Välkommen till Sverige

Goodness, it's been a really long time now since I've added anything to my blog! Poor bedraggled readers, who I imagine are in the thousands, staring hungrily at computer screens and getting absolutely nothing from me! Well, your ship has come in my friends, because I'm back! Looking over my posts from years ago reminds me again how much this forum has meant to me. The videos especially are so special now, six years on. I, now a most venerable Robyn, enjoy remembering those younger days.

I'm in Sweden for the summer! To explain very briefly, my dissertation research seems to be leaning towards work on medieval Scandinavia, and in order to pursue this interest, I need to acquire a Scandinavian language! This has led me here, to the picturesque town of Uppsala just north of Stockholm. Like Oxford, it was a medieval university city. The Swedes founded their university here in 1477, about two years before the Danes managed to get theirs up in Copenhagen.

Its a fairly rigorous course! I'm in class for seven hours each day, four hours in the morning (with a fika break--this is teatime for Swedes), and hour and fifteen minutes for lunch, and then two and a half more hours. That's more time spent in a classroom than I've had since my high school days, so I'm finding it a little overwhelming. I think in my PhD, I've become increasingly comfortable with brief periods of intense seminar time and then plenty of time alone to think about things, ha ha. Not so here!

I began my journey in Dallas. After a happy week spent with Alex, I flew from DFW to Heathrow, spent a twenty minute layover missing London, then on to Helsinki. I cleared customs in Helsinki, then continued on to Arlanda airport in Stockholm. I must admit, it was a pretty full-on itinerary. Two stops along the way is a bit much. But I made it safely and in good spirits to Uppsala by train, tramped down the King's road with my limited baggage, and checked in with UISS (The Uppsala International Summer Session).

My room is very nice! Internet comes to be via ethernet cable, and once I assembled a fan, I've been very comfortable. The single beds in Europe are so nice and long compared to twin beds in America. My feet never hang off the end! I have a lovely bath tub, and a big big window.

The city is very intimate, with many parks, flower pots, and trees. There's a little river that runs through the middle, separating the historic city from the newer half. Old Uppsala lies about 3 km away, and I will probably walk there in the next few days to see the old church and maybe some Viking things.

My first week was dominated by class, in which I am learning to foundations of a language I feel entirely unfamiliar with. We sing songs about little trolls, and are learning numbers, verbs in present tense, etc. In the afternoons, I'm in the Swedish art history class. Tuesday we went to see the wonderful cathedral here in town, and on Thursday we visited the university museum, home to a most amazing cabinet of curiosities. According to Johan, my art history instructor, this is the only cabinet to retain its entire original collection. We then walked up to the castle, which was horribly damaged in the 1702 fire. The surviving wing now functions as a contemporary art museum.

More to come!

A Year Away

So I live in Philadelphia now!!

I'm so excited to pursue my PhD. The art history department at Penn is a very welcoming and friendly place. I've already gotten to see so many manuscripts and works of art in person. Just last week we did our Mellon workshop day at the PMA where we got to meet with curators and conservators to discuss issues of authenticity and display. My cohort includes interesting and intelligent people from all over the country.

I also have a cat. Meet Theo.

I'm hoping to revitalize this blog ... i'll do my best! I've already had so many wonderful adventures in my new home including trips to New York, art fairs, train rides and many, many meals. Here are some pictures at least.

In September, Alex visited me in Philly!

Here I am operating a printing press in my Global print culture class!

 This is a train in Jim Thorpe, PA where my mom and I spent Fall break.

 I had an amazing and very rainy visit to New York, where I spent the day with my friend Frank from the Courtauld. 

Finally, this last weekend I got to be in Memphis for my dear friend Jenny's wedding to Micah, a giant among men.

It's Thanksgiving time now, and I reflect again on how many blessings there are to count. It's been a wild year full of ups and downs, but mostly ups. I'm so grateful for the chance to be at Penn, for my family and friends, for travel and food and cats.

A Family Secret

     In light of Christmas coming up in just a few days, I thought it might be nice to share a little bit of cheer on my resurrected blog: My grandmother's chocolate cream pie filling. I don't believe in secret recipes. Since my grandmother, bless her, is now beyond doing such things, every year this is my limited contribution to our Christmas merrymaking. I'm hardly a master chef (or any sort of chef, honestly. My ideal husband would be some sort of hybrid master chef-masseuse), and I think that's why this pie recipe works so well for me. It's really more like alchemy: mostly superstition and stirring. It's quite old, from a time before cocoa powder or instant pudding (Note: cream pies should never be made from pudding packs. This is heresy).

The original Betty Barrow with me, c. 2012

     You see, in the part of the South that I'm from, people were once (and some still are) very suspicious of fruit. There weren't very many fruits around, either. So instead of things like apple pie or strawberry-rhubarb pie, we made cream pies! Cream pies are strange, miraculous beasts. The most popular are coconut, lemon, and, of course, chocolate. The chocolate pie I make is something like a mousse, served in a crust. Making it is always an adventure for me, as I'm never quite sure what I'll get at the end. Traditionally, such a pie would be topped with meringue (a topping of whipped egg whites), but I'm a heathen and don't believe in meringue, so whipped cream it is. 

      Here are the things needed, and I suggest you have them all out before you get going (I never do this and end up hurling myself around the kitchen trying to get it together while the pot boils at me.)

You will need:  

1 pie crust (They're always better if you take the time to make them)

1 double boiler

1 c. sugar

1/3 c. flour 

A pinch of salt 

2 c. scalded milk

2 unsweetened chocolate squares

2 Tb butter

1 tsp vanilla 

And here are my annotated instructions: 

1. Mix sugar, flour and salt in double boiler while you're scalding your milk somewhere else. 

2. Gradually add scalded milk. I generally have the problem of dumping it all in at once and then remembering it said "gradual." It really is helpful to stir it in a bit at a time while it's hot, so your flour disappears.  

3. Add chocolate squares--sometimes I chop them up a bit before they go in, sometimes I don't. After the chocolate squares are in, you need to let them mostly incorporate, but it'll still look like milk with chocolatey bits floating in it. 

4. Add milk mixture to three beaten egg yolks. This is a truly strange step. What this means is you've got your eggs in a bowl and you spoon most of what you've been cooking into it. If you put the eggs in without doing this, it ends up being cooked egg bits in a chocolate broth. Gross. 

5. Add in butter and vanilla

6. Stir for approximately one year while becoming increasingly hopeless that it will ever be anything but speckly chocolate milk

7. Hope for the best. 

8. Magic (with luck) happens. 

9. Pour in crust and chill. 

You may notice that there are no listen times in this recipe? Well, that's part of the spontaneity of the thing. Honestly, anything could happen here. Last time, my pie came out with little gloops in it. I'm calling it Chocolate Pie with Doodads. Sounds festive, right? Merry Christmas from the Barrows! 

UPDATE 2017: This year my spontaneity manifested in forgetting to bake the pie crust in advance. The filling hung out in the double boiler. It was more patient than I expected. 

Why Rogue One needed a Woman Writer

(*** This post may contain some inadvertent spoilers, though I've done my best to avoid talking film specifics)      

                                    

      I've just returned from a jaunt to the silver screen, probably the best place to spend a winter day as cold as this one. It was a new Star Wars movie, so we went to the nice theatre. Cozy in our cush reclining seats, we settled in to 134 minutes of X-wings, tie fighters, and pew-pew noises. It was a great film in some ways--the effects were shocking, especially in bringing some of the original Star Wars cast back to life for us. There were some stellar cameos, landscapes, aliens. They were daring in some major parts of their story-telling, not flinching from their dark subject matter that seemed to have a particular, contemporary relevance as entire cities in rebellion were erased from the map. All of this was good, and the film is well worth a watch, though I might suggest waiting until children are old enough to deal with the grittier elements.

        My problem with Rogue One is the element of the narrative that I was originally most anticipating: it's heroine, Jyn Erso, the renegade daughter of an Imperial weapons specialist portrayed by Felicity Jones.

        When I found out that, like Force Awakens, Rogue One would be starred by a woman, I was overjoyed. The trailers seemed to portray a young women with a dark past who knew her way around a blaster. I thought, in my naivetee, that she might be the sassy, anti-hero Hans Solo to Rey's young, innocent Luke Skywalker persona. I thought she was the next piece in a new generation of strong woman leads.

       Enter Jyn Erso, introduced as a child and later as a young woman in prison. She's got the tragic backstory and the right, Hans Solo-style costume. There's even a combat sequence where she's completely badass, saving people and blasting storm troopers. She can give heroic speeches to troops. She can climb. She's got the skills. She's got the look.

        So what's the problem?

        The problem is that that's it. They got as far as the look and decided that was plenty. She's an image. Underneath this, Jyn Erso has no substance, no personality. Not a speck of humor. Not even very much bitterness to fuel her quest. Soulful eyes speaking of a difficult past and life of hardship? Yes. And for the first twenty minutes or so, this is enough. I was curious. I was hopeful for more of her to appear, more of a real person. But as the movie goes on and her cardboard dialogue continues to disappoint, I realized that, while she's a brave woman, she's not bravely written.

         With other Star Wars heroes, there's at least a sense of agency. Luke Skywalker is driven by his need to prove himself, to get off Tatooine and be somebody like the father he never knew. Rey, in contrast, is fastened to the planet her family abandoned her on, waiting for them to return for her. Later, she finds a new purpose in her relationships within the Alliance. Even Anakin is driven by the anger instilled in him by a childhood enslaved. A fan of Rogue One might say, well, Jyn is driven by a love of her lost father. But from this recliner, it looks to me like she was simply drifting aimlessly through her life until certain captors (mostly men), force her to join up. Then a man takes her to see a man and then they go try to save a man ... from a man. Is this totally fair? No. But what is Jyn's motivation? The character's shift from drifter to hero is displayed on the screen without being justified by the necessary character development. One minute she's saying no, no thanks, I'll just go--the next she's leading Alliance troops into a battle they can't win. Not much transition between the two, not much deepening of relationships with new companions. And where has she been? What has her life been since she was sixteen? The writers seem to feel it's not necessary to know. But this, to me, cheapens her sacrifices and make her shift into the hero seat less understandable.

         At the end of the day, Jyn Erso just doesn't have a life of her own, beyond the situation she's in. She has the range of a early 2000s video game character (with better graphics). I really don't blame Felicity Jones for this as it seems she's giving a plastic role all the life she can. It's the flat, careless writing. It's disappointing, and it's a little cowardly. To me, it sucked the life out of what would have been a really good film. And I can't help but think that this problem might have been remedied by having a woman among the writers. Clearly these writers know how to write interesting and fully-developed characters, because the minor male characters that make up the hunting band of companions are quite lively (besides Jyn, they are basically all men), though none of them have explained pasts. The writers just seemed to have no idea what to do with their heroine. Kudos for managing not to sexualize her obscenely, but it seemed that this left a void they didn't know how to feel. She wasn't funny, she wasn't kind or ambitious or even particularly angry. She wasn't much of anything, really. Good at fighting. Heroic. Sure. But a real, dimensional person? Eh. Good try, boys.

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child (#KeeptheSecrets)

This blog post will be spoiler free out of respect for JK Rowling and, more than that, out of pure human decency--I mean come on, who spoils things for people on purpose??

Eight months ago, when JK Rowling first announced that there would be a Harry Potter stage play, I--new to London though I was--immediately went online and signed up for the special pre-booking. On Halloween (the night Harry's parents were killed by Voldemort, btdubs), I was sent a very special link. Since I was, at that very moment, sleeping out on the street trying to get theatre tickets to see Benedict Cumberbatch in Hamlet (Is this revealing a theme?), mama took my place in the online queue. She hit the link at exactly 11 am London time--5 am for her, don't you wish she was your mom--and she was STILL 13,000th in the queue. So she waited. and waited. And waited. And finally procured two tickets to see HARRY POTTER AND THE CURSED CHILD on June 16th and 17th, 2016. Grand Circle, F16 and F17. At that time, those dates felt like some kind of unreachable goal. It would never be June. I would never submit my dissertation and arrive at that fabled date.

But I did. Yesterday.

Who was my partner in crime? The one and only Kristin Brisbois. When she expressed an interest in going, I very bossily informed her that she would only be allowed to accompany me if she'd read all the Harry Potter books by then. So what did she do? She read all seven in five weeks. That's commitment.

Back in March, during Alex's visit, we happened to see the theatre begin to take shape. The title had appeared on the front of the Palace Theatre! And inside, things were beginning to take shape...

And then June hit, and we were all a flurry of dissertation-writing and stress. Yet still, the dates of the 16th and 17th hung on my calendar like an unreachable mirage. The theatre started emailing me reminders, and Kristin got us Gryffindor bows to wear (we are both true Gryffindors). As the dissertations were submitted, excitement began to build once again. Cast photos were released, and previews began very quietly. JK began her #KeeptheSecrets campaign, which meant the previews opened softly (as softly as a packed two-night theatre event can be).

And then, just like that ... the day for pt 1 arrived!!

Now the tickets we got are for the preview weeks. The actual big opening of the play isn't for some time. This means that they are still working out the kinks, and we got the see the play during its organic creation period. Picking up our tickets from the box office was an ordeal in itself, and they warned us to arrive an hour early for a reason. We had to wait in a stunning queue and then our tickets had been misplaced so we were given duplicates and instructed to return to the box office for our pt 2 tickets the following evening.

We went around to the other queue to get in the theatre, had our bags checked, and then went in to check out the merch--it is limited, but only available on site. Kristin and I both got t-shirts to wear the second night.

Our seats in the Grand circle were PERFECT--we could see everything, and there are some benefits to sitting high for this show. The story is told over two nights (or, if you're crazy, you can watch all five hours in one afternoon. Do not recommend this.), each 2 and a half hours with a twenty minute intermission. We left the first evening in a state of sheer amazement. I had to have a glass of wine to settle down enough to sleep. We went early again the second night, got our duplicate tickets from the box office and returned to our old reliable seats wearing our new t-shirts!

Part 2! 

What can I say about the show? Well I won't say much for fear of ruining one of the many amazing surprises in store. The magic and effects were baffling, eliciting gasps of wonder from an audience that was comprised of loyal Potter-fans. The performances, particularly those of Anthony Boyle and Jamie Parker, were heartfelt and poignant. The show felt like reading one of the books--it didn't have the Hollywood gloss of the films (which for much of the franchise didn't quite connect with me the way the books did I must admit, though I still love them and have re-watched them often). The director, John Tiffany, also directed Once, and Cursed Child retained that show's intimacy and austerity. Somehow, the stage play evoked the same wonder and excitement in me that reading the books for the first time did. After so many years, feeling that again was such a gift. One thing to expect: This play is in no way affiliated with Warner Bros. That means that the music is different, the uniforms and Hogwarts banners are different. You have been warned. That being said, the music was excellent and the design crew has done really awe-inspiring work. For not being a musical, the play featured some really gorgeous choreography (think about the cloaks, people).

So ... My mom's determination in getting us the tickets make her the true hero of the hour. Thank you Cursed Child for a night of true imagination and love! Sharing another two evenings with Harry Potter was about as good as it gets.

Courtauld Summer Ball

It was truly the event of the season! After submitting our dissertations the Thursday before, the Courtauld celebrated with a night at the Savile Club for the Summer Ball! Duchy House was a flutter with preparations, and several of my Medievalist friends came over to get ready with me. I ended up getting to do makeup for several friends, which is always a treat. The rain was pouring, but provided break enough to get us to the ball unscathed!

Claudia and I on a red double-decker (aka pumpkin carriage)

The evening began with a champagne reception in the luxurious upstairs of the Savile. After days of cheap prosecco celebrating our papers going in, the champagne was wonderful. We toasted out on the veranda before going in to listen to a string quartet (I am not kidding here, folks). There was even a cheeky magician. 

We were then led into a dinner that looked a lot like a wedding reception (us getting married to our MAs, maybe). It was absolutely gorgeous, with clouds painting on the ceiling and flowers everywhere. The food was superb (besides a rather meh dessert and an odd red wine choice, but the crab was amazing) and the company even more so.

                                 

After dinner, the party was waiting for us downstairs. There was a bar and a Photo Booth as well as a dance floor. 

 A Selection of Photo booth examples hahaha

Needless to say, we shut the place down and wished we could've stayed longer. What a night!

Hauser & Wirth: Felix Gonzalez-Torres Exhibition

Today, a group of us went over to the Hauser & Wirth to see the Felix Gonzalez-Torres retrospective. Spread across three of their galleries in different cities, the London portion was very small, but his work is incredibly poignant.

FGT was an artist in New York City during the AIDS pandemic in the 1990s, and eventually died of AIDS in 1996. He is well known for his installations, which are very interactive and address themes of temporality, mortality, and, perhaps most powerfully, his love for his partner, Ross Laycock, who died in 1991. Some of the most famous include his clocks Untitled (Perfect Lovers) (1991) and Portrait of Ross in L.A. (1991), a pile of candy which viewers were offered to take. Both made the year Laycock died--a very prolific period for the artist--they are celebrations of their love as well as performances of grief. The clocks run side by side in perfect synchronicity, one for Gonzalez-Torres, and the other for his lover. Eventually, the batteries in one clock die and the clock stops, leaving the other to tick alone. The batteries are not replaced, and at some point, both clocks stop.

Untitled (Perfect Lovers) (1991)

In Portrait of Ross in L.A., each visitor to the installation takes a piece of him away with them, in an act of both obliteration and perpetuation. The candy pile itself dissipates, but each person eats of piece of the candy, becoming a part of the artwork themselves.

Portrait of Ross in L.A. (1991)

So neither of those pieces were in this small exhibition, but they are a good introduction to the artist's work. The Hauser & Wirth exhibition, curated by artists who knew FGT, had many of his puzzle works, meant to evoke the fragility of life and representation. A pair of two mirrors stand on the wall and invite viewers to enter the perspective of the artist and his love. On another wall, two light bulbs hang together, lit 24/7. They were both lit when we were there, but there is the expectation that eventually one, and then the other, will burn out. 

 Two of the puzzle works

Overall, it felt like a very understated, but tasteful, hanging. There were no wall plaques, so some previous knowledge was useful. They did provide a work list as well as a press release.