The new year is here. The sun is shining in San Diego. History and art set the tone for January and February. 2010 is off and running. Hope you can find the time to be part of these offerings.
The Historians are coming!
We are thrilled to host a reception for visiting members of the American Historical Association, in town for their 124th Annual meeting and Project Muse the new editors of the Journal of Women's History.
Friday, Jan 8, 5 to 7pm
The current President of the AHA is Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, whose book title "Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History" is imprinted on our ever popular museum T-shirts (for sale on our web site).
Please join us in welcoming the members of the American Historical Association to San Diego. RSVP to 619 233-7963.
Ladies Who Paint
In the tradition of Grandma Moses, these 3 artists discovered their artistic talents later in life and have made creative expression part of their daily lives.
Saturday, January 9 at 4pm
Please join us to view "VENTURES IN ART", a representational collection
Mollie Solorzano, Linda Kennedy and Georgianna Galas have painted together for several years and share a love of expression. Their work will amaze you.
And in February
"The Many Variations of Jean Cornwell"
Opening Reception: Friday, February 5
Jean's work speaks for itself... but just as loud, are the words of the artist herself:
My first one-woman art show was
exhibited on the underside of my grandmother's kitchen table. I had not
yet developed my own particular style nor could I reveal my source of
inspiration but I was, nevertheless, expressing my artistic self. In
years to come these childish dabblings would lead me to a never-ending
experimentation with a variety of styles, media and methods which, to
this day, are still in the process of creative evolution.
in the Black Capital of the world, Harlem, I was bombarded with sights
and sounds that only this unique neighborhood could offer. I felt I had
it all and was quite aware that I was living in a very live art
gallery. From behind the windows of my basement apartment, I viewed the
colorful parade of Black ladies with their sugar brown legs; red-eyed
winos, drooling in drunken contentment in the curb; the white-tipped
cane of the nameless blind man announcing this approach. I listened to
the local crooners, using the stoops as their public stages. I watched
the flamboyantly-dressed numbers runner make his twice-daily rounds
dispensing either joy or sorrow. When I can on the street itself, I
danced to the hop-scotch rhythms of the double-dutch, played with the
neighborhood girls. I watched with envy the scrabby-kneed boys playing
their game of loadies with old bottle caps. I enjoyed the summer
evening games of stoop-ball watching the soft pink ball bravely
bouncing against the gray-brown cement steps. It was a time for
running, laughing, jumping-a fun time. A lifetime of images, waiting to
be born, were formed on these streets by these alive Black people.