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The New Museum in Manhattan has invited Jeff Koons to curate the show “Skin Fruit” which debuted March 3 and runs through June 6. The theme is the human form. From the vantage point of the works shown, we are provoked to ask what exactly its function is. A low life vehicle or divine body?A dead piece of flesh devoid of meaning or an invisible anchor to a higher more evolved dimension. These invariably eternal questions are resolved somewhat in the 100 or so works by 50 renowned artists.

Chris Ofili better known for Madonna with elephant dung which shattered the ideological rigidity of some U.S. church officials with his 1999 show  ”Sensation” held at the Brooklyn Museum is on view here with several important works. He brings forth a luminosity with his Blue Damascus and Thirty Pieces of Silver; aluminum on paper, ink, charcoal and oil. Kiki Smith’s human sized beeswaxed figures in Mother/Child strik a self-indulgent chord with the mother sucking her own breast while the man/child gives himself lip service auto-erotically.

I was struck by the resin and fiberglass figures of Tim & Sue Noble & Webster entitled, “Masters of the Universe”. 2 Planet of the Ape like figures covered in human hair (probably imported from India) come alive as time stands still. They walk the path of fools. Other notable artists included Mark Grotjahn, Haris Epaminonda, Seth Price and Terence Koh.

Starting with Skin Fruit, the New Museum launches The Imaginary Museum - a new series that periodically showcases contemporary art from around the world allowing the general public to travel without leaving the city. Visit http://www.newmuseum.org/

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As an addendum to my last post about The Birches Resort on Moosehead Lake in Maine, six months later I visited the southern part of Maine, in and around Camden. Remember the classic 60s film Peyton Place? It was filmed in this once entirely Waspy bastion of Victorian morality. It’s still pretty rare to see any rainbow nation nationals and most people have blond hair and wear Paul & Stark. But okay, I wasn’t here on a sociological study nor was I conducting any surveys. I discovered though an entire community of European expats. A Dutch gay couple owned a hotel, a Swiss owned a fine eaterie. The B&B I loged in was owned and operated by a newly transplanted Italian couple and so on.

I had four days of blissful relaxation at the Camden Maine Stay Inn www.camdenmainestay.com, a perfectly situated house a few minutes jaunt to the downtown area owned by a cordial couple, Claudio & Roberta Latanza. They serve the best breakfast outside of Tuscany, a la American style. Their blueberry coulis was overwhelmingly delish over a crispy fried tart like pancake. Fresh berries plucked right from the garden adorned our table alongside buttercups and tiger lillies. Muffins, blue or cranberry, scones and thick slices of whole grain bread with freshly made jam were available besides eggs, bacon or sausage and yoghurt. Coffee was strong and European, just the way I like it.

Driving outside the tiny enclave of Camden you’ll find a wealth of good eats. Here are some of my tasty recommendations in and out of town. If you’re desperate for fried clams and excellent lobster rolls that are fresh and cheap stop on US Route 1 in Wiscasset at the Sea Basket. www.seabasket.com. Though it looks like any old fast food, albeit clean and freshly painted, don’t let the juvenile wall paintings distract you from the briny taste of thick succulent chewy clams breaded lightly. If you happen to be a biker or wanna right next door is a mobile shop where the owners sell biker gear and sexy lingerie.

Don’t let the corny name fool you. The Fisherman’s Catch Restaurant owned by Ned & Amy Cardinati in Wells, Maine is a stop you must make. Like Joe’s Stone Crab House in Miami, The Catch serves up soft sweet lobster that is less than two months old. The shells peel off so there’s no need for nutcrackers or tools. The fleshy meat is sweeter than Swedish crayfish, Japanese sweet shrimp and just about any other crustacean meat served on this side of the Atlantic or Pacific. The buttery bliss for a lobster junkie like myself cannot be praised enough. These little babies are not exported nor sold out of state as they would lose their rich flavor in transport. They are caught and then sold that same day. The Catch is also infamous for serving generations of Bush’s. The server was very proud of that and pointed to George W’s picture. Before I had time to vomit I almost choked on my free sample of berry cake flinging little bits of blueberry over the counter. Excuse me, I’m a progressive liberal and where I come from I am totally non-plussed. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, asking me if I wanted any more cake. Hmm yep, I did. It was good.www.fishermanscatchwells.com

Ephemere Bistro-Bar is owned by the jovial Andre Constantin who enjoys drinking it up with customers - new and old. After dining on scallops in a puff pastry with crunchy vegetables and whipped mash I headed to the bar (where all the action was) and met a Camden native, Judy a lovely PR woman. Next to her were two Dutch women, one a former lover of Andre’s who lives in the States. Apparently she dragged her friend up north to show her the town and her former catch. The bistro has a dash between the bar and literally that is how the space is set up. Walk about ten paces from the farthest corner of the upstairs room and you’ll be at the bar. Located at 51 Bayview Street in Camden town. Call 207-236-4451. Andre doesn’t believe in websites or too much technology. What a bore!

For a quick lobster or crab roll try the Waterfront, also in Camden. www.waterfrontcamden.com You’ll be out of pocket a mere $15.00 for a chunky roll, with or without tartar sauce. I prefer my lobster rolls plain. Salt, pepper, butter, mayo, tartar sauce, nada! Why ruin a good thing? You can sit outside on the little back porch overlooking Camden harbor. It’s picturesque.

So far not too many New Yorkers have infested Camden and I say that’s a good thing. Although there were plenty of seasonal tourists many seemed to hail from Massachusetts and New Hampshire. It seems to be “the place” to go if you want a little bit of culture yet a lot of natural space. One of my aquaintences bought a property a few years ago. I had the notion while visiting, that I too could see myself sitting on a porch in a swing in a summer home in Camden. Perhaps it’s the next hot destination stateside? Who knows? One thing’s for sure. When I do return I will certainly go back to the Maine Stay Inn.

I am at a loss to the meaning of the PG rating. These days I go to the movies with my son who is almost 8, I’d say on average about twice a month. Most children’s movies made in the USA today do not contain the fantasy and moral tones of films I saw growing up. Of course what they do have to their credit are superior graphic illustrations, special effects, digital animation and cinematography compared to those films made in the 50s and 60s. What I am shocked about is the sexual innuendo in most PG films.

Tell me why is it necessary that hippos shake their booty, flirt, shake their titties or seduce one another in a not-so-discreet fashion? Why is the subject even brought up? Is it to assuage the parents who would go bonkers if there weren’t an element of suggestion? Or is Hollywood so desperate for lack of a story line they need to cram this crap down children’s throats so that they’ll grow up to be as sexually obsessed as many adults seem to be here?

What gets me is the fact that there appear to be no morals when it comes to shoving the sex rap into kids’ movies yet breasts and heaven forbid, vaginas and penises are strictly banned on TV. The human body is in America, a no go area. Yet six year olds are exposed to distorted wisecracks and bodily movements that are out and out sexual ploys. Why are children being indoctrinated in this warped way? Why aren’t parents just up in arms about this?

I’m not a prude. I have no shame about my body. As a family we are quite comfortable walking in our skin at home without a shred of embarrassment. We find it peculiar when kids Florian’s age make “fun” of the human body. Our son finds it strange as well. What does this double bind of kids being ashamed of their own body and at the same time inundated with sexual modes of behavior mean? Where will that lead? I cannot imagine anyplace healthy.

There are plenty of foreign films that are age appropriate (PG) and emotionally intelligent without being sexual at all. If I have to expose myself and my son to the come-ons, the pick up one liners and the stupid overtones of sexually deprived animated characters then you know what? I’ll stay at home more often and use Netflix. We won’t mind that at all.

Kurt uses dense fog, stroboscopes, pulse lighting and surround sound to immerse the visitor in his own biosphere. If that is what death portends to be then hell, get me there sooner rather than later.

The intimate vastness gave me a sensation of flotation, of freedom. I could almost shed my limbs and the weight of the vessel called “my body”. Unencumbered, I allowed the sparkles, twinkles, dust balloons and squiggly shards of light to guide me through. No thought of horizontal or vertical measurements slowed down the free form movement I sensed through my nose. The chemicals released from the fog machine were somewhat acute causing my nose to twitch while I coughed once or twice.

However the moment I stepped out of the Zee world and into the waiting area those sensations vanished. I wonder why he chose the word Zee which is German for sea? Water was not an element that came to my mind as I plunged into the space, not holding on to the red rope meant to be a guide post for the uninitiated.

Light waves flicker white, yellow, blue and translucent. Some people might be afraid of this quivering almost blinding light pulsation. It takes faith to leap into Hentschlager’s unknown space, as life seems to grind to a halt. Others who are fearful of bright lights may shield their eyes from a harshness that doesn’t ever come to harm. Others might feel claustrophobic in his sequestered territory, yet I didn’t. I found the experience liberating imagining my self disappearing into the oneness of the hallucinations induced and the endless drone of the sound machines.

FuturePerfect at the 3LD Center at 80 Greenwich Street near Battery Park City until November 15^th, 2009.
http://www.3ldnyc.org/

Click the image to open the pdf.

May: Going away

Well it’s moving time. Again! This is the 41st in my life. This is the biggie because I’m repatriating with a Dutch husband and a child who has grown up in Holland. I’m going away after 13 years here and 5-plus in Switzerland. Everyone says to me I’ll fit right in. It’s home. I feel I will without a doubt. Mom is there as are childhood friends from elementary school that only this year after 30 years and then some did we reconnect. To bagels and the Sunday Times (although frankly I only read the Travel & Entertainment section and the magazine), to people that yap and are in-your-face yet very sincere and dramatic sometimes. To a place where friendliness is second nature and yet abrupt when necessary. To “my people” because a community is a place where you feel welcomed.

Having tried most of my life to belong I finally found out what belonging really means. To belong is to be longing. To long for something lost or never found. To live in a space that doesn’t entirely accept the now. To be longing to belong has left me on the outside of what I sought. Now I am being. There is no longing. That is what fitting in means. In one’s self.

New York, JKF Airport: Waiting more than 1 hour for United States Immigration control

Yet going away from our friends, family, shitty weather, rude Dutchies, yummy raw haring, cool architecture, nice relaxed city, crazy bike riders who don’t give a f… if you’re walking, a child, a disabled person etc, polders and all their models, slips and sliptong, sluices and mud flats, Heineken and the Amstel River, Vondelpark and fond memories. You want more?

July: The karma of moving abroad

It’s the last day of packing. I’m sitting in a 75 percent empty house as the movers remove the last items. It gives me a calm feeling to watch them work furiously. They’re wrapping, sorting, sticking, packing, designing crates, hammering nails, seeing the elevator go up and down with our belongings and finally loading the container. I am at peace with our decision and am standing in the empty space between worlds.

I am ready to venture to the place I was born yet do not know intimately. How can anyone prepare for repatriation shock? You can read about it, understand mentally that “things are not the way you left them” yet how it will affect ME is a mystery. Yet there’s one thing I’m sure of. I can be a safe haven for my husband who has never lived outside of Holland.

At LaGuardia airport (New York)

It is only now, twelve years later that I see how those first disruptive complaining years in Amsterdam have imprinted upon my partner. He must have experienced cross-cultural relocation as something negative and difficult. What he didn’t see was how I managed in Japan or France — the me who was in sync with both cultures, whose social life resonated heartfelt in both those places.

I feel sorry for that. My skewed experience relayed the message that moving was an isolating, unfriendly, often boring drudgery. Yet it isn’t. When and if my husband finds the challenges of life in New York impossible to fathom or if he feels lonely and misunderstood, I will be his soft shoulder, his sounding board and friend. No matter how tiring or frustrating I may feel I make this vow to him. Because he underwent the same type of hardship with me. This is karmic work. I will play my part lovingly.

The 5 A’s are needed in love.  In love meaning, demonstration of love because saying the simplest words, “I love you” falls on deaf ears when not acted upon. In fact, the Buddhists say that it is impossible for one (I, the individual) to love. The “I” cannot love. Only love itself is love and that is shown by a person giving the 5 A’s.

Have I done this consistently in my life? Is that possible to do all the time? No to both. I haven’t given all five A’s at all times to my loved ones nor to a wide circle of friends and acquaintences. Has it happened at all? Yes of course. I try to incorporate all five A’s in my daily interactions. Most of the time I succeed. Many times I do not. That’s okay, I’ve come to learn. These A’s are ideals to live by and not to wrack our minds with if we cannot achieve them at every moment. I guess I’m grappling with my own humanity. Learning how to accept myself is the big one. Because I’ve found out, if I cannot do that entirely with me, then how on earth can I do it with others?

My husband is my best friend, my closest ally, my supportive coach and I his. If it weren’t for the 5 A’s we would not be together. Earlier in my life I chose partners who proved my theory that the 5 A’s were not possible. It’s because I had low self-esteem. I did not believe I was worthy of receiving all or any of the 5 most critical attributes of love, the 5 A’s.

Giving attention means being present with your mind, heart and soul. Present. A present of your self to another. You make a gift of your full attention when you give it over. It doesn’t mean thinking about your work, your fitness regime or any other thousands of to-do’s that pop into your head, twittering while your loved one is talking, looking askance at the wall or miming yeah yeah’s, nodding your head or smiling without HEARing what your loved one is saying. Listening without interruption is one of life’s most precious ways of giving attention.

Acceptance sounds easier than it is. How many of us wish our partners, parents, siblings, in-laws and friends to be different? Either a whole lot or just a teensy weeny bit? Acceptance is a total act of faith. To accept someone in the here and now allows space for change, room for growth. To reject someone and their foibles closes the possibility of improvement because a judgment is being made. The way I accept the qualities in others (and in myself) that I formerly rejected is by meditating on a single breath or mantra: All is good in my universe. I accept myself and everyone around me just as they are and not the way I want them to be.

Appreciation can be displayed in a thousand ways. From a warm glance to a tender touch, to gift giving, to making sensual love, to lighting a candle at dinner or preparing a meal (try Tabla’s ready-to-go dinners from Fresh Direct if you’re an insecure chef). It is heartfelt. Smiling and laughing are wonderful ways to show appreciation. Praise is as well. When someone you love is confronted with difficulties, they need understanding and empathy; surefire ways to show your appreciation. A simple thank you says a thousand words. Sometimes the best way to thank someone you love is when they are angry with you or deeply hurt by something you said or did. Thank them for sharing their feelings with you and you’ll see the anger, hurt and sorrow dissipate like a cloud.

Affection cannot be underrated. So many of us have been brought up without any signs of affection. Affection is to me closely connected with physical touch although not exclusively. The mere sensate joy of a simple hug brings light into my life. Touching, smiling, laughing, kissing, fondling, messing up your child’s hair and him/her making a mess of yours, embracing… even a warm pancake handshake with the other person’s hand locked in-between your two is a show of affection. In Japan, a deep bow can be interpreted as a sign of affection. Writing poems, playing music, painting or drawing and building things can be signs of affection for a special someone.

Allowing someone to be who they are and to react they way they do at any given moment in time is for me, one of the hardest of the 5 A’s. That’s because my inner critic, a terribly uptight judge with a beak like nose and pointy wagging finger, thin lips and beady eyes is admonishing them (inadvertently they criticize me). This supercilious judge appears in front of my mind’s eye when I perceive a threat, danger or attack from someone I don’t like. It can be someone who triggers some childhood fears. It could be my own family members whom I cherish. It can be a stranger who I don’t know anything about yet he/she illicits in me feelings of superiority because the reasoning goes,  my gut feeling tells me they’re no good, I’m better etc…..”

Allowing also means understanding that the temporal world is ephemeral. All things will pass. There is no need to hold onto the emotions of the past, allow them to filter out and away. Allow pain – bodily, emotional or psychological to overcome you without putting up a fight. Embrace it and it too shall pass.

According to him, the dragon is the ego, the dragon inside ourselves. It’s the mind that says, ‘this is what I want’, ‘what I love’, ‘what my life’s aim is’, what I can do’, ‘what I can achieve’, ‘what my purpose is’… and so on. The dragon is the binding of self to one’s ego cage. If it is broken up, a larger field of relationships manifest, as well as liberating experiences. To break up that self, a person needs to be in accord with the inevitable of life: loss, death, change. A person needs to be in direct contact with Source.

He says, the mind (our intellects) that we prize so heavily is a secondary organ. Our mind’s must serve the humanity of our body. The heart is the first organ. What that means is that we each need to listen to our true heartbeat. That heart is not made up of mere emotional feelings. It is also the invisible that gives our humanity soulfulness. It is the region where realms of imagination live and thrive.

What is our heart life?  That life is one beyond the boundaries of programmable systems. If we listen to what society tells us to be, how to act, how to perform, what to say, how to say it, what to do, how to do it, then all creativity of the heart is stolen, forgotten and locked away. When we stop listening to self we commit to a system that destroys our truest heart. That is precisely when we become confused, lost, sick, out of balance, groping, seeking, searching and scheming. It is at these times that we need to regenerate our hearts.

The beauty of the heart is that it can align itself to Source at anytime. So long as the ego remains in that cage. That is when the dragon has been slayed.

We have read that Ms. Sadik-Khan has studied cities around the world and settled on Copenhagen as the example for New York City to emulate. I would counter that the better example would be Amsterdam. Copenhagen is a small backwater town and so lovely as it is doesn’t have one third the traffic, congestion or mayhem that a typical New York City street does. Yet Amsterdam does!

On any corner you will find yourself bombarded with the drrrrng drrrrrng dinging of cyclists (who rule the road there), moped drivers, motorcyclists, trams, buses, cars, baby buggies, pedestrians with and without dogs, unicyclists and a parade of other vehicles that are home-made. The panoply of activity in every direction demands some extraordinary city planning. Because Holland and by default Amsterdam, is the most densely populated country in Europe every square meter of space is accounted for and used.

Practically every side street is littered with chairs spilling out of the cafes and restaurants paying tribute to what little sun there is. Many a shopping area is pedestrian only (typical throughout Europe for the past thirty or so years). From the Singel Flower Market to the area around Dam Square, small mews and squares adorned with crocuses and tulips beautify the cityscape. Mini islands between thoroughfares are dotted with parking spaces, trees and flowers and herring stalls with just enough space to linger or sit and chow down on fresh raw herring or fried cod sandwiches.

Amsterdam compares to New York in it’s bustling confluence of people and vehicles. With tram tracks that criss-cross cobblestoned streets, bike lanes that cross every major street and trams that whiz by when you least expect it, maybe our DOT Commmissioner can take a lesson from the Dutch. Would that be asking too much?