Marshmallow memories.

It started the first year I left home for college.  For every major holiday (and maybe a few that aren't so major) my mom would send a package. The boxes arrived filled with candies, decorations, surprises, and of course a card reminding me how much she loves me.

It continues to this day.  My mom is in her 80th year and still, like clockwork, packages arrive filled with holiday surprises and that ever-present card. There's one other consistent item included in these gifts: Russell Stover chocolates.  My mom loves Russell Stover chocolates.  So in nearly every package there are a few individually wrapped treats.  They take a variety of shapes depending on the holiday in question.  There are Santas and Snowmen. Pumpkins and bunnies. And of course hearts. Some are filled with caramel. Some with peanut butter. And some with marshmallow.

When you have a mom as charming and thoughtful as mine, after a while it's easy to take these packages for granted.  So it was a delightful surprise when Felix moved in with me and encountered his first holiday package from my mom.  He was delighted. He loved this tradition. Even though they came addressed to me, he quickly assumed shared ownership. This reminded me how excited I used to get all those years ago in college when there was nothing better than a note in your mailbox notifying you of a waiting package.

There were times when Felix would arrive home before me and find a box waiting on the porch.  I'd enter the house to find him excitedly waiting so we could open it. As it turns out, Felix loves Russell Stover chocolates too, particularly those of the marshmallow persuasion. Over time, there developed an unspoken agreement between us that any Russell Stover chocolate-covered marshmallow treats were his.  For some reason, this silliness made us both happy.

So here it is, the month of February. And just like clockwork, I arrive home late from a long day at work to find a package sitting on the front porch. It's addressed to me in my mother's loopy handwriting. I know what's inside: Valentine's Day treats, decorations, and a card that reminds me how much my mom loves me.

There is also a single Russell Stover chocolate covered marshmallow heart. And I have no idea what to do with it.

The joy (and grief) of cooking. For one.

Robert Graham Paris

My great uncle was an elegant and intriguing man.  Robert Graham Paris left his and my home town (Worland, Wyoming) at the age of sixteen.  And depending on whether you believe the bio from a book jacket or one from a PR agent, he either traveled to San Francisco or New York City where he studied acting with the likes of Boleslavsky, Ouspenskaya, and Belasco. (I have no idea who these people are but I assume they mean something in the world of acting.) Soon, his talents landed him Hollywood jobs in the mid-30s as head drama coach at Columbia Studios and later at Samuel Goldwyn.

If you believe reports from the time his clients included Lucille Ball, Bill Bixby, Lloyd Bridges, Carol Channing, Bette Davis, Glenn Ford, the Gabor sisters, Rita Hayworth, Shirley Temple, and Shelly Winters. He is also the author of a notable acting book called How To Act.

So what warrants a discussion of my great uncle when I barely remember him from a few short visits he paid to Worland in the 60s and 70s? The answer is complicated.

Robert Graham Paris and I share some similarities.  I was in my early 30s before I understood why my uncle was a bachelor and why my family was uncomfortable talking about him.  That was when someone finally got up the nerve to uncomfortably whisper, "he may have been a homosexual." There have been similar uncomfortable whisperings about me.

We also share a middle name: Graham.  My father has the same middle name. So it's a link to someone I didn't really know, but would have liked to.

Oh. And we both spent time with Carol Channing.

Recently, I went through the torture of renovating my kitchen. During that time I also dealt with the unnerving death of my best friend, confidant, and companion of 18 years, Felix Flores.  Those two events created a situation I can't seem to resolve.  For over a month I've had a gleaming new gas range complete with a stunning, modern hood. And I haven't been able to bring myself to cook a thing on or in it.

I always cooked dinner for Felix and me. And now I can't face a new stove, not even to boil water.

That brings me back to Robert Graham Paris. I've been looking for something to give meaning to the first use of my new stove.  Something that would make me realize that cooking just for me could still be comforting. Something that would recognize the grief and sadness I feel, but that would honor Felix's weird and quirky nature.

It just so happens that my great uncle Robert Graham Paris was also the author of a cook book; the tragically-titled Gourmet Cooking for One.

Gourmet Cooking for One by Robert Graham Paris published in 1968.

A few years ago someone published Microwave Cooking for One (which could be a description of my current culinary life). And I wondered if it was an even more tragic title.  But now I imagine a mature gentleman with silvering hair.  Possibly in his 50s. Wearing a cravat and smoking jacket. Sitting down in a lone chair at the end of a long table with a single setting of fine china. The candles flicker as wax drips onto a damask table cloth.  He slowly lifts a fork and savors his first bite of asparagus soufflé.

With that image glowing in my mind, Gourmet Cooking for One becomes cinematically tragic. A tale only a Hollywood acting coach could inspire. And only a friend like Felix would find as fitting and absurd as I do.

That's why, the first thing I will cook on and in my new range will be asparagus soufflé from Gourmet Cooking for One by Robert Graham Paris. Then, I will sit down at a beautifully appointed table with floral centerpieces and flickering candles. I will grieve, and feel guilty, and probably cry. I will raise a glass to Felix and to all the wonderful meals we shared together. And I will wish that he were here to capture the entire affair in a cinematic photograph.

Then, I should probably plan a dinner party with friends to make sure I haven't completely lost it.

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.

The best live party band ever!

I first saw the Scissor Sisters on September 21, 2004 at Liquid Joe's right here in Salt Lake City.  Jake Shears bought his outfit at the thrift store across the street.  I can't imagine that there were more than a hundred or so people there.  We danced and sang along to those amazing Scissor Sister songs.  We took Polaroids. Even Paddy Boom was there. And afterwards Baby Daddy took the time to chat and let us even take a Polaroid with him and Felix.

I can confidently say, that was the best live concert I've ever experienced. And it's the reason I've gone out of my way to experience the Scissor Sisters every chance I get.  I saw them at Sundance. I traveled to Denver to see them. We hung out afterwards and took a couple of Polaroids with the always gracious Jake Shears.

 And I saw them when they opened for Lady Gaga (they're better without Gaga!). None the less, they never disappoint.

Most recently, I traveled with Felix to Las Vegas for the first US performance of their latest tour.  And Jake, Ana, Baby Daddy, and Del Marquee reminded me once again that the Scissor Sisters are unquestionably the best live party band ever. So let's have a kiki! Why say anything more than that?  Here are a few pictures from the show.

Pop Art from New York City to Salt Lake City.

If you want to feel really hip, spend an evening hanging out with a bunch of emerging artists in New York's East Village.  I recently did just that and it was fun. I couldn't help but think about art-historical moments like the shows Keith Haring staged at the Mudd Club or the artists who participated in "Pictures" at Artist's Space in 1977. Here's the big surprise, this just wasn't a show featuring emerging New York artists; there were not one, but two artists who live and work in Salt Lake City, Utah. The exhibit is titled POW: Pop Now and was curated by Sean Noyce, a native of the Salt Lake City area who now lives and works as an artist and curator in Brooklyn. Here is a photo of two SLC artists Felix Flores (right) and Dan Christofferson (center) with curator Noyce.

But before we look at the work of these two Utahans, let's talk about some of the other art I liked. Dafna Steinberg hales from Washington, DC and offered a delightful series of collage works with in-your-face attitude and a variety of references that merged Pop with the world we live in to today.  Her work, Little Monster II (2011, collage), also continues one of my favorite art themes; lobsters in art.

The large paintings by Jose Arenas were lovely and sinister at the same time.  And while I saw pop references, I also saw a lot of surrealist ideas presented in Tempo Completo (2011, oil on canvas).

The works that best offered a new take on Pop Art were the fiber works by Katya Usvitsky.  Like much of pop art, Katya reminds us that the immediate world around us deserves more attention than we tend to give it.  At this show it started with a pair of knitted eyeglass frames that were one of the stars of the evening. It continued with her life-size knitted bicycle that invaded the space and forced interaction with the audience. One women was compelled to park her bike in front of the work.  But my favorite work from Katya was a grouping of Poop (2011, hand-knit wool and fiber fil). This took Pop and infused it with themes that have invaded the art world right now; namely what it really means to be alive. It's like Claes Oldenburg collided with Tim Hawkinson.

The big surprise of this show may be how well the artists from Salt Lake City showed next to artists from from New York and other major metropolitan areas.  Both SLC artists had some of the most interesting works in the show.  In the spirit of full disclosure, I live with Felix Flores and I was actually around during the production of some of these portraits.  But I still think these images hold up well in a contemporary art context. In a world obsessed with personal identity, these images challenge ideas of reality, particularly when it comes to concepts of ethnicity. What the Curators of POW: Pop Now may not know is that the image of Felix in a sombrero and fake mustache was created to promote diversity in the workplace. After just minutes of being posted it was deemed too controversial and removed. Here's a picture with Felix and all of his work from the show.

My favorite work from the show was that of Salt Lake City artist Dan Christofferson. There's a lot going on with this Art, particularly when you consider how clean and simple the works are.  This work does what the best art does. It takes iconic themes and twists them into new iconic ideas. Christofferson obviously has a Mormon history. I love how he merges those ideas with Christian imagery that has been around for centuries. I see it as a warning to modern religions to not make the same mistakes that so many Western religions have made. Here's a great example, Our Lady of Moderation (2011, die-cut foil, fabricated hatchets, and installation on painted panel).

Even better are some of Christofferson's candy-colored works featuring tools and symbols. I believe that objects matter in art and these are beautifully crafted objects.  Here is Hatchets (2011, die-cut foil and fabricated hatchets on painted panel).

My trips to New York always include visits to the big museums, blockbuster exhibits, and chicest galleries.  This show taught me that maybe I should be paying more attention to galleries that focus on emerging artists. Because shows like this will force me to make judgements about Art based on what I really believe, not what the Art establishment thinks I should believe.