How do YOU measure up?

 As an ongoing investigation into both the Culture’s definition of beauty and my personal definition of self, I have been looking into historic fashion choices and not-so-subtle childhood messages handed down through toys.

 

Barbie was the first adult toy marketed for children. It was modeled after a sex toy, called the Lilli, made for German men. Here is one Link to learn more.  My mother strongly opposed acquiring the doll, but my sister and I managed to inherit our babysitter’s collection. Soon after, I had a nightmare of my Barbie aiming to kill me.

My fears of being less than the proportions idealized by media and plastic Barbie, may have led me to suffer anorexia nervosa as a teenager. After all, she came with a wardrobe and a teeny book called How to Lose Weight. Inside it just said, “don’t eat”.

 In less than 100 years, her tiny, pointed feet and wide-set eyes, that only looked demurely sideways, her impossibly narrow waist, and large breasts, and her pearly-pink hairless skin have become an ideal for today’s beauty standards. There is speculation that she could have led to the growingcosmetic surgery business today, the fear of body hair, and an embracing of plasticity as a filter.

 

Distorted body proportions and exaggerated poses are everywhere through time. In the 1800s the Hottentot Venus, (a stolen 20-year-old Khoikhoi woman from South Africa: Saartji Baartman), was paraded against her will and almost naked for the titillating the male European gaze. Here is one link to learn more about this. Women in France and England adopted bustles and Basques into their fashion to mimic the enlarged rear of the South African.

 As we look to history, I am amazed at the embrace of glamour through whitening of skin with the lead paint and arsenic wafers (that slowly poisoned the wearer). I am horrified by the bound miniature feet of the Asian nobility. I panic at the elongated necks of the Myanmar and imagine the dread of the daily use of a whale bone corsets. I willingly ignore the affect of the porn industry on beauty.

 

 

As recently as 2014 Kim Kardashian a woman who uses her sexual appeal as currency to sell a fashion line, posed as the Khoikhoi woman, balancing a champagne glass on her derriere for a shot which enraged many feminists and blacks. Beyonce is rumored to be thinking of making a film about Baartman, but that has led to it's own furor.

 

Fashion minimizes and exagerates the average body type. It always has and always will. How do you live with that constant feeling of falling short or being in the wrong time? How does your body measure up? I am interested in your thoughts.

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.

Calendar 2021

 I've been able to print a limited edition of 2021 calendars for purchase this year. Called "Better Late than Never" the thirteen art images are those of mine that transport me to different places. It seemed an obsession with the current lack of our ability to travel freely or make plans. The last year, with the Covid-19 virus, the fiery mean-spirited politics and the intense global weather, was one we all would like to see behind us. There were many silver linings to be sure, but I think it fair to say that it was hard for all of us. So let us start anew together!

The calendar sells for $25 (shipping USA included) and is easily purchased thru Venmo, PayPal or checks in the USPS. Email me directly for yours (tillystudio@aol.com) and be sure to include an address for shipment. 

They are shipped in hand printed envelopes carrying the inspiring images of flight.

January features an acrylic painting done on site, plein aire. It is a snow covered creek at the edge of our property. In civil war times, (1870's), the creek fed a saw and gristmill, upon whose crumbling foundations I sat when I painted this. I love the way the water eats at the snow bank, and in the spring and summer we watch for red efts and listen for frogs. It must have been a lot busier 150 years ago. Hard to imagine but great to try!

February features images from my dad's sugar shack- another place that for three weeks of the year, transports you to an alchemists den. He stokes the fire under the evaporator and after the sap boils we pour the sweet syrup into bottles!

These are just two of the 13 works of art included in this year's calendar. Supplies limited. Hoping to sell out by the month's end.

 

Dignity for Jo Davidson

This is personal family history, art history and American History!

Taken from text written by Bradbury Kuett:

The Centerpiece of the Louis I. Kahn designed FDR Four Freedoms State Park on Roosevelt Island in New York is a triumphant bronze head of FDR, sculpted by the renowned artist Jo Davidson, a fervent supporter and friend of the president.

At the park's entrance there are engraved the names of the architect, the founder of the Park Conservancy, and the donors, but Jo Davidson's name is nowhere to be found.

Appeals to the board to engrave Jo Davidson's name have been met with silence. This unfortunate oversight, inconsequential in the view of the board, is a slight that, in effect, denies Jo Davdison his rightful recognition in American art History. Whereas Jo Davidson should be heralded as an American success story of consummate artistry, the board's silence is an outrage thrown onto the great heap of innuendos and falsities hurled upon Jo, a native son of the lower east side.

Jo Davidson should be celebrated beyond prominence as an artist. Chairman of Independent Voters' Committee of the Arts and Sciences for Roosevelt, and vice chairman of Emergency Committee to Save the Jewish People of Europe, Jo chose with a colleague the site of the Warsaw Ghetto Memorial Piaza in Riverside Park.

While Jo was under constant surveillance during the Cold War, the government targeted his two sons. Jacques (Tilly's note: my stepgrandfather) a Voice of Freedom (VOA) to the French under German occupation, was blacklisted, fired from CBS radio without cause. U.S. agents urged without success, Agence France Presse in D.C. to fire Jean.

Of note, Danielle Benedite, brother of Jacques wife, worked with Varian Fry in Marseille France, and saved some 1500 people from Nazi capture.

We ask that the Park's Board Chair Barbara Shattuck Kohn, Vice Chair Katrina vanden Heuvel and President Sally Minard redress this unjust situation by engraving the name of Jo Davidson on a plaque at the Park's entrance, similar to the one honoring Loius. I. Kahn. And we ask your support in this effort

Facebook: DignityforJodavidson

contact dignity4JoDavidson@gmail.com

Spring Arrived Anyway

(continuing the Daily Drawing During a Quarantine)

Predator Paranoia/ April 29

Spring arrived anyway...which seemed a little weird, as if it had not gotten the memo that the world had changed.
Our chicks arrived in the mail and we raised them first in the tub and then in a new coop we built at the edge of the yard. (click on link to see video of their arrival!)

Chicks in the Tub/ April 16

I feel like the May snow storm was especially cruel. On May 10th I drew an inventory of every article I wore on my body. It was a far cry from the last 9 years in Miami, broiling under the sun!

The weather tried to keep us indoors and I found moments of gloom taking over me.

Wistful/ May 6

The bed seemed the safest place to be, even though my heart was done with hibernating.

Bed day/ April 15

Nightmares

(continued Daily Drawings during the Covid Pandemic)

Nightmares/ April 24

A month into the national quarantine and numbers of deaths silently continue to rise. Unemployment increases are shouted about in the news. Congress tries to print more money. Alternative stations start floating conspiracy theories. The president encourages protesters to ignore the science, suggests injesting bleach, and screams hysterical over trying to find someone to blame.  No one I know will talk politics, because it is too exhausting and unbelievable. What outrages us one day is overshadowed the next. I feel like I am holding my breath and waiting.

The city, two hours away, empties out and soon all the empty houses on our country road are filled with city people. The stores seem ransacked. There is still no toilet paper to be had. Or whole wheat flour. The trash thrown along the road reflects a higher economic shopper. Maybe we are all high, panting thru stifled homemade masks.

Mask Making/ April 11

I attend church on line, and the local hospital erects a tent in the parking lot to handle the expected rise in patients.  I can’t sleep and worry about my job as a school teacher.

Easter Sunday/ April 12

Hospital Tent/ April 13

Life on Pause, Work is Virtual

(continuing the Daily Drawing During a Quarantine)

 

Another Password/ March 19

By the end of March, the mortal predictions were horrendous and our national leaders acted like buffoons. The overwhelming message was to avoid going out, being within 6 feet of another person, touching your face, or touching anything. 

New protocols for work were straining my brain bank of passwords and the ancient computer software systems that I had in place. In order to keep up with scheduled events and meetings, I uploaded, up graded, downloaded and installed until I just had to surrender. Life was on pause and work became virtual, and it was bound to take a toll.

Handwashing/ May 4

Face Touching/May 5

 

Coronavirus Shadow is as Terrifying as Breugel's Triumph

Triumph of Death by Bruegel ca.1562

When I think of the Coronovirus leaping around the globe and adding to the daily death count, I think of one of the most terrifying paintings in history, the Triumph of Death, an oil-on-wood-panel painting, created in 1562. It has something, like this virus, of everyone’s worst nightmare. Set along a coast in a village with commerce, the scene looks like a premonition of hell. Flames and smoke dot the horizon. It’s an eco-horror. There isn’t a sign of any green life in the landscape. Trees are being chopped down. The land is scorched and rust colored. A bloated fish gasps on the shore. The painting is of a jumbled panicked populace surrounded by almost quaint little scenes of victims stuck in torture contraptions, and coffins sinking into the mud in the surrounding fields. It looks like the cursed forecast of what we can expect if the stores run out of medical masks, or you are stuck in an airplane full of coughing aliens.

Not enough is known about Pieter Bruegel the Elder, the artist from the Netherlands who worked in the 1500’s. No one knows his birth date, but the time he was registered in an art guild (1551) to his death (1669) he executed 40 paintings and 60 prints. This particular painting is hung at the Prado Museum in Madrid.

In The Triumph of Death, the hysteria is loud and panoramic. Men, women, babies, the rich, the poor, the laborer, the gamblers, soldiers, monks, and kings, are all tormented and terrified. Skeletons arrive in massive numbers and outnumber the living. They arrive on boats and by horseback. They interrupt meals, disrupt commerce and dismantle forts. They amass an army, creating a wall of coffin-shaped shields.  They pull wagons piled high with skulls, trampling over victims, and herding crowds into a large dark door: a death trap in the side of a hill. They wield long slivered scythes and blow on trumpets, even drumming percussion with bones. A woman, face down, cradles her baby while dogs eat it’s face. A man is hung with his pants down. A bewildered king is taunted by a skeleton holding up an empty hour-glass.

Everyone in the painting is in the throes of death except for two young lovers in the lower right corner. They are seemingly oblivious and feeling immortal as they play music and read. But, behind them, a skeleton has picked up an instrument and is playing along.

On a barren hill to the left, two skeletons ring a large black bell.

Painted during a time when northern Europe was rocked by pandemics, reeling under the ruling religious wars, and leery of the inventive fury of the Inquisition, pictures such as this were called “moral paintings” because they were warnings to live right. No one was/is immune to death. Washing hands hadn’t caught on and religion, literally, could kill.

Pregnant with Possibilities

It happened again.
Someone at an art opening, (this time a person who was 3x as big as I), asked if I was pregnant.

My answer is that I am pregnant with possibilities. Get out of my way!!!

Year 2019 in Review

My uncle passed away 3 weeks shy of a year ago. He knew he was going to die. The doctors had given him weeks, and not feeling that ill, (or feeling incredibly stoic), he took his last days getting his financial affairs and housework together. He changed all the light-bulbs and batteries and left instructions for my aunt on how to pay the bills.

This year I feel trivial taking an assessment on my life. So much has happened and been accomplished, yet I still feel at loose ends and unsure of the next step. I feel as though I would be falsely glorifying my past decisions if I look so hard, list so adamantly, and project too intently.

The year in retrospect was probably a 9 on a scale out of 10. Looking forward I expect the same, if I work hard and avoid the despair that comes in those taunting and slicing voices, located in my own head.

I like this image of uncle Pat’s flashlights. He left them all in a row for my aunt to find as needed. I want to trust that the light will be there for me, when I need it.

Time to reflect

It's the time of year where we're attracted to looking back and looking forward. It seems the calendar for 2020 might be potently laden with hindsight. There has been a lot of struggle going on all over the planet. Even though we live in a period of massive prosperity and un-imagined peace, the news fills us in with the horrors of incarcerated children at our countries borders, as we live sandwiched between them and the sorrow of leaky corporate oil lines trespassing Native American reservations. What can I do?

Politics is such a messy money filled game. I gave thousands of dollars in small increments this year to buoy favorite candidates and causes. It seems never enough and always more to do.
What can I do?

We moved from a southern city to the northeast countryside. From apartment living to managing an old house and a couple acres. We feel new to the neighborhood. I love having the seasons again at my door. I enjoy the folks down the road at the farm, and our friends who swing by to chat and drop off jams, soaps and even driveway salt! How can they ever know how thankful we are? It seems so warm up here!

Every morning Michael and I take an early morning walk. Its a balm to our souls. I also think it has helped us acclimate to the environment. Today, when I saw it was 40 degrees, I thought that I didn't need to wear long underwear! Surely, I am almost native now!!!

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.

Beyond the Signature Cubist Style, a closer tracking of Picasso's Versions K, L and M

My interpretation of Picasso's interpretated Version K

Picasso's continuing exploration of Delacroix's famous Women of Algiers in their Apartment, led to fifteen oil painted canvas interpretations. Not merely copying, Picasso was stealing motifs and transforming the image into his own language. (He is believed to have said, "Good artist's copy, great artists steal") Each translated version was named for the sequential letters of the alphabet. 

His Version’s K, L and M are all monochromatic cubist designs. Cubism is the most recognizable style of Picasso at the height of his powers. These works excited the public and once they hit the market, post Ganz family collection, they held a range in value between 7 and 13 million dollars individually. I love the asterisk-like armpit hairs in the reclining figure. It certainly dates the work.

Versions K and M are in private collections. 

My copy of Version L

Version L, a solitary seated woman, was bought by Berlin’s Museum Berrgruen for over 11 million in 2011 at auction. The catalogue said, “She is the Goddess Astarte enthroned in her temple, seated en majeste, but also sphinx-like, inscrutable, a mythic image of sexually powerful and fertile womanhood brought forward from the distant past, to be approached with deference and awe”.

My interpretation of Picasso's Version M

Version M was painted the day Picasso heard his wife Olga, whom he had been estranged from, yet refused to divorce for decades (because he was Catholic), had died. It is in monochromatic tones of umber. There are no facial features. Picasso has simplified the figures to outlines of geometric shapes piled together like a child's play blocks. The precarious balance of parts makes the space one you would only enter at your own peril. The inviting odalisque trope is gone. These "women" inhabit their chamber and warn the trespasser of freshly mined territory. This painting was last seen when it sold for $10 million to a private collector in 1997. For Picasso, freshly widowed and recently broken up, this version signaled the near end of the series. Only two more explosions follow.

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Looking at Picasso's Women of Algiers

In 1954, with the news of the Algerian uprising and the death of his friend and art rival Matisse, Picasso embarked on a painted tribute, taking the subject that was most Matisse, the Odalisque, and running with it. He went back to the father of Orientalism, Eugene Delacroix, and the 1834 painting of his, the Women of Algiers in their Apartment. 

My interpretation of Delacroix' painting on a Paris map to emphasize the French fantasy of it.

Picasso had started in the 1950’s to paraphrase masterpieces of art, starting with Lucas Cranach’s David and Bathsheba. The tradition of sketching the masters has a long history. Delacroix copied Rubens, Van Gogh copied Gustave Dore, and now I copy Picasso.

laying out space for all 15 versions

My interest in the 15 versions of Picasso’s Women of Algiers is in understanding and appreciating the way a master abstractionist thinks. Picasso is playful and analytical. As we move through the series we see an entire range of approaches, thoroughly modern in style, spontaneous, creative, and smart. The artist is focused on breaking forms and flattening lines, connecting foreground and middle ground. He takes the viewer on a journey that is grounded upon a motif of classical and romantic history. We are rendered patient witnesses of the process of dismantling and reorganizing as voyeurs into the studio of the artist  as he plays voyeur into the private lives of women.

Picasso, at age 73, created in a span of three months, from December 13^th, 1954 to February  14^th,1955, 15 paintings and 2 lithographs versions. He titled them along the alphabet from version A to version O so thus we are able to follow his sequence of thought.

Picasso's version A

Version A and B were done in the same day, on December 13^th. One in color and pattern and the other in Grisaille.

Version B- grissaile- done in the same time, December 13^th  as version A Chiaroscuro renderings contrasts of lighter and darker shades

Picasso's version B