Monday, August 27. 2007
A big h/t to Confederate Yank for finding this astonishing video by Hans Rosling about the "developing world." He animates the data in a cool way. I wish it were longer.
If you, like me, are not accustomed to pricing risk or pricing tail risk, then you will find this piece at Just One Minute an entertaining little math puzzle. Tom picks a nit with Michael Lewis, but I find this sort of thing fascinating. I'm sure it's just routine in the biz.
 Born in Dublin, raised in New York City, Saint-Gaudens (1848-1907) epitomizes beaux-arts sculpture.
The subject arises because a friend was banging around the Saint-Gaudens National Historic Site (his summer home) in Cornish, NH last week. This place was news to me, and my knowledge of Saint-Gaudens was minimal. His summer home has hosted artists like Winston Churchill and Maxfield Parrish, and was Woodrow Wilson's Summer White House. Photo is his sculpture of Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman, a mean, tough SOB - and it shows (Apologies to our Georgia readers, but don't blame Sherman. Blame Lincoln and Grant. Sherman was following orders when he fought and burned his way through Georgia).
 Morgan Meis reviews 1001 Paintings You Should See Before You Die in a piece entitled A Dilettante's Guide to Art.
"1001 Paintings You Should See Before You Die acknowledges the question "What is Painting?" The answer: "Who cares?""
What I found especially useful about the review is that it puts Modernism in perspective - not as the End of Art, but just as another phase in a long, ongoing story of "what painters do." Here's a quote: A weird thing happened to painting during the 20th century. In the eyes of many painters and critics, the little problems of painting became the big problem of “Painting” itself. People suddenly became motivated to paint by asking themselves, “What Is Painting?” The attitude of 1001 Paintings You Must See Before You Die is to collapse this problem back into the history of little problems, to flatten out 20th century artistic practice and put it back into the ongoing history of “things painters do.” The way our woman in black from Brown looks at it, Malevich is a worthy painter and we want to include his paintings in our book. But in doing so we are also implicitly if not explicitly punching a hole in the metaphysics that motivated him to paint as he painted. We're implicitly denying that there could have been a definitive final act in painting or that painting could ever have achieved its own end. We are rejecting the idea that painting was ever really in crisis at all. We are disproving Malevich even as we laud him.
An excellent essay. Read the whole thing. Image: Kasimir Malevich's Black Circle
Sunday, August 26. 2007
I could not resist taking a couple of photos. The 16 year-old pup baked some cakes and stuff last night, and threw a Victorian tea party for her pals for after church. Croquet to follow. It's proof to me that there is hope for the American youth. And hats are fine things on ladies, are they not? 
A birthday with an "0" in it, down on the coast last night. Nice views from the place, with some good-looking duck hunting spots to bear in mind for November:  Water toys ready to go: 
View from the driveway: 
Saturday, August 25. 2007
It sounds like Luciano has terminal cancer - pancreatic. How did he get to be 70 so fast? He has provided joy to millions in his life, including to me. God bless him.
Friday, August 24. 2007
 According to our friend Sippican, who kindly forwarded this photo of Sonny Boy Williamson, King Biscuit Time, later known as King Biscuit Flour Hour, was the longest-running radio program in history.
Williamson (posted yesterday) was their first featured performer. Photos like this one lead me into the wonderful Southland of my imagination.
Thursday, August 23. 2007
I own a couple of small Grillos, and had a nice chat with the fine old gent and his wife last summer on the Cape. I will buy one of his large oils when my piggy bank is full. He has moved through a number of styles, but mostly in the general abstract expressionism direction. The gal is his wife, if I am not mistaken, perhaps in her younger years: 
Wednesday, August 22. 2007
Monday, August 20. 2007
Physicists ask whether existence is a virtual reality. Neurophilosophy. Of course it is. I think, therefore I am a confused SOB. But existence sure feels real when you have a sore hip, or when you are 21 and your girlfriend dumps you, or when you can't pay your bills. No need to drop a little acid before reading the links: reality is strange enough on its own.
 Do not, under any circumstances, miss Gerard Van der Leun's photo essay on the "Hempfest" in Seattle, Washington. American Digest --Stoned to Death in Seattle: Hempfest 2007 Comes to Town The United States Government wastes a lot of money, time, and effort composing dreadful anti-drug messages that they broadcast on AM radio right after Art Bell goes to sleep, and on television in the wee hours just before the test pattern comes on. Gerard should be given all the money, and we could all gather our kids around the computer, point at his pictures, and tell them: "I don't care if you become an alcoholic, a pederast, a serial murderer, or god forbid, a State Senator; but under no circumstances will I allow you to end up like these people." The 9/11 Truthers lend a touch of verisimilitude to the proceedings, too. Just say...um... wait... What?
Sunday, August 19. 2007
 From Indians to Pilgrims to Yankee fishermen to Portuguese fishermen to artists to tourists to gays, Provincetown has seen a lot over the years.
Maybe the yuppies will be next, and gentrify it like they did to the Hamptons and Nantucket. My favorite restaurant there: The Lobster Pot. Lots of Portuguese stuff, like Kale Soup with linguica, baked stuffed Haddock with molho tomate (strong cumin) and onion, and Squid Stew. They also do a great job with tuna belly (toro) on the grill, when they can get it: it's the best - burnt on the surface, rare on the inside, and dripping with fat. My Mom, proper and refined Yankee lady that she is, likes to schedule our annual drive up from Wellfleet to P-town and the Lobster Pot to coincide with the Gay Carnival Parade. She thinks it's a hoot. P-town in the 1940's: Sippican
You can sign up for a Shakespeare Sonnet A Day. Sure beats USA Today.
Saturday, August 18. 2007
|
