This weekend is the last one for Carnevale di Venezia 2017. It’s been a grand time. I saw some of the most amazing masks and costumes as I walked through the city, almost running into the ballgowns and dressing gowns of masked revelers as they glided through the alleyways. My favorite was the ‘Black Swan’ costume, a mixture of leather, lace, and feathers. And of course, as one sees in the photograph, a black swan sits atop the woman’s head. A different take on Black Swan, and perhaps even inspired by Bjork’s swan dress from the 2001 Oscars ceremony.
Hoop skirts and masks were everywhere. Honestly, I have no idea how anyone can see much while wearing full-face masks. For Carnevale, I found a leather mask that covered only my eyes, but even that simple mask impinged my peripheral vision. I had to be extra careful walking up and down the stairs of Venice’s bridges, and I wasn’t also wearing a ballgown like the ladies above.
Not everyone donned hoop skirts and feathers. There were quite a few folks dressed in steampunk. I’ve always admired the intricate details involved with steampunk cosplay. I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but steampunk at Carnevale reminds me a bit of the creepy clockwork droids in the Doctor Who episode “The Girl in the Fireplace”.
Not constrained within the 18th-century powdered wig and taffeta gown types, Carnevale’s costumes and masks are pure spectacle.
Venice’s version of Poison Ivy, perhaps? Note her verdant shoes and the watering pot with glass beads or ribbons of blue pouring from its spout. Such special little details.
Panoramic view from the BrockenAt the top of the Brocken
I don’t know why, but when I see the name Goslar, I say it with an exclamation point. Goslar! Maybe it should even be GOSLAR! In any case, last weekend’s daytrip to Goslar(!) was full of medieval history, fun, and witches.
“Witches? Did she actually say ‘witches’?” Why yes. Goslar is part of the Harz, a mountain range famous for its Brocken, the highest peak in Northern Germany where, according to legend, witches held their annual gathering on April 30.
In Goethe’s Faust, the devil took Faust to the Brocken on Walpurgis Night (April 30):
Now to the Brocken the witches ride; The stubble is gold and the corn is green; There is the carnival crew to be seen, And Squire Urianus will come to preside. So over the valleys our company floats, With witches a-farting on stinking old goats.
And who could forget Black Sabbath’s ode to the Brocken with their song “Walpurgis“?
Ah, but today, Goslar and the Brocken have more friendly witches, more of the Bewitched-type or the Witch Hazel (a là Bugs Bunny)-type.
It’s quaint, it’s almost comedic. But then you see something haggard almost leap out at you from BEHIND glass. No, that’s not funny at all. NOT AT ALL.
The Kaiserpfalz
Goslar has much more than witches, of course. It was a favored town of emperors. The imperial palace (Kaiserpfalz) served as a seat of power when the emperor came to town. The other iron throne, so to speak.
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The Alt Stadt and the Mines of Rammelsberg here are UNESCO World Heritage Sites. And, fun fact, part of Monuments Men was filmed in Goslar.
And some of my favorite medieval beings were found here…
As a Fulbright Fellow in Germany, I am determined to visit as many towns as possible in Deutschland during my time here. Earlier this month, I went on a whirlwind 1-1/2 week tour of northern and southern cities, including Augsburg. Located about an hour northwest of Munich, Augsburg was a free imperial city favored by Emperor Charles V. Or, to be more precise, Charles V and his entourage took over the town during many Imperial Diets.
However, it is Augsburg’s history as a city with powerful dynastic merchant families, such as the Fuggers and the Welsers, which captured my interest. The Fuggers were one of the merchant families in Southern Germany that bankrolled the activities of emperors, dukes, and the papacy during the 16th century. Much literature may be found on the Fuggers and their patronage of the arts. One of their more humanitarian contributions–which continues to be operational today–exists in the form of the Fuggerei.
The coat of arms of the Fugger von der Lilie, above an arch at the Fuggerei.
Jakob Fugger the Rich founded the Fuggerei, a housing complex for needy Catholic citizens of Augsburg. Built between 1516 and 1523, it was donated to the city in 1521. The annual rent from the beginning of its inception was one Rhenish guilder, and that same amount–translated to today’s monetary terms of 0.88 €/yr–remains today. Let me repeat, the rent in the Fuggerei is 88 CENT EURO PER YEAR. This is incredible; it was incredibly generous then, and it certainly is unheard of today. That the Fugger family can still maintain their support, and had done so for the last 500 years, is also quite amazing. Of course, there are certain criteria that must be met: one must be Catholic, one must be below a certain income level, one must pray three times per day for the salvation of the Fugger family at the on-site church of St. Markus, and one must observe a curfew of 10 p.m. lest be subject to a fine. No, I don’t think you can sneak back into the complex as there is an actual city wall with a controlled gate that closes at 10 p.m. Sixty-seven houses holding 142 apartments, a museum, and a 16th-century reconstructed apartment with “old” interiors remain extant at the Fuggerei.
The legendary folks who lived here included Franz Mozart, mason and great-grandfather of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart; and the first victim of witch hunts in Augsburg, Dorothea Braun who was accused of being a witch by her own 11-year old daughter. Whoops.
Bust of Jakob the Rich
Home of Franz Mozart
Home of Dorothea Braun
I was also impressed by Augsburg’s contemporary graffiti art. In many cases, it rivals Berlin (*she says as she ducks for cover*).
Last weekend I visited Berlin’s Kunstgewerbemuseum (Museum of Decorative Arts) and discovered the existence of the little treasures from the Pomeranian Kunstschrank (art cabinet) owned by Duke Philipp II. The art cabinet itself was destroyed in 1945 during World War II, but to my surprise, many of the gifts kept inside its numerous drawers remained intact and were on display. The cabinet was orchestrated by Philipp Hainhofer, German art dealer and impressario of the 17th century. Think of him as a producer who selected the artists, silversmiths, and craftsmen responsible for creating such a work.
A film entitled “Welt im Schrank” (World in the Cabinet) played continuously alongside the display of items from the cabinet. Made before the cabinet’s destruction, the film showed how each section of the Kunstschrank could be opened to display the hidden treasures inside each drawer. Removal of the crowning sculpture of Mount Parnassus with Pegasus led to the section below. Some of the beautiful objects revealed in the film were displayed in nearby glass cabinets: metal playing cards, carved ivory chess pieces, small paintings, apothecary bottles, small to large jars that fit into one another like Russian dolls, a heart-shaped silver place setting, toiletries such as an ivory comb, razor (intricately designed, of course), shaving brush, and much more.
Museum time! On my search for the Brothers Grimm story in Kassel, Germany where the Grimms collected and wrote fairy tales, I was distraught when I learned the Grimm Museum had closed in 2014. But then I found out about the latest ode to the Grimms: GRIMMWELT.
GRIMMWELT is a museum-slash-experiential gallery that blends history and contemporary art. Or more accurately, the museum features contemporary art rooted in history and historical objects. Here, the Brüder Grimm are celebrated for their contributions to the German language and culture.
Wilhelm Grimm’s letter to Goethe and Goethe’s reply (L, R, bottom).
Treppe — “how the ‘trip-trap’ of footsteps embodies the meaning of ‘Treppe,’ the (German) word for stairs.” Top right — publications of the Grimms’ dictionary. Bottom right — final publishing contract of the Grimms’ ‘German dictionary’, signed and executed by the Grimms in 1847.
Contemporary works with historical insight. Some of my faves: Alexej Tchernyi, “The biography of the ‘german dictionary’ Diorama in 14 scenes,” 2014/2015, handmade paper; the exhibition entrance is laid out in an alphabet soup-type of path; lost in a forest of “trees” equipped with speakers that told fairy tales.
And speaking of fairy tales… here’s an early edition of their first collection: Children’s and Household Tales published in 1812.
The thing about spending time in a foreign country doing research is, well, typically on weekends you don’t get to see or speak with a single person. I’m so grateful that this particular weekend, a colleague and I had already made plans to visit a few museums. I really didn’t want to go through the entire weekend without actually discussing what happened in Paris. It would be so easy for me to sit in front of the laptop and read headline after headline, tweet after tweet about any new findings in Paris. But fortunately (and this would be the only time I say this), the internet crawled this weekend, and even slower than usual. And so, silver lining and all, I didn’t look at the onslaught of headlines. Instead, I ventured into the rain and went to museums.
After the first gallery tour of rare albums and prints at the Herzog August Bibliothek, it was time for cappuccino and cake. Let me just say, anytime there’s a choice between raspberry torte and a poppy seed cake with marzipan, take the poppy seed cake with marzipan. At Café am Stadtmarkt in my little adopted town of Wolfenbüttel, Germany, the poppy seed/marzipan creation was super light, nuanced, and beautifully presented. It was helpful to just sit and chat over coffee and cake. We talked about our experiences in Paris, the politics of the situation, how the people of Paris must feel right now, and the response from surrounding European countries, especially in light of the Syrian refugees. The combination of frank discussion, cappuccino and cake helped me work through some of my frustrations and fears. I highly recommend it.
At the Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, we saw a lovely exhibition of drawings and prints. I discovered a beautiful etching of The Drunken Silenus (1628) by Jusepe de Ribera, a Spanish artist who worked not only in the medium of painting but also in prints. One of the best moments of going through an exhibition with a broad theme, in this case “autumnal,” is finding artists from different centuries addressing the same theme. Alongside German and Dutch prints of autumn (Jost Amman and Sebastian Vranx, for example) was a woodblock print from the Japanese artist Katsushika Hokusai from the series “One Hundred Poems by One Hundred Poets” with its gentle landscape and three figures who appear to be returning to a village from the harvest. What caught my eye was the woven pattern on the baskets strapped to the figures, and the various types of leaves—seemingly individually cut out—on two different sets of trees. So inspired was I by these patterns that I made my own leaf prints at the museum’s print shop. It was likely intended for families with children, but it definitely helped me this weekend.
Living in northern Germany for the time being, I thought, “Hey, why not do my birthday in Berlin?” Why the hell not, right? It was impromptu and perfect, consisting of museums and food. Since I haven’t written about art in a while, my post here is on the state museums of Berlin.
I arrived on a Saturday afternoon, dropped my bags off, and went straight to the Bode Museum for architecture, medieval altarpieces, and sculptures. Here I saw some of the most fascinating altarpieces and small carved ivories. I was floored by the room with a mosaic apse from Ravenna. I’m not sure if the mosaic is from the Basilica of San Vitale where one of the most famous mosaics of Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora reside, so if anyone knows, please chime in. I think this is what’s great about art and art history: you think you know the art object, but you still have many, many questions.
Mosaic apse from Ravenna, Italy, year 545.Ivory panel, possibly representing The Last Judgment.Bird made from a bezoar stone set in gold. Kunstkammer-worthy.
On Sunday, I visited the Brandenburger Tor, the Pergamon Museum, and the Gemäldegalerie (Painting Gallery). So many great monuments and paintings seen. Since I can’t write about them all, I want to focus on the biggest surprise for me, which was the Pergamon Museum.
First thing’s first. It’s called the Pergamon Museum because it houses the 2nd century B.C.E. Pergamon Altar from Hellenistic Greece. Unfortunately, the museum is under construction and the altar itself is not on view, and won’t be on display again until 2019.
But that’s okay, because I still was able to see and experience the Ishtar Gate and Processional Way from BABYLON, the roman Market Gate of Miletus, and best of all, the intricate Umayyad Mshatta Façade possibly from the palace of caliph Al Walid II (8th century). (Museum link for photos.)
I felt as if I was in some sort of historical stroll through different lands and time periods, when giant lions forewarned foreign visitors the strength of their city. Think Midnight in Paris, but much earlier and less of Owen Wilson griping about how he just wants to disappear into the 1920s. When I came face to face with the Ishtar Gate and walked along the length of the Processional Way, I was bowled over by the enormity and ferocity of the architecture. We talk about architecture today, but I think sometimes we may forget that architecture guides us with its physical structure as well as its images. In this case, the Ishtar Gate and Processional Way still embody strength and power, and one can see how they demanded, from visiting dignitaries to the ancient city of Babylon, respect and acquiescence.
From ancient Babylon to ancient Rome…
Heads contemplating in the Market of Miletus.“Omg, she’s touching the ancient marbles!”
My final moments at the Pergamon Museum were spent in the Islamic art and architecture area looking at, among other objects, a mihrab (prayer niche) of beautiful faience mosaics, calligraphic script and patterns from the Beyhekim Mosque (13th century)…and an intricate wooden cupola from Palacio del Partal of Alhambra, Spain.
The pièce de résistance of the entire museum whirlwind weekend, from my perspective, was the Mshatta Facade. I’ve only seen and studied the facade in art history survey books and google images, so it was astounding to see this Umayyad creation in person. You have to look at it from afar first to see its grand size, but then must come close to the wall to see the detailed stone carving. Yes, likely a team of artists and artisans used tools to create mystical animals and luscious vegetal motif in a stone wall.
So grand. Here I am, happy as can be on my birthday weekend.
Every week I look forward to Tuesday because that’s when I get to play with clay. There’s something about making a thing with your hands that’s not only satisfying but also relaxing. It took a long time for me to throw clay properly on a pottery wheel. My first bowls looked so alien—“Hey, they’re abstract! Hey, it’s art! Oh hey, now it’s a planter.” I watched numerous videos on wheel throwing, shaping, growing the bowl or cylinder, but of course videos don’t give you the feel of clay, how thin or thick it should be, how your hands just know when the clay is centered properly and when it’s not. When I’m at the wheel, every thought zeroes in on the mound of clay in front of me. The lump of clay that will soon become a thing. It’s almost like yoga. I’m in my own world, working muscles that I usually don’t use as the arm strength needed to keep clay steady and centered is surprisingly high. At the end of a couple of classes, I’ve made a bowl. And let myself not think for a few hours a week. It’s all good.
Summer means… well, not a lot of difference from the regular school year for a graduate student, except that I get to celebrate the husband’s birthday with a trip to the Walt Disney Family Museum for Tiki Night. I also baked him a coconut birthday cake (complete with tiny bunting), and we communed with Mother Nature by hiking in the mountains (and we’re not exactly nature folk), but I’ll save those for future posts.
Part 1: 11-hour round trip drive for 4 precious hours in San Francisco
The Walt Disney Family Museum in San Francisco is a must-see for animation and Disney enthusiasts. Since it’s owned by the family, not by the corporation, the museum holds significant works of art, equipment and awards that hasn’t been seen anywhere else. For example, original art from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Dumbo, Peter Pan, and many other animated films line the walls. The multi-plane camera used to film Bambi and Pinocchio also resides at the museum. Disney’s Oscar for Snow White, along with seven little Oscars to represent the dwarfs, is seen alongside other awards. We went on Tiki Night — the event’s name was “Animate Your Night: Choose Your Own Adventure” but everyone wore tiki and they served tiki drinks, hence, I continue to call it Tiki Night — as I wanted to wear my Hawaiian gear and see the special Mary Blair exhibition of Alice in Wonderland concept art. And yes, we drove 11 hours for this plus an ice cream treat at Ghiradelli’s Square located at Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s amazing how few cars are on the road from 12 to 5 in the morning.
Sunset view of the Golden Gate Bridge from the Walt Disney Family MuseumGetting the night started right with a rum tiki drink.Opening frame to the special exhibition.Mary Blair concept art for Alice in Wonderland. Copyright Walt Disney Family Museum.Best BBQ pork and kalua pork sliders from The Sliders Shack SF food truck
Art and food à la Kunstkammer. Here I was at the Munich Residenz, looking at so many dishes. And it’s not an optical illusion or a mirror trick. There really are numerous golden dishes and buffet servers lined up in rows.
No surprise because in the next room, rows upon rows of silver dishes sit, waiting to be used. What fabulous dinner parties the Wittelsbachs (the Bavarian dukes and family dynasty who owned the Munich Residenz) must have thrown.
Food, glorious food, like that found in Dutch still-life paintings come close to the beauty of the tangible, aromatic fruits and breads I ate in Europe. Perhaps there is something to the idea that a painting or a picture can evoke the taste and memories of happy days.
My Parisian salad of tart currants and sweet figs with a touch of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.
I didn’t get to catch any eggs (a detail from Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s 1567 Land of Cockaigne)…
…but I did taste some wonderful crispy duck and potato dumpling in Munich, while drinking the tiniest beer.
In Vienna, gold and salt go together well, as seen by Cellini’s Saliera (salt cellar) in the Kunsthistorisches Museum. But it seems that gold goes well with anything…
Nikolaus Schmidt, Ornamental Basin with Ewer, ca. 1592
Back to the restaurant motif… note the bottles of herbs and vegetables (at least that’s what they look like) on the top shelf of the bar.
Viennese desserts…
Some sort of yogurt raspberry cake at Café Central, a beautiful coffee house.
At Neni restaurant at the Naschmarkt in Vienna, where I had my first taste of the seasonal Austrian drink Sturm. I was warned more than once to not drink too much of it for a headache would ensue the next morning. The Sturm here was crisp, fruity and chilled. Delicious.
Sitting down to Viennese Wienerschnitzel at Figlmüller, one of the best Wienerschnitzel restaurants in town. I, the “tourist” hosted my friends, the locals, as this restaurant is advertised mainly to tourists, though my friend who is Viennese liked it well enough.
And now for more dessert…
In Vienna, of course, one must have sachertorte and coffee at a coffee house. I did this, but honestly, I’m happy with my macchiato at a more casual place. Have you seen this much foam in an espresso macchiato? I haven’t. This was my kind of coffee shop. I’m in foam heaven at the kantine in the Museum Quarter.
And finally, I left Vienna for Munich to fly home. On my way to the airport, I happen by a pretzel stand at the Munich Hauptbahnhof. I had my luggage and probably didn’t have much time or room for more stuff, but now I realize that I should’ve bought all the pretzels I could stuff into my bag. These golden creations were pretty incredible. Again, München Brezeln (German for “pretzels”) impress me so much with how perfectly soft they are on the inside with a slight crunch on the outside. My fever for the treats have gotten so bad that I’ve started researching Bavarian pretzel recipes. I miss my daily pretzel pausa. And my daily espresso macchiato. And my daily 0.5 L glass of beer. With dessert, of course.
From ancient Babylon to ancient Rome…
Flying Pig Express 