A Trip to the Art Museum, or, What's Up with Mr. Dead Fish-on-the-Wall?

The Phoenix Public Library instituted a program about a year or so ago that allows patrons to check out a "Culture Pass," which allows up to four people free admission to a specific museum or venue.  The passes are only good for one week from check out, so it can be a bit tricky both finding the time to visit a venue, and also find an available pass; they are limited in number, as spread through all of the branches.  This past weekend, I decided to take advantage of the one available pass for the Phoenix Art Museum, and so Mr. X, the Short One and I all piled onto the Light Rail, and made our way downtown to get some culture.


Upon entering the museum, we found to our dismay that approximately half of the exhibits are closed for renovation, and will remain so until November.  This meant no American Art, European Art, Asian Art, or Miniature Rooms.  (The last nearly did the Short One in.)  So, what was left?  Well, we were able to wander the Modern Art wing, as well as the Costume/Textiles area.  As always, the costume exhibit - currently fashion from the home-front during WWII - was far too small.  I'll never understand why they devote such little space to such a fascinating collection.  Be that as it may, we explored the Fireflies, laughed at the prudish Mr. X's reactions to the nudes, and sighed over couture and Bakelite bangles.  All in all, an enjoyable visit.


But what about Mr. Dead Fish-on-the-Wall?  Just what is up with that?


Well, in addition to the few permanent exhibits that remain open, the Museum has in place a special exhibit on Paul Cézanne and his influence on American Modernism.  Now, Cézanne has never been a particular favorite of mine, and this exhibit has relatively few of his pieces.  Rather, there are one or two representative works for the various genres he explored (landscapes, figure studies, still-lifes), with the remainder of the exhibit made up of works in those various genres, by artists who were inspired by him.  It was an interesting exhibit, and one that does allow the viewer to see the direct correlation between master/inspiration, and student/inspired.


Truthfully, though, we almost sped through the entire exhibit, as Mr. X and the Short One were not overly impressed by what they saw, and I wasn't either.  The one area where we did spend comparatively more time was in the still-life section.  Unfortunately it was not awe and rapture over the talent on display that was expressed by certain members of our little group.  Instead, it was giggles and speculation on just what sort of, shall we say, recreational refreshments? were being enjoyed by certain artists.  When we came to the representative Cézanne, however, Mr. X and the Short One were compelled to remark that it was better than the rest of the works on display, and that they most enjoyed the texture that he had given to the crumbling wall behind the fruit and pitcher.  At that point, the Short One said, "That one part even looks like it's crumbling in the shape of a dead fish!"  at which point, I felt it necessary to point out that, it wasn't crumbling in the shape of a dead fish, it was a dead fish.


One would think that I had told them that there was a dead, naked lady on the wall, they both had such looks of horror.

"But, why would he put a dead fish there?!?"

"Well, it's sort of a traditional aspect of a still-life grouping."

"Eww!!  Why?!?!?"

Of course, after this, the Short One was on a quest to find a dead fish in every still-life in the exhibit.  Fortunately, I was able to distract her with the Fireflies.

But rest assured, she has not forgotten.  Just yesterday, she asked me a question about "that Suzanne guy.  You know, Mr. Dead Fish-on-the-Wall."

My Brain is Full Now. May I Go to Sleep? Please?

For the last two days, I've spent most of the workday "at" an online conference all about utilizing handheld technology in libraries, specifically, mobile technology.  I've learned about mobile apps vs. mobile web, augmented reality, geolocation, eReaders, and Pecha Kucha.  My head is spinning, and if it stopped long enough for you to hold a gun to it, I probably couldn't explain any of it coherently.


I don't own  a smartphone.  I don't text.  I have a Twitter account, but until earlier this week, I rarely thought to look at it, and I (almost) never posted to it.  And we all know how new this blog is.  However, in spite of my general social/mobile tech backwardness, I have begun to accept that these things are the future.  Specifically, they are the future of my chosen profession, and as much as I'd love to moulder in a dimly lit room organizing stacks of books for the next forty-odd years, that is simply no longer an option.


One of the presenters at the Handheld Librarian III conference, Sarah Houghton-Jan, stated it best when she said that it didn't matter if we used these technologies.  A significant percentage of our patrons do, and that percentage is growing every day.  These patron want and expect us to be able to work with them within a social networking and/or mobile environment.  And as yet another presenter said, in response to a question about dealing with coworkers resistant to change: if you are unhappy with change, you will be even less pleased with irrelevance.  It is far too early in my career to be risking irrelevance, so even though looking at code makes my head hurt, I am doing my best to get up to speed.


And so, in pursuit of this goal, I've begun to attend every free (or in the case of the Handheld Librarian III, relatively inexpensive) webinar, webconference, lecture, etc. I can find.  I'm reading technical literature that I thought I would be able to throw aside after I threw off my regalia, and I'm forcing myself into the social media sphere, one baby step at a time.  I'm nowhere near ready to be the "mayor" of anything in Foursquare, or to scrawl virtual graffiti on a wall for others with the right geolocation app to find, but I know now that these things exist, that they are possible, and most importantly, libraries can use them.  We can take these technologies, mold them to our purpose, and at a time when ill-informed pundits are speculating on the extinction of the library, and we can beat them at their own game.


For now, I've unprotected my Tweets, and I even have a fellow librarian I've never met(!) following me (although I'm afraid she's likely to be pretty disappointed with my output for a while.)  I will be setting up my "professional" Facebook profile, and starting to research the possibility of getting a smartphone and texting/data plan when my current contract is up next year (don't tell the short one!)


Tonight, though, my brain is full, and I need a good night's sleep.  I can pick up HTML and PHP for Dummies later.

Environmentalism Run Amok?

The short one around whom much of my life revolves is dedicated to saving the environment, usually in some oddly conceived way.  For the last several years, the main focus of her efforts has been in the creation of an alternative fuel.  This has involved speculating just how we can make cars run on "leaf juice," and to do so without completely defoliating the planet.

Apparently we have moved beyond leaf juice, as evidenced by the list of potential fuels she showed me last night:

• Cranberry Juice
• Tap Water
• Fresh Water (presumably from lakes and/or streams)
• Olive Oil
• Ginger Ale
• Vinegar

Each of these apparently has the potential to become the fuel of the future, either separately, or in some combination, but all in the exact quantity of 3 teaspoons.

To determine which of these will work, she plans to set them on fire in the kitchen, and measure which one (or combination of many) creates the most steam.  I now have to find the balance between encouraging her scientific endeavors and creative thinking, and preventing untold damage to person and property.

Motherhood is definitely an interesting state of being.

In the beginning...there was a blog without a point.

It's amazing where inspiration will come from, and what it will lead to.  I was reading an old, albeit clever book, and I felt I had to share it.  After all, when you read something like this:

But anyone who pities herself for more than a month on end is a weak sister and likely to become a public nuisance besides.

How can you resist sharing?

How this led to the creation of a blog, something I hadn't ever intended to get into, I can't say.  This might, in fact, be the only post I ever write.  (Probably not.  I imagine I'll reach a half-dozen before I quit.)  If it is the only one, though, I should probably make it count.


So read these books: Live Alone and Like It: a Guide for the Extra Woman, and Orchids On Your Budget: Live Smartly on What You Have, both by Marjorie Hillis.  In spite of (or because of) the fact that they were written during the Depression (1936 and '37, respectively), they are remarkably relevant today.  Ms. Hillis has some harsh truths for her readers, but they need to be heard.  And, for all of her frankness, she is not without sympathy and a true understanding of the situations her readers find themselves in, and she dispenses good, common sense advice.


And, they're funny as hell, too.