This past Monday brought us a dreamy mix of sun and clouds for the Brandywine Polo season opener. I rounded up the lovely Bell ladies and we set up a picnic under a tree to celebrate birthdays, America and ponies. It was a fantastic match and got the whole gang excited for the 2012 season.
I wish all anthems were presented so regally:
Have you tried Spodee yet? What are you waiting for?
I could hardly see anything with these tiny binoculars.
There's my friend Sharilyn bringing water to her polo playing beau, Juan.
Does it seem like I don't have much to say? That's because I spent all my word-power writing this article for the Brandywine Polo Magazine. Please give it a read if you like:
Here's a quickie post about my most recent quacker. A new client brought this gorgeous Mallard Drake to me a few months ago and waited patiently for his mount while I cruised, moved, etc. He used the breast meat to make a lovely dinner for himself and his gal, which always makes me happy to hear.
Ducks are challenging but I love working with them. The grease in the skin makes them much more labor intensive than a chicken or pheasant (which is why I think I need to recalibrate my pricing on birds) but as a result their feathers never seem to dry or get brittle like most of the chickens I work with. Such handsome creatures. There are scores of them at FDR Park where I like to run my dog, and I can't help but quack at them every time I pass by them with their cute duckie butts wiggling in the water.
Some people believe that the number of curly-q tail feathers corresponds to the duck's age, but I don't know if there's any truth to that.
The annual Radnor Hunt Cup was this past Saturday, and an exceptional day it was, as one might expect. This time around I didn't take any pictures since I'm not really on speaking terms with my phone. I think my new modus operandi is to just be photographed as much as possible and then hunt for those images online. It's fun and I highly recommend it for any fashion conscious gals and guys out there who hate carrying cameras and prefer to leave their hands open for cocktails and shaking other hands.
One tip: Wear the biggest, brightest, loudest thing you can find. This vintage dashiki I'm wearing is like a brightly burning light, attracting shutter-bugs to my flame.
[caption id="attachment_1634" align="alignnone" width="300"] That's my agent Erika to my left and our body-guard who shall remain nameless a few steps behind. photo compliments of Malvern Patch.[/caption]
The theme for the Radnor Hunt was "Islands, Large and Small" so I went with Cuba. I basically channelled my inner Santeria Priestess and also this woman:
Sure a dashiki is an African garment but there are plenty of Cubans of African descent, and isn't that where it all started anyway? I hope my loose interpretation of the cultural melting pot isn't offensive to anyone; I just want a piece of it all.
World Clique, y'all.
My hat is a series of rooster wings and tail feathers gathered around a visor with a vintage cat brooch and other embellishments. A millinery masterpiece by no means, it was a last-minute confection whipped up just for fun and FUN IT WAS. I rolled in four deep with some polo friends, old and new and upon entering the Philadelphia Style tent dove headfirst into the oyster table, forgetting that whole 6 days of food poisoning that ravaged my internal organs just two weeks ago. We had already enjoyed some Spodee (have you had it yet? Le duh. Try it!) and now it was onto the race-themed cocktails. I enjoyed a Finish Line with champagne and berries.
Soon enough I was chatting away with all my pals who I hadn't seen since last Summer and watching the races. They got off to a rough start, with several riderless horses running the course after having thrown their jockeys, In another entry I'd like to explore my thoughts on the complicated world of horse racing when I can articulate it better, because it's much more emotional and complex than on might think from first sight, but for now I will focus on the fun stuff.
I bet on a horse named "On the Corner" for the second race but he mostly stayed on the corner and didn't win me any money. No matter; just being there enjoying my health, my friends, the food and sunshine was all the winning I could have asked for.
My friend Jaun, who plays polo, is also apassionate photographer. He is the best as covering these events, photo-wise. I ran into him and the lovely Sharilyn, plus their wonderfully engaging daughters, under the tent but didn't have much time to chat- saving it for the Brandywine Season Opener next week, suppose? Can't wait. Anyway, I can't steal any of his pictures to post on here so please go to his site and check them out. He's got it call covered: Juan Vidal Photography.
Other folks who have the Philadelphia social scene on lockdown are Susan Scovill who is a perennial delight and one of my fave rave folks to run into at these venues; (check her out here: Susan Scovill) plus Hughe from Philly Chit Chat who never remembers my name but gives me love nonetheless. In fact he threw me some of that on yesterday morning's episode of Good Day, Fox 29's morning news show. I took the liberty to upload a video of just the segment relating to MOI. Turn up your volume for the chuckles:
We had to wrap it up and head out a wee bit earlier than last year (no rest for the wicked Mole Street crew) but it was just the right amount of fun and revelry. Oh! The hat contest. By the time I mosied up to the judges stand, the women were piling into a gold cart to hand out the prizes to winners whom they'd already determined. One shot me an exasperated look and I just shrugged. Another one managed to hand me an "honorable mention" ribbon as a consolation prize. Familliar scene? Perhaps, except this time around sans heartache. I've realised that sometimes it's best not to be judged.
It's hard for me to write about Temple Grandin because I usually start welling up with tears at the mere thought of her. I cry just watching the trailer to her movie. I saw her speak the other night and felt my eyes filling up at several points throughout the evening. She was speaking at the Academy of Natural Sciences, and her presentation was very similar to her TED talk, if you'd like an idea:
Please watch this. If you're anything like me, you will be saying YES YES YES at so many points throughout her talk. I think why I get so emotional over hearing her story and thoughts is how I relate to her. Obviously, I'm not autistic and have in no way braved the type of adversity as Ms. Grandin but I am, like Temple, a visual thinker who struggled with school and various aspects of life due to the fact that I just couldn't wrap my mind around certain things. I still to this day cannot figure out space and direction. I memorize routes by visual points but I have no idea what direction I'm going in and still get turned around and lost in my own city, especially if it's dark when I'm leaving some place I arrived at during daylight.
The point is, I spent the first thirty years of my life convinced that I was stupid. All because I was presented with examples of intelligent minds and how they functioned, unable to relate to a single one. The fact that I was compelled to play with dead animals didn't help things. Thankfully I was equipped with an abundance of social awareness and empathy which gave me the ability to charm, feign wit, and feel out even the subtlest of social cues so I could "play the game" and interact with other people even when it was painful to do so. Don't get me wrong; I love connecting with people. It brings tremendous joy and meaning to my life when a real connection is struck. It's just that there are many, many social situations where I feel everyone is speaking a language i don't understand and I have to smile and nod because I can't relate in any way to what's going on.
What I'm expressing isn't that unique; I realise now that I've become comfortably enmeshed in a community of like-minded thinkers, that I'm not at all strange, and that there are in fact, many different kinds of minds. All different but none less. That's part of what's so important about this talk that Temple gives. Kids need to hear this. They need to be encouraged. I was fortunate enough to have parents who indulged my artistic whims and let me dress in outfits that made absolutely no sense in the context of 4th grade playgrounds. Most children aren't that fortunate however, which is an absolute shame. There are some truly truly outstanding minds in this country and our education system isn't nourishing them.
Maybe if the world could cast aside its hangups about the little boy who likes to paint his nails pink , or the shy middle-aged woman who enjoys spending all her time finding ways to communicate with extraterrestrials, maybe if everyone (you and me) could just ONCE have their whims indulged, the world could take a collective deep breath and sigh it out in contented relief. After all, these thoughts and desires we all have are real, and come from a real place. You can't discount that. Somehow shame crashed the party and stuck on all of us like foul smelling plaque.
What touches me most about Tenple Grandin is that she appears untouched by shame. She just does what she does and if you think she's weird, then fine. She could not care less. It doesn't matter what you think because she is fulfilling her destiny.
I made her this brooch because I know she wears those colorful Western shirts and thought this would be a nice accent. It's very soft and feminine though, which I am not sure is her taste. I gave it to her, in a box, after I saw her speak on Tuesday night. She put it aside on her book signing table (thank goodness, I feel so awkward when someone opens a gift in front of me when they're in front of an audience) and for all I know it's still in that box. She said thank you, asked what I was, and I said "artist." I shook her hand and as I was walking away she said "What kind of artist?:
"Taxidermist," I replied.
"Oh. OK." she said as she turned to the next person in line.
She is completely unfettered by the social expectations most other people would feel compelled to adhere to like smiling, nodding, inserting witty statement here, etc. And I love her for it.
I don't even feel like talking about the brooch, who cares. I got to look Temple Grandin in the eye and shake her hand.
I treated my husband assistant and I to a little weekend jaunt out to Los Angeles last week to attend the opening reception of the biennial Rogue Taxidermy Show at La Luz de Jesus Gallery, and while it's been written up, tweeted, and shared in many places I can find online, I do feel it is my duty to at least jot a little down here in my own blog about it (even if it's mostly links to other sites who did a much better job than I documenting the experience).
We flew out on Virgin America which was a delight after having endured too many multi-part flights to LA. Direct flight? Cheapest airfare in town and multi-media players for each seat? SOLD! So that was pretty neat, and then we landed and it was time to try my hand at driving in LA for the first time. One word comes to mind: AGGRESSIVE. It seems like there are just no "Streets" in LA ,even the smaller thoroughfares are four lanes wide. It's quite efficient though and I noticed an abundance of bike lanes which was encouraging. It's just a little more difficult to navigate. The entire system felt like a series of swirls, whereas Philly is a grid.
We got to my friend's house in one piece, however, albeit a little jet lagged. She came out with us to a Mexican restaurant where I proceeded to throw my ethics out the window and have my first red meat in months in the form of an all beef enchilada. I think I was punished for this and other offenses, but more on that later.
The next day we took a drive down Mulholland and looked at all the giant houses. I really don't have the words to adequately describe how I feel about these structures. It just seems like a dream; I can't wrap my mind around that kind of wealth.
After we descended back down to the land of mortals, we headed to Amoeba records in Hollywood where I purchased the soundtrack to "Blow". It proved to be an excellent CD for driving down all the long trafficy strips in LA. Just listen to that Stones song I posted above right now and tell me you wouldn't feel like a total badass cruising down the Sunset strip in your sexy Ford Fiesta.
That night was the opening reception at La Luz, so I slapped on my finest drag and we all headed out to a French restaurant beforehand for dinner. This is where A) I stood inches from Erin of The Office after mistaking her for my friend and almost telling her about how we'd be waiting 20 minutes before getting a table, and B) Jim and I ate some raw oysters that I'm pretty sure changed everything. More on that later.
We mangered and then walked over to the Gallery. Here are some photos from the opening I borrowed from Lee Joesph's flickr page which is pretty amazing so go check it out.
Those are my hats, standing at attention waiting for Dita Von Teese to come buy them all. Or Kat Von D. Or anyone, actually. These ladies are too beautiful to not have a home.
This was probably the highlight of my evening: meeting these two. Sarina Brewer I've admired from afar since I first realised other people were doing what I was doing, which is toiling away behind locked doors doing unconventional things with dead animals. I am a total fangirl; she was basically the trailblazer for chicks doing cool taxidermy. Plus she's as kind and delightful as one could imagine. In the center is Vega, who was also showing some pieces that night. She's super kind and very present in a way that can only be described as West Cost. They are a different breed of human out there; I often muse about it when I visit and wonder if it all can really be chalked up to differing climes. When I find myself face to face with a West Coast breed, I used wish I could just relax a little, and chill. Like them. It's an admirable way of life and a wonderful energy to have. I am however, a Philly girl. Born and bred and full of defenses. It's taken me 34 years to accept it but I wouldn't have me any other way.
After the gallery closed a few of us went to the bar across the street for a nightcap. When we got back to my friend's house to call it a night, I felt sore and achy. And freezing cold. I dismissed it and went to sleep, only to wake up sore all over and still chilly. Jim was sore as well, plus we both felt like we had the hangover of the century. This was strange, considering I only had three or four drinks over the course of five hours. Soon came the stomach cramps but we decided to ignore it and head out for some early morning adventures, like coffee and yardsaling in Silverlake. I scored a pink Christian Dior turban for $2 and Jim got himself a nice Pyrex bowl for $1. Not too shabby. Later on we hit up the MOCA to catch the exhibition curated by Mike Diamond of the Beasties before it came down that night. We both still felt seriously hung over but kept it up-this was our vacation dangit! We drove to Malibu and laid on the beach for a few hours which was about all I could do at that point. Like idiots, we drank more alcohol (hair of the dog?) and felt no better. We both passed out at 7pm and that was the end of it. Enter stomach issues too grotestue to describe, made worse by the fact that we were guests in someone's house with only one bathroom. Needless to say, the flight home on Sunday was almost unbearable.
We were pretty much laid up for that whole week, unable to keep any food in our stomachs long enough to actually digest, until we finally saw a doctor on Friday who put us on antibiotics. A bacterial infection from the oysters seemed to be the popular theory, but I can't help but wonder if it was the universe punishing me for casting aside the moral high ground I'd declared just a few weeks ago in regard to not eating meat unless I am familiar with its source. Message received, universe.
Food borne illness aside, it was a great trip and LA is a wonderful town. I look forward to going back. Jim took some great shots of the beach and other stuff:
I'm almost as excited for the flight as I am for the purpose of my entire trip, which is this:
I'm over the moon to be showing with some folks I've been admiring from afar for quite some time now. It's truly an honor to be in their company. I still have pangs of self-doubt here and there as I prepare for this trip, wondering how my pieces will measure up in person when displayed next to everyone else's.
And yes, I know it's not a competition and I know those aren't pretty feelings but it's me giving you the truth. I also know that everything I fret about always turns out fine in the end so I'll cross my fingers, kiss my elbow, and enjoy my mini vacation.
Speaking of crossing fingers, you may recognise that gal above from such things as your childhood, saturday mornings, or recent forays into tv nostalgia. It's Jetta, from the Misfits. My three submissions in the show are hats of course, all made from chickens sourced at my dear friends' farm. As the pieces came together and I listened to MIA's "Bad Girls" song on repeat (I cannot stress enough how much of an inspiration this video has been on every single facet of my life) , these identities started rearing their naughty heads.
Jetta is composed of a Brahma Hen mounted atop a vintage pillbox cap.
Sparkly embellishments abound, of course.
I'll bet you remember most clearly Pizzazz, the leader of the Misfits. Man, what a bitch.
This Polish rooster was just dripping with attitude (wait until you see the spurs on this cock) and came to be Pizzazz quite naturally.
I see you!
This guy is also perched atop a vintage hat, this one an old mink pillbox.
Last and never least is Roxanne. Did you know she was from Philly? Of course she was. And I'll bet she walked around with a razor blade stashed in her mouth, Goretti girl style.
Roxy is a Buff Orpington Hen with a bad-ass beak piercing, nestled firmly into another vintage pillbox hat. I should mention that the brass sculptural elements are from a remarkable lamp I trash-picked one Sunday morning- a time which I never would have been out and about except for walking what was at the time a brand new puppy. So thank you, Jonesy, for that.
So that's that. In keeping with my theme I've whipped up a poultry themed ensemble which I will be tweeting and facebooking and blogging all about so stay tuned should you be so inclined.
Along with the show opening, I'm pretty pumped to catch some good comedy in LA (I'm a stand-up hound, did you know that?) and perusing some estate sales. Or napping in a hammock and eating some stellar sushi. For now, toodleooooooo!
