Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

adrian_turtle is visiting for a few days. Yesterday she, cattitude and I went to the Chihuly Glass Garden in Seattle Center, and had a nice time looking at Chihuly's glass sculptures. Much of the display is indoors, including a very colorful ceiling; the garden part is very well done, with the plantings well matched to the glass sculpture.

Adrian has also discovered that our cats actually understand and will obey a firm "no!" I suspect this is because (according to their paperwork) they used to live in the same household as a dog. Whatever the reason, it is already making our lives easier, because we're spending significantly less energy keeping them out of closets.

Today's Astronomy Picture of the Day is the Great Comet of 1660; the caption explains the astronomical instruments used.

cattitude, adrian_turtle, and I are hanging out together in Arlington. Cattitude and I got here Wednesday evening (the most exciting aspect of the train journey was probably that I dropped and had to retrieve a Scrabble tile), and the three of us cooked together yesterday. We got a little frantic near the end, and the sweet potatoes didn't come out well, but that was okay. We had lots of other good things to eat, and more of everything than we could eat. It will be turkey sandwiches with cranberry-orange relish for dinner in a little while. The apple pie was a failure, largely because the commercial pie crust Adrian picked up was over-salty, so we threw it away, cut up more apples, and made an apple crisp, which was quite good.

This morning we slept in a bit (by my standards, past 8 counts; I woke Adrian about 9:30 because we had plans). Down to Harvard Square for pho and tea (both to drink and to restock Adrian's kitchen) and then we went to the Gardner Museum, which Cattitude's father recommended strongly over the telephone yesterday. It is a very dense and jumbled collection, in a very nice building with an impressive atrium that visitors aren't allowed to enter, only look at. I mostly found myself looking at ancient statues, and at bits of furniture with mother-of-pearl inlays, ceramics, and small silver objects, rather than paintings, but one of the paintings that did catch my eye is labeled as a Rembrandt self-portrait. (I put it that way because there is controversy over the attribution of many paintings that are either by Rembrandt or his students.) The light and dark caught my eye, and my thought was "student of Rembrandt," because mature Rembrandts tend to be darker than this, but if it's by him, he painted it at 23.

We ran out of museum energy well before they ran out of museum. I want to go back sometime on a sunnier day, because there is very little artificial light in there, and lots of large windows. (This is a reasonable choice if they're worried about UV damaging the paintings.)

From there, we went to Central Square, so Cattitude could visit Pandemonium and I could go to the gym. It was 4 or so by the time we got there, and I was more tired than I'd planned on, so it was a brief workout, but worth it. We rendezvous'd at Toscanini's, where I had a cup of tea (caffeine matters) and then a hot fudge sundae. They had gotten there slightly before me, so were already drinking their hot beverages when I arrived (and started their ice cream sooner).

As I type this, they're in the kitchen discussing how to improve stove and oven design.

( gym numbers )

OK, that's an exaggeration. But I did go for a fine long walk today, despite knowing last night that doing so would be pushing things, and I think it was all worth it.

roadnotes, rezendi, and I met at the soon-to-close Strand Annex on Fulton Street, and then walked over to South Street Seaport to look at the "Waterfalls" temporary public art thing. From the edge of the pier there, you can see all four of the waterfalls clearly; it was immediately clear to me that the one at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge, on the Brooklyn side, worked better than the other three, I think because it has the solider backdrop. Overall, at least on a sunny afternoon, it's unimpressive: I shouldn't be looking at your fancy, expensive public art and thinking of how much better Multnomah Falls is. (At least, I doubt that was the artist's intention.)

Part of the difficulty is that it's difficult to make the East River look better, these days (the water may still be polluted, but what you see is a few random logs, some gulls, maybe a cormorant, and lots of bright shiny water. And the bridges themselves: the Brooklyn Bridge is also hard to improve on.

So, we looked at the bridges and the water features, and walked north a bit, and then over the Brooklyn Bridge, talking some, looking at the river and the harbor some, and they took pictures. We wound up sitting and chatting in an odd organic cafe on Henry Street. The smoothie I got there wasn't as good as the one I got on the streetcorner yesterday, but it wasn't bad, and they understand tea enough to have brought me a cup of tea, not a cup of hot water and a nearby teabag. Eventually, Rezendi had to go off to another appointment, and Roadnotes and I talked a bit more. Then I gave in to temptation, despite knowing it might be a bad idea: instead of getting on the train right there, I walked down to Atlantic Avenue and bought assorted interesting things (pistachios, olives, chocolate, teas, two kinds of duck pate, vanilla beans, two kinds of pita bread, and cucumber salad) at Sahadi's and Damascus Bakery. Then back to the A train, via my bank. My knee had been a bit unhappy by the time we started the bridge; by the time we were halfway from Cranberry Street to Atlantic Avenue, my right hip was bothering me. But we have determination, sometimes when it would be better not.

cattitude got on the same uptown A train I was on, which was pleasant; we brought my groceries home, plus milk and soda and beer from a nearby deli. I have taken two ibuprofen, taken off my shoes and enough clothes that I won't wander outside again without thinking, and am mostly going to spend the evening sitting down. The duck stuff, bread, and cucumber salad will make a nice summer dinner.

One of the things mrissa and I were chatting about in email recently was Swedish meatballs. As it happens, there is a place I can get Swedish meatballs for lunch: it's just enough of a walk that it feels a little far for a normal workday* but my office is now on "summer hours," meaning we work longer Monday-Thursday and get to leave at one on Fridays. So, I'm at 32nd and Madison. Penzey's is in Grand Central. Scandinavia House is between the two, on Park Avenue around 38th Street.

Scandinavia House is a cultural outreach sort of project, from the Nordic countries collectively to the United States. They have a cafe. The cafe is run by Aquavit restaurant. A short menu, but including the aforementioned meatballs; a herring plate; smorgesbord; sandwiches; soup; maybe a couple of other things. And beverages including lingonberry soda.

The Swedish meatballs come with lightly pickled cucumber salad; some lingonberry jam/sauce; mashed potatoes; and bread. All of which were very good. I am not a mashed potato fan, generally. I finished these, happily. The real surprise of the meal was the bread. There was a piece of a crusty whole wheat bread, which was good for mopping up the gravy at the end, and there were some crackers or flatbread: someone has figured out to make a bread (I think rye) that is all crust. Yay them!

There were little cards on the cafe tables, advertising an exhibit upstairs of recent Icelandic art. After lunch, I went upstairs. As I was waiting for the elevator, someone stepped out of the gift shop, asked if I was going to the art exhibit, and when I said yes, told me that there were rooms behind black curtains that were worth looking in. There were three such rooms, each with a multimedia exhibit. I really liked one, which was changing colors projected onto the walls of the room. Another left me cold, though I think I saw what the artist was trying to do. The third, which I actually saw first, had me step away quickly, glad that they had it behind a curtain, for those of us who don't handle flashing lights well. (And anyone who did could have stepped into the room and watched a while, as I did with the one I particularly liked: someone involved with this exhibit knows what they're doing). I was also quite taken with the piece on the ads for the exhibit, "Icelandic Love Corporation," a mixed-media work showing black birds and a nest mixing eggs with magpie- or dragon-style treasure. (There were also paintings, including one set of abstracts that fit well together; photographs; and other sculpture/mixed-media works.) The exhibit, "From Another Shore: Recent Icelandic Art" is free and runs through August 15; "recent" in this case covers ten or twelve years, and all the works are from the collection of the National Gallery of Iceland.

* though I suspect it's no further than some of the places I do go for lunch during the workday

I spent Labor Day weekend in Arlington with adrian_turtle. Saturday I was feeling bright and cheerful, having actually gotten eight hours' uninterrupted sleep. We spent the afternoon at the DeCordova Museum and Sculpture Park, which Adrian had told me about on a previous visit. I particularly enjoyed the outdoor sculpture, and the chance to walk around on the lawns. It's a good place for children; we saw several families, and children who liked the sculptures and were dashing from one to another, which you can't do in a conventional museum without the guards getting annoyed. Adrian pointed out one of her favorites, Jim Dine's "Two Big Hearts": the two hearts are in dark gray metal, with all sorts of stuff on them, tools and shoes and hands and a coffeepot, a lifetime of memory. The two hearts are similar, but with noticeable differences. elisem, you should see this if you get the opportunity. What caught my eye indoors (which has some sculpture, plus paintings and photos) was a selection of very realistic-looking birds, Audubon style, in ways they would never be seen in nature. [I thought I remembered the artist's name as "Walden Ford," but Google is finding nothing. Adrian?] One is called "Last Words," and is a group of Carolina parakeets standing around one dead parakeet; the curator noted that this was modeled on "The Death of General Woolf," I think Benjamin West's painting. Then we came home and cooked misia's recipe for red-simmered protein (chicken in our case), which went nicely with salad and sourdough bread.

Sunday was rainy and gray, and I'd not slept so well. We stayed in most of the day, and I even took an afternoon nap. Eventually we baked brownies, then went out to dinner at Za, which does weird and tasty pizzas. I mentioned the brownies to cattitude, who expressed enthusiasm, so I brought some home with me. We stayed up later than we'd meant to Sunday night: having gone to bed at a more or less sensible hour (more sensible for someone who hadn't been behind on sleep, I suspect), we talked for at least an hour before Adrian finally said "bedtime." This would have been okay if I'd slept straight through, but at least this time I got back to sleep quickly after Adrian snuggled over to me to get warm, and after holding her for a few minutes I got up, turned the fan off, and made sure she had covers over her.

Monday we had lunch at Bengal Cafe, a hole-in-the-wall Bangladeshi restaurant which Adrian had noticed smelled good when walking by a few times. I looked at the menu in the window, said "they have things I've never heard of," and reached for the door as Adrian cheerfully said "New Yorker." We declined the waitress/cook's offer of the lunch buffet, because we'd spotted things we liked on the menu. We had Chat Putty, a delightful mix of white bean and potato, served at room temperature; a nice but unspectacular goat and lentil curry; and Shorshe Hilcha. Hilcha is a freshwater fish that she compared to shad; it's delicate but has lots of bones. This preparation was a mustard and onion sauce, also excellent. (Note: the bits of orange in the sauce are not carrots, don't bite into them. It took quite a bit of plain rice to get that much hot pepper off my tongue.) I was disappointed by my masala tea: she uses more black pepper, and less of the cardamom/ginger/cinnamon cluster of sweet spices, than I prefer, but the third and fourth sips were better than the first, and I did finish it. The menu is a mix of things I'd not seen before, and what looked like standard Indian-restaurant fare, including kurmas, curry, paratha, pakoras, and lassi; we deliberately ordered things we can't get in lots of other places we eat. There were plenty of fish choices, unsurprising in the cuisine of a country that sits on a river delta. Bengal Cafe, 2263 Mass Ave, in Cambridge. 617-492-1944, and it says here that they deliver in North Cambridge. Lunch everyday, 11:30-3; Dinner 5-9 Monday-Thursday, 5-10 Friday-Sunday.

Note to self: Adrian's current arrangement of chair, desk, and laptop was okay for me to use for short periods, but not to settle in at and get work done while she's asleep. This may be a temporary thing, because I hadn't noticed it before and my back had been bothering me before I got there, let alone sat down to use her computer.

The bus trip was uneventful and quick in both directions. No peafowl this time, but I got a nice look at the underside of an egret in flight, making a turn as our bus passed it.

My favorite jeweler, elisem, is having a clearance sale. Instead of splurging a whole $12 for this pendant, I'm taking on an artist's challenge, which means I'll need to sort out something that all those branches are pointing to, and what those pearls are trying to say.

[The precise phrasing of this post is part of the process, though I'll know much more once I have the branch in my hand.]

Like sisters, the cameraman says, praising our closeness. Is this how humans love their sisters, trunks entwined, a large love more sexual than their little bodies can encompass?

Everyone I know is my sister, mother, aunt, child, or Grandmother. Grandmother loves us all fiercely, never as close as I to my lovers, too wise or too careful for bodily love, for singling out just one or two of her daughters.

We, we are old enough to know this desire, not so old that we must turn from it.

Trumpeting at the purple evening sky, shouting our love to the world, to the herd, always to each other, a long low song of joy.

( Note )

I woke up early, and it's a very nice morning, so I stopped in Central Park on my way to work.

I went in at 110th and Central Park West, where I soon ran into a volunteer for the project. He told me that the path I was on led to a road--and yes, I could walk on one side of it, but there was traffic. So I turned back and went downstairs. And then up, and around.

At that hour on a weekday, a lot of people and dogs are in the north end of the park. There were also other people clearly there for the art--the cameras were a giveaway.

There's a gap in the gates, a few blocks south of 110th in a hilly area: the paths continue, but the orange doesn't. I kept going and it resumed.

I'm not sure if it was my mood or the different piece of the park, but while I enjoyed looking at the gates and the patterns they made, I was mostly enjoying being out and walking up and down hills. All of Central Park is shaped and artificial, but the south end is flatter than the north.

Tomorrow, time allowing, I may take the guide's suggestion and walk across the north end to see the gates at the Harlem Meer: he offered me that as "something special" and said they're over the water.

I'd invited cattitude to come downtown with me, but (as I expected) he declined. Walking with him is good, but so is walking by myself, and he wouldn't have liked the dogs.

This is not exactly an art review. It's more partial and personal than I would want to be if I was writing a review.

What we have, basically, is seven miles of torii, strung along the paths of Central Park, with orange fabric hanging from them. Lines and curves of orange, drifting gently, and sometimes not so gently, in the wind against a bright blue February sky.

Orange isn't my favorite color, never will be, but it was the right choice for this. It contrasts wonderfully with the sky, and adds joy to the grays and browns of a temperate zone winter. Orange works in The Gates for reasons akin to why I came to love cardinals for their flash of red in January's grays and dark greens.

<cattitude and I spent a couple of hours this morning wandering around Central Park. We started at 86th Street and Central Park West, and drifted non-randomly south, east, and west again, coming out at Columbus Circle. Most of the people were walking slowly, talking and looking around and taking many many photos. There were volunteers--identifiable both by aprons with "The Gates" printed on them, and by poles with tennis balls mounted on one end--answering questions and handing out fabric swatches. I'd already felt the fabric: it hangs low enough, between breezes, for me to reach up and touch, and, like most public art, this is touchable by anyone who so desires.

I don't usually wander around Central Park in the wintertime: I have Inwood Hill Park for that. So I hadn't realized how many of the lawns were closed for the season, to avoid damaging dormant grass. The effect was of huge orange rings around various shades of green (and bits of brown). The paths parallel, meet, intersect, and sometimes dive under bridges. We saw one underpass which is reached by a staircase, with gates along the stairs. From above, it was a glorious sequence of shining orange. From below, the several panels of fabric blended into one, and the sun was in the wrong place to shine through from that side. The artwork skips the Ramble--a sound choice--so the loop only goes partway around the lake.

The fabric is thick enough that, with my dark sunglasses on, I could look through it at the sun, and it was bright but not painfully or dangerously so. (At least, I hope it wasn't dangerous: it didn't feel as bright as many a thing I have looked on in presumed safety, and the glasses claim to block 100% of ultraviolet.)

We left the park a little before noon, by which time it was getting pretty crowded at the southwest corner. I'm going away next weekend, but that still leaves me time to see more of it, and by the light of different times of day.

Enough snow to cover the ground, and then blue sky after, would be stunning, but I have no idea if we'll get that lucky in the next two weeks.

Addenda:

•This is the first art exhibit I've been to, large or small, indoor or out, at which the viewers were offered fabric swatches.
•The pond and adjoining lawn just north of Belvedere Castle have a nice new sign designating them as a "Dragonfly Preserve." This is an excellent thing.
•cattitude saw the first robin of Spring, also just north of Belvedere Castle.