Arrived in Asheville

A view of the hills just before leaving Tennessee and crossing into North Carolina

We arrived in Asheville early this afternoon after spending the morning driving the last leg of our trip. We left Brooklyn 22 hours earlier on Thursday afternoon, first driving to Washington for a brief visit with Sarah's Aunt Hilda. Then back in the car to continue our journey through the dark Virginia night, passing familiar place names from American history - Manasses, Bull Run, and Shenandoah. By the time we fell into bed at our less than luxurious Super 8 roadside hotel, it was about midnight and we made it to a point a few miles west of Roanoke, Virginia.

Today's road trip was beautiful, the air unseasonably cold and clear with a bright sun. Our route took us by surprise as we didn't expect Google Maps to direct us through a corner of Tennessee. We couldn't quite believe we were actually in Tennessee! On the Al Gore Highway no less. We just had to celebrate by stopping at the Fireworks Supermarket (purchasing some black cats and sparklers) and to a liquor store to acquire two bottles of official Tennessee sipping whiskey.

Fireworks Supermarket in Blountville Tennessee

We turned South off of Route 81 and took the more scenic Route 26 to Asheville. It traversed the rumpled worn hills that were distinctly different than our familiar Catskill foothills. We passed between the Great Smokies and Roan Mountain, touching on part of the Cherokee National forrest. Appalachians on one side, Blue Ridge of the other. Our weather remained unseasonably cold with a temperature hovering around 23. Shady sides of the hills had a light dusting of overnight snow but there were also signs of spring with daffodils, pear trees and forsythia beginning to pop open. We descended into West Asheville and found our little red rental cottage in a suburban wooded neighborhood. Our place is neat and has all the comforts we need for a couple of days.

An easy drive downtown for lunch at the Laughing Seed Cafe, brought us to the River Arts section of studios and working craftspeople. We strolled through this arts district, a collection of old warehouses between the railroad tracks and the river. We saw a few interesting things, looking for the extraordinary in form, or surface treatment, function or imagination. Mostly there seemed to be a commercially available production area, offering the artists a community but producing more product than art.

Work by Akira Satake, one of the more interesting potters exhibiting in Asheville 

Tomorrow we travel to Hickory, 83 miles East of us, to take in the Catawba Valley show and sale. I am sure it will be a bit of a madhouse as some 115 potters sell their wares. There are sure to be some similar to our experience today, but we know there will also be some masters in the craft and artistry areas. One of these masters is Mark Hewitt, a potter we discovered in New Orleans at the Ogden Museum a couple of years ago, who is on our list to seek out at the Show. It turns out Ed Lebow (a close friend from college days), wrote a piece on him so he put me in touch with Mark directly. We are delighted that he is willing to give us a studio visit on Tuesday afternoon, even though he is working flat out to prepare a full kiln firing. So tomorrow promises to be exciting day - in terms of ceramics, and perhaps meeting other interesting artists in Hickory.

Spring Vacation and Plans to Visit North Carolina

A Trip South to a  Potter's Hollow

There is a town of some 300+ people near our Catskill house known as Potters Hollow and I have often wondered how it came by this name.  I romanticize about turning this long forgotten and slightly disheveled village into a thriving community of active potters all turning out extraordinary fired forms and colors in a variety of functional ware.  I started my artistic career in high school at a potter's wheel and pursued that craft by going to Alfred University. Sarah, too, explored pot making in high school. It still provides me with a foundation and connection to my sculptural and architectural interests, all deal with form, space, and concept in remarkably similar ways.  So when Sarah and I decided to "do" something over my spring break from teaching, we concocted a plan to drive through the upper backbone of  North Carolina in search of potters who seem salted in the woods. We want to discover both ceramic artists and functional production ware potters (like Jugtown), to discover what lineage still exists and may still be produced today.

We will spend a week traversing the state, first focusing on Asheville for a few days, with a day trip to Hickory NC to take in the 16th annual Catawba Valley Pottery Festival and then head to the Seagrove area, visiting individual studios along the way.  We should end up in Raleigh at the home of an old Alfred friend, who also started his career as potter, then turned architect.  This blog will record our trip and encounters along the way.  As Sarah and I haven't spent much time in North Carlina, this should prove to be a memorable encounter. The state has an artistic tradition, being home to the Black Mountain School and Penland, as well as the plethora of ceramic artists (115 promise to be at the Catawba sale).  We hope for a little warmer weather and some signs of spring along our travels in mountains that may well resemble our own Catskills.

Home Again Home Again

Soft in the early hours, a warm bright Barcelona day began.  Four open suitcases, mostly packed, sat around in the corners of our rooms as we showered, washed the last sheets, ate a little bread and organized our last coins and Euros. The construction on the street was quieter, digging into the layer below the pavement with considerably less hammering than the pavement had required.  A last few moments, and leaving the keys in the apartment, we headed down the stairs for the last time.

The train is familiar, getting out at Espagna, catching the A1 bus to T1 at the airport. Getting our seats organized for both parts of the trip and boarding passes, we felt in good shape as we got on that first plane headed for Madrid. Once we arrived in Madrid, we enjoyed the familiarity with the airport there as well, making our way for the long journey to the assigned gate, only to find that once there, we had been shifted to a later plane when our seats were assigned. So our luggage was already on its way to the later plane, and we swallowed our disappointment, coming to grips with the fact that we would be arriving much later. Rob and I shared a beer and some peanuts, and brought the same to the boys, who were biding their time phones in hand. Their stomach problems not quite subsided, neither took up our offer, so Rob and I shared another beer and peanuts.

Our long flight was crowded and the food below any standard we would set for meals. Unintelligible goo in place of mashed potato, next to undefined meat patty or heavy layers of creamy glop on pasta over dark tuna mush, nothing the boys could eat, and Rob and I managed to consume much more of it than we ought to have, but we were hungry and had nothing else to do. Even the wine was not palatable.

The views out the windows were fantastic and beautiful. It was clear enough that we were able to see the topography all the way across Spain and Portugal until we floated out over the sea, where the clouds began to clump and drift, catching gorgeous light until the darkness met us just as we approached the United States. The twinkling lights of Long Island seemed like grace itself. Then we landed, clapped and sat for nearly 40 minutes waiting for a parking place close enough to disembark.

Walking off the plane was simple, utilitarian and full of distinctly diverse people. We caught a ride into Brooklyn with a private car, dropped off Jesse at his own house, and arrived home to a surprised and amazed Emmett. Then our hosts arrived after their very long day and found the apartment inhabited by us! A delightful meeting, and all of us went off to bed. Home or not? And in the morning we brought fresh bagels to share, and after that Russell headed off for a train to Troy, and Rob, Emmett and I picked up the car and headed out of town to Gilboa.

And then we arrived home again. Zucchinis four times bigger than footballs, actually ripe tomatoes on the vine, green beans too big and tough to eat, wildness everywhere. It is easy to imagine what would happen if we didn't come here for a month. So tired as he was, Rob began to cut the grass and I took on harvesting cherry tomatoes, onions and cucumbers as the thunder rolled over head, and the sky darkened.

We had a crashing storm as we ate our fresh pollock steamed over a bed of fresh cherry tomatoes and torpedo onions, with sides of fresh beets and vinegar-cucumber slices. Still moving from one thing to the next, we found our way to bed by 9:15pm. Home twice in two days.

Last Full Day in Barcelona

We start our last day in Barcelona with the noise of the jack hammer and the backhoe outside our apartment. We noticed upon our return yesterday that portions of the street were blocked off. Wow was it noisy! And Rob's sore throat softened into congestion and a cough hours earlier, so he had already gotten up and made a cup of tea that he actually didn't drink because he had fallen to sleep on the couch. Both boys were having digestion problems, and even though it felt good to be back in our little pad in Barcelona, there was some not-feeling-so-good aspects to the day.

In spite of that, we went to Park Guell, a hilltop in the city upon which Gaudi designed many wacky and whimsical walkways with arched supports, a plateau edged with undulating mosaic benches and an expanse of sand. The famous mosaic lizard fountain, the towering roof structures on the gate houses, the gate itself were only part of the draw for the enormous volume of tourists who climbed the hill and wandered about.

We escaped the tourists and had a nice little lunch in Gracia neighborhood, in Placa de la Virreina. It was at this point that Jesse and Russell headed for home, and Rob and I made our final trip to Montjuic in order to go to the National Museum of Catalunyan Art. We enjoyed the earliest departments that housed beautiful 11th-13th century frescoes from small chapels, scooted through the Gothic and Renaissance halls, and ended up with Julio Gonzales sculptures that were a thrill to see.

Then, since we were there, we walked up the hill to get close to the Calatrava radio tower and the other Olympic structures. A beautiful evening, the light and the blue sky really showed off the Calatrava, and it was fun to see a group of teenage boys hop up and begin climbing on the lowest level of the roofed structure. Just what you would expect them to do.

Dinner was a mishmash of whatever was in the fridge, part of our traditional departure behavior. Even if we think we might go out for dinner, we end up eating the leftovers, but tonight was elevated by the bottle of Raventos i Blanc rose sparkling wine we had bought in the local wine shop after our trip to their vineyard. We had already purchased another bottle of their brut to leave for our host family, so we HAD to drink this rose ... Well, it made the rest of the ratatouille, salad, pizza, ramen, and olives taste great. Washing towels and sheets before heading to bed, packing suitcases and getting organized with passports, attempting to confirm seat assignments, and keep up with the Olympics made it a busy evening here in Barcelona!

Our next post will probably be stateside. It's been an unusual trip and all four of us will mull it over in our own way. As with all vacations, it feels a little strange that, as Russell said, "we didn't accomplish anything" To which Jesse replied, "that's what makes vacations so strange." And so they are!

TWO Days in Another World and Two More in This One

Sometimes a few miles can barely be noticed, one field stretches out on the hillside much as another, but in the case of our Saturday, miles put us worlds apart from the bustle of Barcelona. We arrived at Saint Exupery airport in Lyon (yes, that Saint Exupery) and within moments of meeting our little VW Golf we were speeding away on an autoroute with all the signage intelligible. The fields seemed lush, cows were white, buildings of stone, clouds rolling in, and a most remarkable familiarity by way of the French language.

We didn't know how to get where we needed to be. We had asked at the car rental and they printed us a Michelin map, much like any mapquest, but instead of directing us to N7 as we wished, it took us to one autoroute after another. But we were happy. We whisked past such beautiful landscapes, rivers the names of which reverberated (like Loire and Rhin) and towns and abbeys likewise - Cluny! The closer we got, the more nervous we became without any kind of detailed map, but we found the B&B chain hotel, checked in, and bravely drove away in the direction of an even smaller target - a local restaurant in a former train station in a very small village, Chatelperron, the town hall of which would be the scene of the actual marriage ceremony the next day.

Happy encounters and reunions ensued - with a late night visit to the country home of our Belgian friends. The day dawned earlier than usual somehow, but we all got up and moving. Delicious local bread even in a lack luster environment.  What can I say? there is no place like France for a baguette. We wandered into the town of Lapalisse, an outbuilding of the local chateau of which would be the site of our fantastical festivities and feasting the next night. Our lunch was very modest and just what we wanted - fresh salads and cold water, a genuine "croc" - as in grilled ham and cheese sandwich - and good coffee.

Then the event of the moment swept us all away. After drinks and cheers for the bride and groom at home, nearly the whole village and twice again as many from Belgium, and the quartet from New York crammed into the small Hotel de Ville (the only official building in the village), where ordinances and laws were cited, vows made, and a marriage officially recorded in the annals of this ancient French place. Then we all walked up the sloping street for a quick tour of the medieval church, now the property of the community, attached to the chateau that now belongs to someone from Paris, overlooking the ancient family burial plot of the original family - that still owns it and uses it for its original purposes!

The clouds converged! Just as we were all arriving at the Chateau in Lapalisse, the skies opened, thunder and lightening! Pouring rain! But not daunted, we crowded into the beautifully appointed hall, each signing a small plaster gnome for the newlyweds' garden. Fun and pranks, in a family style, champagne toasts with a surprising delicacy: sparkling white wine from Washington state!! and a feast that went on until nearly after midnight when the dancing began.  By 1:30 AM the Americans were on their way to dreamland in a beautiful former mill with a purring of running water to lull us to sleep.

Morning was beyond belief with at least 10 fresh cheeses, yogurts, amazing bread and rolls, miniature croissant and pan au chocolat, local jams, well, we overate with delight (all except for the coffee which we all agreed had been much better elsewhere). So with bellies full, memories stocked with fun times, we discovered how to turn on the GPS system in the car and returned by way of the elusive N7 until directed to the autoroute once again.

Good to be back in Barcelona! Familiar with the airport bus, the metro, the walk, the apartment, already with laundry swooshing away, a couple of us resting, others investigating where we might have dinner later... much later ...

M, M & M = Mercat, MACBA & Mies

After so much walking yesterday, this day was a rest day before our weekend in France. Each person did what they needed to do to restore themselves. For Jesse it was sleep; for Russell it was watching the Olympics; for Sarah it was laundry; for Rob it was Mies van der Rohe.  All in all a quiet day.

Russell went to the local barber for a haircut.
Jesse took the metro into town and got out to find his way to MACBA - the contemporary art museum.
Rob and Sarah went to the Mercat de Clot, our local market full of fresh meats, vegetables and fish, and after a long afternoon doing not-much-at-all, we watched the sun set on the Barcelona Pavilion. It seemed necessary to see the light change upon those surfaces.

We walked through the Parc de Joan Miro, which was a strange and wondrous world of vertical tree trunks set in sand -- pines and palms.

Dinner was a home made ratatouille of fresh eggplant, zucchini, onion, tomato, olive, garlic, olive oil and herbs de provence. The boys also had fresh sausage from the market, and we complemented the whole thing with cucumber-chick pea salad. No problems in sight. Only organizing our clothing for tomorrow's plane trip to Lyon, and making sure we have our passports.

Not sure we'll have any internet where we will be in France, so we may not post til we return.

Shops, Houses & A Beach

What is in a day? Several states of mind, many different scenes and an endless flow of choices, multiplied by the number of people. Writing as the heat of day climbs to its holding temperature, 83 F, the gang is preparing for a city day.

On the agenda: the rug design store  Nanimarquina, other nearby design stores,  Gaudi's Casa Mila and Casa Battlo, all in one neighborhood, and an idea of the beach in La Barceloneta at the end of the day (there's a towel in our bag) with possibilities of a dinner out by the sea.  The boys want to shop today and go to a club tonight. How will all this fit together? What will we actually do?

We set out together just before noon, walking over to the designerly neighborhood in the middle of L'Eixample. On the way, we looked at watches, barber shops and such, buying a corkscrew in a housewares store. The rug shop was closed for vacation. Jesse found a beautiful men's clothing store, snagged by the shoes in the window, even trying on a pair of 140 Euro swim trunks! The shop staff were friendly and informative, and we left with good feeling even though we bought nothing.

The Gaudi houses were so touristic that we couldn't bear to go inside them. Rob and I remembered our only other visit to Barcelona, 27 years ago, when there was none of this feeling: no signage, no lines to buy tickets, no crowds. It was off season, rainy, dreary, and the building facades had not been cleaned, nor their first floors turned into gift shops and cafes.

Antonio Gaudi Casa Milla

Antonio Gaudi Casa Battlo

Lunch was a success, having been picked from a hat, well actually from a piece of tourist literature left in our apartment by our hosts. The hype was true, that the ingredients were fresh, the arrangements inventive, and the prices reasonable. We all had daily menu choices - the three men ate the lamb with sage sauce, and I had the "golden bass" with asparagus sauce (same color as the sage sauce but very different flavor!).  Everyone enjoyed the meal. Russell's first course was an interesting pasta with seafood dish - one that we encountered on menus but didn't know, fidueas.

An Exhibition of the collaborative work between  David Bestue and Marc Manoz, Gallery Vicon 

At this point in the day we divided into older and younger pairs. The older pair walked back to the design stores, and then all the way down past the church of Sant Maria del Mar, to the Picasso Museum, and then to meet the boys at Gehry's fish sculpture on the walkway by the beach. We have achieved that moment in our visit to the city when we begin to know our way, pass familiar landmarks, and recognize sites. The younger pair also wandered, having beers at the Mercat Sant Caterina, buying a special candle, and trying on a few things before also arriving at the beach. Then we had a typical tourist experience -- wandering in search of an authentic dinner in a touristic site and basically failing. A pleasant breeze, the rising full moon, the pleasant wine made from the local grapes of the area we had just visited, and the seafood in the paella was fresh and sweet.  The tables around us represented tourists from all over the world. After dinner the boys came home to collect themselves and then went out around 1:30 AM returning before 4AM, while the parental unit attempted to sleep through the noises of the night and the ever-steady warm temperature.

Frank Gehry Fish for the 1992 barcelona Summer Olympics

Days like this one remind me that I really have no business here in Barcelona. The days are basically motivated by a wandering curiosity for this or that, the collection of images and vignettes of interactions with natives and each other, attending to the details of maintenance like laundry and groceries, and putting together a structural frame in which to understand the life of a big city in a different part of the world.  There have been a few moments when the life I live in Brooklyn has pierced through the time difference and cultural shifts. It is remarkably hard to understand that other life from here, but soon enough I know that I will be attending to the details there much as I do here, relying on my wandering curiosity in my chosen work, those tasks of daily maintenance, vignettes of interactions and the developing framework for understanding what makes up daily life anywhere.