I am an Artoholic!

MY NAME IS CHARLES SAATCHI

AND I AM AN ARTOHOLIC

One of the first things I will do when I arrive in London is to go to the Saatchi Gallery. 

The Saatchi Gallery inside the Duke of Yorks HQ, on King´s Road is one of the largest Contemporary art spaces in the world with 70,000 square foot. Until then, I will have to be satisfied by the owners book. In "My name is Charles Saatchi and I am an artoholic" Charles Saatchi has posted questions he has been asked but never wanted to answer before now. With this he hopes that he has given the media what it wants and to please just leave him alone...!

It's a raw, funny, informative and provocative picture of an Art Collector that comes clear after finishing the book. Charles Saatchi, so called the "Super-collector" also managed to snag and collect the fabulous Cooking Goddess Nigella Lawson.

A perfect gift for someone who is usually too busy to read, but love art? It is a quick read and at times quite entertaining.

I will give you some hints here:

" There are no rules about investment. Sharks can be good. Artists dung can be good. Oil on canvas can be good. There´s a squad of conservators out there to look after anything an artist decides is art."

"Being a good artist is the toughest job you could pick, and you have to be a little nuts to take it on. I love them all."

"...once you have bought something that doesn´t fit in your home, and has to be stored in an art depot, you're officially an art collector"

I nearly have to yell at him for this one:

What´s Nigella's cooking really like?

"I´m sure it´s fantastic, but a bit wasted on me. I like toast with Dairylea, followed by Weetabix for supper. It drives her to distraction, frankly, particularly as she gets the blame for my new fat look. But the children love her cooking, and our friends seem to look forward to it."

& This is where I am:

"The more you like art, the more art you like...

the rest is his journey:

....So I find it easy to buy lots of it, and seeing art as an investment would take away all the fun"

With Love 

Kristin

Where the Wild Roses Grow!

NICK CAVE

I am writing about Nick Cave the Artist on my ArtEco blog and I came to remember this Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds song. One of my all time favorites, I just had to share it with you:)!!

"Where The Wild Roses Grow"

(feat. Kylie Minogue)

They call me The Wild Rose

But my name was Elisa Day

Why they call me it I do not know

For my name was Elisa Day 

From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one

She stared in my eyes and smiled

For her lips were the colour of the roses

That grew down the river, all bloody and wild 

When he knocked on my door and entered the room

My trembling subsided in his sure embrace

He would be my first man, and with a careful hand

He wiped at the tears that ran down my face 

[Chorus]

On the second day I brought her a flower

She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen

I said, "Do you know where the wild roses grow

So sweet and scarlet and free?" 

On the second day he came with a single red rose

Said: "Will you give me your loss and your sorrow"

I nodded my head, as I lay on the bed

He said, "If I show you the roses, will you follow?" 

[Chorus]

On the third day he took me to the river

He showed me the roses and we kissed

And the last thing I heard was a muttered word

As he knelt (stood smiling) above me with a rock in his fist 

On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow

And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief

And I kissed her goodbye, said, "All beauty must die"

And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth 

[Chorus] 

With Love

Kristin

The Secret Lives of People in Love

Simon Van Booy

An intricate small book filled with short unusual Love stories.

The stories snakes itself around wonderfully sculpted sentences. You can find a new meaning or a new direction in every single sentence or segment.

My favorite short story was "Snow Falls and then Disappears" a story of having a choice of leaving or having already been left.

Some highlights bellow:

"There is a small tear in the couch I never noticed until now; a piece of leather hangs off like a tongue. It is a small rip but has ruined the whole couch and thrown the apartment into disarray. The ashtray is empty and tempts me to smoke again. My lungs ar hollow and long for the return of weight."

"Would you like to wash her face?" The nurse asked.  He turned to his sleeping wife and imagined swishing a wet cloth through the tiny canyons and then across the plains of her cheeks. He felt awkward and his hands turned to wood"

"My grandmother may know that Isabella is not really part of the family, but only I know her real name and her history (which is bleak). No, I would never say anything because everyone in the family (including her) is in love with another."

"He thinks how strange life is with its frayed edges and second chances; and though by morning he will have forgotten that he ever though it, Gerard feels as though he is being followed, that there are voices he can´t hear, that the footsteps of snow on the windown are just that, and like Lucy´s conception - life is a string of guided and subtle explosions."

With that I wish you a day of wonderful small explosions.

With Love 

Kristin

Wedding Poem

I was Running

Running as fast as I could

In the wrong 

direction

When a hand reached out

on a roof in front of a 

Swimming Pool

In New York City

It was a dead end

A good dead end

My heart skipped a beat

Before it ended up on a Tribeca

balcony with wine,

music, Laughter

and the feeling 

of this is so right

This is so right

2 weeks

and my belongings

became your belongings

4 months 

and my body became 

your body

and one more

little man

and then another 

little man

An apartment

turned into a house

A house at the Beach

and then

here we are

Together

Us Two

Us Four

and all of You

to Celebrate

Us Two

In Love

A short life of trouble

Marcia Tucker

"A short life of trouble,

forty years in the new york art world"

(edited by Lisa Lou)

I lived myself into the life of Marcia Tucker like I could meet her tomorrow. Maybe suddenly she would be standing in front of me at an opening in Manhattan, I thought. Then I would not hesitate to tell her how inspiring I thought her book was and how much I actually cried while reading it.

Then I realized Marcia Tucker is not here anymore.... I will never be able to meet her.

Architects:

Seijma & Ryue Nishizawa

SANAA 

Marcia Tucker you could say culminated in the building of the New Museum on Bowery.

After having been fired as an secretary at the MoMA really young with these words:

"why aren't these sharpened" Lieberman asked (after she would not come back to work on a Saturday)

"Because you are not doing it the right way. You stick them up your ass and turn hard, that's what does it"

Broke, daring and not compromising. She went on to assist a portrait painter, and gradually by meeting the right people and throwing herself with passion into the Art World, it lead her to an incredible carrier at the Whitney.

How i wished I could have seen some of the exhibits that she curated. She brought forward artists like Bruce Nauman and Richard Tuttle in the 70's. As a strong feminist Woman of the time, she managed to arrange solo exhibits for Ree Morton, Gladys Nilsson, Nancy Graves, Jane Kaufmann, Lee Krasner and Joan Mitchell. Thinking this was nearly 40 years ago, it is quite amazing, since still there are still few and far between the female solo shows.

When her exhibitions became to progressive for The Whitney, they fired her. 

But, here comes my favorite part, instead of letting that bring her down. She put the little money she had left about $1,200 and began her adventures with "The New Museum". Building a new Museum from the bottom up.

Although she resigned her position as the Director of the New Museum in 1998 and died in 2006.

There would have never been a "New Museum" as we know it without her daring enthusiasm to start it and bring it forward.

The New Museum is still a progressive place where they give new Artists Solo shows. Like Urs Fischer and Rivane Neuenschwander.

Dear Marcia Tucker! 

I wish I had met you! 

You are one of those that tells us: 

"Yes, You can do it too!"

  

I Hid My Love!

John Clare 

1793 - 1864

Ah those first summers of love:)

I  HID MY LOVE

I hid my love when young till I

Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly;

I hid my love to my despite

Till I could not bear to look at light:

I dare not gaze upon her face

But left her memory in each place;

Where'er I saw a wild flower lie

I kissed and bade my love good-bye.

I met her in the greenest dells,

Where dewdrops pearl the wood bluebells;

The lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye,

The bee kissed and went singing by,

A sunbeam found a passage here,

A gold chain round her neck so fair;

As secret as the wild bee's song

She lay there all the summer long.

I hid my love in field and town

Till e'en the breeze would knock me down;

The bees seemed singing ballads o'er,

The fly's bass turned a lion's roar;

And even silence found a tongue,

To haunt me all the summer long;

The riddle nature could not prove 

Was nothing else but secret love.

Unknown Bird

W.S. Merwin

Will be the America´s 17th Poet Laureate

Unknown Bird 

Out of the dry days
through the dusty leaves
far across the valley
those few notes never
heard here before

one fluted phrase
floating over its
wandering secret
all at once wells up
somewhere else

and is gone before it
goes on fallen into
its own echo leaving
a hollow through the air
that is dry as before

where is it from
hardly anyone
seems to have noticed it
so far but who now
would have been listening

it is not native here
that may be the one
thing we are sure of
it came from somewhere
else perhaps alone

so keeps on calling for
no one who is here
hoping to be heard
by another of its own
unlikely origin

trying once more the same few
notes that began the song
of an oriole last heard
years ago in another
existence there

it goes again tell
no one it is here
foreign as we are
who are filling the days
with a sound of our own