Sight Set Eyes On

Nothing Says Miami Beach Like the Fontainebleau

I spent most of this trip to Miami Beach body surfing in the ocean--right outside the hotel's back gate--and drinking cocktails by the pool.  On my last night, though, I left the hotel alone around midnight and headed, with camera in hand, down the street to the Fontainebleau Hotel. 

As a teenager I'd spent many hours with my best friend, Heidi, sneaking into the Fontainebleau pool on weekends and during the summer.  Pool hopping along Collins Avenue was the weekend sport of choice in our day; and in the years that followed, my younger brother did the same with his friends.  It was a rite of passage if you grew up here.  We lived for the diving board--gone now--and for those forbidden jaunts through the lobby in wet bikinis, heading to the elevators with some mischief in mind.

You'll find a short history of Miami Beach and of the Fontainebleau here:

http://www.fontainebleau.com/web/discover/history

My final night at this famed hotel turned into a couple of hours of shooting--and at the end of it, I rewarded myself with a cognac and some reflections on the past.  The Fontainebleau I knew as a kid was nothing like what you see here; it was the magic of another era.  Today, it weaves an entirely different enchantment, and I couldn't bear to leave the Beach without documenting its current incarnation.

All of these shots were taken in the hotel's lobby and lounge.

  

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

  

 

The Florida Room 1

It isn't often that I indulge in a self portrait.  In fact, I rarely let others photograph me.  Nevertheless, the bathroom in my hotel room was so "out there", I just had to...

 

The Fun House Bath!

Nothing but black marble, mirrors and lights!

 

During the 50's and 60's in Miami, houses came with "Florida Rooms"--fabulous rooms, located on the back of the house that were filled with jalousie windows and had a view of the garden or-- if you were lucky--the sea.  I spent a lot of time in Florida Rooms--and now looking back, I enter that hallowed room once again.. 

It isn't often that I head back to the place of my birth.  But this weekend I did just that and made my way to Miami, Florida.  It had been a few years, though the last time I was there I admit to arriving in a rented convertible, wearing dark glasses, a vintage head scarf, and red lipstick.  This time I opted for the less dramatic route and took a cab from the airport to my hotel on Miami Beach.  I wasn't sure how I would feel about being there, but as soon as that thought entered my consciousness, I saw the blue waves break on white sand and rushed to get my bathing suit on.

It would be hard to explain what it was like growing up there.  I didn't know anything about winter.  I didn't experience my first snowfall until I was twenty years old.  My formative years were spent in this strange tropical paradise--body surfing in the ocean, stealing mangoes from my neighbor's tree, and pool hopping along Collins Avenue.  When people tell me about growing up in the midwest--and I say this with some shame--I feel badly for them.

I've often been the first one to say, "you can't go home again",  but I feel differently about that now.  Like voodoo magic, Miami wrapped its arms around me again, and I find myself considering yet another move.  The weekend brought the usual late afternoon thunder storms and a rocking surf.  If anything in life could make me happier than being tossed around in rough blue water and wet sand, I don't know what it is.

   

 View from my room after a brief rain--Collins Avenue and the Inland Waterway.

Mixed Media Exhibition Featuring Work by 19 Artists at Cynthia-Reeves

Mixed Media Exhibition Featuring Work by 19 Artists at Cynthia-Reeves.

Jackson, Early Light

A few days ago I headed to Jackson, Mississippi to see some artist friends who are installing their work in the new federal courthouse building.   Downtown Jackson, like so many city centers, is a convoluted mix of old and new construction.  Rotting wood and torn windows stand next to fresh concrete and shiny new paint. It's an abstraction that is hard to ignore.

While I  come here several times a year, I seldom make time to observe and document these surroundings. This time, though, I thought I would change that and left the hotel early in the morning with camera in hand.  I turned my attention first to what was new.

 

  

 

 

 

And then looked to the past...

The street outside the hotel holds two diners--one, The Mayflower, is still thriving, serving some of Jackson's best home style cooking--collard greens, fried sweet potatoes and the like.  The other, the Bon Ton Cafe is only a remnant.  It's tile floor entrance still greets passers by, but the walls around it have given up hope.  Still, looking at it in the early morning light, its beauty remains.  

The Mayflower
 

 

  

The Bon Ton Cafe...
 

 



   

 

Surrendering to Steel and Glass

I spent my spring in Paris.  I bypassed the museums because I had no interest in them, then escaped the crowds of tourists due to the cold and rainy weather--none of them wanted to be there.  April in Paris is not what one might imagine. I'd been lucky--I'd received a rather generous fellowship--the Jane Crater Hiatt--in order to travel and work abroad.  I am a visual artist, and I set out to see Paris, my favorite city, with new eyes.

There are so many places there that could have taken me captive--convinced me to while away my afternoon hours, but none was more compelling than the Grand Palais des Beaux-Arts. On days where I could not bear my studio any longer, I would head to this shelter, this high church of steel and glass.  It is true that you are met outside by its Classical lines and lush ornamentation, but that's just for show--the real treasure lies inside--under the dome and under the sky-- on top of concrete looking up.

On a perfect day no one will be there and the doors will be open, but that's a perfect day.  Any other time you have to seize your opportunity.  I had many and took them all.  I surrendered to this monument of vast, hard beauty and lost myself.  

So my blog begins with this hideout--my hideout--my secret fort.