Ranting Details

Songs YOU need to download. 2/26/07 Soundtrack of Europe Edition.

Music is an extremely important thing for me, alternating between an escape and an inspiration I spend a majority of my free time with music playing in the background.  As odd as my memory is, I have distinct recollections that correspond to specific songs and never is that more true than with music I listen to on tour.  I can go back to benchmarks in my short professional experience and tell you exactly what music I was listening to at that moment.  This three week tour provided the perfect opportunity to create a soundtrack that will forever be identified with my first European experience.   Some old, some new, all of it excellent (or at least to me) enjoy! Some of them are repeated recommendations, but it never hurts to drive a point in. 

AMY WINEHOUSE- I posted a video by this phenomenal UK star a week ago but I can't stop listening to her amazing album "Back To Black."  Her album comes out on March 13th in the US and everyone should run out and get a copy.  It's an incredible throwback to the 60's girl groups with great contemporary lyrics and incredible vocals.  Cannot recommend it strongly enough. 

1. Rehab
2. Just Friends
3. Tears Dry On Their Own (Listen to it below.)

LILY ALLEN- Some of the most entertaining pop I have heard all year, Lily Allen's CD "Alright, Still" was released in the US last month and is worth purchasing.  A more comic approach than Amy Winehouse, but every bit as enjoyable.  Quite the rivalry in the UK right now.

4. Everything's Just Wonderful
5. The Littlest Things

MIKA- This is another British import that is a bit of a cross between Scissor Sisters and Elton John.  Most of the songs are great, while a few I could do without but it's fun dance music. 

6. Love Today (Listen Below)

7. Relax (Take It Easy)

REGINA SPEKTOR- What more can I say about her, she's fucking incredible and I am in love.

8. Apres Moi
9. Fidelity
10. Carbon Monoxide

LAUREN HILL- Sure she went a bit crazy and dropped off the face....but her album "Miseducation..." sounds like it could have come out yesterday and I just recently picked it up again.

11. Lost One
12. Ex Factor
13. (Doo Wop) That Thing

JOANNA NEWSOM- The ultimate acquired taste, her astonishing album "Y's" is complex and can only be appreciated with a patient ear and repeated listenings.  Once you get past the initial awkwardness and song length (some up to 16 minutes long) this music takes you places most music can't.

14. Emily
15. Monkey & Bear

NO DOUBT- I never thought I would say this but I am sick of Gwen Stefani solo and am delighted to hear that her next album will be with No Doubt again.  Their music holds some very important memories for me and I never grow tired of it. 

16. Rock Steady

NELLY FURTADO- Sure, she has sold out but who can deny her infectious music.  This track, co-produced and written by Chris Martin of Coldplay was a favorite of mine during Met Season warm-ups and was a nice addition to the European soundtrack.

17. All Good Things (Come To An End)

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT- My friends in London were about to go see his "Judy" concert which I caught last summer and I started listening to his albums again a bit during my stay.  He's one that you either love or hate but I think he's a genius and a few songs were pumping through my headphones frequently.

18.  Movies of Myself
19.  Grey Gardens

THE DECEMBERISTS- I love all of their albums and this selection off of "The Crane Wife" is epic and beautiful.  A wonderful piece of pop-storytelling.

20.  The Crane Wife 1+2

And that, my faithful readers, concludes my European coverage.  To be honest, I am a bit exhausted so I am going to take a few days off from blogging before I pick it up again for the US tour that is around the corner.  Of course I say I need a break, but I'll be back soon.....I can't stay away long.

Was It All A Dream?!

My notebook has officially begun the use it was intended for, artistic explorations that were oh so plentiful in Europe. Looking back on the past few weeks of blogging and notes I realize that perhaps it wasn't always the most exciting things to share (a LOT of notes on museums which perhaps wasn't exciting for people who weren't there) but I wanted to document the trip as I was seeing it, however boring it may have come across! This morning I woke up at 6:30 and continue to be slightly dizzy and funky feeling as the day progresses, gotta love that jet lag, but it gave me a bit of time to flip through my experiences from the past few weeks. Coming back to the city and walking onto the slippery streets, running underground to the subway and all that is in between is disorienting. The entire three weeks seem like such a wonderful blur and being able to jump back into city life so quickly makes me wonder if it was all just a dream. After looking forward to this trip for over a year I can't really believe or accept that it is over. Of course I will always have the little reminders of daily European life that were instilled in me including my new addiction to coffee and crescents. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to explore and challenge my artistic tastes for three weeks on top of getting the chance to perform overseas. Where do I go from here? Perusing this morning, I found this entry from my journal which sums things up pretty well....even though it is CHOPPY.

2-22-07

On the train to Rotterdam (oh, de Kooning!) and can't believe Europe is almost over. Oddly enough I don't have any individual memory that takes the cake from the past three weeks. There was so much to experience, how could I ever begin to choose?! The activities were so eclectic and I am proud to know that I took advantage of all of it. Glad to be capping Amsterdam with some culture today in the double feature of Foam and NDT. Sometimes I take this all for granted but every experience has meant so much to me. I'm glad that I'll have some museum notes to look back on because there were so many, how can I ever keep track? Newly converted to a photography fan, I can't wait to check out more in the States. Writing that makes me realize that I'll miss being able to treat home like some far off Kingdom. Being here makes me less and less scared to move here some day....Paris and Amsterdam are calling me. Only time will tell.


(Perhaps I have a future as a circus performer? Only if it's in Europe.)

(Blaine shows off our lovely final hotel...as I cry behind the camera like everyone involved with "Dreamgirls" when they got slapped last night.)

Strike a Pose.

Expectations can kill anything but the pressure to feel like you “had fun” while you are on vacation is a burden which is hard to escape. I find this to be especially true with what I call “Last Day” syndrome. Everything seems fine and dandy until you are about to leave somewhere and you realize you have to do something major that will leave a positive impression in your mind. Doing three countries in three weeks left three bouts of “Last Day” syndrome to deal with and they were met with exciting results. For a few moments I thought that string of good luck was going to come crashing down on my final day in Amsterdam.

After awaking to my first “egg” breakfast of the whole tour which satisfied my palette at the cute coffee shop “Barneys” Blaine and I set out to squeeze in the last culture of the tour. My Amsterdam “Time Out” guide was wearing thin and the dog-eared pages were quickly getting checked off the list. I figured we could always spend the day by befriending some Red-Light girls but I longed for something more. Deciding that we would probably end up dead if we rented bikes we settled on the random choice of “Foam” the Photography museum.

Right up there with video-installation, photography has always been an art form whose charms haven’t fully enticed me. Everyone admires photographs and I love taking my own, but the previous photography exhibits I have seen weren’t exactly spectacular. True to Amsterdam fashion, my tastes were being challenged left and right and turned upside down but none more so than my new view on photography. Perhaps it was the low expectations or the fatigue setting in but I loved and devoured every second I spent in Foam.

Some people may have heard of the international photography quarterly called “Foam,” the same company as this museum, which is more like an enlarged gallery space than a museum. Consisting of three floors with about 10 rooms, this was one of the most varied exhibitions I have ever seen. We started out on the first floor with what ended up being my favorite portion of the day titled “No Eyes: The Dancing Bear Collection of W.M. Hunt.”

Basically what this consisted of was about 100 photographs where there was no direct contact between the camera and the eyes of the subject therefore presenting an almost disjointed viewing process. Even in the closest portraits of the face, the eyes are turned away which makes all of the pictures seem like true moments in time captured and then released on the print. They don’t come across as voyeuristic but instead retain the beauty of stolen moments that we feel fortunate enough to see. The introduction to the exhibit said it wanted to play with the ides of what it means to be seen vs. what it means to see.

Richard Avedon, Diane Arbus, Robert Mapplethorpe, Roger Mayne, Debbie Gafry, Suzanne Opton, David LaChappelle….just a handful of the photographers contained in this collection. I hadn’t ever seen Richard Avedon’s work before but the two pictures on display here, one of Nureyev and one of Sophia Loren were some of the most beautifully captured motion shots I have ever seen. What was amazing about these two works but also the exhibit as a whole was how well it captured the essence of a person without peering through the “windows to the soul.”

(Roger Mayne. One of my favorites from the exhibit.)

Branching off from this same idea was the top floor exhibit Ringel Goslinga’s “Family Tree” which consists of portraits of everyone involved in the artists life except the artist himself. Yet just like we are able to capture the essence of the subjects in “No Eyes,” we begin to form a picture of Goslinga by only seeing those who surround him.

The main attraction at Foam right now is “People of the 20th Century,” a sociological photo experiment by August Sander. Broken into seven different groups: Farmers, Skilled Tradesmen, Women, Professionals, Artists, The City and the Last People, this had no political aspirations but became a stunning representation of the class system of the 20th century. It reminded me a lot of “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men” just without the corresponding text. Primarily portraits, there were some incredible photographs but almost too many to fully appreciate them all.

(One of the best from the "Women" section. A German Radio Secretary.)

Leaving Foam on an artistic high, there seemed to be nowhere to go but down as our Amsterdam time was ticking away. We were unwilling to let this be the end of the day and were fortunate enough to make a call from a phone booth to reserve tickets for none other than Nederlands Dans Theater. Not only was I going to get to see one of the greatest companies in the world but they were performing in Rotterdam, birthplace of Mr. Willem de Kooning.

Little did we know what a drama Rotterdam would end up being when we got on the train. Located an hour away from Amsterdam, we got on the train two hours before the show was to start in Rotterdam only to come to an abrupt stop about 40 minutes into our ride. Stepping out onto the platform, all we heard was Dutch sandwiching the words “Rotterdam Central” through the speakers. As I frantically searched out someone to explain, we were informed that no trains were going any further due to a computer malfunction. I had already had one disastrous theater experience in London, I was not about to let this night end on a train platform. We met up with Jackie and Pik on the platform and decided to just get on the next train and sit until we got there. By this time it was 7:40 and the show started at 8:15.

(Pik and Jackie with some random sexy man on the train to Rotterdam. Trying to have fun even though we are stressing about making it there.)

7:45-still on the train.
7:55-still on the train.
8- creeping through the countryside. Still on the train and starting to sweat from anger.

At 8:05 we jumped of the train and started exploded in every direction like fireworks. Not only were we late but we had no idea where we were going and after waiting patiently for a woman to meticulously explain the directions, we bolted. Turning corners as frantically as someone who just robbed a bank, we finally saw the theater in the distance. I haven’t run since about 7th grade, and even then I found every excuse to get out of it, so I was huffing and puffing my way across Rotterdam and only could hope the prize at the end would be worth it.

Was it ever! I have seen clips of Nederlands Dans Theater before but seeing them in person is a whole different ball game. The way that these people move seesaws between meticulous precision and languid melting that transcends any “normal” form of movement. It doesn’t hurt that they were performing works by Kylian, Forsythe and (unknown to me) Crystal Pite.

As soon as we had collapsed in our seats, the curtain rose to show 8 women slow motion running forward into 8 pools of light. From there everything seems like a heavenly blur of movement choreographed by Kylian. Titled “Falling Angels” the piece let 8 women alternate between group work, solos and duets while never leaving the stage and being accompanied by a series of drummers. Some of the movement was playful, other parts aggressive but all of it was strikingly beautiful and musical. The real kicker was that it was choreographed in 1989 yet looks as if it could have been made yesterday. Best (and worst) of all, it was only 10 minutes which left you craving more. What a way to start a night.

(Looking down during the first intermission.)

The second piece was titled “The Second Person” and began with a slightly gimmicky bit of puppetry before starting a piece that stretched on far too long. Fortunately the movement was for the most part beautiful and danced by the incredible dancers, could never look bad. Unfortunately, I thought it was all trying to be a little too “deep” and in the end whatever message it was attempting to get across was lost on me. Like my favorite choreographer Ohad Naharin, it contained some powerful sections of unison and nice variations through the movement.

Closing the program was a piece by William Forsythe titled “Quintet” which as you may guess contained five dancers. Seeing the works of Forsythe and Kylian on the same program made it apparent to me that I prefer Kylian as far as contemporary ballet choreographers go. Forsythe’s vocabulary becomes repetitive and too often is successful because of the dancers. Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s a genius but this piece was a little repetitive for me. However, it was the most different piece of his I have ever seen. Less aggressive than usual, it had a hypnotic playfulness to it that was refreshing to see. It looks like it would be incredible to dance this with your friends. The audience reaction to all of these works was subdued by US standards but complementary nonetheless.

(How very "summer program" of us. Doing our best Forsythe pose.)

Walking out of the theater with my NDT merchandise in tow, I couldn’t believe I had gotten to see one of the best companies on my final night in Amsterdam. I can hardly believe it now as I flip through the program. Hopping back on the train the odd realization hopped on my shoulder that this was it and the next day would begin my long journey home. Best not to think of it though, instead I would just try to enjoy the train ride and the walk from the station to my hotel under the peaceful night sky.

(Riding the train with no worries about delays.)

Anne and Van.

Due to the fact that my four day “Amsterdam Experience” was a vortex of art and debauchery, these blogs on the events are probably going to all seem like an extension of one another. I am also writing them all on the plane in one sitting, so its going to be a blur and for that I apologize in advance.

One thing that my European stay made abundantly clear is that my knowledge of European history is embarrassingly shallow. The other thing that was abundantly clear is how eager I am to remedy that. Looking back on my time in school, I wish that I had paid more attention to detail but I never was one for academia and there is no point dwelling on what I didn’t learn because it’s as easy as choosing to learn it now. Of course that leaves about five topics that I am going to search out books for in the near future but I’ve got a bit of touring coming up and nothing but time to devote to reading.

(Blaine, Roman and Patrick wait to get into Anne Frank Huis.)

Oddly enough, I think I may be one of the only people I know who hasn’t read “The Diary of Anne Frank” and even though I may look a little foolish picking it up at the age of 20, I feel as if now I must. From the few quotes that are strewn about the Anne Frank Huis (House) which I visited on Wednesday, I was already moved by her maturity and intelligence in the face of such horror; I can only imagine how much the entire text would move me.

(The odd modern entrance.)

Stepping into this “museum” brings an odd sensation to the body. The front of the building looks more modern than any other building I saw in Amsterdam and boasts one of the longest queues (oh yes, I’m THAT European) in the whole city but it is worth the wait. Creeping through the house, which is remarkably preserved, there is an overwhelming sense of horror that comes over you. I have never had the experiences and effects of a war this overtly humanized and realizing you are trudging over the same ground the Franks had to creep through to avoid discovery for two years is heartbreaking. What is wonderful is the “museum” doesn’t do anything to over sentimentalize the events that occurred there, the space speaks for itself and it is a visit I will never forget.

(The entrance to paradise.)

Shortly after leaving the Anne Frank House, with an odd discomfort I traced the canals until I reached the Van Gogh museum, also known as heaven on earth. Over the past few weeks I have stated that none of my experiences had really done much to sway my opinions on particular artists; those I liked I loved more and those I didn’t remained the same. All that changed moments after I walked into Van Gogh. All of the previous work I have seen (admittedly not much) was without a doubt beautiful but had become such pop culture reference that my reaction was fairly indifferent towards it. Little did I know that I hadn’t even begun to see Van Gogh.

Part of the allure of this genius seems to be the life that he led; a sort of romanticized tortured artist. When going chronologically through his work, as it is displayed here, it is amazing to see the transformation from pious young man to artistic genius. There is something about his work that is refreshingly unpolished but none more so than his early work which provides some of the most striking portraits and representations of rural life I have ever seen.

(Dark and gloomy, "The Cottage" is beautiful in person.)

Here was another painter less concerned with technique than emotion but in that “disregard” emerged an entirely new technique that others would emulate forever. Progressing through the time periods I was interested in seeing what influence the French Impressionists had on him and noting that my least favorite work of his were his forays into pointillism. George Seurat is one of my favorite artists but to me it is a technique that he dominated with such authority, others can’t begin to do it justice.

(My favorite of Van Gogh's "Head of a Woman" series.)

It is impossibly difficult to choose my favorite works from this prolific artist but it is astounding what he can do with trees and faces. This beauty was best summed up by one of the cards which stated Van Gogh wasn’t concerned with the castle in a painting but the movement around a castle. His landscapes, usually such a boring genre to me, actually move so they become so much more. A few highlights of the permanent collection including the gloomy “The Cottage,” an incredible series of works he created while in an asylum that recreated works of other artists with color, and my absolute favorite (and obviously others due to the fact that it was the only sold out print) “Small Pear Tree In Blossom.”


Before heading up to the permanent collection I had gone down an escalator to explore an exhibit billed as “Vincent van Gogh and Expressionism” which grouped the works of Van Gogh next to the Expressionist paintings he influenced. It was incredibly interesting getting this kind of comparison up close and displayed among gorgeous works by Klimt and others (didn’t copy names but will look in my book) was my new favorite painter Egon Schiele. My only familiarity with Schiele comes from peering through a coffee table book that David has with slightly feigned interest. It’s amazing what viewing an artist in person can do for your opinion and I am counting down the minutes until I can search out that book and buy it for myself.

(One of three incredible self-portraits they had of Schieles. I love the exaggerated posturing.)

Art, oh, art, how you make me wish I had money to collect you! I have never been one to crave investments but I would love to have a couple million dollars to put towards some incredible work of art to display in my apartment. Perhaps that rich man I marry will pull through in that regard. I’m laughing at myself typing this right now because as I sit on the plane I have just started reading a book titled “The Subversive Imagination: Artists, Society and Social Responsibility” in which the first few essays bemoan the elitist status created by collecting art. Reading about how much art of today seems concerned with its political meaning and context, I wonder what intent Van Gogh and the other painters I have seen over the past weeks had with their work. Art was much more bohemian than it is now but perhaps it is just history that has created the illusion that they were working to create rather than to gain notoriety. Now I’m just rambling, I’ve been typing for too long. Time to watch some “Ugly Betty” on my iPod. Van Gogh to “Ugly Betty,” jeez I run the gamut don’t I?

Running Around With History.

Amsterdam had officially begun and after sleeping through the first evening (I crashed at 6pm!) I awoke for the first day of vacation eager to explore. Wandering the canals the day before had whet my appetite for my third city in three weeks. I realize that I didn’t do my best to learn about the history or culture in London due to my preoccupation with friends but I still maintain that it wasn’t as readily accessible as Paris or as I soon found out, Amsterdam.

As much as I was tempted to spend every waking moment searching out drugs and prostitutes (kidding everyone) I knew I had to pepper my insanity with as much culture as possible. The problem with the scenery walking around the streets was that it was all so beautiful, if the weather hadn’t been so crummy I would have spent all my time outside. Due to the schizophrenic bouts of rain, Blaine and I decided the first stop would be the Amsterdam Historich Museum to take a step back into the past and learn about the history of my new favorite city.

History museums aren’t exactly my idea of a fun morning but as far as they go, this one was pretty decent. I learned all about the French and German occupations of the city, its rise from swampy terrain to global trade power and everything in between. It left me wondering if there is an exciting way to present the history of any given country or city without turning into a pedantic bore. There were a few too many paintings depicting the various historical events to keep my interest. On top of that, I hadn’t eaten for about 24 hours so my trail of drool and momentary bouts of unconsciousness weren’t exactly helping the situation.

The history lesson was done and I could check of “Studious Genius” off my list of parts to play for the week, what a relief! I am about to do something I have found myself doing more and more often recently, compacting time for sake of the blog. I won’t pretend that these events all happened in the same day but for the sake of ranting, I’ll just jump around a bit.

(I don't know exactly what the purpose of these were but they look oddly phallic and the XXX was doing nothing to help that.)

My complaints with the History museum were quickly revoked when I arrived at the Rijksmuseum on Wednesday. In my first solo excursion of the vacation I strolled down to catch a dose of Dutch art in the Museum quarter and found an engaging history lesson that seemed so elusive only 24 hours before. Pared down from the usually massive building, which is undergoing construction at the moment, the Rijksmuseum was a manageable and engaging look at about 400 pieces of art spanning the 13th through the 18th centuries.

(I look TIRED! Maybe that's why I have some weird smile on my face in front of the Rijksmuseum.)

While the History museum had focused on works displaying the actual historical events, the Rijksmuseum presented works that existed throughout the history of Holland. This allowed the viewer to piece together and create an image of the past as they strolled through viewing furniture, artifacts and paintings that people had lived with throughout history.

Most notable of all paintings on display were the absolutely stunning Rembrandts with their incredible use of light. Getting the chance to see them in person, with the innovative brush techniques and uncanny abilities to light the subject to enhance the psychological impact, these works took my breath away. When reading the card about his tiny self-portrait I was struck by the idea that he worked through the “power of suggestion rather than precision.” This seems like an interesting concept that could be translated to any realm of art but something I had never really thought about before. Unlike the Monet’s I had seen which seemed to truly favor suggestion over precision, these Rembrandts were incredibly detailed yet I still understood what the card was implying. His works ranged from massive to miniscule but the impact was the same regardless of the size.

Several other things caught my attention during my visit including the most incredible reconstruction of a ship I have ever seen. Perched behind it was an actual cannon from a ship but it was the model that really caught everybody’s attention. The man speaking through my “artistic” (yes, you have a choice between artistic and historic) headset was practically orgasming over it. “Look, yes, look,” he would urge “go ahead walk over and inspect it. I know I always did as a child. Go ahead, just investigate it. Now turn to your left, do you see that? Yes, that. What a magnificent cannon that is. Go ahead, run over to it.” Hilariously overwhelming. I decided quickly I would keep the audio guide to a bare minimum.

("Look, yes, Look....Have you ever seen such a magnificent vessel?!")

The mysterious man did guide me through a few other entertaining objects including a dollhouse I would have killed for as a child (wow, did I just type that?) Apparently my audio guide felt the same way. “Go ahead, climb up on the stairs and peer into the world. Do you see that, yes that over on the left, look at the gorgeous cabinetry and the lush couches. Don’t you wish you could touch them? No look, go ahead just to your right. Isn’t that spectacular?” God I wish I had an audio clip of it because even though he was dead on in the excitement it just feels odd having something piping through a headset that sounds like an old man freaking out over a dollhouse. Apparently these were created not as toys but as hobbies the women of the house would obsess over. What a cruel joke, having this in your house and forbidding your child to play with it. The Dutch were obviously devout sinners.

(I want to play with it.)

I was feeling rather timid going around the museum so I kept my illegal photography to a bare minimum even with the things I was most fond of. A few other paintings caught my eye, including an amusing depiction of the Catholics and Protestants battling for followers as they fish them out of the river on opposing banks. “Fishing For Souls” was a hilariously literal commentary on the struggle that overtook the Dutch people. The other painting that I really enjoyed was Johannes Vermeer’s “Woman Reading Letter.”

(Of all the things I took a picture of, this random bird painting was one of them. Just for my mom.)

After two museums that each had their fair share of interesting works but nothing that completely blew my mind (okay, perhaps the Rembrandts) I wondered if the best museums were a thing of weeks past. Little did I know what was right around the corner….

It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp (On A Bike.)

I half expected to arrive in Amsterdam and see Bob Marley greeting me in full prostitute regalia offering me a joint as people rallied for peace, so you can imagine my surprise when all I saw was a bunch of bikes. Then I looked to my left and saw a bunch more bikes. Children on bikes, students on bikes, business men biking to the red light district, mothers biking their families (mini van style with one on front and one on back) past the coffee-shops, yes there were a lot of bikes but no prostitutes or drugs! What was this mysterious place that I had arrived at that seemed so quaint and normal? It couldn’t be the same Amsterdam parents are rushing to keep their children away from could it? Perhaps with time I would find that like a Kabuki actor, what’s behind the façade isn’t quite as glamorous.

(Just a few bikes parked by the side of the road. How would you ever find yours?)

Regardless of the expectations I had, the moment I crept up the escalator in my travel stupor (that 45 minute flight was killer) and out of the train station at Amsterdam Central, I felt something rush over me; comfort. Even through the swarms of people and the cloudy sky something seemed overwhelmingly humble and reserved for a place people paint as having vaginas peering at you from the gutter. Tugging at my suitcase with enthusiasm usually reserved for recently freed animals, the ABT Amsterdam branch and I set on our way to vacation.

The whole concept of vacationing is a little foreign to me because when I grew up, we went places to dance or to study something, never just to relax. Sundays in the city sometimes prove to be too much free time for me, so I didn’t know how my body would react to a four day “Choose Your Own Adventure” challenge. My roommate for the week would be none other than Blaine (roommate extraordinaire from Studio Company) but seeing as it was my third city in three weeks, I had barely a moment to glance at the tour book before arriving.

We arrived at our hotel and walked up to the room to see a giant “Star” on the door, usually a scary sign meaning it would be anything but “Star”-worthy. However, after opening the door we found a small room with posh decorations to complement the small town meets big city feel of the streets outside. Then I looked to my right and saw something that looked a little bit like the new Mac store on 5th Avenue in New York. What was this mysterious glass cube, I wondered? Wait there’s a toilet in that glass cube? Oh. Now I don’t know anyone, regardless of who you are with, who enjoys doing their bathroom activity in a glass cube but we sure were going to find out what it was like. Fortunately, it set me up with a nice little disclaimer for the blogging: like the center of our bathroom seen in this picture, parts of the Amsterdam experience will be censored. That means you won’t get to hear all about my wild monkey orgy on the streets as we threw frites at each other…I just refuse to tell you about it.

(I'm an animal in my glass "star" cage.)

Fortunately for me, and you I guess, there was so much activity crammed into 4 days that I have an excess of information to blog about. Walking around the first night looking at the teetering buildings that appear to be capable of falling with just the right gust of wind, I realized what an art and architecture overload I am on right now. Of course, there is nothing better to overdose on and Amsterdam provided some of the most diverse scenery of my whole three-week European extravaganza.
Sprinkled occasionally through the wonderfully charming streets we wound through were those very seeds of dirtiness I had read so much about. Even far away from the notorious red-light district you will be walking admiring a windmill, a bike, or some pretty flowers when BAM there is a prostitute glaring out at you grabbing her penis. I think I’ll choose the windmill, thank you very much.

(Not a prostitute. The top of the Royal Palace in Dam Square.)

(And the bottom of the building as Jackie, Roman and I pose. With some smoke seeping into the frame.)

To me, that was the most depressing part of Amsterdam, seeing the legalized prostitution. Perhaps it is wrong of me to assume that these women are unhappy but each time I walked by a window I would get a momentary snapshot of their face burned in my brain. As quickly as a shaken Etch-o-Sketch, it would fade away but I couldn’t quite shake it clean. Oddly enough, these experiences are coming only a week after the “Great Blog Debate of 2007” regarding the degradation of women. I still maintain that “Crazy Horse” wasn’t the least bit degrading, but Amsterdam was a whole different story. My body seized up any time I passed through the Red Light District not only from seeing the women in their glass boxes of judgment but especially seeing the men who weren’t just “passing through.” How this is still such a draw is lost on me.

On the other hand, walking past the coffee shops, you begin to realize what a non-issue smoking weed is. I could go into a major political rant about the U.S. focusing their energy on all the wrong things instead of more pressing issues but I won’t get too involved. It just seems odd to me that so much controversy is caused over a little issue. As is the case with anything, denying people the right only makes them want it and wish to rebel more. Yet in all of my time in Amsterdam (and I am sure this isn’t always the case) I never saw anything getting to out of hand on the streets as I always do in New York where people are under the influence of alcohol. That’s all.

(The ABT Amsterdam Branch of Men hang out for a relaxing night.)

Since we arrived so late in the afternoon our first day, I didn’t get to make many stops but I quickly learned that you didn’t need to go IN anywhere to enjoy Amsterdam because walking around is pure bliss. It seems like an odd Utopia seeing the old women riding their bikes across the cobblestone streets and I couldn’t wait to fully submerge myself for a few days.

(Yet another beautiful canal with, you guessed it, bikes.)

I Amsofuckingtiredam.

(Amsterdam's weird version of the I Heart New York logo.)


I've made it out of Amsterdam and live to tell about it. That is if my brain doesn't explode from my anticipation of being back in my own bed tomorrow night. For now, Blaine and I are in purgatory aka The Holiday Inn Heathrow Airport. In all honesty it's the best hotel we have been in so far but not nearly as exciting as ours in Amsterdam. More stories to come....just letting you know the Red Light District didn't swallow me alive. Almost though.

Funny how I seem to be one city behind, I am going to try to play catch up later today and get some fun stories of Amsterdam out there. We crammed some incredible stuff in 4 days. Ahhh, I miss it already.

The Science of Friends.

After a week of falling in love with Paris, as I have stated numerous times, I was exhausted. In all honesty though, I can’t cite pure exhaustion for my lack of exploratory expeditions in London because the prospect of being social got in the way. In a fortuitous moment of coinciding schedules, I found out a few months ago that a few of my close friends from Michigan would be in London at the same time. A trio of wonderful musical theater actors from the University Michigan, Benton, Jess and AJ are lucky enough to be spending the semester abroad refining their Shakespearean sexiness at RADA by way of NYU. I know, it sounds confusing but I didn’t care much for logistics because all I knew was that they would be there.

Spending time with the company on tour is both a bonding experience and a test of compatibility. Therefore having a few moments to break away from the (wonderful) group was a welcome moment during our second week. Leading up to the European reunion up with Jess, Benton and AJ in Trafalgar Square, I was walking through life peppering every other sentence with “I can’t wait to see them.” Needless to say, I think my friends were getting a bit tired of hearing it.

I know I have talked a little bit about my Michigan connection before, but every time I see these people I can’t seem to wipe a grin off my face. Jess and I have even gone as far as proclaiming our marriage on Facebook. Yes people, it’s that serious. There’s never any way of knowing how connections with certain people work, but in my uncanny ability to overanalyze, its something I ponder with this group every time we meet. On top of my normal excitement at seeing them, the added bonus was that they had had a month to scope out London for me. Pointing me in the direction of good restaurants, and theater, I had my own living tour book that came with an extra dose of friendliness.

(One Year Anniversary. Still wearing the "Gay-Telletubby" Sweater. Maybe she'll get the hint....)

There is always a fear that visiting people will leave a sense of obligation burdening you or that you won’t see enough of each other. I got to have several wonderful evenings with these three and introduce them to some of my closest friends in the company as well. Seeing two very different groups of friends meshing together is always such a relief.

(She knows...and we get divorced. She is distraught. Either I want the ring, or I am pretending to be a horse.)

Almost as much of a relief as finishing “The Green Table” without flubbing when they came to watch. It’s amazing how nervous I can get even when I have done a ballet so many times. Over the course of rehearsing it this time I felt like I had to get over the hump of letting my movement get “stale” and find ways to reinvent the experience; what an awesome, but difficult challenge. To have so many close friends in the seats knowing their eyes would be on me was invigoratingly nerve-wracking. Not only were Mich folks there, but Carson, my childhood friend Alex (who I didn’t get to spend nearly enough time with) and new friend #1: Matthew.

Carson, being a Pilates guru, has clients with friends all over the world so we met up with one of her clients’ best friends, Matthew, for dinner. Now, if I was worried about a sense of burdening my Michigan friends, there is nothing like meeting up with a total stranger. Very much like the connection with closest friends, there is no science to connections with anyone new, it just happens or it doesn’t. Fortunately for Carson and I, we hit it off right away.

(A funny sign in Soho with Carson and Matthew.)

Having resided in London for roughly 10 years, Matthew was even more of an insider than my Michigan friends. As Indian is the cuisine of choice around the city, we sat down for a wonderful meal (at a restaurant who’s name escapes me but had ‘Red’ in there somewhere) before walking the streets of Soho for a while. A genuinely kind person with a wonderful sense of humor (and an incredible London/Canadian accent) Matthew went above and beyond for Carson and I and I won’t ever forget it. Not only did he come out after seeing the show Saturday night but pointed us in the direction of where we found London friend #2, Leyton.

(David is wary of the new Brit. Or he's eyeing food in the corner. Either one.)

If I were to go to Europe on my own, I have doubts as to whether or not I would meet anyone new. Some people have the right personalities for making easy conversations with strangers who soon turn into friends but I am not one of them. Out with a group of six or so, we all decided that Leyton’s group looked like the most fun in the establishment but couldn’t start a conversation. Finally we kind of just walked up to each other’s groups and we all started talking. Yet another incredibly nice Londoner, Leyton also happened to be a modern dancer and ended up showing us around the next and final night in London.

(Benton, Jackie and AJ having dinner our final night.)

For me, these two random connections will be at the top of my list of things I remember from my first European trip 10 years from now, yet I may never see them again. Where do the connections go from here? I feel like it is so hard to let yourself be satisfied with fleeting moments of happiness. Greediness takes over and learning to take the moment for what it is proves difficult. No one can sum this up better than Stephen Sondheim in one of my favorite songs from childhood on, “Moments In The Woods.”

Just a moment,
One peculiar passing moment.
Must it all be either less or more,
Either plain or grand?
Is it always 'or'?
Is it never 'and'?
That's what woods are for:
For those moments in the woods...

The 12 Course Tasting Menu.

(Thinking of having this installed in my apartment to take the taste level down a few notches. I will also have a continuous loop of bad techno remixes of 90's pop songs playing to fully replicate the London nightlife. "G-A-Y," a club we walked by our last night. I was blinded by the light.)

Ready for some randomness? I don't have a very cohesive way of presenting these pictures but we'll just play photo album for a while. I need to play catch up! I'm already in Amsterdam and I'm only half way through blogging London!

By the time I got to London I thought that I had done enough walking for a year but there was still more to see. My schedule in London was going to be similar to that of Paris, with only one show of “Green Table” on Saturday night so I began to map out what my week would be like. Looking through my guidebook I was oddly disinterested in the things I was seeing as much as I knew there was stuff I wanted to do. Taking the back seat the first few days I didn’t get much of a sense of direction by being led around. The only thing I got a sense of was that money seemed to drip out of my wallet with every step I took. The whole trip in Europe I haven’t bought more than two material possessions but my bank account continues to plummet.

First impressions are important and as I stated before, my first impression of London was slight ambivalence. While Paris seemed like a romantic storybook far removed from my life in the city, London felt like an extension of New York with a great accent. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy it, it’s that it wasn’t foreign enough for me to feel like I had to immerse myself in it immediately. Walking around, you saw interesting architecture but something about it seemed to be less about displaying the history than Paris was. Being back in a city where they spoke English was comforting, but there are so many varieties to the accents that I still had a difficult time. There is nothing like knowing someone is speaking your language and STILL nodding and smiling like a deaf bobble head doll.

After two days I knew it was time to get my ass in gear and get a feel for things, even if that meant the tourist feel of things. My friends and I began to gather that while Paris is ideal for wandering and finding wonderful things at every turn, London seems to be an insiders’ town. The best things we found were off the beaten path and sometimes the cab drivers (in their gorgeous cabs with their gorgeous attitudes) didn’t even know where we were going even after four years (FOUR YEARS!) of training. Going stag exploring means the pictures aren’t always the most interesting, but I’ll share anyway. Get ready for giant shots of my head! Lucky you.

(I ate so many nuts on this tour, my palm turned into a magic nut palm. Stare into it and get lost in London with me.)

(Staring out over Trafalgar Square from the steps of the National Gallery. This was the first of several gorgeous days and I spent the entire time walking outside. It was truly a great solo Valentines Day as much as the Hallmark holiday was getting me a little depressed. How annoying that a made up date has been created to put such strain on everyone, singles and couples alike.)

(The National Gallery where I saw even more incredible art. Impressionism has left the biggest impression on me this tour (what an unfortunate choice of wording) but there were many things to gawk at in the National Gallery besides their Impressionism exhibition. Speaking of technique in an earlier post, the Da Vinci's that reside here are mesmerizing.)

(Okay, London was starting to grow on me. I have never noticed the effect of weather as much as I have on this tour. When you are familiar with a place, the weather becomes secondary, but when you are first viewing a place it's amazing how much the weather can ignite your interest.)

(The most architecturally exciting building I saw in London, which a sweet couple offered to take my picture in front of. Sunset on the river with my iPod was one of my favorite moments of the tour. Nothing like contemplating life in a foreign country while listening to a little Sufjan Stevens. What would I do without him?!)

(Other than evil "Mary Poppins" ticket man, the most depressing part of my day was that I was all geared up to do a solo spin on the London Eye only to find that there was a special Valentines event that had started about ten minutes before I arrived; couples only. Grrrrr. I still enjoyed the view from below.)

(Looking up Big Ben's nose. Factoid: It's not the tower, but the bell which is named Big Ben.)

(Walking by our theater the final night of tour.)

(After my solo V-Day, it was back to rehearsal in our ultra-modern theater "Sadler's Wells." Like the Tate, there was an interesting industrial quality to the theater that was a huge juxtaposition to the classical house of the Chatelet in Paris. I loved the studio and backstage of this theater.)

(One of the best tourist attractions in all of London, the Cadburry chocolate machines in the subway station. After Carson had her solo Valentines Day in Paris, we reunited for a few more days of sibling craziness in Europe. These machines were more of a problem than a blessing, every one we went to was out of Carson's favorite "Mini Cream Eggs." Grrrr.)

(We could see Buckingham Palace but we were stuck like mice in a cage frantically circling around it. Would Carson's hair open up the secrets of London to us?!)

(Her hair wasn't as powerful as it looks so I decided to stare it down.)

(If only I had given it this look, I could have melted Europe. Messing around in the dressing room before "The Green Table" which was perhaps my final one for a while. It was an oddly emotional performance which all of my friends attended. The combination of all those factors left me feeling a little shaky on stage but I always enjoy this ballet so much. With powerful skunk hair like this, how could you not?)

(An important message from the lovely folks at Bistroteque that Carson and I think you should be aware of. I don't know where my eyes are focusing....looks like maybe I went a little brain dead for a moment. Either that or I saw a flying monkey or something. Ah, London.)

It Takes Time.

To fully experience an individual work of art or especially a museum is a challenging task. Filled with crowds flocking from known artists to lesser-known works, a popular museum can leave me feeling invigorated or confused by all the hype. Tate Modern, London’s equivalent to MoMA, was a museum whose charms were fairly lost on me during my first two-hour visit. Upon arriving in London, I immediately went to take in my 5th museum of the tour in a different way than any of the previous ones...with a group. My most fulfilling days leading up to this point had been getting a feel for each city on my own but I thought perhaps it would be fun to compare ideas with my friends about art for a change. Normally I just carry around my journal, making occasional notes but this time I would have something other than a piece of paper to bounce my ideas off of.

Marching around with Marian, Marcelo, Jared, David, Blaine and Misty was an interesting example of how subjective art is. The majority of things that I loved on an initial, visceral level were not as enthusiastically received by my friends. As well as being conditioned by society on which artists deserve the devotion of our time, it’s amazing how much my parents have influenced my tastes.

As I grow older I realize how much the works hanging in my living room that my father painted were influenced by Francis Bacon, who is quickly becoming a favorite artist of mine. I had seen many of his morbid and gloomy works before but the Tate contained some of my favorites. To me these are paintings that leave the viewer with an uncomfortable first impression, as the disjointed parts of the human body swoop and circle into every corner of the painting. The frustration and anger within these paintings is something that I find oddly beautiful commentaries on the suffering of a persons psyche and soul. It’s the type of reaction evoked from these paintings that I think would be so incredible to be able to replicate through movement. To me his paintings take the nightmarish confusion of surrealism to a different level where the randomness of object and location leads to a more satisfactory final picture. It’s that fine line of literal vs. abstract that led to some of the more interesting conversations I have had about art in a long time. His “Triptych,” “Three Figures and Portrait,” and “Figure in a Landscape,” are all incredible works utilizing the same fragmentation that leaves a huge impression on me.

(Sexy disjointed mouths.)

The hardest thing about walking around with a group at a museum is that people get very personally attached to the works, often getting disappointed when the group doesn’t share the sentiment. I find that so many of the popular favorites, Dali, Rothko, Miro, are often uninteresting to me. By the time I reached the section of abstract expressionists on my first trip, my mind was feeling a bit like a Dali painting itself, so I hoped I would find time to come back and fully appreciate it. It was in this section that David asked the most daunting part of viewing art with a group, “What do you like about it?” What should be the easiest thing to describe becomes a very personal defense of your artistic taste. As my eyes become more and more drawn to abstract expressionism, I am less and less able to explain why. The frustrating part is that I should be okay with that, yet I want to be able to take my initial visceral feelings that these paintings were so keen on creating and turn them into sentences. Abstract expressionism evokes the most interactive viewing process because it straddles that line of literal and emotional. To me I find this wonderful uncomfortable comfort in the emotional brush strokes of people like Kline, Joan Mitchell, de Kooning, and more recently Rothko than any of the more modern works in the museum.

David, Jackie, Carson and I got into an interesting discussion at my new favorite London hotspot, Bistroteque (horrible name) one night about our different artistic tastes. I still have yet to be converted to a fan of minimalism or video installations but its odd seeing how similar the descriptions of our reactions are to our individual tastes. For instance, what David gets from video installation seems to be the same feeling I get from the abstract expressionists yet we both feel lost in each others’ taste ranges. I find video installation to be an annoying mix where you have to project abstract ideas onto something that is usually a literal visual. Yet essentially that is what I am doing with my favorite art. It’s hard to realize that it is okay to not be able to perfectly explain yourself, its not the finish of the race but the way you get there that makes it worth it. The best description I could find of my interest in abstract expressionism and impressionism was that there is a “record of the physical gestures and psychological presence” that doesn’t exist in any other work for me. I can admire technique for hours but I don’t get lost in it.

(Looking out one of the gallery windows to St. Paul's Cathedral. I never made it any closer than that, I was a little Cathedral-ed out at that point.)

After spending about two hours with the group, flocking together through the different galleries, I was impressed with the Tate but wanted more. As soon as Carson arrived in London we decided Saturday before my show of “The Green Table,” we would spend some time exploring the museum separately. This was the first time of my trip where my tastes were getting challenged by my experience in the museum. I have always had a strong aversion to Rothko, seeing it as nothing more than the literal colors and shapes on the canvas but I now blame the WAY I have viewed it as the problem. No other art for me seems to be hindered so dangerously by the way it is shown as Rothko’s work. Crowded rooms with constant motion in your peripheral view do everything to ruin the interaction of viewing it. Suddenly, sitting in a room filled with 6 Rothko works in various shades of red and black, I had an epiphany. The room had just cleared and I sat on the bench and just felt the paintings washing over me. For that moment I didn’t worry about finding the meaning because it seemed to have found me (god that sounds so cheesy when I type it.) Yet as quickly as I had my revelation, the room filled with a sea of people and the clouds covered up the sun.

I found the organization of the gallery space to be a bit crowded, especially in the surrealism section but I did manage to find a few new favorite works. First and foremost, the Tate only strengthened my exponentially growing love of Picabia. This man can do no wrong for me in any of the incredibly different styles he attacked. His sense of humor and mix of techniques continue to blow me away. This work of his “Otaiti” was by far my favorite portion of the surrealist wing. The idea of the creative unconscious flowing onto the canvas for the surrealist painters is often more engaging to me than the paintings themselves. It definitely got me interested in learning of the Freudian psychology that influenced the movement.

(A decent picture but so stunning in person.)

I also really enjoyed a video installation by Christian Marclay where four video screens lined up side-by-side project various film clips complete with their original audio. I love the idea of taking four things that have nothing to do with each other and making them merge into one cacophony symphony.

Overall the space of the museum was something I couldn’t quite place my opinion on. It seems a bit too industrial for me when you first enter but the galleries themselves are fairly similar to those of MoMA. One giant difference is the installation of slides that they have weaving through the foyer. Adults are allowed on them, but I kept forgetting to get a ticket so I had to be satisfied watching like a dog wanting its owners food. Sometimes it just takes time to get adjusted to a new museum and I am happy that I gave the Tate two chances to make an impression because the second was much stronger. While I was leaving I stumbled into the Gilbert and George exhibition where I found an interesting quote.

“When a human being gets up in the morning and decides what to do and where to go he is finding his reason or excuse to continue living. We as artists have only that to do.”
-Gilbert and George, 1986

(By the water with the whordes of people flowing into the Tate on Saturday. Those Brits are so spoiled by the free museums!)