what a bad-ass: Ai Weiwei

An artist with superb craftsmanship, timing and most of all for me, a witty and seemingly constant sense of humor, Ai Weiwei is the biggest bad-ass artist working today. 

detail of Ai Weiwei sculpture installation

It's not just that he critically examines his Chinese government; he critically examines all government and demands accountability. It's his persistent clear voice that cannot be denied. And ultimately, thanks to his poetic images and objects that quietly and relentlessly declare better of humanity, he'll always have the last word. 

Detail of Ai Weiwei installation, Straight, commemorating school children

One Ai Weiwei sculpture is displayed in front of the Sol Lewitt mural on the main wall of museum first floor, making it delightfully easy to consider relationships of minimalism, light and form between the two works.

Ai Weiwei sculpture in front of Sol Lewitt mural

Walk around the works spanning more than 20 years of Ai Weiwei's "According to What?" exhibition and let his insight make you shake your head, nod your head and giggle a few times. 

I did. 

Near that mural is a separate gallery space loaded with thousands of photographs rotating on multiple screens. Be sure to spend a few minutes in there and see some of the ongoing themes in Ai Weiwei's work.

My favorite is the only piece he made when he lived in New York in 1988. It's the most modest in scale but so simple and clever of a sculpture that you have to appreciate it. When you go, look for it and let me know what you think of it.

And let me know if you think he's bad-ass, too. Or if you don't, what artist would you name as a bigger bad-ass?

On view at the Indianapolis Museum of Art through July 21, 2013 (click here to go to IMA website).

Click here for more info and images of the exhibition. Be sure to see the list of events associated with the show, too.

me at the entrance of the IMA

run with turkeys

Instead of running with bulls, how about turkeys?

Missoula is a body-conscious, athletically competitive town.  The amount of time one spends on the slopes or on the river is worn like a badge.  These rugged people are real mountain killers, seeking out another peak to check off their list.  It seems that every month there is an opportunity to run around town with others to celebrate, in the most basic form, your individual athleticism alongside others in the community. It's fabulous, really.  For the athletic. So what if you aren't athletic?

I'm not a runner.  I ran as a kid, of course.  I ran break-necking around the brick corner of my childhood home, feeling wind on my face from my own speed, to reach the Oak tree in the front yard and touch 'home base' in a game of Ghost in the Graveyard.  I can still hear the swishing of my brother's bell bottom jeans as he chased me.  It was fun and I smiled when I ran then.  I remember that sense of wild freedom with each stride that propelled me forward.  And I ran at school.  I ran a teeny bit of track and I ran the required laps when training for Varsity tennis, but by the time I reached my teens, I didn't love it.  It never felt quite right.  

I quit running when I was still a teenager after a bought with pneumonia and a diagnosis of severe allergies and asthma. Many more battles with pneumonia to follow, I never started running again and I don't really want to run now.  I enjoy a walk or a hike instead and it's plenty for me (as long as I do it).  My asthma is well managed since living in Montana and I know that I could probably take up running if I want.  I'm surrounded by runners, a truly supportive bunch of athletes, by the way, so the possibility is on my mind regularly.  

Regardless, I make a great spectator at Fun Runs.  I cheer everyone on when they take off and I am ready, camera in hand, for their return (unless I'm keeping warm in a coffee shop and miss it, oops).  Sure, I shake my head and say they must all be crazy (which I am not taking back yet).  I complain about getting up early on a Saturday or going out in the cold, but watching the camaraderie is a treat.  It's inspiring even without running, especially when they are fundraisers. 

It was flipping COLD for the the Jingle Bell Run for Arthritis, so cold that I declared my presence for the event was an indication of my true love to Bruce.  Many people came out to show their support for the cause running for friends and loved ones.  I'm really impressed by the people with arthritis who run, too.  Right on!  (I learned a lot about Arthritis because of this Run.)

Runners are given bells to tie to their laces.

Others add more color and creativity to the event with silly costumes.  I always appreciate dressing up in costume!  Of course, you need some reindeer in a Jingle Bell Run.    

It's Missoula so dogs are often welcome, even at a run. (I saw four inside the Ace Hardware yesterday.) Proper doggie attire required for a Run, of course!

A man with arthritis walked his arthritic horse in this Run which I thought was pretty sweet.

Jingle Bell Run for Arthritis, Missoula, 2012

 ~ ~ ~

My favorite Run to watch in Missoula so far is the Annual Turkey Run on Thanksgiving.  It's such a day of sloth and abundance in our culture that a big run brings some balance in perspective, even if I only walk around as an observer.  It was a beautiful morning along the river for it this year with a dusting of snow.

Costumes abound in this Run, too.

And dogs, plus strollers and babies (for sure in the 3K, and I saw at least 3 strollers cross the line for the 8K, too.)

Yep, even a turkey!  This one was pretty dang fast, too.  

 

I had my eye on number 496.

 

So even though I do not run, I have decided that I like Fun Runs. The sight of Marathons freak me out.  People lurching, collapsing, and limping their way across the finish line illustrates how seriously intense a Marathon is.  A few naturals reach the end like a gazelle making it look easy, but most runners in a Marathon look like they are miserable and in pain.  Way more people are smiling in a Run. 

My take away message to date?  

A Marathon is for maniacs, but a Run really does rhyme with Fun.  

Follow this link to the Arthritis Foundation. 

Follow this link to Jingle Bell Run.

Follow this link to Run Wild Missoula.

Follow this link to see the Turkey Run results. 

Whenever you might visit Missoula, I would bet there's a Run happening.  And there is of course, the Missoula Marathon in the summer (click here for more information).

remembering still feathers

Near the end of working on one side of the Good Bones remodeling project, a cedar waxwing crashed into a kitchen window.

It hit the window so hard that some of its feathers stuck to the glass of the window.

feathers left © 2011 Toni Matlock

feathers still © 2011 Toni Matlock

I turned to a fellow artist, Stephanie Frostad, for solace and she made a painting in honor of the sweet bird.

Hapless Waxwing © 2011 Stephanie J. Frostad

Stephanie currently has an exhibition of her art titled 'Natural Circumstances' on view in Seattle, Washington at Davidson Galleries until September 1st.  Be sure to visit the show in person if you can.

my bones need a break

good bones project update:

I'm typing now from bed.  I went to the good bones (remodel) project this morning after running a bunch of errands.  I swept and vacuumed up from the electricians, washed drop cloths, made notes of unfinished tasks and bought the weekend painter lunch, then just hit a wall and came home.   

 

I lied down to take a quick nap.  Two hours later I woke up. I figure it's a sign that my very long days of working on the good bones has caught up with MY bones and muscles and this afternoon needs to be break time.  I'm whipped. With Bruce's help I also discovered we are missing a wedding today.  I lost the invitation somewhere in a pile of mail and bills.  We still haven't found it.  We thought it was at 5PM but called mutual friends and found out it's at 3:30. Rats.  And we like them!  I hope they'll forgive us.  

 

It's just that kind of summer this year.  Cahrazy. 

 

Still in the prone position, I am opening a pile of mail, thumbing through production notes (um, yeah, we shoot a commercial during the next two weeks) and organizing bills and receipts.  I can do things as long as I keep my feet up. 

 

Meanwhile, Bruce is having a pre-production meeting with our intern, Cassi, going over the shot list and special effects for the commercial. Cassi is spearheading the commercial and I'll be sure to post updates and photos on it soon.  Briefly though, she is outstanding.  We lucked out with her.

 

Tomorrow, we have a new 'summer intern,' a teenager, arriving from New Jersey: Clementine.  She'll help with the shoot and hopefully enjoy a taste of Montana summer.  We are looking forward to it but also feeling a little nervous.  We hope we are entertaining enough and she likes us!     

waste land: vic muniz

Waste Land is simply a wonderful documentary that I think everyone should see.  Filmmaker Lucy Walker follows artist Vic Muniz from New York back to his homeland in Brazil to create an art project that incorporates materials picked out of the garbage with the help of workers at a massive dump.  The story is about more than art or the process of art or efforts to make change and because Muniz is such a positive character to follow, the sobering topic of poverty is handled with grace and often illustrates levity. 

Here is a link to the movie website. 

Here is a link to the movie on Netflix.

Watch the movie's trailer here:

cold & flu remedies

I've been under the weather - it's been awhile since I've caught something so I consider myself lucky and I'm not complaining.  Besides, that means extra movie time to me.  In addition to all the tinctures, decongestants, chicken soup and rest, I recommend some feel-good movie time. 

Anything with Cary Grant is a good idea.  This time I started with Frank Capra's  dark comedy Arsenic and Old Lace (1944) which is apparently Grant's least favorite of his own film performances for it being so over the top but I think it suits the script and does the trick. His Girl Friday is also a good one home remedy movie.  Relax and watch all the silliness and quippy dialogue unfold. 

Grant with Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday, 1940

For more current fare (2009), I found a zippy little art heist film, The Maiden Heist, starring Christopher Walken, Morgan Freeman, William H. Macy and Marcia Gay Harden.  The story is good but it's really the character details in the actors' performances that makes it enjoyable.   I also really like all of the cast members, so I'm willing to watch them play together with a slightly goofy script with a few twists. I'm embedding the trailer to watch even though I think it shows too many jokes and storyline. 

big sister

I remember like it was right now.  She would take me by the hands and swing me around in the air.  I must have been around 6. We would swing in the flat grassy yard across from their house.  I could swing forever and always asked for more.  She would laugh and fake a hillbilly accent, “Toni, I’m tared. Time to take a break.” She was Marry’s big sister.  And Barry’s and Kelly’s.  Not mine. But she was almost one of mine she was so present.  Eventually, I grew too big for her to swing me.

She complimented me by teasing me for being messy, lazy, lucky or skinny. She bitched up a storm when she needed to. She busted us all when we were too proud, loud or reckless. She liked keeping things clean. She had beautiful hair. She talked about how to be smart. Smart with money. Smart with life. And helped pick up the pieces when you weren’t.  She reminded me of the rules and the strategy while we played cards, instead of just after I lost.

We were never girlfriends. We never went to movies together. Or shared the same friends.  Or called each other up just to say Hi. We never sat together swapping love stories over a glass of wine. She simply walked a path ahead of me. Not for me, just ahead of me. Now as I’m walking I’ll miss looking up and seeing her there.

Kriley

Unexpected sad news: one of my UM graduate school professors is gone.  The Memorial was yesterday.  Each of the presenters shared great, insightful stories that made everyone laugh, as well as cry.  And a few commented on the critique he would give if he walked in on the scene of all of us... "get up there and say what you have to say then get out."  I was thinking similarly. That he would ask probing and personal questions, listen thoughtfully, maybe ask some more questions, then tell each of us to get back to work.

Among many thoughtful notes that people made about him, for those who were available to it, was his ability to spin your fears into excitement and enthusiasm.  I felt that was very true, especially for some of my colleagues.  But what I was struck by the most from people's stories, was his generosity of time.  For many, it was clear, he had simply made himself available. I have no idea how he managed so much time, literally, but apparently this was the m.o. of his career. And that feeling and display of sincere interest in me and my creative development was absolutely true. 

I met Kriley and studied with him as he neared retirement. I respected his knowledge, vision and leadership. He treated me with the respect and consideration of a colleague and artist. I was not his protege and we did not share the same goals, but I would fight for him if need be and I trusted that he would fight for me. He did good and he was good. 

8 years

It has been 8 years, today, since one of the most beautiful people that I have known died. I met him when I was four. We shared laughs, conspiracies, secrets from the grown-ups, familial picking (like how loud I dragged my spoon through my cereal bowl) and countless quiet moments of mundane 'passing the day' type waiting.  He was often sarcastic and confrontational and an instigator of all things trouble, but his defiance was mostly righteous. If he wasn't my hero, than he was my leader. In childhood angst, we shared the anticipation to be free of our dull domestic lives, our small town, and our family conflicts.  We lived apart but side-by-side, watching each other's achievements and turmoil without drawn out conversations about them and championed one another without the other ever knowing.  We even glimpsed romance briefly, but ever so briefly. 

When he was gone, it was fast and unexpected. The feeling of being robbed was profound. I miss his beautiful, dark, witty, fierce and troubled presence. Forever linked to his loved ones, we talk at this time each year.  "It doesn't get any easier," she says.  We tell the same stories, laughing over his mischief and power in our lives still.  He has remained present in my dreams, but sometimes, even when awake, I forget he is gone. I picture him visiting me, sitting down and eating cereal at my kitchen table, where he has never sat.