Art Appreciation

The Great Purge of a lifetime's worth of pack-rat indulgence, notwithstanding an international move almost twenty years ago, has reached a milestone: the corner of my bedroom formerly occupied by piles of papers, letters, and photos, is now empty enough for me to set up an easel and start drawing again! From now on, every time I throw away a bag full of the papers hiding behind that screen (thanks to the city of Tel Aviv for finally instituting paper-recycling), I reward myself by going to the easel and making a drawing. I'm starting on an old newsprint pad, and then on to the backs of old drawings, a huge pile of which also currently occupies precious real estate.

I'm not much of an art tourist, because most grand museums overwhelm me. The small museums with priceless collections are much more appealing. Here are my three favorites that can be "done" in an hour:

Fondation Beyeler, just outside of Basel, Switzerland. The building, by Renzo Piano, in its setting is at least as beautiful as the collection. It feels like it "grew" there.

Fondation Maeght in St-Paul de Vence, France. I'd like to spend a week every year in the Giacometti sculpture garden.

Frick Collection in New York, New York, USA. This former mansion shows the best work of every Old Master, with no room for anything else.

I would love to hear of other "gems" you recommend.

More Everything is Deeply Intertwingled

My previous post on this subject is here

There are two major strands to this story: my cousin Larry and my interest in Tel Aviv. Twenty-six years ago, Larry made a documentary film called "Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die." It had started as a research project into what America did to save Jews from the Holocaust, but it turned out to be about what America, and in particular American Jews, didn't do.

Larry's timing was such that a few people who did try to accomplish something were still alive, and Larry interviewed them. Most notable was a man named Peter Bergson, whose real name was Hillel Kook. Bergson managed to get FDR to set up the War Refugee Board, but was thwarted in his attempts to convince FDR to do more. He passed away seven years ago, and his daughters organized a memorial conference this past Monday at the Tel Aviv Cinemateque, to pressure Yad Vashem to honor their father's work on behalf of Holocaust victims. Larry alerted me to the conference, which included his filmed interview with their father.

Because I am interested in Tel Aviv, having lived here for almost twenty years, I recently took a walking tour of my neighborhood, led by a historian who knows a lot and kept me enthralled for three hours as we walked through three periods of Tel Aviv history: the founding period starting in 1908, the Bauhaus period starting in the early 1930's, and the urban renewal starting in the 1970's. I surfed the Internet for more information and came upon a promising-sounding book at Amazon by Maoz Azaryahu, a geography professor at Haifa University. I figured the Bauhas Center on Dizengoff St. would have the book, and Monday morning I went over there to buy it; not only did they have it but they knew the author.

I then went over to the Cinemateque to the conference. Dr. Rebecca Kook, Hillel's daughter, made the opening remarks. She introduced the agenda and then thanked the people who helped her organize the conference: among the names mentioned was Maoz Azaryahu. For all I know, he was there and could have autographed my copy of his book during a break, but i didn't have enough chutzpah to track him down.

A rumination on filters and glasses

I've been thinking about how we filter our perceptions, and also wondering why. For many years I used to complain to my best friend about this or that, and she would say: "I wish I could get you some new glasses," meaning, I was focusing on the dark stuff. And then she would wisely change the subject to something mundane. Somehow or other, and I have no idea now whether I had anything to do with it or whether it matters, I seem to have acquired those glasses she wished for me.

It's certainly not the Hebrew language, which used to torment me and still causes frustration. It's not the famous aggressive bluntness of many of my fellow Israelis. It's not the bureaucracy, which slows even simple administrative tasks like renewing a driver's license down to weeks instead of minutes. It's not the treacherous co-workers who lie to your face. It's not the merchants who either cheerfully overcharge or ignore you. It's not the politicians whose rhetoric is shamefully and obviously self-serving. It's not that I didn't become rich or famous or powerful, all things I wanted at one time or other. It's not the threat of nuclear war with Moslem Fundamentalists, or the growing certainty that global warming will end everything.

Could it be the sunshine? Could it be the physical training I've been doing for the last four years? Could it be the many years of therapy in my former life? Could it be my Mediterranean diet? Could it be having such an understanding friend, even if she lives at the other end of the telephone? Could it be Prozac? Maybe it's having a devoted and comfortable old dog to walk twice a day, rain or shine. Maybe it's living in the most people-friendly neighborhood in the world. Maybe it's having sold my car and not worrying any more about maintaining it or parking it on these ever more-congested streets. Maybe it's having given myself permission to avoid involvement with people who bother me too much, which , when I think about it, is everyone, at least some of the time! Maybe it's being retired. Maybe it's just being 71 and having lost many important relatives, that somewhere deep down a decision has been made to enjoy whatever there is to enjoy, never mind if it could be better or more.

Whatever it is, I seem to be leaving out whatever I can't cope with. Maybe my rose-colored glasses are temporary, but so is life.

Speaking of vegetables...

This was the antipasto course at our Shavuot lunch at Pasta Mia on Wilson St. It was superb, and so was the pasta. And the cheesecake. And the chocolate mousse. And that cream thing that Danny had.

The Jewish Vegetable

My cousin posted an excerpt on his blog of an article in Vanity Fair by a college classmate of his. The author writes the story of her becoming comfortable with being a Jew in America after being raised in an assimilated environment. Food had nothing to do with it, but because food is my genetic, ethnic, and national priority, I was especially taken with this paragraph near the end of the article:

The last stop of this meditation is Zagorsk, Russia, where, troubled by the anti-Semitism he encountered there, my friend Andrew Solomon asked a local peasant why, in his estimation, there was such antipathy everywhere against Jews. Without a moment’s hesitation, the peasant answered, in Russian: “It is because the Jews have a secret vegetable they eat so they don’t become alcoholics like the rest of us. And they refuse to share that vegetable with anyone else.”

The peasant's belief is not quite as ludicrous as it seems: whenever I become fed up with living in Israel for one reason or another, I argue with myself: "But the vegetables are the redeeming factor" and immediately relax and move on. However, I'd happily share the secret vegetable with anyone who takes the trouble to visit here (and that includes you, cousin!)

Coincidentally (is God sending me a message?), I attended a lecture on the genetic engineering of plants last week, and learned a lot. I didn't know that the reason Europe has banned genetically engineered plants is not because genetically engineered foods are dangerous for health - au contaire! - but rather to protect its own farmers and to avoid granting Monsanto, which owns key patents, more power over the world's food supply. In fact, third world countries, who don't mind (or in some cases don't honor) Monsanto's patents, are developing rapidly precisely because of their improved nutrition thanks to genetically engineered food. This may not be news to you, but it was to me. Leaders in this research now are India and China. Israel has plenty of plant engineering know-how, but cannot export genetically engineered food to Europe, which is our main close customer.