Those Are Pearls ...

(John W. Waterhouse, Miranda - The Tempest (1916)

We had theater tickets both nights this weekend!
Weellll, before you suffer a pang of jealousy or wonder at the social and cultural swirl that effervesces around us here on the Vermont side of the Canadian Border, the tickets weren't exactly for Broadway. We were headed more off Broadway, like off in a school cafeteria. Our tickets got us seats at the lunch tables (thankfully, these can be converted into benches) to see two performances of Shakespeare's The Tempest, as enacted by the middle school students at the small Catholic school attended by the children of the Last House.

Our own little girl, (known on these pages as the Understudy) made her theater debut as a Sprite.


The Understudy On Stage as an Otherworldly Creature

The director of this production, an extremely dedicated woman with a history in professional theater, reinterpreted it some, but all the poetry was there. The kids all hit their marks, every speech was delivered, the story was told again and credibly. Oh, the effort involved!

I haven't gone back to the actual text to see if Sprites were an, hmm, "innovation" for a middle school production (where the casting director needed to find a few parts for fifth grade girls), or if they are creatures of Shakespeare's own invention. Somehow, either way, I like to think he would have approved of having 11-year-olds appear in silvery togas to do a dance, and to move the plot along by doing the bidding of Prospero and the island gods.

Both Whusband and I were surprised to find that sitting through this version of The Tempest was not at all a chore. Maybe now that I am well into my 40s, I am finally ready for Shakespeare. Maybe I would have liked it better and understood it more all along if I had watched it acted live by school children.


Great Juno & Company

In any case, I can honestly report that this was my best experience of Shakespeare to date, and not just cause my kid appeared in brief flashes. It was a pleasure to see it played and to hear it spoken by these earnest young people. As I shifted on that hard bench (in a darkness achieved by taping cardboard over the windows) I was reminded of Frank McCourt's reminiscence of Shakespeare in Angela's Ashes . He wrote about how, when he had been hospitalized with a near-fatal illness as a kid, he heard, or read, some lines from Shakespeare while he was convalescing. He said them aloud, over and over, not really knowing what they meant, but because he found them, "like jewels" in his mouth.

The Director of the school version rejiggered the famous speech delivered at the end of the play by Prospero, a character originally played by Shakespeare himself, in his final performance in his final play. She moved this bit, which appears in Act IV Scene 1 (as I just learned) to the end of the play and integrated it with the rest of the speech made there. Prospero, after the action is done, addresses the audience not as Prospero, but as Shakespeare (or so we were informed). Whether this is exactly correct, I don't know. I think the lines fit very nicely at the end of the play and I have been pondering them since I heard the 14-year-old Prospero speak them twice over this weekend. Here they are for your consideration.

These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Typing the Letters Off My Keyboard

Our foremothers read the covers off their Bibles. I have typed the "p" and the "h" off my keyboard. Hmmm. "HelP!?"

It is a cheapo Ebay bargain laptop. I bought a warranty that is probably still good but I would be both worried and embarrassed to send this off to be repaired: worried that I would lose all the files, especially the pictures that are stored here, and embarrassed about the manky swill that lurks beneath (as I can now see). Has the science fiction story "It Came from the Keyboard" been written yet?

Truant in the Trees & Treasures: Could This Be George Washington's Teacup?

Shackleton is being tutored three days a week now, far from the Last House, at a place where they have experts who will transform him into a reading boy. (Oh please, and fast! These experts don't come cheap).



Tutoring ended at noon today, a Friday. I was supposed to be at work but because WHusband is down Mexico way giving a paper at some academic conference, and because tutoring must not be missed, I took the day off to attend to Shackleton.



Remember, it was NOON on a FRIDAY when Shack was sprung from tutoring. His school is about an hour from the tutoring center, meaning he wouldn't get there til 1 PM. Schol ends at 3 PM. The sun was out. Our favorite park, Redrocks Park in South Burlington, Vermont -- where some of the last old-growth trees in Vermont grow on cliffs above Lake Champlain -- was just down the road. Should we drive an hour back to school or get a picnic lunch and go to Redrocks?



One guess...

In Other News

My day began today with WHusband summoning me to the phone with shampoo in my hair. His hair was practically on fire down in Mexico because we got a robot call from a credit card company yesterday saying "Call Immediately about Your Account." I passed on this info. in an email, but it turns out he couldn't call from Mexico - the number wouldn't work. "Fix this!" He was nearly frantic. I could not fix it for various reasons. (Like, I am not on this account). Long story short, after many early morning abortive attempts to resolve the mystery credit card issue ("call and enter this code," was all the instruction I had, and the code didn't work) we left late for school. I drove through the morning's gray rain in a BAD Mood. After dropping Shack with the experts, I was on my way to a computer somewhere to see if I could attack the credit card problem online when my attention was diverted by a sign "Williston Antique Center" and a flag that fluttered by the door, "Open". The sun came out at about that moment.

Brown transferware from the aesthetic period is a recent interest. Et, voila:








And haven't we been talking off and on about hat boxes?



And you know my unfortunate weakness for anything English and twee? I think these are from about 1948...



I felt much better after an hour in that shop. The jug may have to go to EBay to finance this little bit of therapy. However it works out, though, it was cheaper than a marriage counselor or a divorce lawyer.

I didn't get to my email til we got home around dinner time. It turned out there was no fraud. (He finally got through to them on his own). The robot phone call was the fraud. Take note. Whusband was apologetic in his last email.

One Last Thing - Could This Have Been George Washington's Tea Cup?

After tutoring yesterday (Shack doesn't go back to school on Thursdays cause tutoring starts late) we went to the household goods store at Recycle North. It's a great place where they sell donated goods for good purpose. I love it because you never know what you'll find and I have no guilt buying stuff there. Shack got a Soap Box Derby trophy and a change bank and I got a bunch of Made in USA midcentury pottery:





for about $6.

My great find yesterday, however, may be this little teacup. It was sitting with all the other 25 cent tea cups - but I could see right away it was old, old, old. Any experts out there who can weigh in with some info.? It is not so white as modern porcelain and it is rough to the teeth when you rub it. (I think this means something about how it was made, which is why I am willing to share that I have rubbed a junk-store teacup against my teeth.)









OK experts, do your stuff. I would be grateful for anything you can tell me about this object. We're talking, there's-a-prize-in-it-for-you grateful. Something kind of good, though not this teacup. I am taking it to Shelburne Museum next time I go...

The Sun Coming Up in March

Just this morning, a few minutes ago...



And yesterday, about 7 AM - the sun was off to the right and a rainbow of sorts appeared in this cloud.

March has its consolations.

A Little Cecil Beaton Update:

For those of you who might be in London sometime in the next couple of weeks, the famous Chris Beetles Gallery is having a Cecil Beaton retrospective (in conjunction with Sothebys) for about a month starting on April 22. I take it that means a whole bunch of his photos are going on the block in May. For those of you who will be in London this spring with a wad of cash, take note.

Sisters

A couple of months ago iTunes gave away a song called "Hometown Glory" by a teenaged British singer called Adele. I like to get things for free, so I downloaded it. Adele was described by the iTunes mavens then as the Next Big Thing over in the UK. I didn't hear much about her after her moment in the Free-Download-of-the-Week Sun.

Well, that has changed, hasn't it?



I was put in mind of Adele tonight in a roundabout way. My friend Nan, over at Letters from a Hill Farm, (see the sidebar), recently posted a Dusty Springfield video on her blog. You should go to there and check out a link to a WBUR in Boston interview about the wonders of Dusty and all Nan's other great recommendations - for all manner of things, from muffin recipes to murder mysteries. (I'll give you the video here too, in a minute).

After being reminded by Nan of how great Dusty Springfield was, I ran back to iTunes and bought a few DS classics. Listening to those put me in mind of Adele, who seems to be carrying the fire of White-English-Girl-Genuine Soul. "Hometown Glory" has become one of my favorite songs. I did a little reading about Adele just now and learned that she did, in fact, seem to be fizzling in the US until she appeared on the same Saturday Night Live show that featured Sarah Palin last year. There, she sang this song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qz7vGW2_5c0 (sorry, you have to cut and paste the link to Youtube as embedding has been disabled; it's worth it).

I can't believe this girl is 20 years old. What a gift! I hear she is just starting a concert tour in the U.S. this month and will sing with Etta James at the Hollywood Bowl in June at the end of it. I don't like crowds, and I don't like California, but I would like to see that. So, while Fergie may claim (in "Fergalicious,") that there "ain't no other lady can put it down like [her]" here are some others who don't need to brag in or about their songs...

Some classic Dusty to complete this evening's circle:

New Old Stuff for Your Consideration and Hello Again Frank Osborn

What, with the threat that the credit card companies may jack interest rates through the roof at any moment and a sizable chunk of school tuition still hanging over our heads, your hostess has had to really discipline herself in matters of getting and spending. It’s Sunday, and there’s an auction going on just down the road as I type this, but I am here – not there. It isn’t easy, either. Fortunately, having attended the preview, I know there is nothing being sold today that I absolutely can’t live without – but who knows what bargains may be flying into the hands of others even as I write! Oh well. Something has to give. Enjoy those bargains, my fellow bidders. I am hors du combat.

To be perfectly honest, however, I have managed to forage a few, wee items during these last couple of weeks from an antique shop or two. Let’s start with the happy little item at the top of today's post. Here's another view:

The backstory: Shackleton and I stopped by an antique store in downtown Newport, Vermont yesterday while the Understudy was at her piano lesson. As previously noted, Shackleton is a fine and enthusiastic auction participant and likes to trawl antique shops as much as I do.

I told him upon entering this store, which is new to us though I have been by it a thousand times, that he could get “one little thing.” He tried out a few obscure campaign buttons on me, along the lines of “Clark for County Treasurer,” but eventually lost interest in those and started gravitating to toys (too expensive). Fortunately, he also has an unaccountable interest in boxes. In the end, I persuaded him that this great shabby-chic record holder (for 45s, remember them?) would be great. ($1.50). While rummaging through the back room of the shop, I found these 1950s felt souvenir banners from obscure Canadian recreation destinations ($2.50 apiece). Atmospheric, no? I tried to persuade Shack that these would be great for his room but he wasn’t convinced. I have “borrowed” his 45-holder for my room for the time being, with his agreement, and added it and the banners to this fussy little tableau.

(My grandfather built this beautiful desk and the picture is of my great Aunt Margaret – a career school teacher who noted that she was “once young and beautiful” when she gave this picture to my sister years ago).

I was worried that the Understudy would be put-out about our buying stuff when she wasn’t around to get something herself.

I found a basket full of the work of amateur photographers of yesteryear. I found this fetching 8 x10 of a collie puppy for her. I will pop it in a frame and put this in my room as well. (Sorry kids. You can really have it all when I am dead). Note to self, amateur photographers of yesteryear, along with our family snapshots from early to mid 20th century, are one of the coming hot areas for collecting.


Frank Osborn – Another Artist Rescued from Obscurity



Here’s one other item I picked up since we last spoke. It’s an airbrush print – I am still not exactly clear on the process by which such things are made – by an artist called Frank Osborn. I got this at M. Lewis antiques in Waterbury, Vermont about two weeks ago. The store assistant told me it had been his, but he had tired of it and decided to flog it in the shop. It is grim, yes, it is titled in pencil “Ruins” – but it has that je ne sais quoi that makes it art.

The oak frame and the glass are original. The print is signed and is dated 1930.
This purchase gave me some room to do my favorite thing, which is research stuff I have bought. Shackleton is getting some reading tutoring near Burlington these days and this has left me with a couple of hours on my own in what passes for a big city here in Vermont lately. I feel I put those hours to good use this week by getting myself into the library at the University of Vermont and checking out Mr. Osborn, who has an internet presence but one that is fairly scant. He was born in Altamont, New York in 1887. That’s one town over from where my Dad and stepmom live now so, already, that makes him interesting. He was “famous” or sort of, for a while largely because of a method for making airbrush prints. He married another artist called Alice Newton Osborn. She was wealthy and they became patrons of the arts. They lived in New York city and environs during the 1920s and 30s, but left a lot of art to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. They wound up their lives in southern Vermont, in the postcard-pretty town of Manchester. He died there in 1948.

There are several mentions of Osborn and his works in contemporary art criticism in the New York Times. The Albright-Knox gallery in Buffalo has one of his airbrush prints and there’s a New England Dealer selling another (asking about $250). Also of interest was the record of a sale at Freeman’s auction house in 2000 when a bunch of his paintings were on the block. Only one went for anything like real money (a nude, in the manner of Matisse, for $1,900).

An Osborn Painting from Artnet - Good? I think so.

Unfortunately, “Osborn” is not in a league with the artists who once traveled in his sphere. E.g., Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp John Sloan, Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso,Georgia O’Keefe, Childe Hassam etc. Really, no kidding.

The most fun thing I have learned about Osborn since I got started down this road is that he was a participant in every year between 1917 and 1933 (except 1930, the year he made my print, interestingly) in the annual exhibition of the Society of Independent Artists in New York. This Society, based on the famous “Societe des Artistes Independants” in Paris (sorry, can't do those French accent marks), likewise had no juries, nor prizes and was famous for hanging art in alphabetical order. Anybody could join the society for $5 and pay $10 to get two pieces in the show. All those artists listed above were represented (along with a hundred others who are less well known). Its 1917 show, in which Osborn exhibited two pieces, is an art history milestone. Over the years, the quality of the material went downhill and it is interesting that Osborn stopped showing up after 1933 (when he exhibited three air brush prints). And, (will the wonders of the internet never cease?) we can all of us these days access the catalog for that 1917 show on Google. Osborn’s entries, something called “Picnic” and something else called “Portrait” unfortunately for me, didn’t get illustrated in the catalog but lots of other stuff did. It is amazing to see whose names and whose art is still famous 80 some years on and who has bubbled under utterly. Do I feel a Wikipedia article coming on? I think so.

One Last Thing Here’s an item the Understudy picked up at the MoMA design store in NYC a couple of weeks ago. I suppose it is a standard museum store item, but it’s still cool. The video was written, produced and directed by the Understudy. Like so many films, it drags a bit in the middle, but it has a surprise ending so hang on (keep your speakers on - and your expectations at an appropriate level...).

Sunday, Muddy Sunday

I think I'll get the lifejackets out of the barn. There's a puddle by the mailbox that is menacing. Like the tarn in "The Fall of the House of Usher". (I remember I had to look up "tarn" back in high school or college or whenever it was that we read that story. I am happy in the age of the internet that I can save you the trouble). The kids are pleased, however, with all puddles including the one that has spread across the front field and qualifies, temporarily, as a pond. (See the pictures). The Understudy came inside just now with one of Maisy's dogtags that has emerged from the melt. The snow is giving up its secrets, and its trash.

There is fresh snow in the forecast for tomorrow, however. March is like a war between the seasons here in Vermont. Today's battle went to Spring, as will the war, eventually. In the meantime, the trenches are full of mud.