My God it's cold out there

For the first time this winter, not that it's been particularly cold so far, I woke up and with much groaning and protesting had to get out of the my nice warm, soft bed to close all the windows in my apartment because it's freezing out there, and even my Brooklyn uber-heat couldn't fight it off. It may be December, but I do not recall giving it permission to get this frigid yet.

But despite the arctic wind blowing through the streets of Brooklyn and down the alleyways of New York, I have something that may warm your heart and soul: another opportunity for you to see my art (I know! I am so generous giving everyone all these opportunities to support the arts all the time!). Although it will be in an even windier location, but maybe it's warmer than here...

None the less, if you happen to find yourself in the windswep beach town of Narragansett, RI (where I spent many an afternoon in grad school laying on the beach working on the art of my tan) feel free to stop by One Way Gallery for their winter show, opening tomorrow night. Sadly, I will not be able to attend the opening myself, but I will be there in spirit. Truth be told I'm debating not going outside until spring...I hate wintertime...

http://www.theonewaygallery.com/HOME.html

opera number 2

So after the horridness that was Aida at the Met Opera, I was a little apprehensive about the House of the Dead, and opera that I'd never heard of and hadn't been performed at the Met since forever...

IT IS THE BEST OPERATIC PERFORMANCE I'VE SEEN, EVER.

It was so amazing, at the end of the show the audience took a second to start applauding because we were all so blown away. It was the first opera I've been to in years where the standing ovations and bravos were well deserved. It had me sitting on the edge of my seat, they actually acted, and I'm still moved by the writing. Janacek, I had no idea you were so fantastic (For everyone, like me, who had no idea what this opera is about, it's set in a Siberian prison with an almost completely male cast of about a hundred singers). I'm actually tempted to read the book it's based on, also called House of the Dead by Fydor Dostoyevsky, so you know it's happy (ha! who's ever heard of a opera making you want to read a book! Could I get anymore bourgeoisie!).

I know that it come across sometimes that I'm just tooting my own horn: look at my fabulous art, listen to my amazing stories of international travel and adventures, come to my amazing show filled with sexy friends...but you know, in a way, someone's gotta get things done...and you know it's better than reading the paper...sometimes at least...I hope...

oh yeah, another artstar opening

As usual I've once again left an important announcement to the last minute. I will admit that advanced planning is not my forte. None the less, to help solidify my crazy art year, I am in another show opening in Bushwick this time. (On a side note, Bushwick is WAY nicer than when I lived there. They have some great bars, or at least one that I went to last night, and I may have to befriend some people who live over there so I can go back frequently!)

But I digress...for those of you who really do schedule your lives around my artistic career, here are the details of another amazing show that you should come to. I promise it will be awesome, I can make this promise because not only will I be there, but a bunch of other amazing artists (many of whom I know personally and can vouch for) will also be there making it the obvious place to be this Friday night.

Anyway, here you go (completely plagiarized from http://www.fortresstosolitude.com cause I'm too lazy to write something more succinct) :

FORTRESS TO SOLITUDE - THE PORTRAIT SHOW

November 7th and 8th, 2009

Opening reception Friday, November 6th, 6-10pm

245 Boerum Street,
Brooklyn NY 11206

Take L train to Montrose Avenue Stop.
Walk from subway station 2 blocks down until Boerum street. Make a left on Boerum. Building on left hand side at the middle of the block.



Participating artists:

Mauricio Alejo, Jonathan Allen, Lucas Blalock, Phong Bui, Katie Commodore, Claudia Cortes , Peter Dobill , Glen Fogel, Karen Heagle, Andrew Hurst, Barney Kulok, Anne Kunsemiller, Christopher Lee, Loren Munk, Anthony Patti, William Powhida, Don Pedro Pablo, Kevin Regan, Tom Sanford, Ash Sechler, Alfred Steiner, Pablo Tauler, Cibele Vieira

Curated by Guillermo Creus


Though it is generally considered to be a formal, traditional and relatively staid artistic practice, portraiture nevertheless maintains some presence in the production of these twenty three young New York artists. In the prime examples that comprise this exhibition, these artists explore both the boundaries of portraiture - redefining it based on principles of representation and the question of how identities are constructed - as well as investigate its essence, its relationship to history and its relevance for contemporary art.

For more information visit: http://www.fortresstosolitude.com

Special thanks to John Beeson for his help in organizing this show.

wait until the fat lady sings on a horse

I just got back from my first opera of the season. Oh yeah, I am that geek. I have a subscription to the Met.

None the less, I just got back from my first opera of the season. I love the opera. I've been staring at this ticket attached to my fridge via an American Express magnet giddy for the evening my subscription started. I will admit that I was a little disappointed that my first show was going to be Aida (I love, love, love Verdi, but really not a fan of Aida for some reason, and last year I started off with Lucia de Laramoor which blew my mind, it was amazing)...and sad to say this one actually let me down.

It's been a long time since I saw an opera where the singers actually just stood there and sang (I figured out at some point during a lull in the show that I've seen around 30 operas so far). Even the choir most of the time just stood there and sang. It was like watching a slide show with a sound track.

That is until they brought the horses out. Oh my Lord, I have never heard such amazing singing! I had no idea there was such equine talent in the city! Their range! Their pitch! They moved me from tears to jubilation all in a single breathe. Not to mention their poise and costuming!

OK, so the horses didn't sing, but they were still awesome. Not every day you get to see a bunch of horses on stage, some of which upstaged some of the actual performers cause you couldn't hear them if anyone else was singing anyway.

Although, I will give props where props are due, and the tenor that played Ramades was the best tenor I have ever heard in my life. He was absolutely astounding. I'll admit I do have a ticket to see Placido Domingo in a couple of months and we'll see how this portly young man stacks up against the fifty year opera veteran, but to date he wins. Just to hear him sing his couple of solos was worth the hours of almost boredom and the soniferous accompaniment of the old woman sitting next to me (which started within seconds of the prelude of act 1...she did wake up for the horses though).

Get yo'self a piece o' Commodore art!

So just in case you're sitting around this afternoon, checking your bank account and realize that you have all this extra money lying around and just can't think of what to spend it on, I have a suggestion!

The Emerging Artists auction sponsored by Daniel Cooney Fine Arts Gallery on www.igavel.com ends in just a few days (October 15th). And yes, yours truly has a very nice print in the auction, not to mention the other fabulous artists keeping me company on the list.

And if somehow that's just too steep for ya, well, the show at Baby Grand (in SOHO) is about half sold out. Those of you that missed the opening (shame on you!) might have missed me actually singing (oh yeah, now you feel left out), but you still have a chance to go see the show and pick up a bunch of art for mere pennies! Well, bunches of pennies...ok, dollars...fifty of them to be precise.

And for people that don't actually live anywhere near New York, I'll put pictures up soon, promise. I forgot my camera, so I'm just waiting for Jacob to get me his picts of the evening and then I'll really let you know what kind of party you missed. Cause the best thing about having an opening at a karaoke bar is that there is singing and drinks until 4 am, and the worst part of having an opening at a karaoke bar is that there is singing and drinks until 4 am. Everyone wins!

Opening!

Come one, come all to my fabulous showing of the most amazing pieces of scrimshaw the eyes can see! Or at least the most amazing pieces of scrimshaw with small dirty pictures on them that you can see in a karaoke bar...

Tomorrow night, being Wednesday, me and everyone that cares to will be at Baby Grand (on the corner of Lafayette and Grand in SOHO), reveling in beautiful things, imbibing cocktails, and hopefully singing Indie classics (albeit not me). Festivities start at 6:00ish and end when everyone goes home. It is a work night, so I only expect the hardest of hardcore folks to stay out too late...or at least the unemployed, such as myself.

And the these tiny pieces of ivory will be for sale! Just think, for the cost of an evening out you could take away (well in November you can take it away) a pocket sized dirty picture of someone you may even know!

So come on out and play! And sing! And look at pretty things!

oh, I am so talented

Today is Sunday. So naturally when I woke up this morning, I had a longing for a real Sunday breakfast...mmmm...bacon, eggs, toast, grilled tomato. Yeah, Sundays!

Imagine me, standing there frying up the bacon first, since cold eggs are gross, and the tomatoes don't take long, things going just like any other "yeah-whatever-day-of-the-week!" breakfast...That is until I put the second batch of bacon in the pan, at which point the fat exploded and attacked me, completely unprovoked! Not just attached me, but assaulted my eyeball. Bacon fat burned my eyeball. My actual eyeball. There is a burn on my eyeball.

It ruined my morning.

But not enough to stop cooking and ruin breakfast. And in retaliation I ate all the bacon.

And then instead of going to the hospital or anything (have you even been to the emergency room on a Sunday? I don't think so! I'd have to loose a limb or something before I did that and even then, maybe I'd wait until Tuesday) I went to the artists book fair at P.S.1 instead, which was awesome, and I spent all my money. I spent the rest of the afternoon drooling after amazing, amazing artist books that I can only dream of owning someday. All the while my eyeball gently throbs as though someone stuck their thumb in it. Nothing like looking at books and pretty things to calm you after after a ferocious breakfast meat attack.

Maybe tomorrow it'll be all better and the brown spot will be magically healed and I won't really have a burned my eyeball 'cause that's just gross.

Gross, but it does prove how talented and graceful I can be.

change of date

In case you read this more than talk to me, the scrimshaw opening's been rescheduled, but I don't know for when yet...some time next week I'm sure.

I'll keep you posted, don't worry!

"Nothing Happened"

The film last night was great! I was so impressed, it's only 10 minutes long, but it's a highly entertaining 10 minutes and my art's all over it. I'll let everyone know when it's really in town on the festival circuits.

Then me and Jacob might have found the best burger in NY, for real. It was at hotel on 81st between Central Park West and Columbus. It was amazing, and you can get it with portabello fries which should become a new staple. I'm already thinking about when I can force some more friends that far uptown so I can have it again...mmmmm...burger and fried mushrooms....

Look! I'm famous!

So I'm floored that other people blog about my artwork. Not only do I wonder consistently where they found it, but even when I find out how they found me I'm still impressed. Anyway, since other people are blogging about me it makes sense that I should get better about blogging about myself so I don't have to depend on coincidence to update everyone as to what's going on...so here we go...

Today, a print of mine goes on auction on igavel.com as part of a lot of emerging artists put together by Daniel Cooney Fine Art. It's an amazing wood engraving print that Brad Ewing printed at his print shop, Marginal Editions, that we printed on some absolutely gorgeous gold paper he gave me that had been custom made for him at Dieu Donne. Anyone who give me several pieces of incredibly sparkly, metallic paper will forever hold a place in my heart. But if you want to see the pieces from me and the other absolutely fabulous emerging artists here you go: http://auction.igavel.com/

As for the other stuff that's going on, tonight is the screening of that film that my artwork got to star in, "Nothing Happened". If you want to come to that here's the invitation:

Nothing Happened

Thursday, Sept 24th 7 pm

at GINA Gallery at 454 Columbus Ave (at 82nd)

$20 suggested donation

Before it tours festivals nationwide, we're having a Private Artists Screening!

Party with the filmmakers!

Enjoy an evening of Film! Wine! Art!

Meet some of the artists featured in the film!

Michael J. Berkowitz, Katie Commodore, Leah Reid, Michael Sheng, Alfred Steiner

Please go to paypal and donate $20 to: NothingHappenedFilm@gmail.com

Or cash at door

RSVP at NothingHappenedFilm@gmail.com

I'll be there, so you can at least have a chance to hang out with me, I may even wear a dress, I haven't decided yet. No heels though, so don't get your hopes too far up.

...anything else...YES! The scrimshaw opening at Baby Grand, a awesome, hipster karaoke bar in SOHO is going to be on October 2nd, which I think is a Friday...but I'll give everyone more details of that when I have them all. I wouldn't want you to have to plan anything too far in advance.

So there we go, this is what I've been up to, this is what's going on. Except I have a new mattress (the one I've had for years was 26 years old)...it's huge. I walk past my bedroom and I laugh. I'm tall, and I have to jump up into it. It's absurd. It's so absurd I'm going to show you:

Ha!

um

I've discovered the true inherent problem with a blog...and that is that when you're life is normal and you're hanging out with all your friends, you have nothing to put on it. It's not quite the same when all I have to write about is evenings at the theater watching plays that involve drag queens and alien devil boys and trying to catch up on all the deadlines I ignored while I was gallavanting around the Continent versus bitterballen and strange Danish boys. But I'll try.

I can at least update you on the status of my furniture...the movers have offered me $410 to make up for the fact that they broke everything. And I accepted. Cause after all it's just Ikea (not that they know that...I have have fibbed, but just a little bit). It won't replace everything, but it'll replace the stuff that I can't hide and maybe even buy some dinner and cocktails some fine evening.

But that's boring stuff.

I'll try and be more interesting in the future. I'll try and be half as entertaining as "Invasion of the Devil Boys" or whatever it was called...

it's hot and i'm tired of moving things

For those of you in the North East, and possibly most of the northern half of the world where it is summer, if you haven't noticed it's hot outside. Very, very hot. And I know that as children we used to all lie in the cool shade of trees, looking up at the light blue sky filtered through the leaves, day-dreaming of the day when we grow up, and on a day just like that balmy afternoon of our youth, we have to move around lots of heavy boxes and furniture.

Dreams do come true.

But I'm almost done, so close to being finished and never having to move again...that is unless I choose to. And what are the chances of that happening?

Or at least I would be close to being completely unpacked if all my furniture hadn't been broken by the movers. OK, maybe not all, but pretty close. For those of you not following my every move on facebook, the final tally is 3 pieces of furniture declared destroyed, 2 others fixed, 1 other off to the moving company's repair guy's shop, and 1 just not worth fixing (all it has is some weird damage on the inside of the cabinet). Not to mention the myriad of scrapes and dents in everything else. I didn't need furniture, right? I mean, I like living out of cardboard boxes.

And for all of you that know me so well, you would think, oh Lord protect that moving company, they cannot possibly be prepared for the wrath that is about to be unleashed on them...and truth be told, I didn't channel Super Bitch, because as I mentioned before it's just too hot to be angry. Thinking about getting angry makes me want to take a ice cold shower. And so now I wait until they decide how much money they're going to give me, and hopefully they cut me a fat check before it gets cool outside and I once again have the energy to express emotions again.

But for those of you who are curious, here's some of the highlights of what was once my furniture...enjoy!






This was my desk chair. It's solid wood. It used to have 4 legs. But I guess that was at least 1 too many, you can see the separatist leg just at the bottom of the picture...


these used to be straight. Promise.


just a little busted in...I didn't want a back to my desk drawers, really..


the back of this shelving/drawing unit was so bashed in you couldn't open the drawers in the front. The repair man removed the back completely. Now you an at least open the drawers, but then everything falls out of them through the back. Very useful.

Everyone this is my new apartment, new apartment this is everyone I know, and some I don't.

nerves

Tomorrow morning I close on my apartment. Yes, like many of my fellow Americans, I have taken advantage of the economic downturn and am joining the ranks of "adults" with equity. (More quotes, different words)

I scheduled the movers, I have to jump through hoops to turn on my electricity (thanks to the management company doing some very bad things), and I'm so horrified by the cost of cable that I may have to finally join Netflicks...

I can barely breathe.

Nothing like an impulse buy turning into a six months of paperwork and a permanent residence....a permanent residence! HA!

oh right, London

For some reason I keep on completely neglecting London here. No disrespect to the beautiful city, I'm just too busy being social and drinking to actually remember to write anything down...so, um, what have I done in London...

We had another barbeque. I grilled very fatty pork chops that started a fat fire. They were excellent. No eyebrows were lost.

What was lost however is half of my hair. Because what would be the point of an artstar international summer tour if I returned not looking a little more discotheque and a little less 31. Yes, after said barbeque and Lord knows how many bottles of wine and champagne (cause that's how we do it in London) we all thought it would be a great, no, an awesome idea to finally give me the mohawk that my soul has longed for since I started growing my hair.

And it looks good.

My parent's would disagree with that statement, but sixteen people on facebook can't be wrong.

None the less, with my new coiffure I return to Brooklyn to sign my soul away for a permanent home. No more moving, at least not for years, and now I'll have "equity". So scary.

I can't be a homeonwner, I have a mohawk.

last 24 hours in the Netherlands

As with all good things, even this party of my summer adventure has to come to an end...sigh.

So I figured here's my last chance to go see a little more of this crazy country, so why not do a field trip to the see Haarlem and the North Sea? Yeah! Field trips! And seeing as Holland is the size of Central Park, it takes mere minutes to get anywhere. OK, maybe Holland's a little bigger than Central Park, since the train takes a whopping 30 minutes (which is how long it takes me to get into Manhattan)...

Anyway, welcome to Zandvoort aan Zee. Think of a cross between Jersey Shore and the English coast, without the boardwalk and carnival games and replacing those are pannekoekken and bungalos. Brown, crisp water, millions of cheesey restaraunts and bars, lounges to rent, and sand as far as the eye can see. And if you look off to the left, there are dunes. Not dunes like I think of, endless sand and windswept mounds...no, no, no, this is crazy beautiful (not that desert dunes aren't beautiful). Everything is covered in low plants and briars, which are chock full of rabbits, and it goes on forever. You can bike through it and apparently wind up in the Den Haag, or so the sign says, which is why I compared the Netherlands to a large park. If you can bike to another major city, it's a little strange to me.

Needless to say, the beach was so wonderful, the water was so nice to put our feet in (except where there were bunches of dead blue jelly fish the size of my head- for real not like the raspberries) that we never made it to Haarlem. But the train station looks nice from the tracks.

After a day in the sun, watching the sunset with a pitcher of sangria we returned to beautiful Amsterdam where we all had one last cocktail at a neighborhood bar, and as we were enjoying our last beer together, we all noticed the glowing red sign across the canal that read "LIVE SEX SHOW"...and we thought why not? I'd been in Amsterdam for 4 1/2 weeks, Liesl had been there for a year, Claudio had been there for almost 2 years (although he'd been to a peep show before), we figured we can't possibly leave Amsterdam without sampling the live sex shows!

It was horrible. Do not go to the Live Sex Show...for 25 Euro we got 2 drinks and I've watched algebra lectures that left me more turned on than that. Both group of boys that stipped down for me out of the blue we're sexier than that, at least they were funny. But I guess we had to do it. If I wasn't going to smoke, I had to support the seedier industries somehow.

And then I had to get up bright and early in the morning to catch a stupid early flight to London, where I continue my jet setting life style only with champagne instead of Belgian beer. Oh, it's good to be me.

Anyway, I love Amsterdam, I love the Netherlands, I miss everyone I've met, but I expect to see you all again in Brooklyn. It was awesome, I can't wait to go back, New Year's anyone? Or there's always next summer, maybe I can convince them to give me the residency again...gives me a little more time to work on my Dutch.

You would think we would have learned our lesson

No, I didn't loose my passport again.

But we had another party in the studio space in honor of the artist that replaced me, Laura Toots' last night (she's a photographer from Estonia).

There was a watermelon, and a sword, and then a very sticky floor.

And there was dancing and watermelon mush with vodka, because the wine was all gone.

And once again, a group of boys wanted to join in the fun, three boys from Leeds to be exact...only this time there were 6 of us to witness it instead of just me and Claudio...and yes, I'm not the only one with pictures.

This place is crazy. I'm going to miss it something fierce.

the funnier side of Utrecht, since the other one was actual tourist garbage

I'm not making this up at all, the sign's the proof...Psalm Karaoke at Dom Kerk. Do you have any idea how much holy wine you'd have to drink to kneel down and start signing along?


For all my architect friends who have a soft spot in their heart for amazing Dutch Design...

tourist days

So now that I don't have to sit around and actually make art anymore I figured some day trips were in order. Ones that involved a little less drinking then Ghent. So I hopped the train with Leisl's little sister in tow and we went to Utrecht. At first I'll be honest, the train station is ugly and to get outside you have to walk through a mall (which is weird- giant train station, Macy's two great ideas that belong together after all these years). But on the other side of the industrial weirdness that is transportation hub and consumer paradise, is the Utrecht you imagine. Only I had no idea what to imagine.

It's beautiful, just like Amsterdam, only cleaner, and different...if you took Amsterdam and rolled it up with the smaller buildings in Ghent, and then filled all the first floor shops with designers and high end furniture, and then made the canals gorgeous (they're below street level and lined with cafes and trees), and took away all the drunk tourists, you'd have Utrecht.

They still use their churches as churches, although they've been drastically altered from the Reformation and the ousting of the Spanish, and then there was apparently a crazy tornado that destroyed a couple of the churches forever ago (but that sign was in Dutch and I could be making it all up). Me and Olivia spent hours at the Universiteitsmuseum (say that three times fast), which although it's mostly geared towards kids learning about science and stuff, there's a room of medical samples and dental tools from the 17th century...oh yeah, awesome. And then they have the most amazing botanical garden, which we spent hours in, stealing wild raspberries and petting the bees.

Over all, a beautiful day. I hear there's art and stuff there to see too, but who needs art when there are medical maladies in jars?




On August 16th you can come in and have a picture of your baby taken on this lilly pad. For real.

oh yeah, i went to Belgium...

I even took a couple pictures.

Everyone this is Ghent, Ghent this is all of my friends,

Ghent is like a medievil Baltimore. Filled with crazy people, cheap beer, and awesome music. Or at least that's what i hear. I was only there for 24 hours for the Ghent Festival, but it rained, instead we just got very, very drunk.

But that's what you do in Ghent.

where i've been living

For all of you that just can't stand not knowing what the amazing house that I've been sharing with Claudio and Niki (and now a photographer from Estonia names Laura) looks like, here you go!

Oudekerksplein 4

The windows downstairs are drawn (sorry guys) but that's where the studio space is, and the windows that say "You are beautiful" is my old room...or I guess I should just say is the Artist in Residence's room.

Thuis zuet thuis.

things we don't have in America

I saw a bumble bee! OK, I saw a bunch of bumble bees and then I walked away because I'm not a big fan of bees.

But I took a picture of one- so no more complaining about how I haven't taken any pictures if anything! Anyway, when was the last time you saw one? Um, maybe 1989 or so...they still have bunches in the Netherlands. Not so much in the UK anymore, and in the states we're loosing bees faster than we can bring home baby ones to make our moms proud. Maybe if we didn't make up children's songs about squishing them they'd still be around...

art update

Today my residency officially ended.

Not that I'm leaving.

I've become the first artist in residence to just move into one of the other intern's rooms instead of going home. Thank you, Niki!

But since I'm not required to make art anymore (although I'll probably finish the top one since I technically don't have anything else to do), I thought you all might like to see what I've actually done. That is besides eat bitterballen, drink beer, and wonder the canals...

O-M-G!!!!!

So not only have the Dutch perfected transforming skinny little fairies into liquid frying gold, but that have also invented the most amazing thing in the world to cook in said gold...

Let me introduce you to bitterballen.

Oh yes, these were a gift from the gods directly to the Dutch (and we thought ambrosia was a jello salad). Get this- bitterballen are deep fried balls of gravy. That's right, gravy. The best part of Thanksgiving magically rolled into a ball and rendered crispy by their wonderful, wonderful vats of pure love. You thought I wasn't coming home because I liked the people and architecture and culture, oh no, I'm not coming home because of bitterballen.

i really didn't make it all up

Yesterday I met a friend of Leisl's little sister, an Australian drummer (who has played with Herbie Hancock's band) named Matt traveling around Europe for the summer like so many other young men his age. Naturally we all have to tell him the story of the Danish boys from a couple of nights ago. I pull out my camera and he starts going through the pictures...and get this, he knows them. They were all roommates for the past few days at the Orange Tulip hostel. Besides their ability to consume copious amounts of alcohol in one sitting, he commentted on their outstanding farmer's tans, which my pictures don't quite do justice apparently.

Happy Birthday, Niki!

One of the people in the house I'm in had a birthday party last night, reconfirming that everyone in this country is so nice it hurts...but this is really a story of after the party.

We've been partying a little hard, so most people took the night easy and everyone had left by around 2 am, but me and Claudio (other other guy in the house) decided to stay up a little while longer and listen to some very loud music and finish the few remaining beers. Nothing special, just rocking out.

Then all of a sudden there was some knocking at the door, and outside was a group of 4 boys, all completely wasted, wanting to know what was going on in there. We laughed and explained this was where we lived and we were just listening to music, to which they asked if they could come in and listen too just for a few minutes. And with a slight shoulder lift we figured what could it hurt, and invited them in.

So far, just a little weird, but oh you just wait...we chatted a little bit...they're from Denmark, just finishing up their vacation...eventually I told one of them what I did for a living, to which they all got incredible excited and within seconds decided they wanted to pose for me. And before we could just laugh it off, me and Claudio had 3 naked men in the room, posing (one just stood silently in the corner...he never did say a word). And before you could say, "Katie, you are so making this up, nah-uh, I don't believe you" they had done their thing, gotten dressed, said their good byes, thanked us, and were out the door. And Claudio and I almost peed ourselves laughing so hard.

For real.

I have pictures.

They're great.

Friday night

I know that many of you are just sitting around, waiting for me to return so you can finally recommence with your social life. And being the amazingly understanding friend that I am, even from a quarter around the world I've got an amazing evening planned for all my closest friends and loved ones (and everybody else).

Friday night, 7 pm, at the Spread Gallery in Brooklyn (104 Meserole) is an opening of a exhibit without equal: The Love Show.

And yes, I'm in it. Because as we know, my art is all about the love.

But there will be bands, and artstars, and acrobats, and elephants, and general merrymaking, and although I'll only be there in spirit you should be there in person!

Ok, I lied about the acrobats and elephants, but not about the bands and artstars and merrymaking. So go anyway.

Because I love you all, each and every one of you.

papers?! papers?!

I'm legal again. The government has procured a hasty passport with my picture in it and everything, and it looks almost convincing. The new American passports are like taking a trip to Disney World while you travel around the real world. Every page has a different "American" image on it with an inspirational quote at the top. It covers everything from the Liberty Bell to the cowboys, and naturally New York City. With rubber raised printing of revolutionary images and bald eagles on the inside covers and holograms covering my face, it's hard to believe it's real.

I miss my old passport. It was just blue.

now i'm officially a local

I rode a bicycle to the huge Monday morning market by Noorderkerk, and then carried other people's large purchases back on my bike for them, 'cause I have the bike with a crate on the back.

I didn't die.

No other people died.

Amsterdam is way easier to ride a bike in than Brooklyn.

i forgot...passport update

Right, passport...turns out European passport pictures are smaller than our oh-so-blue counterparts. Everything really is bigger in the states. But that meant that I had to retake my photos, unprepared, early in the morning, with bad hair...and in the process I broke the machine. Because I'm really good with machines. But the repair guy was awesome, and funny, and fixed the "apartment connection failure" message lickity-split. And in the process told me all about gezzeligheid, but I wasn't really listening so I can't tell you all about it, but I'm sure you can imagine what it means...and it had nothing to do with sneezing.

Anyway, someday soon I'll have a shiny new passport. 14 months before I had to get one, but it will have a picture in it where I don't look like a terrorist, and I'll have the honor of having bad hair and a hoodie on until I'm 41. Which I'm sure I'll still be wearing anyway. And in the meantime I have so many ID photos I could get train passes and museum cards and college IDs for every major city in Western Europe...hmmm...maybe I'll do that on Monday...

to proove that I'm doing art too...

So I had to abandon the idea of doing portraits of the prostitutes, I just don't have the time I need to make good friends with them. So instead I'm doing portraits of men as they look at the girls with backgrounds that are traditional Dutch wallpapers, fabric, and tile designs from the Golden Age...so far so good I guess...

This is the organ at Nieuwe Kerk, it's amazing. The Dutch turned all of the Catholic Churches into Protestant Churches in the early 1600's, and then they eventually decommissioned most of the big ones. But the old tombs are still in the floor, and the aristocratic pews are still around all the pillars, but essentially the church is completely empty, it's used only for exhibitions and organ concerts. It's kind of fascinating considering all the other European cities I've been to which are completely dominated by their amazing over the top cathedrals.














This one's from my new favorite Catholic Church. Once the Dutch outlawed Catholicism, they didn't really enforce it, but you couldn't practice it anywhere that actually looked like a church. This is a house around the corner from where I'm staying that has a church in the attic, Ons' Lieve Heer op Solder. It spans over 3 different houses (although you can only access it through the one) and is still in use on holidays and once a month. The rest of the house is still preserved with some of the original 17th century wall coverings and delft tiles in the kitchens.

The biggest raspberries ever. They were the size of my head...ok, not my head, but my nose.

yum

I have come to the understanding that transfats are not the ultimate deep frying experience. The Dutch apparently render fairies and then deep fry things in the that, and it tastes like magic. Every time you clap, a Dutch person enjoys some frites and an apple fritter.

saturday in the parks

I wish I was a better writer, I could entertain everyone with tidbits and tales of adventures in "the miracle city", but I'm not.

I spent yesterday drawing in the most amazing spot, the Begijnhof, a cluster of secluded homes centered around a garden set in the middle of the city. It was originally a haven for religious unmarried or widowed women that didn't want to join the convent (and have to give up their material wealth) but were drawn to cloistered life, who in turn cared for the elderly. It was founded in the 1400s and the last Beguine died in the 70s. Now it's run by a foundation that rents the 92 flats out to unmarried women. And it is beautiful. It makes me almost want to pretend to be a good Presbetyrian and see if I can get on the waiting list.

It's the absolute opposite of the Red Light District: peaceful, quiet, you actually can't hear the city noises which are just a wall away. But filled with the same thing: unmarried, unconventional women.

And then there has been a series of concerts in the park for the past few nights, Friday night was Dire Straights (sorry Ahti, I didn't know in time) and the Saturday was Lenny Kravitz. So we all grabbed some wine and a blanket and sat outside of the venue, and rocked along to a very tightly leather pants clad Lenny. Half of the city had the same idea, barbequing and enjoying the free music. I mean afterall you don't really need to see him, and it's not like you would see him in the actual standing area anyway.

And just picture when the show was over and there were tens of thousands of people walkig out of the park, half of them on bikes, everyone in various states of inebriation, and the bikes actually ould ride throught the crowd! I am continually impressed by the Dutch natural atunement with thier bicycle. Which is why I have yet to ride the one the residency has for me.

for Kalev, the view from my window...albiet my bedroom window

The view from the window-window is just of the brick wall across the street, my bedroom has a much better view.

Am-ster-Damn!

Yeah Amsterdam!

I made it, and in classic Katie style. Because everyone would be disappointed if there wasn't any huge disaster and chaos at some point in the trip the fates decided to get it all out of the way early (or at least hopefully my arrival here is the the worst of everything and tomorrow will be an infinitely better day).

Needless to say, I pulled that age old nightmare of all international travelers and parents of said travelers...I lost my passport somewhere in the ether between getting on my flight in Gatwick (as a side note, Gatwick is 800 years outside of the city! It's not a London airport! whose idea was that?!) and standing in line at border patrol in Amsterdam...yeah...for real. Gone. I have no passport. Now just take a moment and imagine the panic, watching your fellow travelers orderly walking through immigration, tearing apart your bag hoping you were just being silly, imagine your inner-mother yelling at you for being such an irresponsible child (not to mention what your real mother's going to say), imagine looking at the immigration officers and explaining "yes, I am that dumb ass American that couldn't even keep track of a small booklet of the most important piece of paper ever"...yeah that's how my day started.

But the folks in immigration were fantastic, they had cake (aparently the airport is doing away with flight taxes), which I couldn't eat because the idea of eating something made me even less happy than I was already, but at least each one fo them offered some at least 4 times...but for real, they were amazing, and understanding, and put up with my absurd amount of tears and bad jokes about what it took to prove I was an American. And after about 6 hours that gave me a provisionary visa to hang out in Holland, Belgium, and the somewhere else. I'll admit I wasn't listening, I was just so happy to hear I wasn't going to be thrown to the international border limbo like that guy Tom Hanks played in that movie.

So I'm here.

The guy in charge of the house is awesome, as are everyone I've met so far who are associated with the program. They all invited me out to an opening on the other side of town, which I naturally excepted, never being one to turn down a party especially after a craptastic day, only since I'm not that proficient on a bike they were going to ride and I was going to take the tram...only the tram we thought went there, didn't, and it took me a long to figure that out. And then the lovely tram driver told me the right bus to be on, so I got on it, when the driver of that then informed me that it was going in the wrong direction, so I got off and got back on in the other direction, to which the other driver said that the first driver was wrong, but he'd get me there...hours later...needless to say I missed the opening, but I got to see A LOT of the city. So in the end I just went home, at which point Claudio, the guy in change, made me the best cabanara I've ever had, served with some wine from his father in Italy. And I'll admit it, my day is now infintiely better. He felt so bad for me he decided to cook me an home cooked Italian meal, and low and behold I'm human again.

So that's my first day in Amsterdam. For real. It actually a gorgeous city, even when seen through the eyes of an exhausted incredibly unhappy traveler. I'm excited, it's going to be good.

Or at least it can't get worse.

the end of London...

OK, you win, enough people want to know what I'm doing right now, at this moment, that I give up and here's the blog.

London, has been fantastic as usual. Hot, beautiful, summer weather (the locals are melting and I'm soaking up the rays). I wound up helping out my friend Kelly McCallum, a fellow artist who is awesome naturally, work on a piece that will be shown at Sotheby's in a few days. So even though I'm here on vacation I got to enjoy the thrill of deadlines, deadlines, deadlines, a future West Ham football star's birthday party in the park (Happy 10th birthday Ocean), and an amazing hail storm from the dry safety of a pub (that was entertaining...it involved a downpour, thunder, lighhtning, dime sized hail, and two naked men on bicycles) .

Oh the British, how we do love you.

Early in the morning I head off to Amsterdam for the residency. Despite all of my half hearted efforts, my Dutch is practically non-existent (although I can say: Deze man heeft ´een hand tegen zijn gezicht en de andere om zijn elleborg, but I don't know how to say "where's the restroom?"). Maybe Rosetta Stone isn't good for everything.

In grand British style, tonight we're barbequing my mother's famous ribs, some veg, and a pineapple that's been soaking in rum for 3 days. A glorious fairwell for me, silly (but fun) since I'll be back in a month.

So here I am, leaving an amazing artist's flat in Shoreditch with a view of the gerkin, on my way to the Red Light District with my own window...