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Unexpected Portraits Capture Teen Girls When They Aren't Looking

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At first glance Julia Peirone's images might look like a mistake. However upon further inspection, the young female subjects betray something fascinating, each self-effacing hair flick and eye roll unraveling their thinly composed expressions and thwarting our own understanding of portraiture. In her series More Than Violet, Peirone shot hundreds of frames in order to achieve these startling "in between" moments, the girls themselves suspended between childhood and womanhood. The sitters' candy-colored eyeshadow and glossy mouths slightly agape betray token habits and mannerisms of their youth. At an age where being looked at is "simultaneously thrilling and terrifying", here the attempt at composure and allure is candidly obstructed. Peirone's subjects reveal themselves when they feel unobserved, fidgeting with jewelry and twisting hair in moments of awkward uncertainty.

The series captures a different sort of vulnerability and intimacy than other portraiture, ignoring both the tropes of fine art photographic practice and the social media clichés these girls undoubtedly participate in on a daily basis. More Than Violet makes room for the unexpected and ask questions of girlhood, womanhood and the uncomfortable idea of being looked at.

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Feature Shoot is updated daily with photography stories from around the globe.

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What Is It Like to Document Endangered Tribes in Africa?

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I've seen a lot of photographers traveling around Africa and shooting local tribes. It's kind of a trend in today's photography. However, none of them talks much about the feelings and emotions they've experienced while being around probably the most isolated people on the planet and capturing their daily routine.

Few days ago, I was contacted by Trupal Pandya and Alexander Papakonstadinou, New-York based photographers who recently returned from Ethiopia where they've been documenting endangered tribes. Trupal told me more about their trip, and shared a series of photographs they took during their time there. By looking at these photo's and listening to the fascinating stories from the trip, I've realized that there is so much in a "backstage." It is said that picture is worth a thousand words, however in this case pictures can't begin to effectively demonstrate even a tiny part of what it feels like to be so far away from the civilization and document people living that way.

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This story enthralled me to the extent that I decided to conduct an interview, which could allow viewers to experience a small part of what photographers went through in a forgotten land of the Sahara. Below you'll find a record of exclusive conversation with Trupal Pandya and a series of photographs from the trip that, I sincerely hope, will allow you to gain a sense of this fantastic adventure.

What prompted you to conduct this trip to Ethiopia?

The sole reason we went to Ethiopia to document these tribes was to photograph them before they vanished. Our initial research showed that these tribes were vanishing due to multiple reasons including westernization, globalization. Also, the government is building a huge dam in the valley due to which they might have to relocate in near future. We wanted to photograph them in their most natural and raw form before they changed/modernized/vanished.


Where have you been travelling exactly? Did you have a permanent place for camp?

We landed in Addis Ababa and drove to our base Jinka. We branched out from Jinka to different tribes in the interiors and kept coming back to Jinka to charge our batteries, refuel, get water, food etc. Sometimes we would drive for 12 hours in the jungle to reach a particular tribes. We slept in tents and our car at times.




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How did you manage to access tribes?

We were really lucky to find the right fixer who gave us access to these tribes. We took huge sacks of coffee or corn whenever we went to a tribe so they would let us stay. Sometimes it was money, sometimes clothes, sometimes food. It was always a bartered thing.


What was your impression when you met these tribes for the first time?

We worry about money, power, status and the way the world perceives us. While we spend all of our energy succumbing to these, there's people like you and me that are living parallel lives, except in a place where there's miles of nothingness. The Omo Valley in Ethiopia, home to tribes like Mursi, Hamer, Benna has been one of the most surreal places I have had the fortune of experiencing.


Can you describe feelings you have experienced during this trip?

Driving through dirt roads for hours, going deeper into the vastness of the wilderness in Ethiopia, the feelings moving through my body cannot be explained. Never before in my life have I seen a group of people so detached from what you and I call civilization. Yet, while I looked at them through the lens, the intensity of their gazes and the force of existence that they were emitting was almost unnatural.


How did local people react to your camera? Were they shocked or has it become almost routine for them?

Photographing tribes was the most challenging thing, temperamentally they seemed heated, with the advent of tourism they have learnt they can make money in exchange of letting people photograph them. With their constant badgering, it was hard to focus on a subject as long as I would have liked to, additionally, every time the flash went off, they believed the stark light was sucking up their blood. It was evident the discomfort it was causing them; the more flashed that went off, the angrier they got. The fact that they were carrying AK-47s further caused me to be intimidated, but our driver and tour guide managed to put me at ease when he pulled out a semi-automatic weapon himself and escorted us away.


What is your most treasured memory from the trip?

While the entire trip was magical, there are some stories that stand out more than the others. The night I saw a young boy perform his rite of passage is one of them. Seeing him jump over the backs of these bulls was an extraordinary display of talent. Before he took the leap, the nervousness hung thick in the air; but it didn't last long as the women of the tribe inebriated by now, broke into loud, manic chants and cheers to encourage and welcome the boy into manhood.


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What message do you wish for your photographs to convey to the world?

I remember sitting out and just looking up at the vast stretches of nothingness, when a plane flew overhead. The people on the plane had no idea what is right under them, this whole new world where humans exist, in their most raw form. They were the most beautiful people I have laid eyes on, some of them were bare naked, some had adorned themselves with beads, some had painted themselves with ash, yet they all had a sense of regality to them. And that raw beauty in it's most natural form is what I want to show the world through my photographs. The people of Omo Valley compelled me to reassess the way I looked at life, rather retold me of what is important. We get too caught up in the rat race called life, Ethiopia reminded me that money is not important to be happy, what matters is the hunt for our own happy place where we see beauty in all things.


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Photos by Trupal Pandya and Alexander Papakonstadinou

Saturday New York City Art Stroll

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All photos taken by me.



On Saturday, April 12, I decided I would go on a New York City art stroll after I dropped off my income tax returns. On my way, the first thing I encountered that grabbed my attention was an artist working on an advertisement for a Larry Levan event in the East Village.

Below are highlights of the rest of my encounters.

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Klara Kristalova, Big Girl Now
Lehmann Maupin
201 Chrystie Street
February 27-April 26, 2014

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Laurie Simmons, Kigurumi, Dollars, and How We See
Salon 94 Bowery
March 7-April 27, 2014

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Jamie Warren, That's What Friends Are For
The Hole
April 11-May 4, 2014

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Went back for a second glance, after attending the preview last Thursday
James Franco, New Film Stills
Pace Gallery
April 11-May 3, 2014

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Adam Pendleton
Pace Gallery
April 4-May 3, 2014

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ran into artist Dan Colen
Lone Tree, group show
Marlborough Chelsea
April 4-May 3, 2014

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Nate Lowman
Maccarone
April 3 -June 2014

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Frances Stark

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Judith Bernstein
Gavin Brown
March 3-April 19, 2014

From the East Village through the Lower Eastside, over to Chelsea down to the West Village, I strolled. By the time I was through, my feet were through. All in all I enjoyed my day. What are the highlights of the latest art exhibitions you've taken in?

Timothy Robert Smith: 'Kaleidoscopic Realism' at Copro Gallery

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Timothy Robert Smith is a Los Angeles painter whose "Kaleidoscopic Realism" jumbles and disorients. His works have an air of visionary fiction -- rather like Piranesi's prison fantasies or Tintoretto's religious paintings -- that offers a dazzing antidote to what Smith calls the "tunnel vision" of civilization's dominant linearity.

I recently interviewed Smith and asked him about his themes, his ideas and his background.

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Timothy Robert Smith: Photo by Yuki Toy


John Seed Interviews Timothy Robert Smith

What are the some of the themes and ideas present in your work?

Some of the themes include:

Modern physics and the nature of reality: this includes time and space, hidden/alternate dimensions, and probable selves. I'm trying to show a cinematic picture of the universe based on these ideas.

Art as Science: à la Leonardo Da Vinci

I'm also interested in radical/intuitive/mystical/primitive science and the fine line that exists between what is/isn't considered "scientific": for example Nikola Tesla and his "psychic powers." Also, how our accepted ideas of physical reality are always in flux (see Steven Hawking's The Grand Design).

Consciousness: belief systems and how they alter the nature of reality, The role of "the self" in our technological-based consumer society ("Technocracy"). The struggle to survive, the fine line between sanity and insanity... Who are we really?

The theory that everyone is really their own opposite: we are beautiful Contradictions, acting out roles in a theatre of the absurd.

Finding peace within a civilization: empowerment through enlightenment.

Enlightenment: that undefinable sense of knowing. My work operates like a Zen koan, throwing around paradoxical visual ideas designed to force a temporary glitch in our auto-pilot systems of consciousness.

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Untitled, 20 x 16 inches, oil on wood panel, 2014


What kinds of images are you interested in creating?

Lots of trains, "urban" landscapes, people traveling through colliding dimensions, technology, homelessness, "civilization" destroying natural land, and divisions of wealth/class.

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Transmission in Multiple Dimensions, 48 x 48 inches, oil on canvas, 2013



What will my readers find most interesting about you?

- I toured Europe in a punk band when I was 18 (The Fixtures). We mostly played in Germany where there was a huge squatter anarchist movement.

- I almost majored in film at CSULA -- only had a few credits to go -- but I switched my major to art to keep getting free student aid money. and because I only wanted to make experimental art films anyway, which did not go over so well with.. anybody.

- I lived in and helped run an underground experimental music club in downtown LA out of a warehouse. Eventually it was shut down by the fire department.

- I lived in a Silverlake Co-Op with 12 people, three cats, five chickens, and a garden. I built a padded room within a room in the basement to act as a sound-proof isolation chamber around my bed, called the "Space Pod." But the kitchen traffic was high volume and it didn't work too well.

- Then, I felt a "calling" to go on a three-month cross country motorcycle trip on an '86 Honda NightHawk 450 with nothing but a sleeping bag. I slept outside for most of the trip, unless I passed through a state where I had a friend.

- I play Banjo like a sitar to make psychedelic bluegrass music.

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In the Event of All Things to Be or Have Been Being Now

60 x 72 inches, oil on canvas, 2014




Are there some technical things we should talk about, for example, your use of perspective?

Perspective is a main component, both of the artist's experience of the work and of the viewer's.

My painting process is something I develop as I go; an intuitive map, sometimes unknown to my consciousness. I mostly feel what I am trying to say, but I can't quite think or imagine it until it becomes real. Every finished painting is a surprise revelation to me.

My work has cinematic elements -- coming form my background in film -- including characters, lighting, hidden stories, subliminal messages.

Can you walk me through two or three of your recent paintings and tell me what you hope they have to say?

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Probability Feedback Loop, 36 x 48 inches, oil on canvas, 2014



My latest piece, "Probability Feedback Loop," is about alternate dimensions and the interconnection of opposites. All of the people are painted twice as two probable versions of themselves; an idea coming from my interest in theoretical physics and abnormal psychology. I found models who could transform their identity through facial expressions and attire. The centerpiece character is a good friend and amazing artist, Joe Holliday, whom I've known for years. We both come from a similar hardcore punk background; involving lots of secret backyard shows and urban exploration.

The two Joe's -- hardcore Joe and business man Joe -- bump shoulders while crossing paths into each other's worlds. Another character is a man who, in one reality, is a schizophrenic homeless man; and, in another, is a professor reading a book about the (schizophrenic) nature of reality, simply titled "REALITY."

If you look carefully, the "R" appears backwards on the back cover, suggesting that reality can be read forwards and backwards. Other clues include the destination signs on each side of the train that together read "Holographic Multiverse," and the ad poster that shows a hand pressing "Pause" on a remote control. The ad background has two Google Maps destination markers, one right side up and one upside down.

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Reality Theater, 48 x 60 inches, oil on canvas, 2014



The main concept behind "Reality Theater" comes from Plato's Allegory of the Cave, in which cave-dwellers believe that the shadows projected on the wall are Reality. In my allegory, 3-D movie patrons -- being served little orange pills -- believe the hands projected on the screen are actually their hands. The imagery is inspired by the cover of The Society of the Spectacle, by French situationist Guy Debord.

Before I read the book, I imagined it was about reality being is a mass hallucination, or spectacle, that we collectively experience through constant exposure to stimuli. Debord's "Spectacle" is less about the nature of reality itself and more focused on human systems within it -- commodity and colonization -- but I get what I like from it. To me, his most radical statement is "All that once was directly lived has become mere representation," which is more relevant today than ever given our fascination with iPhone apps and social media.

Also in that piece is a reference to a page in Be Here Now by Ram Das, about our addiction to temporary satisfaction, which is represented by melting ice cream cones. He explains that we keep eating and eating, constantly in search of the eternal "big ice cream cone in the sky," which is clearly unobtainable. His point is to abandon craving and desire; and fully accept what is here and now.

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Kaleidoscopic Convergence, 24 x 30 inches, oil on canvas, 2014



How would you describe your working process? Your paintings seem to involve a great deal of schematizing and planning.

Locations, strangers, and spontaneous events inspire me. I develop ideas and images as I go, constantly switching between thinking, sketching, photography and painting. I like to consider every possible angle and physical/psychological viewpoint. For "Reality Theater" I posted on Facebook looking for volunteers who were down to come to my studio to be photographed. It was great and really helped me capture the randomness of people sitting in a theater. My mom wanted to be in it, and you can see her there behind the crazy-eyed kid, who is based on old photos of me.

"Probability Feedback Loop" was more carefully planned out, but all of the characters are based on exaggerated versions of people I see on the train. "In the Event of All Things to Be and Have Been Being Now" is a Metro stop in South Pasadena, but the pigeons are from downtown LA.

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Marginal Prophet, 16 x 20 inches, oil on wood, 2014



"Kaleidoscopic Convergence" is my apartment hallways at night and "Marginal Prophet" is from a photo I took outside my painting studio. It's all experience and life.

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Title to be determined by owner, 16 x 20 inches, oil on wood panel, 2014


Note: This piece will contain custom lettering on the typewriter paper of a message significant to the owner, which will become the title. Upon acquiring the piece, the owner must determine a goal to be achieved in this life. When the goal is accomplished, the second eye of the Daruma doll will be colored in, or "opened".

Timothy Smith, David Molesky and Vincent Cacciotti
April 19 - May 10
Opening: April 19, 8 - 11:30PM
CoproGallery - Bergamot Station
2525 Michigan Ave. T5
Santa Monica, CA 90404


Note: T. R. Smith will also have work on view in "Melancholy Menagerie: A Gaze into the World of Big Eyes" at the Fullerton Museum, opening May 3.

Ai Weiwei's Show at the Brooklyn Museum and the Power of Self-Expression -- An Exclusive Video Interview

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Ai Weiwei is an extraordinary man, architect, artist and activist. He is a true cultural provocateur, who works with passion, determination and conviction. His controversial status stems in part from wanting to tell the truth about the political regimen in China, and the lack of freedom and democracy that their citizens experience on a daily basis. Having had a very prolific career that spans more than 20 years, the Brooklyn Museum chose to honor and celebrate Weiwei's career in 2014. First, he is an honoree of this year's Brooklyn Artists' Ball, and second and most importantly, he is the subject of a retrospective at the museum that opens on April 18. The show is called According To What? and it is centered on the issues of freedom of speech, self-expression and other basic human rights (or lack thereof) in China and around the world.

Unfortunately, Weiwei's passport has been unlawfully and arbitrarily retained by the Chinese authorities and because of that he is unable to travel. That is not a reason hinder his message, though. Ai has used the power of social media, including Twitter and Instagram, to keep expressing himself. He has filmed documentaries that are banned in China but seen all over the world, he is putting together massive shows in museums internationally without having to be present. At any given time, his work can be seen at a booth in Art Basel or in a gallery show in Berlin. That is the power of art and the reach of Ai Weiwei -- which extends beyond any autocratic regime and its desire to control and suppress people's most fundamental needs: the right to be themselves.

The interview was filmed and recorded last week in New York City, which was morning time in Beijing, and although the audio and image are not the best because of technology and communication issues in China, I still think that Weiwei's voice is loud and clear: Nothing and nobody can stop him or his art.

Closing an Opera With 'Dignity'

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After 49 years, the San Diego Opera announced a few weeks ago, it was closing its doors. Ian Campbell, the Opera's CEO and artistic director, said:

"The whole idea is to exit with dignity. ... Exiting with dignity is critical to us. This city doesn't need a bankrupt opera company."


This idea of closing "with dignity" was echoed by Karen Cohn, chairwoman of the San Diego Opera.

What does that mean? How can putting 50 full-time staff and over 350 local artists, musicians and other trades people out of work, and shuttering one of San Diego's longest surviving art and culture icons, be noble or grandeur?

According to ABC 10 News, the employees "have growing suspicions over what they say is a contractual severance payout of more than $1 million to Opera CEO Ian Campbell. Sources, who asked to remain anonymous... Campbell's severance package is 'extensive,' and claim the severance would entitle him to 'years of getting paid.'"

Controversy has surrounded the San Diego Opera's leadership, and a "former official with the Internal Revenue Service" told KPBS the "very generous compensation packages" given to the Campbell's (he and his former spouse) could raise questions with legal authorities."

Aside from the Campbell's compensation, which is not to be dismissed, the management style of Ian Campbell was under intense scrutiny. Several high-ranking members of the opera staff felt they were working in a very hostile environment. One staff member, Dr. Nicholas Reveles, a director with education and outreach responsibilities, said management was "closed, (and) unwilling to dialogue."

Rising ticket prices, declining attendance, lack of sufficient philanthropic contributions and an aging and dying patron base all contribute to many performing arts organizations problems and opera has more than its share.

But as Keturah Stickman, the director of San Diego's last performance this week, told Adam Nagourney of the New York Times, Houston, Chicago and San Francisco have embraced change and "are bringing in world-class musical theater and world-class chamber work, and I think that these are both options that would bring in a larger audience or a different audience."

Several board members said they were blind-sided by this decision to close and that maybe, just maybe, like other non-profit performing arts organizations, the San Diego Opera needed to find a way to adapt too.

An Incredible Collection of Animal Crossing Fan Art

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Barold by Amy Liu


Though the community simulation game Animal Crossing has been around since 2001, it saw a surge in mid-2013 and is seeing a fresh influx of love from the online community this year.

To have some fun with the game's various characters, Nina B created an Animal Crossing collab (an online artist collaboration, whereby Twitter and Tumblr's artistic denizens are invited to contribute illustrations to a themed project) that has grown quite popular. It should go without saying that participants' contributions have been dreadfully adorable.

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I recently interviewed Nina B about her collab and love of Katamari Damacy. To see more art from this project, swing by Nina's Animal Crossing Collaboration blog on Tumblr.

Simone Collins (SC): What inspired you to kick off a collab oriented around Animal Crossing?

Nina B. (NB): I was definitely inspired by other collaborations that were popping up at the same time! The first one I heard about (and joined) was the Final Fantasy Artphabet (by @paperbeatstweet) and it took off from there! Suddenly collabs seemed to be surrounding me.

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Kid Cat by Gene Goldstein


SC: Why do you think Animal Crossing in particular has become such a beloved game?

NB: Animal crossing is so unique and cute, and I think those are the big draws. Each new version is getting better too, which is sometimes hard to accomplish with a series. I'm still amazed at how much New Leaf has! I've had it since launch and I still haven't gotten everything, and probably never will. New Leaf also really got better with the social aspect. It's not perfect, but I've never gotten to play with so many people before and I love it.

SC: Have you encountered any surprises while coordinating this collab?

NB: My first big surprise was realizing the number of spots I had to fill. Over 500! I really didn't know how many villagers the game had, and I didn't give it too much thought before I started. The second surprise was how many people flocked to it when it was first announced. I don't have a ton of followers, even less at the time, so I didn't think anyone would hear about it outside friends. And maybe the best surprise were the number of people with nice things to say about it! Sure I've gotten a couple folks with other things to say, but they are so few and far between it's easy to ignore. The bad ones aren't even that bad, to be honest.

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Marcy by Gene Goldstein


SC: Do you think collabs are a fad, or are they here to stay?

NB: They're so new, it's hard to say. I'd like to think they'd stick around! I feel though that they might wane when all the "good ideas" get taken, but there's really a lot that can be done with it. I haven't seen many variations on the standard "pick character, draw character" theme yet either.

SC: Could you tell me a bit more about your background as an artist?

NB: I started out drawing on my own as a kid, and was lucky enough to have a family that encouraged my talent. I didn't really start taking real art classes until community college, and later I moved on to an art school and majored in animation.

SC: How does your involvement with collabs affect your career as professional artist and webcomic creator?

NB: At this point I'd say it hasn't affected me too much, honestly. I've gotten a few more followers, so maybe my art or webcomic gets a few more views. Most people seem to be interested in the collab, which I expected.

SC: Has your social media activity (e.g. involvement in collabs and engagement in general online banter) ever lead to new professional opportunities, or is it more a fun way to stay sharp, be connected with the community, and/or unwind?

NB: Sadly, no job opportunities have come up as a result. Again, at this point I haven't gotten much out of it for myself. I think people want Animal Crossing, not necessarily me. And that's okay! That's why I haven't really advertised my personal Tumblr or Twitter on the AC Collab Tumblr, because it's not really about me. So I'd definitely say it's more about fun!

Rare, Old Photos of Native American Women and Children

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I looked through thousands of old photos, trying to imagine the world of the characters in my new film "Moses on the Mesa." It tells the true story of a German Jewish immigrant who becomes governor of the Native American tribe of Acoma in New Mexico during the days of the Wild West. Photographs from over a hundred years ago can open an amazing portal into the history. But photos don't tell the whole story, and so much of what happened back then is hard to stomach. But I wanted to share some rare visions of Native American women and children especially because not only is history of that time is not usually told with honesty, but it rarely tells anything about the most vulnerable. Behind the history of Chiefs and the struggles of the Native Americans to preserve their lands, their way of life and just to survive, there were women and children.

Pretty Nose, a Cheyenne woman. Photographed in 1878 at Fort Keogh, Montana by L. A. Huffman.

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A Crow boy. 1907. Photo by Richard Throssel.

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A young Ute woman. Photo from 1880-1900.

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Isleta Pueblo women - Carlotta Chiwiwi and her daughters, María and Felicíta Toura. Early 1900s. Photo by H.S. Poley.

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Cheyenne girl in a beaded dress and breastplate, early 1900s. Oklahoma.

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Blackfoot woman and child. Late 1880s. Photo by Alexander J. Ross, Calgary, Alberta.

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Little Bird. An Ojibwe woman. 1908. Photo by Roland W. Reed.


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Flathead women. Flathead Indian Reservation in western Montana. Photo by Edward H. Boos, taken between 1905-1907.

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Hopi girls looking out window, Hopi, Arizona. Photo by Carl Werntz. 1900.

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Loti-kee-yah-tede. "The Chief's Daughter." Laguna Pueblo, New Mexico. 1905. Photo by Carl E. Moon.

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Stella Yellow Shirt and baby. Brule Sioux. Photo by Heyn Photo. 1899.

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Hopi girls, Sichomovi, First Mesa, Arizona. ca. 1900. Photo by Frederick Monsen.

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Apache girl and papoose. 1903. Photo by Edward Curtis.

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Madonna of the North. An Inuit woman with child. 1900. Alaska.

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A girl at Taos Pueblo. New Mexico. 1895. Photo by H.S. Poley.

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A Kiowa girl. 1892.

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A Tewa girl. 1906. Photo by Edward Curtis.

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Two Inuit children, Nome, Alaska. ca. 1900-1908. Photo by Lomen Brothers.

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Ute women and children. 1894. Photo by H.S. Poley.

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Marie and Juan Pierre, children on the Flathead Indian Reservation in western Montana,1905-1907. Photo by Edward H. Boos.

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If you enjoyed these photos, you can find many more at http://facebook.com/mosesonthemesa

Tribeca Film Fest Sucks! No, It Doesn't

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New Yorkers have it good. I'll say nothing more on this. You like my title, don't you? It reeks of jealousy. I won't be there this year. Damn. Tribeca Film Fest sucks anyway. No, it doesn't. It really doesn't.

I was on my way back from Yankee Stadium on the final day of the festival last year. Fate. A guy standing outside one of the cinemas had seen one too many films and couldn't stomach another. I took his ticket. He asked me if I had heard the warning. No, I hadn't. Do films come with warnings? This one did. I was told it would be the most brilliant film I had ever seen, and also the most devastating. Well, start the damn film already. I want devastation. Now!

The film ended. Still in my seat, unable to breathe properly I turned to my right and saw scores of people howling at the credits. Brilliance and devastation -- 90 minutes of it. I wanted more. I walked back to my hotel thinking about the film I had just seen. If it had this effect on me, surely it would have the same on others. I called a friend and told them about this film. I said, mark my words, this film will take top honors at the next Academy Awards. It has to.

It didn't.

Tribeca Film Fest sucks. No, it doesn't. I wish I was attending this year. Mostly to see Amanda F***ing Palmer hit the rocks and Brad getting circumcised. Who wouldn't want to see Brad getting circumcised?! A storyteller's paradise. I'm most upset how innovative Innovation Week looks. A place for gamers, coders, hackers, screenwriters, futurists, directors, financiers and anyone who has a story to tell. Is what they tell me. Makes me want to throw up. I mean, how can you not want to attend every film, every talk, every event at the fest? I know the fest sucks, but it doesn't.

I'm a storyteller first and foremost and New York for me is a story. I remember my first time in New York City. I remember the magical experience of sitting at the Cafe Carlyle watching Woody Allen tearing it up with his band. I wonder if he still plays there.

I remember the first time I was in New York City, walking into Greenwich Village, picking up a book about Bob Dylan and not leaving the village until I had read it from cover to cover. This will make such a great film I thought.

Or the giant meatball sandwich I got given on my first walk through Little Italy. New York Sucks. No, it doesn't.

To everyone attending the 2014 Tribeca Film Festival -- lap it up, have a blast and let me know which films blew your mind! So many did for me in 2013. I will never miss another festival. I would be stupid to. Even though it sucks. No, it doesn't.

5 Questions for Poets: Part 3

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For the third part in this series, some of America's top poets answer five more questions posed by readers of poetry for National Poetry Month.

1. How many of your poems do you throw away?

Alfred Corn (author of Unions, forthcoming in 2014):
Almost none. I'd rather continue working, revising and recasting until the poem and I get it right; that is, until it seems composed in one breath, with no advance planning. In one instance that took 20 years.

Matthew Zapruder (author of Sun Bear):
I don't usually just throw things away, but I do think of the writing of the poem as a process. Each time I go back to it, I try to cultivate the mindset that a great deal of it might need to be either discarded or rewritten, or saved for some other poem. I'm always looking for what's at the center, the mysterious thing that seems to be reaching toward the unknown. Everything in the poem needs to work towards that, be useful to it. So I keep removing what is extraneous and trying to rebuild the poem again and again until it functions. This can take days or weeks or months or even sometimes years.

Naomi Shihab Nye (author of Tender Spot):
Tons. Reams. Well, no, I don't throw them away, I stuff them into an old locker in a shed in my backyard. It is not a hurt locker; it is a "this is my long life" locker.

Adam Fitzgerald (author of The Late Parade):
None.

TR Hummer (author of Ephemeron and Skandalon):
The advent of the computer has made the wastebasket (which I used to regard as my best friend) more or less obsolete. Now unsuccessful poems tend to sit in files on my desktop, ultimately decaying into other poems, or else just sitting there because I have forgotten about them. Usually if I run across something I began writing and abandoned, I can salvage something from it in a different key.

Henri Cole (author of Touch):
Probably not enough.


Kathleen Peirce
(author of Ardors):
If a poem is finished, I'll save it somewhere, out of gratitude, no matter how much I dislike it. I do throw away all the drafts of my poems, though.

2. Do you still get poems rejected in poetry journals?

Henri Cole:
Very often, and after 30 years, the disappointment is no less painful.

Naomi Shihab Nye:
Of course! Thank goodness!

David Lehman (Series editor for the Best of American Poetry series):
Of course. Everyone does.

3. How many poems do you have memorized?

Adam Fitzgerald:
Not many, just more than I know that I do.

Alfred Corn:
Several dozen, most in English, but a few in other languages. However, you have to revisit them often or the words will erode. I did have Sappho's song to Aphrodite memorized in Greek, but over the years it has slipped away. Hmm. Think I will go now and memorize it again.

Naomi Shihab Nye:
Not enough. This is definitely something to encourage in the young, whose brains are still more flexible and absorbent. All hail the Poetry Out Loud project for encouraging memorization!

David Lehman:
Many. I believe in the value of memorization.

TR Hummer:
Perhaps a dozen.

Kathleen Peirce:
I know a handful (if not a heartful) of poems by heart. Lines surface and go under. They keep me company, whether on the tip of my tongue or in the basement of my unconsciousness.

4. Are creative writing programs good or bad for literature? Why?

Adam Fitzgerald:
Both. Good: Attention. Bad: Wrong type of attention.

Kathleen Peirce:
In my experience, creative writing programs are good for many people. Writing is not dependent on any one thing, or on any one thing for long.

Henri Cole:
Bad, I fear. Through professionalization, conformity and tepidness result, which are death to art.

TR Hummer:
In my experience, a few writers are harmed by writing programs, but that harm arises from issues of temperament, not of the fundamental nature of programs. Furthermore, it does not pay to generalize about this question. Writer A might benefit from being part of Program A, but be damaged by Program Z. Etc. And sometimes the most solitary writers emerge from the cave, associate themselves temporary with a writing program to everyone's benefit (or detriment) and then vanish again. As to literature and universities, I do think English departments are increasingly bad for literature. But that is another question.

Alfred Corn:
Both. The 19th century Italian poet Leopardi once proposed setting up an academy for aspiring poets, saying that this would provide an income for the teacher-poets. Writing programs now do that. But many of the teachers are negligible writers, and the demands made on the good ones sometimes prevent them from getting their writing done. Also, the programs have attracted many aspirants who do not have the requisite talent to succeed. They borrow money to pay tuition, in hopes of a success they will not have. To admit them and keep them for two years strikes me as unethical. A fair percentage have enough middling ability to get themselves into print, but then the scene becomes flooded with writers, in numbers so large that the public doesn't have the time or patience to winnow out the good from the bad.

5. Do you think the Best of American Poetry, or Best Poems of 20__ and the Pushcart annual are useful indices of the best work now being published?

David Lehman:
Every year at least one contributor to that year's Best American Poetry tells us that her or his first exposure was through a volume in the BAP series.

Matthew Zapruder:
No. But they can be interesting to read.

Alfred Corn:
No, though of course sometimes very good poems do appear in them.

TR Hummer:
Only if taken in conjunction with other indices. With great respect to the publications in question, I see no difference between them (as "indices") and any issue of any literary magazine out there. A publication is an index of the decisions made by its editor or editors. Perhaps the most interesting index going is Poetry Daily. Because it has continued for so long, and covered so much more ground than a "mere" book, Poetry Daily has made itself a fascinating resource. It's my opinion that no anthology of any kind is a complete index of any moment in the production of poetry, and the notion that an anthology can be one is destructive.

Kathleen Peirce:
I find anthologies, like translations, are (rightfully) infused with the minds that make them.

Survey: Is Buying Artwork Scarier Than Buying a Car?

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Changsoon Oh's "Seoul." Still from UGallery.


Buying artwork can be scary.

Many think art -- particularly original art -- is prohibitively expensive because they hear about the multimillion-dollar auction results at Christie's or get blindsided by the number of zeros on the wall at their local galleries. As a result, they don't buy.

This notion of "art intimidation" is very real, and has been for years, as the art culture can be seen as a private club, only accessible to deep-pocketed collectors with thick wallets. This perception persists -- and we now have data to confirm it.

To more deeply understand art intimidation in the U.S., my company, UGallery, commissioned a 500-person study to see how buying art is perceived today. Here's what we found.

Many people think...

It's Too Pricey


The study revealed that nearly 70 percent of people have never purchased artwork for their home, with almost 50 percent (!) citing cost as the main barrier to buying.

It's Intimidating


20 percent found buying art from a gallery to be the most intimidating shopping experience of all, more so than shopping for real estate or an expensive car.

What Would Help?


When asked what would make them more comfortable buying art -- because this is the real goal, to make artwork accessible for everyone -- 36 percent named an "easy, money-back return policy," 30 percent want to better understand the background of the artist, and 25 percent cite a "virtual way to look at the art on their walls."

Notice a common thread here? These wants -- easy return policy, information and research on the product, a try-before-you-buy option -- they all are common characteristics of a typical ecommerce company, hence the rise in online art galleries.

Online art is booming, with over 300 web-based art ventures having launched in recent years and at least 71 percent of collectors having now purchased artwork online. Online galleries offer tools and features that fundamentally increase comfort levels when buying art.

The ecommerce model allows a gallery to represent more artists, meaning bigger inventories and a more varied collection, with different price points for any budget or buyer. Curated galleries, in particular, provide confidence in the quality of art because each artist and piece has already been vetted by a team of experts.

Clearly, according to our survey, that's hugely important when considering art.

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So, while art has traditionally been an intimidating area, online art galleries are helping address that, head-on, opening up a previously closed channel and bringing "art to the people" in a more personal, accessible and approachable way. As we see more embrace it, barriers to entry are beginning to fade -- and that's a good thing.

What about you -- have you ever bought art? If not, what's holding you back?

Hindsight Is 20/20

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In 2004, when Aaron Lansky's thrilling book was published, the final chapters of Outwitting History: The Amazing Adventures of a Man Who Rescued a Million Yiddish Books heralded the dawn of a new era. Lansky described how a new technology (electronic scanning) had allowed him to republish many works by Yiddish writers that had been taken from Polish libraries and destroyed by the Nazis. Not only could he reprint many works, he was able to restore collections of Yiddish literature to those Polish libraries.

Today, many of us take the Internet (and the cloud) for granted. But there was a time -- not so very long ago -- when knowledge was much more difficult to access.

  • Some secrets were buried in local historical records that no one had looked at for years.

  • Some silent films had been left in a box in a barn or attic.

  • Some fossils that had been hidden underneath a lake for many years were exposed by drought.

  • Any number of fascinating facts were out of sight and out of mind, just waiting to be discovered.


But inquiring minds always want to know more.

  • More about what makes people tick.

  • More about what makes the sky blue.

  • More about what makes water wet.

  • More about what happened in the past.


One of the blessings of modern science is that it has given us better tools with which to analyze and comprehend the world in which we live. From mapping the human genome to predicting trends in climate change, from predicting earthquakes and tsunamis to exploring the universe, we know more today thanks to science than to our previous (and primitive) reliance on religion and superstition.

Depending on the topic at hand, the results of our queries may allow us to look back and wonder or, conversely, look back in anger. Two new productions offer an excellent demonstration of how this phenomenon plays out in the arts.

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Just as one struggles to determine which came first, the chicken or the egg, art lovers often wonder which came first: inspiration or experimentation. For those who relish a forensic approach to the techniques of great artists, a new documentary entitled Tim's Vermeer demonstrates how science can inspire art (or vice versa).

Produced by Penn Gillette (of Penn & Teller) and directed by Teller, the documentary traces the work of video engineer/inventor Tim Jenison to prove his hypothesis about how Johannes Vermeer (1632-1675) could have created paintings whose lighting was so realistic as to almost appear photographic in nature, even though the daguerrotype camera would not come into use until 1839.







Knowing that x-rays of Vermeer's paintings had failed to reveal any tracing marks beneath the oil, Jenison theorized that the 17th-century artist from Delft could have used a camera obscura (Vermeer might well have learned about optics from one of his neighbors, a master maker of microscopes).

Jenison's personal wealth (he invented one of the first video digitizers for computers as well as the Video Toaster) helped to bankroll his "spare-no-expense" approach to proving his hypothesis. Working in a warehouse in Texas, Jenison's attempt to replicate Vermeer's The Music Lesson took 130 days of devilishly detailed painting using a combination of a camera obscura and two mirrors.


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Poster art for Tim's Vermeer



David Hockney (who appears in this documentary) is quick to point to one of the cultural differences between life in the 17th and 21st centuries. In Vermeer's time, art and science may have been more delicately intertwined than in today's world, where photography is seen as a separate and legitimate art form. Although some purists within the art world might opine that the use of a camera obscura should diminish Vermeer's artistic achievements, their argument eventually boils down to whether or not the ends justify the means.

For a painter, factors like composition, placement, color, and light are among the key ingredients that help to create a work of art. If one technique delivers better results than another, why not experiment with it?

In an intriguing and extremely well-funded way, Tim's Vermeer becomes an exploration of whether or not the artistic process and the scientific process are compatible, mutually exclusive, or occasionally overlap. Here's the trailer:





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It's no secret that the prolific poet/playwright, Marcus Gardley, has a way with words. Those who attended the Bay area premieres of This World in a Woman's Hands (2009 at Shotgun Players) as well as And Jesus Moonwalks the Mississippi (2010 at Cutting Ball Theater) recall Gardley's ability to fuse magical realism with music and poetry, to create provocative (and often stunning) moments of intense theatricality. What an operatic composer might accomplish with notes, Gardley creates with words and meter. He is masterful at creating dramatically solid sounds of defiance and despair for actors.





Commissioned by Berkeley Repertory Theatre, The House That Will Not Stand was nurtured at The Ground Floor (Berkeley Rep's Center for the Creation and Development of New Work). The play recently received its world premiere in a handsome co-production with Yale Repertory Theatre on a unit set (designed by Antje Ellermann) representing a wealthy home in old New Orleans. Directed by Patricia McGregor -- with some magnificent costume work by Katherine O'Neill -- Gardley's new play takes audiences back to a curious moment in American history which has long since been forgotten.





Gardley's play is set in antebellum New Orleans at a time when women of color often lived as concubines to wealthy white men of European descent who, for whatever reason, had grown tired of or disinterested in their wives. Such left-handed marriages often featured a woman of African, Caribbean, or Native American descent who, under normal circumstances, would never have been considered a social equal to her white partner. In Gardley's play, the house that will not stand is home to the following residents:

  • Lazare (Ray Reinhardt), a wealthy white geezer with no interest in his wife, whose heart has belonged to Beartrice for many years.

  • Beartrice (Lizan Mitchell) is Lazare's lover. A fierce and domineering matriarch who has given Lazare three quadroon daughters, Beartrice may not be Lazare's equal in society, but she's a whole lot smarter and shrewder than him. Her ultimate goal is to relocate her daughters to Paris, where their freedom would be guaranteed for life. But when complications arise, a taste of her deadly "sweet potato pie" swiftly leads to Lazare's demise (as it did with her first husband). If need be, Beartrice is willing to give a taste of the sweet pie between her thighs to Lazare's legal widow, knowing that her death would leave Beartrice with a sizable inheritance.



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Lazare (Ray Reinhardt) and Beartrice (Lizan Mitchell) in
The House That Will Not Stand (Photo by: Kevin Berne)



  • Agnès (Tiffany Rachelle Stewart) is the eldest daughter of Lazare and Beartrice. Spoiled, narcissistic, and worried that time may be passing her by, Agnès rebels against her mother's insistence that she not attend the Quadroon Ball and sneaks out of the house with the assistance of her younger sister, Odette.

  • Odette (Joniece Abbott-Pratt) is Beartrice's second child. Because her skin is darker than her older sister's -- and her personality far more appealing -- Odette's feminine charms are quicker to attract upper class white gentlemen. When the man Agnès had planned to ensnare becomes infatuated with Odette, complications quickly ensue.

  • Maude Lynn (Flor De Liz Perez) is the youngest of Gardley's three sisters. Naive and hyperreligious, she is saving herself for Jesus and is eager for her older sisters to save their souls.



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Tiffany Rachelle Stewart, Joniece Abbott-Pratt, and
Flor De Liz Perez in The House That Will Not Stand
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)



  • Marie Josephine (Petronia Paley) is Beartrice's demented sister, who remains eager to be reunited with the ghost of the man she once loved.

  • Makeda (Harriett D. Foy) is Lazare and Beartrice's wily servant, who has helped to raise their three girls. Beartrice has promised Makeda that, upon Lazare's death, she will purchase her slave's freedom for her. Like the character of Pseudolus in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, that's the only thing Makeda really wants. She will do anything to get it.



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Makeda (Harriett D. Foy) and Odette (Joniece
Abbott-Pratt) in The House That Will Not Stand
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)



With choreography by Paloma McGregor, The House that Will Not Stand is the kind of magical theatrical experience that seems wonderfully old-fashioned. Combined with its generous use of sexual imagery, magical spells, French vocabulary, messages from the dead, African chants, and a mulatta version of Cinderella at the Prince's Ball, it lures the audience into the meticulous details of how to secure a lucrative placement (benefitting both mother and daughter) for a young and pretty quadroon.

Gardley's drama also allows audiences to revisit a time when social class and racism worked very differently in the United States, and colored women could become millionaires if they played their cards well. This drama is very much about women playing to their strengths.

Although Lizan Mitchell's Beartrice dominates the evening with a leonine ferocity reminiscent of Eartha Kitt, her scenes with La Veuve (a rival concubine, played by Petronia Paley, who tries to steal the rings from Lazare's dead body) are deliciously catty while serving as model lessons in how to wield social and economic power. Harriett D. Foy is especially moving as Makeda.


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Odette (Joniece Abbott-Pratt), Agnès (Tiffany Rachelle Stewart), and
Beartrice (Lizan Mitchell) in The House That Will Not Stand
(Photo by: Kevin Berne)




To read more of George Heymont go to My Cultural Landscape

Artists Give Words Their Worth

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'Waves' By Rob Self-Pierson and Sally Castle. Coates image @ the artist. Photo: Clarrisa Bruce


As a graphic designer and magazine art director I am regularly supplied with journalist's copy that I then typeset and incorporate as part of a page layout. I often use typefaces that are part of a carefully considered template that presents the message to the reader in a utilitarian way. After all letterforms are one of the most important means of communication for a graphic designer.

However, for a lettering artist those set of rules do not apply. Hand lettering in its many forms can powerfully convey emotions and subliminal information that more restrained forms of typography generally communicate in a more limited way.

So when the Letter Exchange, an organization of lettering artists and 26, an organization of creative writers decided to collaborate to on a project to celebrate their respective birth dates, it was destined to be a purely experimental undertaking.

The groups organized to meet in the cramped basement of a London pub, and with an element of theatre performed a modern version of an ancient Roman ritual. A blunt kitchen knife was inserted into a large dictionary 26 times, its tip choosing a word from each letter of the alphabet in turn. Twenty-six pairs of lettering artists and writers were randomly paired and given one word each to work with. A final couple were given the challenging task of weaving all the words together in a final piece.

This arbitrary process has produced a wildly varied body of work, with a variety of methods and interpretations of letterforms. The materials also used range from paper, ink, lino, glass, different metals, and in some cases the words have been literally set in stone. On the other end of the spectrum words are presented on notepaper, and another is purely digital. Whatever the medium, the most successful work on view conveyed not only the writer's words, but visually add to describing their true meaning. In some cases this artistic reinterpretation of the written word is taken further, to the sacrifice of legibility; but this is very much in keeping with the spirit of this project.

The word 'wave' was the starting point for the piece Wave with words by Rob Self-Pierson in collaboration with lettering artist Sally Castle. It's a good example of a sentence that has been interpreted to visually capture their meaning. The letterforms not only give a sensation of the movement of waves, but also are in themselves passing each other by. Castle experimented with different types of papers and found that printing on both sides of a semi-transparent Japanese paper gave some unforeseen results where the letters appear to touch but not quite meet, seemingly appropriate for the wording.

The expression of words and what they look like is now largely dictated to us by keyboards and touch screens, and although the computer in some cases has been used as a tool, the work in the exhibition is really about the material world and the free expression of the letterform. Perhaps exploring the DNA of language as the title suggests, will lead to further collaborations between 26 and The Letter Exchange. After all typographic experimentation has played a part in the evolution of the diverse range of letterforms that we have today.

This post was first published in Crafts magazine (March/April 2014)

26 Words: an exhibition exploring the DNA of language
Free Word Centre, London EC1R 3GA
26 November-31 January 2014


26 Words is touring. Click here for details

Die Hard Without a Vengeance

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What if you were told you had 24 hours to live? You could have swallowed a poison capsule by accident or perhaps you had recondite knowledge of Armageddon. What would you do? Empty the bank account and go on a hedonistic odyssey in which you gratify all your as yet unfulfilled fetishes and desires? Would you purchase the high priced hooker (s) or gigolo(s)? Would you fly to Thailand and have the soapy massage or massage sandwich with two lovelies? Probably not, it's too long a flight and if there were delays, you could be DOA. Under the theory that money can buy anything, you'd probably decide you can find what you are looking for closer to home. What if food rather than sex was the ultimate pleasure as far as you were concerned? Would you construct an elaborate Last Supper composed of foie gras, chateaubriand, cold lobster, naturally caviar and say no holds bar the world's greatest dessert? Would you finally fork out for those Teuscher champagne truffles that had previously seemed wastefully expensive. This is the theme of Kurosawa's Ikiru. In that case Kurosawa's character, Watanabe, learns he has a year to live. He embarks on a Walpurgisnacht in which he attempts to gratify his desires in the seedy side of town, but materialistic pleasures soon prove wanting and he finally devotes himself to helping children by creating a playground. There's a wonderful scene at the end of the film when with little time left, Watanabe sits on a swing, in the playground he has built, as the snow begins to fall.


{This was originally posted to The Screaming Pope, Francis Levy's blog of rants and reactions to contemporary politics, art and culture}

Lessons Learned in Boston: Creative Arts Expression As a Path Toward Recovery and Resilience

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It's been a year. Despite four deaths, a few hundred injured, and a merciless attack on our city's sense of safety and security, Boston is stronger now than it was before the bombs went off. The city is united in important ways, resolute and ready to run that race again -- this time with the whole world looking on. Terrorism failed in Boston, and I think there are lessons to be learned from the last year of Boston's recovery about resilience in general.

A month following last year's bombing, I posted something here, sharing my perspective as a public health professional that resilience is fundamental to the public's health, and suggesting a concerted effort be launched to better understand resilience, measure it, and produce it as a sturdy plank in our social platform. Sadly, there is no future scenario in which the threat of community and personal disruption from terrorism and other violent antisocial acts, or weather disasters like Hurricanes Katrina and Sandy, or even economic disruptions like the 2008 recession, can be excluded, or even becomes less likely. Consequently, we need to be as prepared as possible to withstand these shocks, recover, and move on.

There are many factors that increase resilience: close relationships with family and friends, a sense of confidence in being able to adapt and respond to adversity, good problem solving and communication skills, and an ability to frame negative events within a context that allows the perception of at least a partial positive meaning. Since resilience is vital to survival, it is not surprising that social activities and rituals that support and grow these factors, at both the individual and community level, are all part of how we respond and cope.

Many are aware of the activities in and around Boston and elsewhere that brought people together and provided support by offering a sense of connectedness and meaning. Some of these activities were focused and tactical, like forming teams to run together in this year's marathon, or to support others who will. In other cases, community groups formed to help individuals recover, raise funds for victims, or to honor them in various ways.

There are less well-known stories, of how people turned toward the power of creative arts as a source of healing and hope, employing music, writing, visual arts and more as a means to reflect upon, and find a way to "make sense" of the events last April 15, and to move forward -- and in doing so, gave the rest of us a lift too!

Callie Benjamin: Callie, a student at Berklee College of Music, and a server at Boylston Street's Forum, was at work when the second bomb went off in front of the restaurant. Callie had been serving on the patio, and went to the kitchen moments before the explosion shattered glass, limbs and lives just yards away. She launched into action to help evacuate patrons and assist the injured. Through her song, "April," Callie used her craft to process the complex feelings she experienced in the aftermath.

Ben Johnston: Having endured an IED blast five years before the bombing, and the deaths of two close friends killed in Afghanistan a month earlier, Iraq veteran and Berklee songwriting student Ben Johnston was all too familiar with the shock and fear he witnessed among his fellow students, whose normally safe environment became, for a time, a war zone. "I Don't Have a Song for That," written by Johnston and Berklee alum Jordan Lucero just before the bombings, would help the tight knit student community cope with feelings of anxiety that lingered in the aftermath.

Walter Dunbar: Boston EMT Walter Dunbar was on duty at the marathon, a few blocks from the explosions, and helped to treat the critically wounded and save lives. He returned to painting as a way to reconnect with life, and alleviate the surreal and haunting memories of his experience. He was invited to run the marathon this year. It will be his first.

Dan Blakeslee: Artist and songwriter Dan Blakeslee had been standing at the finish line an hour before the bombs went off, and heard the explosions from his Somerville apartment. He turned to his art to process his emotions, drawing the Hearts for Boston logo that became a symbol of solidarity in the days following the event. His design not only helped him heal -- it was used on posters, t-shirts and pins to raise money for some of the hardest hit victims.

All of these creative-arts based activities shared something important -- the ability to convert a torrent of difficult thoughts and feelings into something that while rooted in memories of the horrific, could construct a bridge to a different set of emotions and perspectives. Creative "bridges" provide a way to move ahead past tragic events, allowing us to ford our rivers of doubt, propelled forward by the conviction that we are "all in this together" and "no one gets left behind."

I believe that this unique and vital ability for creative arts to allow us to withstand the shock of terrible experiences, and still find a path that has meaning and purpose -- to convert our pain and challenges into stories that can be shared with others in a way that inspires, motivates and connects -- is what explains the importance and centrality of art through history. As a public health practitioner, I think that a serious exploration and promotion of creative expression as a way to better put us in touch with ourselves and others -- increasing resilience even as it increases compassion and empathy -- is timely and warranted...not just in Boston, but worldwide.

Visit www.artandhealing.org/blog for these stories, and Callie and Benjamin's songs.

Orchestral Jazz at Its Finest

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The French horn is an unusual instrument in jazz, first prominently used by Claude Thornhill in his orchestra of the late '30s and early '40s. Thornhill employed Sandy Siegelstein and John Graas to play French horn at various times in his band. Their symphonic tone along with a powerful woodwind section gave that band its distinctively cool sound. Gil Evans, a Thornhill arranger who used the distinctive instrumentation as a laboratory for developing his own sound, famously commented on the Thornhill Orchestra's unique sound. "The sound hung like a cloud."

On Balance, French Horn player Adam Unsworth, a member of Ryan Truesdell's Gil Evans Centennial Project, teamed up with conductor/ arranger Byron Olson and trumpeter John Vanore, and created an eminently listenable experience. They seamlessly integrate a sumptuous symphonic sound with the exhilarating excitement of improvisational ensemble playing. The music has an ethereal beauty with cinematic undertones mostly provided by Olson's deft arrangements and Unsworth's billowy sound.. With songs like the title track "Balance," composed by Unsworth, Olson's arrangement is resplendent with strings and counterpointed by some masterful soloing by Unsworth, pianist Bill Mays and saxophonist Bob Mallach. The song transports you to a place of mental balance and tranquility interspersed with a dynamism that is kinetic and revitalizing.

On "Flow," another Unsworth composition, the lyrical pianism of Bill Mays and the warm clarinet work of Jeff Nichols carries you into the slipstream of this piece with effortless ease. The rhythm section of Mike Richmond and Danny Gottlieb are propulsive but unobtrusively supportive. John Vanore's warm flugelhorn, Unsworth's richly expressive horn and the brilliant string arrangement of Byron Olson make for pure magic.

"Bittersweet" an Olson composition, is the musical invocation of the word. Trumpeter Vanore lifts this tune from its melancholy into a more spirited ensemble playing that includes a tasteful tenor solo by Tim Mallach.

"Tilt" starts out with an ostinato line by pianist Mays and saxophonist Mallach. The orchestration by Olson gives this piece a cinematic feel of action. There is a section of controlled cacophony that is punctuated by Gottlieb's precise drumming. The tune takes a film noir turn with Mallach and Unsworth playing in unison before Mays enters with a stirringly original piano solo. Unsworth returns with a French horn solo that almost pulses like a rombone. The tune ends with a bounty of multiple instruments all working in controlled frenzy.

"Blues Nocturne" features exquisite ensemble playing with Vancores muted trumpet, Unsworth's bellowing horn surrounded by Olson's swelling strings. Pianist Mays dances on the keyboard with a marvelously floating crescendo of notes leading into a soulful solo by bassist Mike Richmond, including his expressive sighs. Saxophonist Bob Mallach's playing is robust and fluid. Olson's " Michele" is a mournful ballad played to perfection by Unsworth's moving horn and made all the more poignant by arranger/conductor Olson's deeply emotive orchestration. Vancore offers a subdued but effective muted trumpet solo.

The album finishes with Olson's "One Last Fling" a swinging ensemble piece that showcases some nice individual playing by Unsworth, Mays, Mallach, Gottlieb and Richmond and "Find Your Way" an Unsworth composition that features Mallach's lyrical playing along with Unsworth's own emotive French horn work, supported by a the full orchestra arrangement by Olson. Balance is orchestral jazz at its finest, a feast for the ears that can be enjoyably left in your rotation without losing its appeal over multiple listenings.

The Art Bug

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I was sitting in my first grade class when the art bug first bit me. I had just learned about death.

It may have been a pet goldfish, but somehow the infuriating knowledge that we all simply end had been thrust upon me.

I took to it the way a cat takes to being thrown into a swimming pool.

After accosting my parents with every possible scenario that would beat this grim reality, I gave up. And that is where I found myself: slumped at my desk in the back row at age six, furious that I couldn't come up with a solution to death.

I was doodling on my desk, funny little cartoons of puffy-faced children, dogs with twirly tails and men with handlebar mustaches. Suddenly, like a message from above, it dawned on me. I may die, but this desk and my doodle would live on!

OK, listen; I was six. So the fact that I would likely outlive a cheap piece of industrial furniture in a 1970s schoolroom hadn't occurred to me. But the point was that maybe the art I created could live forever.

I'd found the loophole!

By the time I was eight, my parents decided to send me for art lessons, having exhausted their attempts to reel me back from drawing on the walls and furniture.

They would drop me off at a senior citizen art class (it was cheaper), where I would sit amongst elderly women and attempt to sketch still lives. I didn't want to sketch pears. I wanted to doodle super heroes! I did like the coffee break, during which I was treated to all the doughnuts I could eat. Best of all, I had a new best pal: Katherine Hopper, a sweet-smelling, kind-hearted, woman of about 80 who guarded me like her baby chick.

Katherine showed me how to shadow, turn two-dimensional images into three, and most of all, she saved me the best donuts.

When I would announce, "I can't do it!" Kathryn would softly coo, "You can do anything if you want to. You just have to want to."

Katherine was out sick one week, and then the next, and then my parents read her name in the obituaries. My mother hen was gone.

In high school, I spent art class creating what I felt were Andy Warhol-esque portraits of Jim Morrison.

After graduation, I moved to Crown Heights. My parents somehow missed the fact that Crown Heights, Brooklyn, in 1981 was one of the most dangerous places you could send a 16-year-old white girl with zebra pants and a coke spoon handing from a piece of leather around her neck.

But street gangs, long-bearded rabbis and feral dogs aside, I went back to my old friend, art. I got an apartment on the main drag and painted a sign on my door that said "Art Studio." Under the mail slot, I scrawled "Message."

The only inquiry I got was from a Chasidic women in her 20s who had 10 kids, and under the guise of art classes was looking for a cheap babysitter. Oh, and one night, a Russian Chasidic man screamed up, "I come for massage!"

"That's 'message,' you idiot!" I shot back.

Black, red, orange ... all the colors of Halloween adorned my work as I worked out my angst, sometimes literally slicing through the canvas. I had no phone, no money, no support system and no health insurance. I was an artist.

I rarely sold a painting, but no matter; immortality was mine. After all, if I was disturbing people, that was almost as good as being adored by them. Yeah, me and Johnny Rotten.

I joined forces with a group of renegade artists in the 'hood. We took over a vacant store. In the few months it sat unrented, the landlord gave us a deal so that we could show our work there. No one bought a thing. We smoked cigarettes and congratulated ourselves. Not only had we hung something on a wall, but we were tragically misunderstood.

Then I moved into Manhattan.

It was time to get serious about showing my work. I talked a gallery on the Upper East Side into giving me my first one-woman show. I filled the 400-square-foot gallery with paintings of female body-builders. I was doing it; I was beating death.

By the time I was 28, I had already lived by my calculations, 45 years, and had moved to Chelsea, lived in Provincetown, had my first writing column published, showed my work at an a few alternative spaces including an S&M bar and realized to my horror that I no longer enjoyed painting. So I put down the brush.

For eight years.

Oh, they were creative years. The small catering company I'd created when I was 24 blossomed, my writing took off, landing me in several publications, but the brush became a distant, haunting memory.

Then when I was 36, I very spontaneously bought paints, canvas board and brushes.

I placed the blank canvas board on the easel and stared at it. How does one simply start to paint again? I needed divine inspiration.

I glanced up at the photograph of my best pal T and my beautiful goddaughter Z riding on her shoulders. I placed the photo near my easel and started to flow. I was suddenly on fire. I had forgotten immortality, fame, finance ... and was painting just for the pleasure of it.

I'd love to tell you that from that point on it was easy street. But the creativity hasn't stopped flowing, and I've never again taken it for granted.

Here's what I have learned: Leaving a body of work behind is not what gives you immortality; living your life is.

Katherine Hopper had the answer to life, and she tried to share it with me. It wasn't the wonderful charcoal sketches she created but the joy with which she created them.

I think of this woman whom I barely knew fawning over this precocious eight-year-old with her wet kind eyes and a tender, scolding tone.

"You can do anything if you want to. You just have to want to."

Thank you, sweet Katherine, and thank you for also saving me the chocolate glazed donuts. I know they were your favorite.

Musical Treasures of D.C.

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The cultural riches of Washington D.C. have been a recent discovery for my family and me despite having visited the Capital on numerous occasions. My past trips have always been in a rush, either on a major orchestral tour, or on other business, and, for some reason, always centered on the Watergate part of town and that 1960s monolith in concrete, the Kennedy Center. (Why did the architects think that building in concrete was attractive??!! In her book On Architecture, Ada Louise Huxtable called it "gemütlich Speer.")

All that changed last year when my wife Virginia and I created some time for a spring break vacation and chose D.C. and a good hotel near the White House and all those museums and art galleries. The Smithsonian Institution runs 19 museums and galleries in D.C., from the Air and Space Museum to the Holocaust Museum, to the amazing Freer Gallery with its unique collection of Islamic Art as well as the works of Whistler including some of the most sublime nocturnes I have ever seen.

2014-04-15-Library_of_Congress_Great_H.jpgBut then...there is the Library of Congress, that monument to learning that is perhaps the capstone of the whole D.C. experience. Last year, we found Jefferson's Library with its collection of thousands of the books the third President bought throughout his life. They range from the French philosophers to Lucretius's poem, On the Nature of Things, that prescient work from 55 BCE that influenced Epicureanism and the American Declaration of Independence.

This year, we repeated the trip but decided to include the Music Division of the Library of Congress, which I was told has around 2 million original scores. NEC's wonderful Director of Libraries, Jean Morrow, arranged a special viewing time with her opposite number and we found ourselves across the street from the Jefferson Library and greeted by two NEC alumni, Steve Yusko '72, Acting Head of Acquisitions & Processing and Susan Clermont '78 M.M., Senior Music Specialist. These two gave us the most tantalizing glimpse into the Aladdin's cave that is their collection.

2014-04-15-brahms_violin_autograph_300.jpgFor our benefit, they had laid out various original scores across a very large desk with chairs all around, so that we could move from score to score. It was actually really difficult to move from the first one--the Brahms Violin Concerto in the composer's hand, on the manuscript he touched and wrote on. There were Brahms' corrections, influenced by the work's dedicatee, the great Hungarian violinist Joseph Joachim, along with tiny, tidy markings in red ink by his publisher. The score is obviously marked up for performance with bold conductor symbols for expression, dynamics, and rhythm. This would be the score used for the first performance with Joachim as soloist on New Year's Day in Leipzig in 1879. 2014-04-15-Johannes_Brahms_portrait_25.jpgDisplayed next to the full score was Joachim's own solo part written out by an unnamed copyist in large intelligible ink, with the occasional fingerings marked by the great virtuoso. It was fascinating comparing the score and this solo part to see what had been slightly altered. This is a work I have known all my life. A work I have heard played countless times by everyone from Menuhin to Milstein to Miriam Fried to Leonidas Kavakos. Its originality, beauty of ideas, and sheer emotional impact always leave me moved and transformed, and yet...here it was in my hands. The score. HIS SCORE. His markings. His amendments. I didn't feel like an archeologist, an Indiana Jones of the music world. It wasn't that type of discovery. It was more like seeing and touching the still beating heart of a masterpiece. My own heart beat at this point must have been racing over 200, but...there was more.

A score was placed in front of me. It was written in pencil and on the first page it said in German "Dem Andenken eines Engels," which after I looked at it twice realized meant "to the memory of an angel." The Berg Violin Concerto. It was there in my hands. I turned its pages and read all those astonishing ideas and saw the precision of Berg's thinking and writing. 2014-04-15-berg_vc_300px.jpgThe work, as many will remember, was commissioned by an NEC alumnus and much beloved faculty member, the late American violinist Louis Krasner. It was his courage, vision, and passionate advocacy that brought the Berg and Schoenberg concertos to the fore, with the former now established at the pinnacle of violin repertory of the 20th century. (When I returned to NEC, another one of our excellent librarians, Archivist/Records Manager Maryalice Perrin-Mohr, very kindly sent me a copy of a talk Louis gave in 1980. 2014-04-15-Krasnerstudyingscore250px.jpgIn it, he spoke about the preparation of the Concerto, his friendship with Berg, and the first performance in Barcelona in 1936. That premiere was to have been conducted by Anton Webern, who spent most of the rehearsals on just the first few pages of the work, and in the pragmatic interest of "getting the show on the road," he was replaced by another conductor, Hermann Scherchen. I have always thought that this was an indicator of Webern's ultra sensitivity and fastidiousness, but Krasner tells a very different story. Webern was deeply affected by Berg's death barely four months before and was mourning his loss so emotionally that he couldn't go on. [Berg died in Vienna on December 24, apparently from blood poisoning caused by an insect bite. He was 50 years old.] Webern did conduct the work many times with Krasner after the premiere, most notably the U.K. performance for the BBC.)

My wonderment at seeing the Berg score was reinforced by having just heard the Concerto performed 2014-04-15-AnemoneLoebel300px.jpgby one of NEC's marvelous young violin students, Robert Anemone '12 '14 M.M., conductor David Loebel, and the NEC Symphony. A work that was both extremely challenging to play and to hear in the 1930s is now taken up and performed with great eloquence and fluency by young musicians today. You can hear it on InstantEncore here.

While gazing at these scores, I was so absorbed that I had been ignoring my wife! In fact, I didn't even hear her when she asked very loudly: "Mozart wrote this? Mozart touched this paper?" She was holding the score of "Al desio di chi t'adora," written by Mozart as a replacement aria for Susanna's "Deh vieni, non tardar" from the Marriage of Figaro. And there it was: Mozart's determined, clear script revealing that he had everything planned out in his head before committing it to paper.

This was one of the most exciting and riveting experiences of my life. It left both of us shaking with joy and revelation. And we had barely touched the surface of this treasure trove.

It's all there for everyone. You can look at original scores online and you can go and visit and have the same experience we had. The Library of Congress is there for us all, and it's one of the most compelling reasons to keep going back to D.C.

JARMAN (all this maddening beauty): An Interview With John Moletress and Caridad Svich

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JARMAN promo scene featuring PUSSY NOIR from Ben Carver on Vimeo.



April 17th -27th, Interdisciplinary Washington, D.C.theater company force/collision will present a new performance project, Jarman (all this maddening beauty). Inspired by the queer avant-garde artist, activist and filmmaker, Jarman (all this maddening beauty) enters the mind and artistic aesthetic of Derek Jarman (The Last of England, Sebastiane, The Tempest) to "create a poetic and visually dynamic mash-up of video and live performance". The production coincides with the 20th anniversary of Jarman's death and explores Jarman's theatrical life.

Written by OBIE Lifetime Achievement Award-winning playwright Caridad Svich and developed by force/collision. Jarman (all this maddening beauty) , will be directed and performed by force/collision Founding Director John Moletress. Performances will begin in Washington, D.C. at Atlas Performing Arts Center and will be broadcast live on HowlRound TV on April 20th at 4:00pm. The production will then tour both nationally and internationally in Summer/Fall 2014 to such cities as Liverpool, London, San Francisco and Chapel Hill.

Describe your connection to Derek Jarman's work. Which films have had the greatest impact on you as artists and can you talk a bit abotu how they are used in JARMAN?

John Moletress: I believe my first Jarman was Aria, of all things! Certainly not the first that comes to mind. I was working in a West Coast Video during high school and taking in as much film as I could, mostly "popcorn" film as Caridad aptly terms in the text. I recall it vividly for its composition, striking use of light, color and architecture and for its sense of mortality, however humorous. The Tempest was next, in college. We watched it for a comparative studies class on Shakespeare and film. I never imagined Shakespeare could be so raw, simple and honest. Tempest was responsible for my desire to explore site-specific performance. Site and place are a large component in the project. Almost all of what we filmed, or I should say shot by way of digital video, was done outside of the studio in mostly "loaded" places, at least historically speaking. We used the Uline Arena, former Washington Coliseum where The Beatles once played and is now in ruin, as a site for most of the filming. Its current state makes for a natural polyphony of sound and image.

Caridad Svich: There are artists and works that are formative in a writer's life. Often the works of which an artist is fondest have to do with when the encounter with the works first took place. In other words, when you are still trying to find yourself as a young artist, there are certain paths that are either shown to you by mentors and/or peers, or ones that you come across almost by accident, and by so doing, you feel as if you can never look at art and art-making the same way again. Such is the case with my first encounter with Derek Jarman's cinematic sensibility and artistry. I was in graduate school at UC-San Diego, training to be a playwright. I had written only one of two plays and some monologues and short pieces. I very much went to grad school (after undergrad) in a mode of exploration and discovery. I was finding out who I was as a theatre-maker and how I wanted to work with time, space and language for live performance. I had always and still am a film buff. The first Jarman film I saw was "Caravaggio" (1986). It was playing at the local art house for a very limited run and by chance I happened to catch it. I did not know Jarman's previous work at all. By the time the house lights came up in the film house, I was smitten. The use of light, the compositions, the sensuality of the work, the intelligence and moments of startling humor, violence and sexuality were a wake-up call to me as a budding artist. There was also the spectre of Tilda Swinton -- this was her first film and first collaboration with Jarman. Indelible beauty. Shimmering images. I thought to myself "You can make a movie like that?" Amazing. A year and a half later, when I was hard at work in the beginning stages of my thesis play, I saw "The Last of England" (1987) and it really did change my way of thinking about form, juxtaposition, rhythm, and imagery. Huge impact.

Immediately after graduate school, I trained with Maria Irene Fornes at the INTAR Hispanic Playwrights in Residence Laboratory in New York City. It was during that time and during yet another significant phase of my development as a writer that I saw "Edward II" (1991) and later, on a public television broadcast saw/heard/experienced "Blue" (1993). This latter film was broadcast twice in the same week on the local PBS station and I experienced it both times, spellbound by the layers of text, music, and the sustained, intense blue of the blue fading screen. The dare of it. The sadness of it. The beauty of it.

Over the years, I have returned to these films in particular -- "Caravaggio," "The Last of England," "Edward II" and "Blue" -- though I also found my way to his other works, including his memoirs and journals. He was an uncommon artist. A pioneer. A radical visionary. Whenever I think about art-making and am frustrated by the more mundane aspects of this strange mad business and what is "expected" of a play, I always go back to Jarman. His work gives me courage. He blazed a stunning path -- singular, unique, daring and absolutely go-for-broke. There is too the artisan aspect to and in his work. The feeling of it being handmade. Not a product. There is something so beautiful about this. You can feel the artist's imprint. And bit of soul coming through.

In JARMAN (all this maddening beauty) there are references to the spirit of the films "Sebastiane" (1976), "Jubilee" (1978), "The Last of England" (1987), "The Garden" (1990), and "Blue" (1993). Although the piece is inspired by Jarman's work, it is also very much about a young queer artist now discovering his voice in view of Jarman's legacy.


After Derek Jarman went blind he continued to work and a filmmaker, exploring the medium in new ways that provided new sensory experiences. Does this type of exploration find a home in the execution of JARMAN?

JM: Blue is referenced in the performance. We've being trying to orchestrate a scene where sound takes over as sensory experience as sight goes away.

CS: In terms of the text, I have written a significant passage about the blindness. The approach is poetic. The text is an invitation to dream BIG. In my conversation with John prior to the rehearsal process, I did mention that I hoped that there would be a way to create a theatre experience that would be visceral and require of the audience to be witness to a variety of textual, visual and sonic layers.

In the way that film is a medium that reaches audiences through a wide platform, theater pieces with media and small casts have been traveling more and more to new venues. Tell me about JARMAN as a touring piece?

JM: This is actually what I had in mind. We, I should say force/collision, has been wanting to reach a larger audience by creating in DC and then touring. Due to financial constraints it is very hard to tour 10 people and all its luggage! However, this is not to say it wasn't created without a large village. Over 40 actors through voiceover and film have contributed to its making. We shot a large scene dubbed the "end of the world" party in which it seemed like an entire town of enthusiastic people dressed to the hilts in costumes and various attire showed up to dance around, do smaller scenes and get holi powder thrown at them. They were champs! Jarman will tour to various venues both in the US and UK. We're hoping to add to the roster as we develop the project.


How do you stage work as a writer/ director John? Do you use video in your process?


JM: Mostly, I work kinesthetically. Responding to what's around me. This, of course, all depends on time. Luckily with force/collision, we have the luxury to work in expanded time over months. That's not to say I still don't jump at impulse. Usually the second guess gets me in hot water. Artistically speaking. I've incorporated video into live performance a lot, but continue to question why it's there, needs to be or what is it serving. Often in the past, I found it serving some need for narrative or scenographic context that really isn't necessary. It felt like hand holding in the end. However with Jarman, the video is the community, much like Jarman would say about the way he worked. Through constructed devices, it will be manipulated by myself on stage in real time, using a moveable projector coupled with set projections so I can enter in to the film in a way. I can dance in the projection and cast a shadow upon what's being seen. I can move the projector so that it angles in a certain way to transform the image into something brutal.

Caridad, you have collaborated before with Force Collision, can you talk about how this partnership came about? And John and Caridad can you talk a bit about the development process of new work?

CS: When John Moletress and I were in brief rehearsals in New York City in spring of 2013 for the NoPassport Gun Control Theatre Action event, which was held at New Dramatists as a pen and swill event hosted by playwright Chiori Miyagawa, we spoke about collaborating on something again. He had directed with DC-based company Factory 449 some years ago the premiere of my play about visual art and celebrity culture Magnificent Waste, and there was a strong aesthetic connection as soon as we met then. John mentioned that he wanted to make a piece with force/collision that had something to do with art or an artist's life and work. A pre-existing artist. Not an invented one. We talked a bit in New Georges' The Room, where we were rehearsing for Gun Control Theatre Action. He asked me which artist would you like to write about/reflect upon now?

After a few beats of silence, I said "Well, no one talks about Derek Jarman's work anymore (it seems), which makes me crazy-sad. I think he is still one of the most important filmmakers of the late 20th century. And not only in indie cinema or queer cinema, but cinema period. I miss Jarman's work so much. Such a major figure, and a huge influence on my work and thinking about art." John looked at me and said "He's my favorite artist." And I replied, "Well then, it's synergy. I'll write something."
In the summer of 2013 we chatted a bit over Skype, at which point John suggested or rather asked if the piece could be a solo piece.

The fact that it would incorporate media was a given. Much of my writing for live performance since the year 2000 has done so to lesser or greater extent -- chiefly Iphigenia Crash Land Falls on the Neon Shell That Was Once Her Heart (2004), the multimedia collaboration (with Todd Cerveris and Nick Philippou) The Booth Variations (2004), Antigone Arkhe (2004), Magnificent Waste (2010), The House of the Spirits (2009), In the Time of the Butterflies (2011), and scores of texts that have not yet seen the light! Very, very much part of my thinking about and dramaturgical approach to text-making stems from an interaction -- sometimes explicit and sometimes less so -- with digital/visual media.

In terms of solo pieces, when John asked me about making this one a solo (of sorts), I had just written a solo play called The Hour of All Things, so, coincidentally, I was already in that mode. This did not seem to be too daunting a task, then. I just knew I had to figure out what the form of the text would be, its essential shape, and the way into creating the piece inspired by Jarman's work and life, but not based on or drawn from actual texts, letters, books, etc. I wanted it to be very clearly and it is my own textual meditation/reflection/dialogue on his work, legacy, and 20 years after his passing (2014) how his work need be considered as part of LGBT art history and indie cinema as a whole.

I admire force/collision's work. They put it on the line. Every time. They are fearless. They make things happen. They dream BIG. As a writer, I love the dare and challenge of working with collaborators who say "YES, go ahead, put it on the line with intelligence, heart, soul, passion, and cheekiness -- we will play and then some!" Doesn't get any better than that. After all, isn't that what art-making is all about?


JM: I think all work is new work, in a way. It's always under scrutiny by the artist. If there isn't that dynamic, the work will be bland and reserved. Luckily, I'm fortunate to work with such geniuses as Caridad and Erik Ehn. The work begins over a coffee or phone call. The text for me is like a really big and staggering poem that keeps me up all night and makes me an archaeologist. I want to know more, find more, dig more into what is ticking beneath the surface. It's a long process, but the longer the better. I need more knowledge. If I stop needing knowledge, I haven't arrived.

For more information on JARMAN (all this maddening beauty) please visit: http://force-collision.org/

Warrior Writers at Wilma's Theater's Veterans on Stage

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Paula Vogel's Don Juan Comes Home From Iraq continues its month long premiere run at the Wilma Theater in Philadelphia through April 22 coinciding with a series of tie-in events with veterans returning from Iraq and Afghanistan.

Actors from the cast of Paula Vogel's new play Don Juan Comes Home From Iraq had the night off performing on April 8, but they were in the theater for Veterans On Stage to present excerpts from new plays written by veterans. Vogel did not write Don Juan in isolation, but was in residence at the Wilma for several months and over the course of a year had been interacting with the vets, some of them already writers, to hear about their experiences as soldiers, as research for her own play.

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Veterans writers with cast members of Don Juan (Front) : Michael P. Toner, Kevin Basl, Maurice Emerson Decaul, Madison Cario, Jenny Pacanowski, Susanne Rossignol; (Back): Sarah Gliko, Melanye Finister, Brian Ratcliffe, Yvette Ganier, Walter Bilderback, Paula Vogel, Blanka Zizka, Lindsay Smiling, Hannah Gold, Kevin Meehan, Patreshettarlini Adams, Keith J. Conallen.(photo: courtesy of Wilma Theater)



The 'warrior writers' have been in workshops with Vogel while she was in residence at the Wilma developing her play which deals with many issues of military returning to civilian life. It is part of Wilma artistic director Blanka Zizka's wide ranging initiatives to involve the Wilma Theater with community initiatives. Zizka said that she felt so disconnected to soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan and wanted to do a play that addressed their issues. The play was developed with Vogel in residence working directly with the actors and interaction with from the veterans.

In addition to being a distinguished playwright of The Baltimore Waltz, The Long Christmas Ride Home and How I Learned to Drive, for which Vogel won the Pulitzer Prize, she teaches script writing at, among other institutions, Yale University and regularly runs writing "boot Camps" she calls them, at universities around the country.

Also participating in the veterans events is Theatre Communications Group and nationwide organization of theater professionals and Blue Star Families, an organization that facilitates military personnel access to arts and cultural organizations.

Before the staged reading of excerpts from the veterans' plays, Elizabeth Heisel, a director for clinical operations at Philly's VA Medical Center in told the audience ""There is never a single facet or single truth that can encompass the whole of war, but what we have through the creativity of these veterans here tonight... that gives us insight that we might otherwise not see."

Actors from 'Don Juan' presented a staged reading of excerpts from the veterans' plays-
'A Day at the Office' and 'Skull and Bones' (by Kevin Basl), 'Magi' (by Michael P. Toner), 'Don Juan, the Video Game' (by Bryon Reiger), 'Leda' (by Madison Cario), 'Girl Veteran' (by Susanne Rossignol), 'Dog With Two Flashbacks' (by Jacob Siegel), 'Rush' (by Maurice Emerson Decaul), 'The Green Ambulances' (by Jenny Pacanowski) and 'New Baghdad' (by Steve Scuba).

Don Juan reaction

In 'Don Juan' Vogel's distorts time and space to realize Juan's inner struggles of an American vet who has returned to civilian life. He is searching for his girlfriend on the streets of Philadelphia, while dealing with a range of PTSD and losing his sense of what is real. Everything, including the stage, which is raised and pivoted to various angles to depict scenes on the battlefield, barracks in Iraq to Philly locales that touch down in the Divine Lorraine hotel, Osage Avenue, South Philly, Olde City and a colonial morgue.

2014-04-13-Don_Juan1081by_iziliaev.png
Kate Czajkowski and Keith J. Conallen in Paula Vogel's Don Juan Comes Home From Iraq (photo Alexander Iziliaev)



The play has gotten many rave reviews (and a few lukewarm responses from critics) but audience response to the unblinkingly honest material has been varied. Zizka notes that there has been an overwhelmingly supportive from veterans and by area students who attending the Wilma's special series of morning performances.

Kevin Basl, one of the Veterans on Stage playwrights, presented excerpts from his play 'A Day At The Office' about a reservist who thought she was going to be stateside, returning to school, finds out she will be redeployed in Iraq for another year. In a letter to Vogel and Zizka, Basl 's wrote how moved he was by the complex issues tackled in 'Don Juan':

People often characterize PTSD as an action movie going on inside one's head, complete with explosions and blood and screaming. While some may certainly experience those things at times--or rather impressions of those things--I think of it more as a dark lens that drops over one's perspective. Ghosts and shadows make for a more accurate representation, at least from what I've learned.


A woman from the audience "I saw this as art and responded that way, but also as vital information. As a civilian there is no way to imagine war and what happens there."

Melanye Finister plays several characters in Don Juan, including the matron in the already famous Lorraine Hotel scene "Doing this play was such an unexpected privileged. Life changing for many of us. I didn't realized I would meet these vets and build relationships with a community that I would have had the opportunity otherwise," Finister observed, "These writers are amazing people, with remarkable stories, with truth, that needs to be told. Because too often, it is something that we, as a culture, does not really want to know about. "

Don Juan Comes Home Iraq runs through April 20; For complete information about performances and related events go to wilmatheater.org

2014-04-13-IMG_0524.jpg Wilma Theater lobby after staged reading of play excerpts written by veterans.(photo Lew Whittington)
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