In the late spring of 1987, I stood in the art book section of a large bookstore in Arnhem, the Netherlands. I was 23 years old, my hair was dyed bright purple, and tears were streaming down my face.

I had just realized that the book: Esther de Charon de Saint Germain, An Artist Life., would never be written.

I gazed at the books about the genius of Picasso, Louise Bourgeois and Claes Oldenburg, and took a decision that would change the course of my life forever.

I accepted that, as an artist, I was a failure in the making.

Gone were the days of art. Designing and painting were a thing of the past.

It was so obvious to me. Being an artist was for the chosen ones. The brave ones, who were prepared to suffer, to live in drafty attics. Wait for commissions to magically appear.

I was not borderline enough to roll in the mud. Too prudish and scared to show myself. I was just very middle of the road.

Within 1 week I left the art academy, and enrolled in the University of Amsterdam to become an art historian.

At the university I studied, described, discussed, compared and categorized art. Without touching it. And you know what? I loved it! Walking through the Rijksmuseum with my notebook felt so safe -- like being in a feel-good movie.

I relied solely on my brains. And they were working fine. Who could argue with grades?!

Gone were the insecurities about the quality of my art. No lineup of art school teachers hovering over my sketches, muttering something like: "Hmmm... interesting... maybe... Not sure about the inherent quality, though."

Gone were the feelings of inadequacy. No more looking at the work of a fellow student, feeling caught like a rabbit in the headlights: "She is so much more original, braver, outspoken than I will ever be."

I boxed my art supplies, and trashed my paintings. I carefully deleted everything that was remotely artsy.

For 27 years I worked in the field of art, culture and design as an organizer, curator, manager and coach. The only time I touched an artwork was when I lifted a painting out of a box, and hung it on the wall of a museum.

A year ago I found out my secondary archetype is the creator.

My first reaction: "Who me? A creator? No way!"

But then I learned the creator has a huge pitfall: Perfectionism.

To be honest, I never considered myself a perfectionist. I gathered that, had I been a perfectionist, my life would have been less messy. More, well... perfect.

But than it dawned on me. Quitting art school was NOT the best thing I'd ever done. I had given in to perfectionism. I had been so scared to be not worthy enough, I had taken myself out of the game.

I had been in the slimy ice cold claws of perfectionism since I gave in at the bookstore in Arnhem.

Perfectionism has nothing to do with being perfect.

Perfect is an A for an exam. A table set by Martha Stewart. A smooth paint job on a '39 Cadillac.

Perfectionism kills your creativity because it convinces you that your talents are nothing special -- that you are not creative at all, that you are just plain ordinary - and by the way - also too fat, thin, old, young smart, stupid small, tall, rich or broke.

Perfectionism is the silent killer of your happy talents.

It whispers in your ear when you're writing an article: "Are you sure people like to read this?" Her ugly daughter Procrastination will take over.

She presses her moist check to yours, and hisses: "Why don't you do something different first. Your house is dirty. Clean it! What will people think?"

Perfectionism will visit you when you're almost ready to start your own business. She will occupy your brain: "Sweetie... Are you sure? Are you up to it? Look at what happened to Carol. She's broke! Have a good look at that beautiful website Tom has made. It's very difficult to be as good as he is!"

Perfectionism will call in her ugly twins Self-Doubt and Overwhelm. Like an army of Uruk-Hai they will immediately start trashing up your ideas, causing such turmoil and chaos, you would rather give up than having to clean up after them.

How can you deal with perfectionism

• Most importantly: Acknowledge it.


Don't wait for 27 years like I did. Stand up and say: "Hi, my name is... and I'm a perfectionist."

• Be compassionate to yourself.

Being a perfectionist is not some kind of punishment from the universe. It's an unwanted byproduct that came with your creativity and talents.

• Laugh at it.

Nothing puts the uptightness of perfectionism more in perspective than a good laugh.

• Act like a product designer.

In order to have a strong product you need to fail -- a lot.Every failure makes for a better end product.

• Let go of the fear, but do not let go of your beautiful ideas!

I promise you, once you get the hang of it, you will be able to let go. To hang loose.

But don't give up on that blog post, the drawing, the idea that came up in the shower, the little dress. Make it, do it. It has not to be the idea that will cure cancer or spread eternal happiness.

It will be something that makes you happy, that brings you joy, and that's how you change the world.


One Happy Mind At The Time.


I'd love to hear from you. How do you cope with doubts, procrastination and perfectionism in your business and life?

Uncle Wolf

The "little glutton" who travels through the woods in Italo Calvino's Italian Folktales carries a basket filled with pancakes, bread, and wine for Uncle Wolf. The path is long, and the girl can't resist the goodies. She replaces the pancakes with donkey manure, the loaf of bread with lime from a stonemason, and the wine with dirty water. Uncle Wolf is outraged by the deception, and the girl races back home, hiding in a corner of her bed. No fool, Uncle Wolf chases her down and declares, "Ahem, here I go!" After all, he has a reputation to defend. An expert at doing away with "greedy little girls," he swallows the child whole. Calvino admires the primal quality of the story, a favorite all over Italy, and praises "rudimentary elements" such as "gluttony, excrement, and a steady intensification of terror."

There are several versions of "Little Red Riding Hood" in Italian Folktales, and in the notes Calvino appears to be compulsively fiddling with a story that none of his sources seem to get just right. The tale about a girl and a wolf stages an encounter between innocent prey and fanged predator, and today the girl almost always emerges triumphantly from the belly of the wolf. But in many versions -- most famously in Charles Perrault's "Little Red Riding Hood" -- she is never disgorged. The wolf snaps his jaws, swallows the girl whole -- end of story (save for an occasional moral about the perils of talking to strangers and straying from the path). The consuming idea in most variants is innocence versus seduction, but "Uncle Wolf" turns Red Riding Hood from a pretty child, adored by everyone (as the Grimms tell us), into a girl who is both greedy and lazy. While the other girls at her school are knitting, she has the audacity to go to the privy and fall asleep--a truly deserving victim, especially in light of her other transgressions, which include a love of pancakes.

Italo Calvino, "Uncle Wolf," in Italian Folktales, trans. George Martin (New York: Pantheon Books, 1956), pp. 152-54.


Momotaro

Remember Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are and Roald Dahl's James and the Giant Peach? Or the Japanese folktale about Momotaro, the Peach Boy who battles monstrous creatures on a distant island? Who knew that Sendak and Dahl may have plundered Japanese folklore to construct their stories about boys who set sail in search of adventure? We will never know why Dahl changed his title from James and the Giant Cherry and gave James Trotter a "great big beautiful peach" to navigate the waters, and there are no doubt multiple sources for Sendak's Wild Things (the "Jewish relatives" disguised as horses until an editor pointed out that the artist was not very good at drawing them). Both authors might have fallen under the spell of the celebrated Japanese story about a boy who floats down the river in a peach and is adopted by a childless couple. Momotaro (his name derives from momo, or peach, and taro, or eldest son) grows up and sails to an island, where he meets a talking dog, monkey, and pheasant, all of whom become his sidekicks and allies. Collectively they slay demons known as Oni, and return home triumphantly, laden with treasures.

Momotaro has always been a popular figure in Japan, and during World War II he became an intrepid warrior, fighting military demons. In a 1944 feature-length animated film called Momotaro's Divine Sea Warriors, the boy grows up to be a general and teams up with a bear, monkey, dog, and pheasant, all of whom have become high-ranking officials. Together they invade an island and liberate it from British rule. The film ends with children playing at parachuting onto a map of the continental United States.

Read more here.


Sun, Moon, and Talia (Sleeping Beauty)

Some years ago, feminists did their best to make the story of Sleeping Beauty go away. In books with titles such as Kiss Sleeping Beauty Good-Bye and Wake Up, Sleeping Beauty, they fretted that fairy-tale women are doomed to passivity, silence, sleep, always playing the waiting game. Unlike Bruno Bettelheim, who saw in the story a parable of puberty and recommended the tale as therapeutic bedtime reading for girls, they condemned the cult of the beautiful, dead woman promoted by the tale.

Imagine the outrage had these critics discovered "Sun, Moon, and Talia," a version of "Sleeping Beauty" in Giambattista Basile's Pentamerone, a Neapolitan collection of tales published in 1634. Basile's Talia falls into a deep sleep when a piece of flax slides under her nail. One day, a king discovers a comatose princess sleeping on a velvet throne in a secluded mansion. One look at the young woman, and his blood begins to "course hotly through his veins." He takes her to the bedroom and picks "the fruits of love." After returning home -- to his wife -- he becomes so immersed in the business of running his kingdom that he forgets all about Talia who, in the meantime, has given birth to twins. When the king is finally ready for a repeat visit, he reveals that he is the father of the twins. How does Talia react? The two "make friends" and establish "a strong bond." Enter the queen, who is less forgiving and so consumed by envy that she orders Talia's children slaughtered and served up to her husband for dinner (a compassionate cook substitutes lambs for the boy and girl). Her plan to burn Talia at the stake backfires, and she herself becomes the victim of the flames. Basile adds a disconcerting moral: "For those who are lucky, good rains down even when they are sleeping."

Is it any surprise that the Brothers Grimm changed the rape to a chaste kiss and replaced the married king with a bachelor prince in their more child-friendly collection of fairy tales? Today, Sleeping Beauty continues to haunt our cultural imagination -- it will not go away -- with philosophers meditating on the Sleeping Beauty Problem, filmmakers probing motivation in productions like Catherine Breillat's Sleeping Beauty and Robert Stromberg's Maleficent, and celebrities like Lady Gaga reenacting a 24-version of Beauty's sleep in a bid to sell perfume. Sleeping Beauty may wake up to the perils of mortality, but her story retains a perverse vitality.

"Sun, Moon, and Talia," in Giambattista Basile, The Tale of Tales, or Entertainment for Little Ones, trans. Nancy L. Canepa (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2007), pp. 413-17.


The Singing Tortoise

There are many variants of this African tale about a hunter (known as Ama in some versions) who learns harsh lessons about beauty, art, and sustainability at a time when environmental concerns were not of less burning cultural relevance. "Humans violate nature; nature does not impose itself on them" is the constant refrain in a story about a tortoise with a voice so enchanting that the man who hears it takes the creature home with him. Removing the tortoise from its natural surroundings was already a violation; revealing its secret becomes a profound betrayal. Unable to resist the impulse to broadcast the wonders of the tortoise's song (and what else is that but the storytelling instinct?), the hunter's report is received with deep skepticism. And the tortoise, in an act of controlled passive-aggressive behavior, refuses to sing on command. Branded a liar who misrepresents, talks nonsense, and tells "fantastic tales," Ama is publicly shamed by the chief.

Central to "The Singing Tortoise" is the cult of beauty, with a tortoise that sings with a human voice and plays a small piano-like instrument known as a sansa but also feels freed of the obligation to court an audience. Humans have an obligation to protect that self-contained, natural beauty. Advertising its allure is condemned in a story that can be seen as an exercise in the very same activity of telling in which Ama engaged. The story captures paradoxes about concealment and revelation in the image of the tortoise, which can open up to the world but also withdraw into its shell. Many African tales have an emphatically self-reflexive quality, one that often challenges us to think about the power of story in general as well as to decode narrative mysteries.

"The Singing Tortoise," in The Cow-Tail Switch and Other West African Stories, ed. Harold Courlander and George Herzog (New York: Henry Holt and Co., 1947), pp. 65-71.


Vasilisa the Fair

The Russian answer to the Brothers Grimm, Alexander Afanasev collected hundreds of folktales, among them a hybrid of "Cinderella" and "Hansel and Gretel." An orphaned eight-year-old girl is persecuted at home by her stepmother and stepsisters; in the woods, she is exposed to the threats of an ogress eager to turn her into her next meal. On the orders of her stepmother to secure fire from Baba Yaga, Vasilisa makes the trek out to her hut in the woods. What does she see there? "The fence around it was made of human bones. Skulls with empty eye sockets stared down from the posts. The gate was made from the bones of human legs; the bolts were made from human hands, and the lock was a jaw with sharp teeth." With the help of a doll bequeathed to her by her mother, Vasilisa carries out household chores -- sweeping, cleaning, cooking, washing, and sorting grains. She becomes a consummate spinner and seamstress, who wins the heart of the tsar with her beautiful fabrics and handicraft.

Vasilisa's story traces an odyssey from rags to riches, but it also turns the girl into a cultural heroine who brings light, in the form of fire, back home. Three magnificent steeds also gallop through the story, sending an apocalyptic shudder through the woods and frightening Vasilisa out of her wits, with each horse and rider a different color (white, red, and black) to match the times of day at which Vasilisa sees them (dawn, high noon, and night). Fairy tales like "Vasilisa the Fair" are syncretic, constructed by borrowing tropes and motifs, along with bits and pieces of plot, not only from the cultural surround in which the tale is told but also from other tales, legends, and myths.

"Vasilisa the Fair," in Annotated Classic Fairy Tales, ed. Maria Tatar (New York: W.W. Norton, 2002), 172-85.


The Juniper Tree

The raw energy of "The Juniper Tree" has fascinated writers ranging from P.L. Travers of Mary Poppins fame to J.R.R. Tolkien. Both fell under the spell of the tale, rhapsodized about the story's "exquisite and tragic beginning" and its combination of "beauty and horror." How does it begin? A mother dies in childbirth. Her husband remarries, and the new wife is determined to do away with her stepson. She lures him to his death by offering him an apple from a chest, and then, bam! She slams the lid down "so hard that the boy's head flew off and fell into the chest with the apples." To get rid of the evidence, she chops the boy up into little pieces and cooks him up in a stew, served to the boy's father, who can't get enough of the "tasty" dish.

Is there a way to engineer a "happily ever after" after the uncompromising brutality of these opening scenes of carnage? Folklorists know the tale as "My Mother Slew Me; My Father Ate Me," and a recent anthology of reimagined fairy tales uses that identifying label as its title. Can there by redemption after the slaughter of an innocent and a meal with all the mythical horrors of the one prepared by Atreus? The boy, buried under a juniper tree, comes back to life as a bird, with red and green feathers, eyes that sparkle like stars, and a band of pure gold around its neck. Its rainbow beauty and alluring song fill the world with sparkling sunshine and aromatic wonders. But this bird is also out for revenge, and it exchanges a song for a millstone, using it to crush the stepmother, then returning to human form and sitting down for dinner with father and sister.

"The Juniper Tree," in The Annotated Brothers Grimm, ed. Maria Tatar (New York: W.W. Norton, 2012), pp. 214-29.


The Enchanted Quill

"Pull one of my feathers out, and if you use it to write down a wish, the wish will come true, " a crow tells the youngest of three sisters in Franz Xaver von Schönwerth's "The Enchanted Quill." The girl reluctantly plucks the feather, uses it as a pen, and what does she do first but write down the names of the very finest dishes. The food promptly appears in bowls that sparkle and glow. This microdrama packs wisdom about fairy tales into a small golden nugget. Wish fulfillment often takes the form of enough food to eat, and in this case it means that the heroine, who lacks culinary skills and burns all the dishes she tries to prepare, will no longer be the target of ridicule. In fairy tales, the highest good, whatever it may be, is always bathed in an aura of golden light, luminous and radiant, yet also contained or framed with metallic substantiality. And finally, in a self-reflexive gesture, the crow's magical writing instrument reveals the power of words to build fairy-tale worlds, sites that move us out from reality and enable us to feel the power of what-if in ways that are palpably real. You can almost see and smell the dishes, even if you can't necessarily touch and taste them. With the magic quill, an instrument that signals the power of the pen, the youngest of the three sisters in the tale succeeds in duping a trio of would-be suitors and inflicting bodily punishments on them and the monarchs in the tale.

Closely related to "Cupid and Psyche," as well as to "East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon," in addition to Beauty and the Beast tales, this story gives us a beast less ferocious and slimy than the frogs, goats, dragons, dogs, and chimeras found in many tales.

Franz Xaver von Schönwerth, The Turnip Princess, ed. Erika Eichenseer, trans. Maria Tatar (New York: Penguin, 2015), pp. TK.

Bluebeard

Lulu Young, a 25-old African-American woman living in North Carolina, sat down with the folklorist Elsie Clews Parsons about a century ago and told her the story of Bluebeard. A few decades later, Richard Wright would report the transformative childhood experience of having "Bluebeard and His Seven Wives" read to him by a boarder on the front porch: "Enchanted and enthralled, I stopped her constantly to ask for details. My imagination blazed." Wright felt alive, inventive, inquisitive, and inspired in ways that he had never felt in real life. Never mind the content of the story, with its portrait of a marriage haunted by the threat of murder. It is astonishing that a story we are accustomed to think of as European (the Frenchman Charles Perrault was the first to write it down in 1697) circulated orally in the deep South.

Lulu Young's Bluebeard tale takes up all the key tropes of the story in its many cultural variations: a forbidden chamber, a curious wife, and a husband who tests his wife's "obedience" by giving her the key to the locked room. Presto! the forbidden chamber turns into a blood-spattered chamber, filled with the corpses of Bluebeard's previous wives, in this case all sisters. Wife number seven summons her seven brothers, "jus' as he went to kill her." In most versions Bluebeard is slain by the heroine's brothers, but Lulu Young's version ends like this: "An' he ran away into the woods, an' never been seen since."

Elsie Clews Parsons, "Tales from Guilford County, North Carolina," Journal of American Folklore, 30 (1917): 183.


The Nightingale

Hans Christian Andersen's story begins with the description of a palace, "the most magnificent in the world," that belongs to the Emperor of China. The Emperor, an erudite man with exquisite aesthetic sensibilities, reads about nightingales and secures one for himself. The bird has a voice so "lovely" that its music goes straight to his heart. One day a large package arrives with the word "Nightingale" written on it. Inside it is a mechanical bird, covered with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. The bird's song is "very close to the real thing," but it fails the emperor when he is ill, for he is unable to wind it up. Enter Death, and the dreadful silence in the emperor's chambers is broken by a nightingale -- the living one -- who sings the ruler back to health.

A tale that reveals Andersen's deep commitment to natural beauty over the artful and artificial and that takes up the nature/culture divide, "The Nightingale" also challenges us to consider what separates us from machines. The modesty, generosity, and passion of true art produced by those devoted to their craft contrasts sharply with the empty pleasures of technological wonders that can do little but engage in vacuous mimicry. Andersen may also have been writing about his own literary voice. His friends called him the "nightingale from Fyn," and he once referred to himself as a male Jenny Lind ("her voice stays with me forever," he wrote about the woman known throughout Europe as the "Swedish nightingale"). And what genre is less artificial and lacking in artifice than the fairy tale, a spontaneous expression of human desires and fears?

Hans Christian Andersen, "The Nightingale," in The Annotated Hans Christian Andersen (New York: W.W. Norton, 2008), pp. 78-98.


Yeh-hsien, the Chinese Cinderella

Cinderella lives happily ever after in nearly every version of her story, but her stepsisters rarely fare well. Who can forget the final scenes of the Grimms' "Cinderella," with the stepsisters cutting off toes, then heels, to make the dainty shoe fit. Doves peck out the eyes of those same young women as they enter and exit the church where Cinderella weds. An Indonesian Cinderella forces her stepsister into a cauldron of boiling water, then has the body cut up, pickled, and sent to the girl's mother as "salt meat" for her next meal. A Japanese stepsister is dragged around in a basket, hits a deep ditch, and tumbles to her death. In "Yeh-hsien," recorded by a scribe in the 9th century, the stepmother and her daughter are stoned to death. Their burial site, called "The Tomb of the Distressed Women," becomes a shrine for courtship rituals.

Yeh-hsien, who is described as both "intelligent" and "clever," is befriended by a magical golden fish. The stepmother kills it, but the girl recovers the bones, and they provide her with everything from food and drink to a cloak of feathers and tiny golden slippers that make her look like a "heavenly being." Rushing home from the ball, Yeh-hsien loses a slipper, which is sold to a warlord who tracks her down and makes her his "chief wife."

Yeh-hsien is only one of many Chinese Cinderellas. As in every culture, there are thousands of variants of this rag-to-riches stories, some less obvious than others. The sociologist Wolfram Eberhard published a book of Chinese fairy tales in the 1960s. In that collection was "Beauty and Pock Face," a Cinderella story in which Beauty loses her mother, who returns to life as a yellow cow slaughtered by Beauty's stepmother. Beauty keeps the bones in a jar, and when she shatters the jar in a fit of rage, a horse, a dress, and a lovely pair of shoes materialize. She loses one of the shoes at a local festival, and marries the man who retrieves it -- a man of erudition. This class-conscious Cinderella earlier refused the advances of a fishmonger, a merchant, and an oil trader. Pock Face tries to usurp her stepsister's role, but in the end, Beauty triumphs after a contest in which both young women have to walk on eggs, climb a ladder of knives, and jump into boiling oil. The stepsister perishes in the last of the contests; Beauty triumphs and sends Pock Face's body back to the stepmother.

"Yeh-hsien," in The Classic Fairy Tales, ed. Maria Tatar (New York: W.W. Norton, 1999), pp. 107-8.

As media ownership converges and technology "unites" us, the concept of national identity grows ever easier to exploit -- and therefore, I fear, increasingly, and dangerously, simplistic.

This is the war on terror. This is the war on crime. They march on, despite the magnitude of their failures. They march on... because America is tough. America is exceptional.

If our news and mass entertainment outlets valued complexity and expansion of the national IQ, we wouldn't go to war. We'd be building our lives on the far side of fear and the far side of cynicism, which is the only place where peace is possible.

It's not like we aren't doing that anyway, to a certain extent. But it only becomes news when visionary journalists -- peace journalists -- declare that it is, which is why, every year for the last seven years now, I have written about and celebrated Chicago's Peace on Earth Film Festival, which showcases extraordinary films that step beyond the simplistic myth of good vs. evil, us vs. them. This year the festival is scheduled for March 19-22 at the Chicago Cultural Center; as always, it's free of charge.

"I was a thief, I was a manipulator, I was a con. I had lost all contact with my heart."

So it is in this context that I reflect on the words of Lisandro Martinez, quoted above, and the words of a dozen other prisoners and ex-prisoners at Dominguez State Jail in San Antonio, Texas, who were among the participants in a class at the prison run by volunteers and called, of all things, Inner Peace. It almost doesn't sound possible -- a class like this at a place where we corral bad guys, "offenders," criminals -- much less that it could be effective.

But one of the 40 films at this year's festival, a feature-length documentary called Inside Peace, makes the point that the class, based on the teachings of Prem Rawat, reaches hard, desperate men and helps them begin, my God, to love themselves -- to see the value of their lives, to grasp that the gift of existence is theirs to make the most of, or not. This is not the normal lesson of prison; mostly the millions of Americans who get stuck in the criminal justice system never leave it. Inside Peace is about a few who do.

A year ago, writing about a film at last year's festival called Hear Our Voices, about young people struggling with mental illness, I noted: "The film doesn't present quick fixes, but it conveys a sense of awe about what's possible." This is a hallmark of the films at the festival: Much more is possible than we publicly concede, and learning about these possibilities opens up big hope.

Early in the film, one of the men shrugs off the class, describing his motivation for attending it: "They'll give you a pen and some paper. You can bring it back, sell it for a soup, try to make a little hustle."

This was the size of their hope, to maybe trade a pen and some paper for extra food. The size of their lives was "nothing much."

"My parents were heroin addicts," Jake Alvarado says, noting that he's been locked up for 17 of the last 20 years. "My dad started going to prison when I was very young. I was in fourth grade."

He went to trade school and studied airplane mechanics, even graduating with honors. But he lacked the inner resources to stay in charge of his life. "I started hanging with the wrong crowd," he said. "They introduced me to the needle. That's what really messed me up. That's when everything started going downhill. That's when I started breaking into buildings."

"We moved around a lot. I had to grow up fast," David Sigee says. "When I was 18 I had to find a way to take care of myself." He started working at a hospital, washing pots for minimum wage, taking three or four buses to get to work. Then someone asked if he had any drugs for sale. He became a dealer.

"The neighborhood was very, very raw. I was only at the bottom of the food chain," he said. But he expanded operations, started finding success in the business. "Because I wanted a better future, I didn't believe I was born into the stereotype (of failure). In my mind, I was finally moving up -- until I was caught. And you're going to get caught."

These stories bleed through Inside Peace, and they are crucial to it, but they're only part of what the film is about. The men manage to take the message to heart that they have value as people -- no simple lesson, especially when it comes so late in life. This is where, for the viewer, the awe comes in. You mean inner peace is... always possible?

"To see everyone at peace in prison would shock the world." says Trinidad Martinez. "If you can find peace in prison, then surely it would motivate the world to find peace out there."

The film follows some of the men after their release, when, if anything, life gets harder -- far more complicated and also, very often, cruelly unwelcoming. This is the way we treat "ex-felons" -- as America's permanent underclass, unemployable, ineligible for basic help.

David Sigee, one of the released, talks about the panic and despair he's had to cope with, the ever-present criminal record to which he's chained. "When things go hard, you gotta find the peace," he said. "You're not gonna make it without your peace. You gotta dig for it. You gotta fight for it."

Three of the former prisoners -- Martinez, Sigee and Chase Cowan -- will join Inside Peace director Cynthia Fitzpatrick at the film festival on Sunday, March 22, to talk about the film and about the peace it's possible to build from the inside out.

Robert Koehler is an award-winning, Chicago-based journalist and nationally syndicated writer. His book, Courage Grows Strong at the Wound (Xenos Press), is still available. Contact him at koehlercw@gmail.com or visit his website at commonwonders.com.

© 2015 TRIBUNE CONTENT AGENCY, INC.

The Gershons saw Hamilton and The Lion (February 2015).

Two new musicals. Each one has only one author. Each musical also has, as its star, the author!

Hamilton is written by the same man who portrays Alexander Hamilton on stage in his musical. There are other famous characters like the Founding Fathers of our country. This story has been told and retold. However, the way it is told by Lin-Manual Miranda is original. Although based on a fine book, it was also independently researched by Mr. Miranda meticulously. It is bombastically exciting, dynamic and will be a big Broadway show.

Hamilton is "new" in the way Rent, West Side Story, Company and Oklahoma were "new." It does not lose the tradition of musical theatre. There are sets, movement, music, design and contemporary lighting. Refreshing and engaging, the audience is immersed in the birth of our nation -- and we feel we are there. In a radical departure from tradition, Lin-Manuel elected to use "2015 Shakespearean iambic pentameter" of hip/hop/rap/Urban dialogue/music - the language of today; the music of today. This is what young people are listening to. Because of that, they will go see this show and get it, learn to love musical theatre and learn American history.

In the '50s, the big hits on the radio were the songs that came from musical theatre. That's what drove the heyday of musical theatre. That stopped long ago... until now. Hamilton is a sea change and will reach a broader audience.

Hamilton and The Lion are original.

Being original ain't easy as it requires intuitive gut strength and the courage to fail. One must dig deep and expose oneself to strangers in public. This can (when it works) change our perceptions and insinuate itself into our lives... or you can fall on your face.

Although these two shows are different (one large, one small), they are both inventive, fresh, riveting and original.

No one in an audience who goes to the theatre knows the DNA of how a show came to be. When you sit down in your seat, you are either transported or not. That's all that matters.

There is no science to write a show; no navigational equipment provided to authors except to hold onto the rudder of their passion and vision and steer their ship. The Lion and Hamilton succeed because the audience is swept into new worlds through the talent and alchemy of trial and error, experimentation, hard work and good instincts.

Mr. Sondheim wrote: "You either got it or you ain't."
Lin-Manuel Miranda, author/star of Hamilton "got it."
Ben Scheuer, author/star of The Lion, "got it."

I am not the Yoda to declare who's "got it." My credentials are truth, honesty, sincerity, and love for musical theatre. I like the role of being a shepherd. Secretly, I live their lives vicariously. I can't do what they do and want them to succeed. Creators need nurturing, compassion, feedback and resuscitating when they are down. Authors need people to level with them, but honesty is subjective. Honesty is also painful to deliver (it is easier to be vague and evasive), but that's not really honest or very helpful.

So my credentials are sincerity and integrity.

Ben Scheuer wrote the book, music, lyric and performs The Lion. Ben is the only performer on the stage. There is no choreography, no traditional staging, sets, elaborate costumes or other elements we associate with theatre. The Lion is small and spartan. Ben sits on a chair, playing guitars and singing his original music. The book is not based on a published book, a movie or historical characters.

But, in 70 minutes, Benjamin Scheuer sings us the 32 years of his life. Therein lies the magic of this show. The magic of The Lion is that it is real, intimate and wonderfully moving with simplicity and without traditional theatricality.

Ben wrote the story he knows and he wrote it well. He wrote with artistry and performs with virtuosity and with charisma. You, as an audience member, know in your gut that everything you are hearing and watching is authentic. You become entranced.

Both of these shows come from young, ballsy creators taking a chance.

How wonderful that new things are happening in the musical theatre; that young people have the courage to step out and risk falling on their face.

We are all better off as two original, non-derivative voices have emerged.

Congratulations to Messrs. Miranda and Scheuer.

You are both young, still growing and still maturing. I hope to be around long enough to see more of your works and know that the theatre will continue to grow and change with resourceful new talents who don't try to be anyone but themselves and are willing to get in front of audiences and take risks.
Thank you, gentlemen.

We were privileged being present and seeing you perform your respective works.

Folks, go see these shows...

Freddie Gershon

I've just spent a day savoring two related exhibitions at San Francisco's Asian Art Museum. I lived in Japan for a year after college and have a particular interest in the arts and traditions of that country. So does my friend Linda Jue, who went with me (and is the only person who moves through a museum more slowly than I do, a seemingly impossible feat). But I'm quite sure the items on view would please even those who think they have no interest in art, Japanese or otherwise.

From well-known woodblock prints, many people are familiar with the term ukiyo-e, which refers to pictures (-e), that is, paintings and prints, about the "floating world" (ukiyo) -- the world of evanescent pleasures in old Tokyo (Edo) in the period just before the West intruded on that insular society (1615-1868). Political and military power lay in the hands of the shogun -- another term familiar to Westerners, thanks to movies and novels -- and the country's warlords were required to spend a good chunk of the year in Edo. With each lord bringing hundreds of samurai with him, it's no wonder a gated, one-entrance, moat-enclosed neighborhood in which they could pass the time apart from the citizenry was created.

This pleasure district was Yoshiwara, two miles downriver from the city center. The wondrous centerpiece of Seduction: Japan's Floating World is "A Visit to the Yoshiwara," a 58-foot-long scroll painting created for a wealthy patron by Hishikawa Moronobu, an artist who married one of the district's courtesans, in the 17th century. It's in a room-length vitrine, and you truly could spend hours looking at it. This intricate virtual tour begins outside the gate and slowly takes you through the pleasure quarter, past restaurants, tea houses and shops (including that of a money changer) and the required parade of well-dressed courtesans and their attendants, along with musicians, workmen, chefs and sword-carrying samurai, many of whom wear cone-shaped straw hats to hide their identity.

Eventually, you reach a few of the hundred-plus brothels in which the men also enjoyed entertainment, food, drink and ritual activity, such as sipping from three red cups of sake with the chosen woman, a rite also performed during weddings (!). In the final image, we see men paying for their evening in the Yoshiwara, a sum that could rise to the equivalent of $13,000 today. (And you thought an orchestra seat at the opera was expensive.)

In addition, the exhibition offers bright-colored paintings and woodblock prints, six rare illustrated guidebooks and a handful of beautiful things that echo items in the minute detail of the scroll, such as the three stacked sake bowls and an elegant kimono-shaped bed cover. Other highlights of the exhibition, most of which comes from the collection of John C. Weber, are several of the 500 kimono and other textiles he was able to gather "because no one else seemed to be interested." How could they not be?? You don't have to be a fan of couture or Project Runway to be delighted and amazed by the gorgeous, intricately designed robes, worn by the wives of wealthy merchants and high-level women of the era, on display.

But back to the Yoshiwara. Through their clothing and hairdos, the most famous and fashionable courtesans set the style standards, which reached the masses via woodblock prints, the mass media of the day. Some of Weber's prints depict Kabuki actors, another aspect of Edo-era entertainment. The accompanying exhibition highlights beautifully preserved woodblock prints from the Grabhorn Collection, a fascinating display in its own right.

I'm glad to say the exhibitions do not overlook the sordid side of the lives of the some 4,000 women -- both courtesans and street prostitutes -- who lived and worked and usually never escaped the Yoshiwara. The context is everything. But by now, so is the art. I say don't miss it.

Through May 10, Seduction: Japan's Floating World and The Printer's Eye: Ukiyo-e From the Grabhorn Collection, Asian Art Museum, 200 Larkin St., S.F., 415.581.3500, asianart.org.

The Rhode Island School of Design's (RISD) new president sees her administrative duties through the eyes of an artisan.

She should - Rosanne Somerson is a graduate of RISD who earned her degree in industrial design.


Double Bed with Curves, Rosanne Somerson

That was before RISD offered degrees in furniture design - which turned out to be a short-lived situation. When Somerson began to teach there, she was encouraged to create just such a department.

She did, establishing one for both undergraduate and graduate students, some of whom now work for Pottery Barn, Herman Miller and Steelcase, while others are in business for themselves, and still others are working in the medical field.

"They get an excellent foundation in problem-solving and theory, and become successful designers," she says.


Table, Rosanne Somerson

Indeed. Her philosophy of "iterative thinking for new and innovative outcomes" is about distilling theory, social issues and mental effort down into an idea. It's about bringing hands and minds and hearts together to create a dynamic result. It's about understanding traditional processes and new technologies. But at its heart, it's about problem-solving.

"They bring theory to life in a really strong way," she says.


Chair, Rosanne Somerson

Somerson would later serve as RISD's provost, then as its interim president. She was named president last week, which wasn't really a surprise to anyone at the school, now home to 2,000 undergrads, 450 graduate students, a K-12 and lifelong learning program and a museum.

That kind of agenda ought to be enough for any president. But this one comes with a special approach to it all.


Rosanne Somerson, President, RISD

"One of the strengths of an artist is that if you learn to deal with ideas and systems and structures, it all contributes to leadership," she says.

But after all, hasn't she already proven that?

J. Michael Welton writes about architecture, art and design for national and international publications and edits and publishes a digital design magazine at www.architectsandartisans.com. He is also the author of "Drawing from Practice: Architects and the Meaning of Freehand," due out from Routledge Architecture Press in the spring.

San Francisco Ballet in Myles Thatcher's Manifesto. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

San Francisco Ballet unleashed 24-year-old corps dancer Myles Thatcher's latest creation on a wildly enthusiastic audience Tuesday night that included dance world luminaries William Forsythe and Natalia Makarova, whose work was also on display in a decidedly mixed bill.

Thatcher had the cheek to venture through the knotty baroque thickets of Bach's "A Musical Offering" and "Goldberg Variations," well trammeled by legendary choreographers (Jerome Robbins, Paul Taylor, and Trisha Brown, for starters). What a gift his Manifesto turned to be for the 12 plucky dancers from the company's corps and soloist ranks who danced the work superbly -- led by the commanding Jennifer Stahl, partnered with great sensitivity by Sean Orza.


Norika Matsuyama and Steven Morse in Manifesto. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

Thatcher's male-female duos and riveting group patterns form a series of geometric responses to Bach's mathematically embedded canons. Math-phobes can rest assured, however, that Manifesto steers clear of the dizzying acrobatic routines that often masquerade as contemporary ballet. Strong emotional connections between these dancers appear to drive their movement, and individual personalities emerge, particularly in the brief moments when one dancer breaks free from the ensemble.

The elegant, neoclassical vocabulary is framed by a spare, eloquent semaphore of the arms that nods to the strict classicism on view in the final piece of the evening: the Act II excerpt from La Bayadère. Manifesto doesn't defy balletic conventions. It merely stretches them, most intriguingly during the lifts in which the women continue to change shapes in the air, even as they are propelled offstage -- hinting at interesting goings-on backstage to which we are not privy.


San Francisco Ballet in Manifesto. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

Mark Zappone costumed the ensemble in a sleek, faintly gothic vibe: both men and women in high necked sleeveless tops in shimmering shades of dark umber, with sheer panels cut out of the back. Women sported sparkly earrings and slashed skirts that revealed plenty of thigh during the many arching, swooping lifts. A little too obscurely lit, the ensemble resembled an unkindness of ravens, albeit very chic ravens. The breezy, youthful energy and forthright emotions might have been better showcased in simple play clothes - T-shirts and shorts, perhaps - or more dramatically with a change from formal to play clothes midway through.


Stalking couples in Hans van Manen's Variations For Two Couples. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

For all the good taste, musicality and sophistication on display in Manifesto, Thatcher will have to go through a rebellious phase if his dance-making is to break new ground. He could do worse than study the angry, furniture-tossing work of Ballet Hall of Famers Hans Van Manen and William Forsythe - though Tuesday night's lukewarm programming showcased their less compelling creations. Two couples stalk each other in Van Manen's Variations for Two Couples, while Forsythe's The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude proves no more than a terrific aerobic workout for the five dancers trapped on its kooky planet.


Frances Chung and Davit Karapetyan in Variations For Two Couples. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

Pirouettes that finish with a menacing glare are meant to give Variations deep meaning, while the unmusical head waggling and hip wiggling telegraph "hip". Davit Karapetyan danced with such commitment that he managed to transcend the piece's pomposity. A virtuosic pas de deux in which he and Frances Chung chase each other in a series of spirited turns, at the end of which she spins right into his arms, provides a few minutes of outright pleasure. But this is minor Van Manen, vastly less interesting than his more outlandish and frankly erotic work.


Sofiane Sylve and Carlo Di Lanno in William Forsythe's The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

Sofiane Sylve inspires awe in the lilypad of a tutu she is forced to wear in Vertiginous Thrill. With her imposing physique, she can pull it off. The more diminutive Frances Chung and Vanessa Zahorian take a while to convince us that they don't look silly in it, and by the end, all five dancers - including the dashing Carlo Di Lanno and sterling Gennadi Nedvigin in their burnt orange short shorts - win our admiration for their take-no-prisoners athleticism. But all that endless bending and twisting from the waist and breakneck échappé-ing (the balletic equivalent of jumping jacks) make a better advertisement for Cardiobarre than it does for what goes on in the opera house.


Gennadi Nedvigin in The Vertiginous Thrill of Exactitude. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

The hardest dancing of Tuesday evening came at the end, in Makarova's staging of the enduring "Kingdom of the Shades" scene from the 19th century La Bayadère. The scene is littered with balletic land mines, starting with the ramp down which troop 24 ghostly apparitions in tutus seemingly stitched from cumulus cloud. Nerves of steel are required, but a few wobbly legs in arabesque could not detract from the sublime spectacle.


San Francisco Ballet in "The Kingdom of the Shades" from Natalia Makarova's La Bayadère, Act II. (Photo: Erik Tomasson)

An alarmingly gaunt Yuan Yuan Tan appeared as the spirit of the temple dancer Nikiya (assassinated by a rival in Act I). The hunky Taras Domitro in the role of Prince Solor - full of remorse for having abandoned Nikiya for a wealthy princess - had every female in the audience, and some of the men, at his feet, and his opening pas de deux with Tan was suitably tragic. He soared through his variations, noble and clean, avoiding the exhibitionism that afflicts many danseurs in this role. Tan faltered a bit during the fiendishly tricky scarf pas de deux. But any hint of frailty was banished thereafter, her blistering turns down the diagonal and hops backward in arabesque practically igniting the stage.

Tan's admirable lieutenants, the coquettish Mathilde Froustey, diamantine Wanting Zhao, and patrician Dores André executed their solo Shade variations with great flair (minus a couple of tiny tremors) but it was Zhao - in arguably the most challenging Shade solo - who took our breath away. She came out of the starting gate all guns blazing, landing the notorious sissonnes développées and slow pirouettes with a stillness that reminds us that it is not just how high you jump or how fast you spin, but how you finish that separates the women from the girls. She bobbled an easier step moments later, but overall her austere lines and steely sang-froid left the most indelible impression of the entire evening.

Fembots, robots and aliens arrive on planet Earth, and they are here to stay. Get used to it! They are fierce and powerful.



Do visit them at the Mia Fonssagrives Solow show at Kasher Potamkim Gallery at 515 E 26th street in New York from Feb 26 to April 4th. The opening party is Thursday night Feb 26th and you can pick your favorite alien.

Mia Fonssagrives Solow found her path to robot sculpture from a start in Paris fashion in the sixties to an art career in New York ever since.

In the last decade, Mia's inspiration has been futuristic as she created her robot family.





46 x 21inches are the average size of the robots.





I met Mia at Parsons, NY in 1962 when we were classmates in the fashion design department. We went on to Paris to become The YeYe girls, in 1964 showing in the July couture collections the mini, and in 1968 the wrap dress and hot pants.

Mia, whose Fonssagrives father and Fonssagrives grandfather were both French artists, could not resist the call to continue in the family passion, sculpture, and in 1971 Mia returned to New York where she worked for years creating jewelry and fine art.

In the last decade, Mia created robots that became her babies, to love and to nurture. To Mia, her robots are almost alive, each with their own personality.

Every week she would save her hard trash and take the waste pieces to her studio and transform her family's personal home-trash into objects of love. She thus transformed her ugly trash into her almost life-size elegant beautiful metal babies and soon her robots grew into her family.



I can see the future for us all, one day fembots and robots will be in our homes waiting at the door to greet us, alongside our dogs, preparing us humans a drink, listening to our woes and giving us advice and tucking us into bed late at night. I hope they are as beautiful as Mia's art.

John Currin at Gagosian Gallery opening night. Photo by EMS.

"I find I can't get rid of my trashiness as an artist. A lot of my themes in painting, to the extent that there are intentional themes, are meant to bring that conundrum into high relief." -- John Currin


John Currin and his family with Larry Gagosian. Photo by EMS.


A reverie of patrons, collectors, movie stars and moochers. Photo by EMS.

The Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills held its pre-Oscar exhibition with New-York-based master painter, John Currin. The opening was held this past Thursday, February 19th. Currin arrived with his wife and children by his side, and although this was Currin's night to shine, he adoringly gave his family most of his attention. Having covered hundreds of openings in my career, I can say that the whimsical display of Currin and his beautiful wife and accomplished artist, Rachel Feinstein, playing with their kids in the hallowed hall of the Gagosian's empire, seemed as if a fairy tale was unfolding right before my eyes.


John Currin with his wife Rachel Feinstein and the kids. Photo by EMS.


Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones. Photo by EMS.

Larry Gagosian was beaming with excitement in seeing the Currin kids having so much fun. It was like a family reunion of sorts, amidst the awestruck crowd of patrons, collectors and art world moochers. The kids even hammed it up for my camera, at one point asking if I could take their pictures, as to kill a little time before they were swept away to an exclusive post dinner at Mr. Chow's down the street.


Filmmaker Wes Anderson's film, 'The Grand Budapest Hotel' was up for nine Academy Award nominations. Photo by EMS.

Currin was signing books with distinguished gentleman, while Rachel Feinstein led Elton John on a docent tour of the exhibition. All the while salivating bystanders were snapping their smartphones, and burning up their Instagram. Elton John was grand as usual. I broke my lens when I was trying to get pictures of his shoes. It fell out of my bag and made a sickening thud on the floor. The filter shattered, but I had two more lenses.


Elton John in full regalia. Photo by EMS.


Who can guess the shoes worn by Rachel Feinstein and Elton John? Photo by EMS.

As I posted the event in real-time through social media, many in the art world felt shattered themselves, as they were not in attendance. They did not even know that Currin had an opening. It made me wonder, how did you NOT know this? It also made me ponder the parallels... you're at home... and the art world magnates are here. In the same way the legends are at the Oscars and the wannabee actors are at home wishing they were at the Kodak.


Jesus Christ and Mr. Chow. Photo by EMS.

It is what it is. This was no fairy tale night for those dreaming at home with little butterflies of confusion and angst wondering, "How did I miss this event?" For many in the room it was a vivid reality of a zenith of success as Escalades and Bentleys were loitering outside. This is the place that slated Currin a pre-Oscar party, an A-list venue, and an A-list restaurant.


Julian Sands. photo by EMS.


Harvey Keitel. Photo by EMS.

Then there was Harvey Keitel who stole the show for me as people were fainting over Mick Jagger. Interesting that I had recently and randomly watched Taxi Driver a few nights before. I spent that night wondering what life may have been like for him if he had remained cast in Apocalypse Now. From there I recognized Julian Sands from one of my favorite films, Leaving Las Vegas. While Mr. Chow was taking pictures with Jesus Christ, the illustrious directors of LA/LACMA/MOCA/INC. showed up looking distinguished as ever.


LACMA director Michael Govan and his wife, Katherine Ross. Photo by EMS.


Michael Wincott. Photo by EMS.

It was a night to remember for Larry Gagosian and it was surely a night to remember for John and Rachel, but perhaps, in the end, it was mostly a night the kids would never forget.


John Currin's kids. Photo by EMS.

This article is part of an ongoing photojournalism survey of art exhibition openings titled EMS N(art)rative. Through my lens I document a photographic essay or visual "N(art)rative" that captures the happenings, personalities, collectors, gallerists, artists, and the art itself; all elements that form the richly varied and textured fabric of the SoCal art world. This reconnaissance offers a unique view for serious art world players to obtain news and information on the current pulse of what's in the now, yet capturing timeless indelible images for posterity and legacy. Here is EMS N(art)rative Sixteen.


John Currin. Photo by EMS.

Ice Cave Sculpture by Henry Richardson

As temperatures drop to recording breaking lows, climate change is once again pushed to the forefront of our global conversation.

I recently spoke to three people who approach the issue of climate change from a diverse array of perspectives and disciplines. Dr. David Lea is a Professor of Earth Science and Member of the Marine Science Institute at UC Santa Barbara; Jochen Wermuth sits on the board of Greenpeace and is the Founding Partner and CIO of Wermuth Asset Management, a German investment advisory firm that focuses on sustainable growth and clean technologies; and Henry Richardson is a pioneering world-renowned sculptor whose work calls attention to the issue of melting Arctic glaciers. We spoke about the nexus of issues surrounding climate change, the technologies and finances that we are developing to combat this issue and the role that the artistic community has in this fight.

Tell us a bit about your work, process and research?

DAVID LEA: My research is focused on using past climate records to probe how the climate system behaves under different climate regimes. For example, the peak of the last Ice Age, about 20,000 years ago, and the Pliocene Epoch, about 2.5 to 5 million years ago, represent times of extreme cold and relative warmth, respectively. By reconstructing climate during these extremes, we can unravel how the climate system responds to both internal and external forces. I am particularly focused on the tropical Pacific and its role in climate change. We are working on a new ocean core from southeast of the Galapagos Islands that will provide a detailed record of climate from this region over the last 600,000 years.

JOCHEN WERMUTH: As a German family office, we have decided to only undertake investments with a positive impact on the environment and joined the "100% Impact" family office network. We have also joined the www.divestinvest.org movement and committed to divest from fossil fuels and invest in renewable energies and resource efficient companies.

For us, with a focus on resource efficiency, we do not see a conflict between doing good and getting profits - on the contrary, we have achieved returns of 20% per annum both in listed securities with a "divestinvest" portfolio, with an "impact investing" activist portfolio pushing companies to improve resource efficiency and fight corruption with private equity investments in resource efficient companies in the EU which we help to sell their products to emerging markets who often consume four times as much energy as Germany, with achieved top-line growth of 50% per annum and a positive impact on the environment.

On our charitable giving side we are a supporter of Greenpeace Russia, UK and Germany; and have participated on a German-French Arte TV program. As much oil is being spilled into the Arctic Ocean from Russia, as BP's Horizon Oil well spilled - some 5 million tons per year - without there being much press coverage about it.

HENRY RICHARDSON: For my new series, based on the ice forms in Iceland, I have traveled to the glaciers and ice beaches to observe how the light goes through the glaciers, how the ocean carves the forms of ice, how the light from the winter sun reflects through the materials. This series of sculptures are reminders of the long-term systemic problems humans face as we change the chemistry of our planet.

The ice forms are truly abstract forms, and arrive at the confluence of my educational background as a geology major and my maturing as an artist to explore long term issues confronting humanity. In several decades the ice forms of Iceland as in other parts of the world will disappear due to the changes in our climate. It is my intention to assert that this change will occur, and how we respond over the decades will have a profound effect on humans and other lifeforms on our planet.

How did you become acquainted with Henry and his work?


DAVID LEA: I met Henry when we were both geology majors at Haverford College. I still remember that Henry had a special aesthetic about how he looked at geology. I served as Henry's field assistant on one memorable trip. Later, he asked me to help him with some calculations related to a glass sphere he was creating (the original Tikkun). It was gratifying to be part of something that turned out to be so moving and beautiful.


JOCHEN WERMUTH: We are considering putting up some of his statues because they highlight the beauty of the Arctic ice which we are about to lose, with drastic consequences for humanity and life on Planet Earth. It is thus no longer a question if, it is only a question by how much and by when the sea-levels will rise. The United Nations estimates that 1.2 billion people will be displaced with 2m higher sea levels already. The climatic effects will be so rapid and violent that if we reach a 2 degrees Celsius warmer global climate, humanity is unlikely to be able to adapt and survive. The poorest 2 billion people who had nothing to do with causing this climate change will be hit first and hardest. We thus joined www.divestinvest.org for moral as well as financial reasons.

We have art reminding us of our commitment to 100% renewable energy now! At the entrance to our home and we hope to be able to draw the interest of others to our topic through the impressive art of Henry.

Henry, how have David and Jochen influenced your work?

HENRY RICHARDSON: David has been a pioneer in the field of climate change and I am fortunate to have him as a friend and as a source of scientific information. I am excited by the idea of using my art to communicate rapid changes of our world caused by climate change, especially changes in glaciers that, although massive, are vulnerable, and vitally linked to human lives

I met Jochen at a meeting of investors working on systemic problems. We discussed his interest in the effects of climate change. His leadership in his own country greatly impressed me. The German commitment to alternative fuels sources, like solar energy, created a market for solar panels that prompted Chinese manufactures to ramp up production, and has lowered the cost of this energy source significantly. It would be great if the United States and other developed countries would follow suit.

When Jochen learned of my work of sculptures based on ice forms, he was very enthusiastic about finding art that reflects his passions. Art is a powerful source of emotion and communication, a creative energy to which I have dedicated my life. As another friend of my said, 'I take care of my body, I like to study, but art is really feeding my soul'. Well said!


David and Jochen, what do you think about intersections of art, science and activism? How can each benefit from the other?

DAVID LEA: I feel quite strongly about this issue and see the boundaries as quite fluid. Great art and great science both require an aesthetic to be effective, although this is less obvious for science. But in my work, presenting a great story requires a clear line, just like a great symphony. And a scientific result, if aesthetically pleasing, is all the more compelling.

JOCHEN WERMUTH:Art is the language of the gods and it can help bring people together and inspire them to move in the right direction. My wife and I are happy to swim against the stream, following our motto "only dead fish swim with the stream." The time has come to turn the heard of lemmings around to make sure we do not kill the basis of our existence. We need to share our success stories by investing in an impactful fashion, and visualizing what we are about to lose through the arts.


During the recent State of the Union address President Obama declared, "There is no greater threat than climate change". How you do you respond to this? How effective is the legislation that's currently in place or in the process of being put in place? What in your opinion needs to happen next?

DAVID LEA: I am a big supporter of the president's programs, and believe he has been as effective as anyone could be in his position, given the political, economic and diplomatic circumstances. He also has appointed effective and vigorous people to enact his policies, like Secretary John Kerry pursuit of effective climate diplomacy. The U.S. - China agreement on emission reductions announced last fall is a major breakthrough, with great potential for making a real impact. I would also single out Todd Stern, the President's Special Envoy on Climate Change, for his role behind the scenes in laying the groundwork for the agreement with China. I spent a year as a Jefferson Science Fellow at the U. S. State Department, where one of my roles was providing science advice to Mr. Stern. I developed a great respect for his effectiveness in a role that is very challenging, both nationally and internationally.

JOCHEN WERMUTH: $45 trillion of asset owners have subscribed to the UN Principles of Responsible Investment, $34 trillion have called for international governments to come up with a price for CO2 emissions at the UN climate change summit on 23 September 2014 in New York City. The USA has failed to lead on this front for over a decade now, and instead is behind the potential destruction of the planet. A "global cop" causing global damage is no good. Let us hope that America wakes up and takes a lead by imposing a price on carbon emissions domestically and signing up to global rules including a clear tax on emitting CO2.

2015 is the year in which we need to get the momentum going towards an international agreement on CO2 emission reductions. If governments fail us again, then businesses, families, institutional investors, individuals, artists will have to take the lead and make sure humanity has a chance to survive.

In this article I discuss a number of wonderful recent concertos. This is not to suggest that the composers of these works haven't written many other meritorious pieces in other genres. I simply want to get their music out to those who are interested in hearing some of the best new classical music around-and new in this context means within the last twenty-five years or so. With some of this music I have been waiting a long time to mention it, with others it is in response to a recent CD release, and with some it is because of the very short time that certain music seems to stay in our present consciousness. All of these works are worthy of your attention.

Stephen Jaffe, whose public profile should be much higher, has written a gorgeous Violin Concerto, and it has somewhat recently appeared in a wonderful reading by Gregory Fulkerson and the Odense Symphony Orchestra, with conductor, Donald Palma. Jaffe's music, finely etched with memorable motivic material, is a delight to the ear. Primarily tonal and modal, it also veers off to the boundaries of that terrain before winding its way back. It is both tender and exuberant, often in quick alternating fashion. While this should be jarring, it isn't; instead there is a sense of sure pacing that feels like it can't go wrong, and it doesn't. There are the usual bravura sections which don't sound usual at all, and Fulkerson handles these and everything else the concerto throws at him with clarity and gentle ease. Palma and the orchestra accompany beautifully.

The Cello Concerto by Joan Tower has withstood the test of time. Written thirty years ago in 1984, it is a vivacious eighteen minutes long, divided into three sections with a cadenza. It exhibits those characteristics of much of her music, including some heavy percussion (a palette like that of Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man), driving, brash rhythms, great balance in structure, and an immediacy of material. This work centers on the intervals of the major 2nd and minor 3rd, a trill, and some scale passages. It is a hat made of pretty basic stuff, but wonderful surprises are pulled out of it. Tower uses the orchestra mainly in separate choirs yet isn't loath to use orchestral tuttis on single lines when warranted. The slow section has some wonderful keening lines, and the delicacy of music in the extreme high register, in its icey isolation, is riveting. The cadenza, much of it in double stops, is mostly quiescent and probing. Harrell, Slatkin, and the St. Louis SO give the work a taut performance.

Stephen Albert, a student of George Rochberg in the 60s, was a teacher of mine in the 70's when he was a visiting professor at Smith College and I a student at Hampshire College. Truth be told, he did not much like looking at students' music, so we mostly studied scores together, as I remember, of Bartok and Crumb. After his untimely death in the early nineties both Christopher Rouse and I memorialized him in symphonies we were writing- I in the adagio of my 4th and Rouse in his 2nd. Albert wrote wonderfully communicative music, much of it for the orchestra. You can hear his two symphonies on disc as well as much of his other music. His concerto for violin- In Concordiam, and for clarinet- Wind Canticle, are superb outings for those instruments. But you might wish to start with the cello concerto, written for, and recorded by, Yo-Yo Ma. It was supposed to be in one movement of 15' duration but grew into a four movement work of over half an hour. It is well-wrought and beautifully orchestrated. The movements are linked and by the end all of the threads are dandily brought together. Like most of Albert's work, this is soulful music, and Yo-Yo milks it for all it is worth.

Christopher Rouse has most recently been the composer-in-residence for the past few years with the New York Philharmonic. He has written many works for orchestra including symphonies, concertos, and shorter works like The Infernal Machine which started it all for him. His Violin Concerto combines his sense of lyricism in elegantly written materials for the violin and his penchant for percussive bombast. The movements are each beautifully shaped and together add up to something more. The first movement, in three major sections, opens with the solo violin which is joined by other high strings, in a mournful quiescent music, akin to that of the opening of Bartok's Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celeste, albeit a bit more tonally centered. It is rudely interrupted by loud minor chords of a Wagnerian heft, aided and abetted by loads of percussion, particularly a deep tamtam and bass drum. (Ned Rorem once said that percussion is used in inverse proportion to its effectiveness- none of that for Rouse.) A prominent and profound figure appears in the brass that has the shape and quality of the Dies Irae figure, and it is repeated numerous times. After this section loses steam, a new section comes in, almost a slow, nostalgic waltz, with high figures in the violin. It too is interrupted by the Wagnerian idea; the opening is stated briefly before it fades into the stratosphere, providing less than a conclusion. But that is because it segues neatly into the next section or movement, really fast music with a nice jazz syncopation to it. The rest of the piece contrasts these various materials, introverted, deep and heavy with a Berliozan and Wagnerian overtone to it, and the fast light buzzing music that Rouse does so well. The final cadenzas are a true tour de force, with alternations of bowing and skittering left-hand pizzicato that bring the piece to an abrupt and rousing (ouch!) close.

You won't hear the music of Tower, Albert, or Jaffe much these days. Whether it is conductors who don't know the American repertoire, soloists who don't know what was written when they were born, or artistic administrators' lack of artistic memory, vision, and adventurousness, the current situation is benighted. Being just a decade or two out of the scene can bring a paucity of performances, as can being just a bit reserved or not having had the right break. And then death can bring on an artistic deep freeze, unless you are swept into the updraft of the momentary politically infested zeitgeist. The scene's insistence on being "current" and thus historically amnesic is absurd and artistically bankrupt. Instead it sells mostly trivial, trite, and empty ephemeralities. Go figure.

Susanna Mälkki, Chief Conductor of the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra, effective from the 2016/17 season, is coming to Walt Disney Concert Hall February 27 and 28 to conduct the Los Angeles Philharmonic and take command of the West Coast premiere of a new, multimedia opera by Unsuk Chin and David Henry Hwang called Alice in Wonderland.


Presented in collaboration with LA Opera, the production is directed by Netia Jones, combining illustrations, live action, interactive animated projections, costumes and choreography. The buzz is intense; tickets are impossible to get for the two performances Friday and Saturday nights.

Susanna Mälkki's rise to the helm of one of Finland's finest orchestras follows in a national tradition of musical culture that includes colleagues Esa-Pekka Salonen, Jukka-Pekka Saraste and Leif Segerstam, violinist Pekka Kuusisto, pianist Ralf Gothoni, composer Kaija Saariaho and cellist Erkki Rautio, all of whom are noted for rigorous musical principles, deeply-focused imaginations, and a commitment to contemporary music that they carry almost as a badge of national honor. Except for one CD of Mahler songs, all of Mälkki's 19 recordings are of 20th and 21st century music; her most recent was of Saariaho's Circle Map, with the Royal Concertgebouw Orchestra.

This season Mälkki is debuting with The Philadelphia, Cleveland and New York Philharmonic orchestras, the Chamber Orchestra of Europe and the Orchestra Filarmonica del Teatro la Fenice. She also returns to the San Francisco Symphony, Helsinki and Royal Stockholm Philharmonic orchestras.

I spoke to Susanna Mälkki after she was named to the Helsinki post in September.

LV: How exciting was it to be named music director in Helsinki?
SUSANNA MALKKI: I'm thrilled, of course. It feels like so many pieces simply fell into place. Helsinki is the city where I grew up, I know the culture well, I know practically all the musicians already and they are great, the new hall is excellent. Also, the positive response for my nomination was overwhelming; I'm very touched about that.

LV: How did you react and celebrate when you heard the news?
SUSANNA MALKKI: In fact, we had to celebrate very discreetly, as the nomination was decided a long time ago and it had to be kept confidential for several months. In any case, I was and am still full of joy!

LV: Do audiences in Helsinki dress more formally than in Los Angeles?
SUSANNA MALKKI: Difficult to say. But I can probably safely say that LA people are generally speaking more fashionable and chic! Finns are not at all extravagant by nature.

LV: Do they clap in Helsinki the way they do in the States or rhythmically like in Hungary?
SUSANNA MALKKI: The applause tends to be very warm but rarely extremely loud. What is very special with the Finnish audience is its very intense, concentrated and silent listening and it's wonderful for the performers.


LV: Have you found someplace in Helsinki to live yet?
SUSANNA MALKKI: Not yet, there is still time (I start in 2016). But I think I know already which neighborhood I'd like to be in-it needs to be close to the sea!

LV: Musically, what are your plans and dreams in Helsinki?
SUSANNA MALKKI: An orchestra for me is the ultimate super-instrument. So to put it simply: to make the glorious repertory sound glorious! Sound is very important to me, because it is through the sound that the energy in the music is transmitted. I hope that we will attract audiences to come back over and over again to get beautiful and memorable musical experiences of a wide range of repertory.

LV: What makes Finnish musicians and composers so special?
SUSANNA MALKKI: That's very kind of you and always such a tricky question to answer. Maybe we have a strong need for authenticity since we are very close to silence and the nature?

LV: Do you have some favorites from your recordings?
SUSANNA MALKKI: I'm happy to have done many world premiere recordings-actually, almost all of them. It feels really meaningful as work to me. But it's totally impossible to pick just some! Recording Mahler with the Gothenburg Symphony was great since I was principal cellist there a long time ago [1995-1998]. Also, some of the recordings have been a beginning of a long and ever-continuing collaboration with composers, as is the case with Jukka Tiensuu and Luca Francesconi, for example. It's fantastic to work with living composers.

Here's a chaos theory playlist I made from recordings by Mälkki and her friends.



LV: Is there anything extra you'd like to add?
SUSANNA MALKKI: Music lovers are always most warmly welcome in Finland!

"The Shop follows the day-to-day life of Lewis, its one and only clerk. His daily interactions with the regular and one-time customers often resembles group therapy mixed with a southern revival. Freaks, geeks, enthusiasts, and tools, Lewis not only sells music, but often solves the world's problems... in theory, anyway." --Chris Pomeroy

--The Record Shop, by Bayard Morse

Lewis, sitting at counter, reading Ulysses. Customer walks in, wearing jeans, t-shirt and a knit hat.

Dude: Hey, man.

Customer: Hey, man. Have you heard this? (holding up new Beach House cd)

Dude: No, but I've heard good things about it.

Customer: Ummm, well do have have the new Broken Bells on vaneel?

Dude: Can you spell that?

Customer: V-i-n-y-l

Dude: Ummmm...yes. We have the Broken Bells record.

Juliana Huxtable, "UNIVERSAL CROP TOPS FOR ALL THE SELF CANONIZED SAINTS OF BECOMING," 2015. Courtesy the artist.

It's strange to pause and think about how much everyday life has changed in just the last five to ten years. How our interconnected technologies have become so essential to our lives; how our day-to-day performance of ourselves on social media has become so second nature; and how dependent we are on the devices that occupy most of our waking hours. Yet at some point in the future decades, I imagine our future selves will look back on us in 2015, and remark about how primitive our technologies were "back then." After all, the twenty-first century has only been around for fifteen years; we're living in its adolescence, and it's just coming into its own.​

Antoine Catala, Distant Feel, 2015. Courtesy the artist.

"Surround Audience," the highly anticipated third iteration of the New Museum Triennial, this time curated by Lauren Cornell and artist Ryan Trecartin, surveys art practices that respond to, embody, disturb, identify with, unpack, question, replicate, and complicate the "newfound freedoms and threats" associated with our heavily digitized reality. For the Triennial, Cornell and Trecartin have selected 51 artists and artist collectives representing 25 countries, with interdisciplinary and intermedia practices, almost all of them under 35 years of age.​

Ed Atkins, Happy Birthday!!, 2014. Courtesy the artist and Cabinet Gallery, London.

As the title suggests, these artists emerge from and are informed by the decentralized, democratic and digitized cultures spawned by social media, where everyone is an actor/performer/writer/comedian editorializing one's own life online for multiple dispersed, engaged audiences. These technologies have not only become integral parts of our everyday activities, but affect the way we think, express ourselves and the ways we relate to others. As Cornell explains in the introductory essay to the exhibition catalogue, these technologies and diverse media platforms have liberated us from the homogenizing effects of centralized mass media, while also simultaneously exposing us to ever more complex, surreptitious, and insidious power systems of surveillance and data tracking.

Lisa Holzer. But yes, but yes!, 2013. Courtesy the artist and Galerie Emanuel Layr, Vienna. Photo: Georg Petermichl.

Trecartin's work, with its "tension between, on the one hand, the liberating potential that digital media affords for adjusting or rewriting ourselves...and, on the other hand, a deep immersion in an invasive world order, in which the guises of power are ever more sophisticated and harder to bypass," provides the departure point and organizing principle for the exhibition. Trecartin's revelatory debut shocked and awed audiences of the first New Museum Triennial, "Younger Than Jesus," in 2009, and made an enormous impression on the art world. It will be interesting to see, then, whether any of the art in "Surround Audience" tends to follow in Trecartin's wake, or if it forges its own path into yet uncharted territory.

niv Acosta, i shot denzel, 2014. Courtesy the artist. Photo: Ian Douglas.

Three overarching themes give structure to this exuberant bunch, most significantly the idea of "Elusive Personae." Those who are familiar with the characters in Trecartin's movies will recognize the gender-fluid, shifting "myriad of personae, many surrogates of the self" that appear in "Surround Audience." Elements of identity--gender, geography, culture, social status, ethnicity, personal appearance--evolve and shift in the many strategies used to represent versions of the self in the democratic age of social media. The swiftly rising British art star Ed Atkins, with his high-def digital avatars, is a natural, almost inevitable, fit, but there are also some surprises in store for visitors, artists like Brooklyn-based dancer-choreographer niv Acosta, and New York-based DJ, activist and transgender "nightlife queen" Juliana Huxtable. Undoubtedly one of the most striking works is a 3D printed sculpture of Huxtable, nude and reclining, by Frank Benson; disorientingly futuristic and alien, it exudes the timeless elegance of classical statuary, appearing inconceivably ancient while simultaneously belonging to the future.

Frank Benson, Juliana, 2015 (detail). Courtesy the artist; Andrew Kreps Gallery, New York; and Sadie Coles HQ London.

While internet communications afford an empowering visibility to communities that are otherwise marginalized, the darker side of our technologically dependent society comes into view as artists tackle the issues of state and corporate surveillance and data tracking, disguised, denied or hidden as tools used to safeguard us or market to us more effectively. Hong Kong-based artist Nadim Abbas will create a quarantine bunker within the museum, while New York-based artist Josh Kline presents an immersive installation of sinister "police Teletubbies." Chinese artist Li Liao reveals the great disparity between producer and consumer by embedding himself within a factory assembling iPads in a five-month performance (the amount of working time required for him to earn enough money to purchase one iPad). Jerusalem-born, New York-based Shadi Habib Allah, on the other hand, records the journeys of off-the-grid networks of Bedouin smugglers on the Sinai Peninsula, who operate from a position of political invisibility to defy governmental surveillance out in the open desert.

Shadi Habib Allah, Untitled, 2015 (still). Courtesy the artist and Green Art Gallery, Dubai.

"Surround Audience" also sets out to explore the myriad ways artists maneuver outside the established channels of the art world and "how art is migrating across context," from YouTube and Instagram, to corporate boardrooms and nightclubs. The artist collective DIS, for instance, moves deftly between the worlds of branding, luxury goods, fashion, and marketing, while rejecting the "false claims of market autonomy" often espoused in the art world. Cornell identifies that artists are increasingly "mobilizing the 'art world' as a home base, a point to alight from or touch down, but not an exclusive final destination," embracing other forms of popular culture and dispersing their works through the networks and channels of the internet. These works, existing independently from the curated and protective environment of the art institution, form what could be considered an "embedded critique" within culture at large. Maine-based artist and poet Steve Roggenbuck's emphatic, humorous and idiosyncratic works exist primarily on social media networks like YouTube and Twitter, while Los Angeles artist/comedienne Casey Jane Ellison's work can be defined as the development of a cultivated public persona, which she broadcasts on Twitter, in video stand-up routines and through her video talk show "Touching the Art" (Ellison will be filming new episodes of "Touching the Art" at the New Museum over the course of the exhibition). These dispersed and decentralized art practices present a challenge to the art institution, and it will be interesting to see how the curators will harness them for display and consideration within the museum.

DIS, Studies for The Island, 2015. Codesigned by Mike Meiré. Courtesy the artists and Dornbracht.

A survey exhibition like the New Museum Triennial is a naturally fraught enterprise, a precarious undertaking. "Surround Audience" acknowledges this right in its promotional campaign, designed by artist and trend-casting collective K-HOLE. "Nothing Lasts Forever," reads one of the posters promoting the show, while another announces, "We Really Tried This Time." These tongue-in-cheek pronouncements simultaneously curb expectations while heightening the desire to confirm whether those expectations compare to the experience of "the real thing." 

K-HOLE,"Extended Release": I'll Triennial Once, 2015. Courtesy the artists.

"Will the art of today be seen as conservative or radical in the future? We can't predict," admits Cornell in her essay. It remains to be seen whether the artists in "Surround Audience" will have a lasting impact on art history, and the way we view, make, and consume art. I suppose we'll only know in retrospect.

 

--Natalie Hegert

 

I began my writing career in 1977 when I was given an opportunity to write an opera column for Bay Area Reporter (one of San Francisco's gay newspapers). In recent years, I've often wondered how different my path as a writer would have been had the Internet been available to me from the start.

Try to understand that, back in 1977, there was no access to word-processing software programs with instant, WYSIWYG editing. If you made three typos on a page, you were expected to retype the entire page (carbon paper was a constant source of aggravation and Liquid Paper couldn't solve every problem).

A friend recently posted a link to David Gaughran's stunning article entitled How Jessica Mitford Exposed A $48m Scam From America's Literary Establishment (I strongly recommend taking the time to read this piece). Gaughran's article shows how many aspiring writers were conned into paying exorbitant sums of money toward mentoring scams that led them nowhere and did absolutely nothing to improve their skills.

What has helped me over the years is the simple process of continuing to think and write. Improvements in technology have made it possible to construct smoother, more fluid sentences. The ability to spell check, embed hyperlinks to other websites, and include videos in my columns has made my work infinitely better.

Not only are today's writers living in a brave new world of electronic publishing, they've come a long, long way from the era when vanity publishing was looked upon with more disdain than porn (which at least made money). Many bloggers grew up in an environment where they learned how to type at an early age, were working on computers from the start, and were encouraged by parents and teachers to express themselves,

Anyone with access to WordPress, Blogger, Tumblr, Instagram, or any other online publishing tool now has the capacity to rage, vent, explain, or criticize to their heart's content. As a result, three classic sayings now hold more truth than ever before:

• Everyone's a critic.


• If you don't like the news you're reading, make your own.


• Opinions are like assholes, everybody's got one.

Those who follow The Rude Pundit may have been tickled by his recent challenge for readers to create end-of-year haikus for him. As he explained on his blog:

"The Rude Pundit thanks everyone who put in the effort to compose a haiku or five for this here blog's Annual Haiku Review. If your poem didn't get chosen, well, who knows why, really? It was dependent on the day, the level of drugs and/or liquor ingested, and quirks of personality. Or it could be that yours just sucked balls. You will never find out. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, enjoy these. They may not be better, but they made the Rude Pundit tingle in special places."

* * * * * * * * * *

The final weeks of 2014 witnessed an explosion of online writing about the release of Disney's screen adaptation of Into The Woods (the Stephen Sondheim/James Lapine musical that had its Broadway premiere on November 5, 1987). In the 27 years since it opened at the Martin Beck Theatre, millions have seen the show performed onstage, watched the PBS telecast of the stage version, and performed in high school, college, community, and regional theatre productions of Into The Woods.





With the Internet offering endless opportunities for people to express their opinions, the quality of insight ranged from positive reactions to angry hyperventilating; from people wondering why all the actors in the movie were Caucasian to one pompous fool who revealed that he would never go into a music store to purchase Meryl Streep's records, anyway! I honestly can't recall such impassioned debate surrounding the release of any movie musical from 1968's Funny Girl, 1969's Hello, Dolly! and 1972's Cabaret to 2002's Chicago, 2005's The Producers, and 2012's Les Misérables,





However, bloggers and social media can create quite a brouhaha over matters of cultural significance. What sounded like a deafening chorus of back-seat drivers analyzing the film for its inherent sexism, racism, and/or casting choices revealed high levels of personal umbrage combined with an inability to handle cruel but basic truths.

• The screen adaptation was not just the work of Stephen Sondheim and/or Disney Studios, but also of James Lapine (who crafted the libretto for the 1987 stage musical).


• Having spent nearly three decades involved with the creation and ongoing life of Into The Woods, Sondheim and Lapine have a pretty solid handle on the structure and challenges of their show.


• For all the self-righteousness of some people's reactions to the movie, most failed to acknowledge that neither Sondheim, Lapine, nor the folks at Walt Disney Pictures (who certainly know how to make money) had made any attempt to seek out their artistic input.


• Most important, these people do not own the intellectual property rights to the piece. Other then griping about things that didn't meet their approval (and wondering why other fairy tales hadn't been included in the script), they had little recourse other than to shut the fuck up or write their own goddamn musical and try to get that made into a major film.

That's not to say that Sondheim's work isn't an easy target for satire. Gerard Alessandrini and his talented stable of cunning linguists at Forbidden Broadway have already slaughtered that sacred cow with loving send-ups of the legendary songwriter's work:







* * * * * * * * * *


A prolific playwright and screenwriter, David Mamet has collected numerous awards for his creative output. In many situations, his strongest writing occurs when there is an imbalance of power between one person (who very much wants something) and another (who is not so sure he's willing to grant his adversary's request). Mamet's characters frequently interrupt each other in a way that, when not artfully directed, can sound like an unpleasant interview conducted by Chris Matthews on MSNBC.




Tamar Cohn and Velina Brown in The Anarchist
(Photo by: David Wilson)


While Mamet's work gains strength and brute force in conflicts heavily influenced by machismo and testosterone, one of his most recent plays shows him floundering when his protagonists are women.

• Cathy (Tamar Cohn) has been imprisoned for 35 years after murdering a police officer in a bank robbery during her rebellious phase as a political anarchist. Although raised as a Jew, while in prison Cathy has enjoyed a healthy sex life with other female prisoners and used her time to learn as much as possible about the law. Although humility has not come easily to her, having converted to Christianity, she seeks to redeem herself with good deeds. A woman who may be too intelligent for her own good, Cathy has interpreted the simple fact that she was moved to another jail cell as a sign that she was due for release (after which she hopes to enter a cloistered convent). However, with her wealthy father dying, she is hoping that, during her last visit with the outgoing prison administrator, Ann will grant her a release.


• Ann (Velina Brown) is the kind of bureaucrat whose intense (and somewhat obsessive) research is cemented with yellow highlighter ink and colored tabs. Although she tells Cathy that she knows nothing about the law, Ann keeps her cards held closely to her chest. Cathy's curiosity about why Ann never showed any sexual interest in her (or any of the other women in the prison) is much less important to Ann than getting Cathy to say or do something which will betray her recent shift in behavior and reveal the whereabouts of her accomplice, Althea. Like many prison administrators, it's quite possible that Ann has the kind of sadistic streak which would make her want to win one more power game before retiring from her job.

Velina Brown and Tamar Cohn in The Anarchist
(Photo by: David Wilson)


In an article published in The New York Times prior to the 2012 Broadway premiere of The Anarchist, Mamet wrote:

"In The Anarchist a woman has been convicted of murder, for participation in a bank robbery by a self-proclaimed political organization. She has served 35 years, a big portion of her life sentence, and pleads to be released; if the crime were mere robbery-murder and not deemed political, she would, by custom, have been paroled, with good behavior. Her argument has merit.

The woman with whom she pleads has been her jailer, or parole officer, or warden for these 35 years, and the woman asks for verification, assurance or otherwise for help arriving at the conclusion that the prisoner no longer poses a threat and so may be released.

The criminal cites her spotless prison record and argues that, as per custom, she should have been released a decade past, and that her continued incarceration can only be considered a political act. She maintains that at the time of her arrest she cited her anarchist politics as defense, arguing that they freed her from the jurisdiction (if not from the penalty) of a court whose authority she did not acknowledge.

Is it not inconsistent, the convict argues, that the jailer employ the political motive -- a motive denied by the court -- to continue the punishment? "At my trial the court denounced me as a 'mere murderer' and found my political declarations without weight," she says. "Abide by the court's decision and release me now.""

Although written as one 85-minute act, The Anarchist makes one wonder if Mamet's drama would be equally effective if every third word were to be deleted from the script. It meanders on, in a kind of cat-and-mouse game that quickly loses steam and starts to bore and/or alienate its audience. Perhaps that's because the concept of a philosophical debate between a prisoner and her warden seems so preposterous that Mamet's play simply lacks dramatic credibility.

This Theatre Rhinoceros production benefitted immensely from the intensity of Tamar Cohn's portrayal of Cathy who, as a convert to Christianity, can't stop talking about Jesus or the power of her newly-found faith. When faced with a career bureaucrat like Ann (who is essentially interested in tying up any loose ends before leaving her job), Cathy is the living answer to the question "If you're so smart, how come you're so stupid?"

One of the biggest liabilities in this production was the casting of the radiant Velina Brown as Ann (the warden who is supposed to have been overseeing Cathy since she was imprisoned 35 years ago). Brown's youthful looks make her seem about half Cohn's age which, in turn, makes one wonder if her character is taking an extremely early retirement package or a lateral transfer. Her laughable ability to keep reaching into file cabinets to extract the precise document (containing the exact quote) she seeks is the sign of an amateur's attempt at crafting a police procedural rather than the work of an accomplished playwright.

Designer John Waik-keung Lowe has provided a serviceable unit set for this tedious jailhouse confrontation (which might have been enlivened if Divine were still alive). Unfortunately, the office furniture seen onstage in The Anarchist turned out to be as exciting as Mamet's script.



To read more of George Heymont go to My Cultural Landscape

Jacqueline L. Patten-Van Sertima is a photographer with work spanning the past 30 years, major exhibitions and a feature among 100 New York Photographers, with peers including the likes of Annie Leibovitz, Chester Higgins, Jr., Adger Cowans, Len Gelstein, Amy Arbus, and Carrie Mae Weems. She is the president of Journal of African Civilizations, Ltd, whose interdisciplinary work has re-shaped pedagogy, thought, and official U.S. history. She is renowned for her hand-painted photos, each with an artistic grammar that take black and white and color as canvas to tell compelling stories. Her story lies at the intersection of art and policy, the running theme of this column.

It is astounding to stop and think of how young the U.S. really is and what that means for art coming from the American context.

Without polemic, based on classic dates in history and on democracy being defined as the nominal full participation of all citizens as equals, we could re-date the birth of the United States. It's not the Fourth of July, 1776. However, July still turns out to be a busy month for freedom.


Image: "Innocence" 1978 (hand-painted photograph by JLP Van Sertima)

It was actually the 2nd day of July, 1776 that the Continental Congress voted to separate from Great Britain. The vote prompted John Adams to write to his wife: "The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America."

He couldn't have imagined that once we affix barbecue and fireworks to a day, it's a done deal. But if you need something "spot on" for the 4th, you could still celebrate July 4, 1827 - the day New York State abolished slavery.

Regardless of the day, July 2nd or 4th and as far as the U.S. is concerned, it's actually the year that we get wrong.

It was 188 years after the Declaration of Independence, on another July 2, this time in 1964, that President Lyndon Baines Johnson signed legislation that finally brought the U.S. into compliance with the 1776 document's second paragraph and lifted the country up to the level of democracy that we know today.

In short, the U.S. is 50 years old - born on July 2nd, 1964 - making 2014 one of the quietest 50th anniversaries ever.

But, instead of lobbying for a brand new birthday, I'd rather hone in on art in this 50-year context and then take a close look at photography. It turns out we've only been a little over 50 years into popular photography, with the spark provided by the introduction of the May 1949 Kodak Brownie Hawkeye. We had photography before, but not in the hands of so many people, with over 6 million sold by 1955.

"Jacqueline L. Patten's hand-painted photographs are like vintage Victorian images." - The Village Voice

Now, juxtaposing these young '50s - the nation and photography - we are left with many questions and histories not fully explored. Principal artists have arisen from the diffusion begun in the '50s, and in this space of time we have seen photography flourish as art, even when accepted haltingly by critics. Alfred Stieglitz made the strong case for art in the late 19th century, but it wasn't until the '60s and '70s that artists such as Ansel Adams and Mapplethorpe became big names.

Looking at this young art history, you'll notice, however, that it tracks too neatly with the political history of American struggles and victories in plurality. The resulting gaps in the record and in exposure for blacks, women, members of minority groups, etc. had me wondering: "Where is the art photography among them?"

It couldn't be that they only shot documentary work, despite the fact that the most famous names among those groups are those of documentary photographers. School children can easily learn about Gordon Parks and never hear of Roy DeCarava, the first African-American artist to be awarded the Guggenheim Fellowship (also - a mentor of Jacqueline L. P. Van Sertima along with Max Waldman.) On Wikipedia, we, the all-knowing "crowd" afford DeCarava a single paragraph.

Perhaps a first step to discovering more could be Deborah Willis' ground-breaking Black Photographers 1940-1988, in which Jacqueline L. Patten-Van Sertima is featured.

But this isn't about history, except for context. I wanted to hear Jacqueline's voice and perspective on art today. She has obliged the interview. (Please sit for coffee on this part. Her answers merit a close reading.)

When did you begin to see the road to becoming a dedicated photographer and artist?

I was recognized as an artist while a very young child in elementary school, partially because of my ability to draw realistic subjects, and partially because of my handwriting, which some mistakenly see as calligraphy, but it isn't. It is simply my handwriting. Aside from my father's 50-year office position for the MTA, my father was an illustrator and a fine tailor. My mother was a dress designer and seamstress though she would have never admitted to it being an "art." My sister followed in my mother's footsteps. My brother was an artist/photographer as I was growing up. I, and everyone who saw their work was fascinated by it. So, art was definitely within my grasp.

What is your opinion and use of the technologies that have spanned your career?

I genuinely, appreciate the advances made in technology, and find them indispensable, particularly in the medical field, but also see many of them as still in the experimental stage, yet marketed for profit before they are truly ready for public consumption. Unfortunately, the constant "upgrading" of what we have become "dependent upon," is not within the reach of many consumers. So, in many ways, it supports the growing divide between classes and hinders the growth of others. Particularly for artists, I think technology forces them to make "shortcuts," unfortunately, also short-cutting their innate artistic abilities.

A related note from Jacqueline's archives:"Her technique is not new, but her application is unique, for hand-painting (sometimes used interchangeably with such terms as hand-coloring and hand-tinting) had been an artistic technique begun in the early 1900s before color film was invented. This art, during that era, predominantly, "suggested" color. Mrs. Van Sertima's departure lies in her unlimited palette of soft and vibrant color, and their playful interaction to express realistic subtleties. Its overlapping, reflective diversity satisfies contemporary taste with a discreet, surrealistic element, while delicately whispering memories of years gone by."

What is your thought on the preponderance of black photography as documentary work? Why does this seem to persist, with only a few figures known in the work of art photography?

One need only visit a major bookstore's art section to discover that there is little in the way of black art books, either fine art or documentary art on their shelves, compared to that of other races. And there is no doubt that there is a small segment of black artists that must have coined the market on this topic, but for the most part, I doubt that we have entered this arena, professionally, though we most definitely should, if we want our "Works" to be recognized in the broader art circuit. Art is a universal and very compelling vehicle for political change, but sadly to say, I do not believe we have entered that kind of thinking, as yet, though it is refreshing to know it is being taught in our colleges and universities, particularly for those who are seriously interested in art policy and law, and/or journalism.

Everyone is not necessarily drawn to the documentary side of art, as that takes time and effort to find when, why, what and where to be at any given location to photograph that which might affect policy or minds. Like all issues of importance, I think it is crucial to introduce policy to the young, who have a leaning toward art. Unfortunately many artists see art as a pastime, a fun activity, or a short term project, or hobby to profit by (on the side). We, as a people must think differently in today's world, and think of every talent, or skill available to us, to be used in terms of policy and profitability, while still participating in, and enjoying the aesthetic aspects of the pursuit.

As far as art's impact on society is concerned, I think there, generally, must be reasonable restraints in place to maintain the integrity of any country. All artists gravitate toward creating what is important to them, individually, or what speaks to the populace, meaningfully.

Can you give us insight into your worldview as it has affected your method: hand-painting on pictures?

Actually, I have never been particularly attracted to color photographs unless they were expertly executed. Yes, they portray a special, or colorful occasion with the spark that simulates the event, but for the most part, I like the clean clear, uncluttered look of a beautiful black and white print, with all its proper shades of grey. I can, then, concentrate on the content without distraction.

Furthermore, color can be used to override the quality of the content of the photograph. Sometimes that works quite well - sometimes not. When I first started painting my photographs, I can't tell you why I even began. I just know that I thought it yielded more realistic results than many color photographs.

Can you describe a pivotal point in your journey?

It was at a New York citywide conference that I came across a name unfamiliar to me. I was familiar with all of the other presenters, but not of the name, Ivan Van Sertima, nor of his Random House book, They Came Before Columbus.

So, I signed up for his presentation out of curiosity. Little did I know that he would fill in all the gaps of history that I yearned to understand ever since childhood - an expanded, in-depth understanding of our history beyond that of the African-American plight. I was, absolutely, in awe of what was uncovered and displayed with serious, thorough, anthropological evidence. His presentation was peppered with just the right amount of tempered light-heartedness which endeared the entire audience to him. We would burst into unexpected laughter, and then return to the gravity of the subject matter. Quite naturally, the bottom line was to clearly learn, and to pass this wealth of information on to our peers and generations to come.

Since I was in the midst of a photographic adventure, I carried my camera at all times, even though photography, seemingly, had little to do with my focus, which was the field of education. Of course, I took advantage of this grand, fortuitous opportunity. No doubt, Dr. Van Sertima noticed the flashes of my camera from the podium. So, immediately after his presentation, he asked one of our mutual colleagues, to introduce us. He was in need of an artist/photographer, as he had just published the pilot issue of the Journal of African Civilizations the year before, while teaching at Princeton University, and had plans for worldwide expansion. It was, as though my life was coming full-circle, and it has not waned, even until today.
...
Here, we dive straightway into art, history, and politics, drawn by honest inquiry. But we're hindered, like Pogo, by ourselves and by our primary tool for advancing society: "the Internet." It has an inescapable and extreme priority for the local and the present, leaves out what doesn't pass "crowd" muster, reinforces our young biases, leaves a wealth of knowledge un-Googleable. How could you know more about Jacqueline winning first prize in Mademoiselle's Fourteenth Annual Photography Competition? How would you know of her influence and work on a journal that has re-shaped a large swath of American and world history -- The Journal of African Civilizations as the U.S. Congress has obliged history by officially removing the word "discovery" from association with Columbus. The Internet represents a constrained future in many ways, missing what is seeded by the present and by a comprehensive historical view: It has not caught up to the work of Jacqueline L. P. Van Sertima.

"You know, old books are a big problem for us. Old knowledge in general. We call it OK. Old Knowledge, OK. Did you know that ninety-five percent of the Internet was only created in the last five years? But we know that when it comes to all human knowledge, the ratio is just the opposite - in fact , OK accounts for most things that people know, and have ever known. - Mr. Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore by Robin Sloan.

There's the problem: finding knowledge (old or new), finding art in a time when convenience and the political status quo are twins as the world's most influential curators. We welcome what Jacqueline L. Patten-Van Sertima refers to as "visual leverage" and the inquiry only now beginning.

Imagining a Venn diagram of combat sports and painting, it's difficult to conceptualize any logical correlation between the two art forms. Martial arts favor heavy, powerful strikes, while visual arts prefer the finesse of light, deft strokes.

But somewhere, in between the brutality of mixed martial arts and the delicacy of painting, acclaimed street artist Justin Bua has found the connection that ties these vastly different worlds together.

"There's an intersection with fighting and painting because it's incredibly a thinking man's sport. It's not necessarily the guy who's strongest, not necessarily the guy who's the most aggressive. It's not the guy who hits the hardest. It's the guy who outthinks the opponent," offers Bua from his Echo Park studio. "In painting, the greater you get, the less moves you make, the less paint strokes you apply. John Singer Sargent is the purest example of that, five paint strokes and it's a gorgeous painting. He's not sitting there noodling, rendering."

Smitten with mixed martial arts prior to the advent of UFC 1, Bua dabbled in backyard Jiu Jitsu shenanigans in his 20s before temporarily hanging up his Gi to preserve his body for a career in dance and painting. But his love for combat never dwindled, allowing Bua to transform his passion for BJJ, chokes, and joint manipulation into a series of MMA-inspired paintings, featuring some of the UFC's biggest stars.

Beginning with "The Kick," which depicts Anderson Silva's legendary knockout of Vitor Belfort at UFC 126, Bua created his "Art of Fighting" collection. He also contributed pieces to adorn the walls of The Ultimate Fighter house during its 20th season (as well as the upcoming TUF: Brazil 4), and it was during the process of painting mixed martial artists in action that he began to take note of the overlap between the two spheres.



"In Jiu Jitsu, if I go from A to B to C, you know I'm gonna get you in a triangle. If I go from D to E to F, I've got you in an armbar or I can get a kimura... there's all these different ways... I can take advantage of it," explains Bua. "It's very similar to the cerebral process of an artist. It's really being as simple and as clean as possible. Your brushes have to be clean, your paint mixing has to be clean, your strokes have to be bold but powerful and with intention, and that's the same thing with Jiu Jitsu."

Bua, who has since returned to the BJJ mats as spiritual practice and currently hosts Street Art Throwdown on the Oxygen Network, is best known for his street art and hip-hop inspired paintings like "The DJ" and "Piano Man II," gaining acclaim for his "distorted lens," as he puts it. "Kind of fish eye, aerial... dynamic perspective compositions [that] are Renaissance infused, classical paintings with graffiti-esque characters," he adds.

Labeling his style "Bua-ism," the artist has witnessed his paintings of Ronda Rousey, Chael Sonnen and Jon Jones being sold around the globe. And while he's already dedicated many canvases to some of MMA's elite, Bua is still interested in adding to his on-going collection.

"I'd love to paint Nick or Nate [Diaz]," comments Bua. "I think the best face and body in MMA -- it's a weird thing, but as an artist I can say this, like Michelangelo will look at David -- I think the ultimate body and face is Jacare [Ronaldo Souza]. That guy's face is unreal ... you feel like the history of his skull and his shape goes way back into some warrior past. And his body is just bananas."

Outside of his affinity for Jacare and Nick Diaz, who he claims as his favorite fighter, Bua finds additional artistic parallels between MMA and art, comparing UFC great Anderson Silva and Dutch 17th-century portrait artist Rembrandt Van Rijn.



"You know my favorite painters have always been painters like Rembrandt, who you can see the struggle in their work, not artists that have such an easy time dealing with paint. I like to see the struggle," states Bua. "Anderson, he's gone through so much trials and tribulations. He's been to the brink of failure, [against] Chael Sonnen, case and point. He was losing that fight essentially before that. You have to have a lot of adversity."

Silva is a frequent focal point for Bua. Not only was "The Kick" the artist's foray into painting MMA scenes, but Bua also sees Silva as the commensurate equalizer between the art world and mixed martial arts.

Joking that he would like to be able to consider Silva the Bua of MMA, the artist explains that Silva "figured out the matrix of the body and how to move within space. And that's what Jiu Jitsu and painting is. One you're using your whole body, and one you're using your hands and a paintbrush."

He goes on to add that the similarities in movement are "almost like this calculated, perfunctory mechanism where you can feel the digitization of organic rhythm, like fractal geometry, where you can see it unfolding."

Bua's words may sound a bit hokey, but he's a bit obsessed with this matrix of movement, even likening the body control of MMA fighters Silva, Anthony Pettis, and Conor McGregor to that of renowned French dance duo Les Twins.



The comparison between MMA and dance have also manifested in Bua's visual work, as he employs similar techniques and perspectives to his paintings of dancers when etching fight scenes.

"It's much more active. I think that fighting you have to capture the energy and the intensity," offers Bua. "They're a little bit more similar to my dance paintings; you really want to be able to capture that moment in time... I think it's important to capture the spirit of gesture."

And, in closing, Bua offers one final parallel between the martial and visual art worlds.

"Most painters are on drugs. Most painters cheat and use Photoshop. Most painters use a lot of trickery," exclaims Bua, later clarifying that "I think that most painters, whether they're doing drugs or whether they're using Photoshop, or whether they're using photo-heavy reference are cheating in my opinion. That's like the steroids of our generation."

Dutch recording artist Benny Sings

The UK has a major influence on popular music, and it has been that way for decades. From Sam Smith and Amy Winehouse to Elton John, David Bowie and The Beatles, the British have effortlessly won over American radio. Even Mary J. Blige praised the UK while promoting her Euro inspired album, The London Sessions. She said, "The music is free over here the way it used to be in the States. Artists are just free to do what they love. Listening to the radio you can hear the freedom."

Though London may be America's favorite international music scene, other places across the ocean have found their way to the American airwaves too. Before Sia, Kylie Minogue was the voice of Australia; Little Dragon helped us pay attention to Sweden's electronically charged R&B, and many American artists cite Iceland's Björk as an inspiration both musically and visually. However, I think it is time to widen the international music net and our focus should be The Netherlands.

In the U.S., thanks to the festival scene, late night dance music has made a killer comeback and some of the biggest acts are from The Netherlands. Now that America is preparing for summer concert season it will be hard to find a festival lineup that doesn't feature popular Dutch producers such as Afrojack and Tiësto. Yet, beyond the house rhythms in the city of Amsterdam, there is soul, pop, jazz and the gifted Benny Sings.



For over a decade Benny Sings has released a collection of songs that blends an array of genres. He sings heartfelt R&B ballads as heard in, "Fake Love," dabbles with jazzy arrangements in "Get There," gets soulfully smooth in "Coconut" and the list goes on. Music fans in London, Japan and France have all taken notice to the Dox Records artist by inviting him to perform on their stages and by writing about his work. Yet, top music websites in the U.S. have not caught on.





While he may not be the biggest blog item in the U.S., Benny Sings has made appearances in American media. His single, "Little Donna" was featured in an episode of HBO's hit show Girls and he made NPR's Top 5 Slept-On R&B Songs Of 2012 list. That same year he toured with American singer Mayer Hawthorne. But I think its time we show Benny a little more love and 2015 will be our chance.

We have to wait until the end of the year for his 5th studio album, but we can enjoy 2 new singles from the Dutch crooner. Recently, he provided lyrics and vocals for the upbeat dance tune "Don't Sing" performed by French producer Data. It is a different sound for the soft toned singer, but another example of his music versatility.

In "Straight Lines," the first single from his upcoming record he returns to a smooth R&B vibe. The production is reminiscent of classic R&B songs like Midnight Star's "Curious" and Cameo's "Candy" complete with a climatic music break. Benny's signature melodic tone glides the production with lyrics about love and honesty. If this song doesn't get bloggers in the U.S. talking I don't what will.



Want more from Amsterdam? Check out Dox Records on YouTube.

Kurt Cobain has been called the canary in the coalmine of American youth, as well as the icon of the dying Age of Pisces. Yet, there was a legend built around the artist's entrance into "the 27 club" when he committed suicide in 1994, taking away from the timelessness of his universal message.


The punk movement's liberation from form freed Cobain's genius to make Nirvana music out of the most basic human expression: the mournful cry for help. The grunge movement was encapsulated in Cobain's messages of toxic youth in astonishingly woeful songs of despair such as "Smells Like Teen Spirit". No one recognized the S.O.S. because it was hiding in plain sight, as genius typically does. (Film still of Cobain © The End of Music, LLC)

Brett Morgan's "Cobain: Montage of Heck" brilliantly revisions this legacy through the unexpected gift: a treasure trove of autobiography in art. The title of this exceptionally moving tribute to the late rock star comes from one of Cobain's mixed-media works appearing in the film.

The montage is a clue to what awaits the unsuspecting fan of Nirvana's music: a unity of transcendent personal narrative rarely attempted, never mind achieved, in contemporary multimedia art practice. We learn that "artist" was an identity Cobain refused for himself, for there was a deep humiliation complex compelling him to secret away his most intimate self-revelations. That these arose at the age of three--with the idealism of a pure spirit seizing life with a creative gusto--was an early sign of his genius.


Brett Morgan (right), introduced to the capacity audience by the Berlinale Panorama director, Wieland Speck, still seemed in awe of the "unheard of" total creative freedom provided by the Cobain family. Courtney Love had sought him out on the strength of his acclaimed "The Kid Stays in the Picture", which transformed Robert Evans' Hollywood legend--dress designer turned actor transformed into pioneering film impresario--into an epic mythology of death and rebirth.
(Photo by LPS)

Morgan was given the keys to a storehouse of unpublished material for which no one had previous access. These included over a hundred tapes made by Cobain and a treasure trove of mixed media expression. These included an astounding account of his loss of virginity to a handicapped girl which made him a pariah at school; secreted away so no one would read it, the story sources Cobain's dis-ease within his own body by way of a gruesome intimacy with an external object. The stark narrative comes to life through animation executed in somber hues.

A glamorous presence at the Berlin premiere, Courtney Love has transported her own participation in the Cobain myth from doppelganger to the keeper of a legacy, with the film containing the stark evidence of her ability to see Cobain's genius and courage...


"Cobain: Montage of Heck" director Brett Morgan with widow Courtney Love and Michael Stipe on the red carpet of the premiere during the 65th Berlinale International Film Festival at Kino International on February 7, 2015 in Berlin, Germany. (Photo by Luca Teuchmann/Getty Images)

...to allow the filmmaker full creative control, resulting in his placement of a self-mirroring heroine-fueled home video collaboration into the context of the underworld descent for which Cobain sacrficed his global career-- and ultimately his life. From the perspective of 65. Berlinale, this astonishing never-seen archive is further testimony for the death/rebirth mythology surrounding the emergence of the Aquarian archetype of equal partnership, with the scabs of the disintegrated Pisces corpus magnified in horrific close-up.

The collaboration between living and dead is so seamless that it becomes apparent that Morgan created a new cinematic "monage" form out of contextual necessity made urgent by the insistence of the art and a new century's technological innovation. Sculpting visually with sound is an apt description for this masterful blending of Cobain's multiple mediums--drawing, painting, writing, video, collage/montage and performing. The linear narrative unfolds with the transition from Cobain's human corpus (complete with a vivisection into the intestines) to his artistic ouevre as an outlet for his frenetic expression, too damming of existence to ignore.

The few talking heads (largely confined to family, his first girlfriend Tracy Marander, and Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic) are employed within the context of the director's mission: to establish the narrative arc, moving from light to dark, of an evolving persona destined to become the voice of a dying age. The opening montage of clips from a booming post-war America blend into Cobain home movies propelling the viewer into an eclipse: the gifted child of a broken home trapped in the shadow befalling an America incapable of confronting its toxic millennial youth doomed into lower life expectations than their parents.

The drawing of marionettes at the age of seven was prophetic of the strings pulling Cobain when he became the front man for the most celebrated rock band on the globe. The literal/literary metaphor of words appearing and disappearing on a loose leaf pages exhume the tormented body by means of the deconstruction and reconstruction of the archival corpus.


"I'm happy to reintroduce you to Kurt Cobain," Morgan said before the curtain opening on the Berlinale gala premiere. He told the audience that he labored eight years on the project, nearly giving up several times; yet a key turning point came when a stranger appeared unexpectedly with a box containing unseen home video footage of Cobain and Love. (Photo by LPS)


The film invites the viewer into a great act of reconciliation among those left behind, giving them a defined time and space for an essential mourning, twenty-five years after the tragedy of Cobain's death.

What "Cobain: Montage of Heck" makes starkly clear is that the director of this unforgettable film has let his tormented protagonist deliver his own blemished narrative out of the relics unearthed by this undertaking. The result is nothing short of epic.

Lisa Paul Streiteld is a critic and theorist based in Berlin.

Photos in this posting are published with the permission of Berlinale 65.

Crowdfunding is everywhere. Movie stars and directors are doing it for their films. Tech wizards are using it to introduce new inventions. Even a portable cooler brought in more than $13 million in 30 days. In the past few months, I've contributed to campaigns for a chocolate-infused peanut butter, a photographer's journey to Antarctica and a graffiti bridge in Pensacola, Florida.

Supporting a crowdfunding campaign is easy, and fun. Running one? Well, that's a different story.

I'm halfway into my first Kickstarter campaign for my latest book, and it's kind of kicking my ass, but in that worthwhile, good-for-you-in-the-long-run, Mr. Miyagi-to-the-Karate Kid kind of way. I know many people who've run Kickstarter and Indiegogo campaigns, and before I launched mine, I read a lot of articles and blogs with tips on how to be a successful crowdfunder.

All of them talked about the unexpected time commitment once they launched, and the logistical needs associated with preparing, promoting and updating their campaigns. Aside from Amanda Palmer, the crowdfunding queen and first musician to raise more than a million dollars on Kickstarter, few of them spoke of the emotional impact or life lessons learned along the way. And, I can assure you, there are many.

If you're thinking about launching a crowdfunding campaign, if you're willing to experience a whole new level of vulnerability, and if you're prepared to give it your time and energy, I recommend you do it. You'll learn a lot more about yourself than you'd expect, and, if you're open to it, there's a good chance you'll walk away a stronger, wiser and more resilient human being.

The logistical components of being a successful crowdfunder are well-documented. Here are a few tips to help with the emotional ones. 

Ask Without Expectation
In her TED talk, The Art of Asking, Ms. Palmer put it best when she said, "You can't ask authentically and gracefully without truly being able to accept 'No' for an answer. Because if you're not truly willing to accept 'No' for an answer, you're not really asking, you're demanding -- you're begging."

Asking for support is no easy task, and it's made all the harder when we're too attached to the outcome of our ask. When we ask without expectation -- in all areas of life, crowdfunding and beyond -- we give people the freedom to answer, yes or no, without pressure or demand.

You'll invest a lot of emotional energy into your campaign, and it will be difficult to remove expectation from the equation. That's where good friends come in handy. Run your communications by people you trust to be honest with you. Does your email seem demanding? Does your Facebook timeline post feel like begging? Test them on people before sending them out, until your energy, and your asks, feel more authentic. 

Prepare for Ebbs and Flows
Though a card game featuring exploding kittens just raised nearly $9 million in its thirty-day run, the multi-million dollar crowdfunding success is the exception, not the rule. Don't expect people to be pledging to yours around the clock. Like life, your campaign will likely have its highs and lows. Prepare for both. Breathe through both.

I've spent more time than I'd like to admit these past two weeks with my Kickstarter page up, waiting, hoping for a new pledge to come in. It's like a drug, each new backer a jolt of adrenaline. But your campaign will probably be 30 days or more. That's 720 hours, minimum -- a long time to be tripping. Take care of yourself while it's going on. Eat well, meditate, take walks, dance your ass off, do whatever it is you do to stay grounded.

Let yourself be excited and passionate, of course, but remain centered within it all. That grounded energy will come through in the way you manage the campaign, in the tone of your promotion and updates, and, ultimately, how you handle yourself when it's over. You want your committed and prospective supporters to feel your confidence, not your angst.

Don't Take It Personally
Whatever your campaign is about, it's undoubtedly very personal to you. What you've created likely represents a deep passion, and you'll want to share it with as many people as possible. If people don't respond the way you had hoped, it's hard not to take it personally. In the same way each new pledge feels like validation, each hour that passes without a pledge can feel like rejection. This is all ego talking, in both directions. It's not real.

Consider the times you've chosen to support some things in your life, but not others. We're likely to support what speaks to our hearts, if we're in a place to do so. You can't expect everyone to be as excited about your passions as you are, even close friends and family, and that's okay.

Like with dating and job interviews and so many areas of life, we can't always be the thing someone else is looking for. That's more a reflection of them, of what they need; it's not a rejection of you. Have faith that your campaign, if you give it your all, will ignite the right hearts.

Trust in the Outcome
I still have two weeks left in my Kickstarter campaign, and while I'm extremely optimistic about reaching the goal, not yet knowing the final outcome has had me wavering some between confidence and insecurity. Overall though, I trust in the process, and in the outcome.

When we approach our goals with determination and commitment, and when we do everything we feel we can do to make them happen, we have no choice but to trust in the outcome of things. More important than the success or failure of your campaign is the quality of effort you put forth and the wisdom you take with you moving forward.

Give your campaign everything you've got. Stay as passionate and committed as you can, run your campaign as smartly and strategically as you are able, and then allow it to become whatever it becomes. Whatever that is -- massively funded, dramatically unfunded or anything in between --will be the right thing for you, the perfect next step for your journey, and just the teacher you needed, if you're willing to see it that way.

So get out there, launch your crowdfunding campaign and give heart to your passion. It won't just teach you how to be a better business person, but a better person in general. And that alone makes the adventure worth it.