Travel – Page 2 – TalkingGrid

Posted on July 29, 2014August 10, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 6 Comments

Meeting The Muse, Ms. Crane & Frau Kolb Paris Before Midnight

Evening slowly wraps itself around the glowing Eiffel Tower in a cloudy shawl of sunset orange, royal blue, and burnt electric gold. Tourists, girls in their pretty flower print dresses, sway in a stiff clean breeze sweeping across the Seine, looking up at the bright lights, many sights. We return to our room for showers and a change into less comfortable and more stylish attire. (I put on my travel socks, designed to squeeze the swell out of my foot. They look presentable with my silver 1920’s style beaded mini-skirt, velvet bustier, and white tux jacket.) My male half, HC Kolb, also adorns himself with a good hair brushing and other gestures of appropriate fastidiousness in manly grooming. He arms himself with a high tech camera lens and we are ready to GO!

This meeting with Ms. Crane, The Muse, is a momentous occasion. For those of you regular readers of Talkinggrid, that are familiar with The Muse and our art adventures in Los Angeles, California, remember that The Muse VANISHED into Europe months ago, then suddenly she was spotted making waves and causing excitement, first in Dublin, Ireland, then all over Europe! The Muse has now deigned to perch in Paris for a spell. Who knows how long the city will continue to enchant her? Questions regarding the mysterious and alluring Muse, abound. Frau Kolb is on the case, giving chase to The Muse, across the North American continent and The Atlantic Ocean, Frau Kolb is almost re-united with the one and only, Ms. Crane in Paris, France!

Blessed are those mortals that witness the splendor of The Muse in the exciting embrace of the midnight summer dazzling linguistic and material luxury, of long Parisian nights filled with wandering Lovers, Seekers, and Other Dangerous Folk.

We arrive at the appointed spot. I sit. My husband snaps an phone photo of me anticipating the arrival of The Muse. However, she is graciously waiting, having found a perfect table, downstairs in the sexy red velvet bar where “American Style,” cocktails are served to a rushing cascade of crashing notes in a bellicose serenade of frenzied cat-fight piano playing, in the “American Style,” I assume… just the kind of playing one imagines happens in the snug, tight, sexy space of “Harry’s American Bar,” a joint straight out of countless literary and cinematographic fantasies I’ve harbored since birth.

I felt as though I was slipping into the pages of a well wore book, a beloved fantasy. Yet, not exactly, since I was at my wits end! Where exactly was The Muse? I took the initiative. I marched downstairs. She was there LOOKING FANTASTIC! Could a human be more beautiful? More well proportioned? More striking without lifting a finger? NO! NO! NO! Ms. Crane, The Muse, is perfection embodied. She is. In Paris, France, where Beauty most routinely lounges in every corner of the city, Ms. Crane is the most superlatively at home being. She outshines The Eiffel Tower. I can attest to the intensity of her charm, being that in Los Angeles she ruled my world and her effect is clearly not based on location, location, location. Paris suits The Muse, just fine.

Posted on July 28, 2014July 28, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

The First Steps: Walking in Paris

After our first Parisian Cafe Lunch, we walked. All over the world, walking is NATURAL! Walking is FUN! I love walking, on sidewalks, in Paris, in New York, and London. Frau Kolb walks everywhere. We hit the streets, for a few hours, of neighborhood window shopping and mental preparation for THE MAIN EVENT!!!

Yes, I admit it. Frau Kolb has an agenda. Frau Kolb is on a special mission in Paris. Frau Kolb has flown across the United States of America and The Atlantic Ocean to see HER, The MUSE. Well, there are three embodiments of femininity that are now associated forever to Paris in Frau Kolb’s mind. The first is La Tour, the Eiffel Tower. She is beautiful, beyond belief. A perfect structure, calling out to visitors from every corner of the round planet, she beckons and they come in droves and have for well over a hundred years! She is entirely delightful, worth every effort and amazing, as a source of pride and a point from which one can see all Paris from her busy heights. She offers the best perspective over Paris. Presenting the entire city for eager eyes to take in. But one can never forget the fleeting, shifting, ever-changing glamour and thrill which is being high up, over Paris. What a perfect structure! Absolutely, my favorite tourist attraction, in the world.

The Mona Lisa, queen of the Italian Wing in the Louvre Museum, Paris. She is, after all, the attributed work of all-time-genius Leonard de Vinci, the time-traveling Master of Scientific Creativity in Art. She, too, like the tower, pulls in visitors, cameras clicking, maniac desperation for a glimpse of her famously enigmatic smile, grips the public. (I pay homage to Mona’s marvelous appeal in coming posts… and pending pages. You must only return to Talkinggrid to witness the coverage of La Giaconda’s madding appeal.)

Paris's Italian Draw, at the Louvre, behind glass...Tourist hordes & Frau Kolb pay paparazzi homage. — Paris’s Italian Draw, at the Louvre, behind glass…Tourist hordes & Frau Kolb pay paparazzi homage. However, in the words of the one and only chief, living MUSE of Talkinggrid, Ms. Crane “Fuck the Mona Lisa!” What a refreshing position! This option had not occurred to me! Talkinggrid’s Instant Expert on all things Paris, Ms. Crane was brimming insight into the necessity of avoiding the hordes, the “selfie girls,” among the ravaging armies of tourists coming from ALL OVER THE WORLD to snap a picture of her little tight lipped, butter won’t melt, is-it–smirk (?), FAMOUS smile. According to Ms. Crane, “She’s not worth it.” She is rather, “small.” Mona is closely guarded and behind glass. This painting is the ultimate untouchable object. (Who can resist?)

Ms. Crane in Paris. What could be better? Now, Frau Kolb had a real reason to rush, to arrive, to be in Paris. Her glowing presence, more important to me than the mystery of the Mona Lisa’s smile or the breathtaking sparkle of the Eiffel Tower. Muse Crane’s unique radiance, fuels Frau Kolb urgency to visit Paris in July 2014, for the first time, and not sooner or later. One simply must see the most beautiful living MUSE ever known, in the city most famous for its beauty. It had to happen. There was no choice. Ms. Crane’s pull is so strong. Her soul, her AMERICAN sense of FREEDOM, is so beautiful, one would gladly fly across the ocean to witness her bloom in the ancient center that is Paris, France and listen to her thoughts on life, love, and business in this magnificent city. Wise beyond her years, Ms. Crane, inspires thought, action, and admiration wherever she goes. Thus, Frau Kolb follows the Muse, wherever she may frolic.

As we walked around, performing a quick inspection on the pretty surface of marvelous, manicured, Paris, taking our first steps and photographs to share, Frau Kolb was anticipating the pleasure of communing with THE MUSE in her new perch, Paris, a worthy pedestal for Ms. Crane’s world class appeal.

Posted on July 27, 2014July 27, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

Upon Arrival in The Paris of Frau’s Dreams!

On Thursday… I think this is the first day I was here. I arrived early and exhausted, having guzzled entirely too much Champagne on the plane and barfed several times before landing. I even left my hot pink mobil on the plane and had to turn around when I was already on line to customs and the man, my seat mate, travel buddy, who may have kissed me on the lips, after my first few glasses, departed leaving me his telephone number scribbled on his plane ticket.

Fortunately, I got my phone back, took a taxi, and made it to sleek and immaculate Hotel Pullman, in view of the Eiffel tower. At first the room looked tiny; the balcony, a joke. I began to unpack and put my swollen right foot (which ALMOST caused me not to travel, to chicken out on this seminal voyage… which would have been really terrible) up. In contrast to my expectations, I waited for Hartmuth to arrive before venturing out. As I rested the room grew bigger, unfolding into a lovely well-furnished space to spend a few days. I read one of the many guide books, short stories, and novels I’d hauled cross country and the Atlantic Ocean. I floated off into jet-lagged sleep and when my husband arrived I was dressed and ready to venture out.

Frau Kolb Loves Paris — Frau Kolb is in bliss/shock to arrive in Paris!

Slipping out of the Hotel Pullman, onto the Paris street, “Gustave Eiffel,” we walked like jet-lagged in love zombies, hand-in-hand to the monument. Seeing it up close for the first time is quite the shock. It is so beautiful. She is perfect. I love grids and she is the grid going to town. She is divine. She. “La Tour,” they call her because she is undeniably a lady, a lady that loves her visitors, and welcomes all from every corner of the planet to drool over her long and lovely legs. We did not have the strength to climb La Tour immediately. Our bodies demanded nourishment. Thus, we pushed forward a few steps and went to the Cafe Champs de Mars.

We ordered, “Deux Coupe Champagne,” pate, and escargot. Tears of joy, washed down my face as I took my first sip since barfing on the plane to Paris. I was HOME. I was living the dream, inside the picture, which I’d carried in my head of Paris, made complete by the handsome French waiter, in white dress shirt black vest and neck tie, everyone dresses better in Paris…. even the homeless show so traces of style. My husband squeezed my hand and kissed me. I relaxed and took a sip of sparkling water, feeling blessed to finally be an American in Paris. I’ve dreamed of this very thing, my entire life. So far, there was nothing but bliss in being here. Puking and swollen foot aside… Frau Kolb has arrived. Paris embraces. Frau melts into a happy pat of Parisian sidewalk joy, nibbling on a chewy (delicious) snail (thank you snail for giving me your LIFE) in butter and herbs.

Merci!

Posted on July 26, 2014September 6, 2014 by Frau Kolb

On the Flight to Paris, France, July 2014

Newark Airport and The Flight to Paris Business Class Seat and a glass of Champagne or sparkling wine upon boarding, followed up with another and another and… well one thing led to conversation with my new seat mate, a married man on his way to work. This man, however, was very different than Claus, the American Executive on the previous flight from San Diego to New York was, friendly but not… flirty.

“To ensure the safety of our passengers,” droned on the Stewardess in the bored tones of stewardesses everywhere, and then she switched to FRENCH and it was marvelous smooth sounds and rolling words, soothing to my brain, I sipped my bubbles and thought, “I don’t understand what she’s saying, but I dig it.” I realized that the French language was as promised, better. Sexier.

I don’t remember what he said to me but I am certain that he and not I started our conversation. He asked lots of questions. One or two Bubblies into the flight, I was feeling open enough to answer his many questions and having conducted an informal interview of Claus, in his black running attire, on the first leg of the flight from monstrously bright and ever-sunny Southern California, to the perpetually charming and mysterious OLD WORLD, I felt I owed the universe to subject myself to questioning with the same easy going grace that Claus demonstrated, hours before.

“First trip to France?” he asked me. “No, actually, this is to be my first trip to Paris but, I’ve been to France before. I visited the South, Cote d’ Azure and St. Tropez.” He smiled and said, “It is nice in Nice, but what is truly lovely is Biarritz.” He went on, “It is where the tourists do not go and it is just as fine, the dining is divine!” He looked convinced, certain. I promised myself that I’d look into his statement. I had my notebook on my lap, so I was going to make myself a note, but I wasn’t sure how to spell, “Biarritz,” so I asked him to write in my journal.

He took my pen, looking at it said, “What a nice pen!” Then he wrote in my book, commenting, “What very excellent paper!” “Yes,” I agreed with him. “I bought this diary years ago, and it is a treasure to me. I saved it for this trip. The paper is handmade Japanese rag with threads of gold tossed in for good measure.” At that he laughed and he asked me, “So… what do you do?” “I write.” I said. “Actually, I blog. I’ve got a blog. It is called, “Talkinggrid.” He positively snickered at that one. “What do you write about?” This is, the obvious question, I answer this one a lot, but only recently (thanks to the note worthy contemporary artist Nobel Sounds of San Diego) I have a set answer for this common question. “Well,” I said with a sip and feeling rather important, I was giving an interview, after all, “I write about culture, life… food, art history, art… and spirituality. In other words, I’m a Cultural Commentator!” He looked at me like he did not know what I was talking about, so I said, “I recently wrote about Othello, and the actor Blair Underwood’s smashing performance in the Bard’s best tale,” or something like that. Now, he was impressed.

“OH OTHELLO!” he exclaimed and told me of how much he loved Shakespeare’s most famous play and how well it was put on, in France. He was aglow over the thought of Othello. I know the feeling. I feel much the same about this classic play on race and envy. I watched and enjoyed his pleasure. I commented on what a joy it was to witness the beautiful Underwood strut his manly stuff in the role. His appearance… skin dark and gorgeous, smooth, a father-god kind of perfection brought a lot of value to the production that I enjoyed twice at the Old Globe Theatre in San Diego.

“Did you know that Othello was a real man? His story that of a Moor… of course with some adjustments… it was a warning for black men everywhere!” He laughed, with a very naughty sparkle in his eye. Curious, I asked him of his ethnic background, but I could see that he was like me, a happy child of mad colonialism, a mix of captured Africans and free booting Europeans, perhaps strands of golden everyone… Asian, perhaps… or not… he was like me. We laughed, discussing our respective features and color as only two people of very similar looks can. We talked of his freckles and how very French they were. I’m in some way, clearly Spanish. This is a fact that is redundant to those that know. Between us there was no reason to be guarded since we have a very similar sense of self and history. I’d found another type of instant rapport. This one a little steamy. The bubbles kept coming, the friendly Stewardess having decided that she “LIKED,” me and that I was funny, and that… well… she kept pouring, we kept talking, and that I got sick on the plane is no surprise.

That my seat mate proved friendly when I emerge from my voyage to the W.C. was a good outcome, everybody knows it is a BAD idea to imbibe Champagne on the airplane, I was grateful he didn’t think me an idiot. This interaction, left me feeling optimistic about the pending arrival in Charles de Gaul Airport. He made sure I was, “Ok,” before departing, into the crowds.

(Thank you HM for the editorial support. You are the very best!)

Posted on July 24, 2014August 17, 2014 by Frau Kolb

ASML Executive, Thunderstruck by Malaysian Plane Tragedy

On a flight out of San Diego, I spoke to Claus, first, I’m sure. I don’t know what precisely about him said to me that it was OK for me to break the ice with a little conversation. He had a friendly air, even though he appeared engaged with work on board the cross-country flight to Newark, New Jersey, where I would was to connect to my flight to long awaited, romanticized, and idealized PARIS. He was busy being productive, clicking screens, texting with the air of business drive. We were seated in the business section, after all. So I felt compelled to write about my departure and surroundings, noting every fluctuation in group mood and seat mate’s work flow. Charts and graphs, very important looking, lit up his lap-top screen. I watched him work with growing fascination. Taking a few notes about, “productivity,” and “dynamic people,” inspired by watching Claus blaze from file to file, taking in what looked like highly complex information, at a super quick rate. I’m always curious about fellow travelers. Yet, I don’t always engage others in conversation. This was special.

He was wearing the black sports uniform of an affluent man. He looked ready for a run in any of San Diego’s frightfully exclusive neighborhoods. I felt an instant kinship with this man. He being a “Road Warrior,” as I am well acquainted with his ilk of being constantly going, moving, creating, leading, and facing the ups and downs that life hurls at us all. My husband is such a man and this man’s energy was much like that of my beloved Dr. Hartmuth C. Kolb.

In our initial banter, Claus made the following comment: “The stock market is where the world decides what is important.” He was referring to his company’s performance as a world leader in high-tech semi-conductor business (forgive me if I failed to understand Claus’s business exactly, I’m sure that there will be corrections made to this initial draft, thank you for understanding). His savvy comment really got my full attention. I enjoy (for conversations sake) a good, solid blanket statement! I thought to myself, “What an interesting person! I’d like to know more about him,” Thus began an unofficial, off-the-record interview with this tall, fit, senior executive at ASML.

I asked:

“How old were you when you built your first computer?”

In a blink and with a boyish smile, “Eight!” He answered and then his grin broadened and he said, “but it did not work!” with a laugh, he continued… “I just loved building things, taking things apart.” We both laughed appreciating the beautify of assembling and disassembling, creating and erasing.

Then I asked Claus,

“So how old were you when you built your first working computer?”

“Over 18, in college, it was an assignment or something… but that was easy, by then I really had a sense for how these machines worked.” Listening to him a felt a familiar rush of admiration, because I have nothing but affection and respect for intelligent people, the ones that invest their youth in learning, becoming social leaders and thereby providing jobs, products, and services to the world.

So, feeling this way, I asked him, “What three acts define you?”

Easily he answered, “One is building machines, the second is exercise/sports/fitness, the third is fuzzy… but clearly, his relationship to wife and child… filled the plane with warmth for his work, recreation, and family. I felt myself to be in the company of a man much like my adorable husband. Therefore, I mentioned to Claus, that he reminded me of my Dreamboat. They have much in common since my husband built his first working computer at age 18, while in the army, inside his private locker, for relaxation. Ha!

Then I asked him, on a lark, “IF you were to get a tattoo what would it be?”

“I’d want a crude dagger henna tattoo, noting permanent!” We both laughed again at his quick reply.

Then he gave me a HOT San Diego Tip: Go to Whole Foods in Del Mar at 1pm on Saturday, during the Del Mar racing season, which is now, and prepared to be amazed by all the BEAUTIFUL WOMEN!

Being that I love looking, I made a note of that and everything else Claus said. He was funny, entertaining and then he went on, “These are not first wives…” Hah! “This are the second and third wives, the Mistresses, they are AMAZING!” I thought, “WOW! I really have to make a point of seeing this spectacle of fine females on parade while organic grocery shopping in one of Souther California’s most desirable locations.

“You know how you can tell that they are second and third wives, not the first time around?” He asked me. I answered, “Because they are way too beautiful to be affordable by young men, these are the trophy wives of the triumphant males.” He seemed even more amused that I was not under any illusions about the facts of youthful beauty and its exulted status among those that can command dreams and shape the world to fit their fancies. We laughed a little more, savoring the fact of knowing a thing or two about life and yet not feeling cynical about our own lives, observing the patterns of others. Then he went on, “They say that the first wife is for love, the second for hope over experience, the third is a choice between rental and retail.” Again we chuckled, because we have in common knowing these facts to be true for many, yet not having fallen for the social traps, since we are both happily married to our one-and-only first spouses with whom we have our respective children, a source of pride and outstanding joy.

Thus, he told me of his son’s computer building antics and the boy’s delight at bossing father, Claus, around.

I enjoyed every second of our jovial conversation. Yet, just as we were parting, having turned on our phones to communicate with the world, Claus’s entire demeanor changed. The Malaysia Airlines flight had some of his companies’ employees on it. Claus was immediately crushed by the news. I was there to witness his sudden encounter with life’s bitter, cruel, edge… taking notes and talking come naturally to me. This person’s pain hurts me, too, and brings home the fact that we are all connected, involved, and politically intertwined ONE people of the world, wherever our location our lives are intertwined with those of others, around the world, through commerce and culture.

I send condolences to the Dutch people (I have family in Amsterdam). I send condolences to all those affected by this senseless tragedy.

Posted on July 18, 2014September 6, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 2 Comments

Le Grand Art Adventure: Frau Kolb in Paris

Paris! Strange to be on a plane, going to a place so familiar from film and literature, that it feels more like a homecoming, instead of an arrival at a new destination. Paris, weirdly, is tremendously familiar, it is almost another home.

Does everyone feel this way, arriving in Paris?

So many have visited Paris before me, before us… Paris is a city that dwarfs the biggest ego. Considering who I am, and what interests me most (Art and History!) it is strange that I’ve before never visited famed Paris before, today. It is a momentous occasion in the history of Frau Kolb!

Have you been to Paris?

Indeed it is odd to think, that I, Frau Kolb, experienced globe trotter, am a bone-fide virgin to Paris. Paris, old and self regenerating center, holds unique appeal. Yet, Paris is a virgin to Frau Kolb. A ripe and fertile beckoning. The dynamic, conquest driven, Frau Kolb, cannot resist the call of legend. One more big goal checked off the bucket list. Ah!

The murmuring of the Seine, snaking around the watery core of an ancient multi-layered city.

So… here I am loaded with guide books and ready to add my experience of it to the wealth of history which defines this rich old dame. She dazzles, I hear. “The City of Lights,” They call her! I listen to her name, whispered, shouted, co-opted. A wistful nostalgia for other times grips me. I feel one with Josephine Baker, mistral performer and emblem of beauty. Her banana peel dress forever revealing, appealing. This trip has, is a dream come true and I am delighted to be able to share my observations and discoveries with you. Thank you for reading.

I am applying my sacred SEVEN BOOK RULE. Yes, this is the key stone of Frau’s success in many aspects of life, not being perfect, yet being certain… confident. Paris, is wondrous to read and apparently to write about. So many books are available about this city. Paris is a city that has inspired artists, architects, writers, and others without professional claim to aesthetic understanding. Paris is a Grand Muse, so much is written about her, she is famous, beyond measure.

I’ve arrived! Behold the legions of tourists! I am among them. Camera clicking, what has been photographed countless times, but never before by me. I’m so happy to be here, realizing a life goal.

On the plane, I dealt a serious blow to TIME by reading, a tidy little hard-back full of simple colorful images, stark in its naive and charming comparisons between the two cities, “Paris Versus New York,” by Vahram Muratyan. I am a New Yorker. Born and Raised in Manhattan, I know the grid and its ease, the speed with which one can traverse worlds, any day in Manhattan. I know about bagels, yet baguettes were always an option. The beginning of his book works much like the beginning of this post. He introduces us to Paris as a woman, an individual of unique strengths and mysterious, enduring, character. Seductive, Paris, is even to those that call her home. She is like New York, only older. I storm through that picture driven book, soaking up a few of his impressions, and moving on, but not before asking myself about that book I was reading yesterday and last night, “Paris, Paris.” by David Downie, until I passed out, exhausted from PACKING FRENZY and FRENCH STUDY, went… I pick up a thick paper back, I’ve hauled a number of books with me onto the “Business First,” seat my Dearest booked for the trip. The book I chose is… not high brow, not an elegant seemly tome but a door-stopper, heavy in page weight and light in content; Edward Rutherford’s, “Paris,” pops into hand. Now, I don’t know if you know about Rutherford’s work. You might. It is likely that you know it like I do, as a secret passage into the annals of history light. He weaves a pleasant tales into the fabric of known history often placing his characters as witnesses to the great events of a historical epoch. I started reading Rutherford when I was a girl. “Sarum,” was the first book of his I read. I enjoyed it very much and followed up by reading others of his books. Eventually, the formulaic style of the author wore out my interest and I’ve not read one of his books in almost a decade. This, too, is a type of return to the known, the familiar author, with his soothing uncontroversial, light writing style fits the mood of this maiden voyage to picturesque Paris!

Posted on July 15, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

Going Batty: Take Staycation, Playa Del Rey, California?

Detail, 5×7″ Bat, acrylic on panel painting ©Frau Kolb, 2013

8 September 2013,

Los Angeles; Playa del Rey, Ca.

We decided we needed a little pampering. So… we hit the Ritz Carlton, nearby. It was lovely, as usual. We have invested some of ourselves in active relaxing at the Marina del Rey hotel, which has provided us with many a good time, over the years.

Our favorite bartender, Fran Adams, works there. She was not there this weekend. She was “off,” being “fabulous,” somewhere else. I’m sure. Yet, she is supported by the establishment and her worthy co-workers. Thus, we had a great time, being treated like the favored children of extravagantly indulgent and caring parents. Friendly, focused, fine-working people, into the ancient art hospitality LIKE me, I love the staff at the Ritz Carlton in Marina del Rey.

The kids splashed about in the shallow pool. We sat by and sipped bubbly beverages. The day melted into Sundays, had inside by the old-world fire, a hearth to inspire. We hit the sheets, early sinking into bed with our lap-tops and my new all-time favorite ancient Asian detective, Judge Dee.

On-line, we found a house. We traveled around the virtual world, greeting “friends,” and finding bargains. Hah! It is fun to live in the world of NOW, where everything is perpetually blooming.

Cheers,

Frau K.

Posted on July 15, 2014 by Frau Kolb

The Hammer Museum On November 7th, 2012

The Hammer Museum on November 7th, 2012

Yesterday, after the hoopla of the election, after baking in the intensity of emotion that is desire, I did what I have always done. It was instinct refined by habit. I went to a great museum and let the institutional treasure house soothe me. YES!

I, also, had a friend in tow. He’s a young man with whom I study German, a few days a week. I love to study, German language and other…interests… studying is my hobby.

Thus, the museum has always, like libraries, played a vital role in this urban girl’s well being. I would go as far as saying, admitting that as a teenager a museum saved my life.

I was, 17, I think when the Museum of Modern Art, beloved, MoMa, ran the “Highs and Lows of Modern Art,” exhibit. One fine morning, my father forced, vegetarian, me to eat SPAM. I left the house, that day having vowed that I would off myself. I new that a bottle of Tylenol would do the trick. I’d make him pay.

I wondered into MoMa, in this wretched state-of-mind. (If you know me well, you know I’m a very decisive person. I was going to commit suicide.) Well, in my sleepy punk-rock costume: Dock Martins to my knees, tartan skirts with safety pins, strategically torn Dead Kennedys T-Shirt. I got in with my student ID for a few pennies.

I was dejected. Sad. Head bowled over like a wilting sunflower… When: BAM! I saw IT!

Ed Ruscha’s “Actual Size,” from 1962.

I looked. I looked. I woke UP! I looked around. There was a Paul Klee, a Brancusi, and MONDRIAN! Ah! It came to me. It was clear. I looked around, taking in the spotless, immaculate, pristine shine of the floors and the edifice around me. Ah! There was, after all, a place for ME in the world.

I understood.

Shortly, thereafter, I ran-away from home and embarked on the epic adventure that is MY LIFE.
*Of particular interest at the Hammer, right now, were two exhibitions: Zarina, “Paper Like Skin,” is an extremely sensual tour-de-force through the possibilities of paper. The artist’s world sensibility, passed through a New York filter, is Indian/Pakistani first, and truly universal in a pointedly idiosyncratic language of nearly minimalist intensity. A MUST SEE, experience.

The “A Strange Magic: Gustave Moreau’s Salome,” exhibit is moving, touching, lust provoking work of detail ornament and antiquated nineteen century ethnographic interest. The artist worked in the traditional academic mode, through studies, and elaborate, created seductive works, hypnotic with intricate orientalist ornamentation and grand narrative panache, only available French painting of the most rigorous salon style.

Posted on July 15, 2014July 15, 2014 by Frau Kolb — 1 Comment

“Let’s GO watch the Caravaggio!” at LACMA

The place was packed and I was on my own this time. The first time was a week before when visited the museum with 2013 MUSE for www.talkinggrid.com Maria Rose Crane. The plan was to hit the “Bodies and Shadows, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571-1610) and his Legacy,” exhibition for a second time. This time I was going to look longer and deeper.

\Ms. Maria Rose Crane did not intend to distract me, on the last visit. She is beautiful, of course. Yet, she is really more than mere beauty… She is also an authentic TALENT! Funny, Fun, fashionable, witty, and with-it: Maria Rose Crane is an all out STAR!

We have so much fun together. She is one of my favorite people to go out a play with. Sometimes we hit the beach, other days we go for lunch. Our first lunch was a legendary one at Barney Green Grass my absolutely favorite lunch place in Los Angeles. But, that is another story….

Finally, we un-glued our selves from our nest-like lobby-bar bliss and faced the reality of why we had made this date at the museum: to SEE the Caravaggio! Indeed, we were not there just to drink, eat, and delight in being on a mini-retreat, a vacation from the mundane.

The exhibition was expertly mounted, of course. and all the usual suspects (Georges de la Tour, for example) were rounded up and shown as influenced by the painter’s characteristic dark grounds and dramatic lighting, bold figures, in big intense poses. The Caravaggio-esque canvases are like stage sets populated by all-too-human characters in full costume. The feeling of the paintings is urban and urgent. The spaces depicted are jammed with depth and mystery. There is more to the story… one wants to take a closer LOOK!

The cinematographic quality of the work was the topic of a talk given at LACMA by Museum educator and art historian Mary Lenihan.

Without to much resistance, I succumb to the tendency drift on the lovely surface of Caravaggio for a second pausing at the shore of his personal history and death from a knife-fight wound. This only adds to the sensation of being cast-away, a drift, at sea… ???

ON VACATION! LACMA is a true destination with so much to do that one can get lost, playing in the outdoor sculpture. WE, the Muse, Maria ROSE Crane and I, Frau Kolb, did, along with many others; there were tourists from Tokyo. A set of tall blond stick-thin Nordic models twin sisters posed for pictures with the grateful Japanese tourists. A lady in glittering red high heals… Ah!

ALL climbing around on Chris Burden’s Urban Light (2008).

A public monument which works so well as border between the museum as record keeper and the museum as playground for developing imaginations and supporting…

The city’s spirit.

Much Love,

Frau Kolb

Posted on July 15, 2014 by Frau Kolb

The Hammer delivers with the Llyn Foulkes Retrospective

March 20th, 2013

Los Angeles, California

The ease with which some art seduces one into a false sense of comfort is fascinating to behold and experience. Thus is the work of Llyn Foulkes (b. 1934 in Yakima, Washington). It beckons, it is a kin in magnetism to the Venus fly trap, a plant which eats the flesh of flies, yet looks fairly innocuous, somewhat cute, despite the jagged edges of its teeth-like leaves.

I tripped into the Hammer Museum yesterday evening. They were setting up for an event with Chinese lanterns strung along the courtyard of the Museum. I was there to see the Foulkes, exhibition, so… I zoomed by. I went upstairs and dove into the drawings, cartoons mostly, in the first room devoted to the Foulkes show. Spread over several rooms, more than 150 works comprising various stages of the living artist’s expansive career. The early drawings brim with edgy talent. Witty, pointed sharp cartoons on sexuality and undressing social norms, engage the viewer in a lively dialogue of startling poignancy.

An artist on multiple levels, a musician, visual artist, a person whose humor, is sharp pointed wit, with which he reaches out and prods minds, moves mountains. Mountains of knowledge, entrenched and deep, mountains of memory reaching up to the sky and scratching it. Piercing illusions, which never fold into neat mimetic representation, yet consistently demonstrate the ability to do so. As in this fabulous painting of a cow, the artist demonstrates deep understanding of representation as a visual option, a tool.

Big ideas on what it means to see, to know, to experience. For example, when one travels and takes pictures or buys post-cards it is as IF by doing so one proves that one was actually once somewhere worth recalling, someplace special. One painting from the 1970’s of the rugged facade of a mountain covered in photos of the same mountain reflects on this conundrum of being in which the representation of experience stands in place of the actual, indefinitely, perpetual.

Systematically communicating complex ideas about knowledge, knowing, being, and living in a world where values are defined by a corporate culture which taxes humans and creates markets for guns, by feeding boys and girls images of might that depend on the real world horror of weapons. A boy dreams of an actual gun as a ghostly superman reads him a bed-time story.

As in the above example Foulkes work oscillates from the concrete and specific reference to real world, using objects as symbols representing the object with an accuracy, that allows for information to completely dominate the viewer, who is trapped like an unwilling voyeur in an awkward situation where language and pure form undress, unwind, collapse.

Thoughtful works. Large ponderous canvas mimics postcard nostalgia of a American west blurred by not existing in this dimension but rather… somewhere else. The colors, pallets muted and restrained, mostly intellectual playing with text and the language of signage: warning DANGER: this is the edge of this painting, past here is the frame, which is found-object, salvaged from somewhere or other and rescued, restored, transformed into a powerful boundary between the world of image and truth.

Foulkes exploration flowers in deep three-dimension tableaux that completely void the boundary between the framed and the unframed world. His seamlessly constructed part-cartoon part replica of traditional portraiture, yet arm or neck-tie piercing the frame, to inject the space around the art with LIFE in its precise handling of paint, and the light touch, unperturbed intensity of the swirling profound commentary on American life and our plastic disposable values.

The trademark mouse delivers a smooch on the cheek of the artist in this his self portrait in plaid shirt on a bare brown-burned looking ground. The worried look says so much… the mouse is too pleased to deliver his kiss. Who wants to be kissed by a rodent? Who cares if the rodent is a movie star? What matters when the world comes to an abrupt halt?

So many questions… this exhibition is worth seeing again. (I just made plans with artist, Skip Snow, to see it for a second time.)

In short, I LOVED this exhibition and would highly recommend that you get over to see it if you are in Los Angeles before May 19th, 2013, when the exhibit closes.

Warm regards,

Frau Kolb