Feeling Kinda Heated in a Heatwave — A Solo Adventure to Washington State (And How I Was Almost Stuck Without a Ride at a Safeway in Monroe)

In this post, I recount moments in my solo adventure to Washington State during a historic heatwave — a brief stop in Seattle, and how I managed to get back to my hotel in Skykomish (after missing the last bus). Read on, readers!

Feeling heated in Seattle

The theme of my post is weariness. I hiked, and I walked, and I explored random parts of Seattle. Do you see the face of Greig? He’s bone-weary.

I’m not used to such locomotion. But I feel like the photographs capture the mood of the day — sultry, hot, relentless. A boy on the bus this morning played a Schecter electric guitar. And then told me a rational argument for gun ownership (although privately, I think to myself I’d never owned a firearm).

A Glorious Patch of Wild Flowers

Seattle is beautiful. I shop for groceries in the Safeway in Monroe. I miss my bus to Gold Bar — and thus miss my subsequent connection to Skykomish. It’s 10 p.m., and I’m stuck on a hot evening somewhere near Highway 2. In front of the Safeway, a gentleman has a long conversation with another guy — he looks like a professional hiker. I ask them for a ride to Skykomish. I’m lucky because one of the men lives in Sultan. And I’m given a ride back to my motel in the mountains.

At night the stars beam, and I feel restless. I consider the prospect of living in a rural area like the mountains of Washington State — “Fun to visit. But I prefer New York.” I gather my things in the motel room — today, I board the train again.

Early Evening in the Suburbs

   

Bus Stop Near Everett

Where do you think I’m going next?

Click Here to Read Part V 

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Paint Night: We Did Van Gogh's Sunflowers

I’m no Van Gogh. I have both 👂. But I love a good communal 🎨. With my collegial krewe, we paint and pass the time.

Christmas Day Photography Journal: Romantic Musings On Found Objects (And Some Tibetan-style Momo)

Inspired by the Romantics, I find inspiration in the everyday material world.

A bike covered in pigeon droppings. OK. That’s ewwwww. But. Look. 

A bowl of grits, green onions, and cheesy eggs. 

Me looking at art books. 

A snapshot from my favorite mobile game @taptapfish. 

Homemade Tibetan-style dumplings (known as “Momo”) and a pretty portrait shot of the famous penguin sculpture in Jackson Heights, Queens. It’s my way of finding beauty, elegance, and looking up from the gutter to see the stars (to paraphrase Oscar Wilde).

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Street Photography: 74th Street in Jackson Heights, Queens (Plus Some Creative Writing)

     What was supposed to be a walk to increase my daily steps turned into a journey. People pop out. Restaurants offer outside seating. The night is crisp. Saturn and Jupiter are still visible in the sky — on the way to convergence. I wanted to get more faces in my photographs. But the moments passed by too quickly. I saw a masked guy in a cab. He was balefully looking out a window. The Q49 bus runs along 74th Street. Wear your mask. 

     Today in class an adolescent pupil couldn’t answer a question — so she said to me, “This question makes me feel unsafe.” I was taken aback by her statement. It’s the Covid. I imagined her shrieking out of class. By an unsafe question. I’m teaching a course on mythology. And one characteristic of myth is the unknown. So I get it, girl. Stuff gets real. From chaos to calm. From the womb to the tomb. ⁣

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Aesthetic Thursday: First Time Back at the Museum of Modern Art Since Covid

That time I stepped into the Museum of Modern Art since it had closed (like all cultural institutions) its doors because of the coronavirus outbreak.

MoMA normally has massive crowds. Not today.

A series of five parallelograms on view
in a special exhibition on the artist Judd.

"On my way to the Museum of Modern Art," I told my roommate. "Oh?" she said. As if I had just admitted to a felony. "Oh. It's cool. The museum is open now. Since yesterday. But they are only letting in a certain amount of people — and there are mad temperature checks at the front door." I went on and on, basically convincing myself it was OK to look at art during a global pandemic.

MoMA sits on a nice piece of real estate on 53rd Street in Manhattan between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Over the years, the museum has expanded significantly — and now, in 2020 — going there is like going to a museum version of a theme park. You can do a lot in one space — see a movie, grab a bite to eat but not now, because of restrictions still in place. You can see a mega-ton of artwork. It's incredible. And with the limited tickets doled out daily for admittance, it feels like the museum is all yours to cherish and to keep.

Museum-goers look aglow. In the elevator, the museum's design people have created beautiful markings on the door to denote physical distance. There is cute "modern art" style signage to don a mask and to take a helping of hand sanitizer. The greeters and guest attendants are happy to be back at work — you cannot work from home if you work in guest services. 

The top floor houses a temporary exhibit on the sculpture-cum-concept artist named Judd. I liked his parallelograms — only because I like saying that word. Makes me feel smart.

After lingering with old favorites, like Rousseau's "The Dream" and Picasso's "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon," I sat outside in the sculpture garden. It was a beautiful day. People lingered too—everyone in masks or gaiters. The sun bright, but it did not feel hot. I read on my phone. Watched people — and I noticed that MoMA was devoid of tourists, of Europeans, of people from all over who flock to see its collections. It was mostly — if not at — a bunch of us locals — those cats who live here.

"I'm back from MoMA —" I told my roommate, but she listlessly nodded — she was engrossed in a television show — and had forgotten that I had done such a momentous thing. Going to a museum. Finally. But it was an interior triumph — a return to a routine that I had missed during quarantine. 

Coincidentally, I was tapped to teach a high school art history class to tenth and eleventh graders. So all my museum visits will have been worth it. Here's to me about to make that lesson plan. I will definitely tell the kids about my trip back to the museum.

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Christmas Season Travel Report: A Balmy Winter Day in New Orleans (And It’s My Birthday)

<Why, hello!> she said. Just another balmy Winter day in NOLA.

     Today is a balmy Winter day in New Orleans. Mornings in this city feel hazy and not quite woken up. It’s a city of the nighttime and in the morning everyone’s either leaving a bar to go home or someone’s yawning and stretching, trying to come alive. Here are pictures I took of friends and me coming alive in this crescent 🌙 city. It’s also my birthday today. I’m forty years old. Or, forty years young — as we like to say it.

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I’m traveling with two teacher friends of mine - Michelle and Lauren. They both convinced me it would be a good idea to celebrate Winter break and my birthday in New Orleans. So here we are at the Palace Café on Canal Street. 

I have two old friends from New Orleans, Tony, and André to share the day. That’s me in the middle of the photo. It’s refreshing to see familiar faces in a familiar city. I’m happy. Let me know in the comments if you can read my shirt. 

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Photograph: Ernie Childhood Toy Spotted at the Museum of the Moving Image

I had this Ernie puppet toy growing up — it was manufactured by Topper Toys in 1972 — mine was a handme down from my older brother. I liked Ernie (better than Bert). Watching Sesame Street as a kid, Ernie was the lovable one while Bert was irascible and perennially annoyed. Ernie was definitely the better guy for me. The toy is made from rubber and polyester. What's the main idea? Toys influence a life. I felt a visceral response seeing this same toy in the Museum of the Moving Image @movingimagenyc.

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Aesthetic Thursday: Marta Minujín Reloaded at the New Museum

La Menesunda (on view at the New Museum) has several interactive features.

La Menesunda - So, Marta Minujín created an installation in the 60s in Buenos Aires - it’s been reloaded in New York at the New Museum. Of course, I shamelessly inserted myself into the television screen. The installation has several interactive features — one notable one being the recreation of a nail salon from the period — replete with a performance artist who will do your nails. I felt curious while within the experience — fully jiving with the work's conceit that I was living inside the mind of the artist.

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#newmuseum #modernart #artist #gallery #artreview #performanceart #newmuseum #installation #gelatin #lamenesunda #art #halcyongallery #gelitin #artmuseums #contemporaryart #photography #travel #museum #modern #design via Instagram.

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Cycladic Sculptures Explained: Millennia-Old Faces of Aegean Art

Exploring the enigmatic Cycladic art at the Met Museum, where ancient sculptures blend timelessly with modern aesthetics.

In the Aegean Bronze Age section at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, you can find Cycladic art, famous for its abstract and stylized human figures, predominantly female, dating from around 2800 to 2300 BCE.

I'm at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, looking at the museum's collection of Cycladic art. Located in the Greek wing of the @metmuseum's Cycladic art collection, this ancient sculptural representation of a human face is perhaps one of my favorite art objects (ever!). Dating from the 3rd millennium BCE to the 1st millennium B.C.E., these sculptures represent a culture that developed around 3300 B.C.E. in the Aegean Sea.

An aerial, stylized view of the Aegean Sea, dotted with the Cyclades islands, nestled between Greece, Anatolia, and Crete.

🗣️ Known for their abstract, stylized forms, these ancient works could easily be placed in the Museum of Modern Art @MoMA) and fit right in. We don't know exactly what the objects were used for, but some scholars believe that they may have been used as votive offerings, grave goods, or even status symbols.

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Artful Photograph: Philip-Lorca di Corcia

Photo by Philip-Lorca di Corcia (c. 1995)

What story does this photograph tell?

Philip-Lorca di Corcia is an art photographer. You may be familiar with di Corcia's body of work. In the early Nineties, he did a series of photographs of street hustlers in Los Angeles - charging them to pose for him at the same price the men would normally charge a client for sex. 

In the above photograph, part of a series of images wherein di Corcia would photograph a banal scene (i.e., a gas station, a drug store, a hotel room) with a model who does not quite fit into the scene, the artist plays with light, setting, and storytelling.

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Icarus Falls to his Death; a Cautionary Tale from Greek Mythology

"Icarus", Henri Matisse

How many stories exist about a father who loses his son? How many stories are there of a son who fell away from his father? How many stories are there about a father, a flawed father, whose ambition causes him to lose sight of what’s closest to him? Of a son whose first taste of freedom is so great, he cannot contain it?
Visualizing the Story of Icarus in Art

Image source: Icarus (from the Four Disgracers) Hendrick Goltzius, 1588.

The story of Daedalus and Icarus is one such story. It’s a cautionary tale that originates from the Grecian isle of Crete in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. Ovid and Apollodorus are the writers we have to thank for not allowing the tale to extinguish into non-existence. I prefer Ovid’s telling of the story. But both writers tell the basic plot. It’s not spoiling it to say that Icarus dies at the end. It’s the part of the story most mentioned and memorialized in commentary and in art.

At the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, one can see Hendrick Goltzius’s engraving of the tale (from an ignominiously titled series “The Four Disgracers”). Goltzius’s Icarus depicts a monstrous-looking body plummeting to its death (which the viewer witnesses in a neat trick of visual toe-on perspective). This Icarus looks up at the sun, his hair blown wild, and his face a contorted mix of rage and regret. His body is massive, too much weight to bear in the air. His rage is palpable - directed towards the sun as if the sun is a villain. Yet looking closely at the details of the engraving, the viewer sees Icarus forever fixed in this position, as if he is similar to Sisyphus who rolls the rock to the mountaintop only for it to fall back down again. We see Sisyphus at the top, almost there, almost victorious, and we freeze the frame. Goltzius does the same. We can almost imagine Icarus is victorious in his flight. But there is a clue to the tragedy of the tale. Daedalus is drawn into the image, placed visibly far way, and the shape of his body shows that he remains in flight, while his son, too brazen, will be banished by the sun’s blazing glory.

In Célestin Nanteuil’s depiction, and perhaps many like it, Icarus is a stretched-out angel, his body perfect and unscathed, but his wings are broken. Icarus lies dead on the craggy rock. The setting of the scene is the sea and not the sky. Icarus’s body looks dainty as if he were never meant to fly. Nanteuil’s print reminds me of a video game incarnation of Icarus.

Kid Icarus from Nintendo

As a kid, before I knew anything substantial about Greek myths, or ancient gods and goddesses, my brothers and I played Kid Icarus, a 1986 Nintendo gaming system title that featured a boy angel named Pit; he had wings, but he couldn’t fly (or had lost the ability). He looked more like Cupid, the baby child of Aphrodite, the goddess of Love; than the tragic son of Daedalus, the ambitious inventor of Crete. In the video game, Pit had agency despite his clipped wings; he carried with him a bow and a plentiful armory of arrows. The game was a side-scrolling 2D affair; the player collected hearts and I believe, if my memory serves me correct, there was a princess. And the goal was to regain Pit’s ability to fly. I think. Yet. It’s funny because the game actually has no link to the original myth at all - except for the wings. And in the myth, unlike the game, Icarus has no agency. Like most children, he is limited by the agency of his parents. And, in fact, the myth of Icarus really is about the limitations of parenting, and the sometimes destructive relationships that can arise out of dysfunctional family dynamics.
The Origin Story of Daedalus Foreshadows the Fate of Icarus

Film still from Jim Henson's "Storyteller" version of the Icarus Myth

Some sources say that Daedalus, Icarus’s father, was born in Athens. He fled to Crete after accidentally killing his nephew (yet Apollodorus’s account of the story suggest foul play). In the Jim Henson Storyteller version of the myth, this event is connected with Icarus’s later death. Daedalus’s nephew was amenable to learning and generously caught on to the craft of possibly building a machine that could fly; this may have caused Daedalus to have envy and it is this envy that arose in Daedalus a moment of insanity when he lifted the boy up to fly at the top of the Acropolis and he tragically fell off the roof to his death.

In Crete, Daedalus starts a new life in Crete. It is during this time that Icarus is born (most likely the result of a relationship between Daedalus and a Cretan slave named Naucrate). After the events of the minotaur, Icarus is confined to a cave with his father, held there by the mighty king Minos, who, after Daedalus had constructed a miraculous maze to entrap his son, the half-man, half-bull Minotaur, kept him in Crete on indefinite retainer. Reading the original sources, the story of the Minotaur, of Theseus, the hero who slays the creature, Minos, the king, and Daedalus the inventor are very much tightly knit together. It is Icarus and Daedalus who lead Theseus out of the labyrinth, with Ariadne to freedom. Yet that’s another story (for another blog post). Myth has a tendency to radiate out into different spokes. But for this story, the story of Icarus and Daedalus, the central conflict is played out between father and son. Imagine Icarus grew up amazed and bewildered by his father’s inventions, but as he grew older, and approached adolescence, he grew cagey and restless. In the Jim Henson version (which I love) Icarus is portrayed as fragile and clumsy, almost incompetent and difficult to love. Icarus had lived his entire life constrained, so when his father drew up a plan to build him wings so they both could escape Minos’s grasp, the news must have felt like a dream and a relief. But if you grow up never experiencing even a little bit of freedom, once freedom is granted, it’s like how first-year, coddled college freshman feels after being raised by careful, plodding helicopter parents. You’re going to break bad fast. And that’s exactly what happened to Icarus. Tasting the salt in his mouth and feeling the tang of the ocean air, once he was aloft in the mechanical wings his father had constructed for him, the exhilaration was too intense. Icarus had tasted freedom, and like an addictive drug, he wanted more. Daedalus had warned him: “Fly too low to the sea and the saltwater will saturate your feathers weighing you back to the earth. Fly too high, close to the sun the warmth will melt the wax that keeps your wing enclosure intact. It will fall apart”. Icarus most likely replied, “Yes, father” and flew off. Teaching restraint to a teenage boy is like asking a child to not eat the chocolate ice cream or giving him an iPhone loaded with video games and telling him to do his homework.
What is the Moral Message of this Greek Myth?
Traditionally, the story ends with a cautionary warning that those who do well to refuse to listen carefully to their totally well-meaning father will find peril and destruction. He should have listened. Why didn’t he listen? To return to the Jim Henson version of the story (which I love!) the connection is made to the beginning when Daedalus killed Talos, which in turn killed something inside of Daedalus which was also unconsciously transmitted to his son. When Talos fell, so did Daedalus and Icarus fall. That’s some deep generational toxicity. Should the son pay the sins of the father? It reminds me of another ancient tale, of Abraham and Isaac. While Abraham doesn’t slay his own son, he is about to do it (when at the last moment the angel stays his hand). There is something electric in the concept of the “sins of the father” - of this idea that the father’s downfall sets the stage for the son’s eventual demise. Is there a way to break the chain? I think this why this story resonates so strongly. We want Icarus to fly and survive, to thrive. No one wishes, deep down, that Icarus dies. We want an alternative narrative. We want to see a story where Icarus and Daedalus live happily ever after. In this story, however, things would have had to have been different from the get-go. Icarus would not have grown up in the shadow of his father’s guilt. He would not have felt so constrained. What would this Icarus look like? It is a good question because so often I see the Icarus-effect. And as a son myself, I see how we as men are often tied up to our fathers (even when we do not consciously recognize it).
The Story of Icarus Resonates With Me Personally
Cultivating agency is the stuff of adulthood. To go away from Icarus and to become something different, something alive and thriving is hard. To fly away from the comfort of the nest. How does the expression go? He flew the coop. I do think of another story of fathers and sons - which comes from the Christian New Testament Greek writings. Jesus talks about a son who flies the coop; he leaves the nest and squanders his father’s inheritance; yet, he comes back poor and laid low. The father forgives him and takes him back. His sins are forgiven. At any stage of life, I feel like, one is between this prodigal son feeling and the need (and want) for redemption and the fear that I can be burnt up by the sun if I fly too far.

I say “I” because of the story of Icarus, of the Prodigal Son, and other stories of freeing oneself from the nest is a powerful one. I can relate to it and I am sure many can. I think about my own upbringing, and how I grew up; I learned from my parents how to live in the world, for better or for worst, and then at High School graduation I was thrust into the world. I had a second upbringing. Then I graduated from college; lived in a monastery for a while; then, I left and became a school teacher! I look at the successes of my adult life, my teaching, my career, projects I have completed and articles and stories I have written and I compare those things to how I was as a kid. Did one lead from another? Is it possible to trace who I am now from who I was then? The line is not continuous; there are broken lines; new lines drawn over old ones; and lines that are going in opposite directions. That’s probably why, as a teacher, I have gravitated to teaching this story a lot in my career. I have taught it to Sixth Graders, and to Ninth Graders. Kids like the story, and they are appalled by the tragedy. But they all say they would never fly too close to the sun. Or, they remind me, “Mr. Roselli, why didn’t Icarus just use better glue?!” Good point!
Teaching the Myth of Icarus to your Students in a Middle or High School Classroom
The story of Icarus and Daedalus is a powerful one. So, I put together a simple 3-day lesson plan that teachers can implement in their classroom with kids (preferably Middle or High School students). There are a ton of books that have reprinted the myth and there are a ton of artistic representations. I like using Edith Hamilton’s Mythology by the book Parallel Myths is my favorite. There is a gorgeous children’s book version of the Icarus myth that is fabulous because the illustrations are evocative. Use my lesson plan with any text of the story and guide your students through this remarkable tale.

Summer in Perdido Key: Belly Beach Parade

A beachgoer in Perdido Key, Florida Summer 2017

I'm addicted to this filter I used to take the above photograph. On my mobile phone - via the Facebook app - I upload random photos to "my story." My friends over at Snapchat were made famous with this kind of ephemera-generating technology - so I guess Facebook has jumped on the bandwagon to compete. And I think Instagram has a similar feature.

Photograph: Broken Pedestrian Crosswalk Signal (Near Chelsea Piers)

The author stumbles upon a broken upside-down traffic signal near Chelsea Piers in this post.

Broken pedestrian crosswalk signal near Chelsea Piers @nyc_dot.

Upside-down Traffic Signal Near Chelsea Piers — Image Credit: Greig Roselli

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Icarus, the Sun, and Why June is a Nostalgic Time

Icarus, from the Four Disgracers, Hendrick Goltzius, 1588

The Metropolitan Museum of Art has a drawing by Hendrick Goltzius that depicts the horror of Icarus's recklessness. The drawing reminds me of a story.

"Air" by Walter Hancock - Sculpture along the Schuylkill River Trail

The Backside of "Air"

A photograph of the backside of Walter Hancock's sculpture "Air".

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Art Motif: "The Sitting Pose"

Homme noir nu assis recroquevillé (2007)

I think I fell in love with the nude sitting pose in art when first I saw Hypolite Flandrin's version at the Louvre.

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Image Courtesy: Camille

Brooklyn Notebook: Leif Ericson Commemoration on Fourth Avenue in South Brooklyn

In this post, I take a stroll in South Brooklyn and stumble upon a plaque in a park. Ho, there, Leif Ericson!

According to @forgottenny, the ”Crown Prince Olav, later King, of Norway dedicated this replica of a Viking runestone in Tune, Norway on a 1939 visit. The stone stands on Leif Ericson Square just east of 4th Avenue. (Tune, southeast of Oslo near the Swedish border, southeast of Oslo near the Swedish border, was incorporated into the town of Sarpsborg in 1992)”. @nycparks.

Replica of a Viking Runestone, Brooklyn, New York — Photo Credit: Greig Roselli

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All Ready Made (Building #7), 2012-2013

View from the New Museum, The Bowery, New York City, 2013

Carrot Black
b. 2011 New York, NY

All ready-made (Building #7), 2012-2013
Brick, mortar, steel, concrete, sheetrock, living people, found objects

Art is meta. Looking out the window at the New Museum on Bowery the other day, the back wall of a building is in view affixed with a ginormous title card, the same style and font found in museums. I like how the title card makes me think of the wall it is affixed to as art - as if the card itself authorizes the wall as an art object, perhaps a swirling Rothko or a new experiment in Abstract Expressionism. Or maybe it's just a wall. Hmmmm. *scratching my chin*

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Aesthetic Thursday: Surrealist Drawing

Toyen, Tir VI / The Shooting Gallery, 1939-1940

Toyen (née Marie Cerminova) is the name of a Czech artist. This drawing is on exhibit at the Morgan Library in New York City as part of a series of surrealist drawings.

This particular piece is notable for its juxtaposition of childlike imagery against a stark pointillist dessert.

The exhibit is open from January 25 through April 21, 2013.

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Aesthetic Thursday: Eva Hesse at the Whitney Museum of Art

Eva Hesse, No Title, 1970

I like to go to the Whitney to experience one artist's work — and that is it. The Whitney does a good job of showcasing one work by one artist in a collection of works dedicated to several artists' work. Here is Eva Hesse's sculptural evocation  — I call it an evocation of a sculpture because I am not sure if it is a sculpture or something else. Rope suspended from the ceiling in what appears to be haphazard, but on closer inspection, the organization of rope is purposeful, designed. Hanging rope. Hanging garden. Hanging. The feeling I get standing, hanging, hanging around, flapping my arms, my body, in space — this is how this piece makes me feel.

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Image: Whitney Museum of Art