked me off my feet for all it said about art being reduced to what is buyable and sellable. It also struck me as subversively stingy coming from an artist who has been known to paint dots on every available surface including her own naked body.

A quick Google search will yield a surge of information about Kusama’s glittering career and complicated mental health history, but let me leave you with one quote:

“… we are all just one polka dot that is within this planet, which is but a dot within the solar system, which is a dot within the galaxy, which is a dot within the universe..”

Sort of humbling, isn’t it?

Three Things that Start with “T”

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Asha (my eldest son’s friend) loves randomness. Every day in class, he will shout out: “Applewaggi!” No one knows when it’ll happen or what it means but it seems to keep everyone on their toes.

The ultimate compliment among this group of boys is to call something “random.” As in: “Whoa. That drawing is so random.” Or: “I had the most random pizza last night.” I’m sure the ghost of John Cage would be pleased. So here (in the spirit of all things haphazard and unrelated) is a random list about a random letter: “T.”

#1. Tin.

In Tulum, Mexico, a few years ago, I entered a store devoted to local crafts. Amid the usual souvenirs (i.e. portraits of Frida Kahlo and colourful Lucha Libre wrestling masks) were shadowboxes made from recycled tin. These “nichos” range from the simple to the gaudy and often feature dioramas starring saints or Dia de los Muertos figures. I know they’re touristy but I just love the look of punched tin.

#2. Theo.

When I first met my youngest son’s friend, Theo, he named all the cloud formations for me. It so happens that naming cloud formations is a hobby (and, might I say, forte) of mine so Theo and I hit it off instantly.

#3. Tiny Treehouse.

One day I hope to enjoy traditional tea in this tiny tatami-mat treehouse by Terunobu Fujimori.

On Beauty

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“No more beautiful studies of the human face exist than those made in film while it was still possible for the camera to pause for a moment.”
—Marilynne Robinson writing in the 50th anniversary issue of Tin House.

Hole Earth Note

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The Guardian recently invited various writers and artists to design money “fit for modern times.” My friend Naomi was asked to contribute and invited me to collaborate with her, which led to a fun brainstorming session and this banknote:


(N.B. We asked for a minimalist design treatment but perhaps we should have been more explicit about our choice of colour and type. The final version is a little austere even for my tastes…but nevermind. I think you get the idea.)

If you’re interested in knowing more, here’s an introduction to the project and a gallery of the final currency ideas. (I especially like Jonathan Franzen’s banknote. If you’ve read his Kenyon College commencement speech, then you’ll understand that Franzen loves birds.)

George Whitman (1913-2011)

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“He was an affront to modern capitalism, because he ran a successful business that put people, culture and books before money. He made his own world, and that is the best that anyone can do.” —Jeanette Winterson remembers George Whitman, owner of the famed bookstore Shakespeare and Company in Paris, who passed away this week at the age of 98.

Three Things About Walking

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We are running. In spite of our better instincts, we are racing, hurtling, speeding through these last days of 2011. Why? “Gotta get this snow to the arctic.” “Gotta get these pineapples to Hawaii.” The jokes around here are meant to mock our hastiness. Around here, we try to catch each other in mid-dash. It works for about five minutes, then we’re off again.

As if to remind us of a different temporal zone, there is the tall young man who walks superbly slowly past our house every morning. (“Every path, every street in the world is your walking meditation path,” says Thich Nhat Hanh.) What is that tall young man not doing? Where is he not going?

#1. A Picture.

“How are we all so brave as to take step after step? Day after day? How are we so optimistic, so careful not to trip and yet do trip, and then say O.K.”
― Maira Kalman, The Principles of Uncertainty

#2. A Book.

Julius, the narrator of Open City, is a devoted stroller. He traverses New York City from end to end, drawing out stories and histories of the city. He is one of the loneliest wanderers you will ever encounter and yet one of the most arresting. I was smitten from the very first line (“And so when I began to go on evening walks last fall, I found Morningside Heights an easy place from which to set out into the city.”) I dare anyone not to be similarly allured by Cole’s meandering mind, which moves dexterously from discussing art to bedbugs to Ground Zero. With the exception of W.G. Sebald, I have rarely encountered a writer who embraces narrative openness to such a brave extent. Long live aimless walking and sprawling storytelling. Goals and destinations are the enemy of adventure. They blinker us from other possibilities that arise. (Thank you D.C. for recommending it.)

#3. A Song.