Art? Or graphic design?

Google's doodle this morning recognizes the 102nd birthday of Agnes Martin.

I'm interested in the visual arts, so I clicked the link to learn more about her. She was an abstract painter who called herself an abstract expressionist, but others called her minimalist. I think the others nailed it. Here's a sample of her canvases from a Google images search:

How you can examine that body of work and not come up with "minimalist," I don't know.

I also don't know why artists like Martin win critical acclaim, and artists who produce work like this don't:

Young Sailors by Clyde Kirkpatrick

OK, full disclosure, that was a blatant plug for my uncle. But this really goes to the heart of what art is. I don't see any value in minimalist abstraction. Looking at Agnes Martin's work, I'm just not left with any sort of feeling at all. She's got some nice color combinations, but so do interior decorators and web designers.

Despite having written a novel about an artist, I have barely begun to study the topic. But one thing I am sure of. Art is not only the skillful execution of the steps necessary to produce a product: that's craft. Art evokes an emotional response. Not just "that's an interesting arrangement of _____" (words, sounds, colors). But "Wow, that really makes me feel _____" (peaceful, sad, joyous).

If art were just the pleasant arrangement of colors, then a lot more people would deserve the kind of recognition Martin got.

Tone deaf to poetry

I'm clearly an idiot.

I tried reading some of the poems and literary fiction in the Florida Review's Native Issue, but I just…don't…get it.

Reading literary journals feels, at times, like listening to the atonal or dissonant symphonic music of the early-to-mid 20th century. I feel as if I ought to do it, because it's Art. But I don't really enjoy it.

Story becomes subordinate to words that seem strung together not to evoke emotion or meaning, but just because no one ever put them in that order before. As if one took a bunch of vocabulary cards, threw them in the air, and wrote them down without concern for which words are which part of speech.

I started to put an excerpt for you, but I have two concerns. First, and foremost, excerpting a poem runs the risk of violating copyright because even a few lines is a large percentage of the whole.

Second, I'm not sure what this poem is actually about. It might be naughty. Or maybe it's just about yoga. I can't be sure. Clearly, I am an idiot.

But then, I'm not real fond of Stravinsky, either.

Mad Cow conquers a classic

When I asked my patient other half, "If I buy tickets to this play, will you come with me?" his only question was "when?"

It seems to me that few modern men are interested in classical theater, and the audience at the theater reinforced the idea. I believe the women outnumbered the men two to one. Almost as bad a ratio as at a figure skating show.

Well, the absent fellas don't know what they're missing. The Mad Cow Theatre Company's production of She Stoops to Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith is brilliant.

Mad Cow Theater Company photo of
Elizabeth Takacs as Constance Neville
and Melanie Whipple as Kate Hardcastle

Mad Cow Theatre is tucked into the ground floor of a downtown office building. The cast and crew make excellent use of a quirky space: The theater is L-shaped, with the stage in the corner and the seats in each branch. It's a cozy house -- seating about 220-250 people, I guesstimate -- so the performance really is intimate. When characters break into soliloquy, they really are talking to you.

The cast is fabulous. Brian Brightman as Marlow and Melanie Whipple as Kate are especially charming in their repartee. Engaging, star-quality performances.

In an article about Oliver Goldsmith published in 1935, Alice B. Fort & Herbert S. Kates wrote: "this play sounded the keynote of Goldsmith's 'mission' . . . to render more natural the comedy of his time and to strike a decisive blow at the 'genteel' or 'sentimental' comedy of his contemporaries." She Stoops to Conquer may not be considered natural by modern standards, but it is nevertheless fresh and delightful.

It's a shame that such a small house was not sold out on a Saturday night. It was nearly full, but still, I had thought a play this clever and funny, performed by such outstanding actors, could fill even a large auditorium.

Perhaps it's because not many people have other halves who enjoy theater as much as mine does. Or maybe it's that not many people offer to buy the tickets.

She Stoops to Conquer is playing at the Mad Cow Theatre through Dec. 19. If you enjoy comedy, buy the tickets. You'll love it.

The accidental rhythm section

I have previously mentioned Perri Klass's "Knitting Fantasies" column, which originally appeared in the Winter 2003 issue of Knitter's Magazine. An excerpt:

Duane Ellison Photography | iStockphoto

I have felt for years that classical music would be enhanced by knitting. I know, I know, the needles might click, even the whisper of yarn against yarn would be enough to upset some music lovers. I have no intention of pulling out my knitting at the symphony. I just know that if only I could, I might have a chance of reliably achieving that state of mixed concentration and relaxation which so often eludes me…"

I was not bold enough to attempt this stunt at the symphony, either. But when our church hosted a free piano concert by Sergei Kossenko, I figured it was worth a try.
It was nearly a successful attempt. No one complained. In fact, one of the ladies, a new knitter, changed seats to sit next to me so she could watch how I do it.
I had already pulled out my knitting when Mr. Kossenko made his introductory remarks, and when I spoke to him for a few minutes after the concert, he said nothing about the knitting.*
But the clicking of the needles did indeed prove too distracting -- for me. I found myself alternately trying to knit in time with the music or to knit quietly. Both were difficult, so I wound up hardly knitting at all. Although this was an interesting exercise, it's one I won't repeat. Except maybe, as Klass suggested, at an outdoor concert, where airplanes and sirens provide a greater source of distraction.

* He generously spent some time explaining to me the meaning of "Navazhdeniye," the title of a piece by Prokofiev. Mr. Kossenko listed it in the program this way, although English sources usually use the French title "Suggestion Diabolique," which is not accurate. He said diabolical is the wrong word, because it implies evil intent. Based on the conversation I had with Mr. Kossenko, I would describe "navazhdeniye" as a surreal delusion with overtones of doom, but free of malicious intent. I think he's right to give the title in Russian. It's good to learn new words.

A woman after my own heart

Harriett Lake is a lovely woman who has had a tremendous effect on the arts community in Central Florida through her philanthropic contributions.

Not only is Lake the namesake of the Harriett Lake Festival of Plays, but Harriett's Bar at the Lowndes Shakespeare Center is named for her. I especially enjoyed hearing of her latest contribution to the community.

For her $1 million donation to the Dr. P. Phillips Orlando Performing Arts Center, Lake was offered her choice of naming opportunities. She picked the first floor ladies room, which will henceforth be known as "Harriett’s Ladies Lounge."

Board chairman Jim Pugh would win my quote of the week award, if I had one. He said, "She obviously has a clear sense of the priorities of the patrons who will utilize the facility."

For a mere million, you, too, could get a piece of the center in your name. But these bits are already taken:

• The Bill and Mary Darden Box Office (Darden Restaurants)


• The Richard Kessler Hospitality Suite (Richard Kessler, a local hotelier)


• The Peter Family Stage (Annette Neel, the Peters’ daughter)


• The Lynn and Chuck Steinmetz Stage (the Steinmetzes)

Although Jesus said we should give without regard for recognition, I must say these people-centered labels are, at least, better than giant corporations slapping their logos on major landmarks. I still staunchly refuse to call the sports arena in downtown Orlando by its proper name. It will always be the O-rena to me. But Harriett’s Ladies Lounge is a naming right I’m glad to honor.

I just hope Avodart doesn’t sponsor the men’s room.