I never knew much about Yoko Ono aside from the fact that my mother didn’t like her music. However, a few years ago, I interned at the A.I.R. Gallery. A.I.R. was the first feminist art gallery in North America and the artists that are part of A.I.R. were, and are, amazing, eye-opening, and perpetually inventive. I remember hearing about Yoko Ono in the context of a few of our events, so knowing that she was involved in feminist art piqued my interest about her, though I still never gave her the attention she deserved.
Last Friday, I went down to Philadelphia to finish up a tattoo I’ve been working on for ages. After a mishap with my appointment, and tempted with the possibility of rescheduling for the next day, I ended up on a surprise mini-vacation. (And thanks to Automattic being distributed, plus filled with some of the best people ever, my good friend/coworker let us crash for a night.) Having an unexpectedly free afternoon meant I was completely unsure of what to do. I’m a planner, and I usually have lists filled with what needs to be accomplished every hour. (Yes, I realize how that makes me sound.) So after lunch and a surprise visit on my team’s weekly hangout, I made my way over to the Philadelphia Art Museum.
My interest in architecture generally begins and ends with George Costanza’s many failed and fraudulent attempts on Seinfeld. Of course, I interact with architecture on a daily basis, but all those angular lines and mathematical equations always kept me at arms distance. Despite my lack of interest, I remember first hearing of Frank Lloyd Wright after visiting a museum with my Girl Scouts troop at some point in my relatively distant past. If my memory isn’t lying to me, I remember being struck by the way in which his buildings blended in with the natural atmosphere around them: a wooden and sunny house surrounded by a wooden and sunny forest.
On Mulberry St.
The Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art at the Brooklyn Museum has been calling me for years, but I kept ignoring it…