The High Museum of Art

For my birthday I got one of the coolest gifts ever, an annual pass to the High Museum of Art in Atlanta.  Now I can just come and go from it when I feel like without worrying about making the most of my day ticket.  I stopped by one day after work for about an hour and had the time of my life.  

The museum just opened a new exhibit, Dream Cars, highlighting 19 concept cars and the revolutionary design they inspired.  As a Detroit girl, car exhibits are nothing new to me.  Car exhibits in an art museum?  Totally brilliant!  I didn't spend as much time in here as I wanted to because it was PACKED, but I fully plan on going back to sketch angles, curves, and wheel wells. 

My heart and eyes also dwelt on the contemporary art and Africa mask exhibits.  The tribal motifs and bold lines drew me in.  My own work is very light, airy, and often intricate.  It fascinates me how I so often focus on clean, minimalistic characteristics in the work of others.  Must be the Scandinavian in me...

Anyway, the day at the High was a complete success and I can't wait to go back soon!

florida

My days are so much fuller now!  I say this to myself with a laugh as I compare my present existence to life in Cyprus.  I laugh because in Cyprus we had a home to care for, errands, friends, church responsibilities, a small business...a life.  Here?  Here I neglect laundry and await the arrival of the Slow Boat to China. But Here we have options.  Here we have convenience and four-lane highways.  Drive-thru ATMs and 24-hour Wal-Marts.  In reality, Here we have family.  I tag along with Dr. Mom as she takes David to work three times a week and listen as she prepares her lessons for church.  We have dinner plans, lunch plans, and plans for plans.  We run errands together, Mr. F and I escape to the beach for a few minutes, the dog eats something else, I paint for a few hours and then suddenly the day is done.  Not just done, but it's ten at night and I'm still awake and considering a Wal-Mart run just because I can.  

Right before we left Cyprus, an American friend of mine commented on how much more at ease she felt when in the U.S. compared to being abroad.  I didn't understand what she meant initially, but I think I do now.  Living abroad is stressful in its very nature.  Home, where ever it is, will always be easier on the system.  Florida is not where I imagined being.  It's not where I grew up or had family connections, but it is in America.  It's Here.  Home.  And that in and of itself gives me the liberty to feel at ease and tackle things I've been daydreaming of for months.  There's no huge rush, on my part at least, for Mr. F to find a job.  I feel content and very grateful for this time to assimilate all over again into my native culture.  Here my days really are more full.

at the fair

I may or may not have scheduled my trip to the U.S. around Labor Day.  More importantly around one itty, bitty art fair in a village near my childhood home.  This village has a parade in the morning then everyone flocks over to the park where some really talented artists have their booths set up.  I can't really remember not going to this art fair.  It's just what we did. 

My parents being who they are established relationships with many of these artists and my home was filled with their art.  Pots, prints, metal work.  You name it, we had it.  Their favorite, however, was the tile lady.  Year after year we would go to her booth to see the most beautiful printed tiles.  Each year she had a new line and each year they were happier than the last.  Abstract figures in bold, whimsical colors embracing life.  Her tiles, and even one of her sculptures, fill so many corners of my parents' home, the joie de vivre mirroring much of my memories of the house.  With her my parents formed a very tender relationship, kindled by the kinship of breast cancer but fostered by the love of art.

  It was for the tile lady that I scheduled my trip around Labor Day.We spoke with her and her husband for a few minutes and though they don't know me well, this pair of artists are so a part of my memory of home that I just soaked in the ambiance. Yet again, the tile lady's booth did not disappoint.  Happy fish, beautiful landscapes, merry portraits.  Oh, how I love it...  And to top it off, I am most definitely taking one of these tiles home with me to Cyprus.

I'm so glad I did see her this year as she confided to us that she and her husband, who have been doing the art fair circuit since 1970, are planning to "retire" within the next few years.  This could very well have been the last time I see the tile lady on Labor Day.  And that, my friends, is just a very strange thought indeed.  I am such a creature of habit that forming new traditions and finding new artists to admire just seems overwhelming.  But if I can live in Cyprus I guess I can handle a few new experiences, right?  Right.  

how coca-cola explains the world

Beirut is like my can of Coke.  On one side it's Western.  In English and totally familiar.  There are shops like H&M, Zara, McDonald's, and Dunkin' Donuts.

But on the other side, it's a whole lot of Arabic jibberish.  People are called to prayer throughout the day by the songs of the minarets.  There are women in burkas and ruins from the time of Christ.  

A little different, a lot new, the same great taste.

good morning, asia!

This place is a totally new experience for me.  New currency, language, and totally different culture.  I wandered the nearby streets taking in what I could in the last traces of the morning sun.  Beirut is a wonderful town.

Ruins in the heart of Beirut, a few blocks from the parliament buildings.

The giant mosque we saw at night.

This was my first glimpse of the Mediterranean in daylight and it was glorious!   

folk

Have I ever shared tales of my traditional Fourth of July?  If so, please excuse this recounting.  Ten plus years ago, the husband of one of the Tall Guy's coworkers was sworn in as a US citizen.  Both Big T and M are Lebanese, but M already had citizenship at the time of her husband's ceremony.  Our family joined Big T and M downtown to join in the pomp.

It was the Fourth of July.

Every year since then, we have celebrated with them.  We have homemade Lebanese food, watch real football, play football, and hear tales from their family's adventures around the globe.  Not hot dogs.  No baseball.  Baba ganoush is my food of choice to celebrate Independence Day.

Their extended family has become our own.  We have watched Big T and M have two darling sons, Lash and Little T, mourned with them as Big T's mother tragically passed away, celebrated Christmasses, weddings, and everything in between.  They have helped shape who the Stud and I are today.

When we considered moving to Cyprus, we learned that several of the employees Mr. F would be working with were Lebanese.  I truly leaped for joy and yelled, "THE FOURTH OF JULY IS SAVED!"  I could watch the EuroCup and eat tabouli once more!

Last night two of Mr. F's Lebanese coworkers graciously took us out to dinner.  Without much delay I shared my stories of Big T and M and the little I knew of their homeland.  We spent the next couple of hours chatting comfortably, exchanging views on current events and learning about one another's families.  I felt that same familiarity.

I am growing ever more grateful for my parents and the way they raised me.  When I look at who  I consider to be my extended family, the circle is wide and incredibly diverse.  My parents taught me and my brother to recognize the good in people, regardless of where they come from.  As I keep ending up in foreign locations, I find this to be such a gift my parents have given me.  Folk are folk, no matter where you are.  

what i wore today

As Mr. F left for work this morning, he whispered into my groggy ears, "You could have story times for toddlers once a week in Cyprus."  Somehow I was conscious enough to recognize this suggestion, the latest in a long list of ways Mr. F has been finding ways for me to utilize my talents.  We have been discussing this a lot as our budget in Cyprus is going to be rather tight and we don't yet know if I will be able to work.  The common thought has been hosting weekly art classes for little ones.  Teaching them about colors, shapes, and a bit about some major artists through history.

Well, since I decided that today was definitely the day I avoided packing for our triumphant two week return to Amrika, I hit the interweb to see what I could find by way of lesson plans and project ideas.  There were some really great sources out there, but I'm still hunting for the right "thing."  Anyway, during my search, I stumbled upon this and, well, fell in love.  Immediately my muse spoke to me and I grabbed my sketchbook.  I wanted to draw what I was wearing today.

My family will probably see this and laugh because they know that this is, in fact, what I wear every day, not just today.  But still!  A fun project for the afternoon!  Plus it somehow motivated me to start making piles for suitcases and get some final loads of laundry going.

Do you have any suggestions for teaching art to children?  I'm thinking this could be a really fun adventure!

p.s. Can someone teach me how to take better photos of my artwork pleeeeease?  There's got to be a better way to do this, even with a point and shoot.  

parisian hangover

I feel like I've been run over by a truck, or, more likely, a pair of hostile, vengeful trucks. Mr. F and I went to Paris (AH!!!!) over the weekend, leaving Thursday afternoon and returning with the approaching sun on Sunday morning.

I'm still tired.

I have never, ever, EVER been one of those people who enjoys late nights.  In college, rather than pulling an all-niter  for a paper, I would go to bed at eleven and wake up at four in the morning.  No joke.  The number of papers written at o'dark thirty would astound the common masses. So, driving through the night and climbing into bed at seven just seems like cruel and unusual punishment for going on holiday.

There are so many things I want to say about our trip, but really don't know where to begin.  My distraction is due in large part to my soar throat, cough (dang you o'dark thirty!!!) and a bedroom the mess of which Oscar the Grouch would not even claim.

Rather than regale you with stories, which aren't exactly formulating coherently at the moment, I'm going to share some of my favorite photos.  Stories will come, I swear.

 

 

Happy Labor Day!

rick steves' amsterdam

Okay, okay, I'm not even remotely close to being a travel expert, but I definitely learned a thing or two on this trip.

First, which I knew already, make friends! We stayed with my dear friend, the Dutch Egyptian who was house sitting for her aunt and uncle. She's currently studying in London, but it was cheaper for all parties involved for us to meet her in Amsterdam. Their home was outside of the center but gave us a fun feel for the rest of life in Amsterdam.

Trains are not for everyone. By this I mean, me. Unless you are traveling extensively across Europe in not a lot of time (i.e. all of Europe in two weeks), or actually know what you're doing, train tickets are not as cheap as the average American thinks they are. Sorry guys, it's a harsh reality, but it had to be faced sooner or later. Thanks to the Dutch Egyptian we discovered Eurolines, an international bus service. By train, our tickets easily would have been around 100 euro each, but by bus our combined ticket price was less than that. Trains are extremely reliable and run at very punctual times, which is something I quickly learned was not as applicable to the bus. On both legs of our journey we arrived nowhere near our "arrival time." That said, we did make it on average 45 minutes early. We saw a lot and were able to pass through a few towns we otherwise would never have seen, which was great. And really, I don't think it took us much more time than the train would have.

Beware of bikes. There are very specific lanes for bikes in the Netherlands, not just Amsterdam. There are few things more Dutch than riding a bike. Do not get in a cyclist's way! The Dutch are unfailingly kind, until you're a pedestrian crossing in front of their moving bicycle. 

The internet and dinner time are your friend. We made a rather brilliant discovery that you could buy tickets for the Van Gogh museum in advance, meaning we could skip the queue which would easily have taken an hour for us to get through. This was extremely convenient for us as we, a) had access to a printer, and b) had limited time on Sunday to tour the city.

The night before, we took advantage of everyone eating and made our way to the Anne Frank House. Now, this is the one museum I had seen in Amsterdam before, but I waited significantly longer in the middle of the day to get in. While there was still a bit of a wait, the line moved and we were inside in no time at all.

I would highly recommend both of these museums. The Anne Frank House is extremely humbling and puts in perspective everything from World War II. The Czech and I also learned a great deal from the Dutch Egyptian who shared stories about her grandfather who worked in the resistance. The Van Gogh museum was a highlight for me, as I missed it on my previous trip. Personally, I am a huge fan of collections that highlight one artist. Through them, you get to see the brilliant as well as the epic failure that got them to where they are. I think the Czech had more fun watching me be "in the zone" with Van Gogh than he really cared about the art.

Use the tram. The first time I went, my friend and I walked everywhere because we thought public transportation would have set us over our scant budgets. Due to our housing being a further out this time around, trams were essential. We were able to get 24-hour passes for a measly 7 euro each. That got us on all public transportation. It was so much cheaper for us to do this than buy single journey tickets each time.

Stroopwaffel. They're cookies. Two thin waffles with caramel in between them. You'll thank me later.

Hema. Dutch equivalent to Target. GENIUS!!

Wander the canals. Outside of the main shopping streets, the canals are lined with some of the coolest local shops and cafes I've ever seen. They can get pricey, but so worth a visit. We were able to pick up a reproduction historical map of the city for a few euros at a hole in the wall bookstore.

English is your friend. Unlike in other countries, the Dutch are more than fine with you only knowing English and not having a clue how to speak Dutch. As my friend, DE explained it, "We {the Dutch} don't expect anyone to know our language, who would? So we learn other languages."

Buy tulips. Take them back to your hotel with you. They're beautiful and so inexpensive.

And lastly....

stay tuned next week for insights on Italy

stella

Dear City and Colour,

I got my groove back today, something I was severely ignorant of missing, due in large part, to you. I went for a walk to the market today, a fairly uneventful occurrence. As I walked, I had your newest album, Little Hell, ringing in my ears, filling me with happiness. So I did what I had never done before, I said hello to people.

Prior to this afternoon, I have been terrified of greeting my fellow passersby. I was convinced they catch my American accent and instantly turn away from me. Nobody did today. I smiled effervescently and offered my most German of hellos and kept on walking. Then, I understood when one of the shop clerks asked if I wanted help and I calmly responded, "Nej, danke," a combination of my Swedish and Deutsch. I fit in!

After all of this, I'm sure, Mr. Green, that you will appreciate my need for celebratory music. I switched from your courage inducing album to Chris Brown and danced triumphantly all the way home.

Thanks for the fun walk!

engquist

ein schloss

I have a friend!

That's the exciting part of the day for me.

Here's the exciting part for you: the friend took me to see a palace. We wandered around the gardens and enjoyed some rare sunshine. It was a great afternoon!

heirloom

At our wedding, my great aunt E gave us a pair of items which are singularly incredible. She gave us the invitation to and napkin from a long ago family wedding. Why did she give it to us? Because it was the Engquist wedding! So now another generation of Engquist has married and holds these mementos very dear.
Upon arriving in Florida, I took these items to be framed. Typically I do framing myself, but these required a much more delicate hand. Sista Bear was sweet enough to take a few images of the final product and I just had to share them. (Plus, I have to pack this away as we leave for Germany in a week and I wanted some visuals to remind me of what we'll someday have hanging on our walls.)

in which I get excited about the future

Remember way back when I got to volunteer at the Springville Museum of Art? Those were happy days in my geeky existence. Well, the geek is back because...

I just got an internship with the OSU Urban Art Space!!

My excitement runneth o'er! I'll go in weekly, get some killer experience, and be surrounded by a bunch of incredibly talented individuals in my desired field of study. All because I sent out some emails and made myself sound a lot cooler than I really am. Little do they know...

definitely not a PC, maybe I could be a mac

I like people. That said...

This woman comes up to me in the library this afternoon as I was shelving books.

"Where is the Black History section?" she asks me.

"You know, I just started a few days ago, and I'm not entirely sure. If you go up to the Information Desk, I'm sure someone will be able to direct you."

"Do you not have a section for Black History? Does the library not recognize it?"

This is where I got peeved. I wanted to drop my poised library-employee persona and just say, No, the library doesn't recognize Black History just like it doesn't recognize Swedish-American History. I've been pissed about it for years, excuse me as I go file a lawsuit. AND I'm a racist. Happy?! Good.

Instead, I replied, "The library does designate African American books with stickers on the binding. I'm just not sure where the specific history section is located. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

intro to world cultures 102: religion and music

When I moved into my ward here in Columbus one thing was made abundantly clear to me: I was a misfit in a sea of medical and dental students. I would be asked if I painted or something of the like, as that obviously had to be what I meant when I said I came here to study Arts Policy and Administration.

It was then that I decided to become a cultural liaison for these poor, overworked, scientific leaders of the future.

With that in mind, three of my new friends joined me last night at Trinity Lutheran Seminary on the southeast side of Columbus. One these friends had never heard of a seminary outside of an LDS context (early morning religious study for high school aged members). Attending a school where people were taught to be clergy was an experience in and of itself.

The Seminary Choir and Chamber Orchestra lured us there with Haydn's Mass in D Minor. It has been ages since I've attended a concert of such a classical repertoire and I was more than anxious for it. What I did not realize was that there was also a worship service bookending the Mass. Stand up, sit down, call and answering. It was all there. We even got to sing several hymns of praise with the choir and orchestra, making this wayward musician feel like she was a part of grand ensemble for a change.

The Mass was absolutely beautiful. The soprano handled the melismas exquisitely and the bass painfully reminded me that my lifelong ambition of sharing his vocal timbre will never come to fruition. The acoustics were sublime, resonating the well-honed abilities of the amateur musicians through the intimate space.

For my friends, it was the first time they had been to a Lutheran worship service of any kind. I was extremely proud of the way they participated in the impromptu service with great respect and reverence. Not everyone can do that when being exposed to a new kind of worship.

The whole event reminded me of how fortunate I was in my upbringing. Due to the nature of my family and my childhood in Detroit, it was never really an option to not know of multiple faiths and to worship with them on occasion. Though we may not all believe the same things, we show one another love and respect by worshiping together, learning of what one another holds dear. As much as I enjoyed Haydn's music last night, I think I enjoyed the overall experience even more.