A few years ago a friend of mine, Katharine DeShaw, spoke to me about United States Artists and how they were exploring new ways to fund artists and the making of art.
I’m a believer that art changes lives. And research shows that I’m not alone. Some 96% of Americans appreciate and value the arts in their lives. But apart from buying works of art how do we as individuals create conditions for art to thrive in our society?

Of course there are plenty of organizations, as well as the National Endowment for the Arts, which contribute to the well being of the arts, but in 2005 four leading foundations – Ford, Rockefeller, Prudential, and Rasmuson – contributed $22 million to establish United States Artists and accomplish something that up to that point, neither private foundations nor the government had done: provide a secure, sustainable, nationwide funding source devoted to living artists.

The USA Fellows program became United States Artists’ signature initiative – awarding 50 unrestricted grants of $50,000 each year to outstanding performing, visual, media, and literary artists across the country. Past winners include Bill T. Jones, Kara Walker, Kate and Laura Mulleavy of Rodarte, jazz musician Jason Moran, and the writer Sapphire.

Last night at Jazz at Lincoln Center in New York City, United States Artists announced the latest 52 creative visionaries to join this illustrious crowd, including conceptual artist Glenn Ligon, Latino poet Martin Espada, documentary filmmaker Laura Poitras, 1960s art pioneer Douglas Wheeler, and my friend Mel Chin.

The total that has been invested in artists in the last five years is $12.5 million – impressive for any organization, but especially for a start-up that has weathered a tough economic and political climate for the arts. USA Fellows hail from 105 cities in 39 states and Puerto Rico, and range in age from 26 to 87 at the time of their award. Personally, I have over the years been inspired to support Deanna Dikeman, USA Booth Fellow, Visual Arts; Rick Lowe, USA Booth Fellow, Architecture and Design

 and this year Anne Lewis, USA Booth Mattson Fellow, Media.

So can we sit back on our laurels now, believing that the work has been done by those with the resources — the heavy lifters? Well, not quite — not by a long way. While record-breaking sales at auction houses and star-studded art fairs might lead us to believe that artists are living the good life, the unfortunate reality is that many of the best artists in this country — even those considered pioneers in their fields — still struggle to make ends meet and secure funding to create new work.

So United States Artists designed another product — USA Projects — to foster connections between artists and the public and put needed dollars into the hands of working artists coast to coast. And this is where you come in. For as little as $1, anyone can now go to unitedstatesartists.org to connect with and support a great artist and an original project.

What makes this special is that only established artists can fundraise and all donations are tax deductible. All the artists and projects come with USA’s endorsement, so you know that the artists seeking support represent the best in their fields. More than that, with the ability to fund projects that appeal to your own artistic sensibilities you become a real participant in the project, sharing in its inception and following online as the funds reach critical mass and the project is realized. Sure you may not contribute as much as a Ford or a Rockefeller, but the pooled resources achieve the creation of art that informs our times and is a legacy to future generations. It’s also really great fun.

Since the USA Projects alpha site went live in May, more than 75 artists have posted projects and over 1,500 supporters have pledged more than $200,000. Participating artists include choreographers Eiko & Koma, Ronald K. Brown, and Joanna Haigood, visual artists Zoe Strauss and Charles Gaines, guitarist Bill Frisell, designer Stephen Burks, and theater artists Marc Bamuthi Joseph and Rhodessa Jones.

The diversity of the projects, even in this early phase, is pretty spectacular. Philadelphia-based photographer Zoe Strauss exceeded her goal and raised more than $5,000 for “On the Beach,” a project documenting the people and places affected by the catastrophic BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

Documentary filmmaker Heather Courtney of Texas raised more than $5,000 to help complete Where Soldiers Come From, which tells the story of childhood friends from a rural high school in Michigan who joined the National Guard after graduation to secure funds for college. And Seattle comic book artist Jim Woodring got the funding he needed to fulfill his dream of creating a giant steel tip pen.

This gives me hope. Somewhere between the rarified perspective of art world insiders and the disinterested viewpoint of the average American, too little is being done to directly support living artists in this country. But thanks to United States Artists and you, we can now all become modern-day Medicis, one small gift at a time.

This morning – a beautiful crisp fall day in the Texas Hill Country – I opened the windows of my office, sat down and played the track, Pampas, from the album Antonio Lysy at the Broad: Music from Argentina. http://www.yarlungrecords.com/#antoniolysy1
It has been nominated for “Best Classical Contemporary composition” at the 2010 Latin Grammy Awards and I can totally understand why. It has been called lyrical and Lysy’s performance has been described as “sublime eloquence overlay(ing) earthy passion” Phil Muse, Audio Video Club of Atlanta.

Antonio Lysy – the cover of the album
However, what really struck me this morning was the music’s ability to transport me to a culture and land that urged exploration. The pathos of a place and people seemed to hang on each note and I found myself on a mental journey across the open grassland, absorbed in the romance of it and consumed by feelings of desire and fulfillment.

Lalo Schifrin, composer of Pampas
At the end of the track I felt curiously connected to this new world and strangely to my own. Revived, open, receptive, ready to share and to explore.

In the interests of full disclosure I must say that Antonio Lysy and his wife Margaret are dear friends of mine, so I do not write dispassionately about their music or their work but instead am delighted and honored to share their vision with others.

This family, over generations, has taken a passion for music and made it a lifestyle, so it is not unexpected that all the proceeds from the album for the first 5 years will be donated to SOL-LA Music Academy in Santa Monica, Los Angeles. Once again there is a connection, Margaret Lysy is the CEO and Director of SOL-LA, a school ” based on the belief that vibrant cultural education positively affects other areas of learning, and that music education can create bridges across diverse cultures and communities” http://www.sollamusicacademy.org.

On the grounds of SOL-LA

As I pondered these networks and purposeful philanthropy I couldn’t help relating it back to the feeling of “connectiveness” that enveloped me while listening to the Pampas soundtrack.

So do yourself a favor, listen to the soundtrack, you may be inspired to buy the album and like me, maybe you’ll be curiously interested to see what happens at the 2010 Latin Grammy Awards on November 11, in Las Vegas. http://www.latingrammy.com

This morning – a beautiful crisp fall day in the Texas Hill Country – I opened the windows of my office, sat down and played the track, Pampas, from the album Antonio Lysy at the Broad: Music from Argentina. http://www.yarlungrecords.com/#antoniolysy1
It has been nominated for “Best Classical Contemporary composition” at the 2010 Latin Grammy Awards and I can totally understand why. It has been called lyrical and Lysy’s performance has been described as “sublime eloquence overlay(ing) earthy passion” Phil Muse, Audio Video Club of Atlanta.

Antonio Lysy – the cover of the album
However, what really struck me this morning was the music’s ability to transport me to a culture and land that urged exploration. The pathos of a place and people seemed to hang on each note and I found myself on a mental journey across the open grassland, absorbed in the romance of it and consumed by feelings of desire and fulfillment.

Lalo Schifrin, composer of Pampas
At the end of the track I felt curiously connected to this new world and strangely to my own. Revived, open, receptive, ready to share and to explore.

In the interests of full disclosure I must say that Antonio Lysy and his wife Margaret are dear friends of mine, so I do not write dispassionately about their music or their work but instead am delighted and honored to share their vision with others.

This family, over generations, has taken a passion for music and made it a lifestyle, so it is not unexpected that all the proceeds from the album for the first 5 years will be donated to SOL-LA Music Academy in Santa Monica, Los Angeles. Once again there is a connection, Margaret Lysy is the CEO and Director of SOL-LA, a school ” based on the belief that vibrant cultural education positively affects other areas of learning, and that music education can create bridges across diverse cultures and communities” http://www.sollamusicacademy.org.

On the grounds of SOL-LA

As I pondered these networks and purposeful philanthropy I couldn’t help relating it back to the feeling of “connectiveness” that enveloped me while listening to the Pampas soundtrack.

So do yourself a favor, listen to the soundtrack, you may be inspired to buy the album and like me, maybe you’ll be curiously interested to see what happens at the 2010 Latin Grammy Awards on November 11, in Las Vegas. http://www.latingrammy.com

A large, writhing faux-fur sculpture rising as though directly out of a surrealist’s vision is not what one expects on entering a house. Yet “Les cousins” (“The Cousins”), 1970, by Dorothea Tanning, placed in the foyer of my new home, came to signify that time and place for me.

“Les cousins” (“The Cousins”), 1970 by Dorothea Tanning. Photo: The Menil Collection, Houston

It was New York, 1980. The music was “Call Me by Blondie,” “Another Brick In the Wall,” “Magic” by Olivia Newton-John, and “Rock With You,” by Michael Jackson. The Jazz Singer, Fame and Raging Bull were playing in movie theaters. “The Factory” – Andy Warhol’s iconic studio – was in full swing and the elusive doorman Marc Benecke held the patrons of Studio 54 in the 700 person range.

Dominique de Menil’s NYC townhouse today. Photo: S. D. Booth.

I stood in the foyer of the 5-story townhouse of Dominique de Menil — the French born Houston based arts patron and advocate for humanitarian causes — where I was to live for the next two years. Some sixty years my senior, this extraordinary person was also my patron and friend.

It was a journey that I began as an undergraduate art history student at Rice University in Houston. I needed to take a work/study job, and met with Mrs. de Menil, who was offering a position for just such a student. After a few introductory questions, she leaned forward and asked, “Would you do anything I need you to do?” When I said, “Probably, but could you give me an example?” she replied with a fixed stare, “Well, if the toilet broke, what would you do?” I nervously answered, “I would first turn off the water … if I could … and then find a way to clean up the mess.” Dominique smiled and asked me when I could begin.

Perhaps it was my year of traveling around Europe in a VW Van or my background as a “can-do” Texan that got me the job, but Mrs. de Menil threw me into the deep end of working with her art collection. My first task was to transcribe her late husband’s notes into an archival record. It was a wonderful learning experience and I had the great opportunity to work in her Houston home, sitting at the personal desk of John de Menil.

Luisa Lambri – “Untitled” (Menil House, #01), 2009. The view from John de Menil’s desk. Photo: S. D. Booth

On graduating from Rice in 1978, I moved to Paris as a research assistant for an art historian that I had met through Dominique. It was there that I studied further and began my career in art conservation. Once again, Mrs. de Menil was very encouraging and after an internship at the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, and my subsequent acceptance to the Institute of Fine Arts (IFA), Mrs. D — my nickname for Dominique — insisted that I live at her home in New York so that I would not accumulate so much debt. It was one of the ways in which she helped me out in life.

So there I was at my new digs — located only a few blocks from the IFA at East 73rd Street and Lexington. My living quarters were a small basement studio that opened onto an outdoor Max Ernst sculpture garden. However, with access to the house I felt a part of the household of Mrs. D, Jacqueline, her French housekeeper, Gladys or “Gaga,” who had worked for the family for 30 years, and a surprisingly garrulous French-speaking parrot named Cacaloo. A Victor Brauner painting was installed above my bed and among many other riches a bright yellow Mark Rothko painting greeted me on entering the dining room.

The author in front of the de Menils’ Mark Rothko, “No. 10,” 1957. Photo: S. D. Booth.

It was an eclectic environment, as Mrs. D collected many unusual and refined objects. She particularly loved the Surrealists and as for me, I found I was living in a Surrealist landscape — spending valuable moments with the indomitable Dominique, meeting great art historians, writers and curators like Walter Hopps, artists James Turrell (working as his assistant on his “Skyspace” at PS1), and Andy Warhol — at the same time as being absorbed in my studies at IFA. It was a heady mixture of culture, art and ideas that greatly enhanced my educational experience not to mention consciously and unconsciously liberating my imagination.

Walter Hopps, Suzanne Deal Booth and Dominique de Menil. Photo: S. D. Booth.

New York will always be a part of my DNA, from the intellectual and demanding courses at IFA, to gallery openings and art functions ranging from performance-séances to Whirling Dervishes and up ’til dawn discussions about the American landscape tradition and its influence on early Abstract Expressionism, all topics which contributed to my IFA thesis.

The author in the conservation studios at Centre Pompidou, Paris 1983. Photo: S. D. Booth.

I would go on to live in many cities. In Paris, doing an internship in paintings conservation at Centre Georges Pompidou, in Los Angeles at the Getty Conservation Institute, and as a newlywed and mother and the founder of Friends of Heritage Preservation on a year’s “sabbatical” in Rome with my family — but New York and that improbable and extraordinary house on East 73rd Street remains a memory and connection which continues to inform my life, my choices and my work as an art conservation activist.

We often hear about the importance of art in the education of children. There is substantial consensus among educators and specialists that arts programs promote creativity and can even result in greater academic achievement and higher test scores. It is also said that the language of art is universal, bridging differences in culture, educational background, and ability. So I was delighted when renowned environmental /social artist and longtime friend, Mel Chin told me about the Fundred Dollar Bill Project where in a practical application, art can move mountains. (See more about Mel Chin at: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Chin)

In Mel’s own words: “The survival of my own ideas may not be as important as a condition I might create for others’ ideas to be realized,” In 2006 Mel went to New Orleans to see what creative actions he could contribute after the Katrina Hurricane left its devastation. His research uncovered the condition of lead (Pb) in the soil in thousands properties throughout the city was far above thresholds established by the Environmental Protection Agency. Mel further learned that 30 -50% of New Orleans inner-city children had lead poisoning even before the storm. As many of us know, lead poisoning causes learning disabilities, violent behavior, and contributes to medical conditions including diabetes, nervous system disorders, blood, bone and brain disease and up to this point, very little funding has been directed to this critical issue.

style=”float:left;margin:10px” Fundred from the collection of over 7000 drawings once protected in the SAFEHOUSE. It is now on the way to DC.

Soil scientists estimated that at least $300 million was needed to remedy the contamination. Raising that kind of funding was a daunting prospect and Mel approached the problem creatively by coming up with the Fundred Dollar Bill Project.What exactly is the Fundred Dollar Bill Project? It is a nationwide drawing/teaching project designed to raise awareness of the environmental threat of lead contamination and to engage people through making art. The heart of the project is to have children, educators, families, churches, community groups , etc. create their own version of a $100 bill using a common template(supplied online). These Fundred dollar bills will be picked up by a special armored truck, and then presented to the U.S. Congress in a conceptual even exchange for real dollar funding to be directed to making the lead-polluted soils in New Orleans safe. The plan is then to instigate the same program in every city in the country that is afflicted by lead poisoning.

style=”float:left;margin:10px” THE SAFEHOUSE in the 8th ward, St. Roch neighborhood New Orleans

Right now the 8,500 lb. armored truck is outside of Denver ready to trek across the frozen northwest toward Seattle, planning to arrive in Los Angeles by March 11. It will follow a scheduled 20,000 mile zigzag, cross-country path to Collection Centers at over 125 schools and art centers. It runs on used veggie oil donated from school cafeterias to fuel its singular mission. The goal is to deliver a payload of Fundred dollar bills to the steps of Congress for an even exchange by mid July, 2010.

style=”float:left;margin:10px” Joshua Dawson of Homedale Elementary, Harvey La with the armored truck

So check it out…go to the website, download a template, get your kids, rouse up local teachers, friends, educators, and get working on your own Fundred dollar bill. Become part of creating a currency by the people for the people…art can move mountains, even lead-polluted ones. Besides, it’ll be fun.
For more info go to the Fundred/Paydirt website: www.fundred.org

Devion Charlot with Fundred dollar bills

Mention the words “conservation” and “preservation” and many people immediately think of the environment, the sweeping plains of Africa, the pristine landscape of Alaska or the intractable Amazon Forest. I have however been involved over the past 20 years with preservation and conservation of a different kind: the conservation and preservation of cultural heritage. Though it covers a huge range of disciplines, cultural heritage involves anything that defines us as social human beings, encompassing both the tangible and intangible.

Maybe it’s an El Greco oil painting or a 1st century Roman sculpture, maybe it’s a 12thcentury “Garuda” at Preah Khan in Angkor, Cambodia or maybe it’s the 1980′s Donald Judd concrete sculptures in Marfa, Texas. Art, artifacts, buildings, sites — those things in our past, whether from 20 minutes ago or 20 centuries ago, define where we have come from as human beings and allow us to see more clearly where we might be heading. It can also help us to embrace and understand intangible culture as experienced through language, music and social customs.

Though this is different from environmental conservation, it’s not exclusive of it; if we don’t have a viable planet, we don’t have anything – but I believe that to really be ‘in touch’ we have to understand and protect our human past as well.

For example: If I say the word “apple,” it is possible that you might think of a delicious red fruit hanging from a tree (some say responsible for original sin) but you’re more likely to think of the latest app for your cell phone. This isn’t random; the little white apple with the bite out of it gets our attention because of a long history of Emblemata (images that sum up or evoke a certain thought or feeling) that can be traced through human history — all the way back to cave painting. We’re hip to Apple’s new products partly because of our history of cultural symbolism. We get it, not just because we’re smart or because the gurus at Apple are smart, but because human beings have been using and refining emblems for centuries.

Vermeer used paint to reveal light in his work and the world marveled at this new way of seeing, of being in the moment. This tradition allowed for contemporary artists like James Turrell to use light in ways that question and redefine our perceptions. As Isaac Newton so eloquently put it, “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” The past informs the future.

With all this in mind, twelve years ago I gathered a small group of like-minded friends and formed the Friends of Heritage Preservation (www.fohpinfo.org). Our goal was to respond to critical preservation needs in our own community and abroad; to be active citizens in the quest to preserve our cultural past, and to appreciate contemporary monuments of our own time. Just as with environmental conservation, the future depends on the stewardship of all of our resources.

To date, we have been involved in 41 projects on 4 continents and continue to seek out projects that form a vital link to our cultural heritage. We’ve seen that it is possible for individuals to make a great difference particularly when their involvement is combined with other people and resources.

When you embrace your passion and pool your resources with friends, the impact in the world can be significant. Making a difference in this way is an attainable goal for many people and the rewards are often both powerfully enriching and of lasting cultural value.

Eclipse chasing is a serious endeavor. It almost always requires adventurous travel, patience and energy. Total solar eclipses are exceptional events and occur when the sun, moon and earth are in perfect alignment; with the moon obscuring the sun’s light as seen from the earth. They usually occur every 18 months or so and at most last up to 7 minutes, 40 seconds. The first time I chased one was with my 16 year old daughter in 2006 in Cappadocia, Turkey, not far from the first recorded total solar eclipse observed in Ugarit on May 3, 1375 BC.

We were in the company of experienced chasers from Mexico and had traveled over dusty, bumpy roads for several days to reach our designated spot along the “path of totality” — the path over the earth where the moon completely obscures the sun — a band approximately 150 miles wide. There we waited — with the other “umbraphiles” who had appeared from all corners of the earth — for our fleeting yet magical eclipse moment. This one would last 4 minutes, 31 seconds. Mistakenly, we thought we had more time to be cultural tourists, and so left our fellow chasers in the observation field and headed to the nearby town of Hacibektas, named after the philosopher and contemporary of the Sufi poet Rumi.

But once there, suddenly the experience was upon us. We were in it! We scrambled to find a place to “watch” as the sun vanished, the birds raced, the temperatures dropped, and an instantaneous darkness leaped upon us. As the street lights popped on we shivered and banded together for warmth. The local villagers appeared en masse to witness the phenomena, chattering among themselves in excitement. Afterward, when we were still giddy and ecstatic, a dear friend and veteran eclipse chaser extraordinaire, informed us we could not call ourselves “eclipse chasers” until we had a second total eclipse under our belts. Aha, we couldn’t wait!

Author and Daughter in Turkey, 2006

Once home in California, my daughter and I raved about our eclipse moment and we could tell that my husband and son felt that they had missed something. So two years later our family planned a summer vacation trip to China entirely around the August 1st, 2008 eclipse that would cross Siberia and Northern China. We joined forces with an Italian family of five and a Chinese family of four and after touring Shanghai we flew to Urumqi, the capital of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region near the border of Kazakhstan.

We traveled by mini bus for 4 days across the Gobi Desert, following the ancient silk route, to our “spot” on the border of Mongolia. Along the way, we saw glorious landscapes, rode camels and then horses with Uyghur horsemen across magnificent sand dunes, saw yurt villages, and ate some of the most unusual and, yes, challenging food ever cooked. We eventually found our way to a tiny Uyghur encampment located in the middle of the “path of totality” where we waited for the eclipse. All along we noticed that we were one of the few family groups traveling this eclipse route. We were surrounded by an eclectic group of aficionados from around the world, but no families. Why was that? This seemed to me the ideal family vacation, in that we shared travel, excitement, cultural immersion and a spectacular natural occurrence.

While waiting, my daughter and I attempted to explain to our group what we knew of eclipses. They were to be patient, wear their glasses and anticipate the most awesome thing to ever happen to them. The eclipse came, and it was a totally different experience from our first encounter. I’ve learned that each eclipse is unique, which is why I think it is so difficult to explain to others what to expect. For me it offers an uncanny and profound perspective of our place in the vast universe. This was a much shorter eclipse, a mere 2 minutes 27 seconds, and perhaps it was location or the intensity of the eclipse, but we all felt that it was awe-inspiring. In the eerie glow of its departure our delighted 10 year old son and his Chinese pals exclaimed: “We want to see the next one, when is it?”

Eclipse chasers, Uyghur Autonomous Region, Northwestern China, 2008

The history of solar eclipses is fraught with question of who was the first to predict these spectacular astronomical events. The first prediction of an eclipse is generally ascribed to Thales of Milete, who according to the historian Heroditus, predicted an eclipse in 585 B.C.

Aristotle, Ptolemy, the great Indian mathematician Aryabhata, the Arabian astronomer Ibn Junis, the Chinese astrologer Li Shu writing as early as 2650 BC, and the Renaissance astronomer Peter Apian as well as the Mayans, made predictions and drew eclipse diagrams. However, the first accurate prediction was made of the 1715 eclipse by the renowned astronomer Edmond Halley. Not only were his eclipse maps incredibly accurate, they were the first to present the path of the eclipse looking down on the earth’s surface from above (a method still used by NASA). The NASA website now has a five millennium catalogue of solar eclipses.

The longest solar eclipse of the 21st-century occurred on July 22, 2009 — just a week ago — crossing from India to China before moving over southern Japan and then off into the Pacific Ocean. It was visible from some of the world’s most densely populated regions, and in some parts of Asia lasted as long as 6 minutes, 39 seconds. Millions watched in wonder as the sun was blocked by the moon and total darkness descended in the middle of the day.

Again, I managed to be there. Several months ago I had been invited to be part of an awards jury in Inner Mongolia for an architectural prize (100 Ordos). Accepting to participate, I asked if it was possible to coordinate my visit to Beijing with the total eclipse date of July 22 and they were most accommodating. This time I was there without my family, but with a group of Chinese architects and urban planners watching through the dense cloud cover from a boat floating on Tai Lake near Suzhou, 2 hours outside of Shanghai. The sun was only glimpsed occasionally amid heavy cloud cover and it began raining and thundering right as the eclipse began. It was distinctive and fabulous — the thrill for me not at all lessened by cloud cover and oblique viewing but rather heightened by the realization of another unique sighting.

Author and Chinese friend, Tai Lake, Suzhou, China, 2009

I wonder how many of the millions who experienced this full total solar eclipse last week will join the chase and like me become eclipse chasers. All I know is that there is room for all.

Throughout history superstition has seemed to haunt the moment when earth, moon and sun are perfectly aligned, and this was certainly the case in China this year where tsunamis, hurricanes and other disasters were predicted. Many people stayed inside fearing such exposure, yet by all accounts, this latest solar eclipse was one of the most viewed in the history of man. The July 22 eclipse will be the longest of its kind until 2132, with the longest prior to that having been July 11, 1991, which lasted 6 minutes, 53 seconds and was visible from Hawaii to South America. Any given spot on the Earth’s surface will host a total eclipse on average once every 375 years and your chances of just walking outside and seeing one are pretty slim! So chasing them down to be in the right place at the right time, is the only way to participate in this phenomena. Based on personal experience this alignment of the sun and moon are not to be missed.

The next total solar eclipse will be on July 11, 2010, but will occur almost entirely over the Pacific Ocean, where Easter Island — home of the famous Moai giant sculptures — will be one of the few places for viewing it from land. Now that I am an eclipse “junkie”, having graduated from eclipse chaser status, I think I will soon be investigating how I can manage to be in the “neighborhood” for that one too.

And in case I miss it, the next eclipses after that will be on November 13, 2012 over Australia and on November 3, 2013 over mid-Africa. Who knows, maybe I’ll see you there. Oh, and don’t forget the family!

Museums have long suffered from the perception that they are stodgy old institutions, out of touch with the rest of the world and at their core, elitist. It’s a reputation both deserved and undeserved. After all, most museums offer an abundance of programming for children and families and welcome people of all kinds. Why then, the lingering feeling that museums are closed off to all but the privileged? I’d wager to say that it’s largely related to the way museums talk to their public. With the best intentions, museums craft crisp, thoughtful communications that often alienate the very visitors they hope to garner. Imagine my pleasure then, to see my own local museum — LACMA — trying a different approach, and really succeeding.

In September, LACMA launched a blog, “Unframed”, its first significant entry into the new media field. If you haven’t seen it yet, maybe you’ve read about it. “Unframed” has been widely praised by influential arts bloggers and newshounds for its smart and illuminating content and I have to agree, the entries are great. They really take readers behind the scenes of the museum, demystifying it and humanizing it. My favorite entry was about the homespun element of a recent photography installation. I was surprised to learn how intimately involved the curator was in every element in the presentation of her show. I’d never read about an exhibition in these terms and it was wonderful! Just what this museum, what all museums, could use. A new way to talk about the art and the exhibitions that makes museums the deeply important institutions that we all agree they are.

“Unframed” beautifully set the stage for LACMA’s just-launched celebration of Urban Light, its 202-streetlamp-strong sculpture by LA artist Chris Burden on Wilshire Boulevard.

The museum has invited the public to contribute their own photos of the object to an online exhibition curated by the head of the photography department, Charlotte Cotton. And LACMA is delivering information about Urban Light, from interesting tidbits about the artists, to little-known details about the beloved lamps, in new ways. Urban Light has its own Facebook and MySpace pages and even a Twitter account devoted to it telling its story! Then there’s the soon-to-launch wiki page… it goes on and on.

Perhaps it’s not surprising that LACMA, of all museums, has come so far. Its director, Michael Govan has transformed the institution he once called a “sleeping giant.” The evolution started where it should, with the art. Govan famously ushered artist John Baldessari in to the museum to create the exhibition design for Magritte and Contemporary Art: The Treachery of Images. In the installation, Baldessari put cloud-printed carpet on the ground and wallpapered the ceiling with a freeway theme, literally turning the world upside down. It was a far cry from the white box approach of so many museums. Just this past summer, LACMA re-opened its Latin American galleries, which were reenvisioned by artist Jorge Pardo. Pardo created undulating casework for the ancient objects, painted the rooms in vibrant shades of red, orange, yellow, and green, and hung spectacular feathery lamps from the ceilings. It’s a sight to behold and something I’ve truly never seen anything like before.

It seems to me like a sign of Govan’s success that he can now turn an eye toward the way the museum talks about itself. I asked him about his latest success, a new communications style at LACMA. I was curious to learn what motivated him to try something so out of the ordinary for the museum. His answer was spot on, as always – he reminded me that nothing is out of the ordinary for LACMA anymore.

All photos © 2008 Museum Associates/LACMA

The men and women of the armed services earn our respect. They act on what we as a democracy decide. Most of us just see glimpses of their heroism in history books, movies or the daily news. If we are very lucky, we know someone who has served or who is serving in the military. Lucky, because these men and women sometimes reveal the personal nature of their commitment. What they tell us can be electrifying, shocking, sad, awe-inspiring, but it is always humbling. It makes our debt to them very real.

I am especially lucky because I grew-up with a man who is a veteran. My father-Harry William Deal-fought in World War II and then thankfully, came home to raise our family. As children we were always aware of his role in the War but it is only now, decades later, that I am fully able to appreciate his contribution.

My father had kept a detailed diary during World War II but on his very last night of duty it went missing, so I was amazed and excited when he sent me a rough draft of his memoirs, written by hand at age 82. As I read, I was astonished by the detail, the humor and the underlying morality; he went because that is what his country needed him to do. No more, no less.

I have spent the last 12 months working with my dad to get his story told and his memoir Venus Rising was published this month. It’s been a fascinating journey for me, taking the memories of my father and opening them up to the light of day. A friend, in response to this endeavor, wrote to me: “It’s not easy to edit a book, or do anything for one’s dad. Doing both at the same time is a real victory.” Victories come in many forms. This one has been about the amazing journey taken with my dad.

It was not an easy task for my dad to write this book long-hand at the kitchen table, apparently driving my mom crazy in the process. For me it meant working late at night, snatching moments from an already frantic schedule to edit the text. This was a comical intersect of generational habits as I struggled to decipher dad’s cryptic hand written and organize them on my computer. Although we had started the process with the idea of a limited print just for the family I was driven to make the book the best that it could be. In the end, the wry, understated Texan sense of humor that I grew up with and loved and my dad’s amazingly clear ear for direct narrative captured the feeling of being told a bedtime story. What emerged was a simple and what I believe to be, wonderful story by one of America’s remaining members of the “Greatest Generation.”

My father starts the memoir telling about his youth growing up in deep South Dallas and it includes priceless stories such as the dozens of ways my grandmother could prepare turnips when that was all they had to eat, and of being 10-years-old and without the10¢ entrance fee for the State Fair, where he was handcuffed to the perimeter fence by a Texas Ranger for trying to sneak in. He grew up jack-rabbit hunting with his friends and was a member of the local South Dallas Twilights “gang.” These were the rough-and-tumble days of Texas during the Great Depression when it was possible, no acceptable, to dip Jax beer from a bucket on the floorboard of a 1935 Chevy Rumble Seat Coupe and drink while driving across state.

Then came the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. The weight of that historic moment changed the lives of all Americans and my dad soon joined the U.S. Navy, though he had seen the ocean only once before his enlistment. At first he was assigned to the aircraft carrier Enterprise, but he requested a more dangerous assignment on an oil tanker for the simple reason that his boyhood friends were on board.

My Dad’s journey taken through the adventures and atrocities of war, culminate in an experience he had off the shores of Japan in 1945. This experience was for me the crux of our collaboration because it revealed a side of him that I had always felt but not quite understood; his positive life view. Dad saw something that night while on deck watch, call it a ghost, a spirit, or an apparition, that left him with a vivid impression of life in balance with death. He had felt the presence of a guardian angel throughout the War and here in the last weeks of his service came a powerful message which he believed came from those who had “passed” before to those, like himself, who had been spared.

Getting this story published has been a true labor of love and joy, and I’m so proud of my father and humbled by his simple grace. I will always treasure his story as a part of a shared family heritage and a commitment to the values that I hold dear as an American.

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Venus Rising is available at Amazon.com