OnLine With Zoe

The Quieting of the American Conscience

Conscience by Vincent van Gogh

18 hours later and, with the rising sun, the fog on the windows of the mind is clearing.  I always knew Donald was like that.  It always showed.  Move along, there is nothing new here. 

Conscious women, can I say feminist women, saw it when he divorced Ivana or Marla or dismissed Melania or man-handled Ivanka.  We saw it on the Apprentice.  We saw it with his sons and the slaughter of big game in Africa.  We saw it with his disregard for Trump workers.  With his succession of bankruptcies.  With his opulence.  With his hair, tan and oddly long ties.  With behavior that would send a second grader to the principal’s office and a sophomore to detention.  We have always seen it. 

I think the pain of this explosive revelation that Farenthold facilitated and Access Hollywood with Billy Bush withheld, lies in the slow boil of it all.  How did everyone NOT see it from the start?  That is the immorality of it all.  What has happened to the quieting of the American Conscience? 

What has happened in the pulpit where cash is grabbed and, in some cases, little boys and girls.  What has happened in textbooks in the tacit removal of the mistreatment of the indigenous people, African people, Chinese people, women in total – too many to list.  And we celebrate these atrocities naming them Columbus day or Thanksgiving day.  And, of course, Women’s Equality day which is a titular lie. 

We have sent the Elders into substandard silos of dismissal.  We have used white-out on our Story-Tellers.  We have hidden the suffering and poor who remind us of the calling to generosity and lie in stark contrast under blue tarps with their only loved one, their dog.  We arrest indiscriminately and it appears that the overcrowding of prisons is being solved with outright assassinations on the street.  We medicate people into dysfunction.  We surround cemeteries with fences to promote the worst illusion of all, immortality.

And now we will simplify this boiling pot.  We will tar and feather.  We will drag through the street.  We will make ourselves righteous by vilifying in short and long term public shaming.  When after all it was you and me. 

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul to waste.

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guess my name

I shouted out,
Who killed the Kennedys?
When after all
It was you and me

Let me please introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
And I laid traps for troubadours
Who get killed before they reached Bombay

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name
But what's confusing you
Is just the nature of my game

Just as every cop is a criminal
And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint

So if you meet me
Have some courtesy
Have some sympathy, and some taste
Use all your well-learned politesse
Or I'll lay your soul to waste,

Pleased to meet you
Hope you guessed my name

It isn’t that I believe in the devil.
I believe in Art.
Thank you Keith and Mick

So Long Pow Wow.

 I really did not mean to wait for the month that the show closes to post a review.  It was more that I have been really busy.  Now that the close has been announced, October 25, I feel pressed to make this happen. 

The first Long Beach City Council meeting I went to since I moved had an enthusiastic announcement about a mural show, POW WOW.  Certainly I cannot be the only person who thought it was going to be by, for and about Native Americans. 

They had my full attention.  My Potawatomi ancestry is important to me and I would support this city wide installation.  I had read that Long Beach is the second most diverse city in the country.  Opening day I drove to the central office, picked up a program and took off to drive to all nine sites. 

Not necessarily obvious in a non-binary state of mind but the documentation suggests there are 3 women among fifteen artists.  Again, though not definitive, there was not a preponderance of Native or Indigenous artists.  I feel confident in saying that the art was not bringing Native consciousness to the city. 

I suppose this all leads to one very surprising conclusion, the title was appropriated and, as such, was not acknowledged.  

Moving on to the primary and housed mural show, I went to the Long Beach Museum of Art.  Several months before, I had made a visit.  I had asked the docent if there were any works by women on view at the museum.  She told me that she didn’t know.  Using only names, which is not very reliable, my friend and I found one.  But I held great hope for Vitality and Verve: Transforming the Urban Landscape, the new show. 

Again, not certain evidence, of the twenty artists, a few are women.  Some of the names are gender neutral but lets roll with 15%.  (which I think is high).  I leave it to you, Aaron Horkey, Alex Yanes, Andrew Schoultz, Audrey Kawasaki, Brendan Monroe, Brandon Shigeta, Cryptik, Esao Andrews, Greg ‘Craola’ Simkins, Hot Tea, James Bullough, Jeff Soto, John S. Culqui, Low Bros, Meggs, Nosego, Nychos, Saber, and Tristan Eaton.

No matter the artists broken down into binary genders, a serious cultural goal with some, heretofore, resolutions unclear, let the work speak for itself.  Where are the women?  Where are the WELL women?  Where are women with clothes on ?  Or women not cut into parts lining one of the largest walls. 

The first woman is floating in pale lime green and too thin to carry a feather.  Message received.  Looking to the far wall, there is a woman in her underwear, lying on a sheet,  cut into dozens of pieces.  One repeating gash severing her head.  Trust me this is about as good as it gets.  Turning the few corners in the show, it did not get any more womanly.  Nothing fecund, well, wholesome, seasonal, celestial. 

I have to admit, I have been taught by the best; The Guerrilla Girls ~ both Guerilla Girls On Tour and Guerrilla Girls, Inc.  It is really quite simple: where are the women, in the art and artists?  Are they naked and tortured?  Are they well and valuable beyond being a sex object.  

 

The show is going to close October 25.  Interesting that LBMA’s latest email includes an annoucement about a new acquisition, Salmon Stripe by Gail Factor which will be on view November 19.  Others in the Oceanview Gallery will include works by Thelma deGoede Smith, Helen Lundeberg, Judy Chan, Karena Massengill, Mylene Raiche, and Joan Austin.  I am looking forward to seeing it.

But, really, Pow Wow??  Really?

Life, After All, Is Episodic

2011 in one of my fits over the use of real lives as scaffolding for commercial *fiction, I wanted to do something.  There is no law or social agreement that a movie or book, labeled bio-doc or biography, stay on any historic course.  Additions, omissions, artificial plot devices creating required arcs are just part of the landscape. 

My push back was to write a full life memoir (I was advised in no uncertain terms to NOT use the word autobiography a la james frey).  I spent a year organizing my chronology and writing. 

I had no intention of ever printing it but a friend asked and my kick campaign financed it.  It was an experience I recommend though motive is the lynchpin; a whim will never see one through.  I was not driven by self-importance but a red-hot desire to show respect for those who dig and search and glue and list and listen to a person’s life so it can be shared.  I have been on excavations for Gandhi, Magdalene, Kahlo and Paul.  It is a Sisyphean task. No ending in sight.

I learned many things in my year of writing about my life but mostly I learned that ending such a book is outlandish.  It is an imposed and insincere writing destination.  (invoking the great Lillian Hellman’s title, An Unfinished Woman).  It imposed an inaccurate idea that December 2012 was an ending of sorts.  It is as if August 26, 1920 Alice Paul was done, like a quilt.  And how many of us are despondent when a book ends, shouting what then?  What then? 

Now is a curious time for books.  It is the reversal of printed books’ birth when paper was cheap and literacy on the rise.  Today, paper usage is declining and technology drives our attention.  Books are delivered to devices silently, poured through headsets, loaned with an expiration date.   Monopolies are dictating who is read and who is tasked with distributing their own work.  It is Jeff Bezos who decides, not a refined educated editor on Avenue of the Americas.  Authors United may want to rise up against this Amazon but the reality remains, Napster already told the modern day story of the intersection of Art and Industry.  (maybe books with ads – but isn’t that the disappearing literary magazine?)

Lately I have been thinking about episodic writing.  It is all the rage on TV as water-cooler heads ask what the hell is happening on Leftovers.  Even Sundance is currently holding a lab on episodic writing as movie goers beg Mr. Big and Carrie to report in.  Who can even think about anything else but Pats and Edina coming to the silver screen.  

It was good enough for Dumas and his 139 installments of The Count of Monte Cristo.  Good enough for Harriet Beecher Stowe’s 40 weeks of Uncle Tom’s Cabin.  Installment writing also informed the storyteller what was riveting and what was a snooze.  They could take it all into consideration or not.  In fact, wiki lists 764 novels delivered in installments.  Take that Mr. Bezos!

Titillating interest delivered on the internet in episodes?  Oh the tragedy bibliophiles lament.  And yet it is already in full swing on your iphone and android with Juke Pop, Wattpad and Fiction Press.  2015 we are going to learn a whole new way to tell our stories and, most importantly, to store our stories.  Our ancestors might have had elders as libraries, sitting around a blazing fire but we will learn a whole new way in the doing.  Life after all, is episodic. 

*Iron Jawed Angels and Milk

Opening Night with Frida

I knew before I left the house that it was going to be packed.  It was both sold out and valet parking only.  The sun went down as I was driving north on Pacific Coast Highway and traffic through SurfTown was slow. 

I suppose it is about as close as anything truly Frida was going to get to my home.  2012, many of her paintings were at LACMA in a show, In Wonderland ~ Women Surrealists in Mexico and the U.S..  I went to that three times.  And just two years ago, I went to Mexico City for a week to see as much as one can see on Frida Pilgrimage.   But this was coming here.  People could see her here.  And there is something particularly romantic about it being the Museum of Latin American Art. 

On the way I decided that nothing was going to piss me off – nothing – not lines or idiotic remarks or standing for hours just to get a glimpse.  It was not going to be the night to see each and every photo in detail. That was going to a weekday in an empty museum.  This was more a holy circumambulation to the altar of a genius.  And I knew that each of us love her for different reasons ~ all of them worthy.   

Leaving in daylight, arriving  in full moon darkness made it seem like it was an entirely different world.  Lines were all the way out of the front, the parking lot and out to the street.  The outfits were extraordinary, clearly everyone dressed thoughtfully, as Tim Gunn would say.  It was a triple crown of Mexican aesthetics, an art show and an opening party.  It did not disappoint.  Forty five minutes in line, the first I saw in the lobby was a row of dazzling Queens. De-Lish! 

Galleries being packed I did what any sensible person would do ~ go to the lieu and then the shop.  A few things Frida, pricy and pretty.  Disappointed that there was no book of the show itself.  There were a dozen retail booths on the other side of the building.  Finally on to the galleries

The photos were tiny.  Framed impeccably in big white matts and neutral thin frames.  It was the most respectful mount I have ever seen.  They all were eye level and it was clear, “step in and look, look closer.”  You could see them better in a book but seeing them was secondary to feeling the gasping love fest.  The photos were separated almost chronologically: Family, Loves, Pain.  Some were alone and some framed in 3’s or 4’s.  There were about seven or eight that were gigantic blow-ups on the walls, announcing that a new category was starting. 

I really did not look much at the actual photos, that is for another day.  A private day.  A day with tissue and a moleskin notebook.  This evening I saw the astounding love for this revolutionary, bisexual, genius who painted what she felt.  And one thing that is true above all else, her capacity for feeling and expressing it is still growing and highly contagious.   

facebook album here

What is the Question, Ms. Cyrus?

It took me a long time to sort out my thoughts, or maybe wait for better ones on the VMA, Wrecking Ball public floggings of Miley Cyrus.  I woke up thinking about it and asking, what is the real question here.  I read and read and I have not found a real question.  If this is all industry hype then it has nothing to do with me and most of you.  However with all the hoopla, I considered this may be a true question.

How does anyone transition from child to adult?  How does anyone strike their own ground and plant their flag?  How did I?  How did you?  Some of us did it very young, like children of addicts.  Some of us never do.  But it seems to me that most of us did something, a series of things to stop being a referential, controlled person to taking control.  Some with grace, some with ire, some in secret, some out loud, and some with great pain. 

There are so many icons to compare this to; Prince Hal to Louise in Gypsy and even Jesus of Nazareth on the train, taking off on his own with his mother freaking out. 

Maybe one wants to say that doing it in public is a special kind of problem but those of us who have not had an easy go of it would disagree.  Escaping domination, establishing one’s self as chief in command, and doing it with intelligence is never easy. My issue with the VMA performance is not that Miley wanted to sound the death knell to all references to Hannah, it is that she didn’t accomplish that goal. 

How do you age out of adolescence is not clothes, not sex, not shock; you behave your way out of it.  Twerking, licking, sticking one’s tongue out, grinding on Beetlejuice while he sings about disrespecting consent, is not going to get you what you actually want, Ms. Cyrus.  If you want society to believe you are an independently thinking adult, then you have to keep behaving like one and we will get the message. It is how these people did it.   Some more successfully than others, but this is not a new or one-of-a-kind situation. 

Who could have been more controlled than Janet Jackson?  Little sidekick to the King of Pop.  I got up today and played her album, Control.  The stage is filled with men, her dancing is mega sexual and, yet, she is making it clear ~ with her new apartment key on her earring ~ SHE IS IN CONTOL.  

Get me a Piece of Vanilla, Milquetoast, BS Pie

Imagine if the film industry took every meaningful, inspiring, insightful and incite-ful story and made it G-rated, a box office success and shaved off every bit of thorny truth or multi-layered complexity.  Imagine if a writer misrepresented a real person and retold a historic event to suit themselves.  Maybe it is their right to do that, to show one side of a life, but a tragic loss occurs when a generation believes that the sanitized version, the mischaracterization, the fantasy re-telling is the actual reality.

Every year around Women’s Equality Day, the best of people advise us to watch Iron Jawed Angels.  Every year I comment that Alice was so much more.  Not only was she more than the movie character but the striking inaccuracies reveal a warped bias on the part of the movie makers.  They made up a male interest.  They made up a Congress member’s wife.  They imply that Alice had some kind of melancholy about not having children (the fictional boyfriend is a widower with a son who charms Alice).  But, more importantly, what is lost in this fantasy?  What is the viewer robbed of?  That is the real tragedy.  Who was this strong, mouthy, brave, relentless, sometimes divisive woman?  It is my position that the fluffy interpretation negatively impacts every American woman who would have found camaraderie in the true fire and soul of Alice Paul.  I would go so far as to say that the pink hat wearing, gum chewing, bumbling character is held up to be an example as to how far an acceptable woman can veer from lady-like behavior.  Read a book and you will see what it actually took for her to accomplish the 19^th Amendment, how she stood trial in 1917, her demanding leadership style, she did not suffer fools, she was not anything near the Hillary Swank edition.

Now the identical thing will be happening around May 22, Harvey Milk Day.  Oh yes, the movie Milk won an Oscar, starred Sean Penn, was truly moving.  I have watched it 6 times, at least.  But if you watch The Times of Harvey Milk and then watch Milk - ask two questions: What is the difference in these two representations of Harvey and what is the impact to future generations if they believe the man portrayed in Milk is the whole picture.  The fictionalized Milk epitomizes the very thing that is a terrible problem in the LGBT movement; it shows a single issue man on a single issue mission.  The Times of Harvey Milk shows Harvey working with labor, with women, with seniors, with people of color and imparts to the viewer that being gay was one facet of Harvey - he was the Mayor of Castro before it was a mecca for gays.  He was inclusive and open; something the LGBT movement could surely use today.  My hope is that high schools that do celebrate Harvey Milk Day will watch BOTH movies and have a real lesson plan that identifies the differences in these movies.   

Most recently I sat in a theater and watched, The Help.  Loved it.  Loved the casting.  Loved the poster.  Loved the sets, the clothes, the chotchkies, the music.  But I am 63 and lived through that period and I know that the entire movie from start to end was one vanilla, milquetoast, BS pie.  It has nothing to do with the facts of prejudice, poverty, politics of that time.  Madger Evers murder was some little wispy mention, a black woman leaving her abusive husband was a flick solved with some deep fry and what’s more fun than not allowing a woman to use the loo – a knee slapping good laugh; pass the popcorn.  Hollywood will surely have a 5 minute reprieve from sexism during Oscar season, as The Help gets a dozen nominations.  Can’t you just picture all of the bigotry and anti-woman business of the industry being whitewashed on the red carpet.  And what of this movie being used as a teaching tool?  Gee, wasn’t the 60’s just a lot of good music and silly women acting all clique-ky.

Notable exceptions validate a wish that non-documentary films can tell the truth.  Sir Richard Attenborough’s Gandhi was meticulously scripted and shot.   In fact, the book, Gandhi, A Pictorial Biography shows the shots side by side; Patel, Nehru, Kasturba, Jinnah, the ashrams, the courtrooms, the jails – all painstakingly accurate.  Certainly Gandhi the man was infinitely more complex than this movie but it is not dishonest, sanitized, fictionalized and offers the viewer genuine inspiration. 

Martin Scorsese’s Kundun, portrays the life of the 14^th Dalai Lama from ages 2- 24 with astounding accuracy.  Particularly significant is that many of the actors are direct blood relatives of His Holiness, the Dalai Lama.  You can be sure that the ceremonies and traditions are accurately portrayed.  

I love movies.  I love social justice.  I worry that cute is painting over pure.  I worry that polite is being advanced as possible.  I worry that women, in particular, are being corralled by darling little shots of Ben teaching Alice to drive.  I worry when Hollywood makes a movie that implies that the Civil Rights Movement was a wonderful success and, golly, wasn’t it just a lot of fun.    

Activists Throw a Happy Fizzie Party

Activists are just plain folk who add a dash of carbonation to society.  Within the Women's Movement, it is any one from a sixth grader presenting her science project on Sally Ride, to Lily Ledbetter taking it to court, to demonstrators risking arrest outside of a women's health clinic.  In the LGBT movement it is a kid who doesn't go along with a joke using the words, "that's so gay," to Log Cabin people testing the justice of DADT, to people walking across America.  An activist is anyone who steps off the curb of convention and takes a chance in the context of their lives.

In 45 years I have known many activists.  Some are brilliant, patient, steadfast and plot the long distance.  Some are headstrong, narrow-minded, prefer risk.  Some have carried the oppression of their tribe to their own personal breaking point and just want relief.  Personally I am a fan of them all.  I really adore the crazy ones who push the bands of convention and make room for everyone else to make their next move.

Non-violent direct action activists take a lot of heat.  Obviously the mainstream has no idea what would inspire them but the real pain happens when tribe members rise up in opposition.  Over the last year to hear the more conservative LGBT organizations question the tactics of getEQUAL is maddening.  I want to tell them that they don't have to agree, don't have to promote but, at the very least, they need to understand that the loony tune people who arrive by land, air and sea; who carry handcuffs, who fast are actually expanding the limits of social convention.  It just might be easier to talk openly at dinner about being gay after 5 people face arrest at the White House.  

I am privileged to be hosting the Dallas premiere of March On; February 24, 7 PM.  Dallas is the home of the director, Laura McFerrin and her family, and several of the people who made the National Equality March possible.  Less than a year after the march itself; the documentary, March On both debuted at the Austin LGBT Film Festival and began winning awards. Shown in Los Angeles and New York City, Washinton DC and San Francisco, March On is just beginning to set hearts on fire for the American Equality Movment. 

In addition to the magic of March On itself, it is inspiring to show it while raising funds for local and nation equality organizations. It has raised funds for the LGBT Center in San Francisco and New York Marriage Equality.  The Dallas screening is a fundrasier for getEQUAL, our real convention breakers who demand national attention through their relentless non-violent direct action for civil rights. 

Here is your opportunity to be a part of the March On legacy, support getEQUAL and advance the Equality Movement.  Please consider donating today and join in the March to Equality.
 
SPONSOR LEVELS:  
Rainbow   $2,500
Red          $2.000
Orange     $1,500
Yellow      $1,000
Green         $500
Blue            $250
Violet         $100

All Donations are tax deductable.

ONLINE DONATIONS http://getequal.org/marchon

MAIL DONATIONS
Check made out to getEQUAL Action to:
Heather Cronk
c/o GetEQUAL Action
6304 46th Avenue
Riverdale, MD 20737
     
Thank you for your donation; you make it possible that this is NOT a ticketed event.
Everyone is welcome.  See you in Dallas!

Guerrilla Girls rock my world

In 1977 I fell in love with an artist.  Can you imagine?  It sounds like a lyric and it was a very emotional, romantic and complex song.  The little apartment over the bookstore was filled with acrylics and oils and canvases and books and posters.  Her favorite painting, in all the world, was Vermeer's Girl in the Red Hat.  There were reproductions of it in every room, even the laundry room.

When we visited the National Gallery and she saw it in person for the first time, she fell to her knees and wept.  The guard stepped back to stand with me and quietly asked, "Is she an artist?"  I could only nod.  The guard held everyone away for many, many minutes while Maria took it all in.  I suppose at that moment, I fell in love with the power of art.  As I have written about several times, I wander museums looking for art by women.  It is the opening of my lectures on women's rights.  It is the question on my mind in the Louvre, the National Gallery, the Getty, every museum. 

My heart exploded when I first discovered the Guerrilla Girls; their books, their masks, their mission.  Seeing them at the National Museum of Women in the Arts last week was an unexpected bonanza of feminism, human rights and the arts.  Their presentation included slides, facts, figures, and conversation.  Frida is in a wheelchair and Kathe is having fun with a cigar. 

During the Q&A, a person asked how they felt about "being here."  Kathe was very insightful to immediately understand that the question was about the nature of a women's museum.  Most likely being asked many times over the years, they both knew the facets of the question.  And, to their great credit, they answered in depth while pointing out that they do not agree.  Frida believes that it is important to have a museum of women's art.  It is a undeniable testament to women in the arts.  Kathe said that she did not see it that way.  Why should women's art be segregated and, thus, the museum offer a conciliatory gesture that women have their own museum?  While women may be 16% of Congress, women's art in museums is just a sliver of that percentage. 

The entire conversation reminded me of a terrible choice Maria and I tackled in our bookstore thirty years ago ~ do we integrate all of the literature (Virginia and Thomas side by side) or do we make one of the two rooms of the store - Women's Work.  Upstairs, with rare exception (Vermeer and Dali) it was all and only women's work.  It was how I met Kahlo, Fini, Chicago, Flack, Krasner, Gentileschi.  We listened to Nyro, MacCrae, Morgana King, Anita O'Day, Alice Coltrane, Holiday.  But what would the fallout be in this ultra conservative neighborhood of Newport Beach, California? 

Maria was a Gemini and my moon is in Gemini, and finally we made the decision to segregate the work but could argue each side with equal commitment.  And so Kathe and Frida, my Guerrilla Girl friends, I get. I really get it. 

Guerrilla Girls inside my little pink camera

Sunday, October 29, the Guerrilla Girls, Kathe Kollwitz and Frida Kahlo spent the afternoon at the National Museum of Women in the Arts in Washington D.C.  I was in the second row, mesmerized and in love.  These amateur videos are from the Q&A.  The only fissure in this event is that I must work on my camera skills. 

Frida Kahlo, seated in a wheelchair with a temporary injury, is answering a question about others joining in the masked movement.  I was thrilled to hear that the Girls encourage all masked avengers to take on injustice.  Cat woman, anyone?

Kathe Kollwitz was asked about the separation of women's issues from human rights.  She talks about spending time with women Nobels and discussing that there is a "big fight taking place on the world stage to make women's issues, human rights issues."  (you can hear me mumble ~ "Oh Jesus." 

 

A Powerful Sweet Treat ~ you deserve it.

This has been on heck of a week, Gay people who have any sense about them did not really relish all of the media ripping apart the orientation of Senator Craig (R Idaho).  I would venture to guess that his behavior only made many more men live in fear, freak out in the realization of how powerful, corrupt and vengeful the family values-identified world is, and get further in that closet ~ behind the wing-tips and Ferragamo neckties.  The youtube video of his I AM NOT GAY press conference has been viewed 61,487 times, as of this moment.

The second idiotic news story, that was unavoidable, was the horror of talking Barbie, showing up in the form of Miss Teen USA, South Carolina.  We did create her, you know.  She looks exactly as we told her.  Those teeth!  That skin!  And hair like spun gold.  We think she is so pretty, we have contests and runways and crowns.  Oddly, these contests are defended with a sentence or two about the expensive scholarships winners are given.  This young lady would not be able to get into a university ~ so I hope she can pass it on to her younger fat sister who is wicked smart, wearing glasses and braces, watching at home on her notebook computer and hates her own body.  This youtube video has been viewed, as of this moment, 10,658,187 times. 

But here's the deal.  We need a little balance.  And it is available.  Just like the ridiculous people who think that the internet is only porn, you and I have looked further and know better.  All we have to do is go just a tiny bit below the surface and there it is. This lovely youtube video is by a woman and about a woman.  It has been viewed 166 times.  Hey give yourself nine minutes, turn up the sound and watch the beauty.  You deserve it.  I believe that when you do, the day will be more in balance.  War won't end.  Poverty won't be eliminated.  The oppressed won't be liberated.  But we will be better at handling it all.

And please leave a nice comment.  Women bloggers and vloggers are just eviscerated with hateful comments from unbalanced people.   This vlogger will make more visual treats for us. 

I LIVE ALONE AND LOVE TO WORK ~ Mary Cassatt