Gregory Meander

I’ve often felt tension between my love of humor, art history, and philosophy and the pressure to “be one thing.” But curiosity is a muscle. And I’m more interested in going deeper than narrowing. Curiosity is a muscle and it must be exercised. What happens if I go deeper there? It seems to be a risk most are not willing to take. I am learning a lot the more I “go up” on stage. Audiences often remark that my comedy “makes them think” or that I am the “most comfortable comic” compared to others they have seen. A few comics have said that I remind them of Duncan Trussel. I had never heard of him and I was weary when I did a quick Google search and was associated with Joe Rogan. But, I persevered and found that he has an eccentric podcast that featured a porn star I had sex with in my 20s in San Francisco who is now a spiritual leader in Ireland. Who knew? It seems to me that my personal world feels a bit like inception these days, some psychologists would argue this is a feeling of “integration.” It feels oddly good. I know that my comedy, my jokes about my personal experience will continue to push the thread of the serious, the dark, and what constitutes as “funny.” I do believe that my childhood and adolescent experience are more universal than some would think. I have a suspicion. I am looking to find out if I might be right. I was recently amused by how funny Marcel Duchamp was and how much his physical objects were jokes. He even had a drag persona Rsose Leavy. Who knew art history could be so funny? It can. I am constantly looking forward to bringing my art history into the comedic world. Here are to more surprises. I hope I can continue to surprise you. I know it might seem out of focused, or rambling at times, but I assure there will be clarity. I am just not sure how quickly that clarity will arrive. ** COMEDY ONLY ***You can now find me on Instagram, Youtube, Here, and What’sApp. FOLLOW ME: SOFT INSTAGRAM LAUNCH Looking forward to re-emerging into society with my new name and sharing some videos along with the latest of when I go up on stage! NEXT SHOWS:May 7th at Laughing Buddha TICKETS (I need 3 people :: Let me know if you are coming!)May 10th at Westside Comedy Club TICKETS (I need 4 people :: Let me know if you are coming!) Laughing Buddha Finals It was great to see a fellow open mic comedian James Patrick rise to the top of the festival. He had a great set and it was a fun night to see all the finalists give it their best shot in front of professional judges. The festival experience made me reflect on the ambiguity, gatekeeping, and other parts of the stand up world. I have yet to make my first dollar from stand up, but it is a goal this year to either host or secure a guest spot to change that. It is a grind and there is no way around it. Keep going up and continue to experiment. The community is the best part of it all. Jon Laster at Comedy CellarI saw an old friend from the tech world at the comedy cellar. Jon is an ex-NBA player turned comedian turned tech founder. I love his presence on stage and it was fun to re-visit where he is in his home at the Comedy Cellar, which the NYC Cathedral of comedy in my opinion. He regularly is opening for Tracy Morgan, but when I get a chance to catch him here, I run! I hope he makes his billions! ON BROADWAYJoe Turner’s Come and Gone ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️This is the best of American Theater ! Cast, set, acting, and story are compelling. Do not miss Taraji P Henson and Cedric The Entertainer in this August Wilson classic. How August’s writing weaves a story captures your attention from the moment the play starts to the very end is true art. It was so exciting to see this revival in previews and I think it will be one of the stand outs of the season. Go - go - go! After watching this play, you would also understand why Viola Davis gave a particular shout out to Michael B. Jordan at the Actor’s Awards, too. Keep on shining. Giant ⭐️⭐️⭐️Angry rich white man grows awry and disassociates from past violent experiences is my quickest way to describe Giant, which is focused on British children writer Ronald Dahl. Talk about man who had no self awareness and let anger and resentment take over his life. John Lithgow is a dream to watch fill the skin of this angry nemesis. Yes, he was an Anti-Semite and yes he had great influence. But, what is missing here is the critique of angry white me everywhere. An inability to heal from experiences to transform into beauty. He transformed his hurt and anger into evil characters and sadly, from this play, he let them control him well into his later years. How sad to accomplish so much in their career (particularly for children), yet hate so deeply, and bask in deserts and alcohol.Dog Day Afternoon ⭐️⭐️ ⭐️A surprising queer twist caught me off guard in this well designed and well casted play. It is too long and scenes drag on like a hot summer August day. Maybe that is the point, but I was drifting at times. Film adaptations are increasingly popular for Broadway, but they are growing tired in my opinion. I haven’t seen the movie and watching the play did not make me want to see even more. As Sodheim always said, the art form should stand on its own in its own form. This play seemed to struggle to find its identity.VISUAL ART Marcel Duchamp at MoMA ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️I have seen this exhibit twice and it continues to unlock something inside. The power of an idea. How did Marcel Duchamp have the permission to take his own ideas, create, and then keep going further with the idea? Some might not say it is beautiful or even art for that matter. It is frustrating, a readymade item right off the shelf. What I have realized with Marcel Duchamp is that by him giving himself permission, he gave a generation of artists permission to explore the ideas of chance, instructions, and what it means to be navigate modernity with humor, play, and the absurd. He has a drag artist persona in the early 20th century! And I hate the concept “ahead of his time,” no no no. He was not ahead of any one time, he was of his time responding to the frailty of life during WW1 and WW2. He is of his time and to pay attention to that unlocks a great mystery of modernity. The power of an idea can shift how we perceive the world around us.House Made of Dawn: Art by Native Americans 1880 to Now, Selections from the Hsu-Tang Collection at New York Historical ⭐️⭐️⭐️New York Historical always has nice little surprise exhibits and this one was no different. I love this piece by Terran Last Gun stood out.UPCOMING GREGORY MEANDER LIVE SHOWS:May 7th at Laughing Buddha TICKETS (I need 3 people :: Let me know if you are coming!)May 10th at Westside Comedy Club TICKETS (I need 4 people :: Let me know if you are coming!) Next class I am taking : Monologue as Play with Gabriel Leavy I will be working on a few monologues I have written that are more in the dramatic story vein rather than stand up. I am trying to incorporate the tenets of clowning into the dramatic writing. This is building on my intro to clowning from this past spring. On-Going Sublime Poetry: Raphael at The Met Up Coming in May Costume Art at The Met Rocky Horror Picture Show at Studio 54Jerome at Playwright Horizons Lee Ufan at Dia Beacon El Último Sueño de Frida y Diego at The Met Opera Matteo Lane Advice Special at the Comedy Cellar Keith Haring at the Brandt Foundation Old Masters and New Amsterdam at NY Historical Other things in my sphere ::Has Pop Art Icon Keith Haring been sanitised? (BBC) Access O’Keeffe [Digital Catalogue Raisonne]Permission to Feel: The Power of Emotional Intelligence to Achieve Well-Being and Success This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

“Endurance is the undercurrent,” Malcolm Peacock said of his work in the Whitney Biennial. It was the only piece in the entire exhibition that drew me in. Threads of hair forming a great redwood stump. Quietness amid the loud media galleries. It was beautiful. It seemed Alive.It is, in many ways, how I have felt this winter. Cut down, yet surprising myself, still capable of new growth.Spring has struggled to start this year. New Yorkers seem to agree. This was a hard winter. I lost my funniest uncle Rod. Then, a blizzard stranded me in Saint Louis. A mid month flu shifted my priorities and took all my fitness seemingly back down to zero. Time slowed. Even this entry arrives late, now in the first week of April. The minutiae of winter lingers. Loneliness, job loss, and bitter cold converged. The New York hustle never stops, but winter can still humble all of us.Then, on March 20, I turned 40 years old.I designed another birthday for myself. I encourage you to do the same when your time comes. Mark the moment. Celebrate life. It matters more than we often allow.Friends flew in from across the country to welcome me into this fourth decade. It felt like a rebirth. I realized something quietly profound. I had never really imagined my life beyond this point. And yet, here it is. A fresh canvas. Check out the 12 minutes on stage from my birthday on YouTube (unlisted).The weight of the past feels lighter now. I feel firmer in my body. Standing taller. Like a California oak.I may not have achieved the financial milestones I once imagined by this age. But I am proud. Like a redwood stump, continuing to bring forth new life and for sure, more laughter than I ever could have imagined. Endurance is the undercurrent.We all have the ability to renew ourselves. To transform. To breathe again.Here is what is going on in New York: VISUAL ARTCaravaggio at The Morgan LibraryExhibition A rare intimacy. The Caravaggio works felt close, human, devotional. There is something about seeing Caravaggio paintings in the quiet rooms of The Morgan that makes me closer to my body. The way he paints skin, eyes, and position is so sensual. Having never been to Italy to see his “greats,” I never miss an opportunity to get close to one of his pictures. They are really unlike anything I have ever seen. So much so, I am going on a pilgrimage to Potsdam, Germany to view the Incredulity of St. Thomas, one of my favorite paintings and I have never seen in person. How can something become a favorite without ever seeing the real painting?The Book of the Dead Scrolls and Christian Marclay’s DoorsExhibitionI rarely go to the Brooklyn Museum, but I was pulled in by their new exhibit of recently restored pairing of the Book of the Dead scrolls. Along my visit, I was able to view Christian Marclays’ newer work Doors. Unsurprisingly, I was not as moved by the doors as I was The Clock. I have a special relationship to The Clock, much like others. Though, viewing the Book of the Dead for the first time right after a contemporary film makes one wonder what our contributions and beliefs come from. Much like the cinematic repetition, I started to see the repetition in the scrolls. A gateway to another world, a promise, and an ancient belief system of hope.Raphael at The Met :: Sublime PoetryExhibitionThe first word that comes to mind is overwhelming. At over 140 objects, the exhibition is ambitious, perhaps too ambitious. There is a sense of density, with many studies crowding the galleries. The paintings themselves don’t always have the space they deserve to breathe.Still, having never been to Italy, it was a gift to see so many Raphaels alongside his contemporaries and influences. The exhibition becomes less about individual masterpieces and more about immersion into a moment of artistic expansion.Whitney BiennialExhibitionThe Whitney Biennial remains one of the best ways to take the temperature of contemporary art in America. Some works resonate deeply, others less so, but the overall experience feels like it remains essential.One work, in particular, stayed with me. Malcolm Peacock’s piece. Threads of hair forming a redwood stump. Endurance as material.It mirrored the season.Other Works I’m Reading Walter de Maria at Gagosian in FranceMichael Heizer at Gagosian in New YorkFeature in NY TimesCOMEDYFortune Feimster at The Beacon TheatreI love the way Fortune Feimster tells stories. There is an ease to her delivery. Personal, warm, and grounded. She expands small moments into something shared and human. It is the kind of storytelling that feels effortless, but you know is deeply crafted. I aspire one day to be as carefree as she is on stage.Max Amini at Madison Square GardenI had never experienced anything like it. Twenty thousand people from around the world gathered at Madison Square Garden. Max Amini commanded the audience with remarkable confidence and calm. What struck me most was how seamlessly he wove deeply personal stories (many of loss and pain) into his comedy. The scale was massive, yet the material remained intimate.He also became the first Iranian American to headline Madison Square Garden. It felt meaningful to be in that audience, witnessing both a cultural milestone particularly as we attack Iran.Gregory MeanderI made it into the quarterfinals of the Laughing Buddha Festival.I blanked on stage. And then I recovered.After watching the quarterfinals and some of the semifinals, I noticed something important. None of the comics flinched. They stayed calm. Steady. Present. I am learning what I need to do to be better. Check out Finals here.I have been going up almost every day, working in five minute increments, and I am looking forward to trying out a new tight five on April 25.Being part of the festival was energizing. I connected with many new comics across the city. Comedy continues to reveal itself as a generous and supportive community. Thank you to everyone who came out to support.March 21:: 40th BirthdayWow.Thank you to the 40 plus friends, both new and old, who came out for my 40th birthday at Playa Betty’s and Westside Comedy Club. It was incredibly special to have everyone in the room. We sold out Westside at 105 people. My first sold out crowd.We had a great lineup of comics, and I am deeply grateful to those who flew, took trains, and traveled from far away to be present. The night went by far too quickly.I performed 12 minutes on stage and truly felt the love from the audience. The extra time allowed me to settle in. My set felt more comfortable, more grounded. I am beginning to understand what I can achieve with a tight five and how that expands when given more space.I worked further on the “Becoming a Clown” bit, a longer story that may eventually weave into a larger 60 minute piece. Less punchlines. More story..I see myself increasingly at the intersection of storytelling, stand up, and clowning.I am grateful to be entering this new horizon of my fourth decade.Here is the unlisted 12 minute birthday set for those who could not be there.Upcoming PerformancesApril 25 at 6 PM The new Tight 5Westside Comedy Club Write my name: Gregory Meander when purchasing tickets. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

What a cold and wintery January. I have walked through the old growth forest most days now in my new neighborhood at the tip of Manhattan. This past Sunday, New York City was encased in 11 inches of snow. The forest acts as some sort of portal that transports me back to when Manhattan was inhabited few humans. I wander through the forest along the icy Hudson and wonder at the bluffs. The forest is a magical gift to have it everyday now. I have both my city - and my nature at the same time. It has created a good sense of grounding for me during these challenging times. With renewed purpose to tell my story, make people laugh, and of course to become a clown. I have to work a bit harder to get down to my shows in midtown, but I still manage to ride the A Train Express. I can’t help myself, but I feel like I am living in Lin Manuel Miranda’s In The Heights. I write on the subway, I clown on the subway, and I listen to comics on the subway to pass the time.This month has been mostly hibernating and working on my 60-minute solo show. I have been sharing it 1:1, with my playwriting class, and on stage. Some say 60 minutes takes five years to produce, but we will see how long this takes. I have a good north star and I making the right connections with creative people who give great feedback. I get energized by all the creative energy in comedy and storytelling. It often reminds me in trying times, Joan Didion reminds “we tell our stories in order to live.” Sometimes in dark times, we need our stories even more. What story is giving you life these days? Remember, it might be your own. Comedy I continue to do open mics when I get the chance. They are around $12 a pop for five minutes of mic and light time. Professional comics have told me that I need to be going up around 14 times a week to get better. That accumulates to one hour of mic time. I am managing 2-3 times a week. I go up tomorrow night at West Side Comedy Club at 6 PM. I have submitted to present 10 minutes of my show at The Barrow Group on March 14. I wrote a short description of the show (work in progress), here it is: “Age / Sex / Location” is a dark, story-driven show about growing up in the age of the internet. Blending comedy, art history, and lived experience, it traces a journey from an American Suburb to the streets of San Salvador as a lens for examining our bodies, power, and survival. Moving between humor and confessional, the piece asks what it means to inhabit your body when you’ve spent a lifetime observing it from the outside.Opera Porgy & Bess ⭐️⭐️⭐️The Metropolitan Opera This was the first time I have ever seen Porgy & Bess in any format. Initially staged as an opera, it has been adapted quite a bit to be more “Broadway friendly.” The Met’s cast was perfect to hold this story. It hit harder than expected. I see so much and sometimes I don’t or can’t process what I am experiencing in real time. Sometimes it is delayed upon reflection. But, this production of Porgy & Bess really hit me. They were able to capture the reality of being poor and black in the south, yet celebrate the community. There is a resilience in this piece that I never knew was there until I witnessed it. It is dreadfully sad. There are dreadfully sad things that happen. Systematic injustices. Betrayals. Difficult relationships. And yet, they persist. I think it hit me as a deep message to persist no matter what. BroadwayOklahoma ! At Carnegie Hall ⭐️⭐️⭐️I love Rogers & Hammerstein’s Oklahoma! The music, the dream ballet, and the drama. I recently learned that it was an adaptation of Lynn Riggs's 1931 play, Green Grow the Lilacs where she introduced the characters in Act 1 and then the drama happened in Act 2. It seems as if this format is leveraged widely in the more theater the more I see on stage and the more I read. Act 1 always seems to lag. But, they are creating the world in which these characters operate. Much like a novel dedicates entire chapters to one character. How does a writer make you care about what we are doing? In comedy, we have a short window to make the audience care. It all comes to timing and building trust quickly. This evening at Carnegie Hall made me think about these characters more than ever before with the minimal staging and focus on the music. I do wonder why this musical captured little Gregory’s imagination, first in film, then on stage at The Muny. Every time I hear the first notes of the overture, I am transported to a mystical place in my brain where things are simpler, there is opportunity on the horizon, and there picnic baskets full of homemade goodies for auction. For most young boys, it might have been Star Wars or Lord of the Rings that captured their minds, but for me it was the simplicity of: There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,There's a bright golden haze on the meadow,The corn is as high as an elephants eye,An' it looks like it's climbing clear up in the sky.That anticipation was always enough to get me dreaming. I am always glad to hear this music treated well with a full orchestra and beautiful talent singing filling the hall. It was a beautiful night for Oklahoma!, for sure. All Out ⭐️⭐️Bad writing is bad writing. No matter how famous you get, you can see incredible comics muscle through bad writing and it is still just okay. Staging, lighting, and costuming were all there and directed by the wonderful Alex Timbers. For me, sitting in a 60% full theater of a strange mix of baby boomers and Gen Z, everyone equally confused on why they were in the theater. I find going to things that don’t hit the mark for me hone my understanding of the responsibility of the comic/actor/writer to give you the reason you are there in the seat. And of course, the audience wants to laugh. Galleries (Not recorded on podcast) Highlights included Dan Flavin, Mark Dion, and Bruce Conner ReadingParadiso edited by Mary I started reading this after reading this review in The Atlantic. My exposure to Dante’s poetry has been limited to sculpture and paintings made in response to it. I have never attempted reading it and I now know why. It is challenging. I am taking a few pages at a time. Like most poetry, I am looking words up as I go along. Yet, I understand why it has become such fodder for artist interpretation. Well worth the attempt. Ways of Seeing by John Berger A classic - a Bible of sorts - I often revisit in winter time. I am not quite sure, but I love watching the series on YouTube. It is a great winter activity. Best Stand Up Special Jessica Jensen Working It Out with Mike Birbiglia Upcoming Dates:2/24 ‘Love Bombed’ Storytelling TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24 AT 7PM PETE’S CANDY STORETBD: 3/14 at The Barrow Group: 10 minutes of “Age/Sex/Location” TBD: 3/21 (40th Birthday show) Stand Up at Westside Comedy Club This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

This past year was defined by working hard to hold onto New York. A tighter budget meant learning to hunt for rush tickets, lotteries, and discounts—and choosing to see fewer things, but better ones.But this year was different: I started performing. (Gaga gets it). In January, I took a class at Westside Comedy Club and got onstage for the first time in February. Since then, I’ve done seven sets, performed in front of more than 150 people (which many of you read this - thank you!), rewriting jokes, tightening setups, chasing the punch, created a stage name, all while figuring out who I am onstage. I write on the subway, while running in Central Park, wandering galleries—everywhere. I’m having fun. And it’s a real challenge. We can do hard things. We live in an age of content machines where everything feels rushed and fractured. I don’t want that. My story is layered. I want to enjoy the process as much as the finished product. “No one should know about your first year of comedy,” said interview with Josh Johnson. So let’s just say this: I’m only getting started.This year I also took a Solo Show workshop at The Barrow Group, currently in Playwriting with Kate Tarker, and started haunting open mics while building friendships with other comics. All of it is feeding toward an eventual 60-minute show: part stand-up, part storytelling, part clown. Give me five years. It’s going to get good.And maybe I just started noticing because I want to do it myself, but this felt like the year of the one-person show. They were everywhere—from basements in the Lower East to SOHO theaters to Netflix. Morgan Bassichis’ Can I be Frank? held the room with humor, queerness, obsessiveness, and tenderness. Abby Wambaugh’s The First 3 Minutes of 17 Shows showed how dark topics can be held with love and levity. I was at the taping of Mike Birbiglia’s The Good Life (now on Netflix). And Alex Edelman’s WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? at Carnegie Hall—truly unforgettable.So this is my year in review: the performances that stayed with me, the jokes that surprised me, the writing that opened something up, and the art that made me feel more alive.I’m just getting started. And I am trying to widen my audience a bit more, so if you think someone else in your life might enjoy reading along or seeing me perform, please comment, share, or forward. It all helps! Best Overall Art ExhibitWifredo Lam : When I Don’t Sleep, I DreamMoMA I had never heard of Wifredo Lam and I had never knowingly seen a painting by him. I think that is what captured my imagination : a net new artist that re-aligned the artistic canon. It is hard to ignore Ruth Asawa’s retrospective installed at the same time on the sixth floor (which I saw also in SFMOMA). But, Lam’s work has stuck into my own dreams. He created a visual language of monsters, jungle creatures, and otherwise that shifted my thinking about the artistic world of my own that I am creating. His work feels personal. And I don’t think I am alone. Runner UpNancy HoltEchoes & Evolutions: Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels This gallery show was validating in a lot of ways after visiting the Sun Tunnels twice in 2020, particularly for Summer Solstice, when I witnessed the alignment. Nancy Holt’s work looms large in my world (as she was partnered to Robert Smithson), but more importantly as a visionary researcher and art practioner. She never limited her vision and the discourse she desired to have with the natural world. This exhibit displayed much of her process, photographs, drawing, planning, and a maquette for the Sun Tunnels. It was a comprehensive deep dive into a sculpture that is out in the high desert of Utah. There was a continuity to the pieces that I loved. Though in a private gallery, I felt like it was museum quality and hope for her work to make it into the larger public dialogue one day. Honorable Mentions:I don’t have time to break down all these exhibits and I saw so many other ones that are worth attention. It was a great year for art that took me off guard, great curatorial work, and interesting exhibits. I loved Sargent and Paris at The Met mainly because of his incredible early work as a young man in Paris. Divine Eygpt at The Met helped finally understand the religious hierachry of ancient Eygpt. And Ruth Asawa at MoMA and SFMOMA helped me revisit an old friend in an unparalleled manner. Best Unexpected ExhibitMan Ray: When Objects Dream I walked in curious and walked out electrified, primarly with the density of rayographs on view and the incredible exhibition design. I think this was the smartest exhibition design I saw, which made give the category of “unexpected.” Exhibition design can prevent decent viewing, but it rarely adds to the experience in a remarkable way. The central break down featuring a film and objects that Man Ray used to create the film was unlike anything I have ever seen. It was a clear connection to the absurdity of the objects and the magic of film. Favorite SurpriseJoan Mitchell: To define a feeling: Joan Mitchell, 1960–1965David Zwirner Best of BroadwayLittle Bear Ridge Road (My Review) Now closed, I saw it three times. Every time, it hit differently. I look forward to seeing Laurie Metcalf tackle Arthur Miller’s Death of Salesman. Best Unexpected ExperienceAlex Edelman at Carnegie Hall For some reason, I felt like he was speaking directly in a room full of Upper East Side Jews, the Catholic/Evangelical kid in the balcony understood every one of his Jesus jokes. He spent 10 minutes on seashells and brought in Amy Grant, too. It was like he lived exactly the same childhood as me but like he was a voyeur. He is an amazing storyteller and I love watching him fly around the stage. He announces his tour on March 7 and certainly will be coming to a city near you. Check him out or watch Just for Us on HBO. Best Overall PerformanceFidelio at The MetLudwig van BeethovenMonths later, if I remember any part of an opera, it usually sticks with me for life. This opera, performed first in Vienna in 1814, still strikes a political chord today. Opera, a universal storytelling vessel, is a magical experience for me. I won lottery tickets and I was thrilled to be in the orchestra to watch a beautiful duet between a wife (dressed up as a solider) as she tries to save her husband from political death. Separated by a wall, the wife and husband sing to boundless joy after being able to see each other. Watch the climax here. Oh, nameless joy!Oh, happy time!At last, at last, the long-awaited here!I follow you, I follow you!Best Behind-the-Scenes MomentI won free tickets to a filming of The Colbert Show featuring an interview with Senator Elizabeth Warren. It seemed special to witness one of the remaining shows being filmed in the Ed Sullivan theater. The best part of the six hour experience was the warm up comic, Paul Mercurio. I was pulled up on stage and interviewed for some quick crowd laughs. Being on stage of The Tonight Show will be a special memory for a long time. I just kept looking out at the audience and laughing because I saw a dream in the future. I had a little fun with the warm up comic. Stephen spent some time with the crowd and was genuine, funny, and kind. Bonus: Jokes + Poems at The Public Theater with Mike Birbiglia and J Hope SteinBest PodcastWorking It Out — Mike BirbigliaThis podcast is a comic for comic podcast, so. you might not enjoy it as deeply as I do. But, this is comedy gold and gives great insight to the challenges of writing a punch line, finding your audience, and all the different types of comedy including clowning! When I listen to it, it validates my journey, my desire, and my effort towards some of my comedy goals. Give it a listen. Favorite Episodes include Arthur Brooks : The Science of Humor and Happiness Favorite New ArtFavorite FilmTrain Dreams on Netflix I don’t watch too many movies anymore, but this one captured me. It felt more like a long-form poem that leveraged a lot of my aesthetic preferences of the natural world. I enjoyed the simple story and reflection on what life might mean as the main character faces loss, hard work, and the passage of time. Thank you for reading/listening all these years. I started my first newsletter in 2016. As I go into 2026 with my new focus around storytelling and standup, please follow along and share with people you might think might be interested in following a new performer. I will continue to use this space to highlight my up-coming performances (1/31 at Westside Comedy Club) and what I am seeing in New York City. Don’t worry, my love of art history will be making it’s way into my material on-stage, too. I love hearing from all of you, please email, comment, or share. Here is to 2026! Cheers! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

This year is barreling down towards the end so quickly. Why do some years move faster than others? The light is dimmer, the air is a bit heavier, and the theater is still vibrant in New York. This month were my sixth and seventh sets at West Side Comedy Club — Danielle, Eliza, Marlene, Debra, Katie, Claire, Susan, and Meredith in the audience, cheering me on this strange, exciting pursuit of mine. Thank you to each of you for showing up and supporting. Comedy keeps me honest; it demands rhythm, risk, and presence, not unlike any worthy pursuit. This time, it feels different for me. I still haven’t hit my year yet and I am more energized than ever to keep working out my material, my stories, and performance. At the same time as stand up, I am continuing to craft 60-minutes through a playwriting class with Kate Tarker full of some other great respective New York-based artists. All the while, the season turned into winter before us with a beautiful snow fall. The city was encased in white and for a couple of hours, it felt as if I was living in quiet postcard. It quickly melted and become a slushy mess. It was my first real snow fall living in New York and it was magic. I ended the strong with a few performances and will have a great 2025 review as a follow up to this month’s review.THEATER & COMEDYNovember was stacked with performance. Bat Boy at New York City Center (⭐️⭐️⭐️) was a strange delight — campy, sharp, and unexpectedly moving. Childless Freak, a friend’s solo show, at UCB (⭐️) pushed at the edges of absurdity, while Jerrod Carmichael (⭐️⭐️⭐️) offered something entirely different: discomfort as art, intimacy as confrontation (rooted in his tradition of Rothaniel (on HBO). Jerrod left me calling out a fellow audience member uncomfortable and audibly gay bashing him. I stood up for me in the present and me in the future, as I know I will face backlash from people I make uncomfortable with my material. Though, I know I have made people uncomfortable most of my life for my mere existence. It was a stark reminder that most people are still uncomfortable even with the words around gay life and their assumptions around our lifestyle. I was proud of the woman for feeling confident enough to spill her distain with “our lifestyle.” I wanted to make sure she knew someone was listening to her. Alex Edelman at Carnegie Hall (⭐️⭐️⭐️) was a masterclass in vulnerability and structure — proof that storytelling and stand-up are siblings, not cousins. I was empowered after the 60 minutes of material. I am so glad I was able to see him live, though I was one of the few people in the audience that understood his jokes around Evangelical America. He also has inspired me to go deeper into clowning, as he was a clown at a children’s hospital in Jerusalem (and still clowns to this day). (If you have not watched Just for Us on HBO, do yourself a favor and watch an Emmy-winning performance). I also caught Gimme a Sign by Bailey at Under St. Marks (⭐️⭐️) and Jokes and Poems with Mike Birbiglia and J. Hope (⭐️⭐️½), a reminder of how laughter and stanzas can share the same breath.I saw Gruesome Playground Injuries (⭐️⭐️⭐️) with Kara Young (two time Tony winner) and a vibrant revival of Tony winning, The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) offered opposite poles of emotion — one raw and introspective, the other joyous and improvisational. Chess on Broadway (⭐️⭐️½) was somewhere in between, beautifully scored (and beloved by the Broadway community), but trapped in its own uneven story.December With December, comes the holiday shows. I was able to take in the 100th anniversary of the Rockettes at Radio City Hall with a remarkable gifted sixth row seat. The show is always a treat and this year (their 100th), I learned that Rockettes started in my hometown of St. Louis. I revisited an opera standby, Puccini’s La Boheme for my seventh time. You can start to hear the nuance after so many viewings of a classic. There is nothing like how The Met puts on a Parisian winter city Christmas market scene. It is pure joy with a real donkey and horse on stage! Archduke at Roundabout Theater ⭐️⭐️ ⭐️ A 2017 play by the same writer of Gruseome Playground Injuries, Rajiv Johnson, explores the radicalization of the assassins of Archduke Franz Ferdinand and ultimately an disastisfying ending. Costumes and set were great with some great young actors filling out some unfinished characters. I think they did their best with the material. It was an interesting query in what we might consider a version of the early 20th century incel. The F*****s and their Friends Between Revolutions at Armory ⭐️Based on a beloved essay from 1975 of a queer fantastical imagination of Larry Mitchell and illustrations by Ned Asta. The essay has been part of my life for quite some time as Larry wrote it after a visit to the Castro District. Imagine, this was Pre-AIDS, and there was a quiet revolution building. There was love between men in the quiet alleyways and Victorian closets of San Francisco. A love I experienced in my time in the city by the bay, a love that I try to tap into through time and space. It is a love that I try to hold onto in the age of an America culture that doesn’t want to hear about our love, create fear around our bodies across genders, and create laws that prevent me from having a full life. It must have been beautiful - in the quiet, dark corners, there could be love expressed without fear of a murderous disease that destroyed a generation of my brothers. I try to channel the spirit of the 70s, before a plague took so many. Regardless of American laws, regardless of leaders across institutions that advocate for puritanical and nuclear family, regardless of your quiet religious fervor, we will continue to love in glorious spite of you. For this show at the Armory, I was disappointed with the investment in time, energy, and talent. The performance landed flat and was confusing. The production wasn’t sure what it was. Was it a dance piece? Was it an opera? I don’t mind non-linear storytelling, but for the source material to be so challenging, hopeful, and unapologetically queer - I was left wanting more from this piece. Read the essay, please. It is magical. Beau: The Musical ⭐️⭐️ ⭐️I love being surprised by Off-Off Broadway pieces. This musical has been being worked on for about eight years. Sadly, I don’t think it will ever travel or get its Broadway moment for lots of reasons. Maybe some pieces are their best off-broadway? Scale and amplification isn’t always the goal? Beau is a net new story and music, let alone a “challenging” story to some. But, I connected to it in a deep way. As an audience member, you are transported into a Nashville bar and the band is about to play. Rather than a regular set, you are whisked away into a compelling story of a young man searching for a father-figure (who isn’t) and find a kind soul trying to forgive the sins of his past. One of my favorite Broadway stars, recently Tony nominated, Jeb Brown takes on quite a role and he is worth the price of admission to hear him up close. Beau is an interesting and all too common story, and not told enough. I was glad my friend took me as it is playing just down the street at The Distillery at St Lukes on West 46th (playing through Jan 4). Listen to the first recording of the show here. Tracy Lett’s new much-hyped revival of Bug ⭐️ ⭐️This revival featuring Tracy Lett’s wife Carrie Coon and Namir Smallwood. I love Tracy Lett’s writing because it never lets you off the hook as an audience member. This one doesn’t let you out of a hotel room outside Oklahoma City. I am not sure if this 2009 play is what we need right now on Broadway, but of course the star power is driving this production. I think it will have a short run on Broadway as I think most people like their delusional, violent content streaming via streaming services on the comfort of their couch, rather than a night at the theater. I might be wrong, but it isn’t worth the price of the ticket for 45 seconds of theatrical magic. VISUAL ARTEarly November brought a visit to The Met and a stunning Rauschenberg exhibition at the Guggenheim, followed by Joan Mitchell at David Zwirner, Agnes Martin at Pace, and Wifredo Lam (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) at MoMA, whose luminous forms haunted my own dreams lately. At the Whitney, I finally saw Calder’s Circus, marveling at how something so playful could feel so spiritual. November taught me that reflection doesn’t always arrive as revelation. Sometimes it’s a quiet look across the table, a walk through half the city, or a hand still reaching for light.December On Christmas Day, my friend took me to one of her traditions, a winter concert at the Museum on Eldridge Street (the oldest snyagogue in the United States). The temple went through a 20 -year restoration completed in 2007 and wow, what a job they did! It was a beautiful restoration of 19th and 20th handiwork and craft. I got up to The Met’s cloisters and visited a new exhibit, Spectrum of Desire: Love, Sex, and Gender in the Middle Ages. I would consider medieval art one of my weak points among many in art history. Another visit to Wifredo Lam’s When I don’t Sleep, I Dream has quickly entered my lexicon as a must-see and one of my favorite exhibits of 2025. He created a strong visual language and welcomes the viewer into a fantasy that both terrifies me and comforts me in the same way. I have found myself running over to MoMA near closing times and visiting some of my favorite canvases and being alone with them. His mastery of coloring and structure quickly puts him into the likes of Picasso and George Braque. I do love when an institution takes time and a risk on an unknown artist (to the American audience) and creates an exhibit that stays with us that is strong enough to disrupt the art historical canon. It happens rarely, but I do think MoMa did it with this exhibit.Sidenote: Maybe it might be a good sign as this was co-curated by Christophe Cherix, The newly appointed David Rockefeller Director (along with The Estrellita Brodsky Curator of Latin American Art, with Damasia Lacroze, Curatorial Associate, Department of Painting and Sculpture, and Eva Caston, Curatorial Assistant, Department of Drawings and Prints). Mr. Cherix doesn’t seem like the biggest risk taker and is once again another white, straight, older, male that is a master fundraiser. I guess that is all we have ever looked for in American leadership (as we look to the Philadelphia Art Museum new appointment after ousting a younger woman for a branding faux paux). Alas, I think I might be the only one that cares about who might be leading our cultural institutions in a time when fear is taking hold at all classes, the rich and the poor. I resist, possibly quietly to most people, but I resist the temptation to give up on accountability for our leaders in civic institutions.WHAT I’M EXCITED ABOUT IN JANUARY 2026 - Becoming a clown. - Continuing a playwriting course with Kate Tarker- All Out with Mike Birbiglia and other comics! - Oklahoma! live at Carnegie Hall - Porgy & Bess at The Met - Ulysses at The Public- Caravaggio and Bellini at The Morgan Library GREGORY MEANDER LIVE PERFORMANCESJanuary 31st at Westside Comedy Club at 6 PM Get your tickets now! It is cheaper in advance - write Gregory Meander. February 24th at Pete’s Candy Store TBA “Love Bombed” is the theme and I share a 8-9 minute story. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

October was a month of feeling the flow of fall, changing colors, crisper air, and a rush of new art. Autumn has never been quite my favorite, but I noticed it a different arrival this year, it arrived slowly, humid and hesitant, and yet everything seemed to move more smoothly. The theme running through the month: taking a risk as restorative. Nathan Lane’s line in conversation with Mike Birbiglia rang true — “The safest thing you can do is take a risk.”My risk this month was starting a 5-week solo show workshop at The Barrow Group (Seth Parrish directed Mike Birbiglia’s first three specials). I am currently about half way through and have been working on the outline. I have often compared my ambition to Hannah Gadsby and Mike Birbiglia miraculously had a baby and it is Gregory Meander. Here is an example of the story breakdown. The outline itself is challenging as I am working with 18 + years of material at this point. I had started it as a memoir in El Salvador in 2007, wrote a libretto to a musical in 2021, and have three drafts of plays that seemingly have nothing to do with my personal life. I have taken three essay writing classes, a playwriting class, and now I find myself in a “solo show workshop.” Yet, still through all of this I have not published anything other than these silly little blogs. All this “process” was parallel to mental health and physical healing. The story itself - asking myself- what is the intersection of interesting, stragetic, compelling, and of course, funny? I want this dark material to be funny. I am not setting out to shock, or be a provacteur for no reason. I want you to laugh. I want you to release the tension. But, first, I have to learn to build it, create my world and invite you into it. Testing out a story last weekend at West Side Comedy Club was liberating. The standup’s goal is to feel as comfortable as I am in everyday life on the sidewalk and take that to the stage. The bridge from sidewalk funny to stage funny is a long one. I have been known to crush at Schmakery’s cookie shop and Sullivan Bakery in Hell’s Kitchen. Showing up in unexpected places and making people laugh has been a new goal of mine. I ran 20 miles for the first time, began work on a solo show workshop, moved on from coaching after two years with Team New York Aquatics, and launched a new personal website for my professional work. Here’s what kept me inspired this month:THEATER & COMEDYLittle Bear Ridge Road (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) was the most stirring play I’ve seen all year — crafting silence as language, grief as subtle shifts across a stage. I have seen it twice now in previews, and it is a riveting 80 minutes. Beetlejuice (⭐️⭐️⭐️) was a wild night out again, campy and dark in equal measure. It has returned to Broadway for the third time ending their national tour at the Palace Theater. Comedy kept me grounded during this unstable time. I attended Mary Beth Barone & Friends (⭐️⭐️⭐️) — small room, big laughs, and a lot of new comics. I started my Solo Show Workshop at The Barrow Group, where I’m shaping The Dope (working title). It’s part stand-up, part archaeological excavation. I want people to laugh, but also to hold their breath a little, to feel that tremor between truth and and the relief of laughing. I was able to test out a story this past weekend at West Side. It was interesting to hold the audience for a bit longer looking for that longer pay off after spending 3 minutes setting up the punch. Another risk! It paid off…this time. VISUAL ARTTwo exhibitions stood out this month: Ruth Asawa: A Retrospective at MoMA (⭐️⭐️⭐️) and Divine Egypt at The Met (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). Asawa’s wire sculptures feel like drawings of space in suspended in air, elegant systems made from nothing more than patience and vision. Egypt’s ancient belief systems that reminded me how devotion and design overlap.NATURERunning became my moving motivation again — the Blue Line Run with Frontrunners New York, 20 miles of the NYC Marathon course was a highlight. I found myself returning to my breath, noticing how the neighborhoods shift block by block as I ran from Brooklyn through Queens into the Bronx and finished in Central Park. It’s a reminder that I can do hard things. I signed up for my first marathon this coming April in Jersey City. WHAT ALREADY HAPPENED IN NOVEMBER• Prince F****t (⭐️⭐️) Closing December 13• Bat Boy: The Musical (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) Closing November 9th• More time writing The Dope and rehearsingWHAT I’M EXCITED ABOUT IN NOVEMBER• Studio Museum in Harlem Reopening• New York Comedy Week :: Alex Edelman at Carnegie Hall• Chess • Mike Birbiglia and J. Hope Stein at Joe’s Pub • Macy’s Day Parade Balloon Preview TraditionUPCOMING LIVE PERFORMANCESDecember 6, 2025 at Westside Comedy Club at 6 PM Get your tickets now! It is cheaper in advance - write Gregory Meander. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

What Happened Live in September?This unseasonably warm September has me back running in Central Park as I train for a few up-coming half-marathons. Fall art season is back in full swing and I would have to say Man Ray at The Met is the stunner of the month and my only five star review is Biscayne Bay National Park. I am still painting everyday as a meditation. Some are silly paintings, but the act of painting is a deeply satisfying way to record my daily perspective. Rockwell Kent’s line came to me mid-stroke: We are simply instruments recording in different measure our particular portion of the infinite. I like this idea of being reminded of the infinite in our challenging times right now. I think as a reader you have picked up on my taste, or how I question or build my own taste. What do you do to define your taste? I was featured on a podcast this past month with the Director of my graduate program at California College of the Arts Justin Lokitz, Design Shift: Designed to Listen . Have a listen. I talked about taste and how it is the intersection of time and experimentation. We live in a culture when everything is immediate and experimentation is threatened. How might you carve out time for both as a radical act? Here is a few highlights of September and what is exciting me in October.NATUREMid-month, I went scuba diving in Biscayne Bay, my thirty-second National Park (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️)— it was the first time I dove shipwrecks and I loved it. I even found a rare sighting of a nudibranch. Diving to me is just like going to an art museum. Diving is about calming your breathe, close looking, and allowing the elements to hold you. THEATERI am back in the city and I ran to Broadway. I was back in a seat at the Wintergarden Theater featuring the National Tour of Mama Mia! with my dear friend Meg and her sisters (⭐️⭐️)—it was light, predictable, and familial. A very dangerous scene with boys in neoprene and fins has me questioning all their costume decisions. The crowds love it! I caught a preview of Punch (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). Never have I experienced such a whiplash from Act 1 to Act 2. It feels like a punch. But, I almost would consider Act 1 - boring to a fault. I don’t say this lightly. Act 2 was a masterclass of acting with Victoria Clark playing a grieving mother (give her a Tony nom)! It was so stunning, so emotional, and a great night of theater. I checked out a new comedy club in the Lower East called Caveat with - Skipped History Power Broker, Part 1 with Ben Tubin (⭐️⭐️)—rough edges, but ambition. Galas at Little Island (⭐️⭐️), a signal that summer was leaving us and fall performance had arrived.The Fall Dance Festival at City Center (⭐️⭐️) featuring CLARA FUREY/BENT HOLLOW, Dog Rising, LIL BUCK & DAVÓNE TINES, RESURRECTION and HUBBARD STREET DANCE CHICAGO IMPASSE. Later, I saw Turandot at the Met. Liu was the stand out performance with her final aria. I have seen this opera now eight times and it always captures my imagination around what does it mean to sacrifice for the love of another? Justin Vivian Bond’s Flaming September (⭐️⭐️⭐️) was a reminder of what cabaret does best: collapse intimacy and performance into the same breath. Mystical, Mysterious, and Wonderous in a 19th century church in Brooklyn. The performance was a re-interpretation of Marianne Faithfull’s comeback performance in the 1990s was educational, inspirational, and iconic. My fifth set at West Side Comedy Club (⭐️⭐️⭐️) went well with an entirely new 5-minute set and it was exciting to have 15 more people in the audience supporting the dream. I have now had 150 people see me live at West Side Comedy Club. I try to go up around once a month and getting out to more open mics. VISUAL ARTThe Met preview of Man Ray:When Objects Dream (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) and Echoes & Evolutions: Nancy Holt on the Upper East Side (⭐️⭐️⭐️) played like call and response: surrealist interiors vs. land artist horizons. I was moved to see a gallery treat Nancy Holt’s masterwork, the Sun Tunnels, with such reverence, intentionality, and class. I have visited the Sun Tunnels twice in my life and I live with it on my Apple Watch Face. The piece constantly reminds me that our earth is in motion through space and this in fact grounds me in my daily life. I particularly love the viewfinders on 86th street looking across the street and into the sky. Miami gave me sea life including a rare nudibranch sighting, but also slight disappointment with an underwhelming visit to the Perez Art Museum(⭐️). The museum, designed by Herzog de Mureon, is hard to get to museum while set along the Bay. I made the effort and I would say my highlight was a Mark Dion installation and a surprising exhibit by brothers Elliot & Erick Jiménez: El Monte. Other than that, the curation seemed to be jarring from gallery to gallery. Moving through the space, the museum seemed incomplete and hard to access. What I am excited about in October : Erich Heckel at Neue Galerie Ruth Asawa at MOMA and The Met Opera And already preparing for: *** New York Comedy Week *** Studio Museum in Harlem Re-Opening This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I jumped off the Black and Gold ferry on Labor Day at 9:03 AM PST into the mouth of the San Francisco Bay. With the Pacific to my back while bobbing up and down in the crisp cold waters that I used to call home, I thought about the concept of August. Taylor Swift sang about not too long ago, poets have written about the late summer month frequently, and august means respected and impressive. I think I had an impressive month in San Francisco. I have spent the last four weeks taking care of my friend’s dog, Cactus, an operatic Blue Heeler. It also was exactly a year since I completed the 211-miles of the John Muir Trail. I returned to the trailhead in Yosemite, gazed over the valley at Olmstead Point, and swam in the clear waters of Tenaya Lake. These landscapes speak to me in ways words generally fail. There is a feeling in Yosemite that I get unlike anywhere else for me. I think it might a genuine sense of freedom. For me, these places of wildness is where my creativity is nurtured, roots take hold, and I am able to return to the urban spaces ready to produce.In terms of the art experience in San Francisco, I re-visited my old haunts and read poetry at City Lights, walked the Mission murals, and saw my drag queens perform. The uniqueness (often overlooked) of San Francisco is that it is small, intimate, and it has that feeling that “you kind of have to know” to seek it out. San Francisco expects something of you unlike other cities in the world (and particularly US cities), the viewer, to be engaged. It is not the moveable feast of Paris, it expects you to bring a hot dish to the party. Nor is it the cacophony of New York City, San Francisco expects you listen. This is why so often, people get faked out by it’s stunning natural beauty and miss it’s real pervasive culture. I have often said, I really did leave my heart in San Francisco, but my brain and body are in New York. San Francisco forces you to feel, forces you like an unstoppable tide to ask yourself a question, and maybe you might just experience something new. Like many expectations of humans, we disappoint, and we move on. You don’t ever have to answer a question you don’t want yourself to answer. I won’t ever move on from San Francisco because the gift it gave me whether I wanted it or not. I look closer because of San Francisco. And for that vision, I am grateful. ART Black Gold: Untold Stories at Fort Point ⭐️⭐️Hot Take: Context is everything. Unexpected, Dialogue, Thoughtful Now on view through Nov 2 at Fort Point and organized by FOR-SITE. Black Gold: Stories Untold invited 17 contemporary artists and collectives to “reflect on the resilience, struggles, and triumphs of African Americans who lived in California from the Gold Rush to the Reconstruction period following the Civil War (c. 1849–1877).” I was moved by one sculpture by Demetrie Broxton, Eyes That Have Seen the Ocean Will Not Tremble at the Sight of the Lagoon, 2025. His use of beadwork and scale captured my imagination. You could see the sculpture glimmering from rooms away, which felt like a European museum with a strong sightline to the end of the fort. The textile was refreshing against the dark red of the brick. Having been to Fort Point before, seeing new sculptures take up this abandoned military structure was powerful. Similar feelings to Christo and Jeane-Claude’s work of temporary installations in the landscape. Their intention was by placing work in a context for a temporary amount of time makes you see that existing landscape differently and for the viewer, it is changed forever. It seems to me, this work was working similarly but more additive. These art objects are adding, not subtracting. These stories are widening a once narrow reporting of California history.Ruth Asawa at SFMOMA ⭐️⭐️⭐️Hot Take: Comprehesive. Materiality. Inheritance.Ruth Asawa deserved this kind of show while she was still alive and the de Young tried to give it to her in 2006. Yet, her children have done an amazing job at raising her national and global profile since her death in 2013 ( I was honored to have assisted with her memorial service and loved passing underneath her sculptures every day at work). Though, I have been disappointed with SFMOMA since it’s reopening after the pandemic. It doesn’t seem like they have command over their space and this lack of understanding shows. They closed the Botta skylights and made the the special exhibit space darker, in what it seems to be an effort to control the shadows made by the sculptures. But, by doing this - they suffocate the room and the feeling is unnatural. Instead of the general lightness and organic tendencies Asawa was working for, the sculptures weight the viewer down.My favorite part of the installation was a re-creation of her home in Noe Valley with wood paneled ceilings of the 1970s and her working with her family. Ruth, at her core, was a teacher. And teachers don’t just teach the children they are assigned. They teach their children, their neighbors, their politicians, their businesses, and us. Ruth teaches us through her sculptures about movement, light, patience, and material. I walk through each gallery and it is so clear to be that I am being taught not only a new way to see, but a new way of making. To make, to do, and to be different in those spaces. I look forward to this exhibit in New York and to see how New Yorkers (and the world) responds to this unique San Francisco teacher.Kunié Sugiura at SFMOMA ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Hot Take: New artist for me (and she is 81!). Stunning scale. Specificity. Color! I went to SFMOMA for Ruth Asawa and I stayed for Kunié Sugiura. Wow, what a delightful surprise of canvases. From the beginning of the exhibit, I was captivated by what she was able to achieve with a camera and canvas through her “photopaintings.”She made me miss New York with three canvases, Central Park, Deadend, and Ferryboat. I love the canvases of color and closeness she was able to achieve. Her work invites you into the color and I felt like I was swimming in the trees, or lying down on the sand. The work is tactile and I could feel it. I do hope she gets some new exhibits here in New York (she was exhibited at MoMA in her 30s), I feel like she is still underrepresented in the canon, especially in the shadow of Robert Rauschenberg and Andy Warhol. What I am excited about in September : Nancy Holt :: Echoes & Evolutions: Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels at Sprüth MagersMan Ran: When Objects Dream at The Met Galas at Little Island and The Met Opera Returns (Turandot and others!) Mark Dion at the Perez Art Museum (Miami) This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

It is the height of summer and some of my favorite things in the city are not necessarily arts related. I have seen most of the summer blockbuster art exhibits, so I have dug down to find some other more off the beaten path. I have been drawn to my desire to be outdoors as much as possible, my runs and yoga have taken be through Central Park, up the Hudson, the beaches of Fire Island and the forest of Purchase College. My favorite piece of art this month (on-going through September) was Morgan Bassichis’ Can I be Frank? at Soho Playhouse. As someone dabbling into the comedic world, I connected directly with Morgan’s whipsmart point of view. There was an certain obsessiveness about his 70-minutes on stage that I gravitated towards. Funnily enough, I often agreed with his take down of gay culture and also celebration of an artist gone too soon. I quickly realized why most of his audience was women. Gay men often don’t like a mirror shone to their lives (and who does for that matter)? I have a similar vision of a 60-minute show taking you through my childhood surrounded in silence, an early loss of innocence involving a handmade bunny rabbit, the process of creating a custom Phantom of the Opera cape, and the subversive not-so-often spoken of patriarchal power structure of American suburbia. From my own experience of open mics and going up on stage, it seems to be a long journey to get there. It feels good to get started. It is something that I think about everyday mixed in with my full-time hustle in design and tech. It has been a fruitful two years uninsured, piecing together rent, and fighting for my New York life. The dream is still alive. Sometimes it is is hard to focus with everything that is going on the world particularly with uncertainty around finances. But, I have found when I am in these spaces of art, it helps me locate something inside myself that is restorative. I wish you all have that restorative practice in the heat of the summer. Sweat it out. Seek it out. Find something that gives to your body and say yes. That might just be enough right now. ART In the Medium of Life: The Drawings of Beauford Delaney ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️The Drawing Center Hot Take: Sensual, vibrant, exciting, gayI am so glad I was able to go see this visionary artist’s work. Friends with Georgia O’Keeffe and James Baldwin, Mr. Delaney was a bright spot in his time, but never fully appreciated as it is often with the best of us. His work lept off the paper. I was so motivated by Beauford’s work that I went down the street and bought a gouache kit of my own. Amy Sherald: American Sublime ⭐️⭐️⭐️The Whitney through Aug 10 Hot Take: Textile, textile, textile, & paint on linen!I had no idea painting on linen was so perfect. Her paint on linen was sublime as promised. Rashid Johnson: A Poem for Deep Thinkers ⭐️⭐️⭐️Guggenheim through January 18, 2026 Hot Take: Challenging, Interesting, Facing my whiteness I think I need deeper about how to write on this exhibit. I felt implicated. It is on view for a long time, so see it if you are in New York. Neuberger Museum of Art, Purchase College ⭐️⭐️Hot Take: surprising, gentle, interestingI was able to visit my friend Christoph who lives with his partner Shaka on the campus of Purchase College this month. I was pleasantly surprised by their art museum (designed by the fraught Phillip Johnson). I tend to love university collections. With their smaller collections, they usually hold great examples of work. You can sit with the prime examples typically overlooked at larger art museums. Purchase has Edward Hopper’s largest canvas, a portrayl of a barber shop, which ironically is not that impressive. He seems to have met his match with scale. I love his more intimate canvases. I was impressed by three installations Proscenium, Liminal In Nature, and Molten Metals beyond their permanent collection that included a great sculpture in neon, a Stephen de Staebler, and Harry Bertoia, much to my delight. Carrington House on Fire Island ⭐️⭐Fire Island and Dance: The FortiesHot Take: historic, commercial, and art was overpowered by spaceI have been to Fire Island twice before this visit and I still had not made it to the Carrington House. This house is steeped in art history as the house where Truman Capote wrote “Breakfast at Tiffanys,” Georgia O’Keeffe stayed, among a litany of other great American artists. Both of my visits to the island before had been brief with less of a focus on my deep desire to walk in the shadows of my favorite artists. I finally was able to go and have my brief seance in the attic (pictured above) where I know Georgia sat and I am sure Truman stumbled up drunk one night. Who I am kidding, he was probably drunk the entire time he wrote “Breakfast” like I think Jack Kerouac was when he wrote Big Sur. I live in these artist dreams and I like to go to the places where I think some of those dreams came true. There was a small exhibit of George Daniell’s photographs, but the space overpowered the the black and white photographs, somewhat hung without care. The house spoke for itself. Queer in Nature at The Arsenal Building, Central Park ⭐️⭐Through August 20th Hot Take: small, hard to get to, interesting setting, and fresh workThe Parks Department hosts art exhibits in their administration building in Central Park. You have to check in with security, get a name tag, and the gallery is located on the third floor. But, I think more administration buildings should host public art exhibits. It seems like it was a great opportunity for younger, less established artists the space to showcase work and they even had a price sheet. I liked some of the references to queerness in nature, some direct and other a bit more abstract. I feel nature is queer inherently because nature will always find a more resilient way to heal and grow. Queer people are constantly fighting to heal against a human society where we are unwanted, undesired, and lack any form of protection from the systems that we expect to create a safety net. In nature, there is nothing wrong with us and we adapt accordingly. And I learned that humpback whales can be gay and that made my day. Walter de Maria ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️THEATERJoy: A New True Musical ⭐️Hot Take: confusing, long, silly, unfinished, at times funny I often see things that take me off guard for the wrong reasons. I wonder to myself: Does this story need to exist in this format? It has nothing to do with the cast or creatives, but it does have to do with the capital that produces such pieces of theater and get all the way to full productions Off Broadway or On. I would say I would put Joy in the same vein as this season’s Boop the Musical (another one with an incredible leading lady Jasmine Amy Rogers). These stories are seemingly marketed as arcs of empowered women. But, they aren’t fully actualized characters and lacking the agency I am looking from any empowered person in 2025. I don’t think these stories need to exist in the stage format. The best part of this show is Betsy Wolfe and she is a vision. She is shoe horning this material to work for her instrument and still getting the laughs (and heard some back channeling that she was basically directing it, too). It showed. Unfortunately, they have a few repetitive songs, nothing too catchy, and a lead that never really gets to her “I want” song. I never thought that we needed a new, true musical about a mop and I was right. This was not the story of the entrepreneur or innovator, it was more a story of a white woman who wasn’t supported by any one in their life. Though this is a common story, I don’t think a musical is the best format for it be in the world. I don’t foresee this making a Broadway transfer, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it did somehow. Can I be Frank? Morgan Bassichis at Soho Playhouse ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️July 24 - Sept 13, 2025Get Ticket HereHot Take: weird, smart, gay, funny, emotional I often talk about talk about living in the shadows of my queer heroes. I think of teh art not made. The shows not seen. The dances not danced. The men that died too soon from AIDS. An entire generation of laughs, tears, and forward momentum. I grieve this often in my walks. I feel implicated to create and take up the torch of my gay brothers and creative ancestors. I recently saw the first preview Can I be Frank? by Morgan Bassichis at the Soho Playhouse. The comedic stand-up/performance hybrid is being directed by Sam Pinkleton, fresh off his Tony win for “Oh Mary!” I even greeted Sam afterwards and I just said “thank you” and I fan boyed out as I walked out onto the Avenue of the Americas. It has been a while since I had seen a real piece of performance art. Can I even say that? In ways, stand up comedy is a performance art and who even writes these definitions. I have found art historians lack real humanity when they attempt to define art, hence why most artists resist being labeled when they are alive. And why even try? We name in order to understand. Sometimes, we need to sit with the art before we name it. I think that is an aspect of what Morgan is mining in his new show as he enters into his queer fantasia of performing artist and comedian Frank Maya (source material on YouTube from 1989 :: I was three). Frank was the first openly gay comedian on network television. And his life was cut short. Morgan inhabits his shadow. It is smart, it is funny, and I cried a lot. I cried because Morgan brought Frank back to life even for some mere moments. You could feel it in the room. And if that isn’t a miracle, I am quite sure what is. We all would like to understand at a deeper level what this human experience is at its fullest. I think Frank understood what it means to live to the fullest as a queer person in a world that kept saying no to him. But, what happens if we say yes. Morgan is saying yes to life, yes to Frank, and yes to his audience. Go. Say yes and I would love to hear what comes up for you. What I am excited about in August: - I am in San Francisco for the month of August, so I am looking forward to previewing Ruth Asawa at SFMOMA before it heads to New York’s MOMA in October. - Walks on Ocean Beach, runs in Golden Park, climbing in the Pinnacles, and taking my friend’s blue heeler Cactus to the Redwoods. - My queen, my muse, my queer icon in Fauxnique. So Relevant. at Oasis, August 13 *SOLD OUT*- I celebrate my 18th Gay Birthday on August 29. It has been 18 years since I came out of the closet in El Salvador. - Reconnecting with my San Francisco community. If you are in San Francisco and want to connect, reach out! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

It was PRIDE month all month (they really do it big in New York), but I think it really comes down to that final weekend that commemorates when young people got fed up with the policing at Stonewall Inn and they finally fought back. Pride has and always will be a protest for freedom. And as our country tries our best in corners everywhere to have deeper conversations keeping democracy alive. I stand with you, the quiet ones, who don’t feel represented or have the words, or can even articulate what your opinion might be. For much of my life as an athlete, I felt like I could not be openly gay, or even explore how I wanted to show up in relationships. I spent my Pride moving my body in protest. Queer bodies rarely are supported to make healthy choices for longevity. I swam in the Atlantic Ocean at Brighton Beach and the Hudson River Pride Swim (6/14) for my younger self who dreamt of being able to swim in wide open bodies of water while trapped in the middle of the country. I ran for my present self in the Pride Run in Central Park with 11,000 other runners and raised $1,200 for Lambda Legal. And I marched for future generations in the streets of New York surrounded by 2 million other people supporting the queer communities across the world. This protest has always been about freedom and respect. It seems to still be the case. I will always fight for freedom and respect. In the midst of all of the trials, the stressors of daily life, and things that go beyond our control, I find comedic writing and art to be the salve I most desire. Here is a breakdown of what I saw in June. COMEDYI went up again at Westside Comedy Club for the fourth time. It is still a lot of fun and I am going to more open mics, which is helping me get more comfortable with a stage, a light, and a mic. From the video, I had a bit lower energy. I successfully improved a bit on a conversation I had with my mom about water sports (look it up) and it landed. Before I went on stage, I saw a couple that had not laughed the entire night. I told myself that it was my mission of the five minutes to try to make them laugh and it was my conversation with my 75-year old mother on gay kinks that did the trick. You never know what might make someone break. I intend to keep discovering all the ways. Thank you to everyone who came out from the swim team and otherwise to support. Have you seen Mike Birbiglia’s The Good Life on Netflix. Check it out. I was in the audience for filming at the Beacon Theater! ART This month, I spent quite a few return visits to some shows that are up for the summer. I have found myself popping back into MoMa quite often. On a recent visit, I walked into a gallery so well-curated that I loved every piece. I rarely have that experience and it was all artists I had never heard of, which was even a better surprise. I was immediately drawn to this golden chair and top hat. I came to find out it was an homage to one of my favorite painters, Eduoard Manet. The gallery features artworks borrowed from the museum in Zagreb alongside MoMA’s holdings highlighting the work of the artist group Gorgona, active from 1959 to 1966 in Croatia. It took me down another art history rabbit hole. Thank you Gallery 406. Revisiting Hilma af Klint: What Stands Behind the Flowers at MoMA ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️This exhibit at MoMA has captured my imagination. I have now visited it three times and keep looking closely at her sensitive brushwork. I have been trying to replicate her color and variations. I think I am enamored so much because I am water coloring every day. THEATER Bowl EP at Vineyard Theater ⭐️⭐️⭐️This off-broadway play written by NAZARETH HASSAN transported me to a space I never have physically been before - a skate park. As the audience sits around the “bowl,” two queer black characters spend 90 minutes flirting. It was so much more and the audience comes face to face with their own demons. It was a powerful, smart, and almost poetic dialogue. Not quite spoken word, but the demon’s rant reminded me something out of Waiting for Godot (which funnily enough is coming back in a revival with Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter this fall). This was my second play co-presented from the National Black Theater and it is always a treat. I will follow them from now on. Call me Izzy at Studio 54⭐️⭐️⭐️I have known Jean Smart since I was a little boy watching Designing Women. Us little gay boys seem to gravitate to cast full of empowered Southern women. Now, Smart is riding her Emmy-winning star with HBO’s Hacks with a stint on Broadway. This character was written for her by Jamie Wax. And it was a pure joy to see her on stage. She seamlessly plays multiple characters in this 90 minute one woman show. Though at times, it was hard for me to believe that this woman stayed in this abusive relationship for so long, but then again, what do I know about marriage? Smart certainly captures your imagination as a viewer and you are rooting for her the entire time. Though quite sad, there was something to be said for about writing against all the odds, even when you don’t have a paper or pen. There is still toilet paper and eye makeup to write. What length would you go to keep doing what you love to do? Survival has a way of pushing humans to the brink, and then further. Hello Dolly in Concert at Carnegie Hall ⭐️⭐️It is always a treat to hear a bunch of Broadway stars come together to raise money for new art. This concert raised money for Transport Theater Group. The biggest surprise was Jennifer Simard taking the house down with her rendition of the main song. She filled in for Beth Leavel with less than 12 hours notice. The show must go on! Coming down the pipeline in July for me includes Can I Be Frank? by Morgan Bassichis, Joy: A New True Musical, and a smattering of visual art. The summer in the city seems slow. What is going on other places that I find interesting: Rachel Zegler stars as Eva Péron in an Evita revival in London? And LACMA opens a new art museum with no art? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I am a few days late after May (June is now bustin’ out all over), but it was a nice balanced month of the final operas of the season and rounding out Tony nominated shows. I was able to take in some of the summer blockbuster exhibitions for the first time and I am expecting a few repeat visits. I was pleasantly surprised with Superfine, the new fashion show at The Met. The curatorial thesis is one of the strongest I have experienced in quite a long time. And it is always a joy to view any work of Hilma af Klint. I also saw the new Frick, which is pleasant as ever. We will see which exhibits rise to the top during the summer months. OPERA Salome at The Met Opera ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️A fever dream of lust and power. The staging leaned Victorian maximalist with black silks, the best projections I have ever seen, and a chilling stage shift into a prison cell. It was a haunting night at the opera. Antony and Cleopatra at The Met ⭐️⭐️I have trouble with any opera sung in English. It was great to see John Adams conduct his own work. The staging and costumes were grand and golden. It was was two messy Shakespearean characters unfolding on stage. The chemistry simmered between the two leads, never boiled. The visual opulence (those robes!) did most of the heavy lifting.ART Superfine at The Met Museum ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️Subversive, stylish, and smart. Go and see it if you are in New York this summer. Another separate essay is brooding that highlights three historical objects with three contemporary fashion items. I was able to greet Monica L Miller at the grand staircase the day I saw the exhibit in Preview. I recognized her from her YouTube vids speaking to the exhibition. I thanked her for her scholarship and stewarding the exhibit. It is always fun to thank the people behind the exhibits that we enjoy. The conversations in the galleries are apparent, clear, and nuanced. It is quite a feat for any art exhibition, particularly for a fashion show. The exhibit is by far my favorite of the fashion exhibits The Met has done in recent memory. The Met Museum’s New Wing Preview⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️Clean lines, big promises for the new Africa, Americas, and Oceania wing at The Met. The future of the museum is being drafted — and this feels like the blueprint for a new institutional voice. The new stories and contextualization of the objects are fresh. I am curious to see how rotations will help keep this wing in dialogue with the rest of the institution. It was quite a hole for five years and I am very happy it is back in such a beautiful and approachable way. Salman Toor WishMaker ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️My favorite contemporary painter, Salman Toor. Hilma af Klint: What Stands Behind the Flowers at MoMA ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️A revelation as always. Spiritual abstraction rendered with botanical precision. This exhibit at MoMA felt like standing at the opening a new portal to nature. One of the best shows of the year.THEATER Bus Stop at Classic Stage Company ⭐️⭐️⭐️I love William Inge’s writing. Simple, direct, and Midwestern. I started reading his work while I lived in Kansas. My landlord actually told me what I consider a myth, that William had actually stayed in the carriage house that I was renting in Lawrence for some time, so I now think I have some mythical connection to William through my queerness in Kansas. I know it is a stretch, but I did start writing in the carriage house during the pandemic, so stranger things could occur. Gentle and claustrophobic at once. Strong ensemble work by an entirely Asian -American cast. I have never seen a production of Bus Stop, so I don’t necessarily know if the re-casting hit harder than an all white cast per se. The performances were precise and each actor embodied Inge’s thoughtful characters. I was so glad to see a staging of his work and seemed as timely as it was when it was first written over 50 years ago. John Proctor is the Villain ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️Sharp and timely. Think The Crucible meets Gen Z. High school desks, cancel culture, and an ending that hits harder than you expect. What was your favorite song from high school? Here is to June. Coming down the pipeline for me includes Bowl EP, going up again this Saturday at Westside Comedy Club, swimming the Hudson River, and PRIDE. Seems like Pride might be more important than ever. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Like many of us, I find myself wrestling with confusion, stress, and the weight of a destabilized world. Yet in the midst of it, I’ve discovered that discipline—especially in my meditation practice and daily watercolors—can be healing. Showing up for live performance, great art, and music feels like a radical act. It’s not just about entertainment, but about engaging more deeply with the creative process. That matters—for all of us. We are creative animals, and I’m endlessly drawn to these questions and that process.This month, I experienced works that stirred something in me: Purpose, a powerful new play by Branden Jacobs-Jenkins (now Tony-nominated), and Dead Outlaw, (also Tony-nominated) a quirky, genre-bending new musical. Being in the room for these performances gave me not only hope, but fuel—a kind of soul engine. It may be my lifeblood, or maybe it’s just a buffer against the harder edges of reality. Either way, I believe art can be beautiful, defiant, and healing all at once.I’m thinking about all of you. Thank you for reading—or listening. My resistance is rooted in the gifts of art and nature. May you find your own form of resistance—one that feeds you, and makes you stronger.AT THE OPERAI often say opera is my everything. And at the Met, it is probably the truest experience of art I have had in my life. I wish I could take everyone I knew to the opera. This month, I was taken to the opera by my friend Mark and won the lottery. It is nice to know that opera can still be accessed without breaking my bank account. It is possible! Two nights at the Met opera stood out as these were my Mozart firsts: Le Nozze di Figaro, sung beautifully, and those 1791 jokes still land (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️), as was Die Zauberflöte, which charmed with its moving stage and Mozart’s score that keeps your heart moving (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). Both the Marriage of Figaro and The Magic Flute are operas in the classical canon that I had not seen before. Their sound and stories are lasting.ON BROADWAYOn the music and theater front, Floyd Collins at Lincoln Center featured a haunting performance by Jeremy Jordan (⭐️⭐️⭐️). The story, based on the real-life caver who helped inspire the creation of Mammoth Cave National Park, resonated with me deeply. The bluegrass score transported me straight to Bruce’s cave of my childhood with my grandfather Gene. Dead Outlaw—one of two current musicals featuring a central cadaver (alongside Operation Mincemeat)—was scrappy but compelling (⭐️⭐️⭐️). It’s a bold, offbeat addition to the Broadway landscape. Meanwhile, seeing Buena Vista Social Club live for a second time was just as good as the first time. Every note pulsed with life, bringing the spirit of Cuba to the stage (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). I love that the musicians of Buena Vista Social Club are receiving a special Tony—it is well deserved.Lastly, Purpose offered thoughtful performance work that still has me thinking about queerness and family histories (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). I had the chance to see my queer country hero Orville Peck take on the role of the Emcee in the Broadway revival of Cabaret. The show ran a bit long, but the costumes and music were the tops, and Orville delivered a strong, compelling performance. I’ve seen him live several times and have long been a fan of his music, so watching him step into this iconic role felt especially important to witness.Knowing he’s been open about his struggles with depression, this move to Broadway felt like more than a career shift—it felt like a personal milestone, a way to prove something to himself. And he followed through beautifully.Eva Noblezada, as Sally Bowles, absolutely brought the house down with her rendition of “Cabaret”—a true Broadway performance to form. IN THE GALLERIESThe summer exhibitions are now up at MoMA and The Met, and they’re both well worth your time. Sargent and Paris at The Met left me stunned—nearly every piece in the show was completed before Sargent turned 30. (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️) I’m already planning to revisit it throughout the summer to study how he approached his palette with such nuance and confidence.Over at MoMA, Woven Histories offers a beautifully curated blend of textile art and modern abstraction. It’s both inspiring and grounding—especially for those of us who love Anni Albers. I could spend hours there among the textiles. (And I probably will.) COMEDYApril was bursting with comedy across New York—as always. I kicked things off catching my friend Ray Ferro at Broadway Comedy Club. He is certainly the friend I will say “I knew him when…” He is whip smart. Mateo Lane and friends brought the house down at Radio City Music Hall with a polished, personal, and hilarious set (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️). And I saw Jessica Kirson live (⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️)at the Beacon with a set that had me laughing so hard I was exhausted by the end of the hour. Check out a great conversation with Jessica and Mike Birbiglia working it out together. I went up for the third time at Westside Comedy Club—and promptly forgot my entire first joke. Comedy is definitely not for the faint of heart. But like anything worth doing, the key is practice, practice, practice.I’m so grateful for everyone who’s supported me on this ride so far. I’ll be back on stage in June, and in the meantime, I’m focusing on open mics and honing my “tight five.” I’m still writing new material every day, and honestly, it’s the most fun I’ve had writing in a long time.Here’s to the jokes—and the joy of the grind.Up-coming in May: Salome [The Met Opera]Hilma af Klint What Stands Behind the Flowers [MoMA]John Proctor is the Villain (Tony-nominated Play) [Broadway] This is a public episode. 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March has been a whirlwind month of incredible performances, art, and laughs! Even with limited funds, I am able to optimize my museum memberships and I keep winning the lottery for Broadway and The Met Opera. Gotta play to win! AT THE OPERA Fidelio ⭐⭐⭐⭐Beethoven’s only opera and man was it is a stunner. I painted the cellar door cellar in the prisoner’s jail cell that kept his wife and him apart for a duet that brought the house down. Timely story of government oppression, great pace, and surprising twists made this an opera to remember. La Bohème ⭐⭐⭐This was my sixth time seeing La Boheme (as it is the most produced opera around the world) and every time I think it won’t be a tragedy. I always am swept into Puccini’s music and these characters singing about the joy of living even without any money. And then tragedy always strikes - Mimi always dies - it is a tear jerker for sure. ON BROADWAY Buena Vista Social Club ⭐⭐⭐⭐Based on the 1996 documentary and album, Buena Vista Social Club, this is a brand new Broadway show not to be missed. I saw a preview within the first week and it officially opened last week. The story is in English and all the lyrics are kept in Spanish. It is vibrant, heart pounding, and I felt the music in my body. I recommend this show to anyone (even though it is a jute box musical) who wants a good night out of theater and music. Sunset Blvd (Second Time) ⭐⭐⭐ through July 16, 2025.News here is that this show is closing in July - much to fans dismay. Not quite sure why because it has been successful. Even with Tony buzz, we will say goodbye to Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger’s version of the falling starlet Norma Desmond July 16. IN THE GALLERIES Affinities: Anni Albers, Josef Albers, Paul Klee at David Zwirner through April 19, 2025This show at David Zwirner is the best gallery show I have seen in 2025 hands down. Seems like New York is finally giving Anni Albers her due moment. Her textiles have always blow my mind and with an upcoming show at MoMA, she will get some focused attention. I often think that Anni and Josef are the most powerful art couple that change how we make art more than any other couple between their own art-making and their influence on an entire generation of artists post World War II. Any other art couples come to mind? New Objectivity at the Neue Galerie ⭐⭐⭐⭐ through May 26, 2025Seeing two of my favorite artists Otto Dix and Max Beckman in context with their friends, helped ground this art movement post World War 1 and their response to German Expressionism. National Museum of Jazz in Harlem ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐I went to a public program celebrating Velma Middleton (St Louis Blues in Stuggart, Germany), Louis Armstrong’s female vocalist for 19 years. It was a public program that featured archival footage and a live vocalist to bring the history to life - and it was amazing! Vocalist Brianna Thomas & Ricky Riccardi, Director of Research Collections at the Louis Armstrong House Museum brought out an-depth look into an unsung creative hero. Jack Whitten: The Messenger at MoMA ⭐⭐⭐⭐ through August 2, 2025Wow! Not many exhibits get into my soul like this one. I wanted to put it on all your radars. I need to sit with it a bit more and hopefully I can get an entire essay out of the exhibit. One of the best I have seen the last three years, up there with the Wolfgang Tillman exhibit. COMEDY3/8 West Side Comedy (⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐) with 24 peopleI had a great second set at Westside Comedy as part of the New Talent Showcase. My goal is to refine my “tight 5.” I am energized and excited to keep finding open mics and writing those punchlines. I took my visualisation skills and applied them to the laughs. For my birthday, I took myself to see one of my comedic heroes Mike Birbiglia perform his newest hour - The Good Life at the Beacon Theater. I actually got to go back two nights later and see it again while it was being filmed for Netflix. It was great to hear and see the set twice so close to each other. His set was a bit darker than his usual joke fare, but it really was a full and energetic set ranging from growing up Catholic, his visit with the Pope, his less than ideal relationship with his father, and his true disdain for children’s birthday parties. He even gave us cupcakes out on Broadway afterwards! ⭐⭐UPCOMING DATES TO SEE GREGORY ON STAGE⭐⭐ Up next up - April 12 at Westside Comedy Club Get your Tickets HERE and write GREGORY THOMAS STOCK What I am looking forward to in April:- Dead Outlaw on Broadway- At The Met: Sargent and ParisThe New Art: American Photography, 1839–1910 - Orville Peck as the emcee in Cabaret This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Rome is calling me. Hello Pope Francis! The Pope has thrown open the cathedral doors, welcoming in the Jubilee—a special holy year in Rome, Vatican City, and across Italy. This Catholic celebration, which began just weeks ago at Christmas, will culminate with the Epiphany in 2026. A Jubilee year is a time for spiritual renewal, drawing millions of pilgrims to Rome in search of deeper faith and connection. With over 35 million visitors expected to flood the Eternal City, Rome is bracing for a chaotic season of reverence, celebration, and unparalleled energy. And considering most of the comedy I might attempt this year has to directly to do with the Catholic Church, I feel like it is time to stare down my Catholic imagination in-person. As the city prepares for this momentous occasion, I find myself thumbing through Caravaggio’s catalogue raisonné once again and revisiting a reflection on one of my favorite paintings I have never seen in person. I have one that fits in my two hands like a Bible. I carry it around with me on the subway. [A catalogue raisonné is a comprehensive listing of all known works by a single artist, often accompanied by detailed documentation and analysis]. Each catalogue represents a sincere labor of love and dedication. Regardless, my descriptions can never capture the essence of Caravaggio's actual brushstrokes. Have you ever stood in front of a Caravaggio painting? Caravaggio's brushstrokes are sensuous, fulfilling, and mighty. I often struggle with justifying my writing about art. Why not just look and enjoy the painting? How might my words ever achieve close to what a Caravaggio brushstroke can?They can’t. I don't shy away from embracing Caravaggio, the Baroque-era “bad boy” artist whose life and work were as provocative as his reputation. He must have loved the Bible or maybe it was because an Archbishop paid the bills? Catholics and the Knights of Columbus and Pro-Life fanatics around the world are still trying to divorce themselves from some of his jarring and erotic paintings. Not I, bring them on. He was able to bring such life to the stories of my Christian paradigm. Once I found a book on Caravaggio, I felt like I had found my first soft core porn. And I wondered how could these pictures have been paid for by the Church? Given what we now know about sexual and financial abuse controversies within the Catholic Church, these paintings seem like the least of their concerns. Miraculously, the painter took a sentence from the Bible and shapes them into an entire world. I want to live in The incredulous Thomas painting depicting the Apostle Thomas flipping his finger into the side of Jesus. The incredulous Thomas, the unbeliever. Incredulous meaning the state of being unwilling or unable to believe something. I always felt like I could make a nice home in the furrowed brow of Thomas. Your eye is immediately drawn to the wound caused by a soldier, days prior while Jesus hung on the cross to ensure that he was dead. Proof. That is all you need. In the Bible, they clearly craft the doubt Thomas had of Jesus:25 The other disciples therefore said unto him, We have seen the Lord. But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe.Well, there it was in word and now in image. In 1602, this painting would have made a believer out of me. How many of us do not believe that mystery can exist? Particularly now in contemporary America. I am not even sure we could claim doubt, but more of Peter’s denial. Evangelical America has sided with the conservative Right and there is no room for faith anymore. No room for mystery. No room for unanswerable quests. There is definitely not any room for painting like Caravaggio. I did not find this painting until later in life, well after my own personal cross hairs with the evangelical movement. The actual painting of Thomas lives in Potsdam, Germany outside of Berlin. How on earth does an Italian painting celebrating one of the many doubters of Jesus Christ’s resurrection end up in Potsdam, Germany? The painting's provenance—its documented history of ownership and authenticity—is clear. After a few Italian owners, it found its way in 1815 to the King of Prussia’s collection but deemed “unsuitable for the museums” and placed in the disposition of the Royal Household. It went on a “journey” during World War II and was found in Russia. It was not returned to Germany until 1958, where it now has a home in Potsdam for general palace goers. There are only so many Caravaggio paintings left. I have seen four in person. Though I have never seen this painting in person, I believe in its existence, just as I believe in the enduring mystery and power of art to evoke faith, doubt, and wonder. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Here is a short reflection of my journey this past September to Walter de Maria’s “The Lightning Field (1977).” It is my favorite piece of American art. (The audio includes more text and voice-over than the captions). Some facts on The Lightning Field here. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

As 2024 winds down, I thought it might be appropriate to share a reflection that I have been working on for quite some time. As many writers do, they start and stop pieces all the time. This reflection started as part memoir, part Substack entry, and part personal reflection. I recently saw the piece of art again in my new home and decided to share a meditation with all of you. Three major reasons I love Christian Marclay’s The Clock:⁃ My affinity towards deep time⁃ Film as a median of specificity⁃ The “you had to be there” kind of feelingIn June 2013, the week before the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art closed for a massive extension by Snohetta, the museum was open 24/7 for three days. My dream of sleeping over at the museum could finally come true. I lived in the Mission District at the time and it took me roughly 20-30 minutes to travel the two miles to the museum. It didn’t matter whether I biked, took the train, walked, or drove—traffic, construction, or other factors always made the travel time to the museum about 30 minutes. (And yes, I walk fast). I went to the museum six times during those three days. I acted as if I was losing a friend, grieving the museum’s closure for three years. So much can happen in three years? I didn’t know I would eventually become a museum guide after it re-opened or predict a global pandemic that would change the relevance of art museums forever. Time is a funny thing, constructed for us, so we can organize our lives, seemingly thinking we can control something. In an instant, time can turn on us. The hour glass of our lives are limited in scope. We don’t know when our personal hour glass will run empty.As a sexual abuse survivor, I have run my life as if it was on borrowed time. I delayed my coming out as a gay man until 21 (late, some say, for my generation), layered with shame, fear, guilt, and feeling like most of my childhood and adolescence was stolen from me. There is quite a bit written about victims of abuse and the remnants of what is left behind: stolen memories, panic attacks, inability to build intimate relationships, and daily struggles of self-worth. In all, some times it felt like so much of my time has been wasted on those lost feelings. So much was stolen from me that I still spend time trying to piece back the mosaic of my life. In my 20s, I acted as if each day was the last grain of sand in my hour glass. This feeling of urgent time has yet to wane even in my late 30s. SFMOMA’s impending closure felt like a clarion call, urging me to bear witness to great art. I often get art urges – the desire to see great things - great operas, great actors, great paintings - it all meets the mark of urgency! I felt compelled to stand before Jackson Pollock’s 1943 gateway masterpiece, Guardians of the Secret, in the middle of the night. I call it a "gateway" masterpiece because it marks one of Pollock’s last semi-figurative works before fully embracing abstraction and his iconic drip technique. The Guardians serve as a bridge between his rejection of Thomas Hart Benton’s influence and the innovative style that would make him famous. Fittingly, the San Francisco Museum of Art (not quite Modern), was the first institution to host a Pollock exhibition in 1945, making Guardians its star work.Little did I know, the museum being open 24/7 would introduce me to a work that lives in my memory and has helped me reflect on the way I live my life almost more than any other piece of artwork. You probably don’t know the artist and it is a piece you probably haven’t seen – Christian Marclay’s The Clock. What truly matters is that you might think you could create something like it—if only you had the time, if only you thought it could make money, or if only you believed the vision mattered enough. Could you edit countless hours of cinematic history into a 24-hour behemoth of a film, with each moment perfectly corresponding to the time of day? I know I couldn’t. There isn’t enough acid in the world, and I’m neither focused nor patient enough.The Clock acts as a prayer to me, like I am saying 10 Hail Mary’s after Confession when I was eight years old in church. The Clock puts you in a trance unsure of reality and unsure if you have said all 10 prayers. It’s likely the best piece of art the museum ever programmed—perfect timing, perfect messaging, and a perfect portal. Art museums rarely get everything right as institutions, but this was an exception. Most of the credit belongs to Christian Marclay, who dedicated three years to meticulously splicing other people’s creations into something entirely his own vision.In San Francisco, I watched it during early mornings, late nights, and afternoons, and years later, I have pieced together memories with friends who had experienced it too. It’s the kind of piece that stays with you, even if you missed it. People in San Francisco knew they missed it, too. For those who witnessed it, we remember the time we saw it—not precisely, but vaguely, like an impression left by the line we waited in to see it.The special reservation system spoke to its anticipated demand—Christian himself, must have known what it would become. The art world thrives on knowing things first, on being at the edge. Marclay built that edge for us, crafting the future through the film of the past.My memories of the film itself feel like a curated, cinematic doom scroll—yet more rewarding and difficult to place my exact feelings. Marclay rewarded you for waiting, for staying, and for close looking. A car crash. A red light. Black-and-white film shifting into technicolor. A pocket watch. These fragments pierce the folds of my memory, distinct, and lasting. What else could achieve that so effectively?Re-visiting The Clock at MoMA, New York City, Sunday, November 10, 2024: I just watched The Clock from 10:30 AM to 11:30 AM. I had been disappointed the evening before, as I had tried to get into the gallery during a Member’s Preview. I knew how popular it would be and it is New York, so you have to fight for everything, every day. I was the first person in-line to enter the gallery on Sunday at 10 AM. My anticipation was felt by the museum workers already tired of weekend visitors. I chose to sit in the second row to the right of the middle couch. I had worn my running gear to the museum because I was planning on going on a run and see how long I could last in the gallery (there is no food and once you exit, you may not re-enter the gallery after you leave it). I made it 90 minutes.From 10:30 to 11:00 AM, there was a noticeable focus on funerals and autopsies. Then, as the clock struck 11:00 AM, the piece emphasized public clocks—like Big Ben or large clocks in public spaces. This contrast got me thinking about the dual nature of time: it’s both private and public. There’s the personal act of checking your bedside clock in the morning versus the shared experience of seeing a clock in a public space. Time is deeply personal, tied to our daily routines, but it’s also communal, about meeting and coordinating with others. The hour also featured scenes with Marlon Brando, Gregory Peck, and even The Day of the Jackal (a film from my childhood). Walter Matthau appeared too, likely from I could glean was a scene from The Odd Couple. His comedic timing is brilliant—even a single scene of mere seconds showcases his genius. I knew more actors and more films this time. It was interesting to observe the audience’s reactions, something I’d forgotten about in my first viewings. I was much more attune to the others. When something funny happens, like a Matthau scene, the gallery responded in unison with soft laughter. I almost felt like I was at a movie. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------I had mentioned there were three reasons I loved The Clock: my affinity towards deep time, film as a median of specificity, and the “you had to be there” kind of feeling. These three aspects of the piece have stayed with me over the last decade. The piece has sometimes competing emotions of seriousness and humor. I can’t quite pin my entirety of my experiences down in type, but I do know that the clock is ticking. Time is passing us by. What will we do with it all? And as another year comes to an end, I am grateful to Marclay’s The Clock for reminding me that time is a construct. You don’t have to do those resolutions if you don’t want to. Throw out the goals, do something different. But, you might reflect on the year gone by. Reflections prove worthy, claim your time, claim your three hundred and sixty five days. And when we claim our time, we can play a bit more with our years, our memories, and we can push them to new edges. Currently on view at MoMA through February 17, 2025. More on The Clock: ArtNews This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I’m writing from the Museum of Modern Art on a Sunday morning, where I discovered that ChatGPT is blocked on their Wi-Fi—which makes me giggle. MoMA has been lauding Refik Anadol’s “Unsupervised” in the lobby for the last three years. It is a multi-media piece that takes the MoMA’s collection and distorts the works of art into some nebulous digital throw up for the masses. And yet, ChatGPT is not allowed in the space to “protect” the collection. This “protection” seems like an anti-modern, ironic, and fear-based decision. Reflecting on the past year, I’m still struck by my own privilege of being able to walk to one of the world’s greatest collections of modern art. I sure fought for it this year. Today, I stopped by an exhibit dedicated to Miss Lillie P. Bliss, one of MoMA’s founders, and her leadership and vision in the 1930s made the museum we enjoy today. I stood in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night, which Miss Bliss was instrumental in acquiring for the museum, and found my favorite color seafoam painted like a river across the sky. I have never been able to get close enough to see the true colors. Sometimes we are too anxious, too tired, or too stressed, we forget to look at the details. This year, I found myself hustling to stay afloat financially while challenged with the next steps in my career—all set against the relentless ambition of New York City. There were moments when I felt I had bitten off more of the apple than I could chew. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to make it, and yet the path is still full of ambiguity. The past 365 days were full of unexpected challenges and unplanned pivots, all shifting my perspective. It isn’t just embracing ambiguity, but living with it, that taught me more this year than any single art event. Despite financial instability and personal struggles, I often found myself returning desperately to art. Even when I found myself up against the wall, beauty found a way in—whether through a painting, a piece of music, or the rhythm of the city street itself. I experienced more art than I thought possible through the generosity of others, getting more strategic around Rush and Lottery tickets, and optimizing my museum memberships. All in all I averaged 1.09 artistic outings per week which included 22 Broadway or Off-Broadway productions, 7 Operas, 3 live comedy specials, 3 musical acts, and 22 visits to some form of art exhibit.Though the highlight of my year was not art-related. It was completing the 211-mile John Muir Trail in August with my boyfriend, Nicolas. While not a traditional work of art, the trail deepened my understanding of California’s landscape and brought to mind great photographers—Ansel Adams, Imogen Cunningham, Judy Dater, and Edward Weston—whose work so vividly captures the landscapes of a state I thought I knew. I was wrong. I have never been so cold, so hungry, and so proud of an achievement of walking in my life. It was a year of surprises, of tastes challenged and perspectives shifted. And how I see the horizon line has shifted walking through the mountain passes, climbing, step by step, losing my breath to the elevation changes. There were times I wanted to quit, to stop caring or yield to my own ambition. The two weeks on the trail gave me time and space to take inventory of my life up until this point. What a gift the trail was and at the perfect time.I also stopped writing regularly for a while (as I am sure you might have noticed), trying my best, instead, to rest. Well, there was really no space to rest that much. I climbed Mount Whitney, the tallest peak in the lower 48 states and it taught me that even at my lowest, I can achieve something extraordinary. I will never count myself out again. Art, in all its forms, has been a lifeline for me. It heals, restores, and challenges. I found out that I not only need art more than ever before, but I need to share it with the people I love.That is where you all come in. I miss hearing from you. I miss the weekly emails. And I miss sharing what I am seeing and how I am feeling about it all. What follows is a short collection of my favorite and most surprising experiences from 2024—a year of growth, resilience, and new north stars.Best Overall Art ExhibitEgon Schiele: Living Landscapes Wow. I’ve loved Egon Schiele’s work ever since I first encountered it at MoMA in 2019—a striking piece of a naked man curling his fingers in a way I never imagined humans could until I tried to replicate it myself. His work has always made me reconsider my own queer body and its abilities. This exhibit, which focused on his paintings of the natural world and his approach to what we label as “landscape.”Much like his treatment of the human form, Schiele approached landscapes as living, breathing bodies—vulnerable, raw, and overwhelming. These paintings felt alive, as if his lines leapt off the canvas, and they brought me immense joy. The emotional intensity and specificity of his work made this exhibit unforgettable. Schiele’s distinctive line, so vibrant and charged, stands out as unparalleled among artists across time. I often ask myself, “Where can I find the artist line?” to help me get to know an artist that much more. And with Schiele, there is no question, no confusion where he was headed, he leads you with his line with confidence and clarity like few modern artists do.Runner Up Art Exhibit Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300 -1350All I can say is that this exhibit profoundly deepened my understanding of perspective. As the photographer Walker Evans once said, “Educate your eye.” This exhibit certainly did that for me, and I feel like the way I see art has changed for good.Best Unexpected Painting in an ExhibitHarmony and Dissonance: Orphism in Paris, 1910-1930 at the GuggenheimI was surprised to find two of my favorite American painters featured in this stunning exhibition, which primarily focused on French artists, particularly Robert and Sonia Delaunay. The "Americans in Paris" moment came in the form of works by Marsden Hartley and Thomas Hart Benton. While not necessarily the finest examples of their work, their inclusion was a subtle nod to the growing artistic dialogue between New York and Paris during that time period. Favorite Exhibit out of New YorkScott Burton at the Pulitzer Arts Foundation in St. Louis, MO The Pulitzer Arts Foundation, designed by Tadao Ando, is my favorite building in Saint Louis and often hosts some of my favorite exhibits, shining a spotlight on overlooked artists. The recent exhibit on Scott Burton was no exception. I had never heard of his queer, subversive “lunchtime” art in public spaces before. Since seeing the exhibit in St Louis, I’ve encountered three of his installations near my apartment in Midtown Manhattan.Burton, who was among the many gay men who died too soon of AIDS, left behind a quiet legacy. His work in granite, marble, and other materials transformed public furniture into masterful, stylish creations, with most people not knowing who created the spaces. These pieces provide hard-working individuals with moments of respite during their day—functional art that endures in the built environment. Favorite Surprise of the Year The Lightning Field by Walter de MariaThere’s truly nothing quite like this experience in northwest New Mexico. Learning I had made it off the competitive waitlist just three weeks before the visit made it all the more special. Sharing this second visit with one of my best friends, Beth, has seared this remarkable piece of land art permanently into my consciousness. I cannot unsee it—and I wouldn’t want to.Best of BroadwayTeeth at New World StagesAn off-broadway musical made the top this year of all the Broadway productions I was able to see this year. The first off-Broadway production was in the Spring of 2024 and Producers decided to re-invest in a more electric version for New Horizons and I think it was a great decision. Some productions should stay small (I think this should have been the case for “Oh Mary”) The allure of a Broadway house can’t help some Producers. But, for this production, it was the right call. I was at the mercy of Rush and Lottery tickets most of the year (a smarter strategy in the long run for my pocket book). I ended up going to see this by luck. And all I can say is go see Teeth you can - you will laugh, you will be uncomfortable, and you will wonder to yourself why Gregory recommended it. I will happily have this conversation with you. I like to keep some mystique around this recommendation. You might not like it, but I think it will be good for you anyway.Best Public ArtIván Argote’s Dinosaur on the High Line The often-maligned pigeon finally gets its moment in New York City. Frequently dismissed as “flying rats,” pigeons aren’t exactly most people’s favorite bird—if they even like birds at all. As a self-proclaimed birder, I must admit I once shared in the disdain for pigeons, often judging those who fed them more harshly than the birds themselves.Yet, Iván Argote’s larger-than-life sculpture, now towering over 10th Avenue on The High Line, has brought me unexpected joy. From a distance, it’s delightful; up close, it’s a masterwork of paint and shading on scale. It’s rare to see such a large canvas realized in this way, and it evokes the playful spirit of Claes Oldenburg—an artist whose experiments with size I’ve always loved. Who doesn’t love the large shuttlecocks of Kansas City - iconic!This piece has made me laugh and smile every time I pass it on my way to the barber. And isn’t that exactly what we need right now? Art that simply makes us smile. I think so, and I’m thrilled to have Dinosaur towering over us for the next few months.Best Unexpected Experience Semi-staged performance of Turandot at The Met OperaOn March 20th of this year, my friend Meg and I experienced something extraordinary at The Met. Earlier that day, the massive stage elevator malfunctioned, stalling the scene change from the matinee performance of a different opera. Despite hours of effort, the issue couldn’t be resolved. In true Broadway spirit, the Executive Director Peter Gelb said the show must go on, with the opera performed entirely against the backdrop of a single Act II scene. That night, my favorite tenor, SeokJong Baek, delivered an unforgettable performance, singing the iconic aria Nessun Dorma—famously popularized by Pavarotti—not once, but twice.Honorable Mention Salon de Fleurus, a Special Project in Archiving since 2011. Currently the installation is in Lone Pine (California).On Friday, August 23, at around 1:30 PM PT, Nicolas and I summited Mount Whitney at 14,505 feet. We then hiked down over 9,000 feet in a single day, passing through Whitney Portal, hitchhiking to an RV park, and setting up camp in a warm and gusty wind just six miles outside of Lone Pine, CA.The next morning, we hitched another ride—this time with scientists from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab—and enjoyed a fantastic meal of omelets at the Alabama Hills Cafe & Bakery. Wandering down Lone Pine’s main street afterward, we felt completely carefree. Nicolas stopped to eat a slice of blueberry pie outside a biker bar, while I found myself drawn to a live radio show performing The Wizard of Oz.A tall, striking woman with wavy hair named Audrey approached me and asked if I wanted to step inside. Still carrying my hiking backpack, freshly fed, and savoring my first cup of coffee in 17 days, I said yes. Audrey smiled and cryptically told me, “This does not exist.” Perplexed, I entered—and found myself in a re-creation of Gertrude Stein’s Parisian apartment.It felt like stepping through a portal. As their website describes, “Few versions of this work exist in the world. Metabolic Studio holds one version currently in Lone Pine (California) at 123 Main Street.” Simply magic.—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Did you have an unexpected moment of creativity or art this year? I would love to know what brought you joy or a smile this year amid all the uncertainty. Please share in the comments below. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Art galleries in the US have always posed a unique challenge for me. And I would say first and foremost, I still obsess on the art market. I think the art market is fascinating. And not all galleries are created equal. I often find them a sterile experience. There are opportunities to find contemporary artists and see other pieces of art that live in private collections. This is an exciting aspect of galleries. New York galleries are an entirely different level than I have ever experienced. I find the spaces are often filled with this anticipation of judgment of who you are and your status. I am a tall, seemingly happy white man, so no “threat” there. I think what I am trying to say is that I don’t find galleries an equal space for everyone. Someone walking off the hustle and bustle of a New York city street still has to find access to them somehow. It is not a friendly invitation to explore. It is a unique experience to New York City galleries, who is allowed in this space (even though they are “free” and “open” to all) and who is discreetly not welcomed. A few weeks back I spent an afternoon weaving in and out of a couple of New York City finest galleries. Nestled in Chelsea is a space managed by Dia. It is not a gallery in the market, but host installations for longer periods of time. Their space is expansive, industrial, and free to the public. I frequent Dia’s sites because I am a big fan of all the work they have supported since the late 70s including: Walter DeMaria’s The Lightning Field. They also manage his work in New York including The Earth Room and The Broken Kilometer. There is a sculpture by Joseph Beuys (who I still struggle with in understanding) right outside this space in Chelsea. Among some of the larger land pieces they manage include Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels and Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty among other large scale pieces of land art. They have generally curated artist who are working with the land or in collaboration directly with the land and dealing directly with the idea of scale. I think my biggest interest is in how artist leverage scale. I get really excited about a small Renaissance painting of Mantegna’s Saint Sebastian, which 26“ x 11” versus The Lightning Field where the land is part of the work and it’s a kilometer by a mile. There is a tension in scale that I like to explore. The current exhibit at Dia:Chelsea features Delcy Morales. It is two long-term installations through July 2024. I didn’t really have a lot of expectations because walking in I did not know too much about Delcy or her work.  An institutional website can only give you so much information. I think back to walking into Delcy’s second installation called El Abrazos and all of these ramblings about access, wealth, and marketd disappeared. As you walk into the gallery, you are confronted with a wall of seemingly mud and hay. I might as well have been walking into Monet’s haystacks for all I was concerned. Everything seemed to melt away, so many of my senses were activated that I felt my nervous system pumping, my brain relaxed and I felt it on my body. I certainly smelled the installation in my nostrils, too. She uses clove and honey mixed with soil from upstate New York that she had researched. She makes this soil concoction as part of her artwork. What does it mean to make soil? When was the last time you touched dirt? I think in the age of devices our hands are generally swiping on glass. Have you thought about that how much we touch glass? Glass is an interesting material, but in contrast, touching dirt is entierly something different. Dirt is almost foreign to me even though we walk on it everyday. If you’ve never been to New York City or Manhattan, there’s not a lot of space. We have 8 million people folding over each other. Space has become extremely expensive. Our apartments are small. We rarely get what humans need - space. Hands in the soil. Fresh air to breathe. I’ve written before about what it means to be in this big queer body, and yet having made myself small most of my life. Maybe this is why I am attracted to scale so much? I am attracted to artists that deal with expansiveness, elongation, and stretching our sense of personal reality. Being wrapped in this installation , it was immediately clear to me that Delcy knows that every human struggles with being in their body and in the relationship to earth. She created an experience that isn’t using technology or digital screens, but leverages something so fundamental to our lives, even if we don’t want to admit it. I feel like as an artist, Delcy is leveraging indigenous knowledge of what it means to work with the earth and bringing it to an audience that is divorced from the earth. We, as this audience, get caught in the awe of the soil Delcy has made for us.  An additional aspect of my experience was that I was there for a public program connected to the installation on the Saturday afternoon. I experienced a “soil session” with one of Delcy collaborators Juliana Steiner. She lead us through kind of an interactive lecture. We discovered Delcy‘s process and what makes the soil and what’s in the soil. They listed off seeds that we were looking at: Milkweed, Blue Vervain, Mountain Mint, Dakota Peas, Onondaga Sunflower, Echinacea, Bee Balm, and Strawberry. It was an overwhelming experience holding each of these seeds and reflecting on the power of nature. All these seeds might grow into a plant, into a source of healing or pleasure for us. And my hands were wet, and taking on the smell of honey and clove. As I had been immersed in her work, we were getting to do something you never get to do in art museums. We were feeling the work. It was sensual for me in ways because of the intimacy you can have with materiality and scientific information. Exploring Delcy's process and creating our own “soil cookies” became a tangible reminder of our connection to the earth.  While I haven't planted mine yet, the “soil cookies” serves as a symbolic reminder of our intertwined existence with the natural world. This immersive art experience also drew parallels to other artists like David Ireland, known for his concrete balls and meditative art-making practices. As I surround myself in my apartment with reminders of our connection to the earth through various artworks, Del Morales' soil balls have become a meaningful addition to this collection. If you find yourself in New York City before July, I highly recommend experiencing "El Abrazos." Additionally, if you're in St. Louis, make sure to explore Del's upcoming exhibition at the Pulitzer. For those unable to attend either, consider incorporating more tactile experiences with the earth into your life. I definitely am looking forward to finding experiences where I touch dirt a lot more often. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I am wrestling. I am frustrated. I am in love. I want more. I am in awe. So much remains unresolved. How can one artist cause so many contradictory emotions at once within and outside the gallery? This year more than any other, I have been under Pablo Picasso’s influence. As I had mentioned earlier in a Dispatch, global institutions have been marking 2023 as the fiftieth anniversary of Picasso’s death. I have avoided writing about him. I have struggled to focus on just one piece and I have wanted to ignore him completely. I have resisted adding Picasso to my top 10, but it now seems an untenable stance. Picasso's legacy is complex and has faced criticism on various fronts. One primary concern is his personal life, particularly his relationships with women. Picasso's treatment of his romantic partners, including instances of misogyny and controlling behavior, has been more than scrutinized. His depictions of women in some artworks have also been criticized for reinforcing stereotypes and objectification.Additionally, Picasso's appropriation of African and Iberian art during his African and Iberian periods, has been deemed culturally insensitive and accused of perpetuating colonialist attitudes. Critics argue that he distorted these cultural elements without proper acknowledgment or understanding of their original contexts. Yet institutions insist on celebrating him, moving forward with broad retrospectives.  Will Picasso be cancelled? Not by any stretch of the imagination. This has been my on-going quandary, yet this year, from Paris to New York, his line, craft, and game-changing process, have haunted me. The past few weeks, I have been obsessed with an exhibit at MoMA: Picasso in Fontainebleau. The exhibit brings together the groundbreaking works created by Pablo Picasso during the summer of 1921, which proved prolific. Amidst the unconventional setting of a garage in Fontainebleau, France (pictured at the exhibit entrance), Picasso produced a remarkable body of work, including two towering canvases—Three Women at the Spring and Three Musicians. The exhibition highlights the controversy surrounding Picasso's simultaneous exploration of diverse styles, sparking debates about progress, avant-garde versus academic, and revolutionary versus reactionary.  The second gallery features four monumental canvases, along with additional paintings, drawings, pastels, and etchings from this pivotal period, providing a rare glimpse into Picasso's creative process.I was drawn to the  "Three Musicians,” one of the four canvases featured in the second gallery of the exhibit. Why? What pulled me in? How does this painting fit into the canon? Why the masked musicians? The painting features three musicians—a Harlequin, a Pierrot, and a friar. I found the three characters mystifying and fun at the same time. I came to find out that the three characters had a deeper meaning. The Harlequin, often associated with Commedia dell'arte, represents the playful, and theatrical aspects of life. It is one of Picasso’s recurring motifs. By contrast, the Pierrot, a sad clown, embodies melancholy and introspection. Finally, the friar embodies contemplative and spiritual inclinations. The friar is my favorite, primarily because of the way Picasso paints the rope cinching the figure into his habit. The painting being in the Cubist form married with the symbolic narrative captivates me upon every visit. Overall, "Three Musicians" is important not only for its aesthetic qualities but also for its role in the evolution of several modern artistic movements. It has been a gift to wrestle with Picasso’s legacy, but he’s still my number 11. MoMA’s Fontainebleau exhibit invites museum-goers to appreciate how Picasso boldly innovated, contradicting his own pursuits by working simultaneously on various themes, using different styles. He was determined to make a legacy and this year I have found out that he accomplished just that. But, this story is far from complete. We will continue to reconsider and appreciate the enigmatic evolution of Picasso as one of the greatest artists of the 20th century. Picasso at MoMAEdited by Nicolas ChampRoux. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Over the last few weeks, I have become much more attuned to color theory by experimenting with water color. I have started to learn my shades, my tints, and how colors work together. In a way, I have been thinking more about color the last month than I have for all of my obsession for art history. Making color for your own art is quite different than viewing it in a museum gallery or a catalogue for that matter. This may be an obvious statement, but I am going to keep going and keep testing the waters. There is quite a sensation when you discover the exact color to paint fog with the right amount of blue, the right amount of water, and a slight addition of green. It is an art in itself. I have a ways to go, but I am constantly on the lookout for inspiration for new colors. I have had an endless obsession with Pantone, their color system, and overall influence on design. For the last 25 years Pantone has named a Color of the Year. It has been another way to mark the year ahead, reflect on our surroundings, and re-examine color theory (and to be honest, build PR). The Color of the Year is also a blend of my foresight trends work, pop culture, and the creative act. I have always had fun with it and I love that friends of mine be sure to text me when the announcement hits the internet.The selection process itself is fascinating to me (and a secret dream job of mine). The company sends colorists around the world to interview fashion makers, interior designers, and other creative individuals to help inform the finalists. The Color of the Year is meant to give the collective a north star for hope. Pantone leverages the color for collaborations with other companies all driving awareness of Pantone’s landscape of influence. I like it for the pure conversation starter. Most people don’t spend a lot of time thinking about color and how it impacts our daily lives. Here we are and here I am reflecting, interrogating, and enjoying all of it.Enter 2024’s Color of the Year: Peach Fuzz. I haven’t liked a name this much since 2012’s Tangerine Tango. Obviously, I thought of my first facial hair and the endless jokes of young men attempting their first beards. Alas, I don’t think this is what Pantone had in mind. From the press release, Pantone’s executive director, Leatrice Eiseman, asserted: “Peach Fuzz brings belonging, inspires recalibration, and an opportunity for nurturing. Drawing comfort from PANTONE 13-1023 Peach Fuzz, we can find peace from within, impacting our wellbeing.”Pantone’s history of Color of the Year ranges in colors, but typically seem to lean on the reddish hues and more pastel ranges. Peach Fuzz is a toned down red. I made mine with Cadmium Red with four drops of water and a slight hint of a true yellow. We never want too loud of a color, or a color that makes too much of a statement to represent the year. They might be right with 2024 with Peach Fuzz, we all need a bit of a “dad joke” and some calm in our lives in one way or another. Why not bring it in through some color. What do you think of “Peach Fuzz?” What is your 2024 Color of the Year? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

“The fear of life, the fear of burdens and of duties, of annoyances and of catastrophes! The fear of life, which makes us, through dread of its sufferings, refuse its joys. Ah! I tell you, this cowardliness enrages me; I cannot forgive it. We must live - live a complete life - live all our life.” Emile ZolaHow would you have your portrait painted? How would you stand? Would you be at a desk? What would you be wearing? How would you position your head? And what position could you hold for hours? I asked my Brother Paul this past week on how he might want to be painted when we were in the New York Public Library staring at portraits of Old New York civic leaders (old white men) and he said to me, “it seems like you have thought about this quite a lot.” I have. We are surrounded by portraiture all the time when you think of it as I saw the throngs of visitors taking selfies. The “selfie” is the self-proclaimed portraiture of ourselves when we are working out, or eating lunch, or lounging on the couch. TikTok, Snapchat, Instagram, and all the channels of the internet have become the still lives of portraiture. And yet, when I stand in front of Edouard Manet’s portrait of Emile Zola, writer, critic and friend, another wave of questions wash over me. Why did Manet make that choice? The decisions in the painting are dripping with intention and thought. The painting, now on view at The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City is part of the traveling  Manet/ Degas exhibit coming from Paris, in partnership with the Musee D’Orsay. I saw the exhibit in Paris and I don’t remember seeing this portrait. I missed it while being overwhelmed with the immensity of my falling in love with Manet. I fell in love with his command of the brush, palette, and frankly, his human drama. Now after viewing the exhibit four times, this portrait stands out as one of my favorite pieces. Of the many questions, I am wondering what the rest of Manet’s studio (where it was painted) looks like as he is being sequestered to his own personal study. I am sure that is where he spent most of his time anyway or a cafe for that matter. Zola is portrayed sitting sideways with his head vertical and he is surrounded by books, his writings, collections, and a pamphlet on Manet is featured prominently. This is no ordinary portrait. The subject is not facing us directly. We barely can see him. And Manet injects himself into the portrait in various ways including painting a photograph of his masterpiece, “Ophelia” in  the upper right corner (with the cat barely making it into the canvas) with two other pieces, Velazquez's Bacchus, and a Japanese print of a wrestler by Utagawa Kuniaki II with the Peacock feathers tucked away behind the frame. The meta-ness of Manet painting a photograph of his painting is extremely pleasurable.I don’t know why I’m obsessed with this portrait and almost don’t consider it a portrait because of Zola’s casual positioning. It might be the nested right angles as you can view if you stare the top right, then guide your eyes down to the framed art, then him sitting down, as I get lost in his jacket, and then the chair with the floral pattern. All right angles nested together like Russian dolls. He has his quill waiting in the ink. He is almost frozen in thought for his next insight from his art book. He is a writer, and he’s dressed well. But the casual casualness is something captures my attention.  He’s a handsome man and it’s a handsome painting. We are close to Emile, but not really that close. Manet paints what he sees, but gives us little room to move around. The painting is even in tonality, not creating much depth. Zola could be seen as somewhat of a patron to Manet (due to his writing making him more well known) and was dear friends with Paul Cezanne, Zola was certainly part of the in crowd. This is a portrait painting pushing the boundaries of a modern writer, a modern friend, and modern man. And this might be why I love it. It captures, in 1868, the cusp of modernity, right before everything speeds up. This painting slows change down in paint. It is a slow portrait of a contemporary man. And now we can only hope for a selfie with the right lightning? What will be the image of 2023 that can last for the next generation? I certainly will keep going back to this portrait to look for more easter eggs painted by Manet. I never tire of it because it included all the things that Zola loved in one space captured for eternity. The portrait is not just of Zola’s face, but of the text he wrote, images he and Manet loved, perspectives he challenged, and of the very idea of Paris at that time. And for Manet to capture all of these ideas in one painting makes the painting an idea in itself to be reckoned with and beckons a viewer to give it their consideration. Manet/Degas on view through January 7, 2024 at The Met. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

A few weekends ago, I found myself back in Los Angeles - the city of endless signs, roads, and sunshine. I had bought tickets to the Keith Haring exhibition, "Art is for Everybody” when the exhibition was announced a year ago. Keith’s life and work has always been a Northstar for me. He was from a small town in Pennsylvania. He was raised Christian. He … This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

This is a free preview of a paid episode. To hear more, visit gregorymeander.substack.comThis week, I visited the New Museum and had the opportunity to explore Judy Chicago's exhibition, "Herstory." While I had encountered most of the pieces in a retrospective at the de Young in San Francisco in 2021, there was a certain element in this installation that caught my attention.Judy Chicago’s impact on my understanding of art, feminism, and act…

It has been six months since I wrote my last entry on Philip Guston while in Washington, D.C. A friend recently had asked me how my writing was going and she had asked if she’d missed an entry. It was a thoughtful question and I had not stopped to think about why I had not written. I think I took a break. Unintentionally. Often, things happen that prevent writers from writing. We love to make excuses. Often. Life happens. Life keeps coming at you and things shift in priority. I fell in love. I lost a job. I lost significant weight. A friend got sick and was in the hospital. I visited my family in the Midwest.I just didn’t write. Life sped up and I want to slow down. One of the things I have learned in the last six months is to stay true yourself whatever that looks like in the moment. This past Tuesday, I attended an event at the New York City Public Library and Douglas Reside introduced his new book, “Fixing The Musical: How technologies Shaped the Broadway Repertory.” "What does it mean to “fix” a piece of creative work? Is it trademark? Is it that it makes it to Broadway and then disappears into an archive? And why don’t people read the libretto of great musicals? James Lapine (one of Stephen Sodheim’s collaborators) famously said that no one goes to a musical for the book, they go for the music. I was by far the youngest member in the Tuesday mid-afternoon audience, which made me question my entire motive to learn more about the business of publishing. When does the artist say, “I am finished with this one piece of work.” I have been working on my collection of essays for ten years. Am I am making excuses in delaying? Why am I continuously scared to share and put it all out there? It is hard to tell. Like much in life, there is ambiguity that must be faced. I have been so worried about being perfect, being curated, dividing my creative life and my “professional” life. My own uncertainty has brought me to this point. I am faced with a moment of clarity that came on the backcountry trail of a recent trip to our national parks. I am owning all of my professional desires. I can have many dreams. I have zig-zagged in my career from museums, to fundraising for civic art projects, climate tech, supporting individual artists, advertising starts ups, and business consulting. I have always chosen to challenge myself, expand and grow. This is another moment of growth.In this effort of growth, I am going to be holding my writing accountable with new features that span all my passions from art exhibits, art and culture, theater, nature, and yes, technology. I am going to put new effort behind publishing and sharing more of my essay writing, works in progress, and expand my reader base (share with anyone you think might be interested). And yes, I am looking for a full-time job in New York City that is a bit more purpose driven, working towards efforts that are moving us closer to the needle of good rather bad. This was a more a moment of accountability for me, but also to re-connect with all of you. So, reach out, I want to know how you are all doing. And I look forward to writing more about the big fall season in the big apple - some things that I are of interest that might be dropping in your in-box include a review of The Shark is Broken on Broadway, The Armory Show, Ed Ruscha at MOMA, Ruth Asawa at The Whitney, and a reflection of Barbara Chase - Riboud’s work seen in the past year. All that to say, I am not on strike. I am back at it and looking forward to seeing what mysteries I can uncover. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Artists come in and out of my life, though you can walk through any American gallery in the United States and see a Philip Guston painting. They are always there hung next to a Cy Twombly, Joan Mitchell, or Mark Rothko. And as you many of you know already, I would always choose Mitchell. I will continue to choose Joan because she is by far the better painter. Guston's work is almost instantly recognizable with the pink and cadium red that he had a deep obsession with, as “the mess of pink makes him want to paint." Don’t we always want to know what drives a painter to paint? And this exhibit, Philip Guston NOW at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C., has been under much scrutiny and almost didn’t happen because of Guston’s comic-like symbols of KKK members and other self-referential interrogations of race, power, and politics. After much reflection, I think this palette saved his life having found his father's body after he hung himself in Phillip's childhood home. It seems that his early trauma deeply formed his relationship to painting. I paired the Guston's exhibit with a required walk along the National Mall and my first visit to the National Museum of African American Culture and History. Here, in one afternoon, I was faced with the limitations of museums. I was faced with symbols of white supremacy, murder, my own white privilege, and a profound sadness around the current state of our country. As an eternal optimist and firm believer that art can transform us, objects have limitations. A white painter lauded in the American art market facing his white guilt is insufficient. Not that this art or the historical objects do not hold meaning in themselves, I think they do. Exhibits do not bring black lives back from the dead. I am confronting the finite ability of a museum to transform our biases and our own perceptions. The work is much deeper and much harder than viewing challenging artwork. Ultimately, it is about choosing to change oneself from within.I have never really liked Philip Guston's work. I remember facing my first Guston canvas in high school at the Saint Louis Art Museum (and in later years the Kemper Museum at Washington University in Saint Louis where he briefly taught). I never liked his palette. It did not inspire me. It lacked depth and inspiration. I hated the pink. Keith Haring's commentary on the use of the color red always came to mind, "Red is one of the strongest colors, it's blood, it has a power with the eye." I thought if an artist used red, it should be intentional and focused. Guston used this pastel palette unsparingly, shifting from deep reds, to softs red, to pure cotton candy pink. It was deeply unappealing. The colors made me uneasy making me reach for Pepto Bismol to calm his paintings down (or maybe my own stomach). It is for this very reason that I was attracted to see this retrospective of his work. I wanted to prove my assumptions wrong. I knew there was something I was not connecting. I often know I have gravely misjudged an artist based on singular experiences of one or two objects. Wide ranging exhibitions help me course correct my own mischaracterizations of artists. One painting in this exhibition changed my mind about Guston's painting technique, abstraction, and command on the canvas. It stopped me in the gallery like a stop sign. I slowly rolled in closer to the canvas. As I read the chat panel, Mirror - To S.K., I slowly had a peace wash over me about my resentment towards Guston. His effort on the canvas won me over in a moment. This painting more than others I felt was actually honest. Maybe I liked it because it was a darker palette. Here Philip is facing himself by painting his reflection. “S.K” is the 19th century philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. “To see oneself in a mirror one must recognize oneself” as Kirkegaard was quoted on the chat panel. I saw myself in the painting. I came to Kierkegaard’s writing right after I came out of the closet when I was 21 and living in El Salvador. I was facing my demons, my lies, surrounded by abject poverty and on-going trauma from a ruthless Civil War, and overall wrestling what it meant to hold American white privilege in a global society. I had similar feelings of Guston's struggle of purpose; is being a writer enough? American society ensures that artists are not valued and to be avoided. And this made me think of Kierkegaard once again of text I read right before I came out (among other lies I was telling myself and keeping hidden in my bones). “Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;... In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.” Søren KierkegaardTo face ourselves in the mirror - and still, to love. This might be a radical thought and certainly not an typical art historical read of these paintings. But, after viewing all of this work together. I think Guston, through all his trauma and loss, was desperately seeking how he might possibly bring more love into the world. How might he reconcile his whiteness with the violence being brought against Black Americans? Guston through his command of his brush, the palette, and obsession, he forces us to face the uneasy, possibly uncovering a sliver of the truth. Paintings cannot legislate or create policy. They do not bring people back from the dead. This entire exhibit almost faced the fate of censorship. The controversy over this exhibit was motivating to me, too. I had to see these paintings that have stirred deep criticism of our American society. Guston was facing his own limitations of the brush. I think his paintings are admirable even with my own disdain of the primary palette. We must do what we can, we must push ourselves to find out what those limits of our being. Without it, we cannot love. And without that love, I agree with Kierkegaard, we become the "most unhappy of them all." Installation Shots This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I feel like I did not give visual art justice in my previous post. I mixed in two exhibitions with all the theater I had seen. They should have their own separate posts. I am still trying to tease out the theater from the art from the comedy from the dance. Sometimes the weeks have blurred together and my unpacking all of it seemingly will cross over into 2023. I am learning the more focus I give to my writing the better it resonates with the audience. It has been a year of learning and most of all, seeing. I am not a big gallery hawk (yet), but I do keep up with New York museum shows. You can find me wandering the museum galleries on the weekend or on a late Member night. Over the last seven months, I have seen so much, heard so much in New York. I have made friends with a volunteer at the Whitney for 20 years who is obsessed with Korean dramas and who saw Frank Sinatra live when she was 17 years old. I saw the artist Judy Chicago on the street. And I overheard countless art debates in the gallery (because New Yorkers talk about art). I have been able to see a lot of these exhibits with dear friends, share ideas and question artistic intent and process. And I will use the same tactic here as I did with the theater post, listen in for more insights and my own anecdotes of the exhibits. Two Best in Shows Outside of New York:Fragile Earth: The Natural Impulse in Contemporary Art at the Brandywine Museum of Art Barbara Chase-Riboud Monumentale: The Bronzes at The Pulitzer Favorite new Meret Oppenheim’s My ExhibitionMoMABest Friend Wolfgang Tillman’s To Look without fearMoMAMost relevant Just Above Midtown: Changing SpacesMoMASurprising Dave LaChapelle Make believe Fotografiska*Correction to my Audio: Dave LaChapelle is white. Most mystical Lives of the Gods: Divinity in Maya ArtThe Met Favorite Retrospective Alex Katz’s GatheringGuggenheimFavorite SculptureNick Cave’s Forothermore Guggenheim Most New york [tie]Edward Hopper’s New YorkWhitney Museum of American Art New York: 1962-1964Jewish Museum Biggest Fail COVID in ABQ ; Lightning Field DiaDeep dive in art history Marsden Hartley American Modern This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I have never been one to be compelled by the numbers. How might one measure a year, Jonathan Larson? In minutes or cups of coffee? I guess I have found in general quality outweighs quantity. But, what happens when quality and quantity collide? I have found they often do here in New York City. Over the last seven months, I have seen 4 Pulitzer Prize winning pieces of drama. I have been stunned by 2 Broadway legends (Patti LuPone & Audra McDonald). I have sat through countless fidgeting audience members because we still don’t know how to be together. And I still haven’t found the minutes to write down all my feelings (now writing on my commutes on the subway or any space that I can find), all my learnings or my opinions on all the art that my body has experienced. It’s all in me, trust me, I know what greatness I am taking in. To be a witness is almost as important as being a creator. Often people are asking me, how is the book? How is the musical? I do appreciate these sentiments greatly. The process is not linear or easy to push creative endeavors forward. But, this witnessing was my goal for my first year of New York - take it all in. Surround myself with magic. Longtime New Yorkers have heard my list and the sentiment they generally share is one of exhaustion. One said, “kid it sounds like you are seeing Broadway like you are running out of time.” Aren’t we all? And yes, I am running out of time. Similar to Jonathan Larson, he never had enough time and struggled much more to make an income and get his work out there. A pandemic, a childhood fascination, and now my own dream awaits on the stage. What am I waiting for? I have waited since my six year old self learned about Broadway to be able to go to a show on, let’s say, a Tuesday. (I played the Jesus Christ Superstar vinyl all the way to Resurrection and beyond) So much has happened on Broadway this year, while so much is happening off stage. I finally know what it feels like to be angry at The New York Times and mean it. The push and pull of what is “real” life is constant. And yet, here I am counting the minutes, the hours of drama witnessed, the art exhibits come and go, and the shows I saw multiple times and those that I undoubtedly missed. For many, I was able to make that Broadway experience happen for them, friends and family alike, a ticket whisperer if you will. In so many ways, the last couple of months has been walking inside a dream full of energy, large orchestral sound, operatic arias, and old theaters murmuring their tales of past great performances. And what was the best of the best? It is difficult to pin down. And thank goodness I am not a critic. I thought I would create my own Freshman superlatives from my imaginary New York Public City School 2022 to spread the love across the last seven months, of the one and only, Broadway: Overall Favorite Fat Ham *Coming to Broadway in April 2023 🍔🧺✨ *PulitzerMost important A Strange Loop➿💜➿ *Pulitzer & Tony Best Musical performanceParade at NY City Center [ensemble cast]⚖️👨🏼‍⚖️Favorite Off Broadway Little Shop of Horrors 🪴🩸👽MVP ArtistMeret Oppenheim at MoMA 🟩⚪️☕️Best Friend AwardWolfgang Tillmans at MoMA🔎🍃🍑Most intellectual  Baldwin & Buckley at Cambridge 📣🇬🇧🙎🏿‍♂️🙍🏼‍♂️Most disappointing…by far &Juliet🍿💁🏼‍♂️😕Most likely to succeed after graduation KPOP👯👯‍♀️💃🏽🕺🏽Class Clown The Old man and the Pool by Mike Birbiglia 💦👴🏼🪧 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Innovations in art:* The ceramic kiln (29,000 and 25,000 B.C.E.)* Stained glass (2700 B.C.E.)* Woodblock printing (618 to 907 C.E.)* The paint palette (1374 or prior?)* Canvas (early 14th-century)* The camera (1826 )* The paint tube (end of the 19th century)* The typewriter (1868)… And now Artificial Intelligence illustration? (2000s)Read in Artsy: (9 inventions That Changed the Way We Make Art)Everywhere I scan for news, the AI revolution is happening in a renewed spirit: self-driving cars, Darth Vader’s voice, and now, make way for AI artists. I have never truly paid attention to what technological inventions shift art making or art practices. Today, we are living in a fascinating era of digital tools and technology shifting our approach, process, and outputs. In contrast to the hand developed photograph, which I learned to develop in a dark room when I was 15, I have recently been moved by a newer imagery innovation in AI called DALL*E 2. I see this technology be placed in the great line of conceptual art canons. The idea that it exists is almost greater than the output, as the technology stands currently. But, what about when artists push it to its limits?I am often pulled in a lot of different directions in what I pay attention to and how I interact with new technologies. I don’t even consider myself an early adopter (the scale). I have a foundation and love for art history, objects, collections with the pull of the constant presence of the new digital world. I am not drawn as much to the intersection of these two industries as one might think. I have siloed my art historical passion as a hobby, a musing, or my time reading alone in my book nook. Art history for me is soothing, pleasurable, grounding, and informative. One might even say I learn for fun (geek alert 🤓). Digital technology on the other hand has driven my income, career, profession, and a job. I have strategically been able to leverage my cultural acumen in building digital products, experiences, and brands. It all intersects whether I like it or not. OpenAI (the company behind DALL-E) has some broad and sweeping mission: Our mission is to ensure that artificial general intelligence benefits all of humanity. Seems like an impossible task for me. I ask myself, are the benefits necessary to all of humanity? Based on my travels through the developing world, I see very little “benefit” of AI in the developing world, particularly AI-generated imagery. I may be wrong. But, as it is often with tech, I might be missing the point. I do know when I first used the technology, I did get a small dose of awe. The only thing in tech that has ever really brought delight to my face is the Starbuck’s app stars. I know, I know. But, the stars are genuinely beautiful. Props to that designer. What I find most interesting about the introduction of the technology is that artists, image gatekeepers, and the internet was quick to protest. Cancel it, they say. Well, it is here to stay whether we like it our not. The website goes on to say “We will attempt to directly build safe and beneficial AGI, but will also consider our mission fulfilled if our work aids others to achieve this outcome.” Open Source is generally equated with a value of goodness. I see little goodness. I do not consider myself a techno-optimist, but I also understand that there will be humans on the constant quest of innovation. I support the quest. DALL-E is now open for all. So, I encourage you to try it yourself. A tip if you do: be as specific as possible. Write a long and specific sentence. Here are some of my musings: This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I remember walking into the Guggenheim in February 2019 and rushing to the Mapplethorpe exhibition, Implicit Tensions. I had waited years to see this many Mapplethorpe photographs in one place. All the iconic images were in the exhibit and I needed to see them. The main galleries were dedicated to a little known (at that time), Hilma af Klint: Paintings from the Future. I had never heard of her and thought there might be a relationship to Gustav Klint (How sexist and ignorant, Gregory). I rushed past the massive paintings to get to see the photographs of my gay Catholic icon. After I spent time with Mapplethorpe I wandered back to the rotunda. You always gradually end up back to the rotunda as Frank Lloyd Wright designed for visitors. I was overwhelmed by the paintings and did not know what I was looking at. I am comfortable with abstract and like most abstraction, but there was something different about these paintings. It was a different palette, there was much more fluidity and pastel coloring. The paint was more sensitive, less imposing, and felt more intentional. I generally veer away from paintings that feel like tempra paint, or lighter colors. (Ah, the sexist palette strikes again- dark, masculine, and the 90 degree angle, how predictable?). I didn’t take that many photographs of the paintings. How might I even capture an entire painting? I generally snap a few photos of paintings I like, or specific cropped areas of a painting. Not in this exhibit and I have always wondered why? Was I rushing? Was I just that overwhelmed and present? She commanded my full attention. I was listening. Af Klint’s exhibition is one of the most widely attended exhibitions in Guggenheim history. Since that exhibition, af Klint has been arriving at her rightful  place in the art historical canon, as few women have been able to fight through the noise of the patriarchy. There has been a wonderful documentary made and now to my wonderful surprise, a moving graphic novel now exists, The Five Lives of Hilma af Klint (David Zwirner Books) by husband and wife duo Julia Voss and Philipe Deines. I have a general love of graphic novels with Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel (made in a Tony Winning Best Musical) and Pride of Baghdad by Brian K Vaughn being in the frequent list of my favorite literary and visual achievements. Though not as widely respected, the graphic novel commands illustration and text together, unfolds like drama on a stage. The Five Lives of Hilma af Klint burrowed quickly into my new favorites. The story is as compelling as af Klint’s artistic journey. Rarely have I been moved so much as how this story unfolds. As the reader, you follow Hilma through her own artistic discovery in materials, spirituality, and rejection. She persists. She keeps painting, drawing and asking questions of the past. She travels. She falls in love. And all with an eye on creating art that is unique. I noticed, while sitting with the book, the quality of the paper and size were perfect. The book is solid and open to holding the grandeur and complexity of af Klint’s paintings. .And you would think the heroine of the story would get to bask in her artistic achievement, but no. Such satisfaction rarely exists in the art world, or any endeavor for women throughout time. She comes to a quiet resignation that she will not be “understood” as an artist in her lifetime. I am not sure if we “understand” even now, but she has certainly gained popularity. I do not like using the term “ahead of one’s time.” Hilma af Klint was not ahead of her time. She was of her time. Artists observe the world and their work helps them understand themselves and world around them. They pay attention. Hilma af Klint was paying attention to the mystical world that made up her life. She was undeniably trying to quench a thirst to reflect the mysteries she encountered in her time here. How wonderful she was able to capture those curiosities? And now, her life and work has captured my imagination once again in this lovely, accessible, and joyous artistic book that has convinced me ever more that Hilma af Klint deserved our adulation then, and most certainly now. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I have always been a collector. My first collection was books, as I think many children start with their favorite bedtime stories as precious objects. It is one of the first time in our lives that we might feel a part of something that is not our own family. We befriend Winney the Pooh as if he were our friend and we start to get a glimpse of other ways of being. I started a lifelong pursuit of the perfect book, the perfect size, the perfect typeface, perfect color and of course that perfect old book smell. My first memories are holding books. I loved large-scale books that my little hands could barely hold. I gravitated towards Atlases. It really did feel like all the world’s information was held in the pages.  My mom and I used to go to this old bookstore call The Book House in Saint Louis. It was a three story Victorian home full of books: the study, the foyer, the living room, the dining room, the basement, the kitchen, and even the attic were an “organized” book heaven. Every inch of the house was covered with stacks of books. There were probably about six cats, too. I used to climb all the way up to the attic and read the Geography section. I was fascinated by the topographic map illustrations. The shades of green representing distant forests or the browns and yellows of faraway deserts. I have fond memories of rummaging old book sales for new additions to my collection. The collection eventually fed my fascination with the ocean. Like the tides, I would trade out old books for newer treasures. This would naturally lead to my second collection, centered around the ocean world. It was a highly curated and cultivated my deep fascination with marine life, coral reefs, sharks, and the biodiversity of our world’s ocean. This is where dreaming began for me. I have never stopped collecting. There is something special about finding a copy of Henri Matisse’s first retrospective at the Museum of Modern Art or the National Geographic featuring photographs of the Grand Canyon by Emery and Ellsworth Kolb for the first time in 1914. This ephemera helps me tell my story in a better way. Maybe I am telling the story to myself in some oddly comforting way through objects. My collecting habits have not stopped. My first project as a member of the education team at the de Young Museum in 2010 was digitizing a board member’s collection of art history slides. He was lecturing on the history of absinthe, an anise-flavored spirit derived from several plants, including the flowers and leaves of "grand wormwood,” together with green anise, sweet fennel, and other medicinal and culinary herbs. Absinthe has a wild history of causing one to be addicted to the “green fairy” and is portrayed in literary classics and film. This was the first time I was introduced into the world of these little treasures of translucent film. I sat there for hours holding the slide up to the light in the de Young tower through the perforated holes of the tower’s architectural skin. I would reach, trying to grab just enough light. There is nothing quite like the quality of a slide. The object itself, holding it in your fingers and lifting it upwards to the light (or the Disney viewfinder with the solid lever shaped like Mickey’s hand to switch images) to see what image is captured. 35 mm slides hold our memories of roadtrips, family vacations, reunions, and those distant memories of stodgy art history classes. We have moved well past the age of film into the age of the digital. I am not sure why I am always holding one hand, reaching back to the past. My fascination with Kodak film, developing, and the chemicals awash to create the image has never waned since I first went into a dark room in high school and learned to develop. I think it is the combination of science observation, natural resources, and human creativity that mix to create the photographic image that compel me. Is convenience and speed worth sacrificing wonder and awe? And you guess it, my newest collection has begun - 35mm slides. Specially, 35mm slides of Land art. Someone in Portland, Oregon has quite a collection of Walter de Maria, Michael Heizer, Robert Smithson, and Nancy Holt sculpture slides. And of course they are willing to sell them to me via the e-commerce landscape of Ebay. I purchased a new viewfinder and I can’t tell you how much joy it is to look at the slides lit up bringing to life the art that is in such remote places. The slides somehow brings the far away, capture the nearly inaccessible, a bit closer. And as I sit here in the constant state of bustle near Times Square, the slides give me a bit of solace and solitude. I can place the slide into the viewfinder, it wiggles into place and sits perfectly. I press the knob turning on the light powered by two double A batteries. The light shines. The image comes into focus. And magically, I am transported right back to the horizon line of the West. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

City may be opening this September, but I do not think Michael Heizer considers his grand work finished by any means. Many artists that build at this scale (and there are few in modern history that attempt it) rarely think their work is finished. Nature is ultimately in control of these “monuments.” Those who work with the land and revere the land and test the land like Heizer, there is a sheer will in his quest to dominate. It seems like a futile quest. Ultimately, there is a humility in knowing that nature always wins. It was announced today that after a 50 year process, Michael Heizer’s City will be opening to public visitors (six persons a day, just like The Lightning Field, but you won’t be sleeping over here). And I am already planning my route to City. The vortex pulls me. Why am I obsessed to the remote, the seemingly impossible, the hard-to-get-to, effortful and austere artwork? It is fundamentally about the land, the place where digital technology cannot reach except the satellite images. It is a place to run to, not away. I like that places like this exist that draw me inward to the desert. In my reading of the announcement, I learned a word today from The Art Newspaper article identifying City as a Gesamtkunstwerk. What? I love words in any language. I immediately had to Google. Google pronunciation, please tell me what this means? I will do my best to pronounce this German word, Gesamtkunstwerk, which roughly translates as a "total work of art" and describes an artwork, design, or creative process where different art forms are combined to create a single cohesive whole. And this leads me to ask the question, is this whole? Or necessary? The process is the art? I wonder what will be my Gesamtkunstwerk? Do you plan on having a Gesamtkunstwerk? I think I have now mispronounced this word four times. There is a lot going on here in City, much like a real city full of busy people doing busy things. There is the interplay between the light and the landscape, the line, the shadows and the simplicity of the concrete. So much labor, it almost seems as if it was a Sisyphean task. Mixing, grating, grading — seeking perfection. A mighty privileged task (at a $40 million price tag), Heizer has created a shadow to human awe. And if our mouths agape was enough to react at the idea of the behemoth endeavor he started at 27, now 71. I think my mouth will be closed in viewing City. I think if anything, I will be moved to see the entirety, the cohesive whole, in the few precious hours I will have with the sculpture, leaving me most likely sunburnt, parched, and at the mercy of the desert once again. More reading on City: NYTimes Interactive The Art NewspaperFrom June 2021, Double Negative  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Art and work and art and life are very connected and my whole life has been absurd. There isn't a thing in my life that has happened that hasn't been extreme - personal health, family, economic situations...absurdity is the key word. - Eva HesseWriting helps me coalesce my thinking. It is not an easy task that you get to just check off on the list. Nor does it stay consistent. Sometimes I feel like writing and sometimes I hate it. All writers seem to struggle with these existential questions of meaning and work. I am attracted to simple structures, structures in writing like Robert Johnson’s use of white space in his epic poem Ark, or the straight lines of Mondrian, marks on paper that know who they are. As if lines on paper need personifying. Maybe they do. Maybe we would take art more seriously if we knew the process of the artist giving of themselves to us, the viewer. What might it mean to have more empathy toward the artists? I think often we simply look and make a quick judgement if we don’t like or like it. Is it art? Is it valuable? Is it worth my time looking (as if staring at our phones is worth it, too?) I like things that I often don’t like at first glance. I like art that troubles me or cause me to go through an effort to understand. No art has always been more troublesome, difficult to access, or brought me more joy than Eva Hesse’s work. This past week at the Guggenheim I saw Eva Hesse Expanded Expansion. This piece once deemed “unviable” (whatever this means) is now installed for the first time in 35 years. Expanded Expansion was created in 1969 out of Fiberglass, polyester resin, latex, and cheesecloth. The materials, oh my! The tattered cheesecloth is unnervingly interesting. Hesse’s influence is great on our perception of the ephemeral, the hard, the infrastructure of our bodies, versus the soft. Her work is cellular. As the Guggenheim writes that the piece “ is a sculptural embodiment of opposites united. Both permanence and deterioration operate in the piece: fiberglass poles—rigid, durable entities—are juxtaposed with fragile, rubber-covered cheesecloth.” Deterioration is often unviable. Hesse knew her works would evolve and change. She had guilt around selling work to collectors. And to say Eva’s career, her art was cut short is unfair to her (She died of a brain tumor at 34). Her work is here in all its deteriorating glory meeting me in the moment. I am so grateful she did the work she did. Hesse accomplished something artists often shoot for and miss, she seized and captured time. I did not know I needed Benedict Cumberbatch reading Sol LeWitt’s letter to Eva Hesse. Artists need our empathy to do the hard work, and yes, the sometimes uncomfortable labor of noticing. Watch the dramatic reading of the letter and feel the artist reciprocity highlighted there in his words to Eva, that ultimately drove her, and drive us to those who will listen, to ... just do.On note on taking Color & Light to the next level. I am considering a paid subscription tier to Color & Light. I am taking a poll on my current subscribers to see where you might stand on this proposition. Participate! Reasons Why:* Support my writing and build an opportunity to cultivate my audience* Accountability to my writing* Directly support the development of the musical, Rodeo and other writing projects in process What you might expect: * Saturday Morning Reflections (subscriber) 1 post per week* Musical writing behind-the-scenes process (subscriber) 1 post per month* Weekly round-ups of culture (free) 1 post per week* Photo highlights (free) 1 every month  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

One of my most profound moments on my travels along the Continental Divide in August 2020 was my time in Glacier National Park. It is by far becoming my favorite park in my psyche, almost uncontrollably as time goes by. Somehow Glacier National Park is edging out the Grand Canyon, as if I ever thought that was possible. My memories of those four days right outside the park waking up to the sunrise at the Johnny Point on the banks of the Hungry Horse Reservoir were some of my happiest days of my life. It was the light. The quality of the light was something special beyond words. And maybe it was the combination of my hammock, my camping coffee, and pine trees that made it perfect. I needed nothing else in life. The light would crest the boulders and create the halos of Kings and Queens of the Northern Rockies. It is a special kind of land. It is land of the Blackfoot tribe. At times, I feel like I was trespassing on a secret that was not necessarily meant to be found out.As I get further away from those special days in the wilderness, I have found myself making more connections between the natural world and the artistic expressions in the early 20th century including artists Georgia O’Keefe, Ansel Adams, and Marsden Hartley. Another obsession is John James Audubon, but I will leave that for a later post. I have done deep dives into where these artists chose to live, create art, and live their lives mostly surrounded by the great wilderness of North America. They all experience a boomerang of movement from wilderness back to an urban setting (New York, Mexico City, and Paris are common threads). I recently went to the NY Historical Society and unexpectedly learned about a new artist through the exhibit, The Art of Winold Reiss: An Immigrant Modernist. Each gallery seemed to be like a new discovery in Reiss’ impact on what we know as modern posters, typeface, metalworks, and portraiture. He was a diverse artist choosing many mediums and interests. It seemed he was curious in anything that New York City had to offer and radically advocating for diversity and inclusion along the way. He painted two of my favorite artists: Isamu Noguchi and Langston Hughes. He made friends in artist circles, as well as philanthropy across racial and economic divides. He must have been an affable man. Unsurprisingly, I turned the corner of the exhibition and was pulled to a three-fold pamphlet featuring an artist residency. Of course Reiss had an artist residency at Glacier National Park and of course he had painted portraits of the Blackfoot community as they were. As they are.Reiss opened an art school along the shore of St. Mary Lake near the east entrance to Glacier National Park. It opened in 1931, and was open during the summers of 1934 and 1937 and included some other influential artists that I also enjoy including Charles Russell (“the cowboy artist”). He painted members of the Blackfoot tribe and the park’s wide-reaching landscapes. Much of his work was also commissioned by the Great Northern Railroad, which used his portraiture as commercial advertisement for the railroad and tourism. I came to find out that tuition to the school was waived for members of the Blackfoot tribe and a number of native artists came through the school including Albert Racine, Isabelle McKay, Stanley Croff and Victor Pepion. It is a great feeling to go into an exhibit of an artist you have never heard of and find a way to connect with them through unexpected ways. Seemingly, you would think that would happen every time. It doesn’t. It is the job of the curators to lift up entry points into an artist’s life and make it relevant to the viewers. I did not expect my time in the wilderness to connect to an immigrant artist from Germany in the early 20th century right in the heart of New York City. But, there it was, another inescapable pattern I recognize in myself and these artists, warring with themselves seeking wildness within and pulled towards the vibrancy of urban life, often making both happen over time. More Reading: Review in The GuardianThe Art of Winold ReissA New Deal for Native Art  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

“Some people stand togetherMeanwhile, I stand apart” - A Strange Loop Final SongAs I start my quest to find my own “Stephen Sodheim,” collaborator, and composer, I am focusing on seeing as much theater as possible. Rodeo’s libretto is about 80% and I just started character development on the second musical (more to come). Considering writing a musical is an endeavor I only started two years ago, the move to New York was meant to immerse myself in the community of theater makers. I want Color & Light to be about the process and inspiration, so my audience can learn along with me. And like great writers do, they read great writing. And great theater makers, they see great theater. In the last two months, I have seen A Strange Loop three times. The musical won the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for Drama and recently won Best Musical and Best Book at the Tony Awards in June 2022. (I will leave the synopsis to the below linked Terry Gross interview on NPR. The interview does a better job than I can at this point at describing the premise of the show). One thing I noticed seeing a piece of theater multiple times is the nuance an actor/actress brings to a role. Even the sound can be different on one night. Yet, the biggest theme for me running through A Strange Loop is the difference in family dynamics. Usher, the main character, is a large, gay Black man raised in a Christian household. There is a Black acknowledgement of qualities of life, of personalities, relationships, and belief systems that are widely spoken to Usher and around Usher. There are tenets to the family and everyone knows them. Usher’s queerness is widely spoken of and at, wildly dealt with between characters, and the conversations ricochet off each other. Silence in these family dynamics is not an option. Silence is not tolerated. Usher faces his own struggle of silence with holding back his own feelings of judgement, shame, and failure until he unleashes his own truth on his parents about three-fourths through the 90 minute show. As a white midwestern gay man raised Catholic in a suburb, silence was the chosen tool among my overwhelming white community. Silence from my parents, brothers, teachers, coaches, and other influences in my life. And it still is in many regards the chosen tool, silence has built invisible walls in my life. Neither communication “tool” is better than one another. It creates different opportunities for one to maneuver one’s life, and save yourself. Ghosting has even become a popular tool for young people not choosing to face difficult conversations. We have built our society on these tenets. Yet, it is obvious the pain caused by this acknowledgement in Usher’s life. The characters (all Usher’s thoughts) all have depth, nuance, and texture highlighted in the lyrics in A Strange Loop. Michael R Jackson noticed these opportunities and leveraged them to create robust characters out of the fragments. His music ricochets off of each audience member’s own experience of family creating a universal feeling - our own desire to be loved for who we are fully and completely. Usher’s story is not fully autobiographical, but there are pieces of Jackson’s family woven within. How can a writer not be shaped by the people around them, specifically their family?  I used to think of my own pain in silence as mosaics, shattered pieces forming a whole. After A Strange Loop, I am investigating silence in a different manner and it is difficult notion to write to, this quietness. How might one describe withdrawal, a non-recognition, a palatable fear of unknown, nothingness, and emptiness?  One of my favorite songs in the show is not a song easily listened to: Periodically. (The song is also featured in the NPR interview with Terry Gross linked below). It is difficult to piece together why the song pierced into my heart and where I noticed similar paralleled reminders came into my life. The song takes place between Usher’s mother and Usher. The reminders that “Hell is real” came daily at my Catholic grade school, on Sunday via a priest’s homily, or my parents “harmless” judgements on others in the community. Usher’s mother is desperately seeking connection with her son and is certainly truly concerned for his safety after death. If you believe in Hell and Hell is real, Jesus is the only pathway to a full life: “Hell is realThough we love youDon't repent cause you know it would please usSon, you should do it so you can see JesusHe is realAnd He loves youAnd He don't want your soul to be wastedBecause the pain of the world, he done faced it”This comes down to acknowledgement and a recognition that the Christian paradigm does not want to make space for queer people to live a full life. Sure, Catholics are “okay” with some of us if homosexuals are celibate. The same language is now being leveraged as Monkeypox is moving through those who have multiple sexual partners and men who sleep with men (though the virus will impact everyone soon). The shaming language, the judgement, and the ignorance is the same as it was in the 80s with HIV/AIDS, the language does harm us. I never thought I would have experienced this kind of failure of our society. But, the language, actions, and chosen silence will continue to remind us that queer people are certainly “apart” from the rest of society. A Strange Loop provides a lens, possibly a microscope into one moment where these words mattered and burned into Jackson’s memory. It is near impossible not to be inspired, to be moved to action with A Strange Loop during this time of division. Jackson worked twenty years to craft his own acknowledgement. I hope A Strange Loop will travel to your regional theaters, that you may get the opportunity to acknowledge this character’s confusion, pain, and joy. Choose to go, choose to seek it out. It is impossible for theater to take the full responsibility for changing our society because so many of these stories are limited to the darkness of the theater, a privileged space in its own right, as Jackson calls out to a primarily white Broadway audience. It provides a certain controlled space for an audience and actors to be in dialogue. James Baldwin wrote “To accept one’s past—one’s history—is not the same thing as drowning in it; it is learning how to use it. An invented past can never be used; it cracks and crumbles under the pressures of life like clay in a season of drought.” Michael R Jackson certainly learned how to use his painful past and create a pathway for us to heal. I have not yet drowned under the weight of my own past. I am learning to use it. I choose to cultivate and let the weeds grow out of the cracks. The young oak trees will create shadows, and the underbrush will form. I am writing a great forest, though it is young, untidy and untrimmed, the buds are beginning. It is a forest of words, of pain, of joy, of healing, and certainly, of acknowledgement. It is a familiar tree, you will recognize it. Interview with Michael R Jackson on NPR * Last week’s Color & Light entry was featured in “Substack Reads!” Welcome to my new readers! * This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

This past week, I went on my third tour of Donald Judd’s studio and home in Soho, 101 Spring Street. (The only way you can see the space is by tour). I love this “house,” which is an old textile factory from the late 1800s. The light cascading through the old thick panes of glass seems as if you are wrapped in the sun’s rays. You can see shadows at play and the century plus wood soaks up the sun generously. I love the space for its simplicity. Judd was the artist of the simple line. Find the right angle. But, Judd was also an avid art collector and writer. And on the  fourth floor, as you enter his bedroom that is adorned with a major installation by his best friend, Dan Flavin and a weighty sculpture by John Chamberlin. You are often distracted by their size. But, just before. Resting on a loft space was a drawing of Mickey Mouse. Mickey, our American hero staring down at me. It was surprising. I had not seen it before in my visits, probably pulled too quickly to the floating and dream-like bedroom of Judd and his ballerina wife. The drawing was by Claes Oldenburg. Oldenburg would die three days later at 93 years old. I had never thought about Oldenburg’s drawings, nor had I ever seen one in person. All artists draw, doodle, or take note at some point, pencil to paper. I remarked to the Spring Street Studio guide that I think I usually like artist’s drawings more because it shows me their process along the way. She agreed quickly. It shows me that they make mistakes along the way to the great masterpieces. The artist line takes work. Three days later, the internet was flooded with Oldenburg memories, reflections, and odes. In my own personal reflection, this Swedish artist has had a surprising impact on my life and the places I have one time or the other called home. I have to be honest, I was never a direct fan of his (and now I find out his wife Coosje played a dominate roll in his creations as well - the wife left behind once again). I wasn’t in love with the work. I was kidding myself if I said I didn’t love seeing an oversized cheeseburger in an art museum. The work is cheeky, kitsch, high pop art, easily insta-grammable. But, I was never in love. And maybe I didn’t need to be in love with it, but there was something more in my reflection of his work.I spent my early arts career mapping public art in Saint Louis learning about monuments to white straight men who served in the civil war or the Missouri state senate. As I was recording each name, date, material, provenance, and geo-tag of monuments that probably need more than “context” to justify their existence. Nonetheless, I came across Saint Louis’ Art Museum Giant Three-Way Plug, Scale A, 1971. I had grown up wondering about this plug and wondering if it actually worked. Where is the outlet to support this larger-than-life plug? Oh, Gregory. I really wanted a giant house to plug in a giant lamp. I thought to myself, it had to work, why else would we build this? I was an advocate for form and function early on. From Saint Louis, I arrived in San Francisco, California as a 22-year old Midwesterner with big dreams. And of course, Oldenburg met my dreams with  Cupid’s Span (2002, Gap, Inc.) This bow over the years changed meaning multiple times along the Embarcadero, nestled comfortably against the waters of San Francisco Bay. The change in meaning was particularly evident when The Bay Lights went live in 2013. I thought the largest light sculpture in the world and the largest bow were somehow playing with each other, that the arrow might get stuck in between the nodes of lights dancing on the bridge. And most recently, my time in Kansas City, often escaping writer’s block in the Nelson-Atkins, the shuttle cocks greeted me. The shuttle cocks of the Nelson-Atkins Museum in Kansas City  (commissioned in 1994) are possibly one of his most iconic works because of local admiration. They are iconic in Kansas City, thought not beloved right away. Icons take a while. I recently read about the thinking behind the shuttlecocks. The artists thought of the Beaux arts museum as the badminton net, the space in between. It made more sense that he was using the entire landscape as something to play with and manipulate. A backyard game of my childhood built to grand size. I often had the same thought as I did with the plug. I imagined the 5,500 pound shuttlecocks flying across the sky. How wonderful that could be? Just the mere thought is wonderful.These giants in my homes were backdrops and reminders to keep dreaming big. They always stopped me in my tracks even if I didn’t like them that much, they stopped me. Like giants, they are imposing, but not always mean. Even a small grimmacing Mickey Mouse in New York is quickly becoming an icon for me, the biggest dream might have the smallest icon. Sometimes, giants are friendly, even funny. And I think Oldenburg knew the power of a good joke. A joke that might be going on for much longer than even my life. He played an iconic joke on all of us, and for this, he won me over. And as Adam Gopnik so wonderfully wrote in his Postscript in The New Yorker, “Still, that his monuments got made at all was a triumph of the American capacity for belief.” And just maybe, we do have a capacity to laugh at ourselves. Thank you Claes.  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Matisse: The Red Studio at MoMA through September 10 I am now walking distance from the Museum of Modern Art, which makes my daily existence something of Sophie’s Choice for me. I ask myself, is there some way that I can skip away to the museum even for a moment? It is as if the MoMA collection is like a vortex in the desert lulling me away from the reality of mundane daily life. The great masters of Modernity are pulling me in ever closer to 53rd street. The artists in this collection have faced the great pressing questions of our time. Though I spent years with SFMOMA’s collection, the MOMA collection is unparalleled with its depth, diversity, and sheer scale. Nothing compares in modern art in the world. Not even close. I wander these galleries and they speak the truths we need to hear. Known for his mastery of color, Henri Matisse ranks in my favorite artists of all time. He also has one of the great artist beards, too. The current exhibit Matisse: The Red Studio is one of the most pleasurable small exhibits I have ever experienced. I have enjoyed the museum trend of focusing on one quality object rather than bloated exhibitions that overwhelm you. Split between two galleries, it is a bit of a treasure hunt of Matisse’s later artistic life and the story of how the painting came to be at MoMA and placing Matisse solidly as a driver in the development of the great US collection. As my friend Elspeth wrote so wonderfully here, context matters. Context here is the story. We often avoid describing the context fully. We may not even know the entire nuance of how, when, why an artist creates their work. In this exhibit, the curators act more like archeologists of Matisse than traditional art historians. This seems like a full anthropological attempt to understand Matisse as a man, a business partner, painter, and aging human. The video at the end of exhibit showed a range of curators that all approached different aspects of the painting. It was quite a collaboration, which was wonderful to see on full view and MoMA was not shy showcasing the extensive work that went into the exhibit during the pandemic.Most of all the objects that still exist are together for the first time in a century. One of my favorite paintings on display here is the Sailor Boy, a stunningly androgynous figure.  Vibrant and layered, I love the widened eye and casual stance of this portrait. It has a certain, “Hey, look at me” quality. This sailor was not just sitting for Matisse, he was posing. No matter where I was in the gallery, I kept coming back to these eye, almost as I was struggling like I was Oedipus and the sailor was the Sphinx. (Another great painting in art history by Gustave Moreau). He was staring me down. Art finds its way to collections in a myriad of ways, through commission, auction, gifts, estate planning, etc. Here in the exhibit, they place letters from Board members advocating for the purchase of the picture along with Matisse’s first exhibit catalogues at MoMA. The ephemera here makes the context. People fought for this painting to be in New York. And I will end with the quote from a board member describing their own love of the picture here in the typewritten letter below. “Every time I look at it, I get such sheer pleasure out of it that any other reaction comes as an afterthought. It seems to me one of the few modern works to which the words “joyous” and “inspired” can both be applied without any qualification whatever.” I keep coming back to this painting. Maybe the picture is haunting me in the same way the rest of the collection is because I am now living a couple blocks away and it is so new for me. But, I think to myself that after three visits to the Red Studio, feeling inspired seems quite inadequate to describe the overall tenor of the painting’s impact. The painting is holistic, comprehensive, a requiem in a grand career. It seems like Matisse was finally offering up something that told us something of him not as only as a painter, but of himself as a human. On view in New York through Sept 10. If you aren’t in New York, the video, installation shots, and more info is all here. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I realize it is July 1st and Pride month is now officially over according to your Google Calendar. I shall persist with this reflection. I have been known to correct my straight ally friends when June 1st rolls around and they say “Happy Pride.” It is pretty rare that I hear “Happy Pride” on what is historically considered to be Pride. It is not a federally recognized date, nor is considered the date by any corporation blasting their rainbow logo across your computer screen. Yes, June is “dedicated” to LGBTQIA (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer/questioning (one's sexual or gender identity), intersex, and asexual/aromantic/agender) history and recognition. I wrote it out because I am fairly certain not everyone knows what the acronym even stands for. Yes, it is complex, and yes the nuance matters. How people see themselves matters. So, to all you allies out there, this can still be a teachable moment. For myself - I don’t want corporate pride. For some, that visibility is important, even vital. Teen suicide related to gender expression and sexual identity is on the rise in the US. Depression, mental illness, and feelings of isolation from mainstream society is still up to each of us. I never had such visibility growing up and it makes me uncomfortable to be swarmed by rainbow flags. It is still hard. Pride isn’t just a party, it is a coming together in spite of the “acceptable.”  The last Sunday in June represents an honoring of protest, resistance, and breaking the silence. As the famous Keith Haring painting/spray paint says “Silence = Death” or “Ignorance = Fear.” The sentiment still stands. An inability, an avoidance, a lack of trying to ask simple questions about a queer person’s life signals fear at the bare minimum. Both of the shows I saw during this Pride weekend were wonderful examples of speaking truth, celebration one another, and coming together. There was spoken words, dance, and movements of queer expressions.  In the shadow of the recent Supreme Court ruling against the human right to abortion, the queer community gathered in resistance, once again. We had to find a way to laugh. No only in the moment, but also to rally, to mobilize, to encourage one another in spite of the overwhelming narrative of the white, straight, and Christian narrative. I was able to attend two productions Pride 2022 in New York: Soho Playhouse’s production of Happy Birthday Doug and the 30th anniversary of Broadway Bares. At Happy Birthday Doug, I was thrown into the world of Drew Doege playing a range of seven different gay male characters at Doug, a recently published author. This was Doug’s birthday party, but we had to meet his guests first. It is pretty incredible to watch one actor morph into a variety of different characters in the same 60 minutes. I had met each of the characters in real life throughout my years at parties, events, and even aspects of my own personality were present. Rarely experienced by straight people, a gay birthday party is a unique space for dark humor, hot messes, and time for rekindling old flames. I was happy to discover the small off off Broadway theater downtown in Soho. At my first Broadway Bares, there were some fun celebrity appearances including Tony Awards host and Oscar winner Ariana DeBose, Funny Girl‘s Ramin Karimloo [a big favorite of mine] and A Strange Loop’s writer Michael R Jackson. I was a bit star struck by Jackson’s appearance as I will be writing on the Pulitzer Prize/Tony winning A Strange Loop in the next few weeks. I loved A Strange Loop and have already seen it twice. The mostly dance presentation was vibrant, energetic, and fun crowd celebrating Pride with a fundraiser. This performance celebrated 30 years of providing healthcare to those battling HIV/AIDS, supporting actors on stage and off, and trying to bandage up the broken US healthcare system. So, on this July 1st, Happy Pride to you - and every day for the rest of the year. Upcoming Reviews:The Minutes by Tracy LettsA Strange Loop by Michael R JacksonFat Ham by James Ijames This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Being in New York only 7 weeks, I have been able to immerse myself in theater culture quickly. New Yorkers who go to the theater talk to each other and they all have opinions. In one of my recent chats with a fellow row mate, I have discovered the “two show day.” It is the practice of attending a matinee and turning around and going to a a different evening show. I recently became a member of the Theater Development Fund, so I am able to keep track of Off Broadway and Off Off Broadway more closely with discounted tickets. It can be hit or miss, but there is just so much to see, hear, and learn from - it is constant and a bit overwhelming. I have a thirst for theater that has gone unsatisfied for years compounded with COVID. As one of my fellow audience members in her 80s recently said, “What would we do without theater?” (She aims for three shows a week). The matinee this past Sunday was Michael McKeever’s Mr Parker (Review in New York Times) at Theater Row. At its core, it was a show about grieving (or the avoidance of grief). Terry, 56, has lost his famous artist husband in a car accident in New York City (Terry was driving). Terry gets thrown between two other relationships, dating a 28-year old bartender Justin, and his powerful sister-in-law, Cassandra. It was a mere snapshot of one loss, one specific queer process, and it hit home. The sound of humans crying through masks in a theater is unique. Towards the end of the play, I started to hear the sniffles, the deep breathes, the restlessness of human bodies in a confined space. Isn’t this the pathos that all playwrights write for? I am uniquely attuned to humans around me while in a theater. Next to me, I felt the man next to me flustered and seemingly quite uncomfortable. The theater seats 88 peoples and it was mostly full. The play ended. He was crying. The play was good and it was sad, but he was crying more deeply. I asked if he was going to be okay. And he turned to me and said, “I lost my husband seven months ago.” Gut punch. Art becomes life again. Reality is never too far away. I listened to him talk about his last days with his husband. They had been together 20 years. We walked out of the theater said our soft goodbyes through our masks and back into the streets of New York. I would not be able to claim I am a big Kylie Minogue fan. But, by proxy, I have enjoyed her music at the club from time to time and dancing in the street from Palm Springs to Sydney. My interest was peaked when a friend invited me to Kim David Smith sings Kylie Minogue at Club Cumming in the Lower East Side. As he said himself, “the performance was his own indulgence.” What a pleasure to watch an artist immerse himself in his love. He sang the classic Kylie Minogue we knew, but in a way, he was presenting how the songs were familiar to him. It was like we were watching his teenage diary unfold in front of us, as if he wrote every day, “Dear Kylie, today I need your help on…” Kylie must be the patron saint of Australian gay men. I knew this in theory and from stories of other gay men I knew. But to witness, on stage - it was a love letter to his own queerness. What a beautiful way to celebrate Pride season. Love in spite of all the direct attacks, hatred, and disapproving gazes. Dressed to the nines with a leather tuxedo with full length armed gloves, tails, and a top hat to match. Smith commanded attention with a soft and steady voice with comedic interludes. I was happy to give my adoration. *Weekly drink & drawing event in Lower East at Club Cumming. *Coming to New York? Discount tickets available through the Theater Development Fund. Not in New York? Consider a donation.  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Almost two years into a global pandemic, it is almost impossible not to see loss everywhere around us. I think we tend to avoid recognizing loss, big and small. Sometimes, the loss is too great, too big that we can’t ignore it. It is easy to get enveloped by the pain and grief. I find some artists use their artwork to work through this pain. How might we use creativity to heal? It is not a new idea, some examples are here and here. This painting by Andrew Wyeth called “Winter 1946” strikes me as particular picture on loss. Many of his landscapes feature solidarity figures. According to Wyeth, he worked on the painting for the whole winter of 1946. It was the first tempera painting he made after the death of his father, N. C. Wyeth, who was hit by a train. It is thought, this main character is the boy who found the vehicle and bodies after the train passed. It makes me think of Stand by Me, the quest to visualize loss. What might represent loss in your life? Yet, we do not get that information by just looking at the image. We get the boy, his shadow, and a cold landscape. I find the picture disconcerting. I am not quite sure why I am drawn to it, but Wyeth’s work has a way of creating an attractive mystery.According to Wyeth himself, he said of this painting: "It was me, at a loss—that hand drifting in the air was my free soul, groping." Wyeth said he regretted that he never had painted his father's portrait, but that "the hill finally became a portrait of him.” This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

In a scene of Lin Manuel Miranda’s recent film version of Tick Tick Boom, Jonathan Larson (Andrew Garfield) rushes to the public pool for a night workout highlighted in his song, Swim. Tick Tick Boom was a solo show written five years by Larson prior to his game-changing musical, Rent. It is an emotional and riveting look at the writing process, particularly because Jonathan Larson died at 35 of an aortic aneurysm in 1996, the day before Rent’s preview performance. Larson’s work has continued to be an inspiration for me for his ability to take everyday life and create a landscape of one’s life in music. I was struck by the Swim song considering my swimming career, which I have tried writing about, but struggled with making the pattern of the black line relevant to an audience. Not many people find the black line of a pool compelling, but what I do find compelling is the space for thought created while swimming. I also found protection and solace at practice under the water. Never did I think a rock song for a musical could capture the racing thoughts one has alone while swimming, but also expressing his non-stop creative energy. He even references the frustration of other lap swimmers (we have all been there): ”Wet hair—relax—this guy's too slowFifteen, can I make it to forty?Too slow—touch his heel—move!Answer my calls—red thin stripe”At the beginning of the song, Jonathan walks by an outdoor pool with a mural by Keith Haring completed in 1987. I knew exactly where the character was in New York City and the film gave such a good sense of place. One might miss the mural in the film due to the darkness, but I never miss Keith Haring’s line. Haring’s work has been a north star for most of my creative work due to his vibrancy, philosophy on art, and collaborative approach to the creative process. Today, December 1st, is World’s AIDS Day. In 1989, the art community in New York organized curators, educators, artists, and started Day Without Art to be a “mourning and action in response to the AIDS crisis.” Since 1998, they have commissioned work by those living with AIDS and celebrate the continued fight against AIDS. The AIDS pandemic has not ended, much like COVID-19. Humans seem to learn to live with pandemics: humans adapt, pass over, fight, ignore, raise money, advocate, and forget all at the same time. Some have no choice to give up. As a queer person, I must remember what we have lost, remember who we have lost too soon. I often write about the men and the artist’s work that was never made. In a way, I consider myself lucky enough to be a torch bearer. How might I continue their legacy or do right by them with the time I do have? Keith Haring died February 16, 1990 at 31. In ways, it feels part of my burgeoning vocation to create in their honor. So many lives were cut short. I happened to cross by the mural while coming from a work meeting in the fall of 2019. The bodies and dolphins caught my eye immediately. I find pools without water quite interesting as objects. The void that water is not there is stark. Tick Tick Boom is about the creative process and how relentlessly difficult, frustrating, and near impossible it is to create something new in this world, especially in the business of Broadway. It was inspiring to see some of Lin Manuel’s directorial decisions to highlight the New York City of the early 90s. It is a city struggling with some of the same things it is still fighting with another pandemic. And where to do make hope visible? Or how might we make hope when we face darkness? This mural for me, is a beacon of hope, an object that is lasting, as much of Haring’s work behaves. Strength in ourselves, our connection to nature and play, and the vibrancy of activity encouraging us to keep moving. *I wrote this post prior to the passing of Stephen Sodheim, who died at the age of 91 on November 26. Sodheim played a significant influence on Larson, Miranda, and myself. Anyone who sings, acts, writes, or loves Broadway, wrestle with the lyrics of Sodheim. I am so fortunate to have lived with Sodheim did. A queer man who died after a long and beautiful life. What an achievement. A bit of an easter egg in Tick Tick Boom. Stephen Sodheim is played by the wonderful Bradley Whitford, but Sodheim plays himself in voice when he leaves a message for Jonathan after the workshop. Sodheim was the ultimate mentor, mentoring the next generation of writers. For this, I am grateful. He mentored so many of us from afar with his work. May his star shine even brighter now. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

The writer Elizabeth Gilbert recently said in an interview that the lockdown made her notice the everyday acts of caring for herself as moments of gratitude. I think often of what makes up our lives and how to instill these smaller aspects of gratitude. In a week when Christmas consumerism has already taken over a day of gratitude, I feel like the small daily revolution might be held in the details of our lives. These items painted below may not be exactly what will be adorning your Thanksgiving tables this week, but I do find this painting quite specific and delicious. The details of the small items drive this painting. My first real experience of Dutch painting was during a 2011 exhibition at the Legion of Honor celebrating a collector’s extensive collection. I had yet to experience the great halls of European collections. The paintings seemed to jump off the walls. I had never seen so many Dutch paintings in one place, the grand tradition and established artistic movement in the art history canon was evident. Exotic animals, royal portraits, and flowers adorned the galleries. But, I was quite drawn to still lives that were incredibly dramatic. I revisit still lives often, particularly in digital archives because I am able to sit with the images for as long as I would like. I always wondered what compelled artists to spend so much time with everyday items. I do see still life paintings as meditations on gratitude. Spending time with what brings us life, the small items that bring us comfort, and what items we surround ourselves with each day. From these paintings, you get a true sense of what the artist was trying to achieve. And no painters have done still lives better than the Dutch. Here, a leading Dutch artist of the 17th century, Clara Peeters pioneered the art of still lives. My eyes are immediately attracted to the red and pink tones of an artichoke heart complimenting the brightness of the cherries. This is a breakfast scene. It does like someone is present, enjoying a cherry and beginning to dig into the artichoke. I love the tower and layers created with the different cheeses adorned with the plate holding shavings of butter. The salt container is pristine and engraved. The morning light is hitting the food making them aglow and ready for the day. Still lives can be quite satisfying, a feast for the eyes if you will.I have tried to ensure that there was gender parity in the artists that I have written about this past year in Color Field, which has pushed me to dig deeper into collections. It isn’t surprising that female artists, their biographies, hi-res images, and contextual information is more difficult to find (and often does not exist). Though I am writing about Peeters and her influence on other painters, there is not much known about her life. Fewer records, little knowledge of who she studied with, and who influenced her paintings. We don’t have travel records and only historians can surmise and make assumptions about her whereabouts. I have learned not much comes of making assumptions. It is a hard lesson to unlearn. In contrast, we often have travel records, clear access to archives of male pupils, and full records of the male pathway to artistic excellence and larger public success. How might we fill in the blanks when we have been told there are no gaps to fill? How might we express a feeling of loss when we didn’t know what we were missing? I didn’t know I needed that cherry pit and dangling artichoke leaf in my life. The known word canon comes from Middle English/ Latin with a few different meanings: a) an authoritative list of books accepted as Holy Scripture b) the authentic works of a writer c) a sanctioned or accepted group or body of related works. It isn’t necessarily about re-figuring the canon, but thinking about the canon in an entirely different way. What does an inclusive canon sound and look like? How might we re-imagine what is considered art history? And who is this history for? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I love archives. I love the the sense of possibility and sense of time. I think most are intimidated by the stacks and stacks of material. I find it comforting. It is not quite the wonder of a wind and water formed canyon, but it has a similar sense of possibility. What might you find just around the next bend in the river? When you are in the archive, it is best you have a well laid plan. Ultimately, when you are in an archive, you find something you weren’t quite expecting. I had been planning a research trip to The State Historical Society of Missouri library and archives for over a year now. I recently spent a half day on the campus of the University of Missouri-Columbia where the archives are held in a beautiful 2019 Kansas City-based Gould Evans’s designed building. The white oak used in the atrium’s grand staircase comes from southeast Missouri and Poplar Bluff. The limestone of the structure comes from historic St. Genevieve County. I was alone with my family’s history, and with a specific goal in mind. I was recently asked by a friend, “Did I find what I was looking for?” In short, I think I found a lot more than I had planned. In researching my family, in the same stacks, I found an artist colony active between 1930-1940 in Saint Genevieve (the oldest European settlement West of the Mississippi, founded in 1735 by my sixth great grandfather Francois Valle). The colony was founded by Aimee Schweig, Bernard Peters and Jesse Beard Rickly. Schweig had already participated in an art colony in Provincetown, Massachusetts. When that colony ended she returned to St. Louis and founded the Ste. Genevieve colony. Over the decade, the artists centered their work on politics, social issues, and artistic innovation. Some themes included the impact of the Great Depression and the possibility of abstraction. There was a structured curriculum that provided training and critique of current work. Unlike other colonies, however, where the artists frequently worked in very similar styles, at Ste. Genevieve the artists were highly individualized and worked in varied styles, even while sharing their ideas and techniques with one another. Artists included American leaders such as Thomas Hart Benton, Sister Cassiana Marie, Fred E. Conway, and Joseph James Jones (Joe Jones). Their chosen subjects are not of the traditional bucolic landscape; instead they portray the human condition in terms both of political upheaval and of Depression era events. It is difficult to find high quality digital images of the work from the artists, which is one of the reasons I did not focus on one piece this week. There are commanding paintings from Jonas and Schweig on the race riots and those seeking work during the Depression. Most of the most paintings are in private collections and unavailable for viewing. I had never heard of the art colony until I came upon the stacks of books in the archives. It seems that the Ste. Genevieve art colony played significant element in the cultural development of Missouri, the Midwest and the nation. The artists went on to make a mark through galleries in New York, WPA projects, and Europe throughout their careers.An American Art Colony: The Art and Artists of Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, 1930-1940 (Volume 1)  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

It was the first frost yesterday in Kansas. The first frost of this fall season. I noticed the ice on my windshield had formed. It is a bit later than usual. But, I thought to myself, when are the seasons ever “as usual” anymore in the age of Climate change. It is predicted that there may only be 60 harvests left in America due to the increase unpredictability of seed access, the health of the soil, and impending extreme weather. I walked in my neighborhood today and was struck by a tree that had changed dramatically in the last few days. I feel like I know my trees in the neighborhood. Each day I notice a slight change, a leaf down, a new bud holding on, not sure what season it is. How many more autumns can we count on, to see the leaves change?  My fall musing brought my imagination and memory to a more unusual painting from one of my beloved artists, Georgia O’Keeffe. It was apt timing, I was just reading about a retrospective of Georgia O’Keeffe at the Centre Pompidou in Paris, (the first retrospective of hers in France) and an exhibit featuring rarely seen photographs in Houston, Georgia O’Keeffe, Photographer. Her work and gumption has guided much of my love of the American Southwest, the desert, and learning to look deeply into nature. Well-known for her paintings of flowers and skulls of the American Southwest landscape, I thought of a unique painting I disliked very much when I first saw it in person in 2013. I saw the painting, Autumn’s Leaves - Lake George, while working on an exhibition at the de Young, Modern Nature: Georgia O’Keeffe and Lake George, which focused on her time in upstate New York along with Alfred Stieglitz, her husband, lover, collaborator, gallerist, advocate, friend, and famous for his photography in his own right. *(Sidenote: If you are ever in the mood to remind yourself that love exists between humans, pick up My Faraway One - Selected Letters of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz. All 815 pages of it is one of my cherished possessions with goodbye notes from my museum colleagues when I departed the de Young and Legion of Honor in 2015. You will not regret reading these beautiful letters of two incredible artists of the 20th century. The care and admiration they show for one another are words that I have hung onto for some years. “I love you, Dearest One, if I am capable of love. I often wonder, am I? But if I am, it’s you there with me in the great white stillness - where there is a great peace & no ugliness. — No voices with edges that tear.” Alfred Stieglitz, September 25, 1923 ) Ah, back to the painting. First, the painting doesn’t photograph that well in comparison to some of her other more dynamic paintings of flowers, or the drama of skulls of dead cattle. Autumn Leaves is a darker palette, smaller canvas, with a hint of chill in the air. It is a pile of dead leaves, not her vibrant flowers of a desert spring. Fall ushers us towards the cold and lonely winter. From 1918 until 1934, Georgia O'Keeffe lived in Lake George part of the year at Stieglitz's family estate located in New York's Adirondack Park. Georgia was spending a lot of time alone where she learned to garden and had space outside of the city to connect to the land. I like that she paints the leaves on the ground before they deteriorate and become part of the soil. This theme of capturing a part of the regenerative cycle becomes a central subject in her work, the skull in the barren desert, holding its form in spite of the sun. O’Keeffe paints resilience. Things that hold on. And maybe she painted the opposite of what critics, curators, and others constantly put upon her and their obsession with the female genitalia. Maybe the work has to do with looking at a leaf and seeing it for what they are. Are we too afraid to look at the world as it is, deteriorating - just like the leaves. Or is another world possible, one of renewal? First, we must see it for what it is. “When you take a flower in your hand and really look at it, it’s your world for the moment. I want to give that world to someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not.” -Georgia O’Keeffe. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I turned the corner in the gallery and a burst of color met my eyes, my breathe stolen for a moment. The artist had already taken me on an operatic journey in my visit to SFMOMA’s Joan Mitchell by the time I had arrived at the back gallery towards the end of the sweeping survey of the artist. I had flown back to San Francisco to see these paintings together, which is most likely the only time in my lifetime that the objects will be together. But, there was one piece that has stuck with me, Salut Tom, meaning “to health” in French, a sense of gratitude, a genuine reflection, and title of care. She painted it in her studio in France. Was it worth it, all that travel, for five canvases side by side? Yellows and greens were strewn about as if I was rolling down a hill in a park. The canvas dances. My creative journey begins in the interior. For Joan Mitchell, she was fortunate enough to craft her interior to match the french countryside. She went inside, embodied her emotions and put them on canvas. This painting was dedicated to longtime friend Tom Hess, art critic and curator. As referenced in his NY Times obituary, he “died yesterday in Lenox Hill Hospital after suffering a heart attack and collapsing at his desk in the museum.” He died in the museum, the place he loved. What a way to honor a friendship, quite a grand gesture. Here is to you Tom!, Joan yells in the gallery. Mitchell captures a friendship and used scale to illustrate her own sense of loss and love of a friend. Bridget Quinn nailed the experience of the exhibit in her most recent review. “So, it’s not just about scale, but also color, gesture, balance, and, well, everything.” Everything, Joan. It is my own experience of her work, it is everything. I mean, the paintings are that feeling that it is an answer to your deep questions on life. At least these paintings seem like an answer to something. It might be apt timing that my reflection of this painting happened at the same time as the art world suddenly lost one of its long-time critics, Kenneth Baker. He was the lead art critic for the SF Chronicle for 30 years and during my tenure in the City. I never once agreed with his evaluation of an exhibit across institutions, as maybe critics intentionally do. I took them personally, especially if I had worked on the exhibit. I thought at times, he was out of touch, ignored curatorial intention, and missed major thematic elements. I admit, it was the typical younger person thinking that the critic was just a grumpy old man. As I gained experience, saw more art, and started writing about art myself, I came to have a deeper respect for Mr. Baker. Particularly, after my own experience of Walter de Maria’s Lightning Field, when I picked up Mr. Baker’s own essays on the sculpture. It is my favorite writing of his and has helped shape my own writing. His essays on the sculpture spanning decades are intimate, wide reaching, and surgical. His writing affirmed my own personal experience of the sculpture and the artist. After my 2018 experience of De Maria’s masterpiece, Kenneth’s writing has profoundly shaped my life. His work accomplished what great writers do sometimes, he built a bridge to a different perspective and deepened my own experience. And all I can come up with is, Salut Kenneth. John McMurtrie’s reflection on Kenneth Baker.  This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? (Mother Abbess, The Sound of Music) There was one reason I had planned in mind for my October 2020 trip to Paris and it was the planned installation of Christo and Jean-Claude’s L’Arc de Triomphe, Wrapped. I wanted to see a cloud pinned down in the middle of Paris. Though nearly forty years in planning, it was once again delayed to 2021 because of the global pandemic we are still facing (my trip cancelled like millions of others). Much like their other large scale temporary projects, the project took decades of planning. Decades of waiting, sketching, permits, conversations, navigating public opinion, ignoring public opinion, politicians, locked bureaucracies and rapidly changing societies. These “mediums” are all part of the work. Yes, government permits as art work. I have been fascinated with Christo and Jean-Claude’s work mainly through their drawings, videos, and writings on the work. Now, both artists have passed away, and their work is what remains. One of my favorite works happened in 1976 in Marin County, 21 miles of white cloth, made up Running Fence. Knowing running fenced had been there was one of the reasons I fell in love with all my years while cycling the Marin hillsides. As I climbed redwood lined hills with small glimpses of the Pacific Ocean, I imagined the fence there, never having witnessed the project. My history with Christo was always a distant fan, but he even called The Bay Lights (a major point of personal pride, of which I worked on for three years and helped secure its permanency) “a masterwork of public art.” It wasn’t until an exhibition in Sydney, Australia in early 2020 did I see an actual artwork by Christo and Jean-Claude. Much like their purpose of their work, I love the ideas of their work, as much as the physical reality of their sculptures. Their work has pushed my own creative thinking on what is possible, what is needed, and how we might create more positive futures for our own planet. As one of my other favorite artist, Walter de Maria claimed that “the invisible is real.” We need these ideas of making the invisible, visible more than ever before. We are witnesses to major loss to land, deforestation, infrastructure buckling, and species collapsing. Their work is as much as an exercise in loss, as it is about the process of creating a contemporary work of art. Though I was unable to see the Arc project in person, I have watched via the magic of the internet, videos of people experience in awe, confusion, frustration, and delight in viewing the revered Parisian monument to fallen soldiers, wrapped. The Arc is cenral to Parisian life, much like the nearby Eiffel Tower. As the flame to unknown soldiers continued to burn, so the monument stood, in a different light for 16 days. And what are monuments for, if not to capture our imagination? A recent evaluation of American monuments found that the majority were dedicated to violence. Christo and Jean-Claude’s work promotes a dialogue around our environment, cost (in terms of currency they paid for all their projects privately with selling their drawings, paintings, and models), and collective memory. Much like listening to veterans tell us war stories to those who did not experience the sacrifice of death, suffering, or violence, we sit and listen to their stories of loss. Wrapped does not cover up their stories of sacrifice, but elevates them into a new collective memory for a new generation. It is often said Never Forget, but what happens when we are reminded what to actually remember? I am wrestling with my own loss at another missed opportunity to bear witness, to create a new memory of what is there and identify what might also be missing. But, as Christo said right before he died in May 2020, this was a gift to the French, to Parisians. What a beautifully wrapped gift? A wrapped memory for the rest of our lives. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

How might a picture of apple pickers be a symbol of environmental and food justice and pay equity?Camille Pissarro’s Apple Harvest at the Dallas Art Museum is one of my favorite pictures of all-time. Actually, in a lot of ways this painting was radical and was seen pushing the idea of what was art because it highlighted women working, not nude reclining on a piece of furniture. I love it mostly because of who the artist was, Pissarro, the grandfather of Impressionism. He was Jewish, an anarchist, father to seven biological children, and mentor of many more. We don’t get A Sunday on La Grande Jatte by Georges Seurat without Camille Pissarro (a story for another time). Pissarro was more than ten years older than most of the other Impressionist artists, such Pissarro was seen as a father figure. His fierce arguments about egalitarianism and the inequities of the system of juries and prizes were known to everyone. To answer my own question though, Pissarro was one of the few, if not first artist to pay female models to stand for the painting. There is some gender equity in the painting with the central male figure and supporting female figures. Their faces are blurred as if to offer anonymity. The two females in the bottom left are bending down, picking up apples for the market, for distribution. This is not your Saturday fall afternoon picking apples with your family for fun, this is work. But, ultimately, I love this painting because it is a lovely picture. Sometimes paintings are just beautiful. It is okay to like something for its pure aesthetic reasons. I remember standing in front of the painting during Pissarro’s People at the Legion of Honor kind of in awe. I was fortunate to spend time with the picture over the course of the exhibition. I kept coming back to it. I loved it’s scale. The trees reminded me of California hillsides and the shadows are almost playful. The warm overtones. The movement of the workers. The horse and worker in the back corner. Never has hot, sweaty, back-breaking work looked so beautiful.  Camille Pissarro, in full Jacob-Abraham-Camille Pissarro, (born July 10, 1830, St. Thomas, Danish West Indies—died Nov. 13, 1903, Paris, France) painter and printmaker who was a key figure in the history of Impressionism. Pissarro was the only artist to show his work in all eight Impressionist group exhibitions. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

I recently was back in San Francisco. I had booked a trip back in March when the dates for the Joan Mitchell exhibition had been re-scheduled. I often struggle selecting one piece to focus on each week, especially after viewing so much great art between SFMOMA (Joan Mitchell), Legion of Honor (Wangechi Mutu), and the de Young Museum (Judy Chicago). I was able to visit each exhibit with great friends. Viewing art together, once again. I hit all my old haunts, re-visiting, and saying goodbye. It is time for me to move on from the 49 square miles of heaven. This made it even more difficult to select one piece of art - and of course I will write on Joan Mitchell and Wangechi Mutu, possibly Judy Chicago, again. I sometimes want to choose pieces I have command over, both the piece’s history and aesthetic. Other times, new pieces and unfamiliar artists grab me. What kept popping out of my digital photos this past week was not a sculpture or painting, or even that colorful for that matter, it was a book. A singular, absolutely beautiful, and simple book. I must write on what calls to me, right? It is a ritual, a prayer, an intention. The art may select me instead. I worked at the Legion of Honor for five years helping run public programming, which ranged from classical concerts in front of Rodin’s three muses, lectures featuring some of the greatest artists of history, and even a private performance of Tony Bennet. I know this museum, I know it’s galleries, the collection, and what to expect. The museum is approachable in scale. Though, there is always one gallery that stands out above the rest. Always. It never ceases to amaze me what this tiny little, dark gallery brings to my attention. It is called the Logan Gallery. Mr. Logan collected one of the most diverse and important private collection of modern artist illustrated books and gave them to the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco in 1998. I love his collection for many reasons, which first and foremost is that, I love books. But, I think more importantly, the collection has always shown me something I never knew existed. Artist books never get as famous as a painting. These collaborations between publishers and artists are specific, private, and typically small affairs. Many times, it is for the artists themselves and not for collectors or the public. This time in the Logan Gallery, Iliazd: Publishing as an Art Form was on exhibit and it gave me something that is always a gift, another new unknown artist uncovered (for me), Ilia Zdanevich, (known as Iliazd). No wonder I had never hear of him, this is the first US museum exhibition devoted to his work in more than thirty years.Ilizad was in a league of his own. Though, I had never heard of him, the artists he collaborated are some of the most famous names in the 20th century canon. The artists included Pablo Picasso, Georges Braque, Alberto Giacometti, Max Ernst, and Joan Miró. His innovative typographic and design work were pioneering. I was drawn to a specific piece with his collaboration with Max Ernst (which I primarily only know through his third wife, artist Dorthea Tanning). The book captured me like a web. The typeface was contemporary. I felt like it could have been created by a graphic designer in 2021, but nonetheless, Ilizad saw the potential for white space and serif typefaces well before digital technology start-ups. It is not always so important for me to know everything about the artist, or the context, but how does the object land in the context of today? As a designer, I am constantly looking back into history for innovative artists. Ilizad was a great discovery for me. Not only was he a master of the book, but it seems to me that he was a master of collaboration. He was able to see the artist’s vision and make it his own through the form. Not an easy feat whatsoever and less common throughout history. We are drawn to the idea of the singular artistic vision, in painting, sculpture, or architecture. We want desperately to believe that ideas stem from individual’s brains, like we are all stuck in some sort of solitary confinement. This is a myth we tell ourselves. Artists sometimes have a singular vision, egos that outweigh, and crush other visions. We need that sometimes, that command of the artist vision and truth. We also need cooperation and empathy. I see these values in the two pages of this book, the lightness and space of the text on the left page with a counterweight of Ernst's mathematical-like scribble. Almost like a mix of hieroglyphics and algorithms. The heaviness of languages held on paper as thin as feathers. "An illustrated book by Iliazd is a book by Iliazd, and not a book by Picasso, Miró, or Max Ernst. . . . a standalone work of art just like a painting, a sculpture, a monument, a film. And Iliazd is its true and sole creator."Louis Barnier, director of the Imprimerie Union, Paris, 1974 This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Who is invited to your Dinner Party? The guests have changed for me throughout the years. Right now, I think I might invite the fictional character Brian from Company, or the mystical Teresa of Avila, definitely Sacagawea of the Corps of Discovery, and Queen’s frontman, Freddie Mercury. And the one and only, Judy Garland (maybe Liza, too). Georgia O’Keefe and her many lovers (her flowers from Lake George might adorn the table). Essayist Susan Sontag and Rachel Carson of Silent Spring. Maybe fashion designers, Cristobal Balenciaga and Hubert Givenchy. I think I would add activist Larry Kramer, too, but he might hog the conversation (in an annoyingly good way). It is a big dinner party. I would not want anything less. Judy Chicago spent quite a bit of time inviting her guests to dinner - all women. Her monumental piece, The Dinner Party lives at the Brooklyn Museum. Chicago is currently the focus of a retrospective at the de Young Museum in San Francisco. Though, The Dinner Party is not included, I am revisiting it as I prepare to view the new exhibit. I have visited The Dinner Party multiple times. The first time I was on an art pilgrimage to see my first Keith Haring exhibit at the Brooklyn Museum in 2013. I was already emotionally raw from seeing Keith’s pieces for the first time (little did I know I would be involved in an exhibit of Haring’s work shortly thereafter, a dream come true). It was my first time in New York feeling the energy, the diversity, and the collisions, that of, a mega city. It is right that these women gather here in the corner of Prospect Park in the heart of Brooklyn. I have usually been alone in the gallery that holds the installation and reading about the historical women Chicago highlights and honors in each table setting. In June 2021, I visited it with my dear friend Beth. She was pregnant and we rushed to the museum in between business meetings. I had to show her this piece. I had talked about it for years. Beth would be at my dinner, too. Women scientists are a must have at any dinner party. When I visit museum with friends, a switch usually turns on and I want them to feel the piece or understand why I connect to the pieces or artist emotionally. I am constantly trying to lower the barrier of entry into an understanding of the artist intent. I know I see things a bit differently. Artist put barriers up on purpose, self-preservation, or creating space in between, or otherwise. Judy makes space for these powerful women to sit together, separately. Each woman has their own setting, their own name stitched lovingly into the table runner. Craft is present. These are royal table settings. The reverence is apparent as you walk in with the dramatic lighting and ceramic center reflecting the names of the women placed in gold. As they should be. Sculptural, historical, lyrical, and mystical. I have never tired of The Dinner Party. I always learn about new women in history that are overlooked, misremembered, or other subversive talent. The making of the actual piece is a bit fraught as there are differing recollections of “collaboration,” services rendered and not paid for, and other narratives of the craftswomen who dedicated their talents to the completion of the work. Nonetheless, the piece stands as a testament to revisiting history, re-crafting a new narrative, and centering women who have pushed our society forward.  From the Brooklyn Museum, “The Dinner Party, an important icon of 1970s feminist art and a milestone in twentieth-century art, is presented as the centerpiece around which the Elizabeth A. Sackler Center for Feminist Art is organized. The Dinner Party comprises a massive ceremonial banquet, arranged on a triangular table with a total of thirty-nine place settings, each commemorating an important woman from history. The settings consist of embroidered runners, gold chalices and utensils, and china-painted porcelain plates with raised central motifs that are based on vulvar and butterfly forms and rendered in styles appropriate to the individual women being honored. The names of another 999 women are inscribed in gold on the white tile floor below the triangular table. This permanent installation is enhanced by rotating Herstory Gallery exhibitions relating to the 1,038 women honored at the table.” This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

In my recent drives of the Midwest through Kansas, Missouri, Oklahoma and Arkansas, I have been inspired by the landscape. These drives Americans will most likely never do because it is not Interstate driving from Point A to Point B. These roads are not the typical “road trip” roads. The roads are tighter, two-lane, curvy, and a bit rough. The roads carve their way through the rolling farmland of the Midwest with barns and homes set far apart from each other. There is space here. My childhood memories have scattered photographs of staring out the window wondering what life was like on a farm. Though my mother’s family was raised in southern Missouri, my suburban life was quite a contrast from the agrarian lifestyle. My childhood memories are full of tension between city dreams, or a farm in the backyard, and my queer identity pulling down on all those visions. It was always hard to reconcile as a child and still challenging as an adult. Far away from these rolling hills and space is another dreamland of mine, Broadway, a theatrical corridor like no other, known as The Great White Way (electrical signage dazzled visitors and the street soon became known throughout the world). Both spaces are vital parts of my American identity, as we continue to piece together our identities as what it means to be American, who we are collectively, and who do we want to be in the future. I recently was asked by a friend, “What musical movie would you start with if the person has never seen a musical?” What a question! I sped through my knowledge of what I films were available on streaming services, classics (West Side Story), Oscar winners (Chicago), and more eccentric choices (Sweeney Todd). All are great introductions to the American art form of musical theater (alas nothing like the stage, though). I ultimately landed on Rogers and Hammerstein’s first hit, Oklahoma! Not only is it great music, but the story is not what it seems. I re-visited the film version recently and the underlying tension of toxic masculinity in the character of Jud Fry is worth a re-watch alone. This film recommendation brought me to the original set design of Oklahoma! in 1943 at the St. James Theatre. There was much doubt that this musical about the middle of America would be a remote success - still much the attitude held today I am sure. Despite the doubt, the reviews raved and the original Broadway production of Oklahoma! went on to play a staggering 2,212 performances, running almost five years, holding the record for the longest-running Broadway musical for 15 years. In its first year, Oklahoma! received a special Pulitzer Prize, and the original production launched an international tour that stopped in 361 cities around the world for nearly ten years. It was also the first time there was a recording of the original Broadway cast giving birth to the “Broadway cast recording.” Oklahoma! was a hit. There was a revival in 2019 that was also lauded. My own recommendation made me wondered what that original scenic design looked like? I have seen two productions of the stage musical but don’t really remember anything striking other than the expansive stage for the dream scene. I was unsure how I was going to view a set for a live production in 1943, but there are some archives. In my research, I came across some of the original set designed by Lemuel Ayers and the set design is striking. Born in New York City, Ayers earned a degree in drama from the University of Iowa and a degree in architecture from Princeton University. Oklahoma! was within his first ten sets he had designed for Broadway. In the back upper left, a farm house is set back with the windmill and the golden landscape of wheat/corn contrasting with the hopeful blue sky. Subtle hints at landscape changes of geological formations reminiscent of Kansas’ Badlands, representative of the dry terrain where softer sedimentary rocks and clay-rich soils have been extensively eroded, and as the song goes, “There's a bright golden haze on the meadow…” Simple, elegant, and expansive. In his short career, Ayers designed sets for a total of 30 Broadway plays and musicals during his career, dying of cancer at the age of 40. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com

Over this past weekend, I finally made the sojourn to the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas. The Ozarks are full of river bluffs, rolling hills, and sprawling forests of green. It is a beautiful landscape that I have grown up with in Central and southern Missouri. As you go further south, the hills get steeper the bluffs wider. Set among a beautiful forest, Crystal Bridges was founded by Alice Walton of the Wal-Mart fortune. The museum is currently celebrating its 10th year and I glad I was able to view the collection over the course of a full day. I was welcomed into the museum by a greeter, very much like a Wal Mart, which signaled to me that this was not like other art museums. They do things differently in Arkansas. I gladly wandered right into the galleries (for free, underwritten by Ms. Walton). I was glad to have finally checked this American collection off my list of “must-sees” as it has an unmatched depth and breadth in United States art museums. For any Americanist, I recommend the sojourn. The museum is currently celebrating their decade anniversary through a special exhibition highlighting commissions by contemporary artists that include Dyani White Hawk (Sičáŋǧu Lakota), Maxfield Parrish, and Mark Dion. I was thrilled to notice Dion’s inclusion, as I am familiar with his work through prior installations at Stanford and throughout the US. He created a single experience through four galleries based on the four elements of our planet. AirAny John James Audubon print catches my attention right away in any gallery. I feel as if the prints are magnets and I am the direct opposite of my embodied pole. The Birds of America is one of the greatest artistic achievements I think across generations. Audubon’s dedication to accuracy, recording, and placing the bird in its natural environment is astounding. Dion plays with time and the fantasy of flight through fun wallpaper, representing dinosaurs, bats, and a fantastical dragon-like creature. The Audubon print is paired with a Blue Heron from the University of Arkansas’ Natural History collection. Dion creates a pleasurable corner for the eye. It felt as if I was nestled in my own imaginarium playing with the creepiness of taxidermy and the joy of Audubon’s illustrations, together. EarthThe objects in the Earth room grounded me. I struggle with my Midwestern identity because of a certain grief being queer in this land. I never quite fit, but here, in this room, Dion places objects that resonate with me even if I never had a direct connection before. Strange, other-worldly objects like the skeleton of the earliest horse in Arkansas made a conversation with the horse painted by known homophobe Thomas Hart Benton (Ploughing It Under in the upper left). I delighted in Benton’s horse making its way into Marsden Hartley’s queer landscape of fall foliage amid the rolling mountains of New Hampshire in Mountain 22. I felt Dion has captured the beauty and oddities of the Midwestern time, culture, and land. It is not an easy task, and few people have taken any care or effort to discover. There is beauty here, in the work. A certain and specific labor with the land that is glorified and under appreciated at the same time. The tension is partnered with objects that are millions of years old when humans did not till the soil. Distant family members, if you will. WaterMoving into the water room, I was taken aback as my eyes adjusted to the black light appearing to cast the entire room in blue. We were underwater. It was apt considering I had just been underwater in Beaver Lake that morning with the algae covered lake floor and blue gills tapping on my mask while I completed my Open Water SCUBA certification. I was surprised to find a hand-colored engraving and mezzotint of George Caleb Bingham’s 1847 The Jolly Flatboat Men in the corner against blue wallpaper featuring jelly fish. Freshwater and salt water collide. Yes, the print is of men on the Missouri River, a body of water itself, only represented as a simple horizon line. The water is an afterthought in the painting dominated by its dancing characters and dominant boat structure. Yet, I do think Dion is playing with a deeper history here. In 1847, the American Art-Union, which had purchased The Jolly Flat boatmen directly from the artist, produced this large mezzotint of it that was distributed to its members (approximately 10,000) throughout the country and beyond its borders, even across the Gulf into the Caribbean, immediately making it one of the best-known works of art of its era. Waters can destroy, but can also connect us. FireIn terms of destruction and elements at play, fire is at work in California as water is at work in the South. The elements seem to be more active than ever. As you enter the last room of Dion’s installation, you have to bend your body down, as you enter the mind shaft for Fire. It reminded me of my childhood mythical story of my brother riding a roller coaster called Fire in the hole at the nearby Silver Dollar City in Branson, MO.  It also reminded me of human’s inherent desire to dig, pillage, and bend the elements to our will. I have been on many mine tours that have glorified this process and our society’s need for more energy. My eyes gravitated to a nice print by an unknown artists of muscular iron workers peering into the fiery depths of labor, capitalism, and industrialization. I was mesmerized being with objects with no labels and only the stories they told to each other. Dion’s installations are a puzzle of the imagination for your mind to put together in whatever way you can muster. Sometimes frustrating, sometimes immensely pleasurable. Holding so much art history inside my mind, I could not help but try to create a narrative that made sense. I let go of that need quickly by the time I saw Hartley and Benton together, warring opposites, together. Can the stories and objects of art history heal our divides? Maybe. We first, have to be attracted to look and ask the questions of who and where and why. And I felt as if the artist was speaking to me directly through an elemental narrative that grounded me in this place. Surprisingly, this installation made me feel an emotion I had not felt in long time, I felt home. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit gregorymeander.substack.com