Studio Ruthe

Never complain about boredom

Last night, after writing about having nothing on the calendar, and after doing more work on the paper, I stood up from my chair and one of the muscles behind my left knee spasmed; I could barely walk. I'm still in pain and barely walking today. It's given me a lot to think about--mostly about how fast you can go from great to terrible.

I was feeling wonderful yesterday. I walked down to Squirrel Hill (about 2 miles) and still felt wonderful. Of course that my have been the cause; it was a cold walk. So, today will be the first time in months I break my exercise routine. If I can get there tomorrow, it won't be too bad.

I'm writing this in bed with my feet up, hoping some of the swelling will go down. This has never been a comfortable position for me so I'll see how long it lasts. Years ago I read a story about someone  staying in bed and working; telephone and coffeepot on a table next to the bed; small refrigerator nearby; you get the picture. Actually, this was before computers, so I guess it was just pencil and paper. It sounded good to me, but I never got there. Bed was always for sleeping or sex, nothing more.

Nothing on the calendar

No blood test; no exercise (that was yesterday); no Christmas parties (not my holiday): nothing left but to finish that paper. I don't think I've ever worked so hard to get my ideas focused and into words. Most of it is finished; just the conclusion, pictures and captions, and a thorough rereading and editing. I should be able to get it posted before the end of the year. I guess my master's thesis was more work, but it didn't mean as much to me; I'm not sure my ideas were well focused; it was eight  years ago.

This is the time of year to look back. I started writing this blog five years ago--I'm rereading those early entries. Amazing how little has changed; exercise is still my number one obsession, but I've become more religious about it. Japanese art has been important through all five years--my first class was January 2006. I wrote a paper for that class, also.

Went back to Phipps yesterday, about 4 pm, so there was still some daylight along with the garden lights. Haven't looked at the pictures yet. It's after 10 am. Unusual for me, I'm still not dressed. I'll start rereading the paper, get dressed, write the conclusion, or go for a walk to think and then write the conclusion. That's today's agenda.

Term paper, Folded books and a gigapixel conference

Yes, Mage, it was a very busy week. While I was in New York last summer, I heard about an exhibition of artist books to be held at MOMA's PS1 on November 5 and 6. I planned to go, but finally decided I didn't have the time. Instead, I signed up for two book-making workshops here. One of them took place on the past two Wednesday evenings and was about folding and  embellishing books. Here is my folded book, not yet embellished. I work slowly.

This book was particularly satisfying to fold. It was a text from a class I took while I was working on that master's degree on corporate communication. I wanted to sell the book back to the school bookstore, but they would only give me $1 so I kept it.

I began the week working on my term paper. We were each supposed to give a ten minute talk about our projects. I spent Sunday, Monday and Tuesday morning trying to figure out exactly what I would say. I wasn't even sure I would be called on, but I wanted to be prepared. Being an auditor is an uncertain life. We only got through about half of the class last week and I will be called on Tuesday. I'll append my notes at the bottom of this post.

I alternated work on the term paper with work on the poster for the gigapan conference. David kept finding typos and adjustments; I kept making the changes. The conference took place Thursday evening, Friday and Saturday. I am amazed at all the uses for gigapixel imagery--showing detail in microscopic images and detail in huge panoramas. You can see the papers here and some of the gigapans from the conference here. I think they will also post the talks. Tomorrow I am supposed to begin work on the new gigapan we shot last month (along with the term paper and Thanksgiving preparations). Here are David and Simram, another member of our team, in front of our poster.

I continued going to my Osher classes, along with all of this, and on Thursday, managed to get in another quick walk in Frick Park.

The weather has been cooler, but still sunny and most of the trees still have their leaves.

Needless to say, my house looks like it's been trashed. So I'm off to the club to exercise, then back here to clean.

Notes for term paper presentation

In fall, 2008, I was in Japan looking at gardens for more than a month. Most of the gardens were in Kyoto, but I traveled to Tokyo, Nikko, Kanazawa, Nagoya, and Okayama. Most Japanese gardens use the same elements, yet each one is unique; each one has its own design and arrangement of space; most have great appeal for me, a few left me wondering why I had bothered to come to them. Allowing for some days of fatigue and the fact that winter was nearing, I still did not understand why some of those gardens had little appeal for me. This paper is an attempt to examine the elements of a Japanese garden to determine what made the difference.

I will look at two types of gardens: those viewed from within a room or a veranda, and scroll gardens, which promote interactive viewing, each few steps presenting a different view, much like walking through a museum and stopping to examine and appreciate each picture.

The elements of a Japanese garden are greenery, water, rocks, stone lanterns and bridges. Design of a garden is governed by use of space, illusion/shakkei or captured scenery, management of vegetation and growth, and an invocation of famous places, usually in spirit or in some abstract fashion.

I will consider how each of the elements is used in a garden and some of the history of that use, beginning with rocks, which are considered the most important element by the Sakutei, the eleventh century gardening manual. Further, I will show how the use of space and illusion intensify the experience of the connection with nature for the occupants of the house.

Painters, particularly emaki painters, designed many early gardens, creating a “conceived” work of art that combines a gardener’s sense of composition with the idea of scenery “borrowed” from nature. To view the garden from within a house is very much like viewing a scroll painting. To walk through a stroll garden each new view could be another part of the scroll. I did my best to frame each of these views within the viewfinder of my camera.

In addition to a general consideration of the Japanese garden, I propose to examine Kenroku-en in Kanazawa, Koraku-en in Okayama, Sankien in Yokohama and Shirotori in Nagoya and two gardens meant to be viewed from within a building, Chishakuin and  Nanzen-in, in Kyoto, using maps and my own photographs for reference.

In conclusion, I propose to illustrate how the use of space in each garden made a difference to my feelings about it.

 

Last week in Pittsburgh

 I am happy to report I have been to the health club three times every week since I finished cardio rehab. It's not as much fun; no one pays any attention to me; no heart monitor; no blood pressure readings; but then again, no one reminding me about my afib. Most of the time I know when I'm in afib, but I'd rather not be reminded.

I've been working on the paper, which won't be turned in until November 23, at the earliest, so I haven't been thinking about much of anything else.

Here are some Pittsburgh pictures I've taken in the last week or so.

Target is building a new store near me. I've been watching the construction and I'm fascinated. They brought in these huge slabs of concrete, used cranes to erect them, then keep them in place with those diagonal strips until the roof is put in place. It's a little like building a house of cards: put two cards upright and parallel, then a third card on top to hold them together. I hope the building holds up better then those houses of cards. I'll be happy to have the Target nearby.

Tuesday afternoon the huge storm that produced so many tornadoes in the midwest came through Pittsburgh just as I was leaving the Japanese art history seminar. I made it to the bus stop (fortunately sheltered) and first watched the wind increase and leaves fly around like they were rain. Then the rain came, absolutely pouring. After about ten minutes it stopped. About ten fifteen or twenty minutes later the bus finally arrived. I wanted a picture of the leaves; they were amazing. But by the time I got the camera out of my purse the rain had come.

Saturday was another one of those great days that probably won't happen again until spring: a little cool, but very pleasant. I took a walk in Frick Park. Here are a few pictures.

Some days are good

Some are not. That seems to happen more and more as I get older. I heard Yo Yo Ma on Studio 360 this morning talking about his cello. He said humidity is different every day; cellos and human bodies are different every day. I really understand that.

Today is supposed to be the last great day we will have for awhile. It's truly beautiful out: sunshine, blue skies, not too warm. I've been walking for three and a half hours. First stop--health club. Since I faded out Wednesday, I've been more careful. Went again on Saturday but stopped after treadmill and rowing. I was feeling OK; just didn't feel like pushing it. Finished the workout this morning then kept walking. Took a book back to the library, went to Whole Foods for lunch, browsed in Borders, stopped for chocolate ice cream on Highland Avenue, then went to the Orchid Show in Mellon Park, finally back home. Altogether, I walked about four miles. I'm tired, my feet hurt but otherwise I'm fine. It's a great day.

Alice and Mage: I have discussed with the doctor the problem of determining how sick I am. Unfortunately, outside of collapsing or passing out, there are no black and white symptoms. So, it remains a matter of my judgment.

Silence and another good thing

I forgot how much I enjoy silence. The world is noisy; silence rare. And too often I turn on the radio or TV, just for company, or to drown out my tinnitus. I seldom really listen. One afternoon I walked home through Mellon Park and suddenly heard silence. The dogs that run loose while owners stand around talking were not there. It was just me and the squirrels and trees--not even traffic sounds and I can't recall the tinnitus. Totally wonderful.

The next day, driving out of the garage after the cardio rehab, I had a similar experience. I could only hear a soft purr from the car and a rhythmic slap as the tires hit expansion joints. What a joy it would be to permanently get rid of that noise in my head.

Another pleasure: Saturday night, Steve's cactus produced it's occasionally, yearly blossom.

We don't know anything about the cactus. It's a cutting from a large plant that belonged to Steve's father. The cutting was dormant for many years then suddenly began to grow. About seven years ago it began to produce one or more flowers one night each summer (with the exception of last year). The flower opens only once. Although various flying insects visit it, no fruit or seed is produced.

Perfume

I don't remember when I decided to stop using perfume. I still have a tiny bottle of Jolie Madame, which I can't seem to throw out--twenty, thirty years old; I can't remember. Certainly before I understood that I was old. At the same time I started using unscented everything: soap, shampoo, laundry detergent, fabric softener. I don't want to constantly smell anything.

Maybe it began with those nasty perfume samples they put in magazines and mailing pieces. I had a subscription to Bon Appetit. It came with a picture of a slice of wonderful chocolate cake on the cover, but it smelled like a perfume sample. (I don't think any perfume really smells like that--at least, I hope not.)  It ruined the chocolate cake, and the magazine, for me.

I like smelling aromas that appear and then leave; a person walking past with an almost unobtrusive scent, bread baking as I walk past a pizza place or bakery, garlic from an Italian restaurant. Even the smell that clings to a person after they have a cigarette is interesting, if they quickly move away from me.

Why am I thinking about this? It's not that I've become more sensitive to smells. I'm sure there are many smells I never register. Smells seem to have become more important to my brain; every time I sense a new one I pay attention to it; play with it, almost like gently tossing a ball from one hand to the other and examining it carefully. So in my old brain, which strongly prefers handling only one thing at a time, smells become a distraction--OK when I'm out for a walk, but not OK when I'm driving, or watching a movie, or anything that requires concentration.

I'm beginning to believe in spring

Not much sunshine today, but nice and warm. I've been walking (2 plus miles) most days. A new round of classes are beginning. I'm learning about the geology of the national parks (Monday was parks with caves), contemporary art as explained by grad student creators, and today a class about Carmen. Also two movies and a meeting of the "digital imagers," a group who meet to talk about digital photography, occasionally using slides for their examples--a little strange. I'm supposed to be cooking this week: two friends coming for lunch on Friday and a dish for a potluck on Saturday. I think I'll buy for Friday, cook a wonderful pear and squash crumble for Saturday. I've made it a couple of times so I have confidence in it.

We are supposed to get rain tomorrow and the weekend. Lots of talk on TV about flooding. I wasn't here for the last big flood, 1996. I think I'm on high ground here. Years ago we had a basement that flooded with increasing regularity as the neighborhood got built up. In 1967, as the Israeli's were fighting the '67 war, Richard was working for an Israeli company as their American marketing agent. We were up to our ankles in water trying to clean it up when G's cousin called asking about his Israeli cousin. All we knew was what we heard on TV or radio. All we cared about at that moment was cleaning up the mess. Amazing how a little water can change your perspective.

A long walk

Another amazing, beautiful, November day. It's hard to believe this weather. I went for another long walk with my Russian ESL student--talking and exercise at the same time. We walked around Homewood Cemetery, checking out names on the mausoleums and on some of the tombstones. Did you know that at one time you could order your mausoleum from a catalog? The model with the Greek columns on the front seems to have been very popular. I usually walk there with my neighbors, who know all the paths and how to find the hole in the fence. Without Mary and Phyllis I got lost and we walked a lot further than I wanted. I'm slightly in pain, but I think a good night's sleep will take care of it.

Another summer day in November

One of my ESL students is a Russian Jewish woman, a doctor who left Russia because of anti-semitic persecution some twenty years ago, and went to Sweden to live . She now lives nearby and is close to me in age, only a few years younger. She's working very hard to learn English, goes to school four days a week and has at least one session with me each week. In spite of our language difficulties we have much in common; I enjoy being with her.

Taking advantage of another November summer day the two of us went for a walk in Frick Park. We talked as we walked, but it's harder to do both when you're not sure of the language, so we often stopped. My husband used to tease that I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. I guess I can't walk and listen carefully to broken English at the same time. When I walk with my neighbors I have no problem, but I don't listen so carefully either.

 

Some of the leaves are still up there.

I like the way the little tree is framed.

Sitting on that bench it seems like you can see the entire park, or one of the trails, anyway.

Yesterday's crows.