Another Queer Jewish Buddhist

Size Queens And Patriots

On the 4th of July, the NY Times reported on the peculiar phenomenon of giant American flags at sporting events. On I95 there is a huge American flag that is tattered and brown that flies over a car dealership. It is so big the wind has to be pretty strong for it to wave. The Times quoted one manufacturer:

"'People go ape when they see it,' said Jim Alexander, a retired Coast Guard commander who runs Superflag, the company that basically invented the industry and once held the world record for the largest flag, which temporarily hung on the Hoover Dam. It was 255 by 505 feet"

Go ape. That is a telling phrase. Lose one's humanity. Behave like an animal. It's no surprise many of these flags are displayed at football games or NASCAR events.

Don't get me wrong. I love this country. But I continue to be appalled at people who put more importance on the symbols and little to no importance on the ideals (or for that matter the Constitution or Bill of Rights).

All this seemed even weirder when I was visiting my old friend John in Providence the weekend they held their Pride Celebration. Knitting Nation, a group founded by a RISD prof, Liz Collins, brought together dozens of knitters to create the country's largest rainbow flag. John and I wandered down to Waterplace Park to watch the people at their machines go at it like a looking-glass version of a New England Mill.

Each colored segment was unrolled on a knoll and sewn to the others as the segments kept coming out of the machines. As this went on, different people read letters, web postings, articles and memoirs of what this symbol meant to them. Love it or hate it. Listening to all those voices was fascinating.

Of course, I don't think Jim Alexander and the NASCAR patriots would take too kindly to knowing that a queer flag was bigger than his. Then again, perhaps this is their misdirected and sublimated size queen thinking. I just want to know who's making all the flag poles.

Sunday Morning Cartoon: Jollity Farm

Long before the now iconic Simpson's opening sequence with Homer heading home from the nuclear power plant, pulling out the  radioactive rod that fell down his shirt and throwing into the street there was a cartoon called Jollity Farm, set to the music of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band.

The band was a dadaist musical version of Monty Python (whose members they worked with on a British children's show in the mid '60s). And Jollity Farm is an upbeat number that seems perfect for kids — all the animals on farm make their appropriate sounds — not unlike Old McDonald Had A Farm. Except that in the cartoon, well, there is the rather unfortunate effect for the animals of living next to a nuclear power plant.

The cartoon begins innocently enough, with the music and the motions on screen reminiscent of so many cartoons from the '30s where it seemed all of nature was dancing to a jazzy rhythm. The kind of music you hear on Don Byron's Bug Music, his marvelous tribute the to music of Raymond Scott, some of whose music you have heard in Warner Brothers cartoons. If you aren't sure what I'm talking about, go right now and listen to Powerhouse. You'll know it in a second, but it wasn't written for a cartoon. Scott was a serious Jazz composer. It just works well in so many cartoons. But I digress — except to note that many of the Bonzos were also originally serious Jazz musicians who also channeled the English music hall tradition.

Watching this cartoon you can see the influence of Warner Brothers, Disney and Scott. And you can see how it may have influenced Matt Groening. And you should wander over to youtube and take a look at all the Bonzo's songs. One of my favorites is their absolutely insane Sound of Music.

In Memory of Ed Eisenberg: Activist, Artist, Member of Gay Youth in the 70s

Today is the 10th anniversary of the death of the artist/activist Edward Eisenberg. He was not only a member of Gay Youth in the 1970s, but also the Gay Activists Alliance.

He went on to become a  core member of the artist's collective, REPOhistory,  a multi-ethnic group of visual and performance artists, writers, filmmakers, and historians, founded in New York City in 1989. The group took its name from the concept of "repossessing history." Its purpose was to retrieve, relocate and document absent historical narratives at specific sites in New York City, through public installations, performances, educational activities, printed matter and other visual media. REPOhistory sought to question how history is constructed and insert the stories of peoples and events which have been omitted. Their work addressed historical issues of colonialism, race, gender, and class in a context relevant to current histories.

REPOhistory operated as an artist/scholar cooperative through 6 major public projects and many smaller events. Believing the arts essential to shaping a collective cultural identity and the relationship between art, culture and society to be confused, it instigated a questioning of the culture of the 1980s and the early 1990s.

One of Ed's projects was called Groundworks — a city-wide street-stencil project protesting nuclear battleships on Staten Island that noted in each street-stencil the exact distance from these nuclear warships. He was also involved in art projects the documented and protested the ongoing gentrification of the Lower East Side.

When Ed first came to Gay Youth he was rather reserved and shy. A nice Jewish boy who eventually became very politically involved. He grew a beard of rabbinic proportion, and tied his long hair back in a flowing pony tail. He leafleted colleges and high schools with GY and always spoke to the need for a broader awareness of issues beyond the lgbt community. He was also deadpan funny. He was one of the members who was at our reunion in 1994, one of the few who was still politically active.

As I light a yahrtzeit candle in his memory, I will remember to keep his fire alive.

Music I Can Read

I remember studying music theory with my old piano teacher Mr. Gates back in Brooklyn in the early 60s. I practiced scales. I played simplified classical pieces. The Marines Hymn. Yes, Mr. Gates was rather conservative. He didn't like it if when he asked, "How is your mother?" I would reply, "She..." He felt that I should say "Mother is fine, thank you." So I don't think he would approve of this piece of music, written by the Fluxus artist, Dick Higgins, called Ten Ways of Looking At A Bird.

And while I haven't sat at a piano since the mid-90s this is a piece I would love to play.

What, if any, relation this has to the eerie Wallace Stevens poem, Thirteen Ways of Looking At A Blackbird, I can't imagine. But the similarity of names calls forth this resonance. So I invite anyone who might have an idea what relationship there might be, to write about it below.

Today's the day the Teddy Bears barf their picnic

If you go into the woods today, you're in for a big surprise. As one of the many avid readers of Boing Boing, I was happy to see they noted an exhibit at the Foley Gallery here in New York City of Kent Rogowski's photographs of Teddy Bears turned inside out. As soon as I saw the photograph leading the exhibit I thought of an ad campaign by one of my favorite agencies, Rethink, of Canada. In particular, I love their advertising philosophy quiz for prospective clients.

The Rethink campaign (on view at Ads of the World) is for an amusement park, and features stuffed animals — turtles, pigs, puppies, monkeys — barfing up their stuffing after riding the roller coaster and other wild rides. When you see Rogowski's photos, with the stuffing in the bears' mouths, and the Rethink campaign, you can see another example of advertising inspired by art. Or another example of the simultaneity of creative ideas in our culture. Of course, if any of these stuffed creatures had been invited to the Teddy Bears' picnic, they wouldn't have needed to go to an amusement park in the first place.

If you go down to the woods today
        You're sure of a big surprise.
        If you go down to the woods today
        You'd better go in disguise.

For ev'ry bear that ever there was
        Will gather there for certain, because
        Today's the day the teddy bears have their picnic.

     Ev'ry teddy bear who's been  good
        Is sure of a treat today.
        There's lots of marvelous   
         things to eat
        And wonderful games to play.

Beneath the trees where nobody sees
        They'll hide and seek as long as they please
        Cause that's the way the teddy bears have their picnic.

And for those of you who wonder what those bears are doing frolicking beneath the trees where nobody sees, I suggest you ask the bears at Element while their having their regular XXL picnic.

Queer Artist: Ralph Hall

I wrote about Ralph below in the post about his "fagzine" Divas of Sheridan Square. His artwork graced many alternative publications post-Stonewall. But because today is the anniversary of the uprising, I wanted to post something of his which bears the slogan: Our Stonewall Nation Lives. May we never forget the lessons of Stonewall — one of which is that often it is those who are the despised in a society, even the despised within queer society, who know and speak the truth

Blogging the NewFest: Emile Norman, Bob & Jack, Tied Hands and Attendance Questions...

I'm several days behind writing about the films — the festival closed last night with a great film, with the last few days filled with great films, which I will write about in the next few days. Tonight I'll mention three, along with some questions about attendance at the festival.

One of the issues this year at the New Festival has been attendance. It was rather shocking to be at the Opening Night and see empty seats. I can’t recall a first night that wasn’t jam packed. I don’t know what the PR for the festival has been, but given the LGBT population of this city, and how starved many of us are for interesting and uncensored queer representation, something about the numbers just doesn’t seem right. As an example, consider the film Emile Norman: By His Own Design (on a smartly designed program with the excellent Bob and Jack’s 52 year Adventure, of which more later).

The Norman documentary captured the life of an American Picasso. “What?” you say. You’ve never heard of Emile Norman, and I’m calling him an American Picasso? One of the things that determines the greatness of artwork is how it shows us our lives, nature and reality in fresh and surprising ways that wake us up and make us more alive to the moment, to every detail of life. Norman’s work does just that in breathtaking sensuousness. And this documentary captures all of it.

Like Picasso, Norman has an unwavering dedication to his own artistic vision, a vision that was at variance with the times. In spite of that he made his own way, creating art that has stood the test of time. And like Picasso, he never stops working. I had never heard of Norman before this film. After seeing it, I will never forget him. His art, the story of his relationship with Brooks Clement, the great love if his life with whom he created a home that is also a work of art at a time when openly creating a life with another man was anything but easy — this is part of our hidden history at queer people. We can only be grateful to the producers for making this film.

In a moment of programming genius, the Norman film was paired with Bob and Jack’s 52 Year Adventure. The story of an army sergeant enters into an affair with his commanding officer that develops into a lifelong relationship, this documentary was a beautiful portrait of love between two men that has endured in spite of all the obstacles they had to face. [bobandjack.org] With simple interviews of the two men, together and alone, along with period photographs and archival material to round out the history, the film didn’t need great drama to leave the audience deeply moved. The warmth and love that was on display between these two men was heart opening. And it isn’t only for the gay community. I can think of few films that address two of the main issues facing our community today so sweetly and completely. By that I mean the question of queer folk in the military and same-sex marriage.

Because these men met in the military and started their relationship there we see how it affected the soldiers around them — and how the couple confronted their unit when someone wanted to turn them in. Because they’ve been together for 52 years, without slavishly following a heterosexual model, we are given a new model for marriage, one that is filled with compassion for imperfection and commitment to each other without an insistence on monogamy.  More importantly, it shows why it is so important that same-sex couples have the same rights as other married couples, since we see an elderly couple deal with questions of Social Security, Medicare and the safety net of community that all older people need. On so many levels, this deceptively simple documentary is a very important film.

These two films together give gay men a model of long term relationship to counter the lies we are fed by those who created the closet, a closet that makes such relationships that survive all the stronger for the obstacles they must overcome.

But to come back to the question I asked at the start: why wasn’t this program well attended? There were only about 60 people in the theater. The people in the audience wanted to keep the producers and director of both films a long time after at the Q&A, there was so much to ask and talk about and the films engendered a passionate response.  This was a program that demanded a larger audience, and if the community really understood what it was about, perhaps there would have been more people. This was also the case with a program on closing day, Tied Hands, an Israeli narrative film.

This movie starred Gila Almagor, the first lady of Israeli stage and screen. It’s as though there were a film at NewFest that starred Judi Dench, and only a few people came. What’s more, Almagor was there at the screening to answer questions, along with the Consul General from Israel. This was a big deal. And yet the screening was not well publicized or attended. How could such a thing happen? Clearly the word about the quality and importance of these movies hasn’t gotten out in a way it should. This is just about the only issue I have with NewFest — they aren’t doing a good job of promoting themselves or their film programs. As an ad guy, I know that this isn’t an easy job, but there is a built in community for these films.

The question of attendance was something that buzzed around the group of folks I sit with every year. We come every year and see upwards of 25 programs each — we’re a dedicated crew. And a rather, uh, fussy group. So this group of kibbitzers talked about why it seemed to us the numbers were down (despite Basil telling us it just isn’t so). Some suggested it’s that people stay home and watch video. Some suggested that with more mainstream images available, people don’t feel quite the need for the festival. Some wondered about the advertising and pr. I don’t know. What I do know is that I am rather passionate about this annual event, and want it to grow, nurture talent, and build an audience that is also a community. And I hate seeing empty theaters for events like the Emile Norman program, and Tied Hands. So if you're reading this and didn't go to the festival this year, you missed some great films.

Value Me As You Please: New York Real Estate & The Landscape Coin Project

A few years back at a friend's wedding another guest I met there gave me two very unusual coins. Megan Shaw Prelinger, along with her husband Rick, had created an art project that involved leaving these coins to be found in places around the country. On that weekend, I went with Megan and another friend, Sharon Glassman, up to the Continental Divide, where we left one such coin. What's so special about these coins and why do they leave them in places all over? Here's what Megan and Rick have to say about the project:

Some sites have been chosen because they are rich with memory. Some mark the location of major or minor (but significant) historical or cultural events. Other sites are contested places - places where people have fought for ownership or control of land, resources, or communities. And we have chosen some places simply because we think they might reveal something about the evolving relationship between human beings and the world they inhabit or once inhabited.

The coins are meant to be found by anyone - residents, explorers, workers, tourists, and people who play at the sites where we have left them. We leave them in the hope that finders will reflect upon their meaning, contemplate the landscape where they were found, and ponder what hidden histories might be mapped there. We also hope that in future years, as the coins bounce in peoples' pockets and are twirled in their fingers, they will inspire reflection about landscape and history that is not limited to the site where the coin was found.

Like many observers, we see "landscape" neither as the work of artists or architects nor as a scene necessarily marked by the beauty of nature. Landscape to us means more than just natural landscape. It also means human landscape - the living, ever-changing, four-dimensional record of human life, work and leisure. "Landscape is history made visible," said J.B. Jackson (1909-1996), a cultural geographer who wrote many thoughtful things about how people relate to the places where they live, work, and travel. Our everyday landscape is largely unplanned and accidental. It may not be orderly or beautiful to every eye, but that does not give us an excuse to ignore what we are facing and move on. We are makers of the landscape around us, and the landscape we inhabit influences the shape of our lives and our view of ourselves.

We ask those who find a coin to value it in their own way, and at the same time consider how the place where they found it has been valued by others. Are land and landscape ultimately properties, commodities to be bought and sold? Or, in the final analysis, do they belong to all of us? How does an ordinary, everyday landscape like a highway or an abandoned industrial tract compare in value to a venerated historical site or a pleasant suburban neighhorhood? And who is it, anyway, that decides the value of the money we carry in our pockets and purses?



The phrase "Value Me As You Please" first appeared on tokens minted well before the American Revolution, in 1737. Samuel Higley, M.D., owner of the Simsbury copper mine in East Granby, Connecticut, minted copper tokens that carried the text "THE.VALUE.OF.THREE.PENCE." According to legend, local taverns started to dispute the value of his "coinage," as his pieces contained only as much copper as British halfpence. Dr. Higley responded by minting tokens inscribed: "VALUE.ME.AS.YOU.PLEASE / I.AM.GOOD.COPPER."

Megan Shaw Prelinger and Rick Prelinger collaborated to produce the coin, and plan to distribute it over a 10-year period, at the rate of approximately 1,000 coins per year. Megan made the drawings, which were then engraved into dies that stamped out the coin. Rick conceptualized the coin and wrote the text. We gratefully acknowledge the thoughtful and elegant contribution of Diane Bertolo, who designed the type and integrated it with the images. We also thank Marina McDougall and Awest for creating early drawings of what the coin might look like. We appreciate their help and kindness.

The coin is manufactured of "alloy 230," which is 85% copper and 15% zinc. It is 30.6mm in diameter, close to the size of the U.S. fifty-cent piece, and weighs 10.2 grams. It was minted in Monterey, California.

Recently, I went back to check on the two coins I left in New York City to see if they were still there. I'd placed one in a building on West 13th street: the LGBT Community Center. The other one I'd placed in the knot of my favorite tree, a Tupelo in a meadow in Central Park's Ramble. One is still there. The other one, well, such is the mystery of this art project. And like any creation, once the artist has let it into the world, who knows where it will go. The only thing I can say with any certainty, having been born and bred in New York City, there is no guessing what this city will look like in years to come. And the hidden history of these coins may well be as lost as the stories of the places I knew in my youth.

The Most Important Gay Memoir of the 20th Century — A Conversation with Stephen Pascal, Editor of The Grand Surprise: The Journals of Leo Lerman

Mae West is reputed to have said, “Keep a diary and one day it will keep you.” While Leo Lerman never published his journals and diaries in his lifetime, it has enough naughty gossip, hidden history and sheer human insight to find itself on the bestseller list for a while.

Mae West herself doesn’t show up in the book, though several drag versions of both Mae and Marlene Dietrich to name a few do turn up in passages about gay speakeasies in the 1930s. And of course, the real  Marlene Dietrich is everywhere in The Grand Surprise, along with Maria Callas, Truman Capote, Cary Grant, Philip Johnson, Greta Garbo, Josephine Baker, Henry Kissinger, Jackie Onassis… well just about every major figure in art, music, film, theater, fashion, politics and literature in the 20th Century.

The press has already started to feed on the revelations about the bisexual affairs of Steve McQueen and Yul Brynner. And while the book is chock full of the guilty pleasure of this kind of gossip, the book is a revelation deeper and more moving for those who are willing to read it from start to finish instead of browsing the index for celebrity names. 

Stephen Pascal, who worked for Lerman for 12 years as his assistant, has edited the 50 years worth of journals into a coherent story. And he knows that many people will be tempted to simply browse, or compulsively browse. Over dinner and a bottle of fine Bordeaux last week we talked about Leo’s story, and the story of his editing the journals.

AQJB: I have to admit, I haven’t been able to avoid browsing the index looking for names. There are just so many, and so many juicy tidbits. And it’s a long book, over 600 pages. What will people miss if they just browse for these stories?

SP: They’ll miss some of the most important stories as they develop over time — starting with the Leo’s life story, and the story of his 47-year relationship with his lover Gray Foy. As well as his relationships with those “sacred monsters” Dietrich, Callas, Capote and others he knew intimately from the start of their careers all the way to the end.

His journals tell their stories with the immediacy of one who was there, the insight of someone who could see what was really happening, with all the bitchiness and compassion of a true friend. So you feel all their, and Leo’s, full humanity.

And Leo’s story itself is a particularly American story — the child of immigrants who worked hard, he moved to the very center of American society, and helped shape taste and culture for four decades.

AQJB: Let’s talk for a bit about his relationship with Gray Foy. This is a journal that tells the story of a loving relationship between two men that lasted almost 50 years. That lasted through major changes in the lives of gay men in America. First, how have people, readers and reviewers, responded to this story? Have you noticed a difference in the way the gay press or gay readers have responded from the mainstream media?

SP: Well, one thing gay men have been responding to has been the depiction of this relationship. — Gay readers have  told me how moved they are to see such an intimate relationship develop over time. There are so few examples of this in fiction or in other journals. One  reviewer in the mainstream media (whose gender preference I certainly don’t know) referred to the writing about this relationship as the “mushy" and uninteresting parts, but for gay men, who rarely have their relationships reflected back this way, well, it stirs up a lot of emotions.

The mainstream reviewers, so far, remember the book has been out about a week, but for the most part they’ve not really made a big deal about the gay relationships It’s just been acknowledged without smirks or insinuations.

But let’s face it, the mainstream reviewers, given a choice between writing about Marlene Dietrich’s affairs, or Maria Callas — or writing about Leo’s relationship with his lover, they’re going to focus on the gossip because it’s what interests people and what will get the reviews read. Really, Leo’s relationship with Gray was like any conventional marriage, except for the gender of the parties involved.

AQJB: Early in the book, Leo tells of his coming out experiences, going to speakeasies, back rooms and drag bars. I was stunned to read of a back room bar on West 72nd Street in the early 1930’s — and then of course I remembered the old chestnut that every generation believes it invented sex, and I guess I’m just as guilty of that as anyone. But I have to say that Leo didn’t seem to suffer the oppression that we associate with being gay, or for that matter, Jewish, in the early 20th Century. How did he manage to succeed and rise to the rarefied circles he did?

SP: As someone who must have been excluded from many places for being gay or Jewish, he very rarely writes about it. Really the circles he chose to move in, publishing, theater, art, were some of the more open places to be. And while his background made him an outsider, he lived his life pretending to be the consummate insider that in fact he became.

AQJB: Wasn’t there an incident in the 40's at the writer’s colony at Yaddo where he came up against homophobia?

SP: Well, he was certainly hurt an anti-gay comment made by the director of Yaddo, Elizabeth Ames, and it shook him up. Despite his membership in this elite young artistic circle (Carson McCullers, Truman Capote, and Marguerite Young were also there at the time), it reminded him of his precarious position in society and made him so uncomfortable he considered leaving early.

AQJB So everyone knew he was gay, he was out, whatever that means for the time.

SP: Well he chose not to hide, even though it wasn’t something he talked about unless you were a close friend. I mean, he was such a dandy that if someone thought him gay it would hardly have been a leap. And he lived openly with his lover, inviting everyone to their home. Yet few spoke with him about his relationship; it was a simple fact that was unmentioned.

AQJB: Sort of the way some reviewers in the mainstream media have dealt with it.

SP: Except for the fact that some gossip columnists have been running with some of the information about “stars.” That’s what sells papers you know.

AQJB: I loved that Yul Brynner had an affair with Hurd Hatfield and Marlene Dietrich. I guess that when she sang “See what the boys in the back room will have, and tell them I’m having the same,” she was not unaware of the double meaning we’ve always laughed about...(continued)

We Are All Americans: Art In Iran

Farhad Moshiri was born in Iran, and lives in Teheran. He studied art and film making at the California Institute of the Arts in the mid 80s. Imagine being an Iranian student in the US at that time, just four years after the release of the embassy hostages. What kind of art do you think that would inspire — and do you think his art would be welcome in Iran? Here are two pieces, and they raise all kinds of questions. As someone who works in advertising yet finds rampant consumerism a spiritual blight on the planet, the medium through which the artist chooses to deliver his message "We Are All Americans" — that statement made by so many around the world after the attack on the country at World Trade Center — gives me chills. Thanks to Tim in San Francisco for turning my attention to this artist.

For another image, continue below...