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Art
Posts

  • Nothing My Kid Does Impresses Me

    I have a serious complex I am going to admit. When I was a kid, my parents never took me to extra curricular classes, and I still feel slighted. My mom claims she brought me to ballet once, but I wasn’t into it so she was like “screw it.” Ummm mom, you were supposed to pressure me to excel regardless and become my “momager!” DIDN’T YOU LOVE ME ENOUGH TO DESTROY ME??

    I guess my mom did sign me up for tennis in the summers, but she didn’t bring me to the clinics to watch me. She just pointed to my bike and said, “The court is 2 miles that way.” When I played sports throughout school my parents NEVER came to my games, and I was always that kid with no one in the stands to cheer them on. Are you crying for me yet!!? Although I am obviously still working out some PTSD and deep-rooted resentment issues – I also totally get it.

    That shit is as boring as a dry fuck hole.

    However, in reaction to my upbringing I have enlisted The Munch in a variety of classes. She takes both dance and gymnastics twice a week, and now wants to play hockey as well. Theoretically I am very supportive of this. I want to expose Munch to a variety of artistic and physical outlets to learn skills. But… I also have been doing everything I can to avoid being the one responsible for bringing her to such events. If I can get someone else to do it, you bet your sweet ass that is what is happening.

    The obvious problem is I am selfish about my extra curricular time and want to work on my creative projects as much as possible. You guys, stop judging me. I am almost done with my movie about queefs, and it’s going to be amazing! My other issue is that I am excessively critical and hardly impressed by anything.

    BEFORE YOU THINK I AM AN ASSHOLE – IT IS NOT MY FAULT!! Have you seen the Internet lately?? Kids are amazing out there!! There are babies who breakdance, a 4-year old who is a top fashion designer at J-Crew, and a fetus that kicks ass at basketball. I have seen so much talent out there in the interwebs that my kid’s cartwheel seems just kinda meh.

    DON’T WORRY OKAY! I keep this all to myself and tell Munch her handstands are outstanding even though her alignment is off. She will get there I know… because I will MAKE her practice until she does, but that is beside the point. For what it’s worth, Munch’s gymnastics teacher sees potential in her, but all I see is a kid who hasn’t mastered the front walkover.
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    January 21, 2015 • 4 years old, Education, Health, Mommy Mind, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 1594

  • Turning Rape Into Art

    A Columbia student, Emma Sulkowicz, has taken the experience of her rape and turned it into a performance art piece. She has vowed to carry a mattress everywhere she goes as long as she is forced to attend the same school as her rapist. The mattress is meaningful not only as a metaphor for the burden she must carry, but also signifies the actual object where here rape occurred – in her dorm room bed.

    This is the second time I have heard of a young woman transforming her experience of rape into art. The other was Jessie Kahnweiller who made a video satirical called “meet my rapist,” where she runs into her rapist at the farmers market and then starts stalking him, much like the memory of the rape stalks her. The rapist then becomes Jesse’s shadow, and haunts her in every situation as she tries to continue living a normal life. With both these women the message is clear – if you have been raped, the rape doesn’t disappear after the actual act is completed, but it follows you as this abysmal load you are forced haul around everywhere you go.

    Sex is a huge part of relationships, intimacy, and adulthood. When you have lived through an act that taints your connection to sex, then you can never go back to your pre-rape attitude towards it. You instead have to rediscover your sexuality post trauma, which has to be incredibly challenging. I am sure that people who have been raped want to get “over it” or “move on” with their lives, but how could you not be reminded of the incident every time you are at your most vulnerable – in the bedroom with someone else about to enter your body.

    The fact that these women are expressing their pain through art is pretty remarkable. Watching someone struggle with a mattress is so pedestrian that it is in a way more relatable then trying to understand what it feels like to be raped. It contextualizes the experience so that people who haven’t been raped can viscerally connect to the emotions behind the aftermath. People who haven’t been raped need to understand the plight of those that have. How else are we going to stop rape until everyone has some sort of emotional understanding of the brutality, and feels the same impassioned need to do something about it.

    But it does make me wonder about the guys who are doing the raping? How do they feel about that same memory? Powerful? Guilty? Remorseful? Or maybe even worse … do they not think of it at all?

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    September 3, 2014 • Current Events, Women's Business • Views: 2071

  • Role Model Bullshit

    It used to annoy me when parents would bitch about celebrities being a “bad influence on their kid.” I would be like, “Hey uptight moms and dads – you are the role model your kid should be look up to! So look in the damn mirror and worry about yourself. Don’t censor creativity or complain about Janet Jackson showing off her nipple. Lighten the eff up!”

    But now I kinda get it…

    So far the majority of The Munch’s screen time has been cartoons, so I never really thought about how famous people would impact her psychology. I wasn’t all that concerned about the effect of The Carebears on her understanding of the human experience because wanting a “belly badge” that gave you magic powers seemed pretty reasonable.

    Over the weekend I decided to show The Munch a video with actual people, because hey why the fuck not? The video is by the singer Sia, and features this 11-year old girl from the reality show “Dance Mom’s” – Maddie Zigler. The dancing in this video is captivating beyond belief!! Seriously, the best thing ever. Maddie is so unbelievably good as not only a dancer but also an actress that I considered following her on twitter but I can’t do that BECAUSE I AM AN ADULT and that would be weird. I needed to show this video to the Munch because the choreography is so compelling, and I felt it would be inspiring for her to see it considering the dancer is a little girl like her.

    And…. I was totally right! The Munch LOVED the video and became obsessed. She played it over and over again for 2 straight hours because she was trying to learn the dance! It was insanely endearing to watch. There is this certain satisfaction when you can share something you love with your kid. The video had moved me so profoundly, and I was thrilled that the artistry also impacted my child. I was like “The Munch has amazing taste because it is just like mine!”

    As much as I adored the song and video, I didn’t have the bandwidth to hear it as many times as The Munch wanted. Yet I also didn’t want to interfere with her moment! So I gave her my phone so she could play it as many times as she wanted and continue practicing her dancing. Sounds like a decent plan right?

    After a certain point, The Munch noticed the videos listed below the Sia one that I so adamantly approved of. The “suggested” videos on Youtube connected to Sia weren’t exactly what I would have been showing my 4-year old. Yet since Munch was the one on the phone, she then started searching through a variety of Iggy Azalea videos, including the charming one entitled “Pu$$y.”

    Now if you don’t know who Iggy Azalea is, she is female rapper from Australia. She has blinding blond hair, skin as white as Snow White, and sounds like Nicki Manaj. I am not going to say she doesn’t have skills because she does, but she also totally sucks. Her dancing is mediocre, her style is uninventive/classically slutty, her lyrics are unexceptional, and the beats overproduced.  It is just cliche modern music.  The only thing remarkable about Iggy Azelea is that she is a hot white girl who is decent at spitting rhymes. But there is nothing about her that makes me feel like she is interesting as an artist.

    Munch of course became infatuated with Iggy Azelea and wanted to watch her video cleverly named “Bounce” (about her bouncing hips) 10 bagillion times. Now of course I don’t want to impose my taste on my kid because that not only seems controlling, but also totally counterproductive. There is no better way to get your kid to hate something then trying to make them like it or not like it. But still, the last thing I wanted was my daughter thinking some average pop artist was cool simply because she was wearing bright colored clothes and the videos were edited with subliminal messages.

    **************************************

    Okay… So I wrote that this morning.  When putting Munch to bed tonight we had a dance party to Iggy Azelea, and it was actually kind of awesome. So I guess The Munch is going to be an influence on me too…
    (In case you missed the link, watch this video because it is my only reason for living).

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    September 2, 2014 • Behavior, Education, Family Drama, Mommyhood, Parenting, Playing • Views: 2212

  • How Can I Make You Notice Me?

    You ever have one of those moments that is so bizarre you think you are being filmed? Like the only way to give context to what you are experiencing is that someone is behind a camera orchestrating the insanity. You look around at the people witnessing the lunacy, and wonder if they too are perplexed, or if you the one who is mad for noticing the madness.

    I had one of those moments last weekend when I took a modern dance workshop about the art of performance. The teacher was a dancer whose career started in the 1960’s in New York City, and every stereotype you would assign to a dance teacher from 1960’s New York applied. She wasn’t a person as much as a character out of fiction, but at the same time, she was also a genius.

    Her hair traveled down to her knees as did her breasts in a hot pink leotard, but her beauty shone through any signs of aging. She would make sweeping statements like “the light of the stage supports the aura inside” and then face the window and lose herself in the moment for five whole minutes – oblivious to the passing of time. Then she would have us leave the room so we couldn’t see each other to perform for each other – which was as crazy as it was brilliant. This exercise was followed by another where each one of us would strike a pose in the center of the room while everyone else put their faces inches from your body to stare. We were asked to grab a pedestrian prop and oscillate between performing with it, and interacting with it as if no one was watching – but still while everyone was watching. Everything she did made no sense at all, and yet was totally profound.

    The question she asked that I can’t get out of my head is “what makes you look at one person and not another?” What draws you to someone when they are performing? What makes you notice them more than others?

    I think her inquiry was much more philosophical than practical. Although I will never have an exact answer, just asking the question is meaningful. My initial reaction was intention. The performer has to be really clear with their intention regarding what they want the audience to feel. Having good technique is of course important when it comes to any art form; yet it is not the totality of what makes something great. There has to be passion, substance, and belief behind what you are doing to truly stand out.

    I see a lot of talented mechanical dancers who can do things with their body that are unimaginable, yet they don’t project out into the audience. You are watching them dance, but it is as if they don’t care if you are there. Their energy is too internal, and they are not externalizing emotion. Sure there are times when someone could shut me out as the spectator of their work, but there has to be purpose behind it. Like they want me to feel left out for a reason. The person creating the art has to have vision behind what they are doing in order for me to connect to them.

    When I think to back to my own relationship to dance, I started really late, but my trajectory has taught me more about art than any class ever could. When I was 19 years old, I was in a state of rebellion and did not want to go to college. Considering both my parents were professors, very liberal, and gave me a lot of freedom – this was the best “fuck you” I could think of. Yet my not getting a higher education was a non-option unless I wanted to be disowned, so I filled out the common application and told my mom to send me wherever she wanted.

    I got into this school called Sarah Lawrence that was very artsy fartsy. When I arrived the first day I took one look around and was like “holy fuck get me out of here.” I called my mom and asked her why she sent me to The Lilith Fair for college, but she told me to stop being so ridiculous. I had gone to a really preppy high school where I had played sports all my life, and my artistic self had been only been expressed through doodling pictures of hearts with boy’s names inside. I had no idea how to fit in to this new environment. Everyone was supposed to take an art elective, and I had no artistic talent that I knew of.

    I started taking dance because there was no soccer team. I liked to go out dancing at the club and drink vodka, so I figured this was the next best thing. Forget the fact that I was surrounded by girls who had been doing plies their whole life, and felt like a fool. It was really humbling to suck, but I had to commit myself to something, and figured at least dance would help me avoid the Freshman 15.

    What I lacked in experience I made up for in enthusiasm. I would take extra classes in New York city every weekend, I would do summer programs, I would get to class early and leave late just so I could stretch more. I knew I wasn’t the best, but I was going to be the most dedicated.

    The dance teachers at my school probably were amused by my perseverance, but I don’t think they thought I had any real future in dance. I started too late, and that was that. My best dance friend Mika was another girl who also wasn’t a bun-head since birth, but who shared my undying dedication. Her and I spend all our time dancing, and even though we were not taken as seriously as the other girls who had the history we lacked, we still took each other and ourselves seriously.

    Fast forward 15 years and I saw Mika for the fist time in a decade at a hippy conference where I was teaching belly dance. Do you know what she is doing with her life and career? Dancing! She performs all the time, is a dance teacher, owned a studio, travels the world to do field work, got her masters in dance, and is now getting her PHD at UCLA in dance theory. Her love for dance made dance her life!

    From that first class that I took, I have been dancing 5 days a week since. I teach dance, perform, choreograph, and own a dance studio. The irony of this aspect of my life is that dance was something I always considered a hobby. I never expected it to be anything more than a creative outlet, so it was always fun, and life affirming. Yet it has become a really stable part of my current career. But as with my writing, which is what I WANT as my career more than anything in the whole fucking world, I am still struggling.

    I guess I have to admit that there something about the fact that I never had any specific agenda with dance beyond a devotional practice that has made it the most consistent part of my life.

    (My darling Mika…)

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    July 23, 2014 • Musings, Old School Stories, Working Mommy • Views: 1824

  • Am I a Barbarian, Or Are Museums Pretentious?

    Do you like going to museums?  I don’t think I do.  I like the idea of museums as a place to gather while exposed to creativity.  I enjoy art.  I appreciate appreciating things.  But museums are so quiet and sterile.  They kind of take the life out of the art. You are expected to be a poised and unmoved observer as you examine and judge what someone has poured their soul into.  It is a weird context.  Oh, here is a bunch of shit- look at it all at the same time, value it, understand it, be cultured and sophisticated about it… but do so in a soft whisper.  I had to find out the hard way it is frowned upon to say “fuck that cool” loud enough for anyone to hear.

    If you go to museum with someone, you are expected to have some complex academic answer for why you like what you like.  Forget that fact that art is totally subjective and maybe you just like Picasso because you are into the color blue.  If I were to say, “I like this because it is pretty” or “I don’t like that because it is ugly” I would not be valued as a good museum partner.

    But maybe I am coming at this wrong?  Perhaps I am slightly traumatized from my childhood experiences with museums.  That being that every birthday from 4 to 12 my parents forced me to go to one.  I personally don’t know many 7-year olds who voluntarily want to spend their birthday at the museum rather than eating cake while watching a demented clown make balloon animals, but I guess my parents did.  I remember walking around for hours and wondering how long I had to stand there for people to think I did a good job of looking at the painting.

    So when The Munch and I went to Boston for the day, my mom and dad decided they wanted to spend some time with her…. And take her to the Museum of Fine Arts.

    Toni: “Mom, are you sure that is where you want to bring her? You don’t want to go to the aquarium or park or something?”

    My Mom: “Oh don’t be ridiculous Toni.  You loved going to the museum as a kid.”

    I feel you Munch

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  • Clap for Me and I Will Clap for You

    Over the weekend I had a dance performance at my studio.  It was a hippy pagan fertility love fest celebrating the birth of spring set to the music of Led Zeppelin.  Yeah I know.  Kind of the best idea I ever had.

    Even though we had made the show 18+ because there was nudity, I thought this was something The Munch had so see.  I want to share art with The Munch because I feel like learning to appreciate the idea of someone pouring their hearts out for you to observe is an important practice.  Going to performances and participating in that energetic exchange are meaningful life experiences.  I feel like the earlier she gets exposed to creativity, the more likely she will honor and want to partake in the artistic process.  I am not saying I need The Munch to be an esoteric abstract artist who uses bat wings to paint herself in sparrow blood while chanting Rumi backwards to the sounds of humpback whales humping as an expression against materialism – but I want her to at least be able to appreciate those who do.

    I also thought it would be cool for The Munch to see my performance so it could contextualize why I spend all this time dancing.  I was a little nervous about how she would behave, so I thought I would explain to her what was going on before hand just to make sure we were on the same page.

    Toni: “Okay Munch, so tonight not only are you going to watch all of Mamma’s friends dance, but you are going to watch Mamma dance too.”

    Munch: “I wanna dance with you!”

    Toni: “Okay! You can! But today you have to watch Mamma dance and clap for her okay?”

    Munch: “And then when you are done I am going to dance and you clap for me.”

    Toni: “That sounds really fair.”

    As I was waiting to go on back stage, the announcer of the show was saying our names and our bios before each performance.  Now, when my partner Cyndal had emailed the other dancer and me asking for our information for the show, I had assumed Cyndal knew my bio and didn’t really need one from me.  So as a JOKE I said “oh and my bio is Toni Nagy once went on a plane and farted really loud.”  You know TO MAKE HER LAUGH.  As I was waiting in the wings to go on stage I hear “blah blah blah Erink Lovett Sherman yadda yadda director of Arts Fest… and Toni Nagy, who once went on a plane and farted really loud.”

    Toni: “Cyndal!! I was fucking joking about that!!!”

    Cyndal: “Ohhhhhhh it totally seemed like something you would say!”

    Toni: “Touché….

    When I went on stage I couldn’t stop giggling thinking how the audience must be wondering if I would once again would fart really loud, and if they would be able to hear it over the song.

    After my dance I went to sit with Munch for the last performance.  My friend Elise was doing a piece to “In the Light.” She came out draped in brown robes like a monk and honored the four corners north, south, east and west, with candles.  Then she disrobed and entered into a kiddie pool full of mud.  While Elise danced naked in the soil, the audience was invited to embed these seeds with hopes, dreams, wishes and love for mother earth and themselves, then blow the seeds onto Elise and into the pool.  I thought this was a really beautiful concept and The Munch and I sent up together to blow our seeds in.

    Munch: “Mamma, she is getting all dirty.”

    Toni: “Yeah, you are right.”

    Munch: “Her hair is getting dirty.”

    Toni: “It is.”

    Munch: “Is she going to wash it in the shower later?”

    Toni: “Yes Munch I am sure she is.”

    Munch: “But we don’t get to watch her get clean in the shower.  We only get to watch her get dirty.”

    After the performances we had a dance party and of course The Munch didn’t want to leave because it was her turn to dance and my turn to clap for her.

     

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  • Tragic Beauty

    As we all know from debating the worth of a song, book, or painting, art is a subjective experience. I have often wondered what that intangible pull might be. In my own relationship to works of creativity, I have always felt that what makes art evocative is the spirit in which it was created. If, the artist is fully present and passionate about their craft, then that will translate into my relationship with it. Being in the flow and connecting to that force can make the artist feel like the work is channeling through them, and that sincerity is palpable.

    Even though every artist has their own unique creative process, what unites them all is the need to take what is in their imagination and translate that into a medium that people can experience.  The intentionality of wanting to connect to others in these ways puts the artist and the viewer or listener into a symbiotic relationship. Even if I never physically associate with the creator, my observing of their art means that we are energetically intertwined. So, as the photographer sees the beauty in their picture, as the painter commits entirely to their vision, as the writer is immersed in their words, so am I.

    But some art comes from a different sort of inspiration.  Not from what the artist is seeing or fantasizing in their mind, but from what they are dealing with in their actual lives.  Often times, it is this type of expression that is the most moving.  Especially when the subject matter is deeply intimate.  Its almost as if the more personal someone is willing to be, the more universal the outcome.

    I came across this blog called “the battle we didn’t’ choose” where a husband documented the last few years of his wife’s battle with breast cancer.  The pictures are so beautiful and heart wrenching that it is impossible not to cry.  He used his artistic talent as a photographer to tell her story in a way that was more compelling and tender then words ever could.  It is so hard to relate to an experience that you have never had, yet seeing these pictures on screen spoke to me in a way that not only evoked my compassion, but also touched my soul.

    I really commend him for creating him for his courage to share these images with the world.  In the face of tragedy, his art is spreading a message.

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    April 12, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Health, Musings • Views: 1278

  • The Selfish Madonna

    The romanticized vision of the mother is as a selfless being that radiates unconditional love with endless serene expressions.  This vision is depicted in countless paintings of ‘mother holding child,’ many of which are of the Virgin Mary cradling Jesus.  I guess if I were Jesus’ mother I would be all peaceful and calm – since he was always turning my water into wine.  But for those of us who didn’t spawn holy beings, there are some pretty high societal expectations of the mother.

    There is this perception that mothers are supposed to prioritize their kids above and beyond their own needs at all times.  Yeah… kinda.  I mostly do that.  In a lot of scenarios.  But I think all moms have moments when they can be a little selfish.

    Lets take my mom as an example.  That will be fun. Won’t it Mom!?  When I was a kid, every holiday my mom would leave little baskets outside my door filled with treats.  Okay, relax.  This isn’t the selfish part.  So I would wake up in the morning and find this delightful indulgence of candy and chocolate.  Relax… I am getting there.  I would be so grateful for this lovely display that I would often save my gift.  You know… like to eat it later. I would then come home from school and the head of my Easter bunny would be gone.  So would the tail. Don’t even get my started on my Halloween candy. I don’t know about you, but coming home to your Valentine’s chocolate replaced with the empty wrappers was pretty traumatizing for me.

    There are so many things that I do for The Munch that takes into consideration her desires before my own.  But sometimes I just do what I want to do.  Like hide her favorite book so I don’t have to read it 48 times that morning.

    There are moments when I feel like pursuing my career, taking time for myself, or doing anything without her is selfish.  Of course people assure me that isn’t true.  Fuck, I can tell myself that is bullshit – but it is hard not to feel conflicted at times.  I would like to say that the time I spend away from her makes me appreciate the time I spend with her more, but I really hope she sees it like that too.  As much as a think it is vital for a mother to have a life outside her children, living parts of my life not including The Munch can feel crappy.

    I guess this is the modern conundrum.  If I were a cave woman, I would have her strapped to my back in a fur satchel and bring her with me until she was old enough to harvest and hunt for her self.  You know.  Like 6 months.  We would work together side by side and I wouldn’t have to make any of these hard decisions.  And maybe I would steal some saber tooth tiger meat when she wasn’t paying attention, but I wouldn’t touch her wooly mammoth blood because that is just wrong.

    Biologically I am bonded to The Munch in this unique and profound way.  The mother child connection is one of the most mysterious and meaningful unions, and that is why it has this reputation in the imagination of society.  But psychologically it is really important for me to continue evolving without her.  Maybe part of that process is slightly selfish, but this is going to be something she will go through too when she is a mother, so hopefully The Munch will understand that no decision is simple when you become a parent.  Especially when it comes to Halloween candy, because you better believe I am going to eat all of hers too.

    (Check out my mom ready to go after Munch’s lollipop!! She is not fucking around!)

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    April 9, 2013 • Family Drama, Mommy Mind, Musings, Parenting, Working Mommy • Views: 2708

  • The Cost of Free Art

    I remember paying for art.  If I wanted to own music, I would go to the store and buy a tape. If I was interested in a movie I could either rent it, or pay more and own it.  If I wanted information in the form of print, I would buy a newspaper, magazine, book, or go to the library.  I never felt cheated. I never resented this process.  It all seemed fair to me.

    But now the idea spending money on media seems absurd.  Don’t’ get me wrong, I fully believe the creators of content should get paid… just not by me.

    The Internet has made me an entitled little shit.  I am ashamed of this truth.  The access to free art has corrupted me completely.  It is too tempting, too hard to resist, and too easy to obtain.

    I don’t really feel sorry for the poor rockers and movie stars who are making less millions.  But they are not the only ones affected.  The desperate artist is also at the mercy of the free art paradigm.  The Internet has provided a medium where anyone and everyone can expose their art to the public, and potentially gain an audience.  This democratic platform is like a wet dream for creative people, but also a really easy way to exploit your self.  You can put your heart into the process of entertaining and engaging people, but that doesn’t mean you are ever going to make money doing it.  Although in the past the middleman had control over the industry, he also made sure you got paid.

    People are relying heavily on advertising and corporate backing, but getting into bed with big business does not guarantee satisfaction.  In fact, you are majorly compromising your self, and I don’t mean in a fun S&M kind of way.  Especially when dealing in the realm of journalism and writing.  Considering 6 companies control 90% of the media in this country – that means the vast majority of the mainstream media is corrupted.  But relying solely on blogs for information, and people with little resources or financial compensations, doesn’t guarantee reliability either.  I mean I love my some conspiracy theory sites, but I am not sure that it is scientific fact that the Royal Family are lizard people.

    The idea that everyone one, regardless of income, can have exposure to information and art is magnificent and should never change.  But the idea that art is free does not honor the time and effort put into it.

    I guess it sounds like I want to have my cake and eat it too.  But I don’t get who just sits around watching a cake.

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    March 20, 2013 • 2 years old, Current Events, Education, Musings, Political Banter • Views: 1072