Slatted boards and sunlight. Photo by Julie Seyler.
We have come through winter. Like a fresh coat of paint, we are, oh, so ready, for the renewal that spring brings.
The Saturday Blog: Renewal
06 Saturday Apr 2013
Posted in Art
Tag Archives: Julie Seyler
Yale Art Gallery Yields Ancient Flip-Flops, Word Games, and a “David Yurman”
01 Monday Apr 2013
Posted in Art
Tags
Art, David Yurman, Dura-Europos, Julie Seyler, The Write Side of 50, Yale University, Yale University Art Gallery
Glass mosaic bowl, 1st century B.C. to 2nd century A.D.
I am passionate about ancient objects. Vases, bowls, tables, and combs, when crafted by an artisan who might be 4000 years old today, blow my mind. So I scour the ancient art galleries of museums, and love to visit once-buried cities. Seeing old artifacts confirms the continuity of fashion; the practicality of drinking glasses; the fun of jewelry.
One bitter day in March, a friend and I drove up to the Yale Art Gallery. From the city, it’s about 2 hours on I-95. I had heard that the recent renovation was spectacular, but had ignored reading about it, so I went with a blind eye. The minute we drove onto Chapel Street, and past the stately gothic buildings that comprise Yale University, I was enamored. The campus is not beautiful in the sense of rolling hills, but in the majesty of the architecture. It celebrates education with arches and steeples and marble and wrought iron gates. If ever I wanted to go back to being a student, this stroll around Yale made me long for youth in a way that was not familiar.
So when I entered the art gallery, I was already enchanted and became more so as we ambled through. The little I saw reflected the tip of an amazing collection – a mini- Metropolitan Museum of Art, but so much more accessible. The info cards give the necessary details with simplicity, and it was crowded, but not jammed.
Within the Roman galleries was an exhibit devoted to the city of Dura-Europos, founded in 300 B.C. on the western bank of the Euphrates River, in what is now present-day Syria. The Romans dominated from about 165 A.D. until another invading army, the Sassanians, took over. The site was discovered by a team of Yale archaeologists in the 1920s, and the gallery is a showcase for their finds. I spotted a leather flip flop that could have been made by Rainbow; a David Yurman bracelet and Matisse-like terracotta female figures.
Leather flip flop Dura-Europos 2nd-3rd century A.D.
“David Yurman” bracelet circa 200-256 A.D.
The zaktik torso. 1st century B.C.- 2nd century A.D.
My favorite was the word puzzle. Each of the words (ROTAS, OPERA, TENET, AREPO, and SATOR), written on this plaster plaque, can be read right to left, or left to right, or up and down, or down and up, and end up spelling the same word. A master acrostic palindrome. The meaning remains an enigma, but not the pleasure of a word game, which is timeless.
The Saturday Blog: The Ceiba Tree
30 Saturday Mar 2013
Posted in Art
Ceiba tree. Tikal, Guatemala. Photo by Julie Seyler.
Tikal, Guatemala is a destination place for those who are intrigued and curious about the Mayans. But beyond the grand temples, stands nature. The Mayans believed that a great Ceiba tree stood at the center of the earth, and connected the terrestrial world to the spirit world above. Who doesn’t want a little connection to the spirit, wherever it is circulating?
In Praise of the Classic Car
28 Thursday Mar 2013
Posted in Art, Confessional
Double Shot: Julie shooting the interior of a 1964 Chrysler.
I’ve already walked down memory lane with why I get a kick out of convertibles, and Bob has reminisced about his grand old ’64 Ford Galaxie. So, staying on message with the automobile, here goes my passion for old cars. For example, I love watching White Heat, not just because it’s a great movie with one of the best movie quotes of all times – “Made it Ma! Top of the world!” [No. 18 on the AFI list] – but because of the cars the gangsters and the cops drive.
The Jarrett gang getaway.
These are late ’40s whales, but I am mesmerized while watching Ma, desperate to dodge the cops, downshift and screech around the corner. The good guys, determined to stop the Jarrett gang, have access to all of the latest technology – like a radio transmitter the size of a satellite dish strapped to the roof of their car. I am so entranced by these images, I end up taking photos of the cars as I watch the movie.
My mini-obsession doesn’t stop there. I also collect photos of old cars. I mean, I’ll never be able to afford to buy one, let alone maintain one, so I might as well have a facsimile collection. Newspaper photos may be archaic one day, which means my “collection” will have value on eBay. Ha Ha. Anyway, remember I wrote about that car auction of famous people’s cars in my convertible post and a purple 1919 Pierce-Arrow, owned by the silent film star, Fatty Arbuckle? Here’s Fatty Arbuckle’s Pierce Arrow. Even the dullness of newsprint can’t dull down the lines and contours of this grand baby:
And, of course, I like old car shows, because I can take photographs of the real thing.
There is just something sexy about the rounded long hoods of 1940 sedans. They may have weighed a ton, but the devil was in the detail, such as the ornaments that graced the hoods.
Nice contrast to the mega-headlight orbs.
I am always discovering endearing features in old cars, like the massive steering wheels, or the the exotic boldness of the color option. It seems that by the late ’50s and early ’60s, car manufacturers found pastel. Pink seats, tri-color striped seats, and mustard yellow were quite coveted.
Gas guzzlers they may have been, but the essential beauty of the design cannot be compared to the streamlined homogeneity of the modern car. There is just something aesthetically appealing, and intrinsically intriguing, about cars that were born between 1940 and 1963. (Sort of like us right-side-of-50ers.)
From the Left to the Right (of 50): Adjusting, Reversing, and Not Following, Directions
25 Monday Mar 2013
Posted in Art, Confessional
“Directions. Information. Reversible.” Collage by Julie Seyler.
One thing I’ve noticed about my late 50s is: change is possible. Directions I slavishly followed because they had been cast in stone years ago are easily reversed if they are dragging me down. Rules I loyally adhered to are tossed when they become too burdensome. Trapped revolving, icky information that used to take days to sift through is discarded in three hours. I don’t have the time or the energy to waste dwelling on the wrong side of things. I adjust if necessary, and that is a benefit to moving further from the left side of 50.
“Adjust if necessary.” Collage by Julie Seyler.
Of course, there is irony in the whole process. Because as my inner psyche experiences this newfound freedom and liberation, my outer self is undergoing a cataclysm. It seems that the contours of my face and body are moving in a wildly different, quite unknown direction. I guess there are always trade-offs.
Before the Oil, There was an Olive
22 Friday Mar 2013
Posted in Food
This post has been hijacked and hacked by me. Julie had been wondering if an olive has as much nutritional punch and the same, much-touted health benefits as olive oil. She started writing about it:
If olive oil is “good” for you, are olives equally good for you? Is there a difference between oil-cured Provence olives, Sicilian green olives, and Greek Kalamata olives in terms of nutrition and health? I always embellish fish, chicken and pasta with black olives, but never beef or lamb. Is it possible to combine such ingredients? I have made chicken with green olives, but otherwise they only grace my martini glass.
I did some Internet research about olives, but not about recipes. If anybody has any intriguing novel recipes, send them on please. Here are some facts about olives:
They grow on trees and are classified in fruit family.
They cannot be eaten raw. They require some prodding after being picked – curing or brining are two options.
They may help prevent bone loss and may temper inflammation.
So, they are good for you, but don’t eat too many because they are fattening!
I had to weigh in, and take over, because I am olive-obsessed. “…don’t eat too many because they are fattening!” is bad advice. I am not an olive expert, just an expert consumer. I eat olives every day – by the spoonful; the cupful. As I’m filling my two or three huge containers at my local olive bar every week, my mouth is watering the whole time. What I do know about olives is that they are ripe in the “good,” monounsaturated fat. And they bear the anti-inflammatory phenolic phytochemical called hydroxytyrosol. It is this anti-inflammatory phenolic phytochemical that boosts the health benefits of olive oil. (There are studies as to the benefits of hydroxytyrosol.) But all the tongue-twisting scientific lingo, and exhaustive studies aside – the bottom line is, olive oil comes from the olive.
We’ve all heard about the benefits of the Mediterranean Diet. And, I agree with Julie that there’s minimal hype around the olive itself. The New England Journal of Medicine (NEJM) has recently release yet another study about the benefits of a diet rich in grains, fruit, fish, nuts and olive oil, and how it’s better than a low fat diet in preventing cardiovascular disease and strokes. To summarize a part of the new NEJM study: eat all the olive oil that you want (it recommends four tablespoons a day), and as many nuts as you want. I’ve added olives to that. An olive (or a truckload) can serve as a check on the list of the recommended five servings of fruit the experts tell us to eat each day. And get your daily nuts in with almond-stuffed olives.
Julie asks: “I always embellish fish, chicken and pasta with black olives, but never beef or lamb. Is it possible to combine such ingredients?”
Yes. The beauty of the olive when used with any meat is simply in the taste. It’s salty. (Add hot peppers for zing; raisins for sweet.) And you can cook them with the meat, or add them after. The flavor remains steadfast. I cook with them; top with them. I heat them in the microwave when I’m feeling fancy. They are my go-to snack. And I ask for extra olives when ordering a martini.
Julie also asks: “If anybody has any intriguing novel recipes, send them on please.”
Here’s mine. I eat this at least twice a week for breakfast – it’s tweaked from a sardine recipe I found years ago. It gives a heap of superfoods in one fell swoop:
Spread a frozen slice of good rye bread with avocado and a smidgen of mayonnaise. Cover all the open space with halved olives. Cover with one slice of Swiss cheese, and broil (that’s why you want the bread to be frozen, otherwise it may char) until cheese is melted. Take it out, and cover it with a whole can of sardines packed in olive oil (packed in water is fine too), and sprinkle with pepper, and finely chopped almonds or pine nuts. Place on top of a layer of fresh spinach. You’re good to go. Send us your olive recipes in the comments below, or e-mail, and we’ll print them.
All olives shot by Julie Seyler.
Hollywood’s Premier Bawdy, Naughty “Golden” Girls: Get Out and See Them Sometime
21 Thursday Mar 2013
Mae has all of the angles. Mixed media by Julie Seyler.
Every year the Film Forum runs a festival celebrating movies made in 1933 or earlier. Movies like “Babyface,” with Barbara Stanwyck as the heroine, who sleeps her way to the top, and “Bombshell,” starring Jean Harlow as Lola, the actress who keeps family and film crew afloat, are made available on the big screen. Unmarried women had sex. These movies tend to be, what we used to think of as, “bawdy,” perhaps a little naughty. But then along came the Hays Code and its edicts to enshrine chastity and separate the matrimonial bed.
We chose to watch a double feature. First up was “I’m No Angel,” an iconic early flick starring Mae West and Cary Grant. Mae also wrote and directed it, which meant she broke the glass ceiling in Hollywood 80 years ago. The other feature was a Czech movie called, “Ecstasy.” It starred Eva Hedgwick before she came to the U.S. and became Hedy Lamarr.
“I’m No Angel” is built on Mae West’s over the top pungency in dress and persona. She was a zaftik dame with full thighs and hips, and her clothes accented every curve. Frank would have loved her. Her ensembles belong on the Red Carpet of the Academy Awards, and she never used a stylist. She was provocative, but always in complete control.
The plot is about a woman who cops to being “no angel,” but she does so with such lust and joy, that it makes the alternative awfully unappealing.
Mae West: having fun by Julie Seyler. Mixed media on paper.
The movie opens with Mae as Tira, the burlesque draw in a honky tonk road show. She is down and out in her luck, and consults the show’s astrologer to find out how to find the right man. After he reads her charts, she makes no move without consulting his predictions. To get some dough, and become rich and famous, Tira becomes a lion tamer, and sticks her head in the lion’s mouth. She befriends women who are nice and disses snobs. She convinces an engaged man to give her thousands of dollars worth of gifts with nothing but friendship in return. And when millionaire Cary Grant breaks their engagement, she sues him for breach of promise, and nothing else. She has no interest in his money; she wants love. So romance wins out as we fade to Cary and Mae kissing. The End.
The second feature, “Ecstasy,” was about a young woman who marries a prig. Her marriage is never consummated, so she divorces him, and in her sadness and despair, hooks up with the virile brawny construction worker. Her pearls fling off and flowers bloom as she experiences ecstasy. Sex appeal – always in fashion.
Hedy blooms. Collage by Julie Seyler.
Four Months In, and We’re Still Friends
19 Tuesday Mar 2013
Posted in Confessional
Julie (left) and Lois (right), in the ’70s.
Today puts Julie and me into the four-month anniversary of our blogging collaboration. We are riding a tide counter to that conventional-wisdom wave that cautions friends against becoming business partners. We think we’ve made the perfect match. What makes it work is how different we are – different skills (I play with words, Julie points, shoots, and paints); different temperaments (Julie is super organized, I love a mess); different likes (Julie is a bit of a food-fussbudget, I’ve eaten days-old soggy Cheez Doodles that were left out overnight and were stuck together); different worries (she does, I don’t); and different viewpoints (she’s old, I’m not).
So please excuse the indulgence of our posting a picture of the two of us, as teens, sitting in Julie’s childhood bedroom. We mean for it to be a testament to all women, and the incalculable value of enduring female friendships. Girlfriends.
And thanks to all our contributors, fans, and followers (our guy friends, too), for your writing and reading.
Me, My Camera, and Some Favorite Photos
18 Monday Mar 2013
Posted in Art
Julie takes a photo. Palace Hotel. Madrid, 2012.
I have always embraced a camera. Out of all my high school friends, I think I am the one with the most captured memories on film. It could be true for my college years, law school years, my Washington D.C years, and the last 24 years in Manhattan.
In the beginning, I used film because we only knew film. We built our camera knowledge on trademarks like Kodak, and the instant snapshot of the Polaroid. Remember Bob’s family had a Kodak Duaflex.
Then digital cameras began infiltrating. I railed against them. I swore my loyalty to film, and I managed to remain a hold-out until the near end, when it was impossible for an amateur to find film, let alone find anyone who could develop it, or would develop it at a reasonable price. Now I cop to the fact that I became a convert. Nothing beats the ease of digital and its mechanics that allows for thousands of images with a click.
And not only did technology change, I changed. Where I used to only take photos of friends, anywhere at anytime, I have moved towards nature and buildings; city streets and sunflowers. I am mad about light and color and composition and beauty and ugliness. Here are three of my favorite photos:
This was taken from the (now battered) deck at Allenhurst Beach Club, about two or three years ago. It was early in the day, and I knew it was going to be a gorgeous one. The sky told the story. Every time I revisit this photo, I see space, freedom, tranquility, and the anticipation of a perfect day at the beach.
In the middle of February, I was waiting for a downtown bus in front of McSwiggans, a bar on 2nd Avenue. I was staring into the front bay window, and was struck by the antic energy created by the competing beer advertisements. Out came the camera. I had to try to nail it.
I do not know why, but I have always been fascinated by old cemeteries – those where the tombstones are dated anywhere between 1600 and 1900. There is sculpture in the alleys lined with mausoleums – mansions to hold the dead. This was taken at Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris where Jim Morrison is buried. It was around 10 or so on a Sunday morning. I never did find Jim Morrison.
My Dish on Puerto Rico: Easy, Breezy, with Mojitos on the Side
15 Friday Mar 2013
Posted in Travel
License Plate. All photos by Julie Seyler.
It is sometimes hard to swallow that I am approaching 60. On the other hand, it is always great to know that I have had some friends for over 40 years. We still manage to look like we are 13 years old to each other. So I decided to see if I could entice one of these old-time buddies to come with me on a four-day getaway. (Yes, like Lois, I too, am a fan of the four-day trip.) I dangled Cardiff, Wales and Sofia, Bulgaria in front of her, and she jumped at all of them, but ultimately we opted for ease, which meant San Juan, Puerto Rico.
Beach and sea, San Juan.
I have never been, but it is the perfect destination from New York City. It’s a four-hour flight. There is sun, sand and sea. And minimal time change. I did some research, found decent flights, a cute boutique hotel on the beach, and sent my girlfriend an e-mail with the info. Her reply: “Book it Dan-O.”
Our flight was scheduled to depart from JFK on March 6 at 7:00 p.m. Until it didn’t. When I got to work that morning American Airlines had graciously left me a voice mail that that flight had been canceled due to the coming snowstorm. I frantically got on the horn with them, and after an hour on hold, a lovely rep answered, and offered us the opportunity to fly out on the 3:50 flight. She was so nice. She waited while I called my friend, who was in the middle of a meeting, to see if she could scramble her fully-booked schedule so we could rendezvous three hours earlier than originally planned. So we found each other on the front end of the West 4th subway station at 1:00 pm to follow through with our plan of taking the train to the plane. It’s a great deal for $7.50.
We sailed onto that plane five minutes before the doors shut behind us. We were on our way to the land of mojitos!
Mojito.
It was a perfect four-day trip, despite a weather pattern of sun every morning, with clouds rolling in religiously by 2 p.m. We were totally indolent on day one – never leaving the beach at the Water Beach Club Hotel; semi-indolent day two – taking a walk for massages, and heading into Old San Juan for dinner; and downright ambitious on day three, with renting a car from Charlie’s so we could check out the rain forest at El Yunque, the beach at Luquillo, and then a drive into Old San Juan for our final dinner. We even managed to change out of our bathing suits and into our clothes in the car.
Water Beach Club
A street in Old San Juan.
Sunday morning we were on the beach at 7:30 in the morning to max out on our last few hours before the 2:15 flight home.
A morning beer.
The Write Side of 59 