Njideka Akunyili Crosby on Embroidery | The Artist's Mother, by Georges Seurat

Njideka Akunyili Crosby: "My work deals a lot with my life and domestic spaces, and letting viewers take a glimpse into my everyday life."
 

Annabeth Rosen on ceramic deer figurines

"I don't think there's any more satisfaction that exists in the world than making like a real thing in the real world."
 

Ann Hamilton on a Malian marionette

Ann Hamilton: "For me the act of making is also an act of finding something."
 

Vik Muniz on The Henry Luce Center for the Study of American Art

Vik Muniz: "They just are. You have to look without prejudice. They leave that to you to make your own narrative, to create your own story."
 

Thomas Struth on Chinese Buddhist sculpture

Thomas Struth: "What does it mean? Can it change my life? Can it transform my opinion or my existence in some small or larger way? Does it clarify anything?"
 

Ghada Amer on an Iranian tile panel Garden Gathering

Ghada Amer: "I don't like art that is too much intellect. I like it to speak to my heart, my vision, to be happy, to go out, and to believe in peace."
 

Shahzia Sikander on Persian miniature painting

Shahzia Sikander: "Geometric patterns are like a stalemate, because there is no release. But when you plunge into it with a magnifying glass, it opens up the scale."
 

Matthew Ritchie on The Triumph of Fame over Death

Matthew Ritchie: "As soon as your eye's caught on it, you're caught in this web of meanings and terms."
 

Cornelia Parker on The Falling Soldier, by Robert Capa

Cornelia Parker: "This could be a monument to death, it could be a monument to futility... Gravity only gets us in the end when we're dead."
 

Lucy - Sister Rust

Sister Rust, where are you now?
I met you over rocky mountain.
Feeling blue, waiting for a last frame to walk through, all together.

But when you closed your eyes, it was then I realized.
You were so far away.
There was nothing I could do, to stop you feeling blue.

Anyway.

Sister Rust, I need you now.
Cause I've got a feeling.
It's you and me again, waiting for the credits to end.
Now and forever.

With something in our hearts, that if we were to stop, would pull us away.
There's nothing we can do, to stop feeling this blue.

Anyway.

Sister Rust, Damon Albarn
 

Avatar - I See You

I see you
I see you
Walking through a dream
I see you
My light in darkness breathing hope of new life
Now I live through you and you through me
Enchanting
I pray in my heart that this dream never ends
I see me through your eyes
Living through life flying high
Your life shines the way into paradise
So I offer my life as a sacrifice
I live through your love
You teach me how to see
All that's beautiful
My senses touch your word I never pictured
Now I give my hope to you
I surrender
I pray in my heart that this world never ends
I see me through your eyes
Living through life flying high
Your love shines the way into paradise
So I offer my life
I offer my love, for you
When my heart was never open
(and my spirit never free)
To the world that you have shown me
But my eyes could not division
All the colours of love and of life ever more
Evermore
(I see me through your eyes)
I see me through your eyes
(Living through life flying high)
Flying high
Your love shines the way into paradise
So I offer my life as a sacrifice
And live through your love
And live through your life
I see you
I see you

I See You, by Leona Lewis
 

A Beautiful Mind - All Love Can Be

I will watch you in the darkness
Show your love, will see you through
When the bad dreams wake you crying
I'll show you all love can do
All love can do

I will watch through the night
Hold you in my arms
Give you dreams where no one will be
I will watch through the dark
Till the morning comes

For the light will take you
Through the night to see our light
Showing us all love can be

I will guard you with my bright wings
Stay till your heart learns to see
All love can be

All Love Can Be, by Charlotte Church
 

The Cinnamon Peeler

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
You could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbour to you hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler's wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
--your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers...

When we swam once
I touched you in the water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
you climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grass cutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume

and knew

what good is it
to be the lime burner's daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in the act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of a scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
Peeler's wife. Smell me.

The Cinnamon Peeler, by Michael Ondaatje
 

Sigh

A physically comedic dance piece about falling in love at the supermarket.

Falling in love, yes.  But this lovely little piece is proof positive there is joie de vivre in life, even in the most ordinary of circumstances.
 

Thy Beauty's Doom

Based on Sonnets 14 and 66 by William Shakespeare, Thy Beauty’s Doom is inspired by the paintings and artwork of, and dedicated to, Maple Batalia, a 19-year-old Simon Fraser University student, model, actress and aspiring doctor who was gunned down in the campus parkade after a late night of studying.

Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck;
And yet methinks I have Astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert;
   Or else of thee this I prognosticate:
   Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

Sonnet 14

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
   Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
   Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

Sonnet LXVI
 

Salvador Dali - My favorites

The Broken Bridge and the Dream

Metamorphosis of Narcissus

The Discovery of America by Christopher Columbus

The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dali (4)

(image credit)

Let me suggest a psychological view on "The Persistence of Memory," i.e. that of trauma.

First, there is a decidedly stark theme and despondent tone to the painting. It's not outright, but rather quietly, horrifying, as we see some figure - animal, part-human, monster? - in the center.

Some people who experience a trauma cannot help but re-live the trauma, i.e. via "flashbacks." It is as if they cannot forget what traumatized them; it is as if they are doomed to remember it forever; they see it everywhere they go. This is what I believe the soft clocks represent.

So am I saying that Dali is expressing some trauma in his life through this painting? Perhaps I am. His parents told him, when he was a boy, that he was the reincarnation of a dead brother, who was a theme in his paintings.

Also, Dali's beloved mother died about 10 years before he painted "The Persistence of Memory." It was quite traumatizing for him, as it "was the greatest blow I had experienced in my life. I worshiped her... I could not resign myself to the loss of a being on whom I counted to make invisible the unavoidable blemishes of my soul."

If my thinking is correct, then I can argue that painting was a form of psychoanalysis for Dali and perhaps the means by which he came to grips with whatever trauma he may have experienced.
 

The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dali (3)

(image credit)

This interpretation (below) by Tan Sertthin is pretty good, I think. Dali certainly probed the unconscious as both a source and a subject of his art. So Sertthin's references to dreams and symbolism make sense.

There is a fine line between a dream and a memory. A dream only happens when humans are in a state of sleep. A memory has the ability to appear in any time of the day in the human mind. Humans recall their memories to deal with their current situations. Memories can manifest in dreams. Dreams are memories that are distorted by fantasy. Both dream and memory reveals the state of the human’s subconscious mind. Dali’s goal is to depict coded messages that are hidden in the subconscious world. 

Salvador Dali, a surrealist painter challenged himself to portray “hand painted dream photographs”. In order to paint these images, Dali subjected himself into self-inducing hallucinations, which is a process called paranoiac- critical method. The melting and distorted clocks represent the frozen time where dreams take place. Dali mocks the human society’s view on keeping track of time by painting the powerless distorted clocks melting away in the dream world. In “reality”, time is powerful and it rules and limits the humans in their daily routine. However in a state of dreams, time is irrelevant. Dali also painted his hometown in the horizon of the image, which reveals Dali’s attempt of recollecting his childhood memories. The distorted face implanted in the middle represents the artist’s self-portrait. In the world of dreams, memories can be distorted. Dali represents the malleability of memories and dreams by painting the solids into liquid (watches) and the liquids into solids (water). The tree is inorganically grown on man-made material and the ants are eating a time piece made out of metal. The environment feels deep, lonely, quiet, and still. Humans are wired to think in one dimension. We think of time as a linear concept. We reason with cause and effect. Our perception of what is right or wrong is based on how our brain is wired. Surrealists, on the other hand, believe that the rational world that society has so much faith is ridiculous. Surrealist artists are known for humor, sarcasm, and wordplay. The word “persistent” contradicts with the image depicted- melting clocks, red ants, distorted faces, and desert symbolize desolation and decay. The combination of a sarcastic title and the strategic placement of concepts reveal Dali’s attack on the rationale.

The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dali (2)

Salvador Dali painted "The Persistence of Memory" in 1931, when he was just 27 years old.

What does this painting mean, and what is it all about?

Sigmund Freud

Some have interpreted "The Persistence of Memory" in a Freudian perspective: e.g. The soft clocks represent impotence, even emasculation.

Maybe, but I'm not so sure that's right.

Albert Einstein

Some have invoked Einstein and his notion of time dilation, from the Theory of Special Relativity.

Yes, time dilation does challenge the idea that time is unchanging. Specifically, the closer we travel to the speed of light, the slower time moves. Moreover, if my understanding is correct, if we can somehow travel faster than the speed of light, time actually starts moving backward.

In either case, time dilation is really not about soft clocks. So this reference vis-a-vis "The Persistence of Memory" doesn't sound correct.
 

The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dali (1)

The Persistence of Memory, by Salvador Dali (1931)

Clay Forsberg posted this painting, along with the following:

“Masterpieces are not single and solitary births; they are the outcome of many years of thinking in common, of thinking by the body of people, so that the experience of the mass is behind the single voice.” ~Virginia Woolf

Jennifer Hathaway commented:

Back when, there was a painting trade. Artists were apprenticed, worked their way up through the ranks of journeyman, etc, and then eventually struck out on their own.

A "master's piece" was, technically, the moment when a "journeyman" painter "arrived"- it was kind of like hanging out one's shingle, and was designed to show one's abilities.

The Woolf quote above is both right and wrong. Yes, artists are grown on the shoulders of those who've gone before, yes, there is an element of communication [ergo common thinking] involved [or the work would not be understood at all].

But there is so much beyond that in any given work of the arts, and the artists, musicians, and writers who bring forth 'masters' pieces' are also bringing both their reach beyond 'what is'- into the realms of other possibilities- AND their own internal evolutions to their work.

A "master's piece" is not just the "experience of the mass", it is also its transcendence via the combination of hard work and persistent idealism.

So I chimed in, too:

The 20th century saw artists pushing the boundaries of convention and innovating on what art was, to begin with. Surrealism, and Salvador Dali in particular, were born of that century. To Woolf's point, there is a history or a context that gave rise to the birthing of this movement and such a painter. But to Jennifer Hathaway's point about transcendence, the Surrealists advanced, challenged, and transformed our notions of art - and of time, memory and dream, as in "The Persistence of Memory."
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (6) Score

It's a dance class.  Except that it's a live performance.  So, then, a dance improvisation.  Or is it?
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (5) e/m/d/r

I found myself wondering about a pattern, that is, in the first dancer's movement and then in relation to the second dancer.
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (4) Kinder

One time, as I mentioned, I envisioned choreographing a dance number that drew on drama, poetry, visual and musical arts. Perhaps like this one, too.
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (3) Long Ago in the Future

I appreciate the (apparent) fact that this dance program doesn't require a particular body type or size among students.
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (2) Jess Sic Jell

I am not sure, at the moment of this writing, that I like this piece.  But, as I wrote in the preceding article, I am intrigued.

I thought the tape, plus the seemingly dead bodies on the floor represented a crime scene.  Maybe, but then maybe not.

I am intrigued, because when I lived in Dubai, I had visions of programs that pulled dance, drama and poetry, which I would choreograph and in which I would perform.  It would be avant garde like this.
 

Lang - Fall 2012 (1) Welcome

The Arts program at Eugene Lang College is proud to present the Fall 2012 Dance Production. This performance features premieres of original dance works created by choreographers Beth Gill and Yvonne Meier, as well as student choreography.

Welcome by Danielle Goldman and Neil Greenberg.

So I am intrigued by The Arts programs at Eugene Lang College, The New School, especially around the key words I italicized:

The Arts offers a serious creative experience in a liberal arts context. Students choose from five tracks: Dance, Theater, Music, Visual Arts, and Arts in Context. In every track, the curriculum combines historical and critical approaches to the arts with practice-based courses.

Dance at Lang

The dance track fuses contemporary dance study with innovative courses in dance history, movement theory, and the collaborative arts. This integrated approach enables students to develop artistically and academically.

I am intrigued because this charter resonates with the essence of Dr. Ron Art, which is cross arts, multimedia, and more broadly with Theory of Algorithms and The Core Algorithm.
 

Top 10 Fave Covers (1) Africa

Top 10 Fave Covers (2) La Vie en Rose

Top 10 Fave Covers (3) Rolling in the Deep

Top 10 Fave Covers (4) I Will

Top 10 Fave Covers (5) Voices Carry

Top 10 Fave Covers (6) Boom Clap!

Top 10 Fave Covers (7) Sexy and I Know It

Top 10 Fave Covers (8) Cups

Top 10 Fave Covers (9) Moves Likes Jagger

Top 10 Fave Cover (10) I Started a Joke

Portraits of Greta Garbo, by Edward Steichen

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Finally, Edward Steichen (1879 - 1973) was an all around artist, who was born in Luxembourg and grew up in the US.  He had the fortune of working for high society magazines like Vogue and Vanity Fair, and gained both fame and wealth in the process.  I love his pensive, curious and reminiscent portraits of Greta Garbo.
 

Portraits of Georgia O'Keeffe, by Alfred Stieglitz

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Alfred Stieglitz (1864 - 1946) was another photographer, whom I admired in the 1980s.  He was an American pioneer in modern art.  Georgia O'Keeffe, a renown American artist in her own right - his lover, then wife - was a favorite subject.  I was enthralled by her hands, as evidently he was, too.
 

Portraits of Artists, by Arnold Newman

Marc Chagall

Man Ray

Igor Stravinsky

Arnold Newman was an American photographer (1918 - 2006), whom I admired when I was an aspiring photographer in the 1980s.  I loved his careful composition, especially portraits where context loomed large over his subject.  It was as if a piece of work, the space of the studio, or an instrument of art was far more telling of that subject than the subject itself and was therefore more than warranting of portraiture.
 

Hans & Edith et al., still loving and dancing

Three couples – Hans (79) & Edith (76) | Ellen (84) & Horst (77) | Ralf & Kristin (both 73) – have two things in common: After being together for 3, 16, and 51 years they are all still heavily in love.  And every Monday, they attend DJ Michael Borge's senior's disco in Berlin Steglitz to get down on the dance floor and prove that love, passion, and a lust for life never get old.

Speaking of Banksy...

A colleague mentioned that Banksy was in Gaza not too long ago.

Banksy, the elusive London street artist, has just published a new video from Gaza [February 25th 2015], a Palestinian city on the Mediterranean coast which is separated from the rest of the Palestinian territories.

The new video, which on YouTube has surpassed the 100,000 views in just a few hours, is from Gaza, a Palestinian city on the Mediterranean coast which is separated from the rest of the Palestinian territories.

The city has been the target of Israeli operations several times, the last one in the summer of 2014, when at least 2,000 Palestinians were killed under Israeli shelling.

In 2005, Banksy painted nine satirical graffiti images on the wall between Israel and the West Bank.

Reference: Banksy just published a new video from Gaza.
 

Elon & Emmanuelle, dancing and loving

A playful, moving street art piece told through dance, based on the premise that our environment is communicating with us at all times. Inspired by the work of street artist Banksy.

Director: Natalie Galazka
Composer/Musician: Garth Stevenson
Choreographers/Dancers: Elon Höglund, Emmanuelle Lê Phan

Sometimes dancers must be athletic and acrobatic, along with artistic.  So do couples.
 

I Started A Joke (3)

Robin Gibb's son played "I Started a Joke" on his phone just after his father died from kidney failure on 20 May 2012. Robin-John Gibb told The Sun:

When he passed away we went out, they took the equipment away and we came back in, I picked up my phone and found "I Started a Joke" on YouTube and played it. I put the phone on his chest and that was the first time I broke down. I knew that song and its lyrics were perfect for that moment. That song will always have new meaning to me now.

Reference: I Started A Joke.
 

I Started A Joke (2)

Robin Gibb told The Mail on Sunday on 1 November 2009 about "I Started a Joke": "This is a very spiritual song. The listeners have to interpret it themselves, trying to explain it would detract from the song."

Reference: I Started A Joke.
 

I Started A Joke (1)

I started a joke which started the whole world crying
But I didn't see that the joke was on me oh no
I started to cry which started the whole world laughing
Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me

I looked at the skies running my hands over my eyes
And I fell out of bed hurting my head from things that I said
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living
Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me

I looked at the skies running my hands over my eyes
And I fell out of bed hurting my head from things that I said
'Till I finally died which started the whole world living
Oh If I'd only seen that the joke was on me
Oh no that the joke was on me

I Started A Joke, by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb

[Robin Gibb:] The melody to this one was heard aboard a British Airways Vickers Viscount about a hundred miles from Essen. It was one of those old four engine 'prop' jobs, that seemed to drone the passenger into a sort of hypnotic trance, only with this it was different. The droning, after a while, appeared to take the form of a tune, which mysteriously sounded like a church choir. So it was decided! We accosted the pilot, forced him to land in the nearest village, and there, in a small pub, we finished the lyrics [with Barry]. Actually, it wasn't a village, it was the city, and it wasn't a pub, it was a hotel, and we didn't force the pilot to land in a field... but why ruin a perfectly good story?

Reference:  I Started A Joke.
 

Reza: The Humanist and Photojournalist

Reza Deghati

Reza Deghati, born July 26, 1952 in Tabriz, Iran is an Iranian-French photojournalist of Azerbaijani origin, who works under the name Reza (Persian: رضا‎).

Reza has covered much of the globe for National Geographic Magazine. Several films about Reza's work have been produced by National Geographic Television, most notably Frontline Diaries, which won an Emmy Award in 2002. In 2003, Reza served as Creative Director for National Geographic's most viewed documentary, Inside Mecca.  As part of its Exceptional Journeys series, National Geographic released a DVD in May 2008 looking at Reza's career as a photojournalist, with special features highlighting his extensive humanitarian work.

Reference: Reza Deghati.

A philanthropist, idealist, humanist, architect by training and famous photojournalist, primarily for National Geographic, Reza, lives to photograph another day. For the past 30 years he has traveled the world bearing witness to moments of war and peace. Reza is not just a photographer. He is committed to training women and children, through world-wide workshops, in visual media and communications to help them strive for a better life. In 2001, he founded the NGO Aina in Afghanistan to encourage media training around the world, while continuing to produce incredible images of original scenes from his travels for the international media.

Reference: About Reza.
 

Reza: The Power of Photography

Reference: Photos from Reza Photography, showcased in The power of photography to change the world: REZA at TEDxHECParis.
 

Reza: The Power of Visual Storytelling

For the past 30 years, REZA has traveled the world bearing witness to moments of war and peace, as a photographer. He has been awarded numerous prizes, including the World Press Photo Award and the Infinity Award. REZA is committed to training women and children, through workshops in visual media and communications to help them strive for a better life. REZA talks about the power of visual media to stimulate social changes and to reveal the beauty of humanity.

This is the poem that Reza speaks to early in his Talk:

I said: what about my eyes?
He said: Keep them on the road.

I said: What about my passion?
He said: Keep it burning.

I said: What about my heart?
He said: Tell me what you hold inside it?

I said: Pain and sorrow.
He said: Stay with it. The wound is the place where the Light enters you.

Reference: I said: What about my eyes? by Rumi.

I love the quiet spirit and understated passion with which Reza speaks.  When I captured his TED Talk in my Dr. Ron Art journal, I attached a kind of Post It:  Someday I will buy an SLR with high pixels, and my photography will live again. Like him, I believe in the power of art in general to do good for people, to lend meaning in their lives, and to effect change for the better.  I don't know how close I actually am with any of my art projects, but of late I felt that I was getting closer.  Now, for instance, I have the means to buy an SLR (single lens reflex) camera. 

American Pie, by Don McLean

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died
So

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Did you write the book of love
And do you have faith in God above
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock and roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you're in love with him
'Cause I saw you dancin' in the gym
You both kicked off your shoes
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues

I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
I started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Now, for ten years we've been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rolling stone
But, that's not how it used to be

When the jester sang for the king and queen
In a coat he borrowed from James Dean
And a voice that came from you and me

Oh and while the king was looking down
The jester stole his thorny crown
The courtroom was adjourned
No verdict was returned

And while Lennon read a book on Marx
The quartet practiced in the park
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
We were singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Helter skelter in a summer swelter
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter
Eight miles high and falling fast

It landed foul on the grass
The players tried for a forward pass
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While sergeants played a marching tune
We all got up to dance
Oh, but we never got the chance

'Cause the players tried to take the field
The marching band refused to yield
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
We started singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
And singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

Oh, and there we were all in one place
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again

So come on Jack be nimble, Jack be quick
Jack Flash sat on a candlestick
'Cause fire is the devil's only friend

Oh and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell

And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died
He was singin'

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news
But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store
Where I'd heard the music years before
But the man there said the music wouldn't play

And in the streets the children screamed
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken
The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most
The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died
And they were singing

Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die

They were singing
Bye, bye Miss American Pie
Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry
Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye
Singin' this'll be the day that I die

American Pie, by Don McLean.

This song is, to me, one for the 20th century. A tour de force effort, a masterful composition. It was released in 1972, clearly too long for many radio stations, and I'd resent it when they truncated it.
 

At Seventeen, by Janis Ian

I learned the truth at seventeen
That love was meant for beauty queens
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles
Who married young and then retired
The valentines I never knew
The Friday night charades of youth
Were spent on one more beautiful
At seventeen I learned the truth...

And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces
Desperately remained at home
Inventing lovers on the phone
Who called to say "come dance with me"
And murmured vague obscenities
It isn't all it seems at seventeen...

A brown eyed girl in hand me downs
Whose name I never could pronounce
Said: "Pity please the ones who serve
They only get what they deserve"
The rich relationed hometown queen
Marries into what she needs
With a guarantee of company
And haven for the elderly...

So remember those who win the game
Lose the love they sought to gain
In [debentures] of quality and dubious integrity
Their small-town eyes will gape at you
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received at seventeen...

To those of us who knew the pain
Of [Valentines] that never came
And those whose names were never called
When choosing sides for basketball
It was long ago and far away
the world was younger than today
when dreams were all they gave for free
to ugly duckling girls like me...

We all play the game, and when we dare
We cheat ourselves at solitaire
Inventing lovers on the phone
Repenting other lives unknown
That call and say: "Come on, dance with me"
And murmur vague obscenities
At ugly girls like me, at seventeen...

At Seventeen, by Janis Ian.

Like "Alone Again (Naturally)," this piece, released in 1975, spoke to me in my teens.  Since then, it came to be an empathic bridge to scores of dismissed, isolated teens.
 

Alone Again (Naturally), by Gilbert O'Sullivan

In a little while from now
If I'm not feeling any less sour
I promised myself to treat myself
And visit a nearby tower

And climbing to the top
Will throw myself off
In an effort to make it clear to who
Ever what it's like when you're shattered

Left standing in the lurch, at a church
Where people are saying
My God that's tough, she stood him up
No point in us remaining

May as well go home
As I did on my own
Alone again, naturally

To think that only yesterday
I was cheerful, bright and gay
Looking forward to, but who wouldn't do
The role I was about to play

But as if to knock me down
Reality came around
And without so much as a mere touch
Cut me into little pieces

Leaving me to doubt
Talk about God and His mercy
For if He really does exist
Why did He desert me

In my hour of need?
I truly am indeed
Alone again, naturally

It seems to me that
There are more hearts
Broken in the world
That can't be mended

Left unattended
What do we do? What do we do?

Alone again naturally

Now looking back over the years
And what ever else that appears
I remember I cried when my father died
Never wishing to hide the tears

And at sixty five years old
My mother, God rest her soul
Couldn't understand, why the only man
She had ever loved had been taken

Leaving her to start with a heart
So badly broken
Despite encouragement from me
No words were ever spoken

And when she passed away
I cried and cried all day
Alone again, naturally
Alone again, naturally

Alone Again (Naturally), by Gilbert O'Sullivan

In a sort of homage to the Beatles, I suppose, I found this O'Sullivan piece to be a paean to all the lonely people. In 1972, when it was released, I was 13 years old, mainly shy, often ruminative, and sometimes lonely. It was one of the things that spoke deeply to my teens.
 

Chiaroscuro

(image credit)

David Brainbow

(image credit)

Recurrent

By Rina Barbieri

(image credit)

By Edwin Martinez

Evanescent

(image credit)

(image credit)

(image credit)

Composer Henali Sway, Sway for Ballet

Ballerina Olga Kuraeva

Henali is a Ukranian composer and performer, and Olga Kuraeva danced to his alternately brooding and sylph piece Sway, Sway.
 

Ballerina Olga Kuraeva in the Studio

Russian ballerina Olga Kuraeva preparing, pensive, sensuous.
 

Ballerian Olga Kuraeva Out of Control

Out of control, her cutoff, midriff T-shirt says.  Her sweatpants is backwards, perhaps on purpose or perhaps not.  We may never know whether this piece from Russian ballerina Olga Kuraeva is truly improvised, but I love the casual, unpretentious look and feel of her dance.  That's the purview of art, isn't it:  seem out of control, while in control.

Scott Winn (3) 80s Aerobic Dance Battle

Well it's sleek Mustang versus sleek Mustang, in another fun effort from filmmaker Scott Winn.  As I embark on weightier filmmaking projects myself, that is, down the road, I know I will need to secure a sponsor to make it happen.  Here Winn brings back the 1980s in fine parody fashion:  spandex pants and cutoff shirts for the men, and hip rising leotards and short shorts for the women.  In the end, of course, the battle devolves into a joint, cross-gender synchrony of sexy thrusts and effeminate gestures.
 

Scott Winn (2) Stormtrooper Secrets

Your twerking caused a great disturbance in the Force!

I absolutely love this dance takeoff on the Imperial Stormtroopers from Star Wars.  These wayward, alleyway twerks get the business from their commander Darth Vader, which is a great touch at the end by filmmaker Scott Winn.

So

Return of the Twerk
The Empire Twerks Back
Phantom Twerker

Here's the Behind the Scenes.
 

Scott Winn (1) High School Dance Battle

So this is just a super awesome dance off.  Oh, if only all tiffs and run-ins in high school could be fought out like this.  The principal actors-dancers in this short film made the final cuts of a massive audition, and pull off a kickass performance that is energetic, athletic and sexy. From the Behind the Scenes, it was quite a production for filmmaker Scott Winn and sponsor HTC made it all possible.
 

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm (3)

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm

Malm is from Norberg, Sweden, who lives and works in Oslo, Norway.  He is an artist blacksmith and photographer.

The bolts are from an old farm in the heart of the area Bergsladen in Sweden. I found them in a barn. They had been lying there for a long time and they might have continued to lie there until they had rusted away and returned to their original mineral form.

The bolts reminded me of human forms, and I felt they had something to tell. I heated them, forged, bent and twisted. I tried to create relations, meetings and situations and suddenly stories emerged about sorrow, joy, pain, warmth and humour. A kind of poetry was created, hence the title.

All sculptures are without title, it is up to the viewer to create his or her own. The bolt people are few in numbers, and maybe these are the last ones, but those that exist will remain to tell their stories.  

Malm is the blacksmith, and I am the poet.  I will write the poetry to Bolt Poetry.  In the meantime, here are some notes, as a kind of prelude to a poetry:

Perhaps some covert conversation, something out of the Watergate scandal and All the President's Men.  Perhaps two lovers, in a bit of a tense tête-à-tête.  In either case, what shields them from prying eyes is hardly enough to shield them completely.  As if the urgency with which they come together overwhelms their need for discretion and privacy.

Stay tuned.

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm (2)

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm

Malm is from Norberg, Sweden, who lives and works in Oslo, Norway.  He is an artist blacksmith and photographer.

The bolts are from an old farm in the heart of the area Bergsladen in Sweden. I found them in a barn. They had been lying there for a long time and they might have continued to lie there until they had rusted away and returned to their original mineral form.

The bolts reminded me of human forms, and I felt they had something to tell. I heated them, forged, bent and twisted. I tried to create relations, meetings and situations and suddenly stories emerged about sorrow, joy, pain, warmth and humour. A kind of poetry was created, hence the title.

All sculptures are without title, it is up to the viewer to create his or her own. The bolt people are few in numbers, and maybe these are the last ones, but those that exist will remain to tell their stories.  

Malm is the blacksmith, and I am the poet.  I will write the poetry to Bolt Poetry.  In the meantime, here are some notes, as a kind of prelude to a poetry:

It could be that he wakes up in the early hours of morning, after a night of lovemaking, and sits awkwardly transfixed on his still soundly sleeping lover.  Then, again, to Malm's disclosure, it looks like a matter of joy and warmth, turned to sorrow and pain.

Stay tuned.
 

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm (1)

Bolt Poetry, by Tobbe Malm

Malm is from Norberg, Sweden, who lives and works in Oslo, Norway.  He is an artist blacksmith and photographer.

The bolts are from an old farm in the heart of the area Bergsladen in Sweden. I found them in a barn. They had been lying there for a long time and they might have continued to lie there until they had rusted away and returned to their original mineral form.

The bolts reminded me of human forms, and I felt they had something to tell. I heated them, forged, bent and twisted. I tried to create relations, meetings and situations and suddenly stories emerged about sorrow, joy, pain, warmth and humour. A kind of poetry was created, hence the title.

All sculptures are without title, it is up to the viewer to create his or her own. The bolt people are few in numbers, and maybe these are the last ones, but those that exist will remain to tell their stories.  

Malm is the blacksmith, and I am the poet.  I will write the poetry to Bolt Poetry.  In the meantime, here are some notes, as a kind of prelude to a poetry:

How the Madonna encloses the Child, and how the Child nestles himself in a concave of the Madonna's body.  It reminds me of Venus de Milo, sort of, as there are no arms.

Stay tuned.

Shia LaBeouf (3) Fjögur píanó, by Sigur Rós

Sarah Blackwell commented:

Tbh, I am not a huge fan of the melody...but the video is beyond stunning. Shia is a seriously underrated performer and to be honest, he should be a lead in more dramatic movies, I'm telling ya...get him in the right drama and he could easily be a Oscar contender. There is some very real, heartbreakingly raw emotion he exudes that I don't see from other actors...I can't explain it but you can see what I am talking about in key points of this video.

I agree, Sarah. Shia LaBeouf must be one of the most underrated performers, not just actors, in the business.

Shia LaBeouf (2) Elastic Heart, by Sia

What comes to mind?  Raw and primitive.  Sensual and erotic.  Poignant and existential.  Or simply superb.

Shia LaBeouf (1) By Rob Cantor

I first watched Shia LaBeouf in Transformers (2007), and thought the young man did a superb job playing a comedic, adventurous character.  But I've since seen him in some risqué music videos (see my subsequent posts), which suggests to me that he's not inclined to sit pat with making movies.  Now he has apparently inspired a short opera-cum-ballet, truly Art Intersections.  Having him be the lone audience in this original music video was a really nice touch.  

Somebody That I Used to Know, by Gotye (Kimbra)

Somebody That I Used to know was the last of three Pop music videos I find very curious, because it's a short film that tells a tale..., which I posted across my social media sites.  What a painful breakup between two lovers, but as with any relationship, there is more than one side to the story and both are inevitably involved in how it all turns out. 

[Gotye:]
Now and then I think of when we were together
Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company
But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

You can get addicted to a certain kind of sadness
Like resignation to the end, always the end
So when we found that we could not make sense
Well you said that we would still be friends
But I'll admit that I was glad that it was over

But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Now you're just somebody that I used to know
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

[Kimbra:]
Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I'd done
But I don't wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know

[Gotye:]
But you didn't have to cut me off
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing
And I don't even need your love
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough
No you didn't have to stoop so low
Have your friends collect your records and then change your number
I guess that I don't need that though
Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Somebody
(I used to know)
Somebody
(Now you're just somebody that I used to know)

(I used to know)
(That I used to know)
(I used to know)
Somebody

Somebody That I Used to Know, by Gotye (featuring Kimbra).
 

Wake Me Up, by Avicii (Aloe Blacc)

Wake Me up was the second of three Pop music videos I find very curious, because it's a short film that tells a tale..., which I posted across my social media sites. This stars Russian fashion model Kristina Romanova, with Laneya Grace as the little girl.  Despite the embedded promotions - Denim & Supply by Ralph Lauren, plus Xperia Z smartphone by Sony - I think it all works: that is, on the theme of disenfranchisement, then discovery and belongingness.

Feeling my way through the darkness
Guided by a beating heart
I can't tell where the journey will end
But I know where to start

They tell me I'm too young to understand
They say I'm caught up in a dream
Well life will pass me by if I don't open up my eyes
Well that's fine by me

So wake me up when it's all over
When I'm wiser and I'm older
All this time I was finding myself
And I didn't know I was lost

I tried carrying the weight of the world
But I only have two hands
Hope I get the chance to travel the world
But I don't have any plans

Wish that I could stay forever this young
Not afraid to close my eyes
Life's a game made for everyone
And love is the prize

So wake me up when it's all over
When I'm wiser and I'm older
All this time I was finding myself
And I didn't know I was lost

Didn't know I was lost
I didn't know I was lost
I didn't know I was lost
I didn't know (didn't know, didn't know)

Wake Me Up, by Avicci (featuring Aloe Blacc)

Clarity, by Zedd (Foxes)

Clarity was the first of three Pop music videos I find very curious, because it's a short film that tells a tale..., which I posted across my social media sites. I love the existential overtone of its lyrics and inscrutable theme of its cinematography.

High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life
Fight fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time
Hold still right before we crash 'cause we both know how this ends
A clock ticks 'til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again

'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need
Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why

If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?

(Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey)

If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?

Walk on through a red parade and refuse to make amends
It cuts deep through our ground and makes us forget all common sense
Don't speak as I try to leave 'cause we both know what we'll choose
If you pull then I'll push too deep and I'll fall right back to you

'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need
Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why

If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?

(Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey-ay-ay. Hey-ay, hey)

Why are you my clarity?
Why are you my remedy?
Why are you my clarity?
Why are you my remedy?

If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity?

Clarity, by Zedd (featuring Foxes)