Christina Blizzard

Catching up on the front page news, one story that caught my eye was in the New York Times on Christmas Eve. Front page, no less.

You sensed reporter Ralph Blumenthal could barely repress a giggle as he reported the fascinating story about  an affair Sigmund Freud is alleged to have had with his wife’s younger sister, Minna Bernays.

Blumenthal reports that a recently discovered entry in a Swiss hotel ledger shows that Freud signed in as, “Dr. Sigm Freud u frau” (Dr. Sigmund Freud and wife). Apparently, Freud’s wife, Martha, was aware of the good doctor’s two week jaunt to the Swiss alps with sis.
Until now, the father of psychoanalysis was believed to have lived a morally pure life. It may cause some distress to some of his  disciples to now find out that their mentor, their guiding light, so to speak, has feet of clay. Personally, I find it quite reassuring and very human. Who better to understand the human condition than someone who has lived it? How reassuring for we poor, flawed humans to discover that Freud himself shared our foibles.

Now if he’d slept with his mother, that truly would be, well, Freudian.

So what is it with the Art Gallery of Ontario?

They get the largest collection of Henry Moore sculptures in the world, and what do they do? They present it in a room decorated with strippers pole dancing.

Okay, I could live with that. But they don’t even tell you what the sculptures and casts are. There are no explanatory notes. And boy, if anyone needs some ‘splainin’ it’s Henry Moore.

Okay, I know. All the highbrows are probably spluttering into their claret.  But  an art gallery – especially one that is funded from the public purse – should be for the people. And all they have by way of education are a few phones around the room. You have to find a place on the couch and dial in to find out what it’s all about.

This just is bad curatorial sense. Put up a note next to the sculpture telling us how it came about. And the pole dancers? Who knows? Who cares?

Then it’s on to the Alfred Eisenstaedt/Ansel Adams exhibit. Great photographs. Lousy presentation. First, they are all shoehorned in to a tiny space. So many pictures. So little time. So many people elbowing their way around. And by the way, what’s with people bringing strollers to these things?  Get a sitter for crying out loud. You just make a crowded space insufferable.
Look, I know the AGO is doing a reno, and that’s probably why they are so poorly displayed. But they knew – or presumably they knew – they’d be doing renovations at the time of the exhibit.

The lighting is dreadful. And for black and white pictures, you need good light to see the subtle shades. The organization is horrible. You get two pictures in a corner, so people keep bumping in to each other. The photos don’t seem to be organized by theme, or timeline. There is no one place to start, no place to finish.
Nice try. Keep working on it AGO.

A blog? What the heck is a blog? Old broads like me started out with good old Remington typewriters. Heck, once upon a time an IBM Selectric was the dizzy heights of technological wizardry for people like me. As if to prove my point, the spellchecker tells me there is no such word as blog. That’s how old my computer is.

And now I have my very own blog, given to me as a Christmas/birthday present from my son, Paul.

Hence the Merry Birthday//Happy Christmas tagline

What a day to have a birthday. Christmas Day. The Big Guy got there first and gets all the attention. It’s second only to having your birthday on February 29. People only remember it every four years.

Actually, I shouldn’t complain. When I was growing up, my parents always made a point of getting me two gifts. Mind you, one year I gave away Easter Eggs in the loot bag for my birthday party, we held it that late. Still, my family is good about remembering it is my birthday. But it would be nice once in a while to be able to go out for a few drinks on the night of your actual birthday. We tend not to do the birthday cake thing either, since there’s so much food around, another cake just pushes you over the edge. We tried it – but I’ve seen more beautiful cakes mouldering in the fridge to care about not having a birthday cake.

People say we’ll celebrate in June. And that a nice idea. Except it isn’t my birthday. I’m a Capricorn. Tough survivors, we are. I can live with a Christmas birthday.

So what better day to launch my blog than my brthday? And no, I’m not saying which one it is. Keep ‘em gussing is my motto. Just remember, if your birthday is at Christmas, you get to divide by four.

Imagine the freedom of the blog. No editors to change your copy. WYSWG. What you see is what you get. So if I make a huge mistake, I have only myself to blame. That’s the good side of editors. They sometimes save you from yourself.

Welcome to my world. And a very merry Christmas to one and all.