Organs

You know what's better than spending an afternoon being allowed to play antique reed pump organs ranging from the smallest portable late 1900s type used exclusively by traveling preachers to the enormous, chord-foot-pedal-board, pipe type that are the stuff of cathedrals? Nothing. Nothing is better then doing this. My New England adventures continue up here in Vermont as I headed over to the Estey Organ Museum this past weekend to see the former industrial complex that housed the large yet humble Estey Organ manufacturing plant!

The plant itself was composed of a series of slate sided structures set up in a grid with a few wooden and brick houses scattered about, the entire area (hidden a few blocks back from a street that boasts mostly of gas stations and a small strip mall) once had a massive system of pistons connected underground that provided all of the energy needed to run the machines that would do everything from cut the wooden jigsaw ornamentation to power the sewing machines that made the cloth that adorned the foot pedals of the vacuum pump melodeons. Trying to imagine one whole factory whose generators basically ran on one rhthym is sort of incredible, the early sound of industry -up and down- under your feet, sprawling across the different factory spaces...such a cacophony humming below, working towards making the full, all-encompassing singing tones of what was a popular instrument of its day. I should really make/recreate sonic tours of this place?

Founded in 1846 the factory pumped out all types of reed organs, moving into pipe organs in 1901 and even stretching decades into the beginnings of electronic organs, employing Harald Bode who would become a Moog desciple in the development of the electronic keyboard. Going on a historical tour led by the most friendly older New England man, a fellow tour goer at my side (who actually turns out to be the author behind a series of Vermont murder mysteries, the next to take place in the spooky basements of the organ factory) through the manufacturing and development of the factory was amazing, and ending the tour with a gift of an avant-garde electronic music CD was equally as super, but, being able to sit behind a giant pipe organ, one that had been dissected (the pipes tiered and separated, a wooden platform and tubing providing support, so that one could walk between the pieces of the instrument when being played, see the swellbox sway, and hear the air rush through) was the most inspiring thing you could imagine as your (featuring the likes of Stephen Vitiello and Pauline Oliveros) feet pressed on chords and your hands moved across layers of resonating keys was an experience I will never, ever forget as long as I live.

 After reading this brief article on Why We Go To Museums over at one of the Walker Art Center blogs shortly after my Estey Museum going experience I began to objectively recognize how and why I ended up there: to learn something about the world, to learn something about myself and to "recharge" away from the madness of reality, all things that sitting behind a bellowing low C# of a tiny organ as my feet pumped air, pedaling back and forth, and my fingers sat upon century old keys played by who knows who connected me to these reasons more so than ever before. I go to these places to connect to a past, a present and a future, to find a tiny space where what we are doing and why makes sense, a sense that inspires us to do better, create better and overall enrich the world one rounded C# at a time. Find whatever these places are for you.

The Greatest Amateur Racing Event in the World

So before, when I was discussing the ever-so hand made grit of the Vermont creative scene I don't think I did it justice...but, yesterday proved another day of intense creativity that one can really only experience at these great mountain heights, SOAPBOX DERBY heights that is! After a visiting friend spotted a poster up on a local food co-op bulletin board announcing that Kornguth's Annual Soapbox Derby was to be taking place during his visit we both sped through a little brunch and then raced over to Brattleboro Vermont to meet the high noon event deadline, nearly lodging my car in a ditch out of lack of places to park & fear of missing the opening ceremonies that were taking place in a nearby Industrial Park, a place where all Derby related things came to a halt to let through the constant stream of bread trucks for a bakery factory whose wheels needed to keep turning even in the mid August sun!

First though, due to my own lack of knowledge/interest about the American Soap Box Derby culture let me give a little background on the sport. Starting in 1934, even preserved early on in Chaplin-celluloid, Soap Box racing was an American phenomenon, reaching it's peak in Akron Ohio in the 60s with over 70,000 spectators and bringing Jimmy Stewart plays to a halt in the 40s with it's overwhelming popularity! This type of racing began in the 30s as children looked to the ever increasing car culture for inspiration (and adults looked to urge children into more social yet competitive activity- even the WPA took on Derby duty in the name of social progress!), taking it upon themselves to make replicas of actual cars to get in on the action, replicas made out of everything from discarded saloon wood, to milk crates, to baby carriages to, yes, maybe even soap boxes. This spirit of making something recycled, creating out of refuse, is more than alive in these newer iterations as I witnessed shopping carts, wheelbarrows, wire spools, and lawn chairs prominently on display!

So what exactly makes a soap box car a soap box car? Well, it can't have a motor and must run (or should I say hurtle?) on the forces of gravity alone! Beginning at the top of a steep hill the races force these little wheeled vehicles (usually of 1, 3 or 4 wheels) down through the mighty force of physics, and also by the mild guidance of axles by the (please wear a) helmet clad drivers! The exact specifications of the cars have developed over time (check them out, they are pretty neat), fine tuning the requirements as safety increased and fairness prevailed in the face of many unfolding scandals (one scandal even involved the use of electromagnets and a headrest activator that would force the cheating cars towards the metallic finish line faster, soon thwarted by the implementation of electromagnetic blockers at races-aka big pieces of metal- to throw these cars into a tailspin instead of towards the trophy)!

This particular Vermont event included a DJ, live music, food (including a -drool- amazing Thai food truck), and the emcee- Kornguth himself (a local artist of sorts who runs/organizes the annual event). Watching onlookers slicing up watermelon and sharing this experience with their kids was amazing too, especially after a tragic crash involving a tree & an out of control car- you know you are in the wild kindness of Vermont when upon learning the crasher did not have insurance a woman was already in fundraising mode.

It was an all day event and I left before the elaborate trophy display (pictured at top in front of a man spinning tunes) was doled out but, I did stay long enough to witness the deep and proud history and legacy of soap box derby culture- a thing that I am sooooo going to be a part of in the future! This event really captured the kind of American spirit that I think I am constantly looking for out here in the world, one of freedom, innovation, lawlessness, speed and creativity that was once the foundation of our nation, a foundation that has slowly been eroded away by fear, money, plastic and a guardedness that I only hope can repair itself one soap box derby at a time! I'm not one for being super political over here but with the election quickly approaching I just want to ask all of you out there: would you rather be afraid of the soap box or build your own? Choose wisely folks! Derby days in the verdant inclines of a real American past that I can only hope will continue into the future!

Vermont Mountain Parties/Rugged DIY

Sorry for the lack in posting blog audience! The waning summer and the sun and general busyness has been keeping me from the blogging task at hand! Also, uncovering the secrets of mountain arts tucked away behind dark outhouses and blazing bonfires of Vermont is a thing that takes time to uncover...which is why last weekend, after scaling through many a rocky dirt road and hillside, and emerging into a birthday party/ variety show/potluck combo hidden in the trees, I uncovered a huge part of what it means to live in Vermont!

The celebration was an annual event brought on by a lovely couple who happen to be born on the same day, whose rustic cabin (they don't even have electricity- oh my goodness!) and gorgeous view set the scene for a strange and wonderful evening of sorts...I knew I was in for something spectacular when prior to the party a friend said they had to go over early to "start building" which peaked my curiosity as to what was in store for the night...

Greeted by a growing fire, a platformed wooden stage with a "Photo Booth or Smooching Shack" hidden underneath (pictured here with paper lanterns, candles, an eerie-ly sexy red glow and a pair of lovely ladies reading dirty text messages aloud- blush), flags and smiles and people and dogs and babies- it was great! The emcees for the evening were a mustachioed lady with an accordian and a tuba laddened dude both in suits and suspenders, part of a New England variety show/vaudeville troupe (whose name was never uttered, any leads?) who made jokes, sang and displayed various hand painted murals with accompanying stories throughout- also, I am not sure who was responsible for the giant sloths (below) but they were there too!

Guitarists, ukelele players zip lined to the stage from high above the trees, and primal scream therapy all took to the stage as the crowd got rowdier and the fire died down...I hid from the wrestling, water ballooning, fake (real?) blood mayhem but that was also there too! Living in farm country leads to good food too by the way: bonfire grilled veggies & cucumber salads prevailed, homemade blueberry wines, and also some sort of ceremonial opening of the last home brewed keg whose rites included beer running over into shared bowls...!

The industrious crafty-ness of rugged Vermont is pretty bad ass...all this production for a birthday celebration of two (of the nicest) people, all of this outpouring of creativity- it really was a crash course in how Vermont spends it's time! Building our own little handmade lives in peaks and valleys all over New England...beautiful & rowdy, a way to live...

Toga

Any day that involves a long soak in a cold waterfall pool and ends in a movie theater screening of National Lampoon's Animal House is a good day! It seems my New England jaunt of classic film continues at the Bellows Falls Opera House (pictured here in it's clock towered glory!), with the hilarious and memorable movie that made togas, binge drinking, and all other scandalous things synonymous with college a cinematic classic of keg stand proportions!

During this screening, I noticed that I sort of love watching movies with an audience who is already familiar with the film being shown as an edgy, anticipatory laughter of knowingness seeps in... just like when the joke from the trailer always gets the biggest laugh during a screening? I wonder if anyone has studied this phenomena? And I wonder if anyone has ever capitalized on it by putting most of a movie in different trailers...? Getting larger laughs from a range of audience members who have pre-experienced the film? And why does this type of familiarity garner such a reaction? Is our memory reacting in some kind of emotional/physical response...?

But hell, I guess that is what all that identification/psychoanalysis film theory stuff is about anyway: us as the the audience in our removed film watching/dream-like state of desires, like babies in a Lacanian mirror, identifying and taking on the things and feelings put before us, being heroes from our velvety seats and feeling even more connected by already being in on the joke. Hmm...if that's the case, regarding Animal House, I would definitely like to identify with John Belushi in this one! Anyway, a lazy summers day from rivers and movie seats high above in the Green Mountain State!

Picture Shows

Hey! Remember when we all took over a drive-in movie theater in upstate New York? And screened short films with live music? And an old yellow school bus brought along a willing & wonderful audience? Well...the duo behind that Lost Picture Show project (Todd Chandler & Jeff Stark) are at it again this month with two series taking place, one on the docks of Brooklyn and one in the hinterland of England!

The High Tide Picture Show will be happening this Saturday out at the Rockaways where films will be screened, music will be played and, if you are lucky, maybe you will get to see that goat I posted a picture of earlier! The event will be on Marina 59 and is adjacent to the ever-so-popular Boatel project in which artists decorate a small boat that can be rented like a hotel room and lived upon by those willing to inhabit the strange seas of Brooklyn waters! (My favorite ship by far was Kelie Bowman's Sea Wolf, pictured below!) Sunset over the water is a thing never to be missed and neither are awesome short films by amazing artists!


The other Empire Drive In project will be taking place over in Manchester, England at the end of the month/beginning of the next and is part of the Abandon Normal Devices festival, a fest of "new cinema, digital culture & art." A series of short films will screen with live music accompaniment and a live-band performance of Gravity Was Everywhere Back Then will happen on August 30th in a newly fashioned pop up drive in setting! Hope everyone has a great time at these events and please: send postcards, pictures and popcorn!

Grounded

There is some kind of uneasy & beautiful feeling I get when wandering around industrial areas of Brooklyn, dodging open fire hydrants & broken bottles, and descending into the long cool basements of hidden Bushwick art galleries! Sometimes even to reemerge on the other end, climbing into a yard of cold beers and people milling about concrete yards or, like my most recent experience, freshly trimmed grass in a landscaped secret garden! Airplane, as their website so succinctly says, "is a Bushwick artspace devoted to an experimental approach towards the engagement of the viewing public through curated shows, food events, seminars and collaborations." The opening I was lucky enough to come across was curated by (The Great and Wonderful) Rico Gatson, an artist of the nicest disposition whose personal artwork continues to push boundaries and whose eye has a particular kind of strangeness I think I love!

The exhibition Gatson has compiled is titled Grounded, a contemporary sculpture show whose pieces come together to make a strange little city out of looming structures, each with distinct voices speaking in every type of media, all working together to tell a story of the current state of contemporary sculpture and, by extension, the concerns of current culture. I didn't have enough time to really take in the show as I would have liked but there were two pieces that I turned to immediately. One was Oliver Jones' large, red plastic text letters attached to metal frames that, if I am not mistaken, were part of his "Cistercian Wilderness" piece from 2011 that spell out the motto of a group of medieval monks: "Work & Pray." The artist urges these words be interpreted as a call back to simplification through thoughtful living and a "re-wilding" of our landscapes (something that was most definitely happening in the stunning gallery yard surrounded by factories and trash!). Both of these themes (re-wilding & mindfulness) were oddly present throughout this show even despite the fact that one could easily see art objects as manifestations of the most frivolous/unnatural sort. The potential for frivolity in these art objects is quickly grounded since 1. much of the show's work is made of discarded elements bringing a sense of "being/attention in space" to the normally overlooked, 2. the sculptures are handmade creative expressions that remind of the human behind "the thing," and 3. all innovative art is really a form of "re-wilding" as artists cut through space to upset the everyday. The other piece I was (completely unexpectedly) drawn to was Björn Meyer-Ebrecht's sculpture of single paperback books about art & society wedged into small towers: practice/energy creates something concrete while knowledge/theory is static, fleeting, just out of reach... a pinnacle we should strive for and build towards understanding but must do so through action and creation!

The wide range of styles in this show makes it a near overview of contemporary sculpture and Gatson deftly cultivated this range using the best examples of nearly every kind of different style being made out there (slightly crafty textile work, figurative pop sculpture, re-purposed furniture, batty/loud/neon junk combines, austere thoughtful shapes regarding media, elegant musings on natural planes/landscape, text based work etc.). Taking your shoes off and feeling lush grass under your feet in the middle of an industrial wasteland is a sensation that grounds you just as much as the broad assortment of mindful art does- a space & a curator both giving their audience a contemplative experience on the wonder of mere existence and our shaping of it, a prevalent cultural theme we are experiencing as we look to better the increasingly chaotic existence we have come to know as life!

Airplane. 70 Jefferson St. Brooklyn. NY. 11206. Sun: 12-6.

Why Write

So when I went to the preview opening of the Cardiff & Bures exhibit I somehow managed to sneak in along with the press. And I hung out with press-like members huddled in confused corners of free booze and snacks. I don't consider myself "press" really. I don't think the way I approach my blog is to criticize or convey a non-objective view of a thing or event…At one point a journalist turned to me and, in reference to the art, said "Well, I don't think I like this." And, at that moment I had a stark realization as to my own writing.

I don't think I have ever really approached writing, or anything for that matter, from one particular point. I tend to see everything as an extension of everything else (a fact that seems to be detrimental as I try to explain my varied career path to HR specialists in offices across the country!). I cannot look at a work of art and strictly see it in terms of an art historic cultural legacy or to simply (un-constructively) criticize it. When I look at art I try to see it from the multi faceted ways I personally can- a viewpoint that is subjective to my background of course but that I actively try to push outside of a narrow frame of vision or one particular field.  I want to see the innovation and conceptual construction. I want to appreciate and evaluate the ideas that a single person, or a group of people, feel so strongly about to put into the world to share with others. I want to see science, technology, beauty and meaning.

Hanging out with a group of arts writers made me nervous about the field of arts writing. Not that one has to create art in order to necessarily understand the position of the artist (not to mention grasp the countless areas of fabrication, the personal fears of exposing your innermost soley-self-driven creations to a judgmental audience, the physical work/thought/uneasiness that goes into the making of art…) but I do think there is something to be said for the strange voices and scales we are using to balance the usefulness, importance and understanding of the field nowadays- a narrow glut of insular opinions in an ever expanding media sea. Not to say I am not somehow a part of this as I blog here on the open waves of very personal internet musings, or that I am free of guilt when it comes to a narrow mindedness/misunderstanding towards certain work, but I do think that a more expansive scope needs to be happening not only in arts journalism but in all journalism- and possibly in other fields as well (art about art? gross!). All fields of interest are just extensions of other things, other fields of interest, and the connections and rounded understandings we should be cultivating in the realm of criticism would make the world just a wee bit better I think (or at least make for better conversations in the press circle of art events)! Either way...I am going to keep looking at stuff, and writing about stuff, and live my life in whatever way it turns bringing these turns not into focus but into a map of the complexities, overlays and intricacies that really do make up the world....sigh....

Here is a pic of a New York dock goat leftover (abandoned?) from the Boatel project and a picture of the Jacob Riis Park out in the Far Rockaways...a nice melancholy summers day.

The Murder of Crows: Sound Sculpture

Right now I am sitting here trying to figure out how to describe a piece of sound art to you. It is nearly impossible. Painting, film, some installation work, even some performance art (which has a tangible understanding in the form of movement), are physical forms of artistic expression that have such a distinct frame of reference, a picture, that can somewhat get across pieces of an idea. But sound? And sculpting with sound? Taking sound and treating it like an object, volleying it around in space, it attacking you from behind, describing from our auditory references- it's a very hard thing to try an impart to you as I come from the Park Avenue Armory event where I saw, heard, experienced Janet Cardiff & George Bures Miller's installation of their piece The Murder of Crows.


The Armory itself is just that, built in 1880 the space was used for stock piling weapons and recreation for the elite members of the effet "Silk Stocking" Regiment, taking up an entire city block in the middle of what is now just another hustling NY neighborhood. The space, whose main "drill" hall consists of a 38,000 sq foot expanse began executing large scale contemporary art pieces over the last few years ranging in scope from towering, odorous piles of used clothing to an installation dedicated to the training of American Astronauts. This is the first piece I have been able to get to at this visionary space and I am so glad that my first time here was with this incredible piece of art.

When you enter the huge hall a dimly lit glow emanates from the middle, the light blurring out into darkness on the outskirts, black boxes of speakers positioned on chairs, stands and hanging from the great heights of the ceiling, a ring of folding chairs & benches fade into the background, a single phonograph horn is positioned in the center of the lighted pulse. The artists likened the setting to a sci-fi/Blade Runner (I think Brazil) feeling and it was: a spooky, futuristic, minimalist frame of a space that begins to take on a life and form of its own. As you approach the distanced eerie center, sound slowly begins to seep into your surroundings. Each speaker (98 in all!) is positioned around the room taking on a different voice, a different channel of sound that works in relation to the others to envelope you in a sonic story that moves beyond your ears. It is so hard to describe this. Picture a flock of crows overhead, swooping from right to left, then close your eyes and listen to what they sound like: the flapping of wings, the varying levels and intensities of caws, their flight moving over you in a rush, the sound moving in a wave across the different channel of speakers from one side of the room to the other. The content of the piece I was unable to spend too much time with, I didn't even get a transcript which they had available, but it seems the words were about dreams the artist had had (her voice coming from the single phonograph horn in the center of the room) and the sounds accompanying (ranging from was it traditional Russian folk music maybe? anti-fascist march, to ocean waves, to flocks of birds, to factory floors) swirled around the space- around the head of the single voice in the middle- as each speaker played a unique sound to engulf you in a specific vision, a dream, through sound alone.

As someone who has worked in the sound design field and also as a musician a little I know the power that a simple noise can have and I understand the ways in which sound can transform and create emotions, feelings and reactions. With this piece Cardiff & Miller managed to take the feelings that sound can evoke, to actually take the aura of sound, and masterfully shape it into a scene, a setting, a place, a time through the simple tool of speakers (and whatever the hell synchs up 98 distinct tracks? Any ideas? This technical aspects seems overwhelming to me!). The process they have invented, of each speaker defining space with its own distinct sounds (like that of an orchestral composition) and the incredible yet seemingly simple concept of positioning sounds electronically in a room in this way is something that is really revolutionary in terms of the field of sound art, and contemporary art alone for that matter: re-appropriating technology, telling a story in a new strong way, and creating an entire vision out of nothingness.

I didn't take pictures of this event but they wouldn't do it justice anyway and neither do these weird bootlegs of other versions of the piece I posted here...please experience this sonically visionary work! Janet Cardiff & George Bures Miller: THE MURDER OF CROWS. Fri Aug 3rd- Sun Sept 9th. Park Avenue Armory: 643 Park Avenue btwn 66th & 67th. Tues-Sun: 12-7. Thurs: 12-9. Aug 12th: 12-3. Sept 3rd 12-7. FREE ADMISSION AUGUST 4th 12-7. $12 Gen, $10 Student/Senior.