Obliteration Christmas: A tale of friendship, tradition, and the art of the Christmas Stocking

Sometimes, the most endearing holiday ideas are those that are also the most frivolous and ridiculous. For example, every year that I've known Felix Flores I've made him a Christmas stocking. The early year weren't great.  In fact, they were horrible. Maybe even embarrassing. But overtime, the silliness of the exercise took on the status of Holiday Tradition. Felix and I amused ourselves with the surprise, handmade stockings filled with unexpected, funny, and sentimental gifts that usually didn't mean anything to anyone but us. He often told me it was his favorite part of Christmas. (Previous stocking posts are here, here, here, and here.)

With each passing year my production skills improved and I became more adept at manipulating felt, glitter, beads, and rhinestones. The stockings also took on more meaning as insider info made reference to experiences we shared during the year. Like this year when Felix and I visited New York's Gagosian gallery to participate in Yayoi Kusama's Obliteration Room.

Here's how Yayoi Kusama obliterates a room.  She builds a traditional, completely white living space inside a museum or gallery.  Then she invites a bunch of people to "obliterate' the room by placing brightly colored dots of varying sizes all over the colorless surfaces.

The result is this:

I like the tension of Obliteration Room.  The idea of obliteration, destruction, even loss of all that minimalist white space juxtaposed against the pure joy of the whole affair. So even before Felix entered the hospital earlier this year, I started a stocking. I decided to finish it after his death. Here is Obliteration Christmas, the official stocking of 2015

I wanted the stocking to maintain the interactive nature of Kusama's original idea.  So on the front are hand-sewn metal snaps.  The accompanying satchels contain felt dots that the viewer can apply in any configuration he or she desires.

I recognize the frivolity of 18 years of stocking construction. That's a ridiculous endeavor. I also recognize that with the death of Felix this will be the last year I'll get to enjoy this particular frivolity. I suppose that's a sad sentiment. But that's not the intention. Instead it's a reminder, mostly to myself that all those unnecessary, strange, curious things we do during the holidays are the things that help create the most important relationships of our lives. Relationships like the one I had with Felix.

So merry Christmas everyone. And merry Christmas to all those weird, wondrous, and magical traditions.

A poorly-informed trip to The Cloisters.

The exterior of The Cloisters.

(NOTE: this is a review I forgot to post from a 2014 visit to New York City.)

Museum-going is one of my favorite vacation activities as is evidenced by Art Lobster's many posts about museum visits.  So most people were shocked when I admitted that during all my visits to New York City, I had never been to The Cloisters, the satellite site of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

My friends seemed to lord this fact over me, as if finally they had been to a museum I hadn't. People cooed about how relaxing and beautiful the setting is. And they pontificated about how interesting the collection is.

So on my last visit to New York, I made the trek that is about as far north you can go in Manhattan, hiked the somewhat confusing roads and park paths, and entered the imposing entrance to the Cloisters. I showed my Met membership card, entered the museum, and was immediately embarrassed by how ill prepared I was for this museum experience.

In my defense, there are legitimate reasons why I had never attended the museum and why I was ill informed. Medieval European art isn't something that I actively seek out.  I tend to gravitate to living artists or artists of the last 100 or so years. The Cloisters doesn't really do special exhibitions.  That's usually how I choose the museums I want to visit.  I look for an interesting temporary exhibit, make that a destination, and then find other things in that museum that look interesting.

So having done little research, I walked into the first gallery and was surprisingly confused.  What was I looking at?  Was this an old religious convent that the Met had converted into a museum? And how was I to judge the objects on display.  The confusion was enough that I immediately returned to the information counter to do the only thing that made sense.  Get some basic info and pay for an audio guide.

The Unicorn in Captivity (ca. 1495 - 1505)

Turns out, The Cloisters was built specifically to house the Medieval European collection of the Met.  That's how they were able to incorporate many of the architectural elements right into the building. The Met's collection includes an impressive array of massive stone doorways, stained glass windows, and Cloisters, all of which have been thoughtfully built into the building.  Set among this are plenty of interesting art and objects.

The walls of one large room are covered with unicorn tapestries.  They are massive.  And while modern unicorns are usually rainbow-jumping cartoon characters, these animals were fierce creatures. Most of the tapestries involved hunting, trapping, or killing unicorns which was apparently a popular medieval activity.  The tapestries were spectacular.  And I can only imagine that they would have been all the more spectacular at a time when movies, videos, cartoons, immersive games, etc, did not exist. Not to mention the craftsmanship of the weaving.  I'm still not exactly sure how this was possible.  The work shown here is The Unicorn in Captivity (ca. 1495 - 1505, wool, silk, and silver and gilded silver-wrapped thread).

Medieval folk seem to thrill at the terrors of hell.  Gruesome images were to be found everywhere at The Cloisters. There was an entire collection of these small, stained-glass window medallions that featured truly awful scenes of hell.

Souls Tormented in Hell (ca. 1500 - 1510)

Much of what makes The Cloisters impressive are the soaring architectural spaces which feel authentic to the Medieval sensibility the museum is  trying to recreate.

Medieval craftspeople were nothing if not focused on difficult-to-execute details.  Hand carved flourishes and figures can be found everywhere.  And I'm sure the tools used to create them didn't make the task easy.  Many of those featuring people suggest that Medieval life wasn't all that fun.

Of course there are the actual Cloisters which have been painstakingly reassembled from locations in Europe and elsewhere. A cloister is a covered walkway usually found in convents or monasteries. Most feature a wall on one side and a colonnade on the other that opens to a court yard. And yes, now I too can now coo about how relaxing and beautiful the setting of these spaces can be. Here's Felix taking a casual stroll through one such space.

I'll admit I'm a little ambivalent about the intent of The Cloisters.  There were moments when it felt theme park-ish, as if the Disney imagineers had been called up and asked to create a Medieval European village.  At the same time, its quiet beauty and engaging content make for a lovely museum experience.

Book eighteen: Sacre Bleu by Christopher Moore.

As last year 's year of reading books about art and artists continued, it got harder and harder to find books that looked like they were worth reading.  Sometimes you have to take a risk.  I did that with Christopher Moore’s Sacre Bleu.  I’ve read a Christopher Moore book once before and while it was not awful, it wasn’t my favorite read so I’ve stayed away from Moore’s hugely popular books ever since.

With that in mind, I’m pleased to report that Sacre Bleu was a pleasant surprise.  Reading this book was a reminder that books about art and artists tend to be serious, heavy, sometimes dark, frequently depressing, and so on.  So this light and frothy supernatural romp was a welcome change.

Here’s the premise: Maybe there’s a reason Van Gogh went crazy and cut off his ear.  And maybe his suicide (in which the artist shoots himself in the stomach and then walks a mile to a doctor for treatment) is just a little too suspect to not warrant investigation. 

The book opens with news of Van Gogh’s death spreading through Paris.  Baker Lucien Lessard, whose father was an acquaintance of many of the great French Impressionist painters, receives the news and immediately feels the need to spread the word. Eventually Lucien is in cahoots with Henri Toulouse-Lautrec (with many other cameos from artists of the time) as they find themselves caught up in a mysterious tale.

Central to that tale is a twisted, shriveled character called the Colorman (who peddles artists’ paints like drugs) and the beautiful female muses who are associated with the paint maker.  As the book progresses, it takes on a dangerous, supernatural air with loads of surprises. It turns out, that for tens of thousands of years, a mysterious shade of sacre bleu is responsible for some of the world’s greatest paintings.  But the artists may have suffered the consequences.  In fact the color may have been responsible for some horrible moments in history.

Moore makes the French art world of the late 19^th Century a delightful and exciting place where lust, liquor, and artists collide.  His take on historical characters is just plain fun.  Toulouse-Lautrec is one of the funniest characters I’ve read in a long time, even though the humor is frequently, dare I say it, off color, even blue. The adventure sequences crackle with suspense. The result a funny, pleasurable read about a subject matter that tends toward pomposity.