On Wednesday, stopped at the Columbia Museum of Art before heading out of town. Serendipitous, it turns out, as there was an exhibition there entitled Perfect Likeness: European and American Portrait Miniatures from the Cincinnati Art Museum. Most of the portable portraits were watercolor on ivory or watercolor on vellum, but the versos of these locket-enclosed paintings held hair plaitings under glass. As I made my way through the exhibition, these momentos became more elaborate, until the exhibition evolved into a presentation of Victorian hair jewelry, which mostly left me cold. I was held in awe by the technique, but the jewelry had a kind of sterility, looking like the hair was just a convenient medium like any other (indeed, by this time, they were importing tons of hair just to make these things). In contrast, the grand finale, a large wreath made of hair, wire, and beads, was gorgeous and creepy.
I went through the permanent collection as I often do, in a swift, scavenger-like manner, looking only for things that might feed my current projects or my lifelong obsessions. I did pause for quite a while in a small back gallery to spend time with "Curator's Choice: Baby Series by Addison Will". The exhibition was composed of a series of photographic self-portraits of the male artist surrounded by typical pre- and post-baby activity, looking bewildered, lost, overwhelmed and sometime terrified. Humorous and touching, the images were accessible enough that they would make a great coffee table book for an expectant father.
So, Radley has taken to getting an upset stomach when his Mom goes out of town lately, but this time it was really serious. While I as driving back to Burlington, Kevin was taking him to the vet's where they determined he had a pretty serious bacteria problem. I picked him up on my way back into town, and he was all doped up and sad. I have been throwing pills down his throat every few hours since then. This afternoon, he's starting to act a little more normal. I meanwhile, am tearing the house apart looking for the shoebox containing my 2004 receipts, as I am under "examination" by the IRS. I have found the shoeboxes for every year but the one that they are interested in. Knowing that the IRS loves to audit artists, I have always been scrupulous in my recordkeeping, but knowing where everything is in our only-three-quarters-unpacked house is another story.