ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Fashion, Museums, Road Trips, Shopping, TRAVEL

Galliano, Simons and Chiuri

TRAVEL HERE: DIOR’S LATER CREATIVE DIRECTORS

“Better to have no taste at all than to be limited by good or bad taste.”  That’s what the exhibition guide claims John Galliano rebutted when some criticized his outrageousness.  I can’t say I agree with him.  I kept looking for a good excuse for his (ahem) designs.  I’m still looking, but let’s jump in, shall we!

Outrageous Galliano

Bill was so turned off by the later Creative Directors that he didn’t take a single photo, but the central gallery, which he did photograph is full of designs by all of them.  Any of the dresses in the above picture that you think looks like a costume, are probably Galliano designs.   Somehow, Galliano ruled Dior for fourteen outrageous years.

Galliano wasn’t thinking of ladies taking tea with the queen or attending a ball when he was designing.  I think he was only thinking of his own fame.  He mixed odd materials like raffia, straw, woven horsehair, metal and such with velvet, crepe de chine and taffeta.  He used wooden joined hands for hats.  One year his inspiration was drawn from Masai tribesmen and he didn’t wander too far out of the jungle.

He was being an artist, certainly, but not really designing dresses a woman would be interested in wearing to an important occasion.  In fact, I’d probably be willing to pay you something not to have to wear one of his creations – unless it was Halloween.  Then they’d be perfect.

Raf Simons

While I certainly wouldn’t pay the fantastic prices you’d have to pay to wear a dress designed by Mr. Simons, I also wouldn’t pay you not to have to show up in public with his stuff on. The exhibition guide calls him a shape shifter and many of his designs do shift the shape of the wearers away from anything that looks like a human woman.  At least they don’t look like Halloween costumes.  Instead they look like something from Star Trek or Star Wars.  He experimented a lot with the technology of fabric, weaving, dyes and the mechanics of clothing.  To me, that’s more interesting than just being outright weird, like Galliano.

His time at Dior followed directly after the reign of Galliano, who left “amid controversy.”  I bet that’s being very tactful about it.  I imagine Mr. Simons proved to be a sort of buffer between the ridiculous and the sublime.  His time at the house only lasted three years, but at least there was still house for him to leave and I’m not sure there would have been if Galliano had stayed.

The Breaking of the Glass Ceiling

Finally, in 2016, a woman came to the helm of Dior – Maria Grazia Chiuri.  About time, I’d say, but her description of a Dior woman is a little confusing to me – “desirable, fragile, but sure of herself, with real inner strength.”  Is it possible to be all those things at the same time?  Her clothes seem to borrow a little from the outrageousness of Galliano – raffia, horsehair and metal, for instance – but they are not so cartoonish.  Still not my style mind you (or my price range), but interesting.

To a certain extent she suffered from being at the end of the line.  I was reeling from Galliano and still trying to understand Simons when I wandered over to her era.  Her clothes are modern to be sure and I’m not all that modern.  Perhaps when I return to the exhibit I’ll have more mental energy to process her designs.

And that finishes my review of Dior’s Creative directors.  The exhibit is fabulous.  While I wouldn’t wear Galliano’s clothes, they must be seen to be believed.  When you see all of the dresses, but in context of time, even the worst ones begin to make a little sense, but even if they didn’t, the gorgeous stuff is worth a visit.  Come back next week and see what I get up to.

ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Fashion, Museums, Road Trips, Shopping, TRAVEL

From Christian to Yves and Friends

TRAVEL HERE: DIRECTORS OF THE HOUSE OF DIOR

When Yves Saint Laurent took up the reins of Dior from Dior, management was concerned.  After all, YSL was only in his early twenties.  Can you blame them?  At first, everything was OK.

Trapeze to Trouble

The black dress and the floral print dress on the left were parts of Saint Laurent’s first collection on his own, called Trapeze.  The exhibition guide talks about “trapezoidal” silhouettes and the “free spirit of the Sixties”, even though it was only 1958.  It was a success, but  but the success was short lived.  In 1960 Saint Laurent called his collection “Beatnik.”  Talk about the Sixties, leather jackets with mink trim!  One short velvet evening dress featured bobble fringe trim.  Gorgeous had almost left the building, but I think this black number with the swag of pearls might be worth its weight in silk crepe.

Marc Bohan

Yves was ushered out the door, but one wonders if the success of his own fashion house made the management of Dior regret running him off.  When Yves left, they promoted Marc Bohan out of the London branch.  His classical training returned the house and its clientele back to the safety of traditional haute couture without resorting to boredom.  He borrowed from Russian tzars and the traditional Chinese cheongsam, keeping everyone happy for close to thirty years.  Some of it is a little too Eighties for me, but I’d wear others.

 Gianfranco Ferre’ 

Haute couture was being replaced by ready-to-wear around the world.  Many of the French fashion houses had disappeared and others sold out to mass marketing.  Dior remained.  Enter an Italian, Gianfranco Ferre’.  After Bohan’s freewheeling style references, structured suits and wafting evening gowns, Ferre’ took the house back to classicism.  The exhibition guide gives him credit for everything from Baroque architecture to Impressionists, even Cubists and Surrealism.

To my untrained eye, he seemed to embody both the best of Dior himself and his successor, Saint Laurent.  The simple column of the empire-waisted dress a la Josephine, which was named Palladio, spoke to me, but I think my bestie liked Glory, the black velvet number encrusted in gold, even better.

One thing I noticed about the Ferre’ dresses is that a goodly number of them had a lot of stuff on them.  Like the stripped gown on the front row.  I loved most of it, but then the bodice looked like someone’s granddaughter had come to work one day and glued a little of everything onto it.  Same thing with the polka dot dress in the back.  Just too much stuff.

And speaking of too much.  How about that gray suit with puff sleeves and the really big bow.  Sure, it’s too much but I love it anyway.  I would hang it in my closet next to Dior’s houndstooth suit with the more conservative black bow.

Mr. Ferre’s designs finish out the first gallery of Creative Directors.  Come back next week and we’ll look at three of the later directors.  Meanwhile, enjoy the fashions.

 

ART, Attractions, Decorative Arts, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Fashion, Museums, Road Trips, Shopping, TRAVEL

A Frenzy of Fashion

TRAVEL HERE: SO MUCH DIOR, SO LITTLE TIME

Now that we’ve browsed through the entire Dior exhibit together, let’s go back and take a closer look at some of what is called fashion.  I say that because to me, clothes should be designed to wear.  They should look good and make me look good when I wear them.  I can’t say that all the fashions in this exhibit would compliment the wearer.

Fashion and the Decorative Arts

I’ve said it before, the Decorative Arts are my favorite part of any museum.  Paintings and sculpture are nice, but what I love most are practical items made sublime by their decoration.  A Meissen vase can completely captivate me.  My favorite museum ever was the Silver Collection at the Hofburg Palace in Vienna.  Such a bland name for such an extraordinary place.

Many dresses in the Dior exhibition are certainly sublime.  Would that my closet had such delights!  Take the black and white number with the coolie-style straw hat above.  Anybody with about an ounce of clothes sense would tell you it’s not in vogue.  Fully pleated wool skirts and jackets with peplums are just not the thing.  I don’t care.  I’d wear that anytime.  Not to a baseball game, of course, but give me an excuse to dress up and I’d put that number on.  And in vogue or not, ooohs and aaahs would follow me wherever I went.  The black taffeta, off-the-shoulder number next to it is pretty wonderful also.

However, I didn’t feel that way about everything I saw.  As time marched on the dresses were less decorative and more arty.  The show is partly chronological, but then it explodes into a kaleidoscope of eras.  Dresses designed to grace the form of post-WWII damselles stand next to fashions better suiting an ancient Egyptian priestess or a Zulu warrior princess.  Some of the outfits didn’t look like they would grace anyone or anything.  When I put on an outfit, I don’t want people to say, “My, that’s an interesting outfit.”  I want them to say, “Wow, you look great!”

To see the most egregious examples of these interesting outfits, you’ll have to go to the exhibition yourself.  The photos I’m using in these posts were taken by Bill during my first visit.  He’s as drawn to gorgeous as I am, so he didn’t waste his focus on interesting, much.  During my second visit I was so busy trying to match the various dresses to their description in the exhibition guide  that I failed to get a single picture.

Dior at the DMA
Designs by Christian Dior Himself

In the chronological part of the show, the focus is on the various directors of the House of Dior.  First, of course was Christian Dior, himself.  The suit on the far right with the big black bow?  I want it so bad I can taste it.  It’s name is Adventure.

I didn’t love everything he did as well as that one piece, but it’s probably safe to say I love everything he designed better than anything anyone else did.  For instance, the black double breasted belted jacket next to MY ensemble is entirely too bulky for my frame.  I’d look like someone’s living room drapes which have decided to take a walk.

Bill only took one more picture in this section of the exhibit, a lovely gala gown from 1950 called Oceanie with an ‘ over the e.  The amaranth red tulle dress is embroidered with sequins and beads, so I have no idea what that has to do with the ocean.

In fact, many of the names assigned to the ensembles had little to do with the ensemble it is assigned to.  Some of the directors labeled everything as a “Look” and assigned it a number. I found that as disappointing as a red dress with a blue name.

There’s more to the exhibit, of course, but let’s put Mr. Saint Laurent off until next week.

 

 

ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Fashion, Road Trips, Shopping, TRAVEL

More Dior at the DMA

TRAVEL HERE: MORE DIOR THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE

Just when I thought Dior From Paris to the World was the best fashion exhibit the DMA had ever had, I found out it wasn’t even over yet.  Certainly the gallery with all the celebrity gowns had to be the climax and end of the exhibit, but no, there was more gorgeous to enjoy!  Come along and I’ll share the rest of the goodies.

Pretty in Pink

My bestie teases me about my OCD tendencies when we are visiting exhibitions, bazaars and galleries.  I’m very systematic about it, because I don’t want to miss anything.  As alluring as this confection of evening wear will be as you exit the big central gallery with the celebrity dresses, I recommend detouring to the left as soon as you enter this gallery.  Two treats wait for you there.  One is called “Lengendary Photographs” and for my husband the photographer, it was one of his favorite parts of the entire exhibit.  For me, it was the area called “Total Looks” that deserved all the attention.

Pictures are not allowed in this gallery, so you will have to use your imagination, but there is a semicircle of vignettes displayed.  Each vignette is based on a color and is decked out with everything imaginable in that color.  You could easily lose yourself for an hour trying to comprehend the items in each vignette.  There is no one season or look that is focused on, so the timeless nature of Dior’s designs and their versatility is well-demonstrated.  Perfume bottle is juxtaposed with a pillbox hat sporting an outrageous hat pin.  Shoes, jewelry, handbags, dresses, capes – literally, you name it, is served up in delicious coordinating hues.  It’s truly mind-boggling!

Eventually you will have to shake off your obsession with “Total Looks”  and see the next gallery.  There’s a section here called “Dallas and Beyond” which highlights memorabilia from Dior’s visits to Dallas and elsewhere.  If you have room in your brain to take in more, then this is a good place to soak up some more information about the designer himself.  I confess, I’ve merely glazed over it so far.  I hope to go back soon and have another stab at details like this.  All the galleries have displays full of idea books, videos of fashion shows, swatches of material and other items I really want to know more about, but the brain can only absorb so much at any one time.

Finally, with a guilt-free conscious you can gaze on “Splendors of the 18th Century.”  According to the Exhibition Guide, Christian Dior wanted to bring flamboyance back to Paris after the dark days of World War II.  His fashion house was decked out in all the glory of Versailles and the pink confection at the beginning of this post is the DMA’s attempt to capture that.  It was also a chance to show off one of the DMA’s most gorgeous paintings – The Abduction of Europa by Jean Baptiste Marie Pierre.

The Final Morsel

You’re almost through, as if anyone actually wanted to be.  Beside the “Splendors” display is the entry to “Field of Flowers.”  This gallery is devoted to all looks floral – a floral dress for every occasion.  Samples from all eras of the fashion house are displayed together.  Some you will love.  Others you will wonder why they bothered.  I was particularly impressed with some of the handiwork.  When you realized that every bead and ruffle is applied by hand, some of the dresses will blow you away.

I’m planning to revisit the exhibit as often as I can between now and September 1st.  So far, hunger is what eventually dragged me out of the exhibit.  Maybe next time I’ll eat BEFORE I go, rather than take a turn at the exhibit first.  In fact, if you’re panning your visit, eat first.  You’ll need your nourishment.

It’s taken three posts just to get you from the entry to the final gallery.  To exit you’ll have to make another dash through the fashion show themed hall ways.  Then you’ll find yourself on the other side of the small entry area with its red lights and samples of Dior’s Revolutionary new look.  If you come back next week, we’ll talk about some of my favorite and not so favorite pieces in the exhibit.

 

 

Architecture, ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Whose Fault Is This

Touring Chichen Itza

TRAVEL THERE:  ARE WE ANY DIFFERENT?

Looking back on Mayan society, we might be quick to blame priests or kings, perhaps even warriors or ambassadors. Study history and you will know their sins are legion, but we allow the same sort of characters to control us today, as surely as the Mayans were controlled then.

Parallels I See

Mayans bound the foreheads of infants to achieve a fashionable look and we may wonder why anyone would do that, but don’t we rush out to rearrange anything on our bodies we don’t like?  We may not file our teeth and set jewels in them, but we will pierce the skin under our lip and keep expanding the hole until those around us can see our gum line.  We are perhaps even more greatly ruled by fashion than the Mayans.

Here in the United States we argue about our government, yet we allow the same politicians with their same solutions to dominate our legislating bodies year after year, forcing more and more regulations down our throat. Some of these bureaucrats are hired and appointed by our government, but too many are re-elected and re-elected long after they’ve proven how they fail to keep any promise that they make.

I’m guessing the average Mayan on the street wasn’t so different from me. My sacrificial pyramid is delivered to my house daily on my TV and computer screen and in case that’s not enough, I carry a phone, so I can check in on the mounting atrocities at any time. I listen to what the media tells me, just like the Mayans listened to  their priests and royalty. I hate so much of what I see around me and yet, I feel so powerless to do anything about it.

The Mayans didn’t wake up one morning and say, “Hey, let’s have a society where the rich get richer, the powerful get more powerful and the rest of the population is ground under foot like ashes. And let’s create a religion where thousands upon thousands are murdered in gruesome ceremonies and we can pretend it makes the sun come back.”  Their situation grew out of a series of circumstances. At some point, the tide could have been turned, but they let the opportunity slip away. Their great intellectual capacity and their amazing creativity could have been the foundation of a beautiful utopia, but instead it created a sort of hell.

I pray fervently that we Americans are not making the same sort of mistakes. I hope it is not too late to gain some control over our “priests and royalty.” I hope our religion of self-gratification does not one day demand the egregious sacrifice of our fellow citizens.

Forgive me my doom-saying. Travel is fun and filled with exposure to beautiful things. That’s what I usually focus on. But travel should also expose us to things that make us look at our own lives and think about the way the world is going around us. We should question whether we are doing the right things and promoting the right ideas.

Chichen Itza made me stop and think about my world. I promise to get back to the fun and the beautiful, but I will always try to see something more when I travel than mere entertainment.  One more post about Chichen Itza and I am done.

Accommodations, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Are You Kidding Me Right Now?

people at theater
Photo by Monica Silvestre on Pexels.com

TRAVEL THERE: THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT?

We arrived at the Seadust’s theater in time to score some pretty good seats and the show started promptly at the given time.  Things were looking up.

Audience Participation

Many of the live shows we attend when we’re traveling include audience participation.  It was probably most enjoyable when we were on our Nile cruise a few years before I started blogging.  There was a hysterical game with potatoes and I won a belly dancing contest on Gallabeya Night.  Bill is always the guy they choose out of the audience when belly dancers are involved and he frequently ends up on stage for other performances, too, like one of the shows on the Danube cruise.  Thankfully, the participants for this particular show had to volunteer.  Bill never volunteers.

Toto, we weren’t in Kansas anymore.  The MC did a silly skit where he and an assistant taught four guys a series of four schticks and then the MC called out the names of the schticks in quick succession, trying to catch the contestants performing the wrong schtick.  I was little surprised at the skit, because one of the schticks emulated a series of effeminate gestures.  I’ve seen things like that before, but in politically-correct America, it’s been a very long time ago.

The audience enjoyed the antics and would laugh particularly hard when the four burly guys would wave limp-wrist-ed at the audience and turn around with simpering steps to waggle their behind at us.  Apparently, politically incorrect is funny in Mexico.

Let’s Start the Show

After the Audience Participation skit was over, a series of Broadway songs were performed. The only song I actually remember was from Beauty and the Beast.  I remember it, because the costumes were beyond shopworn.  The yellow ballgown was thinner than cheap toilet paper and the Beast looked like he’d been roused out of bed for the scene.

Our favorite part of the show was a dance performed by a guy in, what I can only describe as a multi-limb-ed fabric-enclosed Slinky.  The Slinky costume was brightly colored and the dance very entertaining.

Then, yet another opportunity for audience participation came along and yes, another gay-bashing schtick was involved. At that point we had seen enough.  I sort of hate most political correctness, but obviously I don’t like gay-bashing.

Time to Call It a Night

Though it had been much more relaxing than the previous 24-hours, I’d had a pretty full schedule.  We’d be leaving the following day, but I’d have plenty of time to do my packing before our transportation showed up.  I’d stopped by the Best Day desk in the lobby right after breakfast and had made the arrangements.  We wouldn’t be leaving until almost one.

I did take the time to be sure our towels and swimsuits were hung up to dry, but soon I had on my jammies and was reading more of my novel about Mexico.  It was really beginning to get good.  However, I didn’t get very far, because I was soon drifting off to sleep.

Packing It All In

I woke up early and went to the large bathroom and dressing area to pack up our things.  It actually took longer than I expected, because Bill was up before I was through.  We went downstairs for breakfast at the buffet and I had one more errand I wanted to take care of.  I’d been shopping for a gift for my bestie throughout the trip and to my amazement, the best combination of selection, quality of merchandise and pricing was actually in the gift shop of the Seadust’s lobby.  I selected the item I thought she’d like and use most.  Then we returned upstairs to finish packing.

I felt like I was playing some sort of game, as usual.  Our big suitcase can hold an amazing amount of stuff, but if I filled it up, we’d need a crane to move it and we couldn’t afford the surcharge the airline would levy for overweight items.  On this trip, American allowed us each a carry-on.  So, I juggled our stuff, hoping to balance just the right amount of clothing and shoes with the toiletries to put the big bag under 50 pounds.  Then I had to make everything else fit into carry-ons.  I couldn’t use exactly the same formula as I had on the way to Cancun, because all of our swimming gear was still damp and couldn’t be packed in the big bag.  Eventually I was ready to go.

We’re almost through, except for the thoughts I’d been mulling over since the visit to Chichen Itza.  if you come back next week, I’ll try to make my meditations coherent.

ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Museums, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Berthe Morisot at the DMA

Berthe Morisot – The Cradle

TRAVEL HERE: IMPRESSIONS OF WOMEN

Women artists have been in the spotlight at the DMA this year.  The first few months of the year, Ida O’Keefe’s work was featured and I thoroughly enjoyed the peek into this woman’s portfolio.  Unfortunately, her art was overshadowed by her more famous sister, a sister who tried to shove her out of the limelight.  Reaching back to a pivotal player in the Impressionist movement, the DMA is now offering up selections from the portfolio of Berthe Morisot.  This exhibition reveals it was the male critics of the time who tried to shove a woman artist into the shadows.  Let’s think about that.

Refreshing Art

Before getting to Morisot, I’d just like to say thank you to the DMA, for offering up such delectable exhibitions as O’Keefe and Morisot.  I’ll admit, I was on the brink of not renewing my DMA membership when the Berthe Morisot exhibition was announced.  I fell in love with my museum through exhibitions like Pompeii and Shogun.  I hurried to the edifice every time there was an Impressionist show and cried as I added to my personal visual catalog of Van Gogh’s.  I’ve raved all over the world about our Reves Collection and touted our Dallas Museums of Art theory offered by Rick Brettell.  I’ve haunted shows like Jean Paul Gaultier and Tut with visit after visit, dragging in anyone I could bring.

In recent years, however, I’ve felt a little betrayed.  It’s been Contemporary after Modern after Pop after Modern after Contemporary.  Some of it I’ve enjoyed, like Cindy Sherman’s photography, but most of it just wasn’t gorgeous – and as I’ve said before, I’m into gorgeous.  The last time I was really wowed was back in 2014, when they mounted the exhibition on Nineteenth Century French Florals.  Meanwhile, their counterparts over in Fort Worth, the Kimbell, offered one gorgeous show after another.

When I saw Morisot’s name, I knew someone, somewhere had heard my lament.  I didn’t need every single show to match my personal taste, but I did need some breadcrumbs.  2018 had a few less than dark spots, but it was Morisot who kept me renewing.  Then I met a friend for lunch at the DMA and there it was, the Ida O’Keefe exhibit.  I’m a big fan of Georgia, so it took me a few moments to dial in the fact that I wasn’t looking at her work, but at her sister’s.  I made several trips to the museum to oooh and aaah over the exhibit and said a prayer to the art gods to keep the gorgeous coming.

Berthe Morisot – Reclining Woman in Gray

Berthe Arrives

My prayers were answered in spades.  Berthe Morisot’s work is delightful.  When most Americans think of female Impressionists, they think of Mary Cassatt and because she was an American, we know a whole lot more about her.  However, Morisot was also in the thick of things. She was married to Eugene Manet, brother to painter Edouard Manet, but don’t think she was dragged to fame by his coattails.  She was in her own right an important contributor to the Impressionist movement.

The demands of society at the time limited the scope of her subjects, but not her creativity.  her lovely pastel impressions of the world around her show a keen eye and a sure stroke.  As keen and sharp as any of the other Impressionists, but received by the critics with significant bias.  There’s a great infographic on one of the walls of the show.  It juxtaposes one of Morisot’s paintings with two of the other giants of the Impressionist movement, but their painters were men.  All three pictures of are women in domestic scenes, but while the men are recognized for boldness and creativity, the critics call her painting charming and sweet.

While her work is charming, she was also pushing the envelope.  If you’ll notice in the picture of the woman in the gray dress above, Morisot did not take the paint to the edges of the canvas. While the rest of the world was carefully covering every inch of canvas in paint, she experimented with incorporating unfinished portions of the canvas into the finished work.  She was accused of losing interest and not finishing the pieces, but it was not neglect.  It was a method she incorporated over and over again.

Berthe Morisot – In the Country

At first, she seemed used the trick on the edges of the painting, but she became bolder, using bare canvas in the center of her subjects’ faces as if to say, “I’m doing this on purpose. The woman in the hat demonstrates this tactic.

I must be honest, I find the bare places in the center of the paintings a little distracting, but I admire her pioneering spirit.  Nowadays, we see paintings with the canvas coming through all the time.  When you do see it, thank Berthe Morisot.

I love this show and have already seen it several times.  I hope you’ll go, too.  If you love gorgeous, you’ll love it.  I’ll leave you with one last piece by Morisot, which was perhaps my favorite, but that’s hard to say when there were so many I completely adored.  Like Van Gogh and so many of the artists we now love, Berthe didn’t sell much while she was alive.  Most of her paintings were in the hands of family and friends.  I’m so glad she has been rescued from those hands and put on the walls of museums, where people like me can enjoy them.

 

 

 

ART, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, DFW Metroplex, Road Trips, Shopping, TRAVEL

A Member of the Press

Jane Sadek goes to the Dallas Art Fair
A Gallery at the Dallas Art Fair

TRAVEL HERE: A BLOGGER IN MEDIA HEAVEN

While the rest of the world gets rich and famous with social media, I blog on in anonymity – at least for the most part.  I’m famous among my real life friends and on Facebook among my followers, but beyond that it does me little good.  However, anyone driven to write, the way I am, needs a place to express themselves, so I blog on.  However, from time to time my blogging does get me a few perks.  That happened last week.

Dallas Art Fair

If you’ve been paying attention, then you know this is my third post about 2019’s Dallas Art Fair.  If not, some details about the main event are here and I also attended an introductory event I described on Monday. Last Thursday morning I reported to the FIG (Fashion Industry Gallery) for the Opening Press Conference. There among other media types, I perused the event’s art offerings and listened to a series of speeches by the designated dignitaries.

One of my favorite parts of the day was wandering around the space with a tag identifying me as “MEDIA.”  My thoughts about the media are not always congratulatory, but it’s nice when a lowly blogger like me can be of service.

Getting There

It meant skipping an MLS meeting, but I felt that was a small price to pay to attend the event as media.  Deciding what to wear was a bit of a challenge.  I’d been disappointed in my fellow females’ fashion choices the evening before, but encouraged by the men’s sartorial offerings, I pulled out a recent purchase, a long blouse from one of my favorite designers, to pair with leggings and some lacy wedge sandals.

My next challenge was making my way from my almost-rural home in Heath through the morning traffic to Downtown Dallas.  That went better than I anticipated, but my hope of parking in the DMA parking lot was dashed.  They don’t allow public parking until 10.  I parked in the First Baptist lot, so all I had to do was cross the street to The Fashion Industry Gallery at 1807 Ross Avenue.

I was not completely ignorant of the FIG’s existence and I knew it was in close proximity to the DMA, I just had no idea it was right there, nestled between the DMA and the Fairmont.  The most prominent feature on the building where I crossed the street was a restaurant.  My first guess at a possible entry was a false lead, but I saw someone who looked like they knew where they were going, so I followed.  Voila, I had arrived.

I have a sneaky feeling that anyone with chutzpah and a knowledge of the event could have gotten a media pass.  I saw them selling tickets at one kiosk, so I went up to the next one, where the lady asked, “Media?”  I said, “Jane Sadek, local blogger.”  She handed me my anonymous media pass, but it was the key to a weekend of art, so I was glad to get it –  in spite of the casual offering underlining I was certainly no VIP.

Dallas Art Fair
Shoe Art at Dallas Art Fair

Inside the Galleries

Then came the pay off for missing the meeting, fighting the traffic and searching out a parking spot – I was in. I had about a half hour before the press conference would begin, so I wandered through the galleries.  I’m never sure what to expect from Contemporary Art, but I was happy to discover most of what was exhibited was at least interesting.  I found a little of everything, from robots to hand woven rugs.  I also found craftsmanship.  These weren’t just ideas thrown together for their shock factor.  These were works of love, executed with skill and attention to detail.  To me, that’s art.

Satisfied the exhibit was worth part of my weekend, I planned to return with fellow art lovers in tow.  It was time to make my way to the press conference – which, by the way, was 10 minutes late.  Someone had overlooked tagging the first piece of art in the gallery which would provide the backdrop behind the podium.

Shoes at Dallas Art Fair
More shoe art!

As I surveyed the room I realized the female sector of the population had resumed their domination of the fashion scene, in contrast to the previous evening’s disappointing turn out.  Now, the guys were back to boring and the women were strutting their stuff.  I giggled a bit to myself over the “Dallas in Spring” vibe.  One woman in a fringed-wool, hounds-tooth micro-miniskirt, paired with turtleneck sweater, teetered over high rise booties.  She chatted up a friend in a frilly sundresses over suede boots.  A pair of Asian women, speaking a language I didn’t recognize, wore voluminous layers I couldn’t quite identify above comfortable walking shoes.  Then the denim skirt with the shell anklet over Adidas joined them.  I couldn’t resit taking a few pictures to respond to the rod iron shoes I’d seen in a gallery on the floor above.

A series of dignitaries made speeches at the podium, that’s when I learned I’d seen something cooler than I even realized the evening before. The whole thing is dedicated to the idea of pop-ups and a permanent home for the Dallas Art Fair.  With that kind of synergy, I bet it will be a very interesting spot, so put River Bend on you list of things to check out.

On the evening before, I’d wondered about the significance of choosing 214 as the name of a gallery.  It certainly wasn’t the suite number.  Like the characters in The Purloined Letter, I’d overlooked the obvious – it’s the Dallas area code.  Apparently in international art circles it is a familiar number, one to be proud of.  That cheered me.

Then I was momentarily taken back to my previous disappointment with idea-over-craft art.  As they announced the pieces which the DMA would purchase from the Fair, among the others was an odd, idea-driven installation which I’d seen at 214.  To me it looked like a room which was being set up for a presentation of some kind, but the workers weren’t finished.  Instead various tripods filled the space and the walls had random video showing on the screens.   I peered through the glass plates attached to the tripods, but nothing was gorgeous.

I shook off my disappointment and congratulated the artist in my head for capturing the curator’s attention.  Everyone doesn’t have to like something for it to be art.  Thankfully, the DMA had purse-strings long enough to wrap around other pieces and many of them were enchanting, even to me.

So, I hope you made it to the event.  Thanks to the Dallas Art Fair for expanding my horizons and giving me the opportunity to share the Fair with my friends.

Accommodations, Attractions, DESTINATIONS, International, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Aw, Go Fly a Kite!

TRAVEL THERE: SAND, WATER AND A BRIGHT BLUE SKY

So, pretty much anytime Bill and I head to a destination with a beach, I say, “Bill, don’t forget to pack your kite.”  His kite is a Windsurf Trainer he picked up when we lived in Pismo Beach, CA.  Flying kites was a popular pastime in Pismo and after destroying a more conventional kite, Bill graduated to the large training kite.  On some trips the wind is too strong or not strong enough or there’s really not enough room to fly the kite, but in Cancun, we flew our kite.

A Two Person Job

If the wind is forceful enough to fly the huge kite, then the flier is going to need someone to help them get it into the air.  When we flew the kite almost weekly in Pismo,  we had the logistics down pat and could get the kite up in a very short period of time.

In Cancun, we were rusty, so it took a little longer than usual for us to get the kite into the air.  We had one false start and then fumbled around so much, a hotel employee pitched in to help.  Bill was very frustrated with our efforts until he realized while we’d been fumbling around, the wind had changed direction.  We hadn’t been helping him wrong, we were just in the wrong place once the wind changed.

Bill was almost too frustrated to continue, but as we folded up our gear, a breath of wind teased the kite.  Bill speculated that just a little further down the beach might provide a better wind, because instead of tall hotels, the beach was lined with two-story condos.

Up in the Air

We trudged further down the beach and fairly soon the kite was in the air.  I’m so glad we gave it one more try.  Bill loves flying the kite, but not as much as I enjoy him doing one of the few truly carefree things he likes to do.  Bill has many things he enjoys.  Golf, for instance, but he’s serious about his game, so he’s not carefree.  When his kite goes up, Bill is transformed into this joyful boy I especially adore.  Oh how I wish he enjoyed more things with such gusto and abandon.

We kept the kite in the air for quite a long time.  We didn’t get the kind of audiences we usually end up with in American venues, but the hotel employee assigned to beach duty enjoyed our antics, as did a lady who stopped to video us.  She gave me the idea to get a video of Bill as he handled the kite.  I hope you like it!

Coming Back Down

Flying the kite is the fun part.  Getting it in the air and packing it up to go represent the price you pay for fun.  While the kite was in the air, Bill tried, as he has before, to get me to pilot the kite.  Just as in previous attempts, all I did was down the kite.  The fun was over.  It was Margarita time.  We packed up and headed back to the Seadust.

As we climbed the stairs to the resort’s main pool, I stopped by the bar for a Margarita, while Bill found a pair of chaise lounges.  The water was great and we had fun.  Once out, I sipped on my Margarita and Bill opted for a tequila shot with a beer.

We had one more area we wanted to enjoy before the sun was down. so we headed off to adult pool we’d found earlier in the day.  Come back next week and take a dip with us.

Attractions, DESTINATIONS, International, Restaurants & Bars, Road Trips, TRAVEL

Many Refreshing Experiences

TRAVEL THERE: A BUFFET AND A SWIM

For lunch we returned to our shopping experience venue, but this time we only had enough time to take advantage of a delightful buffet.  The buffet offered both Mexican and International selections.

Yummy for Your Tummy

We hit the Mexican buffet first and it was delicious.  Rice, refried beans, tacos and other favorites from the native cuisine.  It beat the Seadust all to heck.  Bill in particular loved a chicken-rich soup they served.  The international-ness of the International offerings was somewhat questionable.  They had tortilla chips covered in Cheez-Whiz, a sort of Mexican casserole and fajitas.  They also offered hamburgers, which I guess is what made it international.  I found it amusing and enjoyed the irony of ballpark nachos in the middle of the Yucatan peninsula.  They also had Huevos Ranchero, which I didn’t try, because I don’t do eggs, but Bill did and he said they were good.

As we ate our generous lunch a trio of ladies, dressed in the gorgeous embroidered dresses of the region, performed traditional dances for us, including the dance with the tray of beer bottles on their head.  It was a nice touch to a day which had already been wonderful.

There was a beautiful presentation of fruit, a refrigerator of gelatin and other chilled desserts, as well as hand-scooped ice cream cones.  Bill sampled the fruit and we both tried the watermelon ice cream.  Time for a quick potty stop was the only other thing we had time for.

Swimming in the Cenote

Our next stop was the Il Kill Cenote. I confess I am not much of a swimmer.  There was a time in my life when I had passed a Red Cross life-saving course and taught swim lessons.  That was a very long time ago.  Nowadays, I lounge by the pool and occasionally take a stroll through the shallow end.  I am almost embarrassed to confess I usually don’t even care that I have completely forgotten my swimming skills.  I am perfectly happy on the side of the pool.  However, on this particular day, I was somewhat envious of those who climbed down to the water’s edge and swam in the cenote.

Bill was one of those people. After we took a cursory stroll around the grounds, he changed into his swim trunks in the dressing room and showered off to protect the pristine waters of the cenote.  I climbed part of the way down to the cenote with him, so I would have a good vantage point from which to observe his brave swim in the virtually bottomless pool. 

When he reached the pool, he had three choices for entering the water: terrifying, less terrifying and sedate.  One glance at the terrifying height of the cliff from which many people dove told him that was not where he wanted to go.  It was quite a drop from where he was standing and he’s past proving anything to anyone.  The sedate route was set of wooden stairs, near a rope across the water.  Many people slipped into the water from the relative safety of the stairs and grabbed the line rather than actually swimming in the cenote.  That was a little bit too tame.

So Bill watched a few people dive into the cenote to see how they fared.  When they cleared the area in front of him, he dove in.  Seconds passed between his brave dive and the moment his head bobbed above the water.  I was sure he’d reappear, but I held my breath with him nonetheless.  He swam over to the rope and looked for me at the level above, but he chose the wrong me.

I smirked from the corner I’d chosen for observation, as he waved in vain to a woman who did not know him.  When we reunited after his swim he confessed he’d been disappointed his greeting had not been returned and he was glad to know I’d watched him in the water.

Almost as soon as Bill had back on his street clothes, it was time to get on the bus.  It was late afternoon as we headed back to Cancun.  I settled down in my seat and pulled out my book.  Come back next week as we re-enter to city of Cancun and return to our hotel.