Visibly Shaken

Perhaps it is the triple threat of a new year, finding myself 60 years old and in a novel government job, that gets me peering hard into the calendar, the mirror and the myths. 

 

Self portrait, made of maps

The new year is a natural time to switch calendars and start new planners. January seems the month to revisit goals and make resolutions, and to reflect on how I have shown up, as well as who is new and who is missing. There are no kids in the house anymore. The covid years, and resulting lack of visitors, have me less defined by housework.

 

Self Portrait with Broom and Carmella's shoes

Being 60 adds a new cloak of invisibility to my wardrobe. Sometimes I am startled by my reflection, and I see how much I look like my mother. There is also a newfound sense of abandon. I care less about the social restraints of the patriarchy. I ache for a revitalized sisterhood, and I find myself greeting the moon, in all her cycles, as an old friend. My nurturing impulses, faced with an empty nest, have shifted my focus more deeply toward the community and wider environmental politics.

 

Self portrait with (map) wings

As Town Clerk of North East NY, I find myself in a totally novel position. I’m not a teacher, or an artist, or an explorer. Instead, I am a historian, a record keeper, a resource, and member of a tight group of secretaries. The childhood spent playing with office supplies has come full circle. I can be in my glory with file cabinets, complex self-inking stamps, binders, clips, and pens. People come to my office with questions I research. Every day is as varied as the season, and the faces are the people who make up this beautiful area. It’s an incredible honor to be trusted and of service. As one of the many rolls I play, I am also, quite unexpectedly, Receiver of the Taxes. It is a challenge. I think of the Beatles song. I think of sheriff Nottingham and Robin Hood. Nobody likes the tax collector. Anger, frustration, and fear is vented towards a cartoon figurehead, who happens, right now to be me!

 

Disney's Sheriff Nottingham

In the vein of owning my own visage, I have returned to my Art History as Seen through the Family Tree passion project. The grand narrative of history is a backdrop to multiple family members who participated in major movements. Each generation had its blind spot and from their personal stories and my perspective, I reflect in painting on a history that is far from perfect and continually revealing. My goal this winter and spring is to find an agent or publisher. I will be posting the process on my Instagram (tilly strauss) account and sharing insights as I go along.

 

Thank you for reading.

Signs and Numbers

 Just like we have Thanksgiving day to be thankful, we have New Year's day to reflect on the shadow of our footsteps, and muse upon our future strides. It falls on a calendar juncture, at the peak of winter, after the solstice shifts us minutely towards the sun. "Winter," as Paul Theraux said, "is a season of recovery and preparation".

This is the 16th year I have been blogging. Some years I am more consistent than others- but last year was the worst with the lowest amount of (25) postings. It looks like I logged in as more of a book reader than a writer! The number of books read is 27. 

In order to navigate the economics of my age and culture, I have become an example of a successful artist having multiple diverse income streams. For the last nine months I have been helping catalogue, archive and exhibit a collection of art by the late Carl T Linden of Chicago. Starting last summer I ran two very inspiring 6-week art coaching workshops for artists across the country. I have, since October of 2021, taken a job at the Town Hall as the Town Clerk. All of this is fascinating and leaves less time for personal practices.  

For several years...5 or 6 now...I have been writing and illustrating an art history text, based upon my family tree and inspired by ancestors who were influencers in the art world, going back beyond the fifteenth century. The project is huge and each year the research ebbs and flows. What keeps me going are the odd signs and messages that I seem to find just when I need a push to keep going.  

Here are two very recent examples. 

1. While cataloguing Carl T Linden's portrait paintings, most of which are unsigned, undated, and untitled, I came upon one that was a double portrait with the names of the sitters written on the back! Imagine my surprise to find one was Frances Cowles, and the other was Betty Groves of Bensenville, IL. This discovery was early summer, when I was debating a late summer trip to DesMoines ,Iowa with my mother to research the Cowles side of my family. Frances turns out to be a distant relative- our great, great, great, great, grandfathers were brothers. She is also the mother-in-law of the artist I am archiving! I took that as a sign to make the trip to Iowa in the path of my great grandmother Florence Cowles. 

Frances Cowles and Betty Graves by Carl T Linden, oil on canvas

2. While researching the Meskwaki Tribe, because of my great great grandfather's direct hand in taking land to establish the incorporated city of Algona, I have been slowed by the dread of my ancestors homesteading settler mentality of "Manifest Destiny" and their hands in the outright stealing of lands of First Peoples. My great great grandfathers and their brothers fought in the Black Hawk Wars, which not only massacred the indigenous peoples, but led to our government embracing policies of extermination. I read the story of the last great Comanche leader, Quanah Parker. I am lining up images as reference sources for some illustrations. This photo from the Ft Sill Museum shows Parker with guests at his Star House dining room. The art on the walls are advertising posters. The one behind his head is for the Strauss Brothers of Chicago! It feels like a sign from my ancestors to get my studio, and set up the process for painting again!

Quanah Parker entertaining in his home near the Wichita Mountains and cache Oklahoma c. 1885/ photo from Ft Sills Museum

I conclude, that I will keep doing many things; keep painting and writing; keep trying to stay healthy with walking and yoga practices; keep in community even in times of isolation and keep showing up for the Muse. 

In that vein: Can I ask you: What would you like to hear more about on this blog? 

                                            What interests you and is pertinent to this space? 

If you write me an answer, I will mail you a work of art in gratitude. 

                                            Leave comments below.

The October Blur

I was here. I am here. But much of it feels a blur. We had open studios over two weekends, and family. With 20 other #arteastdutchess creatives we opened our spaces and invited people to explore and see the world a bit like we do. We invited my brother's daughter Natalie to exhibit, Michael's daughter Kylie to read her published poetry (the Fever Poems), and my sister Gwen arrived from France to read from her book.

wolf paintings in the barn

Pa (julian), Michael and Me- with art clinic barn in the background

Invite to the Author reading Saturday the 16th

My wall art calendars for 2022 printed: For the Birds

Wolf painting painted during the open studios: Sneak

Author reading: Kyle Gellatly, Gwen Strauss, Julian Strauss

For a while the barn showed what was inside

Natalie Strauss with studio visitor, artist Alexis Rockman

We had over 77 people visit each weekend. The interaction was so valuable. It is hard to produce art in isolation and then open wide the doors to anybody. But I found it strengthening and invigorating. I also got a lot of tips and recommendations from people. I am full of gratitude.

Alyssa Kogan article on our Amenia portion of the tour in the 10.5.21 Hudson Valley News

 

A Ride to the Past

My family is flawed. Because of that, the research into my roots for my art project has often stalled. I write about leaders and pioneers in their fields who are acclaimed for their achievements. Yet with a little searching I find them prejudiced, mysogynist, racist, or thieving. Many harbored opinions that I consider untenable today. My family story, much of it a story of white males, had to be balanced a bit by focus on the strong matriarchs. The women come to light (and literature) in the branch of Americans that wrote books and kept diaries. I want to focus on the brilliant and inspiring Florence Cowles, (1861- 1950), who grew up in Algona and traveled the world visiting schools and talking to teachers. That is what drove me to the Midwest last week- a need to gain a clearer perspective on the people I admire.

Florence and Gardner Sr and their home famous for mandatory Family Sunday Lunches

Our week in Iowa felt much fuller than a mere 7 days, for the amount of time we spent in the past. From the moment we landed at the airport and took the road named after my granddad into the city, we were faced with signs of family legacy from the late 1800's to mid 1900's. It was special traveling with my mother. She had grown very quiet over the summer, and on the trip her memories came flooding back. She remembered details, names and addresses and recounted little stories every where we went! I booked us a room in the Savery Hotel, Des Moines' first sky scraper at 13 stories, across from the Cowles Commons. We looked out to the capital building dome covered in 23 carot gold. Grand Avenue linked us to her childhood neighborhood, her grandparents home and the art center. 

Though Florence spent one year at the Chicago Institute of Art, her legacy is in the education emphasis of the Des Moines Art Center

After a few days in Des Moines we ventured up through a sea of corn and soy crops to Kossuth County and the town my relatives founded, Algona in 1854. Within minutes of arriving in the sleepy town, we saw fliers about the restoration of a family grave and colorful murals across multiple buildings referencing Asa and Ambrose, the patriarchs of our Cowles branch of the family! Ambrose is Florence's father. Needless to say, we were welcomed warmly to the Kossuth County Historical Society and quickly overwhelmed with the amount of information and personal items in the collection. All my questions were answered and I only wished my sisters could have been there to glean from their own perspective from the treasures on display. 

 

Mid week we visited the Meskwakie Nation in Tama, and had to ourselves an afternoon in the Tribal Museum. It was important for me because any story of my pioneer ancestors has to acknowledge the settler colonialism that crushed the indigenous population. Manifest Destiny was firmly in the minds of the pioneering Asa and Ambrose and the land they staked a claim to had other residents. 

 My time in Iowa answered many questions about the limitations of my ancestors and exposed me to their liberal leanings. I came to see that they were compassionate and on record as eventually supporting the Meskwakie (Sac and Fox) in their bid to return and own land. People like Governor Grimes were real heroes, changing the tide and protecting the native Iowans from the homesteaders. Florence's diary detailed some of the cultural interactions she witnessed between her mother and the destitute tribes that passed through. The stories of the settler's survival emphasized their willingness to treat the natives fairly and peacefully in all transactions. I learned about a handful of other people who also felt the enslavement of blacks and the incarceration of natives were wrong and to be protested. I feel relieved that Florence spent time and money securing decent support for the natives and spoke up about the civil rights of all those less fortunate. 

 

Of course there was Hezekiah, Ambrose' wife's father... my great great great grandfather and Florence Cowles' grandfather). He and his brothers fought in the Black Hawk and Civil war, clearing the natives away from good farm lands and from potential cross-continental routes to rich mines.

Moving While Staying Still

Looking Up/ March30

(continuing series of Covid19 journal daily drawings)

There are parts of the isolation that feel surreal and stressful, and then there are other parts that feel almost blissful in silences. We are getting to know our neighbors and have found gifts on the doorstep a couple of times. Reciprocating, I made large batches of ramp pesto to leave at the doorsteps, and of course, left bottles of dad's maple syrup.

Trip to Town/ April 20

Putting on a mask and grabbing a handful of gloves is "the new normal" before any endeavor. In fact on our morning walks, we keep a mask in the pocket just in case, though we rarely run into another human. All of our interaction with colleagues is through the computer.

My Peeps/ April 23

I love the daily walks, sometimes in the early morning mist, and others in the waning dusk of the day. The countryside is alive with critters. Without the usual distractions, I am able to pay attention. I almost have a relationship with the one-eared rabbit, the romancing wood ducks, the tousled teenage red tailed hawk, the near-exhausted-from-parenting house wrens and the scampering chipmunks in the stone walls.

Walking/ May 18

When night falls we have fallen prey to the offerings of Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime. Our roster of films and TV shows betrays a new obsessive interest in Scottish history. The doorway was through the TV series Outlander. The key was finding both Michael and I are descended from families who immigrated to the America's from Scotland. The fun is finding how far back we can go (1430!) and then watching historical films of the era.

TV Family Tree/ May 14

The New Normal

(Continuing the Daily Drawings During Quarantine)

Pajamas/ March 27

Feeling wiped out by stress, insecurity, the moon’s position, or imagination, I beat myself up for being weak and dull.  

Wipe Out/ March 21

 Astrological influences aside, we make efforts to dance to the radio, support local restaurants with take-out, sit on the deck at sunset. The calendar loses all its power to define life. Days run into each other, melt, and stop altogether. 

TakeOut/ March 22

I wear my pajamas all day, for days on end, and nobody notices.

Calendar/ March 25

Time for Worry/ March 26

(Self portrait in the hour glass)

 

In Miami and Baltimore, Mickalene Thomas is the life of the party

One of the most exciting exhibits I recently experienced was at the Baltimore Museum of Art's Mickalene Thomas:A Moment's Pleasure exhibit. I remember first seeing her work when she was a resident at the Studio Museum of Harlem back in 2001. This was so different, and yet very much connected. Known for her large colorful, elaborate, mixed media portraits of black women, Thomas has taken the viewer right into her paintings.  By building immersive installations that mimic a party room from childhood, Thomas is bringing intimacy and a different sort of stimulation from the rest of the museum experience.

view from my comfy seat towards the bar

Born out of a desire to memorialize her mother and inspired by old Polaroids she had of her mother getting ready for parties, Thomas has been creating rooms since her "Better Days" art bar installation at Galerie Volkhaus for the Basel Art Fair of 2013. In 2016 she created the work, "Do I Look Like a Lady", an immersive video installation of singers now owned by the Portland Art Museum in Oregon. She followed up "Better Days" with Better Nights, rooms installed at Miami's Bass Museum December 2019. In the ArtNewspaper, Thomas calls the work a "manifesto experience... celebrating a marginalized group of people".
The decor is 1970's and 1980's. It is dimly lit and the music is loud. There is faux wood paneling, carpet squares, tiled ceilings, mix matched furniture, angled mirrors, bright colors, macrame plant hangers and contrasting fabric patterns. I found myself lulled into having a seat in the darkened living room and watched a few animated video shorts, while in the next room a formal bartender lined up bottles and wiped the surfaces clean. As far as I could see the other visitors were just as entranced. Included in "A Moment's Pleasure" are paintings and videos by younger Pratt artist. Thomas, a Pratt alum, has a reputation of generosity. She mentors younger artists, particularly those of color, to help them get ahead in the art world. I am sure they produced some of the colorful and mesmerizing videos on display at the end of the room.

Some books on the endtables. New to me!

The Baltimore Museum recently announced that they would spend the totality of their 2020 allocated purchasing funds to buying art by women. The focus on decolonizing the institution's collection has spread to reflecting on how they welcome and cultivate relationships with patrons and collectors of color. Mickalene Thomas is a strong artist to support. She brings with her some serious humor, a community of fans and, with installations like these, her base is only building.
The exhibit will be at the Baltimore Art Museum until May 2021. "Better Nights" at the Bass in Miami will be up until September 27, 2020.
Links to Books here: Liliane by Shange and Sister Outsider by Lourde

Maira Kalman, my Shero

This winter, while visiting kids in Vermont, I stumbled upon a cache of Maira Kalman books.
From her poignant series of cakes to her stories of her mother's closet, she drew me in, literally. A fantastic visual journalist, Ms. Kalman has invented the field and is who I want to be in my next life.

My drawing of Kalman that now hangs over my desk

Thoughts on the creative act

It is a gift to bring the tools of art-making to someone and open their world up to magic.

Michael and his daughter-in-law and grandson

We all have inside us something delightful to share. Somewhere in the early teens it is squashed by critics, both knowing and unknowing. That is why Picasso said it took him years to learn to paint like a child.
Stories and pictures, from our ancestors to the present, help us define who we are and why we are here. Those types of questions, it has been suggested, separate us from other animals. We are, if not in bare survival mode, always asking. It is good to write your own story from time to time.

Here we Are by Oliver Jeffers

The creative act connects us to a higher force, a power of energy that was there with the creation of everything in the Universe. Whether it is cooking, or cleaning, or sewing, or carving little Gnomes out of driftwood, when we are doing a creative act we can be present for our life. And what results is a gift for others, like your grandparents, total strangers, your pets, and your parents. A truly creative act will resonate much further than the origin, going across boundaries of time and space. This goes for making weapons as well as making love. So chose with awareness that some things will be funny and others quite sobering.

On Being a Good Hostess for Heartbreak

Haunting, acrylic on panel

These festive holidays of light actually fall on some of the darkest days of the year. Every year, as Christmas and Hanukkah approaches, many people see the world like George Bailey in “It’s a wonderful Life”. They feel that they just can’t do it. There is so much stress, from going off diets to diving deep in the red with finances. On top of it, we may have attended more than our fair share of funerals. My aunt, (who was a veritable Christmas elf) passed away at the end of November and a friend lost her grown son to the ultimate moments of depression.

Do I need to go into all the reasons people might not be as happy as those perfect family units in the advertisements? Some people can’t handle it. Perhaps a loss, a breakup, some past trauma, the political divide, the seasonal light disorder, or insufficient funds are to blame. In a season of ritual gathering, pressure gifting and belting carols, we can feel alone and unworthy heading into the holidays.

Throwing a party comes with all sorts of lists and preparatory steps. May I suggest that we not forget the friend suffering depression at this time? Gatherings can seem full of false cheer and guests may feel as if divided by an invisible wall looking in.

Have on hand simple items like tissues, treats, small oranges and offer your friend moments of stillness. I always try to have wine, nuts, assorted teas and fruit to share. Small oranges can remind us of brighter times with their sunny color and sweet taste. I keep a few handy to pass to the homeless on the street corners.

How can we be here for each other? The biggest gift of all the holiday gifts, the one the corporations don’t intend us to remember, is the gift of our attention. Speak frankly and share memories. Listen in stillness and try to understand. Don’t tell someone depressed to “cheer up”, but be honest and unflinching with your concern. When people are grieving and mourning, it’s okay to remember together and even laugh with the tears. It is important to talk and listen with respect. Everyone’s depression is different. If the discussion gets heated and aggressive, try saying, “Lets talk about that another time.” And walk away. Moving the body is always good, so an invitation to walk around the block can be just the ticket to brighten some ones mood. Some depressed folks appreciate a sad movie or a depressing book, like The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath. Self-help books should be shared sparingly. Often it’s a double-edged sword, leading to additional feelings of inadequacy.

Art and music can be used to set a mood that embraces the idea of small joys making big holidays. Song lists can cover a range of holiday genre and eras. So often I am not truly in the present moment unless I am painting a picture. For me paintings capture the fleeting moment that enriches my appreciation for little things, like sunlight and a good mug of tea. Looking at a work of art can bring wonder to life.

Lit Candle, sewn paper painting

Don’t forget the tissue box.

The importance of writing (and illustrating) our art history book

Wouldn't it be cool if I wrote down the stories that have come down through the family tree and have helped shape world histories? I feel like, in doing so, I would find my place and even give validation to my perspective...as well as share some pretty wild tales.
It's about perspective.
As a woman in a society increasingly bent on marginalizing our story and removing our rights over our own bodies, I want to be the one to tell the story! Those who write history, it is said, are the champions of the times. So much of the history is about men. I guess that is why it is called "HIS story". I am tired of being told. I am sick of learning about another well respected and successful female artist who is systematically wiped out of the records after her death. I mistrust the historians of the past.

Freelance writing

I have been slogging away at my own book idea, and have found a good way to practice my word crafting. By writing reviews of art shows or about local fun places to explore I both get out and get working. It is fun to have a deadline and try to distill an experience down to 500 words. In the process, which takes me HOURS, I have started reading more and collecting favorite lines and phrases. I hope to do lots more, but it isn't so easy. It is a lot of work.
This week two of my articles under the editorship of Alexander Wilburn were published in the "Discover Salisbury" (ct) special supplement to the Lakeville Journal!

Residency Envy

Have you heard of studio envy? What about time envy?
Well my sister and I were traveling through the family tree and stumbling through Wartburg castle outside of Berlin in Germany, when we both agreed that the reason Martin Luther got as much as he did done was because of his forced seclusion under the protection of Frederick the Wise.
After the 1521 Diet of Worms trial the Roman Catholic Church announced Martin Luther an outlaw and, hoping to avoid angering the masses, put off determining the punishment for two weeks. Records now show that they were hoping to quietly assassinate Luther. Frederick the Wise, (who earned that name), 'kidnapped" Luther on his way home and took him to one of his secluded mountaintop castles, a stronghold, for safety.
Luther managed to get out a message to his buddy Cranach that he would have rather died than agree to be whisked away for safety, but that upon seeing the accommodations at Wartburg, he put his mind at ease and started to get to work.

This is a sketch of his room where, for a little over half a year, Luther worked on translating Latin and Hebrew new testament sources. In a phenomenally quick time he produced a German language New testament translated Bible for the Cranach presses! The room was wood paneled- the yellow and tally marks are my imagination at work.
There was a whale vertabrae in his room for use as an apparent footstool, an elaborate ceramic heater, and a carved wooden cushioned arm chair. The amenities at the castle included hot baths, a theater, 360 degree views and an extensive library.

Mountain top stronghold

Luxurious digs

Inside the castle grounds

What would I give for a forced retreat/residency like that?