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The Bottom-Line Patterns of Urban Street Design

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A recent collaboration suggests that we should explicitly recognize historic patterns of pedestrian city settings in contemporary urban design and policies.


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Historic Cours Mirabeau, a 440m walkable main street in Aix-en-Provence, France



Have you ever wondered why some places seem built for automobiles as opposed to humans?

In a recent study, J. Alexander Maxwell and fellow researchers from the University of Strathclyde's Urban Design Studies Unit found evidence that before the rise of the automobile, cities developed on a walkable "human" scale, with main streets that rarely exceeded 400 meters (a little more than 437 yards).

I recently joined Mr. Maxwell as co-author of an article in the London School of Economics and Political Science American Politics and Policy Blog. Together, we argue that this uniformity reveals an underlying pattern to pedestrian city settings, which merits renewed attention in contemporary urban design and policies.

As we note:

Some elements of our urban environments change relatively quickly over time. New shops replace old shops, new buildings replace old buildings, and people come and go. However, other elements are more permanent and often reflect the planning policies, design paradigms, and technologies of the times when they were built. In a sense, these surviving features provide snapshots of our urban histories.


Among the preliminary University of Strathclyde explorations was a test of the 400-m rule against 100 historically diverse main street networks from cities in 30 different countries around the world. Figures illustrate historic cases, including main street networks from groupings of ancient, medieval, renaissance, baroque and industrial study areas. Post-industrial cases included main street networks from groupings of Garden City, Radiant City, New Urbanism and informal settlement patterns of development.

The results of this empirical study suggest that the observational claims behind the 400-m rule are in fact true.

As a result, Mr. Maxwell and I suggest that the uniformity of the findings suggests an "effortless" expression of human tendencies -- a signature that should be honored by policy and design consistent with this established norm.

The study's conclusion illustrates typologies of liveable communities that attempt results that are very similar to the 400-m rule, and provides our specific call to action:

[M]ore conscious study is needed to tie together past and present. If underlying patterns of human-scale design in urban settings can be captured from historic environments and reapplied in contemporary policy and implementation contexts, then new purpose can be realized from past realities.


Read our London School of Economics and Political Science American Politics and Policy Blog article here.
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Image composed by the author in Aix-en-Provence, France. Click on the image for more detail. © 2009-2014 myurbanist. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy.


This post first appeared in similar form in myurbanist, here and Planetizen, here.

Lekha Singh's Global Society

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"Let the beauty of what you love be what you do." -- Rumi

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As an artform, photography's magic lies in its unique choreography of documentation and interpretation. This paradox unfolds as the choices the artist makes are overlaid onto the outside world. This is the visual alchemy at the heart of Lekha Singh's photography practice -- at the intersection of art and document, activism and observation, artistry and social practice, the personal and global, poetry and edge. Singh calls her work "street photography," linking her process to diverse forebears from Eugene Atget to Dorothea Lange and National Geographic photographers -- those who tell told stories bearing witness to the beauty and ordinary surrealism that already exists in the landscapes, cities and peoples of the world.

Singh's curiosity and spontaneity is informed by instincts culled from art history and cinema. Her evocative use of color and abstract pictorial elements hint at small but salient details of life across quasi-urban, wildly natural or settled rural communities. Singh practices her portraiture with a consciousness of social engagement, using strategies of style to "lead viewers through a door," where they can find their own meaning inside the emotional and aesthetic experience. There is a minimalist painterliness to her choices in defining in the picture plane; her lightness of touch directs the viewer's full attention to the main narrative subject, be it person or landscape. In the more gestural and conceptual nature photography of her "Weeds" series, she allegorizes eradication, cultivation, invasion, greed and the sheltering sky through botanical life to which she lends a humanistic and soulful voice.


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She infuses all her subjects a quiet, regal character, particularly reverential toward the ceremonial and familial traditions which her art preserves in images and may also help in truly saving. The countries represented in her expansive Created Equal series include Afghanistan, Bhutan (the subject of its own book), as well as Cambodia, India, Kenya, Mexico, Namibia and Tanzania. These are places on the cusp of a globalized industrial future, where in one or two years everything can change -- places where life is not easy, but where there is an evident glory in daily existence and a confident, swaying strength that comes from a relationship of close connection to the ground beneath one's feet.

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Singh's entire practice is shot through with issues of identity and even feminism that will seem familiar to western audiences. Singh has only the broadest of humanistic agendas in mind, yet her works frequently document the ceremonial wearing of beads and other adornments (textiles, wraps, leathers) by both women and men to telegraph social information like marital status. Young warriors in Kenya preen like supermodels; is that so different from punk rockers in Mexico covering their jackets in metal studs and dyeing their mohawked hair? There may not be a Gucci pendant to announce the circumcision of one's children; but the use of jewels as status symbols is certainly not unique to Africa.

Ultimately documentary is not always about tragedy or the lost -- sometimes it's about unexpected kinship, and embracing the heartfelt and familiar. Sometimes, simple beauty is the most in need of being documented.

Building Bridges Art Foundation & DCA Fine Art present NOMADIC CAMERA by LEKHA SINGH
[Part of MOPLA month of Photography LA program by Lucie Foundation]
On view from April 5 to May 15 at Bergamot Station; with an opening and artist reception on Saturday, April 5 (6 pm - 9 pm).

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Theater: 'Broadway By The Year' Hits New Peak; 'A Second Chance' Falls Flat

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BROADWAY BY THE YEAR 1940-1964 *** 1/2 out of ****
A SECOND CHANCE ** out of ****


BROADWAY BY THE YEAR 1940-1964 *** 1/2 out of ****
THE TOWN HALL

Broadway By The Year has become an institution for the past 14 years, a celebration of Broadway's rich history by producer Scott Siegel that is the centerpiece of his many endeavors. It involves good old-fashioned Broadway belting, a generous showcase for new talent, cabaret acts and stars of the moment ready to deliver a classic tune or undiscovered gem on their night off.

Still, I was worried about this new season. Typically, each show focuses on one year (or maybe two from the very early days of Broadway). A core group of performers each come out and sing a song and then pair off in various groupings as well, with a little dance thrown in for good measure. You get some of the big hits of the year and invariably hear some little known tune that sticks with you for days to come or inspires the purchase of yet another cast album. But this season, each of the four shows would cover 25 years. Inevitably, it has turned this season into more of a greatest hits set. That plus the demands of finding so much talent to fill the stage had me thinking they might have diluted what made BBTY special.

Hardly. Siegel, along with director Scott Coulter and musical director Ross Patterson with his Little Big Band have stepped up to the challenge and delivered a stellar evening of entertainment. It can't hurt that I saw the evening covering 1940-1964, the golden age of the Broadway musical. But the final two nights of this series in May and June immediately become must-have tickets for anyone who still loves the Great White Way. If no one is filming and recording these evenings, they should be.

With 27 songs and proceeding chronologically, BBTY gave a fascinating overview of how Broadway changed year by year from the landmark musical Oklahoma to last gasps like Hello, Dolly. A few, a very few, performances left me cold. (Notably, the Broadway By The Year Chorus featuring talent from Siegel's showcase for stars of tomorrow was poorly rehearsed, messed up lyrics and generally looked out of their depth.) But that's inevitable in this sort of evening with dozens of artists on display. I can't even cover all the good acts because the list would get too long.

Natalie Douglas started things off swimmingly with a confident and sophisticated "Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered" from Pal Joey. As with every song, Siegel sets them up with some trivia and scene-setting details about the year and/or the show in question. Alexandra Sibler was one of a welcome handful to perform unplugged, in her case an operatic "If I Loved You" from Carousel. She was not only unplugged vocally but plugged into the style of performance from that day.

BBTY also shows how songs can be traditionally performed, made to seem modern or given a bluesy spin, to name just a few options. The default mode, however, is what I'd call Broadway Classic, good old-fashioned emoting in a style far removed from pop stylings or vocal stamina competitions where holding random notes as long as possible seems to be the goal.

Two vets who were fondly welcomed back to deliver signature tunes were Liz Larson with "Ooh, My Feet" from her Tony-nominated turn in The Most Happy Fella and Anita Gillette with "Nightlife" from All American, which played at the Winter Garden (where Rocky is rope-a-doping while it prays the tourists start to come) way back in 1962, with a book by Mel Brooks. Both seemed as pleased to be onstage as the notably senior audience was to see them. (Truly, more younger Broadway goers need to wise up to BBTY.)

Amber Iman (who played Nina Simone in the recently shuttered musical Soul Doctor) was very impressive with "Come Rain Or Come Shine." And the fetching Brian Charles Rooney delivered a sweetly innocent "Maria" from West Side Story. (It will be interesting to see how he fares in the new revival of the deeply cynical musical The Threepenny Opera.)

In the category of comic relief from men born to late for the Borscht Belt circuit, Jeffrey Schecter with "If I'm Not Near The Girl I Loved" and Jason Grae with "She Loves Me" were essentially tied in success. But they were both neatly trumped by Patrick Page, who had delicious vocal fun with "Captain Hook's Waltz."

Robert Cuccioli wasn't so lucky. He was an audience favorite (he always is), performing "Were Thine That Special Face" from Kiss Me Kate. The applause was warm but Cucciolli couldn't help but hear the roar of applause that greeted the end of William Michals singing "This Nearly Was Mine" from South Pacific. Michals performed the role of Emile de Becque in the terrific Broadway revival, a role encased on cheese by Mario Lanza. I wasn't thrilled with Paulo Szot who originated the role this time around, but found the other replacement David Pittsinger a huge improvement. Now I'm very sorry I didn't also get to see Michals tackle the part. Sans microphone, he delivered a version that was true to the song's operatic leanings but with a sensitivity to the lyrics and a feel for dynamics that was breath-taking. Like a pro, he managed to seem surprised by the audience's uproarious approval though he must have heard it night after night at Lincoln Center.

Another show stopper came in Act Two when Lisa Howard (a Drama Desk Award winner for The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee) tackled "Climb Ev'ry Mountain" from The Sound Of Music. I say tackled because it's such a beast of a song, the "And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going" of its day though covered far less often because most singers can't even begin to sing it effectively. But Howard was poised and elegant throughout, pacing the song beautifully and delivering it with a reserve that made the moment when she unleashed her voice completely all the more memorable.

But all of this pales compared to the fact that this edition of BBTY introduced me very belatedly to the talent of Marilyn Maye. She was Johnny Carson's favorite singer (he called her the "super singer") and appeared on his Tonight Show some 77 times, more than any other singer. (Steve Allen loved her too.) She's won awards and been feted and appreciated by savvy theater goers and cabaret haunters for decades. Ella Fitzgerald once called Marilyn Maye the best white female singer in the world. But I was clueless until this 83 year old artist stepped on stage and killed it with "Guess Who I Saw Today?" from New Faces Of 1952. It was a master class in performing, in telling a story through song and keeping an audience rapt with attention. And her voice sounded terrific.

Siegel's no dummy. He brought her out again at the finale to sing a "bonus song," in this case "Before the Parade Passes By" from Hello, Dolly. To no surprise of those who'd heard Maye before, she was brilliant again. She's at Jazz At Lincoln Center in May, as well as Iowa and Missouri after that, so far. Check out her website for dates, buy her CDs and thank me later. I'm thrilled she's doing shows uptown (they're a tribute to Cole Porter). But it's not enough. She should be performing with a full orchestra a la Barbara Cook. She should have a Broadway show built around her a la Elaine Stritch and Lena Horne. She should be rushed into the studio to record a late career masterpiece a la Shirley Horn. Someone with money and influence make sure this treasure is given the best possible setting to show her off. As Broadway By The Year demonstrates again and again, it all goes by so fast. Appreciate it while you can.

Here's a clip of Maye singing "Guess Who I Saw Today" from an earlier performance.




A SECOND CHANCE ** out of ****
PUBLIC THEATER

Here's what's good about the chamber musical A Second Chance: stars Brian Sutherland and Diane Sutherland, who have bring intelligence and a searching openness to the roles of a recently widowed man and a divorcee who unexpectedly find themselves getting a second chance at love. They are both fine actors and have great chemistry. They better! After all, they're married. (That's a joke, of course. Some married couples for whatever reason do not work well together as performers. These two do.)

Here's what's not so good about the chamber musical A Second Chance: the songs. The essentially sung through two-hander by Ted Shen has long flowing melodies that resolutely refuse to offer up any memorable tune and lyrics that resolutely refuse to offer up much in the way of memorable words. It is directed sensitively by Jonathan Butterell down to solid technical elements down to a fine ensemble overseen by Zak Snyder with orchestrations by Bruce Coughlin. But the best efforts of all involved cannot cover over the fact that A Second Chance has nothing new to say and no especially vivid way to rehash old truisms.



Dan is a widower still sunk in pain and sadness (it's been less than a year since his beloved wife died). Jenna is a kooky free spirit of sorts (the sort of character I instinctively dislike but which Diane Sutherland made appealing for me). She's over a bitter divorce and ready for love; he's miserable and needs something to buck him up but feels guilty about even thinking of dating again.

They meet at a party, go to the safe space of a museum to see if they're compatible and slowly, gingerly approach romance, despite his trepidation, an apartment filled with "ghosts" and the subtle disapproval of his friends who think he's moving too fast or dishonoring his wife's memory by finding someone else so soon.

That's it, really, down to dates where they get involved in discussions of such mundane materials as their opinions of the TV series Mad Men, which is about when I checked my watch on this slim offering. Sung in simple, declarative sentences with no hint of a "song," it's the hazy sort of pseudo-sophisticated music that people associate with high art and Stephen Sondheim, though Sondheim of course delivers shows chock full of catchy tunes.

Still, this might have served as a vehicle for some thoughtful displays of an intelligence at work if the story itself wasn't so tepid. Certainly a person recently widowed would feel a little funny about diving into a new relationship (or the object of their affection might reasonably worry about this person being on the rebound from grief). But would Jenna really feel so threatened by the fact that a man whose wife is barely cold in the ground still has pictures of her up in his home? Jenna seems far too sensitive and understanding for such a blinkered reaction. You expect her to empathize and say, hey, she'll always be a part of your life. Instead, she seems frustrated and about ready to insist he toss every memento of his former life into the bin.

The problem here is reflected in the title: this isn't a second chance at love for Dan. That implies he blew his first chance. It's another chance at love, one that can respect and treasure the past without seeing any future happiness as a betrayal of his dead wife. Dan and Jenna don't seem to understand even that simple distinction, which makes their awkwardness frustrating since neither states the obvious. Even at the end, they haven't reached the point we arrived at about two minutes after the beginning.


THEATER OF 2014

Beautiful: The Carole King Musical ***
Rodney King ***
Hard Times ** 1/2
Rosencrantz And Guildenstern Are Dead **
I Could Say More *
The Loneliness Of The Long Distance Runner **
Machinal ***
Outside Mullingar ***
A Man's A Man * 1/2
The Tribute Artist ** 1/2
Transport **
Prince Igor at the Met **
The Bridges Of Madison County ** 1/2
Kung Fu (at Signature) **
Stage Kiss ***
Satchmo At The Waldorf ***
Antony and Cleopatra at the Public **
All The Way ** 1/2
The Open House (Will Eno at Signature) ** 1/2
Wozzeck (at Met w Deborah Voigt and Thomas Hampson and Simon O'Neill)
Hand To God ***
Tales From Red Vienna **
Appropriate (at Signature) *
Rocky * 1/2
Aladdin ***
Mothers And Sons **
Les Miserables *** 1/2
Breathing Time * 1/2
Cirque Du Soleil's Amaluna * 1/2
Heathers The Musical * 1/2
Red Velvet, at St. Ann's Warehouse ***
Broadway By The Year 1940-1964 *** 1/2
A Second Chance **

Thanks for reading. Michael Giltz is the founder and CEO of the forthcoming websiteBookFilter, a book lover's best friend. It's a website that lets you browse for books online the way you do in a physical bookstore, provides comprehensive info on new releases every week in every category and offers passionate personal recommendations every step of the way. It's like a fall book preview or holiday gift guide -- but every week in every category. He's also the cohost of Showbiz Sandbox, a weekly pop culture podcast that reveals the industry take on entertainment news of the day and features top journalists and opinion makers as guests. It's available for free on iTunes. Visit Michael Giltz at his website and his daily blog. Download his podcast of celebrity interviews and his radio show, also called Popsurfing and also available for free on iTunes.

Note: Michael Giltz is provided with free tickets to shows with the understanding that he will be writing a review. All productions are in New York City unless otherwise indicated.

Sentry

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2014-03-29-margotre_whaling_church_mural_margot_pose.jpgMargot Datz and Old Whaling Church Mural by Carl Wendte (1843)
Re-creation by Margot Datz (2014)
Photo by Ray Ewing for the Vineyard Gazette.
Copyright Vineyard Gazette 2013, all rights reserved
Used by permission



One ferocious island winter, time's landscape froze and denizens huddled around wood stoves barely venturing into the arctic nightmare. Defying the laws of nature and the terror of polar landscapes, Margot Datz, brushes and color at hand, glides through frigid breath to daily enter the timeless Old Whaling Church on Martha's Vineyard. Her brother Steve and daughter Scarlet fly alongside her through these glacial sun-deprived days. Both are artists who will assist Ms. Datz. 2014-04-02-margotandscarlet.jpeg work 16-hours well towards midnight, scurrying up massive scaffolding to arrive at their points of precision. Ms. Datz suggests she is a bird living in a Victorian Aviary. As I observe her syllables weave through my mind, my gaze is shifted and I see quite clearly her image. Along with a sophisticated house for birds, a Victorian aviary is adorned with beautiful plants and flowers. Margot Datz plants seeds that will soon unfold and bring us to a new level of wonder. (Margot Datz with daughter Scarlet Blair and painter's apprentice, Yoda the Dog. Photo by Jack Schimmelman)

A year previously, Chris Scott, Executive Director of the Martha's Vineyard Preservation Trust, had summoned the muralist and author, Margot Datz, to recreate the murals of German artist, Carl Wendte, that had long ago faded into a parallel realm. Mr. Scott would subsequently work with Ms. Datz every step of the way, helping make decisions involving aesthetics and technique. He is preservationist. He is visionary. Ms. Datz was asked to transmute form into love and compassion worthy of such a majestic building. The only evidence Ms. Datz had of the original work was but one faded 1870 photograph of a trompe l'oeil mural painted behind the altar. From that she researched her subject artist and his work through a myriad of paths, including visiting (along with Mr. Scott) two other Wendte re-creations, the Nantucket Old South Church and the Unitarian Meeting House in Provincetown. Provincetown offered rare richness, as 40 percent of the original mural Wendte painted in their Meeting House was intact thus enabling Ms. Datz to closely study the artist's technique, which she identifies as parallel line tonal. She executed her work flawlessly on a dynamic and heroic scale. Her canvas was 3600 square feet, with each wall being a minimum of 25 feet high. She broke down her choice of gray into 13 gradations, all the while maintaining a strict ratio. Each step of the way she used a pencil, ruler and tape to draft and redraft her lines. This method enabled her to recreate Wendte's divine illusions. I associate parallel line tonal with the 5-tone musical scale that is universal and used in spiritual chants. I believe Mr. Wendte created a visual language manifesting spirit. Ms. Datz, a sublime muralist as well as brilliant detective has excavated Wendte's buried semiotic.

Ms. Datz' prodigious skill, intellectual prowess and vibrant essence entices Mr. Wendt's soul to inhabit the ceiling, walls and, finally, her heart so she may channel his classic forms. In Edgartown at the Old Whaling Church, Ms. Datz has achieved alchemy. The past is present. Mr. Wendte permanently dwells in awe of Margot's miracle.

What value does one give to an elegant image that has receded into unknown dimensions? Where 2014-04-02-detail.jpg do you begin to reach deep into a shadow so you may recreate what you know must be there but evades your five senses? That lives just beyond a translucent curtain. Trompe l'oeil. And what kind of person has the courage and humility to even try? Only a lioness costumed as a supremely skilled artist. Margot Datz. (Detail, trompe l'oeil. Photo by Margot Datz)

During the winter of 2013, a more human-friendly event than what besieged us in 2014, Ms. Datz recreated the central anchor of the building's interior murals. It is a trompe l'oeil of an alluring archway leading to a door. It is an invitation. On the right side of the door is a shaft of light. It is an entrance to and from eternity. As I watch Ms. Datz and family work in their ornate birdcage, I imagine ancient whaling captains, devoted parishioners, perhaps a few whales and Wendte himself bathing in immortal light with third eye opened wide by enchantment as they flow through illumination. Ms. Datz' precise, perfected tonal panels framing the church's interior emanate from this sacred arch.

Towards the end of her labors, Ms. Datz discovered a patch of original paint used on one of the side panels. It was Wendte's original choice and the exact color that Ms. Datz had deduced was used.

As you approach Edgartown and move down Upper Main Street, a dignified, tall steeple greets you. It is the Old Whaling Church. In a town that is abundant with exquisite 19th century architecture, The Old Whaling Church is the ultimate statement. It is Edgartown's sentry; its eternal celebration of a transcendent era; an epoch that witnessed Melville, Whitman, Emerson, Thoreau soar through our land. Designed by Frederick Baylies, along with Wendte and completed in 1843, it embodies one of the finest examples of Greek revival architecture in our country. The original intent was to model its composition on the Parthenon. This poetic lady bestows grace upon its community. Fueled by the riches of 19th century whaling captains, the church fell into disrepair after that money disappeared. Until now. Margo Datz has restored to Edgartown its glorious heritage.

Soon, survivors of a winter that Vineyarders will regal their future grandchildren as legend, will walk through the entrance of this august structure. With each breath their quotidian concerns will evaporate as they are washed in reverence conducted across parallel realities radiating through Margot Datz' magnificent accomplishment.

Ms. Datz' art will live forever in the fortunate hearts that inhale its beauty. I do not know how long Margot's work will physically endure. After all, nature is the great decider. Especially on an island vulnerable to Earth's tidal dreams. But what I do know is that when a seeker slides through majesty's portal to attempt ascension of Jacob's Ladder, she is forever fused with love. Luminous panels frame our many paths; our countless journeys. They live forever in the soul who passes through Ms. Datz' reverie incarnate in the hush of the Old Whaling Church.

To learn more about this project's development click here to watch a short documentary.

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Old Whaling Church mural. Photograph by Margot Datz. Used with permission.

I Want Poetry to Matter: A Manifesto

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In celebration of National Poetry Month 2014, I present my new poem: a poetic manifesto for a new world.

By the way, I also think that we need to queer or gayify National Poetry Month!

"I Want Poetry to Matter: A Manifesto"

I want Poetry to matter
I want it to do what no one else, nothing else can do
I want Poetry to matter
Do you?

I want Poetry to end all wars
stop the genocides
cure all diseases
feed the starving
shelter the homeless
protect the helpless
stop the injustices
save the planet
save the animals
save our souls
save us

I want Poetry to mean something
I want Poetry to do something

I want Poetry to be the peaceful warrior
I want Poetry to be the violent pacifist

I want Poetry to matter
I want it to imprison the oppressor
and free the oppressed
I want it to blame the victimizer
and defend the victim
I want it to banish the marginalizer
and welcome the marginalized
I want it to the resist the powerful
and empower the powerless
I want it to steal from the greedy
and give to the needy

I want Poetry to do what no other literature can do
what no other art can do
what no institution can do
I want Poetry to matter
I want it be tangible
I want it to be seen
heard
touched
tasted
smelled

I want Poetry to have a purpose
It must have a purpose

I want Poetry to matter
I want it to reveal the real truth
I want it to change the world

And although none of this will ever be reality
Ideally, I want Poetry to matter

So I hope and I hope and I hope
because hope is all I have

Are you hopeful?

I want Poetry to matter
Do you?

Do you want Poetry to matter?
Do you?

Ai Weiwei's Evidence: Major Solo Exhibition in Berlin (VIDEO)

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Chinese artist Ai Weiwei (born 1957) is one of the world's most famous artists. The Martin-Gropius-Bau in Berlin is now staging his largest solo exhibition to date. On 3,000 square meters in 18 rooms and in the spectacular Lichthof the retrospective features works and installations that were either designed specifically for the building or have not yet been shown in Germany. Ai Weiwei wasn't allowed to travel to Berlin, so he designed the show in his studio in Beijing. The retrospective is titled Evidence and is seen as a political exhibition with works that comment on social and political issues in China. This video takes you on a walk through the exhibition. Gereon Sievernich (Curator and Director of the Martin-Gropius-Bau) provides us with an introduction to the show. The beginning and the end of this report features an inserted video message which was pre-recorded by Ai Weiwei in China. The show runs until July 7, 2014.



Ai was the artistic consultant for design, collaborating with the Swiss architects Herzog & de Meuron, for the Beijing National Stadium for the 2008 Summer Olympics, also known as the "Bird's Nest." Solo exhibitions include the Brooklyn Museum of Art (2014); The Museum of Contemporary Art Oslo (2014); MUSEION -- Museum für moderne und zeitgenössische Kunst, Bolzano (2014); Galleria Continua -- Le Moulin, Boissy-le-Châtel (2014); PinchukArtCentre, Kiev (2014); The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City (2014); Perez Art Museum Miami -- PAMM, Miami (2013); Crow Collection of Asian Art, Dallas (2013); The Cleveland Museum of Art (2013); Indianapolis Museum of Art (2013); Galeria Pilar, São Paulo (2013); etc.

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Ai Weiwei: He Xie, 2010


Ai Weiwei's work was included in the 55th Venice Biennale of Art (2013); Curitiba Biennial (2013); Kochi-Muziris Biennale (2012); The Busan Biennale (2012); Ukrainian Biennale of Contemporary Art, Kiev (2012); Moscow Biennale of contemporary art (2011); Venice Architecture Biennale (2010); Sao Paulo Biennial (2010); Liverpool Biennial of Contemporary Art (2008); Documenta 12 in Germany (2007); The 5th Asia-Pacific Triennial of Contemporary Art in Australia (2006); Busan Biennial in Korea (2006); The 2nd Guangzhou Triennial (2005); 1st Monpellier Biennial of Chinese Contemporary Art in France (2005); 1st Guangzhou Triennale in China (2002) and 48th Venice Biennale of Art (1999).

For more videos covering contemporary art and architecture go to VernissageTV.

A View From a Son

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Last week, I attended the opening night of Terrence McNally's latest play, Mothers and Sons with my mom, Marilu Henner. The play represents, as announced at curtain call that evening, the first time that a legally married gay couple has appeared on a Broadway stage. (At first, I was excited to learn that the two lead actors had shared the blissful and overdue sound of chiming wedding bells, but I quickly realized they were referring to the characters.)

Another first was upon us when Bobby Steggert did what every other lead actor on Broadway is currently doing after their curtain call: In costume, but out of character, he asked for donations to Broadway Cares Equity Fights AIDS. According to Steggert, this was the first time such an appeal was appended to an opening night.

The extended post-show speeches and calls to action reminded me of an argument I had with a friend after seeing a performance of the recent revival of The Glass Menagerie. On that occasion, this friend took issue with the sudden insertion of the Equity Fights AIDS speech, and especially the actors standing in the lobby, even then still in costume, personally accepting donations. Never mind the fact that this context was one of the few in which a steady stream of twenty-dollar bills, a fraction of the cost of a Broadway ticket, could be guaranteed. No, my friend wanted to make the point that breaking the fourth wall in this way negatively affected the cohesion of the show. He would rather they didn't do it.

Despite realizing that this small-minded opinion meant my friend was choosing effeteness over empathy, and was therefore a pretty major asshole, I engaged in what turned into a very lively debate, especially since I could not disagree with his basic point: The Equity Fights AIDS speech changes the way you feel as you leave a show. The experience is given a different aftertaste, one that in most cases the play's author could not have intended. After a month, this intermittent argument reached such a pitch that my friend had to ask one of his NYU theater professors to weigh in. The professor's response: "Yes, it breaks the aesthetic sanctity of the performance, but you have to remember, when they started doing this, people were dying." My first thought upon hearing this relayed to me was "Of course." It is jarring to move from the illusory spell cast by these performances to a very real reminder that we are in a theater, an enclave from the actual. And this was, of course, the point.

I am 19-years-old, and I haven't personally known anyone who has died of AIDS, or who is living with it. In my college community, there is certainly STD paranoia, but fear of HIV/AIDS does not rank high among active discussion topics or concerns that are believed to be realistic. In the media of my lifetime, depictions of the disease are usually set distantly, whether in time or space. It is largely seen, in the United States at least, as something that happened, rather than something that can or will -- more polio than cancer, more Vietnam than Ukraine. I think I am beginning to understand why, for my friend and I, hearing the Broadway Cares Equity Fights AIDS speech seemed like not much more than an opportunity for an argument about aesthetics.

This new perspective is due in no small part to Terrence McNally's new play.

Mothers and Sons is a ceaselessly engaging chamber drama that revels in the slow revelation of conflicting wills. A mother and a lover reunite to do anything but talk about the long-dead man they have in common. It is, first and foremost, an actor's play, as we see each member of the cast come to terms with their own motives and undead enmities. Seeing the dam of repression and polite comportment break open within Cal, the ex-lover and one time nurse to the AIDS stricken Andre, and hearing the subsequent deluge of memories, filled with the pain of losing the man who should have been the love of his life, does far more than a strictly informative documentary or lecture ever could. This is the utility of theater, especially when it is aesthetically cohesive (one small point for my friend). Good theater can make humanity out of politics and wring emotion out of history in a way that a direct appeal for funds never will.

Even when Cal tells of the ravaging effects that AIDS had on Andre and the collective body of their community, a blatant expositional and emotional maneuver, I was sufficiently wrapped up in the honest specificity of McNally's encounters so as to not care. I can imagine others in the theater finding these moments rather redundant. For most of the first-class citizens of the Broadway world in attendance at last week's opening, much of the historical rehashing truly goes without saying. But in 2014, I venture to say that they are in a minority. Allegiance, a new musical set in a Japanese internment camp on its way to a New York premiere this year, would probably face a similar reaction in a room full of people who had been caught in the middle of that particular, now predominantly misunderstood and under-discussed injustice.

I imagine it is hard for those who lived through the height of the AIDS crisis to imagine coming at this play from a place of ignorance. But McNally has produced a work that acknowledges this perspective. He has favored the current and future few who are willing to approach his play and its history with both affable self-recognition and necessary solemnity, even if they don't have all of the facts straight. In the melee of remembrances to which we are all subjected, Mothers and Sons is a slam dunk for Terrence McNally and all those who have sought a proper monument for this particular crisis of theirs, significant not just to the veterans, but especially to my generation and the generations to come.



Addendum from Marilu Henner:

I was thrilled to attend the opening night of Terrence McNally's new Broadway play Mothers and Sons with my two sons, Nick and Joey. I was particularly moved when Nick, currently a sophomore at Columbia University, told me after the play had ended that it was not only entertaining for him to see, but also educational for him to learn about an epidemic that he did not live through and, therefore, had only understood peripherally. He compared it to my not having lived through the Korean War, but perhaps in my lifetime having seen a film or television show that, through its artistry, exposed me to truths that for others who had lived through it would see as self-evident. As a mom, I was proud that he had such a sophisticated and complex reaction to the play. Sometimes a night out at the theater with family is strictly fun. In the case of Mothers and Sons, the night out was not only wonderful, but also -- both as a play and in the reactions it generates for a young audience -- very moving.

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Few plays on Broadway today speak as urgently to our times as Mothers and Sons, the 20th Broadway production from legendary 4-time Tony® Award-winning playwright Terrence McNally, now open at the Golden Theatre. In the play, Katherine -- portrayed by Tony®- and Emmy-winning Tyne Daly in perhaps her most formidable role -- visits the former lover of her late son twenty years after his death, only to find him now married to another man and raising a small child. A funny, vibrant, and deeply moving look at one woman's journey to acknowledge how society has evolved--and how she might, Mothers and Sons is certain to spark candid conversations about regret, acceptance, and the evolving definition of "family." Daly is joined by Broadway vet Frederick Weller (Take Me Out), Tony® nominee Bobby Steggert (Ragtime), and newcomer Grayson Taylor, under the direction of Tony® nominee Sheryl Kaller (Next Fall). For more information, visit www.mothersandsonsbroadway.com.

How Hand-Painted Signs Helped Revitalize a Mississippi Main Street

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By Lauren Walser


Artist Bill Warren hand paints the lettering on a window at The B.T.C. Old-Fashioned Grocery.

There's a renaissance happening in the small town of Water Valley, Miss., as you read in the Spring 2014 issue of Preservation magazine.

Long-vacant storefronts are now teeming with life. Residents and visitors spend afternoons and evenings on Main Street, grabbing a sandwich at The B.T.C. Old-Fashioned Grocery, a new market and eatery started by a local couple in a 140-year-old brick building; snacking on ice cream at Turnage Drug Store, a 109-year-old family-owned Water Valley institution; or perusing the latest shows at Bozarts Gallery or Yalo Studio, two new galleries in storefronts dating to the 1840s and 1910, respectively.

But it's not just the newly renovated buildings that have brought vigor to Water Valley. A major part of the town's revival comes from the beautiful, hand-painted signs lining Main Street, welcoming shoppers to stores and creating a unique visual identity for the town.


This sign for Turnage Drug Store hangs prominently on the sidewalk of Main Street.

These signs are the handiwork of Bill Warren, artist and co-chair of the Water Valley Arts Council, who moved to Water Valley in 2008. His work has been widely recognized as a major impetus for downtown's growth and has been featured in publications such as The New York Times, the Oxford Home Guide, and Water Valley's North Mississippi Herald.

In 2012, the Mississippi Main Street Association honored Warren the award for Best New Signage .

"Through his artistic eye for detail and design, his precision, knowledge of calligraphy, and his keen sense of color and scale, Warren has literally and single-handedly re-signed Water Valley's downtown revival," Mickey Howley, Water Valley Main Street Association director, wrote in a letter nominating Warren's signs for the Mississippi Main Street Association award. "Traditional signs add character to a downtown and bring a return not only to a historical style, but add a whimsy that cut vinyl signs just can't convey."


Last November, Warren reproduced an 8-by-12-foot mural from 1907 on the wall of the North
Mississippi Herald building.

Warren has his own ideas for what his signs can accomplish in a town experiencing an architectural revival.

"The idea is that a community is more humanized by the handmade touch," Warren wrote in an email to Preservation. "A good sign unites people in a shared event in a particular place."

Warren's signs do more than unite. They create a sense of place and instill pride in the citizens of Water Valley. And while you saw some of Warren's handiwork in action in our print story, we thought we'd give you a close-up of his creations -- and another look at the streets of Water Valley.


At the Water Valley Casey Jones Railroad Museum, Warren's sign unites the town's new identity with its history as a bustling rail town.

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Warren's sandwich board-style signs, left, also greet visitors to the weekly Water Valley Farmers and Artists Market and welcomes shoppers to Mississippi Mudd, by Cora Ray, right, a bakery featuring homemade treats on Main Street.

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The back entrance to Bozarts Gallery also features a sign by Warren.

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For people coming down Duncan Street, Warren's sign points the way to Turnage Drug Store.

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The B.T.C. Old-Fashioned Grocery is, Nic Brown writes in our Spring 2014 issue, "a social and gastronomical hub for the town."

Such Hope

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Here is something I have learned. There is a genius to mortality.

Imagine Gallery 39 at the British Museum on a Wednesday morning. Outside, a typical London February. Cold. Windy. Passing showers. Bits of sun that promise an early spring. A season about to change.

Inside, the doors have just been opened. School groups crush at the case for the Rosetta Stone, then move on toward an undecipherable Egypt. Other groups make their way to the Elgin Marbles or the café. Intrepid loners find their way to the Sudanese slit drum, the Ain Sakhri Lovers Figurine, the whole of Sutton Hoo.

But upstairs and back toward the front, in the southeast corner, I am watching people watch a clock. It will be hours before I go any farther.

It sits on a table in the middle of the room. A brass clock under glass in a satinwood case. There are columns on the four sides, an open square frame. A type of roof holds three circles, three dials that show hours, minutes, seconds.

It is, to be clear, a very pretty clock. But the Sir Harry and Lady Djanogly Gallery of Clocks and Watches is filled with very pretty ways to measure what we have spent and what we have left. Grandfather clocks. Pocket watches. A regulator made for the Royal Observatory at Greenwich in 1675. An armillary sphere from 1550. Wooden jacks that strike a bell. A musical clock with miniature organ pipes.

Pretty is not why people stop to watch this particular clock. And every one of us stops.

A ball rolls in grooves on an inclined plate, a turn at each end. And when the ball reaches the bottom of the plate, a spring is released and the plate tilts the other direction. What was the bottom becomes the top and the ball keeps rolling. Forever downhill. Forever forward. 2500 miles every year.

I would bet not a soul in the room could tell me what time the clock displays. People pause -- everyone pauses -- to watch the ball in its track. To see the plate tilt. To be -- what? Reassured.

A woman named Laura Turner, a curator of the Horological Collections, points me to a book called Clocks by David Thompson.

Although his clock was a serious attempt to improve timekeeping, it was anything but successful in that respect. On the other hand, the design found immediate popularity, and clocks incorporating it have been made by numerous makers from the early nineteenth century to this day. While many see these clocks as an attempt at perpetual motion, there is no mystery involved. The ball rolling down the track does not drive the clock, but simply determines the rate at which the clock runs.

I am reading metaphor. The ball does not drive the clock or our lives. It simply determines the rate. A group of school children rush into the gallery. Every one of them wears an identical blazer. They carry notebooks, pens at the ready. When the plate tilts, one of them gasps. Some move on. Several stay to watch the plate move again, and then again, and then again. Gravitas, not gravity, draws them to the rolling ball.

Each time the ball reaches the end of its run it hits a release lever which unlocks the grooved tray. The power of the mainspring is then transmitted through a train of gears which tilts the tray and locks it so that the ball then begins its journey back down the track until it reaches the bottom and triggers the release to repeat the process. The ball is timed to take just thirty seconds to make its journey, but all manner of influences such as temperature change, humidity change and dust on the track conspire to make these clocks bad timekeepers.

This is Sisyphus in reverse. Instead of pushing the ball uphill, only to watch it roll and bounce back into the valley, this is mortality under glass. Our lives, I think. The process of aging, of decay, of youth becoming something less energetic. Even so, this is not why everyone stops.

Sisyphus had his moment, the hour of his descent. We watch the ball, all of us in this room, not to see it reach the end. We watch to see the end itself transformed, removed, changed, lifted up, perhaps transmuted.

This is the genius of mortality. If we were not at risk of losing it all -- of having our lives mean nothing -- we would not hope for the opposite. There is a way of looking at the world which says our perception of approaching death gives us Mozart, Ballenshine, Shakespeare, the courage to talk to a pretty girl.

The ball reaches the end. The spring is released. The plate tilts. There isn't a moment, not even a microsecond, the ball isn't rolling forward.

Children smile when the incline shifts. Mechanical wonder, they think. The simple fun of how things move. Adults smile when incline shifts as well. I can almost read their minds, if not their hearts. Hope, they say. This clock is evidence of hope. Not evidence of time. An evidence of philosophy. An evidence of hope. I am not going to say this is a religious clock. But I would not argue with those who would.

I am not an old man. But I am old enough to see my old man self approaching. I watch the ball roll toward the end. Thirty seconds, more or less. This clock is a terrible timekeeper, the rate of its measure changed by everything else in the universe, dust and dark matter too, which is exactly as it should be. So yes, I smile when the spring is released and the end becomes the top. As Camus said, "The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man's heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy."

What Buying Signs From the Homeless Has Taught Me About Home

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This story was written and performed by Willie Baronet for the live, personal storytelling series Oral Fixation (An Obsession With True Life Tales) at The McKinney Avenue Contemporary in Dallas, TX on December 13, 2011. The theme of the show was "Home Is Where The Heart Is."

"When I met Willie and learned about his art project collecting signs made by the homeless, I was blown over by the inventive take on the theme, 'Home is Where the Heart Is'," Oral Fixation creator Nicole Stewart says. "Luckily, I was able to convince him to write this piece for the show."

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Back in the early 90s, when I first began to see homeless people standing on street corners holding signs, I felt awkward. I'd position my car so I wouldn't have to look at them, or pretend to do something else. I felt guilty too, wrestling morally with whether or not I was doing good by giving them money, wondering how they would spend it.

So, in 1993, I began buying and collecting these signs. Like many of my ideas, it was born out of frustration, and I didn't know where it would lead me.

These interactions all began the same way, with me asking them if I could buy their sign. Usually they said "Sure," followed closely by "How much?" Once negotiations began, I was amazed at how different they seemed. Their body language shifted and they were engaged, motivated. Less victim-y. They were almost always grateful to sell the signs, some overly so. A few were curious why I wanted them. I said it was for an art project, though I had no clue what that project was.

There have been so many fascinating encounters. One pitifully thin woman told me that her deceased husband had made her sign, pointing out his name scrawled on the back. She broke down in tears when we made the exchange. Many of the signs themselves are heartbreaking: "Hungry family with 4 kids need food and motel. Please help." And it's not just the words, it's the lettering and the typos. Some are more lighthearted: "Hello Earthlings. Just visiting. Need help back to Mars. Spacecraft out of fuel."

The average price per sign is probably about nine bucks. I've never paid more than 25.

Over time, I became very comfortable having these conversations, shaking hands and connecting with these men and women, often while I held up traffic. I became aware that they each had a reason they were on the streets. Human beings trying to get through their lives, dealing with adversity, looking for love, safety, connection. Just like you or me.

I've never been homeless, nor had any real fear of being homeless. I was born into a fairly low income family, the eldest of eight children. Home to me back then was usually a crowded, noisy place where we all competed for attention. There was always food to eat and a place to sleep. But it was a scary place, too. My father, dealing with the pressures of such a large family on a small income, and having never been taught much emotional awareness, did a poor job of dealing with his anger. He often unleashed it on me, my siblings and my mom. There were visible bruises, broken doors and worse. Mostly, there was fear. For me, home never felt safe.

As it happens, 1993 was also the year I wrote a letter to my dad on Father's Day. In it, I confronted him about my childhood, and said I was done being afraid of him. I asked him about his past, his hopes and dreams. Three months later, he wrote me back, and it was the beginning of some deep healing for us.

Before now, I'd never made a connection between that letter and my collecting homeless signs. Maybe there's always been a part of me that is homeless; the part of me that spent my entire childhood being so vigilant and afraid of my father, yearning for safety, comfort and peace.

In my early experiences with the homeless, I struggled with the unfairness of the lives people are born into: the physical, mental and psychological handicaps, the abuse and the trauma. I avoided eye contact with those on the street, unwilling to really "see" them, and in doing so avoided seeing parts of myself. Now, years later, I'm aware of those aspects of my life I wanted to deny: the abuse, the fear, the illusions I had about my own home and upbringing.

Back in those early years, I had no idea what type of art I wanted to make with these signs. I painted on some, drew on some, covered a wall in my apartment with them. As the years passed, I kept buying them, patiently, diligently.

At the time, I owned an advertising agency in downtown Dallas. Occasionally, we'd arrive to work to find a homeless man sleeping near our front door. I even had homeless signs up in my office.

In 2006 I sold the company, which was a huge event in my life, since the people I worked with were like my second family in many ways. Another home of sorts that was going away. After some soul searching, which included a magical trip to South Africa, I enrolled in grad school, and it was while I was pursuing an MFA in Arts and Technology that I would begin to figure out the art I was supposed to be making.

My professors were very excited about my homeless sign collection, and encouraged me to explore it as the basis for a possible body of work. And boy, did I. After exploring countless directions, and some juicy critiques, I had my first ever solo art show in the fall of 2009. I was very proud of the work, which included digital prints, some homeless signs mounted on mirrors, a single sign suspended from the ceiling in the center of the gallery, signs mounted on the floor and a 12 minute video of signs dissolving from one to another to the soundtrack of a car moving through traffic. The show also featured a homeless man that I hired for the evening to walk around the gallery holding a sign while he chatted with the guests.

When I think about that show now, I realize that in many ways, I was finally home. I'd been raised in a house where art was never discussed. My mom was a housewife, my dad was an insurance adjuster, and I don't know that either of them ever set foot in a museum or a gallery in their lives. Even though I drew all the time as a child, they didn't know how to encourage me. So here I was, having just turned 50, in the middle of my first solo art show, surrounded by gobs of friends, doing something I'd dreamed of doing for a long time.

When that show came down, I figured I was done with homeless signs. Silly me.

I was taking a class on interventionist art. Art that in some way disrupts daily life, like flash mobs or the art happenings that originated in the late 1950s. Of course the first thought to occur to me was a big group of people at a crowded intersection all holding homeless signs. Thus, "We Are All Homeless" was born.

The first gathering of this type occurred at a key intersection in central Dallas. We handed out cards to people driving by, directing them to a website, where they could learn more about the project and find links to homeless shelters in the area. The cards featured different sayings all relating to home. One said, "If you were homeless, you'd be home now." Another said, "Home is where the heart is." We've now done three of these gatherings, including one where we all dressed in costume and handed out dollar bills with the web address written on them.

It appears these signs are a part of me now. I keep buying them, and the ideas for artworks keep coming. And I'm ok with that. My sister and I are working on our second homeless quilt, and I just launched an Indiegogo campaign to fund a coast to coast sign buying adventure.

I'm still fascinated by the notion of "home." Is it a physical place, a building, a house? Is it a sense of safety, of being provided for? And what does it mean to be homeless: practically, spiritually, emotionally?

I now see these homeless signs as signposts of my own journey, both inward and outward. Of reconciling my childhood and my life with my beliefs about home and the homeless. Glinda, the good witch in The Wiz said it best: "When we know ourselves, we're always home."

By the way, my favorite homeless sign? "Vibrator outta batteries. Urgent. Please help!"

The Self-Fulfillment of Socially Engaged Art

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Alongside the recent press about a new Gilded Age of art economics (replace Carnegie and Frick with Arnault and Walton) there is a movement of socially engaged art that is gathering momentum. While some art works reach sales in the nine figures, Kansas City artist Sean Starowitz asks us to, "re-think the offering between commodity and experience."

Starowitz is a 2014 recipient of the Charlotte Street Foundation award for his work as an activist and artist. A wide range of projects includes BREAD! KC, a microfunding concept based on the Sunday Soup Network. Offering a communal meal for a small donation, participants are introduced to artists from the community who discuss their projects. Diners then choose which project they wish to fund with donations received at the door; a successful concept that has generated over $15,000 in three years.

Byproduct: The Laundromat, includes storytelling, performances, and discussions in a Midtown Kansas City Laundromat and Fresh Bread, a pop-up bakery which travels to food deserts in Kansas City. Another project is The Dialogue Lab: Impossible Madison, a collaboration of students from the Madison Art Academy, among others, "creating a responsive exhibition investigating the reimagining of the city of Madison, Indiana, through design, public engagement, and interactive installations." One student called Starowitz' work a "non-transactional experience."

He and a growing number of artists are looking to socially engaged art practices, questioning the idea that a fulfilling life and career based upon economics and collectability as their sole rubric demands re-examination.

Julia Cole, KC-based artist, educator and community activist who manages a socially engaged grants program with the Charlotte Street Foundation remarked, "I think that defining artistic success in the more traditional sense - gallery exhibits, museum shows, art fairs, collections... - clearly impacts the kinds of artists who will be drawn into a socially engaged practice...Most work in the SoPra (social practice) genre does not fit this 'success' profile." It is a case of committing to communal impact that accompanies artistic fulfillment.

Starowitz' ideas are borne of food, including how we source, fund, grow, buy and eat it.

People will do almost anything to alleviate their anxieties, accept any distraction (the internet on which you read this, television, pharmaceuticals). And food sourcing plays a major role in these anxieties. Socially engaged art, acting as both a truth-teller and a keyhole help cushion the impact towards what is becoming a moment of great decision-making affecting future generations. Environmental, political, population control and healthcare are some of the issues that all have a basis in food growth, consumption and distribution. Words like social engagement, sustainability and community are frequently bandied about as buzz words, and their inclusion in the lexicon of corporate ideology may dilute their importance, but are still words with validity nonetheless. Artists like Starowtiz challenges these paradoxes, putting ideas into actions, tasking his community to becoming equally involved.

"He's the type of person that willingly jumps into difficult conversations about social issues. He changes the focus of conversation from the problem to the solution." Says Erin Olm-Shipman, a longtime partner of BREAD! KC and Collections Manager of The Collectors Fund, a rotating art program in Kansas City.

Peter Sellars is an American theatre director and UCLA professor who recently invited Starowtiz to talk with his students about the role art plays in a "green" economy. In a phone conversation we discussed ideas of a newly reconfigured economy needing to begin at the grassroots level. Says Sellars, "Kansas City is the frontier of where the action is...people actually need a working alternative...democracy should not be inhibited by over-centralization."

The word 'local' kept popping up in our conversation and how its meaning corresponds to the geography of Kansas City, or even Los Angeles, places where there is little centralization. This moment right now, says Sellars, is an exploratory time that allows working models to be tested. Sellars pointed out, "We need to work out and implement expertise...(and)this will take a generation."

These ideas are already taking root and bearing fruit. Says Starowitz; "The fact that BREAD! KC has (consistently) sold out is a telling thing...I think it will hopefully inspire the next generation of artists to work in more radical community engaged and minded contexts."

Political and social boundaries are sometimes crossed. At one Byproduct event, artist A. Bitterman discussed a controversial billboard project that dealt with narrative historical culture between himself, arts facilitator Moses Brings Plenty and moderator Jose Faus.

How do socially engaged projects impact our communities, including bridging zip codes that can often be split along racial lines? And who is a core demographic? Starowitz remarks, "I would say non-art oriented individuals, the everyday (citizen), and art folks. But Kansas City is hyper-segregated and I truly believe the arts can navigate that space, (establishing) conversations and (facing) issues with real impact and change..."

Why hasn't Starowitz embedded these projects in neighborhoods that could be more in need of it than others? It's a matter of implementation and organic growth rather than seeking out exploitative environments.

He is not alone in bringing social engagement to a local culture that wants change. Darryl Chamberlain and his ongoing campaign of The Artists for Life Project and artist, poet and the previously mentioned Faus are among several community-minded artists seeking change slowly and organically within Kansas City.

Faus too, is taking a broad approach to balance the personal and the communal, combining studio time with community engaged work. A founder of the Latino Writers Collective, a group that addresses the shortcomings "such as the lack of visibility for Latino writers in the area. It has morphed into a national network of engagement with other like-minded groups."

Faus' work on Token Conversations at The Laundromat with (independent curator) Christian Frock and Sean was another "example of the nexus of the personal and communal - conversations as a medium for exploring critical issues, both personal and social."

Social engagement and organization within communities are an imperative to its growth and relevance. Cities can, and for the most part, are, considering the importance of the type of work Sean and others are creating and start adopting these practices into their everyday lives. These changes are plausible and necessary. Olm-Shipman says, "It helps keep the arts relevant" and accessible to everyone.

Art is not merely a financial investment. Socially engaged art practices incite changes and helps defines the culture once the community becomes a part of it. One cannot be passive and this work encourages participation. Direct engagement is a true democratic model of tangibility and influence that yields change where it's needed most: the places where we live.

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First Nighter: Encores! Most Happy Fella Mostly Happy

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Perhaps more than any of his Broadway songwriting peers Frank Loesser disliked repeating himself. When he produced book, music and lyrics for The Most Happy Fella in 1956, now this week's Encores! series entry at City Center, he decided to go operatic. Not all the way, but more than he ever had before -- "My Time of Day" from Guys and Dolls, notwithstanding.

The score overflows with melodies that sound as if they could be sailing across the Metropolitan Opera footlights, songs like "Somebody Somewhere," "Warm All Over," "Joey, Joey, Joey," "My Heart is So Full of You" and the "How Beautiful the Days" quartet. At the same time, Loesser didn't forsake his ebullient show-tune past. He included "Ooh! My Feet!" "Big D" and "Standing on the Corner," which was a Top 10 hit when The Four Lads recorded and released it on the Columbia label.

(They were Columbia contractees, and Columbia released the original cast album. Maybe it's now forgotten that having label artists cut songs from signed shows was the policy then.)

The Loesser numbers tumble out so profusely that a criticism could be made about them so far from what might be said of scores written today that it's laughable: There are too many -- with the result that they begin to render Loesser's libretto somewhat diffuse.

Okay, okay, nobody should be complaining about such a predicament at a time when there are new musicals cluttering the Main Stem with scores woefully deficient in songwriting standards -- and I use "standards" in two senses of the word. So I'm not really complaining. I was glad to hear Loesser's Most Happy Fella again and sung so well by top-notch players, with one particularly notable exception and one minor exception.

For those who've either forgotten or never knew, Loesser adapted his work from Sydney Howard's 1924 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, They Knew What They Wanted. In this version 60-year-old Nappa Valley vintner Tony (Shuler Hensley) falls for a young San Francisco waitress he calls Rosabella (Laura Benanti). When he's back home and mailing mash notes to her, he sends a photograph of his young and handsome foreman Joe (Cheyenne Jackson) so she'll agree to be his mail-order bride.

When she arrives, the inevitable problems arise. Sometimes they're soothed by Rosabella's visiting friend Cleo (Heidi Blickenstaff), who falls for ever-smiling local Herman (Jay Armstrong Johnson). Sometimes they're complicated by Tony's jealous spinster sister Marie (Jessica Molaskey). But despite her initial disappointment that Tony isn't Joe, Rosabella -- whose actual name isn't immediately revealed -- slowly falls for the older man as a plot line unfolds in which Loesser softens Howard's take on the '20s politics roiling the atmosphere.

What I'm saying is that while Loesser's book mars the overall effect -- and mitigates against a reviewer's completely favorable response -- his music buoys the property time and again. For instance, to hear "Standing on the Corner" delivered to cheerful perfection by Johnson, Ryan Bauer-Walsh, Ward Billeisen and Arlo Hill and then followed by Jackson's "Joey, Joey, Joey" is to go slap-happy with the embarrassment of riches.

To my way of thinking, Jackson might have mined more of Joe's expressed restlessness, his compulsion to have all he wants of the ladies on other neighborhoods. It's a minor drawback, but again I'm not complaining.

Laura Benanti, who has yet to demonstrate from a local stage that she can do any wrong, shows off a pure soprano she's previously hidden. She makes glowing impressions of Rosabella's arias. Blickenstaff opens the proceedings with "Ooh! My Feet!" and it's all pizzazz. She builds on her zing in the second act when she and the equally scene-stealing Johnson front the "Big D" production number. Another one showing off a voice she usually keeps under wraps--certainly when performing with hubby John Pizzarelli in their November Café Carlyle turn--is Molaskey as Marie.

This gets us to Hensley as Tony. In the first act of the performance I saw and heard, he ran into serious vocal obstacles. Although he acted Tony with the required rough-hewn charm--the company acting was fine across the board--he couldn't muster the volume to maximize Loesser's house-filling melodies. Matters improved in the second act, when his and Rosabella's passions flare, but if the title's supposedly most happy fella isn't the most he can be all in categories, something's missing from the whole outing.

Hardly by the way, conductor Rob Berman has 38 -- count 'em, 38 -- musicians on stage to get the billowing orchestral sound required for the enterprise. (Yes, I remember that the 1992 revival did nicely with only two pianos.) The string section alone has 22 players. Not bad.

And a nod held for several seconds director-choreographer Casey Nicholaw's way. It's barely two weeks since he opened Disney's lavish Aladdin 13 blocks south, and here he is with another large-cast production -- during which no one carries the script in a binder as used to be the Encores! series norm. Has the guy slept in the past month? If he hasn't, he's still in good form with a Most Happy Fella that's in good enough form to reward fans with an acceptable look and listen.

Alfred Leslie: The Last of the Really Great Abstract Expressionists, Now a Master of 21st Century Digital Art

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"Pink Square"1957-60, Oil on Canvas, 11 ft.hx13ft.w
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Bill de Kooning in 1966 (2011), Oil Pastel on Linen
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc., NYC



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Miss Wonderly (2012-2014), 60"x66"
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc.,NYC



I'm infatuated! Although I'm not especially fickle, every few years I fall in love with a singular artist and need to proclaim my passion. The object of my affection can be male or female, alive or dead; I just have to believe he or she is underappreciated and then I become determined to regale all who will listen with accounts of the uniqueness of my beloved's exemplary talents.

My, until now, clandestine courtship began at the 2014 Armory Show in March. I was lured into a booth belonging to Hill Gallery from Birmingham, Michigan, attracted by a mesmerizing Tetraptych (Polyptych? Quadriptych? Anyway, a four-panel painting) called 'Pink Square, 1957-60'. I noted that the artist was Alfred Leslie. I knew Alfred Leslie was an Abstract Expressionist painter, but he'd never usurped the art world's imagination like the larger than life Willem de Kooning or the tragic Arshile Gorky or the both larger than life and tragic Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko.

I circled around the piers a few times and kept returning to this painting. I needed to bathe in the luminous big pink square and feed on the white slashed green and rectangular mustard.

That same week, at the ADAA Art Show in the Park Avenue Armory, I entered New York dealer Janet Borden's booth, which was full of new works, an intriguing series of all-in-one combination paintings/drawings/photographs, computer generated but highly figurative depictions of louche literary figures. The artist was listed as Alfred Leslie. I sought out a 'Junior' or an 'Alfred Leslie III', knowing that the Abstract Expressionist Alfred Leslie was born in 1927, but found this was no descendent but the man himself. This same Alfred Leslie, a veteran of the most seminal Abstract Expressionist shows in history ('The Ninth Street Show' in 1951, '16 Americans' in 1959, and MOMA's engaging and encyclopedic 'Abstract Expressionist New York' exhibit from 2010-2011, curated by Ann Temkin) was now creating work that could only belong to the last few years. He was using a tablet and stylus, photoshopping his realistic and haunting hand-drawn digital drawings, then photographing the images.

I was awestruck! Besotted! Who is this Alfred Leslie? I google google googled, gobbling up data. My affection continued to grow. My dear Alfred had abandoned abstract work in the early 60's when he began to paint almost photorealistically in grisaille. By 1970, this former star second generation Abstract Expressionist, was now being presented as one of the Whitney's '22 Realists'

And oh yes, he is also a filmmaker; he pre-Warholed Warhol with such avant-garde flicks as 'Pull My Daisy' from 1959, co-directed with the photographer Robert Frank, featuring such 'actors' as Alice Neel, Larry Rivers and Allen Ginsberg, and written and narrated by Jack Kerouac, who says, "Don't be like a hepcat, you know, a hipster." Such excellent advice for now! I watched Leslie's 1964 repetitious experimental short, 'The Last Clean Shirt', shot from the rear of a convertible as the car turns around New York City, a taciturn black man driving, while a white woman at his side chirps Finnish Franglais gibberish that had been subtitled by the poet Frank O'Hara.

I learned that my extraordinarily versatile artist had also been the editor and publisher of what he called a 'One-Shot Review' titled 'The Hasty Papers' in 1960. He later put together a hardcover cavalcade of its brief but illustrious history and I was able to purchase a copy. One section features more than 100 letters between Alfred Leslie and various international figures as he solicits their participation for 'The Hasty Papers', corresponding with Boris Pasternak, Marianne Moore, Fidel Castro and Samuel Beckett. The actual publication mirrors mid-century culture with writings from John Ashbery, Derek Walcott, Terry Southern, Jean-Paul Sartre, Jean Genet, and James Schuyler. And a review of 'Three Great Painters': Churchill, Hitler, and Eisenhower.

In 1966, after his friend, the poet Frank O'Hara, was fatally crushed by a dune buggy, and a deadly fire destroyed much of Alfred Leslie's oeuvre, Leslie painted a majestic allegorical series of colorful oils called 'The Killing Cycle'. Later he seemed to specialize in painting women. Then came superb black watercolor landscapes. And always, there were sculptures. And photographs, including the Polaroid 'mugshots' which were almost all destroyed by flames, along with some fifty canvases. ('Pink Square,' 'Ornette Coleman', and the other Abstract Expressionist paintings at Hill Gallery are canvases that were in storage at the time of the fire.)

In 1992, Alfred Leslie wrote and directed a feature assemblage about the goings on between the artists and critics at the legendary Cedar Tavern, 'The Cedar Bar', which I have yet to see.

When I learned that Alfred Leslie's latest works, the photographs of computerized drawings of sordid fictional characters, were now on display at Janet Borden's Broadway gallery (a Soho stalwart), I hastened to view them again. They are generally in editions of four, six foot tall photographs of his drawings of literary characters including Gustav von Aschenbach (who somehow resembles the artist Alex Katz in this depiction) from Thomas Mann's novella, "Death in Venice,' Miss Wonderly from Dashiell Hammett's detective novel, 'The Maltese Falcon', and Don Perlimplin from Federico Garcia Lorca's play, 'The Love of Don Perlimplin and Belisa in the Garden.' In addition, there is a unique black and white oil pastel portrait of Willem de Kooning, as he looked in 1966, though painted in 2011. It is shocking to see how reasonably priced Alfred Leslie's work is, compared to so many newbie artists.

I noted a dapper older man wearing black clothing, gloves and black-framed glasses, seated in an office at the back of the sixth floor gallery. Could this be my Alfred? It was. I told him I was an admirer and he kindly signed my copy of 'The Hasty Papers'. But I was too timid to admit that I was in love.

With the recent deaths of Paul Jenkins, Kenneth Noland, and Helen Frankenthaler, I believe Alfred Leslie, a most contemporary 21st century artist, may be the last living major Abstract Expressionist.

In 'Pull My Daisy', Jack Kerouac says, "Unrequited love is a bore." I'm not bored at all!


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Don Perlimplin, 2014, 42"x42"
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc.NY



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"Ornette Coleman", 1956, Oil on Canvas, 11 ft.hx8 ft.w
Tim Thayer Photography, Courtesy Hill Gallery



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"Orange and Black", 1948-50, Duco Enamel Paint on Canvas, 48"hx65"w
Tim Thayer Photography, Courtesy Hill Gallery



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Johnny Perry, 2013, 60"x66"
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc.,NY



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Gustav von Aschenbach, 2013, 70"x60"
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc.,NY



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Mademoiselle de Maupin, 2013, 72"x60"
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc., NY



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Alfred Leslie with a 2011 Portrait of a Younger Alfred Leslie
Copyright Alfred Leslie, Courtesy Janet Borden, Inc.,NY



Alfred Leslie: 'Pixel Scores'
Through May 1, 2014
Janet Borden, Inc
560 Broadway
New York, NY 10012

Alfred Leslie, Tadaaki Kuwayami, John Walker
Through May 23, 2014
Hill Gallery
407 West Brown Street
Birmingham, MI 48009

New Wave Women: Illumination

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KARIN APOLLONIA MÜLLER (GERMANY)
Karin Apollonia Müller starts with photographs taken from a space telescope hundreds of miles above the earth. She molds them into a romantic globe, where geography is altered, balanced and harmonized. Inspired by a 17th century drawing of the imaginary sunken city of Atlantis, her collaged continents look drowned or moonlit. Clusters of city lights glowing across stretches of darkness remind her of "fireflies seeking a mate against the blackness of night."

MONA HATOUM (LEBANON)
War broke out in her native Lebanon while Mona Hatoum was visiting London in her early twenties. She remained there in exile for the rest of her student years. As a result, her work deals with themes of alienation, displacement, belonging and collective memory.

MOYRA DAVEY (CANADA)
Moyra Davey's current show's title, Ornament and Rebuke, comes from a gravestone inscription in a London churchyard she photographed. The deceased was "confessedly the ornament and at the same time the tacit reproach of a wicked age." Davey herself is a rebuke to our age. On a newspaper clipping reading, "I think the clever people are those who do" she has written, "as little as possible." Faced with the frenetic pace of this century, Davey slows down time, meditating on single moments, turning them over in her mind, drawing out their melancholy mystery.

In a suite of photographs of a Parisian cemetery, a blurred woman crosses an allée of ghostly trees. We glimpse her, but never really see her, as if she were a phantom or memory. Fragmentary images hint at a momentous yet elusive encounter in this foreign cemetery. Nothing about it is certain, as in reminiscence or dreams. If Moyra Davey's work is an ornament, it is like tinsel, a brilliant wisp of paper reflecting and hinting at what is precious.

SARAH JONES (ENGLAND)
Sarah Jones likes to photograph shades of blue, which, in the Renaissance, represented the sublime or distance. From Beckett she learned to strip away all that is not essential. From Rothko she learned to limit her palette and settle on a single formal structure. She says, "I was remembering, as a child, seeing how long I could hold my breath for, and in a sense that's both to freeze the world and also perhaps to freeze yourself within the world. I think that's what I do with my photographs."

Protecting Scholars of Art From Persecution

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The United States is a world leader in providing a safe haven to political activists fleeing oppressive dictatorships.



But what if your only crime is that you are an artist whose work is viewed as critical of your government? What happens if, as a professor of art or literature, you use creative expression to give voice to an oppressed people? How do you preserve your country's rich cultural heritage when you become the target of death threats?



Totalitarian regimes are increasingly targeting scholars of art, seeking to silence them and their ideas. Many of these individuals have worked for years in respected institutions only to find themselves and their families suddenly under threat of physical attack, or they are intimidated into fleeing their homes and countries. Consider these examples:




  • A well-known painter and professor with three decades of experience teaching in Iraq's colleges of art became the target of militants. In 2010, he found a bullet in an envelope on his doorstep -- a common warning used by extremist factions to silence and frighten their victims. Knowing the risks, he and his family fled the country.


  • A female scholar of dramatic arts credited for shaping a generation of Syrian performers was repeatedly interrogated by government authorities who condemned her work as too controversial. After 30 years of teaching, she was forced into exile.


  • An Iraqi architecture scholar known for his contributions to public and private buildings in Baghdad was blindfolded and had his hands and feet bound while militants ransacked and robbed his home, threatening to blow it up. After 30 years as a lecturer in the Department of Architecture at a Baghdad university, he was forced to leave the country after being involuntarily retired from his position.


  • One of Chechnya's most important poets was wounded when violence broke out in the region. Russian authorities then began harassing him at his university because they considered his work inflammatory.


  • In Syria, a renowned scholar of medieval Islamic architecture and the country's urban architectural history was threatened with arrest and violence because members of the Assad regime decided that his allegiance was to the opposition after he spoke out against Syrian ministers. Despite his efforts to promote Syria's cultural heritage, he was driven out of his homeland.


  • In the horn of Africa, an award-winning professor and multimedia visual artist resigned from a national school of fine art and design to protest the politically motivated appointment of a new university president. When he returned to his faculty position, his artwork had been destroyed and his access to campus art studios curtailed.



In a perfect world, scholarship would be judged only on things like originality of thought, depth of research and the ability to put forth a cogent argument. But these scholars are being attacked for the simple reason that they are using creative expression to give a voice to an oppressed people.



Recognizing the contribution of these scholars to world culture, the Institute of International Education has established the Janet Hennessey Dilenschneider Scholar Rescue Award in the Arts as part of IIE's Scholar Rescue Fund to protect free expression and creativity. Jan is a visual artist and her husband Robert, together with our trustee Mark A. Angelson, have created this award that will allow IIE to rescue 10 art scholars.



Threatened scholars in fields such as painting, dance, music, architecture, theater and archeology will be able to apply. They will receive financial assistance to relocate and a position at a host institution of higher learning.



The freedom of artistic expression we cherish in the United States is under attack around the world. Rescuing scholars of art guarantees that their voices will be heard and their artistic contributions preserved -- to be shared with future generations in their homelands, and with people everywhere who value the treasure that is human creativity.


Live & Dangerous: Coachella 2014

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Next Friday marks the 16th annual opening weekend of one of the most talked about festivals in the world, Coachella. Once again, the California festival will span 2 identical weekends -- Weekend 1 from April 11-13 and Weekend 2 from April 18-20. Tickets for this year's festival sold out within 3 hours of going on sale, and that was before the impressive artist lineup was even announced. This year features some of the most exciting names in hip hop, EDM and alternative music -- the music community has already been talking for weeks about headliners Muse, Outkast and Arcade Fire. But it's not always about the main acts -- here are 3 emerging acts slated to perform that everyone will be buzzing about post-Coachella.

WHO: Aloe Blacc
WHY: Soul master Aloe Blacc gained some major traction last year with his featured vocals on the Avicii hit "Wake Me Up", and is fresh off the heels of his most recent album, the critically acclaimed Lift Your Spirit, with breakout track "I'm the Man." His groovy, soulful sound has a genuine depth, and is undeniably captivating live. Blacc's appearance at Coachella is sure to further propel his impressive success thus far.




WHO: Syd Arthur
WHY: Folk/psych-rock quartet Syd Arthur are definitely a top emerging act to catch at Coachella this year. The UK based band has a complex, nostalgic sound -- many have compared their style to that of the famous Canterbury UK scene from the 60's and 70's, which produced pioneering artists like Caravan and Soft Machine. They are on track to release some highly anticipated new music in 2014 -- and fans might just be lucky enough to hear some of their new material at this year's festival.




WHO: Banks
WHY: 25-year-old LA native Banks has been evolving her personal musical style since the age of 15 -- and as a result has developed an impressive sound for an artist of her age. Dark, complex and low-key, her music can be loosely described as a cross between R&B and electronic, with a down-tempo pop crossover potential that has bolstered her relatively short career with an impressive and loyal fanbase. Banks delivers a haunting live performance and her set will be must see for anyone in the know at Coachella this year.

The Internet (Odd Future) Wants Your Soul

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Matt Martians and Syd The Kid (Photo: Devon Jefferson)

I'm guessing you've heard of the California hip-hop collective Odd Future (OFWGKTA). If you haven't, it's probably because you're too old (I'm half joking), or you live in a country where few people give a damn about what's prevalent in the United States. At any rate, Odd Future hit cyberspace with a sonic boom in 2010, and has since launched several successful solo careers and subgroups, including Frank Ocean, Earl Sweatshirt, MellowHype and The Internet.

Known primarily for their irreverence, teen angst and rap music, Odd Future at first glance seems an unlikely inception for The Internet, a sophisticated Neo-Soul band headed by singer/producer Syd The Kid and producer Matt Martians. However, upon closer inspection, one will find the band embodies the same spirit of rebellion present in all of Odd Future's offerings.

On tour following the release of their latest album Feel Good, Syd The Kid and Matt Martians sat down for an exclusive interview backstage at Chicago's Bottom Lounge. After giving a phenomenal performance, the pair spoke about their band's direction, pet peeves, social media and Soul.



Are there any questions you're sick of being asked by music journalists? Air your frustrations.

Syd The Kid: Um, yes. [Laughs] I'm tired of being asked, "So how did you guys form The Internet?" That's on our website, you know? All that info is on the website under the "Bio" section. Also, when fans tweet us like -- "So when you all coming to Chicago?" and we just left Chicago.

Most of our fans are not trying to be facetious. We have really great fans. I like our fans as people. They're dope, open-minded, super polite and very respectful. And most of them are being dead-ass serious like, they didn't know we were just in the city they're asking about. [Laughs] And it's still irritating.



Matt Martians: I'd say, when journalists expect us to sound like the rest of Odd Future and they say, "Oh, this sounds different" -- I'm tired of hearing it -- I think a lot of people don't expect us to make the kind of music we do.

We want to bridge the gap from having a band that people our age can relate to and be like, "Wow, they're up there playing those instruments," and there's something more to "urban" music than just rap. Rap music samples this type of music, you know, Soul? I feel there needs to be a band that can bridge the gap and bring back that live sound.

Our music has a lot of depth, and I don't think people give us enough credit for that. We have songs with Erykah Badu and Coco O from Quadron that are super musical. A lot of people draw from a few popular songs instead of really going into the catalog.

Journalists used to call Syd a rapper in fucking interviews when we first came out. I'd be like -- [Laughs]. Did you listen to the album? They'd call Syd a rapper, and then rate our album. What rap verse did you hear on the album? Like, [Laughs].



Have Odd Future fans embraced your Neo-Soul sound?

Syd: Yeah. It's interesting because all of my fans before this happened were Odd Future fans. They were fans of me as Tyler The Creator's DJ -- as Odd Future's DJ. They were fans of me being silent, but moving a lot and playing turned up music to make everybody go crazy and get ready for the show. Jumping up and down and going ham. That's what they were fans of.

Had I never done this, had I stayed DJ'ing for Odd Future, I'd probably have like -- shit, 300,000 followers on Twitter right now. But because I started over, I deleted my Twitter when I formed the band and we started a brand new one, because I was getting the wrong attention. And that's why I had to start over. So I'm thankful that I did. I think honestly, our fans are not Odd Future fans. We don't have the same fan base at all.

And that's why we have to separate ourselves to a certain extent. It wasn't because we had beef with OF. It wasn't because we wanted to leave OF. We're still very tight with everybody, you know? We're still a very tight-knit family. I'm OF for life.



Matt: It's simple. We had to make our own sound. Like I mentioned before, people were calling Syd a rapper in articles, and there were clearly people who just saw Odd Future -- like I said, they'd scratch the surface and not actually dig into what it is.



Syd: And Tyler's fans don't get our sound. Hodgy's fans don't get it, Domo's fans -- nobody else's fans really get our direction.



Matt: During our first tour, there were definitely Odd Future fans coming because there was an Odd Future show, and they were feeling obligated because it was an Odd Future thing. And this time around, you'll see maybe two or three Odd Future fans in the crowd.



Syd: And everybody else in the crowd are just people who love Soul music.

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(Photo: Devon Jefferson)

An evolution of sorts.

Syd: Yes. When we first formed the band, we weren't going to perform live. We were just gonna put out albums. That was the plan initially. Because I'm not a singer's singer. I've just started singing, you know?

I started taking vocal lessons steadily. I started taking it seriously. So when we made Purple Naked Ladies[The Internet's first album], Matt and I made beats and wanted to get a bunch of other artists on them, but we couldn't -- you know? It's harder than you think to get people on your beats. That shit's not easy. So Matt and I ended up writing a bunch of songs to the beats, and I'd sing on demos for the other people to come in and sing, and we ended up using all the demos as the album. And that's why I sound so different live than on Purple Naked Ladies, because I'm actually trying now.



And you've perfected your stage presence.

Syd: I study -- I just started studying a lot of people's stage presence. Since the beginning of 2014, I've been studying Jamiroquai, D'Angelo and Frankie Beverly. Justin Timberlake has a great live show. Usher's live show is great. And you know, certain people like that, but I don't dance like that, so I take what I can from each person.

Ours is more gradual, you know? We have to keep going and be persistent so people know, "Oh, they're not gonna give up that quickly." The difference between the bands that make it and the ones that don't, is persistence. You could be the shittiest band on Earth, but if you keep doing that shit for ten years, you have tenure.



What do you think of your generation?

Syd: Actually, I want to say I hate my generation, but I don't. I mean --

[Laughter]



Syd: I know! It's weird. Naturally, doesn't everyone wanna say like, "Our generation is weak as fuck." You have to cut us some slack though, because this is what we were given. This is what we were given, and we're making the most of it. A lot of us are still learning. There are some of us who might be on Twitter too much, and might not be living in the real world. And there are ones who have been there, and saw another side and decided to stop. And there are people who need to do that, who need to be on social networking all the time, because that's how -- that's their livelihood. That's how they make a living. You never know.



Matt: Technology is tolerable now. I think in the near future it will come to a point where it's not gonna be fun. Technology -- we already have too much on our phone.



Syd: Half the people in the room right now are on their phone. Look.

[Laughter]



I'm recording this interview with a phone.

Matt: We're the generation that never really had to suffer. We never had a Great Depression or something -- a great "problem" that happened to us like other generations had. We're a very spoiled generation. And it's cool, but it's like, it's not really our fault at the same time, you know what I mean? It's really what we were given. Like, for instance, I'm 25 years old. I got my first phone in 10th grade, and I was geeked, like, yo. Yo! Fast forward, fifth grade, you got an iPhone. We did an interview at a middle school last year, and the kids were like, "Let's take pictures," and everybody whipped out an iPhone. Fifth graders. That is some crazy shit.



Syd: Older generations have more blind faith. They believe in things they have never seen, never touched and we question a little bit more. We have more access to information.


Matt: Odd Future met on the internet, that's why we keep the name -- The Internet.



What kind of imprint would you like to leave on the world?

Syd: I want to put on a great show. I want there to be an unanimous vote that we put on a great fucking show. I told you before, I've been studying D'Angelo, Jamiroquai and Frankie Beverly pretty much. Those three. And one thing I can say about all of them is they all put on a great show. I mean like, just energy. Just pure energy. Even if it's chill energy, it's -- you know? It's all love. I want to be a great performer.

(Note: Special thanks to The Internet band: Tay Walker-Keyboard, Patrick Paige-Bass and Christopher A.Smith-Drums)

An Exhibit of Latino Illustrations

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Jennifer Dasal is on a mission.

The associate curator of contemporary art at the North Carolina Museum of Art is dedicated to bringing Latino graphic art and illustrations out into the mainstream.

"There's a lack of diversity and so few Latino illustrators and art in books," she says. "It's still a homogenous field - but still, Latino people are creating characters as works of art."

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She's mounted two shows that open at the Raleigh museum in mid-April. One, Estampas de la raza/Prints for the People: The Romo Collection, is a series of 61prints that chronicle the unique heritage, history, and experience of contemporary Mexican American and Latino artists. At the same time, Tall Tales and Huge Hearts: Raúl Colón, is an exhibition of children's book illustrations by Raúl Colón.

The two shows are on loan from the National Center for Children's Illustrative Literature in Abilene Texas, which is dedicated to furthering an appreciation for children's books and educating them in the arts.

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"With a lot of families and schools, art's the first thing that's cut in an economic downturn, so books may be way for children to see art for first time," she says. "It's a way to sneak a little art back in."

The Prints for the People exhibition is an inspirational collection of works by 44 Latino artists, with images of Che, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy, Cesar Chavez, and Roberto Clemente.

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"It deals with issues connected to struggle and being small," she says. "The struggle is everything from immigration issues to the Chicano movement of 1960s."

Tall Tales and Huge Hearts focuses solely on Colon's illustrations for children's books.

"People believe that illustration is not art but that's not true - it can be understood on same level as any art," she says. "So we wanted to show some fantastic illustrations that are beautiful and endearing - and show how great they can be"

The exhibitions run from April 13 through July 27. For more information, go to http://www.ncartmuseum.org/

J. Michael Welton writes about architecture, art and design for national and international publications. He also publishes a digital design magazine at www.architectsandartisans.com, where portions of this post first appeared.

Exposing The Creative Process

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The artistic process has always held a kind of alluring mystique. Unknown to the average person, the methods behind art making have always fascinated viewers not only for the technical skill involved but for the transformation of something blank and empty to something complete.

cannon


One gallery in Oakland has opened its doors to the public to lift the veil and expose the creative process. Loakal invited 19 heavy-hitting Bay Area artists -- including Jessica Hess, Brett Amory, Zoltron, John Casey, John Wentz, Marcos LaFarga, Eddie Colla and more -- to work side by side for 24 hours in a single room. Challenged to complete a 4' by 8' panel within this time frame, the artists got to interact not only with each other but with spectators. Getting an in-depth view into the practices of art-making, viewers not only had the chance to observe but actually participate in the process. Each artist unique in their style and technique had the opportunity to discuss different practices and expertise with each other. For many of the artists, art is typically a solo act, done alone in one's studio, while street artists and muralists like Ian Ross, Hueman and Nite Owl had more experience with being out in the open while creating their work. During the event, the artists involved turned to each other with a more social approach in their art making.

From street artists to classically trained painters, all gathered to seize the day, or carpe diem. Bringing together the Bay Area art scene by engaging the public not only demystifies the entire act of art-making but also initiates an interchange between artist and viewer. Loakal is located in the Jack London Square district of Oakland and is open 7 days a week to the public. The opening reception for 'Carpe Diem will take place April 4, 6-10 pm. The entire show is on view March 31 - April 28.

Participating artists include: Jessica Hess, Ian Ross, Hueman, Reggie Warlock, Chris Granillo, Eddie Colla, Cameron Thompson, Brett Amory, Lisa Pisa, Nite Owl, John Wentz, John Casey, Marcos LaFarga, Jet Martinez, Cannon Dill, Lauren YS, Zoltron, Max Kauffman and Daryll Peirce."

First Nighter: Denzel Washington Good, Not So Good in "A Raisin in the Sun"

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Has The Broadway League or anyone else ever thought of an official commendation for movie stars and television names who make a point of appearing in what nowadays has come to be called "live theater"?

(What is theater, if not live?)

I'm thinking of marquee magnets like Al Pacino, Tyne Daly, Alec Baldwin, Scarlett Johansson, Vanessa Redgrave, Brian Dennehy, the late and great Philip Seymour Hoffman and this season Bryan Cranston, Michelle Williams, Patrick Stewart, Daniel Radcliffe, Neil Patrick Harris. Orlando Bloom, Deborah Messing, Toni Collette, Marisa Tomei, James Franco, Chris O'Dowd, Michael C. Hall, Tony Shalhoub and, of course, Denzel Washington.

They're all owed some kind of bannered gratitude for reminding a public that increasingly regards theater as negligible that it remains a significant element of a nation's culture.

With Washington's return to The Great White Way in the revival of Lorraine Hansberry's 1959 A Raisin in the Sun at the Barrymore, he does a tremendous favor. Once again, as he did with his limited-runs Julius Caesar and Fences, he brings large audiences--especially African-American audiences--to a theater and to theater in the larger sense.

For his limited 14-week run, he'll easily sell-out the venerable Barrymore venue (the name alone tributing a theater dynasty, perhaps only memorable now for Drew Barrymore's prominence.)

This time, however--superb actor that he is--the favor he's doing comes with his doing an unfortunate disservice to Hansberry and her autobiographical play about a black family whose matriarch Lena Younger (LaTanya Richardson Jackson, who early replaced Diahann Carroll) is at odds with 35-year-old chauffeur son Walter Lee (Washington) over what to do with a $10,000 life insurance check coming to her.

Better scotch the 35-year-old part. For this version, Walter Lee describes himself as 40, and therein lies the problem. Washington is 59, and can get away (almost) with appearing as a man almost 20 years younger than he is, but something is still wrong.

Hansberry intends Walter Lee's playing fast and loose with the much needed incoming funds to be attributed to a young man's impetuosity. His behavior in those circumstances is understandable if not excusable. Washington, on the other hand, looks too much like a man who long should have known better.

As he schemes with two friends to raise money for a questionable enterprise, this Walter hasn't youth as a possible excuse for his callow behavior. And that means his behavior not only towards Lena but also towards his increasingly alienated wife Ruth (Sophie Okonedo). He also looks far too old to have a college-age sister Beneatha (Anika Noni Rose).

(FYI: When Sidney Poitier originated the role, he was 32. When he reprised it in the 1961 film, he was 34. He was the right age to play the part.)

Having established all that, I should add that the manner in which Washington skews Hansberry's purpose probably won't bother the actor's fans. They'll be thrilled again to see him up close and personal. And it isn't as if--aside from the way he's miscast himself (the revival is, of course, his choice)--he doesn't give a committed performance.

He obviously respects the play (while not respecting it enough) and has good reason to. Hansberry's scrutiny of the Youngers' living in tight quarters where Lena and Beneatha share a bedroom and Walter and Ruth's son Travis (Bryce Clyde Jenkins) sleeps on the living-room couch is well-constructed--and for that received the New York Drama Critics Circle award at the year's best play.

Hansberry weaves additional affecting sub-plots into her tapestry of people aching to better themselves, striving to realize their dreams. Walter Lee wants to start a business so he no longer has to open and shut a limousine door all day. Lena wants to move to a better Chicago neighborhood and has her eyes on nearby white enclave Clybourne Park, although white realtor Karl Lindner (the director David Cromer in a rare stage appearance) is discouraging.

Beneatha wants to go to medical school as well as meet a good man. Preppy George Murchison (Jason Dirden) and enterprising Nigerian Joseph Agasai (Sean Patrick Thomas) provide those possibilities.

(More FYI: Bruce Norris's Clybourne Park picks up from this. Curious that Norris won the Pulitzer Prize for his work but Hansberry, the first African-American woman to have a play produced on Broadway, didn't. And by the way, Hansberry made up the Clybourne Park name.)

On Mark Thompson's properly claustrophobic version of a shabby home where a plant on the windowsill in the inadequate kitchen is the only sign of hopeful green life, all cast members, like Washington, give strong performances. Perhaps the strongest is Jackson's, since A Raisin in the Sun is as much Lena's play as it is Walter Lee's. Beseeching the God in whom she staunchly believes for strength in the face of Walter Lee's infractions, Jackson embodies that strength throughout.

But they're all good--and that includes the always indispensible Stephen McKinley Henderson as Walter Lee's would-be business partner Bobo. When Beneatha gets herself up on a tribal outfit supplied her by Joseph (and costumer Ann Roth), Rose goes into a native dance that delights the crowd. Drawing the best out of them is director Kenny Leon, who knows the text inside and out for having helmed the 2004 Sean Combs-led revival.

One last thing about this production's upsetting slights: On a show scrim in place when the audience enters is inscribed a poem that begins "What happens to a dream deferred?/Does it dry up/Like a raisin on the sun?" It's there for the obvious reason. It's the poem from which Hansberry lifted the title for a play about people harboring dreams that too often don't come true.

It's admittedly prone to mystify theatergoers who don't know the poem. Yet it couldn't be more appropriate in this instance. The poem is "Harlem" by the revered Harlem Renaissance poet Langston Hughes. Sadly, neither the poem's title nor, more shamefully, Hughes's name is present. Someone with clout--someone like Washington, for instance--should see that the oversight is quickly corrected.
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