Maggie's Farm

Jan Lievens (1607-1674) was a pal and a rival of Rembrandt. This is The Feast of Esther (1625).

Somebody told me this week that he was putting together a Team Penning team in New York State. Not only did I not understand how that Western game works, I never would have imagined that there are Team Penning classes and competitions throughout NYS, CT and MA.

Here's how the game is played. Sounds like good fun, a bit like billiards with horses and cattle. Or maybe more like Chinese Checkers?

Here's just one of the sponsors I found by Googling Team Penning New York.

Sippican does art.

"If it were not for the intellectual snobs who pay -- in solid cash -- the tribute which philistinism owes to culture, the arts would perish with their starving practitioners. Let us thank heaven for hypocrisy."

Aldous Huxley, as quoted at Overcoming Bias

 Theo asks whether the advertising image above is demeaning to Italian women. I say NO! (that's Italian for "No"). I say it's art. Let's analyze the picture:

It's a compelling image, with the late Renaissance landscape in the background (the Garden of Eden, with Eve covering her private parts with pasta in her new-found shame? Or is the background the bleak, sterile desert of Western Capitalism?). The gal's hair and the dinner plate are obvious echoes of Botticelli's Venus. But why the cup of cappucino? Coffee with pasta? What exactly is the artist trying to say about gender, transexualism, race, power, veganism, consumerism, carbon trioxide or whatever, capitalism, spaghetti, and coffee? Or does she have some Barbera in the coffee cup? Wine or coffee - bloodthirsty Christian wine or peaceful, spiritual Moslem coffee? West vs. East? But assuming it's wine in the coffee cup, what's up with that? Is she a victim of Capitalism, too oppressed and impoverished by The System to afford clothing or a proper wine glass? Or is her nakedness a warning about the Crisis of Anthropolitical Capitalist Global Warming? Is there Christian meaning in that cup: "Take this cup. This is my blood..."?  For sure, she is saying "Eat me (and drink this)", but in what way, exactly? And does the lady represent a blasphemous pomo version of the Holy Virgin - or a faithful representation of the whores sex workers to whom Christ ministered? Madonna or sex worker? Or maybe a female Christ?  Is she saying "Drink of me" (a request for an oral, not a phallic interaction - as a critique of our phallus-dominated, warmongering culture)? Is the snake-like pasta a reference to Satan, or an echo of Laocoon and his Sons? Or both, a deft blending of pagan with Christian imagery? And how do the tensions of all of these dualities help us to interrogate the dangerous and discredited assumptions of Western Civilization?

(I can do this sort of BS all day long, without once mentioning that she's a hot and delicious Italiano babe. Our college readers are welcome to expand on this post for their Art History term papers. An "A" guaranteed from your crackpot pomo prof.)

How about that grin on Cupid's face? And Psyche looks happy too.
Psyche and Cupid (1817)

Some Afghani weavers are producing "War Rugs." You can find them sometimes on the eBay rug sites.

I never cover my log piles. I like my wood damp, and out in the weather. Dry firewood burns like paper, which is not good. I do maintain a small supply under eaves and porches for starter loads, though. We had a nice, very enjoyable snow today, and my log piles in the foreground are entirely buried.

Samuel Johnson said of poet Thomas Gray, insultingly, "As a poet, his sole virtue is his creativity."

The world is packed with poets these days, including some of a very odd breed of "professional poets" - a crazy idea in itself. Not many people read much poetry though, and even less often outloud as it is meant to be read.

Jeffrey Gray in a Chronicle piece, Poets' Puffery, notes:

In spite of the tenor of book titles like The Marginalization of Poetry and After the Death of Poetry, and in spite of the almost complete removal of the study of poetry from the higher reaches of literary theoretical studies — postcolonialism, poststructuralism, and the New Historicism — the writing of poetry has never been more feverish. There are 300,000 poetry Web sites. Six years ago, an heir to the Lilly fortune — herself an aspiring poet — gave $100-million to Poetry magazine, though her own submissions were all rejected by the editor. Poets continue to graduate in ever-larger numbers from those much-maligned M.F.A. programs.

Writing poetry, it seems to me, is an avocation and a hobby craft. I guess songwriting could be a profession, but one for a tiny few. I used to write poems, but now I specialize in doggerel for special occasions. In his article, Jeffrey Gray discusses evaluation-inflation of poetry, and makes a case for "satisfactory" poetry.

Why should everything have to be "great"?

The long-time prosperous but (historically) tasteful, silver-spoon WASPy NYC suburb of Greenwich, CT (the growing-up home of George Bush Sr.) became the hedge fund capital of the world over the past decade, as well as a highly-desirable address for newly-weathy Wall Street Masters of the Universe. Many houses, too, are owned by international folks who visit only occasionally, or as second homes for New Yorkers.

In 2006, the median home price was $1.7 million. I recently read that Greenwich suddenly has over 80 homes for sale for over 7 million. That's a lot for a small town. But yes, prices have toppled, sales are nearly dead, and the inventory is surging in the fancier NYC suburbs. Let's see what real estate is doing there now:

Here's one for $460,000. A simple, classic, nice  c. 1900 workingman's house:

 Here's a less modest listing, for $2,175,000. It says 4 bedrooms, but I'd bet that they are small:

 This place is cute, for only $519,000. A happy couple could be happy here - but a contented couple could be happy anywhere:

Here's a 4-acre building lot (in 4-acre zoning) for 1 million. I like it just as it is:

Moving a bit upscale, this pleasant 3 BR place is now only $3,125,000. A tiny Cape with some small additions:

 This 5 BR was the carriage house for the servants on an old estate from the pre-income tax days. 2 acres. $4,000,000. I like it:

That one was lovely, but you can also buy this hideous architectural monstrosity for $4 million. I guess you could set it on fire, live in a tent, and farm the land, but I doubt that tomato prices could pay your mortgage. But who cares? The Obama plan could get you off the hook:

Moving up to $6.5 million, your basic, solid New England 6 BR colonial:

Jumping up to $9.5 million, you often tend to leave good taste behind and begin to find new, self-aggrandizing places like the one below. Things meant to be "mansions," I guess, in wannabe Brit aristocracy-style. Some folks need a mansion-thingy for self esteem or social-climbing purposes. It's a free country: to each his own. You could cover this whole thing with ivy and it would look better:

Just for fun, let's see what $18 million will get you. This one  is comfortable, homey, unpretentious - glitz-free - and pleasant:

Tommy Hilfiger's house is for sale for $22 million. The 20,000-square-foot home has seven bedrooms, 13 bathrooms, a massive great room, basketball court, spa with a waterfall, theater, gym and a 2,000-bottle wine cellar.

Let's spend our very last penny on this one. $95 million, plenty of bedrooms but a mere 40 acres. The sellers were major Lefty donors. Impress your friends! Set up a nice rifle range! Get some kegs, dig a pit next to the pool and roast a pig or two and throw everybody's girlfriend into the pool. Or is it just a shallow self-reflecting pool?

That's a King Protea sitting in a water pitcher. Odd, gigantic flowers. You can read about Protea here.

Sipp says that my very old kitchen table is Chestnut, and emailed me this unstained Chestnut sample to prove it. It's the same grain:

Kandinsky has always been one of my favorite Expressionists. This is Kirche in Murnau (1909):

When people move into the White House, they get a dog. Sometimes a cat too. Some of them actually had dogs before the White House, which is a different matter. It's about Pet Politics. (As you may recall, the Clinton's Lab was promptly run over by a car after leaving the WH, and Hillary dumped her famous cat on the secretary. I suspect the Bush's still have their dogs.)

The breed the Obamas decided to exploit is the Portuguese Water Dog. It's probably a breed ancestor of the Poodle. They need more daily exercise than any White House pet is likely to get.

I don't know how anybody can live without dogs around the place.

I will post a series of random quotes from Boswell's London Journal for a while, on Sundays. As was commented on the publication of these journals:

"Boswell was the most charming companion in the world, and London becomes his dining-room and his playground, his club and his confessional. No celebrant of the London world can ignore his book."-Peter Ackroyd, from the introduction; Praise for the earlier edition: "The journal is admirably edited and annotated."-W. H. Auden, New Yorker

A friend told him "Mr. Boswell, you are the vainest man I have ever met, and yet it is impossible for me not to love you." Mr. Boswell - Jamie - is an easy person to like. His honesty about himself shines through. He is 22 at this time, journaling about his second move from Edinburgh to London in search of a cushy commission in the Footguards (which he was never able to obtain despite his extensive networking efforts).

Much of these journals documents his daily life, which is mainly social - and centered on meals. Breakfast with these friends, dinner with other friends, see a play with others, then maybe a late supper with others, perhaps after a bit of whoring, which he describes in some detail including an assessment of his performance. He is quite open about preferring "genteel" ladies for his "amorous adventures" because he lives on a tight budget and prefers not to pay.

He is a devout Anglican. He takes long walks every day, usually discussing politics or literature with friends. The great David Garrick befriends him, and, towards the end of these journals, Boswell meets Samuel Johnson. Johnson, of course, finds the young fellow to be a delightful companion. Boswell is always puzzled about why people like him so much and seek out his company, viewing himself as shallow and dull. He worries about his social presentation, especially his tendency to lose his reserve and dignity (which he constantly does). He also has recurrent incapacitating bouts of depression.

 This bit is from December 11, 1762:

I drank coffee at Macfarlane's. Erskine and he got into a dispute about the Peace and each told his antagonist that he was speaking arrant nonsense. They were seriously hot. I was much diverted at Captain Andrew's being so, who does not enter the least into common notions, and does not care a farthing whether there be peace or war or confusion in Europe, provided he and his own agreeable circle be safe and happy.

I must own that I am much of that way of thinking. I cannot help it. I see too far into the system of things to be much in earnest. I consider mankind in general, and therefore cannot take a part in their quarrels when divided into certain states and nations. I can see that after a war is over and a great quantity of cold and hunger and want of sleep endured by mortals, things are upon the whole just as they were. I can see that Great People, those that manage the fate of kingdoms, are just such beings as myself: have their hours of discontent and are not a bit happier. This being the case, I am rather passive than active in life. It is difficult to make my feeling clearly understood. I may say, I act passively. That is, not with my whole heart, and thinking this or that of real consequence, but because so and so things are established and I must submit.

Meditating calmly and finding myself situated in this sublunary system, I do not know well what to make of it. I do not rightly understand it. Guardian Angel: "Stop. How should you? God has formed men with very limited capacities." True. But still I cannot help enquiring and thinking.

Image: Boswell in his 40s. Portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 1785

Massachusetts' Berkshire County (and northwestern CT Berkshires) has been a popular summering area for 150 years. The nightime is cool, even in August. It is filled with second homes and country places for those from NYC and Boston. The area is artsy and full of pretty-good, small-scale skiing. There isn't much work up there outside of once-industrial Pittsfield - and there never has been. As we have commented, 2009 is a good time to have cash to buy things, because these second home prices are falling. Take a look:

This 3-BR 1942 Cape on 0.3 acres overlooks the town of Great Barrington. $620,000:

 This 1793 eyebrow colonial in New Marlborough has 1/2 acre, 3 bedrooms. $185,000;

This 1770 center hall colonial is on 1/2 acre near downtown Sheffield. 6 BR. $725,000.

The village of Alford has a Congregational Church, an 1830 schoolhouse, and a town green. Not a single store, shop, or restaurant. This is a 4 BR 1810 farmhouse (with additions) on 4 acres. $700,000:

 Here's an 1825 village colonial in Becket. 5 BR, one acre. $430,000:

In Lenox. Not an antique, but just a walk to Tanglewood and to the pleasant antique village. 4 BR, 0.5 acres, $1,000,000.

 In Stockbridge, this 1795 renovated farmhouse. 8 BR, 4 acres. $1,000,000. I like it, but 150 acres would be better.

The perfect girlfriend isn't the possessive type, and just wants you to be happy (h/t, S,C&A):

3800 acres, with 6 miles of the Teton River, 50 miles west of Great Falls. $12 million, but probably negotiable. Nice views? Can any reader name that mountain?

 Downtown Choteau, 3 BR, $69,000: