CultureJunkie

Barry McGee

Over the years, the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston has hosted shows by different graffiti artists, most notably Shepard Fairey and Os Gemeos. Their latest exhibit in this genre is from San Francisco-based Barry McGee, who got his start in the late 80's under the tag name "Twist."

Last Friday night I attended the Opening Night reception for McGee's new show, which included a cocktail party in the ICA lobby (a beautiful space overlooking the Boston Harbor) followed by a talk with the artist and a 20 year survey of his work.

The talk was bizarre - McGee is painfully shy and was visibly uncomfortable being in the spotlight. He repeatedly asked for the lights to be turned down (taking the focus off of him) and encouraged audience members to talk so that he wouldn't have to. I found this so interesting because his work is very bold, infused with bright colors, hard lines, and a fair amount of social commentary/activism. But I guess the man prefers to stay in the shadows, letting his paint cans do the talking.

McGee admits that now that he's 46 and a father he has lost interest in tagging, but continues to bring urban installations into art spaces and galleries. From the ICA write up:

"At once humorous, political, and difficult (especially for those who see private property as an inalienable right), his art underscores the complexities of life in early twenty-first-century America, a country in the midst of wars, a financial crisis, unemployment, class stratification, and the ever-cheerful exhortation to keep consuming."

He's decidedly anti-consumerism and anti-establishment, remarking,

“If I live in an urban center — in a city — with constant advertising, I feel like I have every right to partake also. I don’t feel like it should be limited to corporations that can buy ad space. I just always assume that anything written on the wall was the authentic thing to me. The real voice.”

The market value of his work rose considerably after it was included in the 2001 Venice Biennale, a major contemporary art show in Italy. Today, much of his San Francisco street art has been stolen (although I did hear in his recent NPR interview that some work can still be found in and around Boston). And he just created a new [sanctioned] piece on the back of the House of Blues building while he was in town last week.

Unlike other cities that are known for their graffiti - areas of Buenos Aires, Old San Juan, San Francisco, and Venice Beach come to mind - Boston doesn't have much elaborate street art. Just last month, local artist Cyrille Conan was hired to paint a 14'x17' mural on the old Boston Herald building in the South End, but it was purely to drive publicity of a new mixed-use housing and commercial complex (dubbed The Ink Block) that is going up there. The Herald building - along with Conan's work - was demolished just a few weeks later (but not before I captured the shot below).

The best-kept graffiti secret in the city might be at my office. We have several walls that were painted years ago by some local teens who got caught tagging and were sentenced to community service - which included coming in to our space and putting their talent to good use. Take a look:

Here is the photo set from McGee's exhibit, which is at the ICA through September 2nd.

Where Hash Rules

You all know how I love a good meal, and a good bit of Boston history, so I was delighted to find a marriage of the two in George Cuddy's book, Where Hash Rules. It's the story of Charlie's Sandwich Shoppe, a landmark in Boston's South End since 1927.

Simultaneously a rich historical account of a city block, and a love letter to the people who made history there, the book is full of personal anecdotes,  newspaper clippings, photos, recipes and blog posts that tell the story of the Manjourides family and their restaurant over the course of 85 years.

In that time, Charlie's has borne witness to a wildly diverse neighborhood that has played host to criminals and celebrities alike. Prostitutes and mobsters, politicians, performers and athletes – everyone from Sammy Davis Jr, Duke Ellington, Joe Lewis and Whitey Bulger, to Tom Brady, Nomar Garciaparra, Robert Urich and Al Gore - have dined at this 32-seat shop. It's cash-only, and offers communal tables, both telling attributes of the no-frills, genial experience you are likely to have there.

In its early days, Charlie's was the only restaurant in town that would serve African Americans. The Pullman Porters  -  men hired by George Pullman to work on the railroads as porters on sleeping cars  - established their Boston headquarters above the restaurant and admitted original owner Charlie Poulos as the only non-black member so he could play cards and shoot pool with them.

In the years since, all sorts of characters have crossed the threshold, including Cookie the bookie, Chapman the peeper, Richard the storyteller, and Biggie the bulldog. They've all contributed to Charlie's vibrant history.

But central to the story are the four beloved proprietors and siblings, Arthur, Marie, Fontaine, and Chris, who have been slinging hash – and stories – for decades.  Their immigrant father Christi was Charlie Poulos' first employee, starting out as a line cook and then through some shrewd business dealings becoming a partner in 1946.  This family's story, their hard work and dedication to the business as well as their community, has all the tenets of the American Dream.

Though I’ve yet to visit Charlie’s in person (despite living here for nearly 20 years…the shame!), I feel like I know them all. And like the author, I feel slighted that I missed out on so many of the memories.

And what of the food? Charlie's consistently gets rave reviews for its great meals at great prices, and it won the prestigious James Beard Award in 2005. I am dying to try the cranberry pancakes and the raspberry griddle cakes. And of course, the famous turkey hash.

You can purchase Where Hash Rules (ebook) at Amazon or Barnes & Noble, read more about it on Boston.com and Bon Appetit, and stay up-to-date with restaurant happenings via their Facebook page.

And perhaps I'll see you at one of their communal tables one day soon.

One Year Later

Here we are, one year later.

It was on January 27, 2012 that I went into MGH at 9am for a mammogram, and went home at 3pm the same day with a cancer diagnosis. What a blur that day was.

But I will never  forget the conversation I had with Cathy Furlani, one of my nurses in the cancer center, soon thereafter. She said, "Stephanie, I wish I had a crystal ball so I could show you what you'll look like one year from now. You'll be like a new woman, and you'll feel great."  And she was right! 

So when I went to get my hair cut last week (I've had it done 3 times already!) I was thrilled to see that Cathy was among the most recent honorees at The One Hundred, an annual fundraiser sponsored by the MGH Cancer Center that celebrates one hundred individuals and groups who have helped advance the fight against cancer.

Patricia Wrixon, owner of the Salon at 10 Newbury, was another honoree, for her work providing wigs to cancer patients. I have Patricia to thank for hooking me up with Kristen Wiig, and her colleague Kimberly Bruno for keeping my new pixie cut in shape!

The beads around my wrist were a gift from my sister and her daughters, to mark the end of the last year and give hope for the future. They came from Amazima Ministries, a nonprofit designed to educate and empower the people of Uganda through child sponsorship, meals, medical care, spiritual studies, and vocational programs like jewelry-making, carpentry and farming. The jewelry making program is a great key to success in helping women take care of their own families - and then in turn helping whole villages begin to care for their own and thrive.

Closer to home, there is another effort underway to provide hope, this one through music and laughter for cancer patients. My friends Jane and Alastair have two beautiful twin girls, one of whom was diagnosed with Leukemia last year. Alastair is a musician, and during the long months of treatment he found that the brightest moments at the hospital were spent singing and writing songs with his daughter. So now he's putting together an album full of songs  about appreciating the little things, coping with hardship, and embracing struggle.  There will be a video accompanying one  particular song - When I Get Bald - a fun, empowering track about losing hair. He's currently looking for cancer patients who might be willing to share their "bald and proud" photos for inclusion (I sent two!). To learn more, or to donate to the project so that Alastair can make the album a free resource for patients and pediatric oncology programs around the country, you can visit his webpage here.

Happy Holidays

A special note to everyone who helped me get through this year:

Have a wonderful holiday!

- Stephanie

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Today was a big day. I had my 28th and final dose of radiation. And just like that - 300 days after my breast cancer diagnosis - I am essentially done with treatment.*

They have a lovely tradition in the Proton Lab, whereby "graduates" get to ring a bell to signal completion of their regimen:

It reminds me of the famous passage from John Donne's Meditation XVII (and Hemingway's novel named after it):

"No man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of thine own were. Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

Donne was of course referring to the old village custom of ringing a bell to inform the community when someone dies, his point being that humanity is interconnected and a loss of one is a loss to all.

This bell is designed to inform the community that one has survived, and they did it with the help of the community. At no time does the phrase "no man is an island" ring truer than when you are faced with a difficult situation, as I was for the better part of this year. I couldn't have made it this far without the support of tons of people along the way, and for that, I am very thankful.

*with the exception of a daily dose of Tamoxifen for the next 5 years