I am working my way through Carlos Saura's flamenco trilogy right now; last night at the Nelson house I stumbled into the first one, Blood Wedding, and tonight I watched Carmen. I hope to see El Amour Brujo tomorrow. Carmen was good (such incredible dancing!), but I preferred Blood Wedding--while I enjoyed the textual interplay and overlapping "realities" of Carmen, the sparseness and subtlety of the set and dialogue combined with emotionally intense dancing in Blood Wedding were totally amazing.

Also, it helps that Antonio Gades is the sexiest communist ever.

Anyway, it's always nice to come across things I like, especially when it sort of happens by accident. And since I've somehow managed to see The Room AND Troll 2 in the past month, it was heartening to watch something that's actually, you know, good.

Bonus: There are a ton of opera references in Ulysses, and the ones about Carmen just got a lot more interesting.

While all the fool-assed-fools in the US continue to get hyped over Norman Rockwell's cheesy white person made-up-America nonsense, (trying to stay cool after reading some extremely stupid internet comments related to a very innocent post on Harpyness) I'll be over here enjoying Kehinde Wiley.

 Baroque-inspired portraits of young black men and hip hop personalities, employing rich colors and "traditional" decorative floral patterns; an interesting, fun, and engaging take on portraiture for the 21st century, if you ask me. I first came across Wiley unwittingly, when my roommate Elliot put this painting up as the background on our communal computer. I loved it because it was fresh and unexpected, using a traditional medium and florid Baroque details to elevate young black men to an almost regal status. Then, a few weeks ago, Joe and I visited the Minneapolis Institute of Art and came across this room, where a painting of Wiley's was hung amongst the actual 18th century that he draws from.

His subjects look confident (defiant?) and comfortable, and stare right at you out of the canvas. I've always loved those qualities in portraits of women, so maybe it's just something I enjoy about paintings that depict people who have historically been kept out of the "art world," or who are usually supposed to show deference and obedience to the assumed white, male viewer.

Point being, boo to Norman Rockwell and his trite garbage, yay to Kehinde Wiley and his empowering contemporary interpretation of an old style I'm not usually that into.

My Landscape Take II

Georgia O'Keeffe on the Southwest: "Such a beautiful, untouched lonely feeling place, such a fine part of what I call the 'Faraway'."

My trip to the desert was wonderful, poignant experience. I didn't quite expect to enjoy it as much as I did when I was a little kid, but it turns out that I'm only more in love with it now. The way O'Keeffe described it is perfect, and I like that Edward Abbey  says that the desert is "clean". Even with all the colors of red and the persistent dust, the Southwest remains a stark, strange and bone-dry landscape. Ancient but elusive. You'll die of thirst or exhaustion out there before you find even one good word to pin it down with. Maybe someday I'll come up with a good way to explain my feelings about the desert (I never expect to explain the place itself), but for now I'm satisfied letting older, smarter, and sometimes deader people do it for me (O'Keeffe, Abbey and Terry Tempest Williams). But I love it. I really do.

Right now I'm looking into getting an internship with the SCA sometime in the next few years at a national park in Utah or Arizona (Canyonlands please!!). Maybe I'll try to do it while I'm in school for credit, maybe I'll try to do it after I graduate, or maybe I'll try to do it instead of studying abroad. I don't know. But it seems like an opportunity I would be sick to pass up.

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By Jenny Holzer.
I bought a postcard of this at the Tate Modern when I was 17, and got to see it at the Pompidou last month. Still love it.