Interconnectedness photos on Flickr

To-when-an-ung-wa in Snow by Western Images And Light

4

The soft hum of Jefferson Airplane’s melodic, acoustic instrumental song, Embryonic Journey, surfs on the spaces of air reserved for sound in my room. I have always figured Grace Slick’s tremendous voice to be capable of providing a gentle anthem for my ruminations and reflections. Some of my finest musings came from a comparable scene: a dark and open room filled with flickering light and jumping shadows which have been discarded by the atomic tangerine flames wavering in the fireplace beside me. The flames pop and jump, dancing to songs like Today or Comin’ Back to Me. Sometimes I wonder if the fire is listening to the words of the songs, the romantic strums of the guitar, or the beating drum. The fire is very much alive, as are the eroding mountains, the bleeding sandstone walls, the gliding and wild running rivers, the unbreakable rocks sleeping on the valley floors and the accumulating snow in the higher elevations.

The desert air is daubed with a frigid shade of winter tonight. Maybe my memory has been selectively blurred by four years of patient study through countless textbooks, for I recall much warmer winter air blanketing the southwest landscape this time of year. Nevertheless, wintertime has arrived with a rush of brittle air and frosty temperatures across the American desert lands. Paralleling the winter season is the holiday season. From Hanukah to Christmas, Kwanza, Boxing Day, and even the Earth’s Winter Solstice, the shifting weather always seems to be enough reason to bring families together for large meals, gifts, and holiday cheer. We have a small and very untraditional family. At the end of the day it is just Greg, me, and little Miss Charlotte. Our extended families are spread from Oregon to Wisconsin, Texas, and even back East in Massachusetts. We typically spend the holiday season on the road, in the wild, with cameras, tents, and sleeping bags, but this year the weather required warmer lodging. The world is so much more discreet in the winter. The parks are not full; the roads in the higher elevations, those that are away from ski resorts and public commons, are typically empty. It is much more possible to be alone in a winter landscape in the Southwest than any other time of year. Our small trio requires silence and solitude—the nutrients of our souls. Fittingly so, this holiday season we escaped the city in search of that peaceful silence that our spirits were craving.

We had no set destination. No determined or mapped out places. We spent a day cooking and dehydrating foods for the journey, packing winter clothing snow boots, camera gear and writing equipment. We looked at weather maps and forecasts without a decision of where to go. The following morning, on Christmas Eve, I folded a bronzed cashmere blanket around the floor of our miniature schnauzer’s dog kennel, grabbed her leash, and fastened her collar. Hester is a salt and pepper colored schnauzer. She’s a little over a year old and a terrifically happy puppy that loves to hike, travel, and run up and down sandstone canyons and mountain trails. She quickly made her way into the grey box where she travels. Greg positioned her in the backseat of the car, next to Charlotte. He secured the door and we sat in our own chairs, buckled seat belts, and then backed the car out of the garage. As we sat parked in the driveway, watching the garage door slowly seal the open air away from our home, Greg looked to me and asked, “Where are we heading?” I sat for a moment, thinking of the weather, our two young companions, and the time we had set aside for the trip and replied, “Utah. Let’s go to Utah”. Greg flashed his charming smile and backed out of the driveway. And as simple as that we were on our way.

The highway led us through a maze of holiday shoppers and travelers. Las Vegas was bleeding with anxieties. Drivers flushed their rage by honking and screaming at one another, a far cry from the holiday cheer everyone talks about this time of year. On any average day there are about a hundred thousand or more tourists in the city. Yearly, about forty million visitors come to see the glitter in the Mojave. The holiday season sees a rush of travelers that pile in to this desert valley in such large amounts that on New Year’s Eve the strip is closed off to allow only foot traffic. Las Vegas is the glittering land of consumerism. Everything in this city is designed for the purchaser: the lavish restaurants and casinos, the shimmering lights of the strip that sing a song to visitors, asking them for coins and dollars or swipes of whatever type of plastic they have tucked away in their wallets. “Buy. Buy. Buy.” it sings. More money flows in this city during the course of half an hour than most people make in a year. You can find almost anything you could ever need or desire in this intensifying metropolis. Even dreams. Dreams are for sale in Las Vegas. With a simple bet and the ensuing pull of a lever it is possible, or so we are taught to think, to win a better life. That better life opens the door to more money which equates to more consumption and thus higher rates of environmental degradation.

In an over-consumption culture, we seem to always overlook the connection of how our purchasing behavior and choices impact the world around us. According to National Geographic writer Hillary Mayell, “Approximately 1.7 billion people worldwide now belong to the “consumer class” –the group of people characterized by diets of highly processed food, desire for bigger houses, more and bigger cars, higher levels of debt, and lifestyles devoted to the accumulation of non-essential goods” (Mayell). As hard as it may be while living in an unsustainable city like Las Vegas, Greg and I strive to have sustainable living practices as much as possible. Fittingly so, this is one reason we rarely participate in the consumerism that gridlocks shopping malls and stores this time of year. Instead of spending hours in checkout lines, we find ourselves desperately seeking an escape from the reminder of how materialistic, acquisitive, and unsustainable our species continues to become. As shoppers raced to malls in search of last minute gifts, we were quickly racing out of the valley, leaving behind Las Vegas and the hectic urgency of Sin City.

We drove over four hours, breaking away from society like prisoners absconding. We entered Utah and began our climb into the higher elevations. The temperature gauge on the dash slowly dipped below freezing as we ascended into the mountains. Rural Utah existed outside of my car window, flashing by with each stretch of mile, showcasing quaint and warm homes with smoke billowing out of the chimneys. Small stores were dark and flashed the word “CLOSED” in bright red lights, reminding travelers that consumerism was not as important as quiet time with family. There are still stores that close on Christmas Eve. Yes, they do exist. These places rightfully relieve employees of their occupational duties, encouraging them to embrace loved ones without interruption. They forego the monetary gains of staying open—gains achieved to promote over-consumption and quench the thirst of the hungry shopper.

Greg and I discussed the relationship between story and sense of place as we drove through the countryside. Words are some of the most powerful tools we have in our human arsenal. More authoritative than any weapon ever created, words have the unique and contrasting ability to create peace and war. You see, we can sew them together to form the quilted patterns of oral and written narratives. They can facilitate others to understand the senses of place that are described in stories. Oral narratives existed long before written history tracked the patriarchal dominance of man over nature. Words have always been used by humans to communicate significant events, relationships between humans, and the significance of understanding the interconnectedness of all life forms. Ralph Waldo Emerson understood the significance of reflection and words. He said, “A man's power to connect his thought with its proper symbol, and so to utter it, depends on the simplicity of his character, that is, upon his love of truth, and his desire to communicate it without loss.” Thus we use our words to communicate the veracity of the natural world and in our photographic quest Greg and I seek to pair this truth with visual evidence to underline the significance of conservation, sustainability, and systems thinking. Storytelling is a gentle art that enlivens the land and forces each of us to acknowledge our roles in helping sustain it.

The fire sitting next to me as I sit here this evening, writing this text, is just as alive as I am. It breathes and moves, dancing in the dark shadows of the evening. Its life is commanded by the availability of oxygen much like my own. Without oxygen we both die. It sustains us. Though we take different forms, me in my human body and fire in its ethereal and fluid figure, we are the same; two dependent life forms existing because of something else. My ancestors in the Muscogee Creek tribe explained the significance of fire through story. Their tale describes how the tribe enlisted the help of brave Rabbit to bring fire to their people.

Fire was sent by Thunderbirds, through lightning, to a tree, on an island, filled with Weasels. The Weasels were stingy with the fire and refused to give it to any other animal. Their island was surrounded by water too deep for people to cross. The humans sat on their land watching the smoke rise from the Sycamore tree which caught the first sparks from the lightning. It was wintertime and the tribe suffered greatly from the cold. They spoke to the other animals around them, asking for support and aid in their quest to obtain fire from the Weasels. Knowing the violent nature of the Weasel, only one animal rose to the occasion. Rabbit was brave. He could swim and run faster than the Weasels and he recognized how his skills in dancing would be able to allow him to join the weasels in their nightly ritual of fire and dance. He covered himself in the sticky material produced by pine wood and quickly swam to the Weasel’s island. The Weasels welcomed the Rabbit and his beautiful gift of dance by dancing around a huge fire. As they danced around the fire, the Weasel’s would approach the fire, bow, and then back away from it. The eager Weasel’s beckoned the Rabbit to lead them in the dance and he followed suit, leading the ritualized movement, coming closer to the fire. Rabbit bowed low as he got close to the fire and suddenly the pine tar on his hair exploded in flames. He escaped with the fire clinging to his head. The Weasel’s realized that they had been tricked and angrily chased after him but the Rabbit was too quick. He outran them and then jumped in the water, swimming his way to the people with his head on fire. Furiously the Weasels summoned the Thunderbirds to bring rain so the fire stole fire would be killed. The Thunderbirds answered the call and spread rain upon the Earth for three days. Rabbit protected the fire from the rain by building a fire in the embrace of an old hollow tree. After the rain ceased he brought the fire to the people. From then forward the Creeks housed fire in their homes when it rained. They protected the fire’s life much like the fire guarded them from the cold.

Stories can show us the significance of life and the importance of understanding how things like fire and mountains, valleys, and rivers sustain us and the responsibilities we have to protect them from harm. We are interconnected with everything around us. The landscapes that flashed by my window as we drove that cold night, the rivers we crossed, the snowflakes that began to fall silently against the lonely road before us. Everything is connected you see. Our journey into the cold winter countryside of southern Utah was intent on reminding us of that connection. I told the story of the Rabbit and Fire to Charlotte during our drive. She likes stories and always fills journals with many of her own creations. Storytelling has been a part of our family since long before she or I were ever born and it is something we attempt to continue in our own way.

As we turned down the road to Bryce Canyon National Park, the sun was coming to a rest on the Western horizon. We pulled into Ruby’s Inn, a nice old lodge located outside Bryce Canyon National Park and look around at the empty surrounding area. Stores and most of the hotels in the area were closed for the season. The quiet of the park was appreciated and paired well with the cold airs of winter that chilled the upper elevations. The first few flakes of a winter storm began falling as we unloaded our photography gear, food, and clothing from our vehicle into our room. The familiar, “I’m hungry”, cry from my nine year old daughter came soon after we shut the door of our rented abode. My stomach agreed with her plea and I went to the ice chest to prepare our Christmas Eve dinner.

We do not eat processed or junk/fast foods. Restaurant eating is met with hesitation these days since we have cleansed our diets to more sustainable practices. We travel with our own homemade yummies for each meal and snacks in between. This allows us to have control over what we’re putting into our bodies, it helps us save money, and it ensures that we’re getting the right nutrients we need. Road food is rarely a good idea for our crew. Instead, bringing our own food allows us to control our environmental impact. We refuse to contribute to the growing mass of landfill waste created by fast-food consumers.

Greg and I had made a vegetarian farrow and bean winter stew the day before our trip. It was a robust stew filled with a homemade herbed broth, the stewed tomatoes we had frozen from our fall harvest, heirloom carrots, and a medley of organic veggies including new potatoes, celery, onions, cabbage and dinosaur kale. We heated the soup on our Coleman stove, scooped a ladle full into individual bowls and then garnished them with freshly grated parmesan and a splash of olive oil. I heated a few southern buttermilk biscuits and handed one to Greg, tearing apart another to split between Charlotte and myself. We sat under a dim light in the motel room, enjoying the hearty stew and biscuits, celebrating our love and togetherness that Christmas Eve. It was quiet and peaceful—exactly what we wanted when we left the city. Later that evening, we enjoyed a chocolate bottom oatmeal pie for desert and drank some hot tea before bed.

The morning came quick and our alarm clock sung us awake at 6:00am. We dressed in layers. I had three pairs of pants on, three shirts and two jackets. Living in the Midwest on the shores of Lake Michigan had prepared me for the coldness of winter in any situation. Cold climate living provides residents with a knowledge that can only be gained from suffering through biting wind chills due to lack of preparation and proper dress. You only do that once in the Midwest and then forever afterward you arrive to cold situations over-dressed and over-prepared, realizing that it’s easier to lose a layer or two rather than being on the other end of the spectrum and needing another layer or two. Even with the layered clothing and preparation for the cold temperatures, sitting at 9,100 feet in the mountains, Bryce Canyon National Park becomes a frigid ice box once the mountain winds start howling. As we arrived at twilight to our first shooting spot for the morning, Hester and Charlotte cuddled between blankets in the back of the car. Charlotte sipped her breakfast tea and munched on some sheep milk yogurt, dehydrated berries and homemade nonfat granola. Greg and I surveyed our surroundings, looking for compositions and safe areas to set up our tripods. A tapestry of snow had fallen during our nighttime sleep, accumulating from 4-10 inches in different areas of the park. Being the first people in the canyon provided us with a carpet of untouched, shimmering, new snow. The winds were relentless, stinging the naked skin on my cheeks and nose and burning through the flesh on my lips. I wore my sunglasses to protect my eyes from the bitter gusts. Frost bite was a real concern that morning considering the strength and persistence of the cold winds. The wind chill wavered from 0 – 6 F and I pulled my outer winter jacket around my face attempting to protect it from the cold. Hours later my cheeks and nose would burn red with the kiss of winter and wind.

We stood outside in the soundless park, facing the blustering cold as the sun began to wake for the day. The snowy cloudbank muted the light from the sun’s rising, creating a subtle yellow orb in the sky with no streaking lights to fill the pillars in the canyon. A flat winter light imperceptibly illuminated the ground before us but it did not cause the snow to shimmer or the salmon colored rock to glow. The light wasn’t right. The temperatures stayed well below freezing even as the sun began to rise in the sky. This is always a risk that photographers take as they face extreme temperatures in search of the light. Light is never certain and predicting how the weather will be comes down to good fortune more times than not. It was Christmas Day and we were treated with a white Christmas in the canyon that morning. We went out again in the early afternoon in hopes of catching some rays of light in the canyon. The soft, white palette of snow contrasted the red hues of Bryce Canyon’s towering columns of limestone. Each season has its principal color and each color sings a different story. Spring is decorated with a rainbow of flowers but overwhelmingly the Earth bleeds with green hues. Summertime is filled with straw colored grasses, overheated trees, and the golden rays of a hot desert sun. Fall is awakened by the reds of ivies and the soft amber saturation of falling leaves in front of a stormy sky. But winter holds the purest color in its white precipitation. As I stood and looked at the formations in the canyon I thought about the meaning of their color, the language that is used to describe them, and the stories that have encapsulated their essence.

I was reminded of a story the Paiute tribe told about Bryce Canyon and how it came to be. In 1936, a Paiute Elder named Indian Dick narrated the legend of canyon:

"Before there were any Indians, the Legend People, To-when-an-ung-wa, lived in that place. There were many of them. They were of many kinds – birds, animals, lizards and such things, but they looked like people. They were not people. They had power to make themselves look that way. For some reason the Legend People in that place were bad; they did something that was not good, perhaps a fight, perhaps some stole something….the tale is not clear at this point. Because they were bad, Coyote turned them all into rocks. You can see them in that place now all turned into rocks; some standing in rows, some sitting down, some holding onto others. You can see their faces, with paint on them just as they were before they became rocks. The name of that place is Angka-ku-wass-a-wits (red painted faces). This is the story the people tell." (USNPS)

Charlotte stood beside me, munching on a homemade granola bar as I repeated the words of the story. We looked at the red hoodoos and imagined the legend coming to life. The Coyote, standing on the overlook at Sunrise Point, as a powerful trickster he turns the To-when-an-ung-wa people into stone for their bad deeds. According to Kevin Poe, Chief of Interpretation at the park, the To-when-an-ung-wa peoples “were notorious for living too heavily upon the land” (Robert & Poe). This is why they were punished. Their unsustainable behaviors and lack of appreciation for the interconnected and systemic nature of the natural world caused their demise. Poe states, “They would drink up all these streams and the rivers in the springtime so there would be no water left for all the other creatures come summer” (NPR). And in the fall Poe describes how they would eat all of the pine nuts, leaving none for the survival of other animals during the frigid winter. The shameless overconsumption of the resource forced the rest of the animals in the area to bring the injustices to the attention of Coyote. Tricking the To-when-an-ung-wa people, Coyote invited them to a lavish banquet to feast for an entire day. They accepted his invitation and arrived adorned in war paint and fantastically colored clothing. As they sat at Coyote’s table, Poe says the Coyote cast a spell that turned them to stone. “The To-when-an-ung-wa tried to flee up over the top of the canyon rim, and in so doing –almost like a scene from the “Titanic” - you see them trampling on top of each other, writhing bodies trying to escape over the edge of the canyon, and clustered right on the brink” (Robert & Poe). In this version of the story, it was the unsustainable practices of the To-when-an-ung-wa peoples that instigated their rocky fate.

At first glimpse these stories seem to provide a simple moral on the importance of sustainability practices and good behavior. What fascinates me about these tales is that they move beyond simple moral narratives, reinforcing the significance of calling a place by its true name. The Paitue elder and Kevin Poe both referred to the structures of the canyon as people, naming them “To-when-an-ung-wa”. Saying that name in a whisper on the rim of the canyon, I was reminded of the significance this landscape held to the Paiute peoples. This canyon was not named Bryce. The tribe that lived in harmony with this landscape had called it “Anga-ku-wass-a-wits”, naming it aptly for the red painted faces of the unsustainable “To-when-an-ung-wa” peoples that now stand silently in the canyon. “Anga-ku-wass-a-wits” is an endonym, a name for a geographical feature or place that is used by the people who originate from the area. “Bryce Canyon” then is an exonym, or a name that is used by outsiders to reference a certain area. I strongly believe in calling a landscape by its real name by using the languages from first peoples and try to find the appropriate endonyms and stories about each location we visit.

My mother named me after the romantic Russian love story “Dr. Zhivago” written by Boris Pasternak. I have read the story countless times and even fallen in love with the film version. One of my favorite parts of the story is documented in the following quote. It has resonated with me for as long as I can remember and has helped inspire me to call each thing by its right name and to inspire my own child to bear witness to the remarkable beauties our world has to offer.

“Lara walked along the tracks following a path worn by pilgrims and then turned into the fields. Here she stopped and, closing her eyes, took a deep breath of the flower-scented air of the broad expanse around her. It was dearer to her than her kin, better than a lover, wiser than a book. For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or, if this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place.” ― Boris Pasternak

The visit to Anga-ku-wass-a-wits was the first part of our winter journey. We photographed in the cold of the canyon studying how snow storms moved across the landscape and how shadows and light danced together on the hundreds of hoodoo-people that stand as reminders of the importance of sustainability practices. The light never quite took off the way we had imagined it would, but at the end of the day, Greg and I both are satisfied with the images we made and the time we spent in the canyon, as a family, on Christmas day. It definitely was not a typical American holiday, but then again, we strive to be anything other than normal. We celebrated the holiday with living trees that were decorated in a delicate arrangement of snowflakes that had fallen during our visit. These trees were alive like you and I. They were alive like the flickering fire that sits beside me in my study this evening. This is the same fire that Rabbit stole from the Weasels and brought to my people to protect. We respected the trees and honored the canyon and the Paiute peoples who walked on the trails long ago. The gifts we gave to each other bore no resemblance to the material goods of common culture. We gave each other time, thoughtful discourse, and love. What more could anyone ask for from the people they love during the holidays? We gifted ourselves another experience in a lonely landscape and it was because of this remarkable present that we became closer to the lands of southern Utah and were better able to understand their unique stories and the disappearing languages that should been used to describe them. It is my hope that this tale of our winter journey serves a similar purpose to those who find themselves navigating through the words of my text. I hope that it inspires you to find a lonely landscape and to learn its history and stories. Speak the rightful names of the areas you visit and try to connect their history to your own experiences. In doing so, you will be more capable of translating the language of the land. This act of translation guides us on our own journey, chasing the light.

My teacup is empty and I am afraid morning again will come quickly. I am retiring for the evening, but do rest assure there will be more to come later…

References:

Drink Starbucks? Wake Up And Smell The Chemicals! (2014, September 2). Retrieved December 29, 2014, from foodbabe.com/2014/09/02/drink-starbucks-wake-up-and-smell...

Kaye, L. (2013, May 23). Starbucks Is in a Unique Position To Push Consumers To Waste Less. Will It? Retrieved December 29, 2014, from www.sustainablebrands.com/news_and_views/waste_not/starbu...

Mayell, Hillary. "As Consumerism Spreads, Earth Suffers, Study Says." National Geographic. National Geographic Society, 12 Jan. 2004. Web. 28 Dec. 2014.

Siegel, Robert, and Kevin Poe. "A Paiute Take On Bryce Canyon's Hoodoos." NPR. NPR, 1 July 2008. Web. 29 Dec. 2014. .

United States National Park Service. "American Indian History." National Parks Service. U.S. Department of the Interior, 28 Dec. 2014. Web. 29 Dec. 2014.

Fragments of Consciousness (Detail II) by Wang Lang

4

Digital image on canvas (2013)

Large: 90 x 90 cm

Small: 60 x 60 cm

In this self-portrait, Wang Lang has expressed an important Buddhist concept: "I" am merely fragments of consciousness. Here the "I" refers to our collective concept of self as separate from others, from the surrounding environment, from the universe. When we think of ourselves as "I" or "me", we lose the sense of overarching connection between all things, the complete interconnectedness of all things. This is what the Buddhists might refer to as a discriminating mind or biased thinking.

According to Buddhist philosophy, in the endless cycle of Samsara (life, death and rebirth), "you" or "I" become the aggregate of consciousness and karma accumulated from past existences, so the "I" or "me" is constructed out of all the consciousness built up from past to present. From this perspective our core essential being is a collection of many past states of consciousness and individual instances of awareness, hence our identity is a fragmented collection of consciousness.

Since our own self-awareness is a reflection of our own limited comprehension, experiences, perceptions and biases, we are but mere fragments in the grand scheme of a higher wisdom that transcends individual consciousness. The "I" is simply a tiny array of pieces in a larger puzzle that can only be arranged fully and completed through enlightenment.

Site Curator,

Chris Harry

The Park as Lover by hhschueller

5

Gerrit Frohne-Brinkmann, Crying Tiger, 2021

The Lantz'scher Park in Düsseldorf is hosting an intriguing exhibition titled "The Park as Lover," which opened on June 9, 2024. This unique event, curated by Katharina Klang, invites visitors to experience the park from the perspective of its non-human inhabitants, challenging traditional views of nature and culture. The exhibition is a blend of art and nature, where sculptures and performances become a medium to explore symbiotic relationships and the creative abilities of all beings. It's a thought-provoking journey that questions the learned subject-object assignments and celebrates the interconnectedness of all species.

AI Generated Text

cleaning facades by arnds photos

15

captured in the city of amsterdam, this photograph reveals a man meticulously cleaning his shop window, while the facade of the building across the street reflects in the glass. his focused efforts to maintain the storefront create a mirror image of the urban architecture, blending his diligent work with the city's external beauty. this scene underscores the interconnectedness of personal labor and public spaces, where individual actions contribute to the collective urban experience.

Tlingit Haida Tsimshian Eyak Alaska State Museum ~ Juneau, Alaska by 1coffeelady

7

Southwest Alaska

Tlingit Haida Tsimshian Eyak

People of the Rain Forest

The Native people of Southeast Alaska, the world's northernmost temperate Eyak-thrive in a uniquely rich ecosystem, the world's northernmost forest. The mountainous shoreline of fjords & islands gathered ocean moisture in glaciers & icefields, in rivers thick with salmon, & in the deep moss of forests with towering spruce, hemlock & cedar trees, some a thousand years old.

Salmon feed the people, the wildlife, & the forest itself, bringing nutrients upriver to spawning grounds where the bodies of fish will ultimately fertilize the trees. The interconnectedness of this system lives in the cultures of the people, too. Tribes here are renowned for their complex societies, ceremonies, & spiritualism, the richness of their history, oral traditions, & the objects they make that reflect this abundant environment. Their distinctive artistic styles are acclaimed worldwide.

Respect & balance are basic values. People, & animals, plants & inanimate objects are part of one system. Everything has spirit worthy of respect. With proper treatment of salmon & animals taken for food, they return to feed the people again. This system of sustainability supported the people here for thousands of years, until the arrival of industrial resource development.

Bowtie-joined Pallet Chalkboard / Tableau Noir En Bois De Palettes by Recyclart

1

www.1001pallets.com/2017/02/bowtie-joined-pallet-chalkboa...

Here is my Bowtie-Joined Pallet Chalkboard made of wooden pallets. I made the legs and frame from pallet wood. Next, I made the chalkboard using plywood painted with chalkboard paint. The board is 1 m 10cm by 60cm. I cut the boards to the size I wanted and trimmed the rear boards, so they don't protrude from behind.

Bowtie-Joined Pallet Chalkboard:

I mitered the frame and glued it together, clamping with a strap. One corner didn't line up perfectly, so I reinforced the angle with a bowtie insert. After painting the background with chalkboard paint, I nailed it to the back of the frame. I made the support legs by just making two triangles that I screwed together. They are interconnected by the support tray/chalk rail where canvases rest. Additionally, I hid them behind the chalkboard piece. The project took me about three hours, and two pallets were needed for the frame and feet. This project had nothing technical except the bow tie in the wood. The knot itself was cut into another board, dyed with walnut husk.

Toujours dans la catégorie cadeau pour les enfants, Voici un tableau noir réalisé en bois de palettes (pieds + contour du tableau), le fond servant pour le tableau en lui même est une planche de multiplex 12mm récupérée.

Le tableau fait 1m10 sur 60cm, les planches du cadres ont été découpées d’abord à la bonne taille, l’arrière a été ensuite légèrement défoncé afin que le multiplex ne dépasse pas derrière. Pour l’assemblage, c’est simplement de la colle, le cadre était tenu par une sangle. le noeud en haut à droite a été placé afin de renforcer l’angle car les deux morceaux de bois ne s’alignaient pas parfaitement. Après avoir peint le fond avec de la peinture pour tableau, il a été cloué à l’arrière du cadre.

Les pieds sont quand à eux deux triangles vissés. ils sont reliés entre eux par la rigole sur laquelle le tableau est déposé mais également par une planche cachée derriere le tableau. Le projet m’a pris en tout plus ou moins 3h, et deux palettes ont été nécessaires pour le cadre + les pieds.

Ce projet n’avait rien de technique à part éventuellement le noeud papillon dans le bois. Le noeud en lui même a été coupé dans une autre planche, teint avec du brou de noix. l’emplacement dans le tableau a quand a lui été fait au ciseaux a bois.

Great idea for a kid's room! Looks like fun! Here's another Frame idea to check out!

Janet Echelman's Aerial Sculpture - M1008707 by Sean Sweeney

6 2

A monumental, aerial sculpture is suspended over Boston’s Rose Kennedy Greenway from May through October 2015 as the signature contemporary art installation in the Greenway Conservancy’s Public Art Program.

The sculpture for Boston spans the void where an elevated highway once split downtown from its waterfront. Knitting together the urban fabric, it soars 600 feet through the air above street traffic and pedestrian park.

The form of “As If It Were Already Here” echoes the history of its location. The three voids recall the “Tri-Mountain” which was razed in the 18th-century to create land from the harbor. The colored banding is a nod to the six traffic lanes that once overwhelmed the neighborhood, before the Big Dig buried them and enabled the space to be reclaimed for urban pedestrian life.

The sculpture is made by hand-splicing rope and knotting twine into an interconnected mesh of more than a half-million nodes. When any one of its elements moves, every other element is affected. Monumental in scale and strength yet delicate as lace, it fluidly responds to ever-changing wind and weather. Its fibers are 15 times stronger than steel yet incredibly lightweight, making the sculpture able to lace directly into three skyscrapers as a soft counterpoint to hard-edged architecture. It is a physical manifestation of interconnectedness and strength through resiliency.

In daylight the porous form blends with sky when looking up, and casts shadow-drawings onto the ground below. At night it becomes an illuminated beacon. The artwork incorporates dynamic light elements which reflect the changing effects of wind. Sensors around the site register fiber movement and tension and this data directs the color of light projected onto the sculpture’s surface.

“Here in Boston, I’m excited to visually knit together the fabric of the city with art,” said Echelman. “The creation of the Greenway was a seminal event in the unfolding of our city, so I’m delighted and humbled to be a part of its transformation into a vibrant cultural destination.”

The work invites you to linger, whether seen amidst the skyline from afar, or lying down on the grassy knoll beneath. It embraces Boston as a city on foot, where past and present are interwoven, and takes our gaze skyward to feel the vibrant pulse of now. It invites you to pause, and contemplate a physical manifestation of interconnectedness – soft with hard, earth with sky, things we control with the forces beyond us.

By the Numbers:

– The sculpture includes over 100 miles of twine

– Longest span is 600 ft

- Highest point of attachment is 365 ft

– There are over half a million knots (~542,500)

– The sculpture weighs approximately 1 ton

– The sculpture can exert over 100 tons of force

– Projected plan area of the sculpture is 20,250 sq ft, or almost half an acre

AM16 Seminar: The Shifting Global Economic and Political Landscape: Fragmentation or Integration? by International Monetary Fund

The discussion will address a key question at the heart of the international economic and political landscape: have the benefits of globalization been oversold? Slow global growth and increasing inequality, civil conflict and refugee flows, and the rise of political figures espousing nationalist and protectionist positions pose difficult challenges to global interconnectedness. Panelists will offer fresh perspectives on these emerging issues.

Asia - Philippines / Luzzon by RURO photography

5

Poverty is the state for the majority of the world’s people and nations. Why is this? Is it enough to blame poor people for their own predicament? Have they been lazy, made poor decisions, and been solely responsible for their plight? What about their governments? Have they pursued policies that actually harm successful development? Such causes of poverty and inequality are no doubt real. But deeper and more global causes of poverty are often less discussed.

Behind the increasing interconnectedness promised by globalization are global decisions, policies, and practices. These are typically influenced, driven, or formulated by the rich and powerful. These can be leaders of rich countries or other global actors such as multinational corporations, institutions, and influential people.

In the face of such enormous external influence, the governments of poor nations and their people are often powerless. As a result, in the global context, a few get wealthy while the majority struggle.

Interconnectedness 2018 Aleksandr Osvald August von Turro-Lebardov EKA81 2018-107 17.12.2018 (2) 3 by Aleksandr Osvald August von Turro-Lebardov

1

'#interconnectedness' 2018 #seotus #studying #synergy #students #threads #stringart #installation #blue #architecture #indoor #estonia #tallinn #contemporaryart #art #АЪ EKA81 2018-107 17.12.2018 (2)

Technical and Artistic Photographers by John Suler

6 20

For a moment, let’s supposed there are two basic personality types in photography.

The “technical” type are those people who focus their efforts on and enjoy the technical aspects of photography. They can tell you all about camera equipment. Stretching their budgets if they have to, they themselves continually strive for bigger and better stuff. They want to understand the science of light and optics. In digital photography, they are familiar with computers, photo editing programs, and even the arcane world of color spaces. They probably don’t mind being called “geeks” but would like to be seen as professionals. These are the go-to people when you want advice on buying equipment and dealing with computer hardware or software problems. They are logical, analytical, realistic, and practical thinkers. They believe in order, pay attention to details, and like having control over all aspects of their work. As sticklers for rules and procedures, they believe in the right and wrong ways to do photography. For them, authority matters. Other people might find them a bit compulsive and inflexible. Sometimes they might even drive themselves crazy with their own perfectionism. They strive for tack sharp photos, perfect white balance, and no clipping in the shadows or highlights. Realistic images and the control offered by studio photography are attractive to them, as well as the practical challenges and outcomes of event photography. They’re not particularly interested in and maybe even look down on “artsy” photographs. Their photo archive is well-organized, with a comprehensive set of keywords and precisely defined file names.

The artistic type are those people who are, in many ways, the exact opposite. They’re not particularly interested in the technical or scientific aspects of photography. They see photography as art, as a vehicle for personal and emotional expression. They think of themselves and want to be seen as artists. They’re more interested in creativity, experimentation, innovation, and play, rather than standards and rules. Indifferent to or even rebellious against authority, they want to be independent, to do their own thing. They like images that are emotional, ambiguous, unusual, idiosyncratic, shocking, or based more on fantasy and imagination that reality. Blurry, strangely colored, and shadow or highlight clipped photos are fine with them, as long as the effect looks cool. In their photography they want to remain open to new experiences, to let go, to be receptive, spontaneous and fluid. Other people might see them as sensitive, moody, unpredictable, introspective, nonverbal, impractical, or disorganized. The artistic types shudder at the thought of doing wedding or commercial photography. Having a well-organized archive of images and a logical system of filenames isn’t on their list of priorities, if they even bother keeping lists.

You might know people who fit these descriptions. If they come from different types, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to get them together. They won’t have a lot in common, even though they’re both into photography. They might not even like each other very much or respect each other’s work.

More than likely, you probably know people who are somewhat similar to one of these two types, but not exactly. They might have some of the traits of the technical as well as the artistic type. This might also be true of you. I deliberately portrayed these two kinds of photographers in a rather extreme fashion, as two opposite poles on a continuum of artistic/technical temperaments. We might think of all photographers as falling somewhere on that continuum, some towards the technical pole of the dimension, others more towards the artistic end.

We also might think of these two kinds of photographers as “pure” types in the sense that they contain specific but very different clusters of personality traits. These pure types account for only some people. The personalities of most photographers will involve unique clusters of traits that come from both column A and column B. However, as we often find in psychological studies of personality types, certain traits do tend to cluster together.

The differences between the technical and artistic photographer can be explained in terms of cerebral lateralization – what the popular press often describes as “left versus right brain.” The left side of the cerebral cortex tends to involve thinking that is more logical, analytical, objective, sequential, detail-oriented, concerned with reality, and focused on language, facts, patterns, and order. The right side involves thinking that is visual, emotional, subjective, intuitive, spatial, holistic, and based on symbols, metaphors, and imagination.

Of course, these distinctions are a simplification of the much more complex reality of brain functioning. Some research suggests that many brain activities, especially the more complex ones, are spread out across a variety of areas. And even if there is a clear distinction between some functions of the left and right cerebral cortex, there’s a large nerve pathway between them, the corpus callosum, that intertwines their activities. Given this interconnectedness within the brain, it’s no surprise that we only occasionally see the pure types of technical or artistic photographers, while most of the time people lean in the direction of right or left brain thinking while retaining some of the functions of the opposite side.

What’s interesting about photography is how it calls for a robust engagement of both sides of the brain. It draws on a variety of brain processes associated with both technical and artistic thinking. The technical photographer might be more concerned about precision in creating an image, while the artistic photographer will rely more on instinct. However, most photography will require us to draw on the visual thinking of the right brain while also employing the left brain to master the technical aspects of working the camera and processing the image. To produce good photos, technical photographers will need to draw on a right brain appreciation of visual design and composition, whereas artistic photographers will need to tap left brain thinking in order to learn the tools of the trade that help them actualize their artistic visions.

* This image and essay are part of a book on Photographic Psychology that I’m writing within Flickr. Another more easy to navigate version of the book is located at this web site

Wien, 3. Bezirk, Linke Bahngasse/Anton-von-Webern-Platz (Universität für Musik und Darstellende Kunst, Università per Musica e Arte Scenica, Universidad para Música y las Artes escénicas, Université pour la Musique et le Spectacle vivant) by alfred lex

3 8

(for further information please go to the end of page and by clicking on the link you will get them!)

University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna

Motto tradition and innovation

Founded in 1817

State sponsorship

Location Vienna, Austria

Rector Werner Hasitschka

About 3,000 students

Employees about 850 of which about 140 professors

www.mdw.ac.at site

The University of Music and Performing Arts 2007

Columned hall to staircase, Kaiserstein

Pillar staircase around open shaft, Kaiserstein

Institute building and former main building, including the Academy Theater, Lothringerstraße 18

The University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna (mdw) is an Austrian university located in third District of Vienna highway (Landstraße), Anton-von-Webern-Platz 1. It claims to be the greatest art university in Austria and greatest university of music worldwide. Approximately 3,000 students are supported by more than 850 teachers. It is since 2002 structured into 24 institutions offering the artistic, artistic-scientific and purely scientific doctrine. Since 2002 Werner Hasitschka is rector.

History

Already 1808 was discussed on the establishment of a conservatory of Music according to Parisian model (Conservatoire de Paris). The 1812 founded Society of Friends of Music in Vienna this venture had set as it main task, so that already in 1817 a singing school could be launched, which laid the headstone for such an institution. Thus the year 1817 is considered the official founding year of the mdw. In 1819 with the Engagierung (engagement) of violin professor Joseph Böhm instrumental lessons have been started.

With short interruptions during the 19th Century the curriculum was expanded massively, so that in the 1890s more than 1,000 students could be counted. In 1909, this private institution was nationalized on resolution of the emperor and was now kk Academy of Music and Dramatic Art.

With the nationalization it also received an own house: in collaboration with the Vienna Konzerthaus Society from 1912 in Liszstraße a building together with a sample stage (today Academy Theater) was built, into which already in January 1914 could be moved. After World War I, the institution was called State Academy (1919). In 1928, the Academy has been extended to a drama seminar (Reinhardt-Seminar) and a music educational seminar. Between 1938 and 1945 it was continued as a Reichshochschule (Academy of the German Reich) by exclusion of Jewish teachers and students.

After the war, in 1946 the institution again became an art school, from 1970 to 1998 it was called University of Music and Performing Arts, since 1998 it is a university.

In 1952 Walter Kolm-Veltée established special training for film design. In 1960, a film class, led by Hans Winge, was added. In 1963, the two courses were combined into the newly founded "Film and Television Department". There were other additional courses, and since 1998, the department is also known as the Vienna Film Academy.

Building

In addition to its headquarters, the mdw-campus at Anton-von-Webern-Platz in the third district, are other branches in 3rd District in Ungargasse 14, am Rennweg 8, in the Metternichgasse 8 and 12 as well as in the Lothringerstraße 18. In the first district of Vienna teaching locations are situated at Karlsplatz 1 and 2, at the Schubertring 14, at the corner of John Street/Seilerstätte and in the Singerstraße 26. Furthermore, in the 4th District in Rienößlgasse 12, in 13th district in the Schoenbrunn Palace Theater as well as at the Palais Cumberland in the Penzingerstrasse.

Campus

The monumental functional purpose building in the sober, classicist forms of Hofbauamtes located at the former Wiener Neustadt channel (rapid rail line), is located at the Anton-von-Webern-Platz 1. 1776 there on the suggestion of Emperor Joseph II. an animal hospital was built in the former Jesuit dairy farm. 1821-1823 followed a new building by Johann Nepomuk Amann, being planned a sprawling complex. The main building with a long façade extends to the left Bahngasse, there are numerous additions. A major contract received the Kaisersteinbrucher master stonemasons, the spacious entrance hall with Tuscan columns, pilasters and mullioned pillars, the spacios pillar staircase around open shaft, all made of light Kaiserstein with typical blue translucent embeddings - a special room for friends of the emperor stone (Kaiserstein). By 1996, the building was the seat of the University of Veterinary Medicine and its predecessor institutions.

In 1996 the building was chosen as the new seat of the University, and completely renovated by architect Reinhardt Gallister. The historic structure was preserved, elements such as glass, wood and stone are the defining stylistic devices and modern technology and equipment was connected with good room acoustics. Studios, classrooms and halls can be rented externally, too.

Disciplines of study

Composition and Music Theory

Conducting

Sound engineer

Instrumental study

Church Music

Educational Studies

Singing and opera directing

Performing Arts

Film and Television

Doctoral Studies

Summer Campus

The isa - International Summer Academy is the musical summer campus of the University of Music and Performing Arts Vienna. More than 200 students from over 40 nations are taking part in two weeks of master classes of the highest calibre in the Semmering region and in Vienna. The summer campus was founded in 1991 as an initiative of Michael Frischenschlager. The isa arose from the euphoria over the fall of the Iron Curtain with the aim, exceptionally talented young students, mainly from the Central and Eastern European countries (CEE countries), allow musical encounters and build international relationships. Since 2005 Johannes Meissl is artistic director of the isa.

Institutions

Institute for Composition and Electro-Acoustics

Institute for Music Conducting

Institute for Analysis, Theory and History of Music

Institute for Keyboard Instruments (podium/concert)

Institute for Bowed and other String Instruments (podium/concert)

Leonard Bernstein Institute for Wind and Percussion instruments

Joseph Haydn Institute for Chamber Music and Special Ensembles

Institute for Organ, Organ Research and Church Music

Institute for Singing and Music Theater

Institute for Drama and Acting Direction (Max Reinhardt Seminar)

Institute for Film and Television (Film Academy Vienna)

Institute for Music Education

Institute for Music and Movement Education and Music Therapy

Institute of Musical Style Research

Institute of Popular Music

Institute Ludwig van Beethoven (keyboard instruments in music pedagogy)

Hellmesberger - Institute (string & other bowed instruments in Music Education)

Institute Franz Schubert (wind and percussion instruments in Music Pedagogy)

Institute Antonio Salieri (singing in Music Pedagogy)

Institute Anton Bruckner (music theory, ear training, ensemble direction)

Institute for Folk Music Research and Ethnomusicology

Institute for Viennese Sound Style (Musical Acoustics)

Institute for Music Sociology

Institute of Culture Management and Cultural Studies (IKM)

Science

Apart from artistic training form the scientific institutions (or full professors and university lecturers with great teaching qualification - venia docendi) a significant part of the university's work. A special feature of the MDW is the high interconnectedness of science and art. The right to award doctorates is the foundation of a university, and is realized at the MDW in the PhD graduate program. Departments of scientific work in this connection are:

Dramaturgy

Film Studies

Gender Studies

History and Theory of Popular Music

Gregorian chant and liturgy

Historical Musicology (including analysis, music theory and harmonic research)

Stylistics and performance practice

Cultural Business Operations

Musical Acoustics

Music Education

Sociology of Music

Music Theory

Music Therapy

Systematic musicology within interdisciplinary approaches

Folk Music Research, Ethnomusicology

Known graduates

Claudio Abbado

Barbara Albert

Peter Alexander

Christian Altenburger

Maria Andergast

Walter Samuel Bartussek

Johanna Beisteiner

Erwin Belakowitsch

Achim Benning

Zsófia Boros

Thomas Brezinka

Florian Brüning

Rudolf Buchbinder

Friedrich Cerha

Gabriel Chmura

Mimi Coertse

Luke David

Yoram David

Jacques Delacôte, French conductor

Jörg Demus

Helmut German

Johanna Doderer

Iván Eröd

Karlheinz Essl

Matthias Fletzberger

Sabrina Frey

Beat Furrer

Rudolf Gamsjäger

Raoul Gehringer

Nicolas Geremus

Wolfgang Glück

Wolfgang Glüxam

Eugen Gmeiner

Walter Goldschmidt

Stefan Gottfried

Friedrich Gulda

Robert Gulya

Ingomar Auer

Christoph Haas (born 1949), Swiss conductor

Georg Friedrich Haas

Hans Hammerschmid

Gottfried Hemetsberger

John Hiemetsberger

Robert Holl

Mariss Jansons

Leo Jaritz

Mariama Djiwa Jenie, concert pianist and dancer

Thomas Jöbstl

Thomas Kakuska

Bijan Khadem-Missagh, violin

Angelika Kirschschlager

Hermann Killmeyer

Patricia Kopatchinskaya

Leon Koudelak

Bojidara Kouzmanova

Tina Kordić

Klaus Kuchling

Rainer Küchl

Gabriele Lechner

Wolf Lotter

Gustav Mahler

Edith Mathis

Zubin Mehta

Tobias Moretti

Tomislav Mužek

Helmut Neumann

Josef Niederhammer

Ernst Ottensamer

Erwin Ortner

Rudolf Pacik

Harry Pepl

Günter Pichler

Josephine Pilars de Pilar

Peter Planyavsky

Stefanie Alexandra Prenn

Armando Puklavec

Carole Dawn Reinhart

Gerald Reischl

Wolfgang Reisinger

Erhard Riedlsperger

Jhibaro Rodriguez

Hilde Rössel-Maidan

Michael Radanovics

Sophie Rois

Gerhard Ruhm

Kurt Rydl

Clemens Salesny

Heinz Sandauer

Klaus-Peter Sattler

Wolfgang Sauseng

Nicholas Schapfl

Agnes Scheibelreiter

Heinrich Schiff

Michael Schnitzler

Peter Schuhmayer

Christian W. Schulz

Wolfgang Schulz

Ulrich Seidl

Fritz Schreiber

Kurt Schwertsik

Ulf-Diether Soyka

Christian Spatzek

Arben Spahiu

Götz Spielmann

Othmar Steinbauer

Hermann Sulzberger (b. 1957), Austrian composer

Roman Summereder

Hans Swarovsky

Jenő Takács

Wolfgang Tomböck

Karolos Trikolidis, Greek-Austrian conductor

Mitsuko Uchida

Timothy Vernon (b. 1948), Canadian conductor

Eva Vicens harpsichordist from Uruguay, lives in Spain

Annette Volkamer

Johanna Wokalek

Adolf Wallnöfer

Gregor Widholm

Bruno Weil

Hermann Wlach

Paul Zauner

Herbert Zipper

de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Universit%C3%A4t_f%C3%BCr_Musik_und...

Midi-Coulisses - Margie Gillis - Viriditas by davidcwong888

2

VIRIDITAS

The meaning of the word Viriditas describes Nature’s divine healing power, transferred from plants to humans.

The piece is an exploration of experiential wisdom, of our interconnectedness with nature, and of the need for flourishing feminism consciousness in our world today.

===

Margie Gillis

margiegillis.org/margie-gillis-bio-2/#1501084358479-c8287...

BIOGRAPHY

Internationally acclaimed modern dancer/choreographer, Margie Gillis has been creating original works for over forty years.

In 1979, Margie Gillis was invited to teach and give lectures in China, thus becoming the first artist from the West to introduce modern dance in that country after the Cultural Revolution.

Two years later, she founded her own company, the Margie Gillis Dance Foundation with the mission to support and present her artistic work.

Her repertoire now includes more than one hundred pieces, which she performs as solos, duets and group pieces.

Her international tours have taken her to Asia, India, Europe and the Middle East as well as across North and South America.

In parallel to her solo work and on a regular basis, Margie Gillis collaborates on projects initiated by her peers.

She has worked with some of the most important dance artists and companies of her time.

Teaching is also an important aspect of her career.

She offers workshops for dance professionals and students in various cities throughout the world, including New York where she has taught at the prestigious Juilliard School.

She also gives lectures on dance and the role of art in society. With her unique approach of “Dancing from the Inside Out”, she teaches her art form to professionals and aficionados.

She also mentors fellow artists of excellence and new dancers alike.

Margie Gillis is a socially committed artist.

She has been spokesperson for a number of organizations dedicated to the fight against AIDS as well as for OXFAM and the Planned Parenthood Foundation.

She is a fierce defender of environmental causes.

Margie Gillis is an Honorary Cultural Ambassador for both the Quebec and Canadian governments.

In 1988, she was the first modern dance artist to be awarded the Order of Canada. In 2001, she received a Career Grant from the Conseil des arts et des lettres du Québec for her exceptional contribution to Quebec culture.

In the fall of 2008, Margie Gillis was chosen by the Stella Adler Studio of New York to receive their first MAD Spirit Award for her involvement in various social causes, and she was awarded the Walter Carsen Prize for Excellence in the Performing Arts by a jury of her peers at the Canada Council for the Arts. In June of 2009, Margie Gillis was appointed Knight of the Ordre national du Québec.

In May 2011, she received the Lifetime Artistic Achievement Award from the Governor General’s Performing Arts Award Foundation. In July 2013, she was promoted to an Officer of the Order of Canada.

In 2017, Margie received a Distinguished Artist Award (Dancer/ Choreographer) from the Montreal 2017 International Society for the Performing Arts.

===

Troy Ogilvie

troyogilvie.squarespace.com/meet

Troy Ogilvie dances, teaches, choreographs and directs.

She currently dances solos by Margie Gillis and Itzik Galili, teaches primarily in New York Cirty, creates choreography wherever will have her, and is a Creative Director for The McKittrick Hotel’s (home of Sleep No More) SUPERCINEMA parties.

Troy has danced for and collaborated with choreographers – Andrea Miller, Sidra Bell, Zoe Scofield, Gabriel Forestieri, Idan Sharabi, Itzik Galili, Shannon Gillen, Margie Gillis (as a participant in The Legacy Project/Le Projet Heritage), Austin McCormick, Harumi Terayama, Malcom Low, Patricia Noworol, and Belinda McGuire; violinist – Liv Heym; theater company – Punchdrunk; and director – Peter Sellers.

In 2013, Troy toured internationally with the LA Philharmonic, performing the role of "Mary" in Peter Sellars' "The Gospels According to the Other Mary,"composed by John Adams. She also collaborated with violinist Liv Heym in "Music in Dialogue with Movement", creating a duet inspired by tango and tarantella. In 2014, she performed in The Metropolitan Opera’s production of “Prince Igor” with choreography by Itzik Galili. From 2013-2015, Troy performed as Lady Macbeth alongside Nicholas Bruder’s Macbeth in Punchdrunk’s “Sleep No More.” Troy has continued with Sleep No More’s special events team as rehearsal director, assistant to the choreographer, performer, and choreographer.

In 2015, Troy performed inPatricia Noworol’s “Replacement Place” at New York Live Arts and toured the piece to Germany.

Troy is currently working with zoe I juniper on a new work, “Clear & Sweet.”

As a dancer for Gallim Dance (2007-2012), Troy was an original cast member in I Can See Myself in Your Pupil (2008), BLUSH (2009), Wonderland (2010), For Glenn Gould (2011), Mama Call (2011), and Sit, Kneel, Stand (2012).

As rehearsal director for Gallim Dance, Troy rehearsed Andrea Miller's work with NYU Tisch, Ballet Hispanico, The Juilliard School, The Steps Ensemble, The School at Jacob's Pillow, New Jersey Dance Theater Ensemble and Vancouver's Art's Umbrella.

She taught Gallim Dance master classes at Wesleyan University, Barnard University, and Skidmore College. Working with Sidra Bell Dance NY (2007-2010) resulted in solo work, Overtures (2009), as well as Chimeras (2008), House Unrest (2009), Revue (2010), and Beautiful Beast: The Other Face (2010).

As a teacher, Troy has offered her classes at Gina Gibney 280 Broadway, the Movement Invention Project, The Performing Arts Project (Panorama), Rutgers University, New Jersey Dance Theater Ensemble, and Brooklyn’s Dancewave.

She has choreographed on Contemporary Dance Wyoming, less than greater than (2016), and has choreographed solos in collaboration with Lauren Wingenroth as a fulfillment of Barnard graduation Galatea (2015), for Andrea Murillo as a part of The Current Sessions, Volume IV, Issue II legacy part one (2014).

Troy is a Founding Collaborator, Faculty Member and was Program Manager of the Movement Invention Project (Artistic Director, Alexandra Wells).

Troy is the Assistant to the Artistic Director and Board Member of Springboard Danse Montreal.

A native of New Jersey, Troy began dancing with ballet, tap, jazz, and musical theater and graduated from The Juilliard School in 2007.

Sad Luchadora - Limited Edition of 25 - One Color Screen Print - A5 - Artwork by Karl Addison by Karl Addison

5

For More Information

shop.idrawalot.com/

www.etsy.com/shop/idrawalot

en.dawanda.com/shop/partybots

selekkt.com/f/manufacturer/1061

www.idrawalot.com/

Sad Luchadora - Limited Edition of 25 - One Color Screen Print - A5 - Artwork by Karl Addison

Paper Color: White - Matt

Ink Color: Black

Edition: 25

Size: A5

Weight: 250g/m2

Artwork by Karl Addison

For More Information:

www.partybots.org/

www.idrawalot.com/

********************************************************************************

As Karl Addison’s art and vision evolves—from blank slate, to paper, to mural, to installation, to unoccupied public space—our understanding and comprehension of the world around us begins to unfold as well. We may not notice his input, infiltrating our subconscious—our everyday—but it’s there. A beautiful woman’s face composed of negative space watching peacefully over a cemetery in Wedding, a fragile old Jewish woman towering over a decommissioned factory in Berlin, an urban zoo of imagined creatures deposited all over the globe, an abandoned room filled with 4,500 fat babies…Addison’s art and commentary on history and culture are everywhere, becoming part of the collective unconscious.

Through his travels to Italy, Israel, Japan, throughout the US, and his current residence in Berlin, Addison’s overarching theme of people and the spaces they occupy and interact with has taken shape. By focusing on pieces, which work to become part of public space rather than interrupt it, his intent to create regenerative art through murals and other mediums is being actualized. He has achieved this both independently and collaboratively with other contemporary artists and painters, most notably James Boullough. Addison’s recent and current collaborative projects also highlight his more narrowed focus of interconnectedness, “connecting humanity around the world with different cultures from different places,” he wants us to value tiny lines, details, to appreciate a world view and hopefully, start extolling minute details of our own.

It takes an extraordinary person, one with talent, courage, and patience, to express himself the way Addison does. To project his voice and vision for the world to see—to rip it out of a sketch book or a blank page in his mind—and produce it. To take it beyond the two-dimensional and spray paint, wheat paste, bomb, the side of a building with an illimitable piece of art. To exhibit in public space—on walls, on clothing, in art galleries—what a beautiful fucking thing. Art—“a new mode of obtaining power of mind over mind” leaving the watching to the watched.

- written by jennifer weitman

Eye Dazzler II 2015 --- Will Wilson (Navajo) by Caffe_Paradiso

6

Inspired by a wool eye dazzler rug woven by his grandmother in the 1970s, Wilson made his rug with 76,050 4mm glass beads, taking over 1000 hours of artistic labour. The work speaks to the notion of digital arising from both human hands and new media. At the centre of this classic handwoven Navajo rug design, two central QR codes link to short videos that affirm the continuance of Diné cosmologies and ecologies as well as the multi-dimensional and interconnectedness with earthly, celestial, human and spiritual relations that Indigenous peoples carry.

Tiny Bubbles, side view close-up by Thaneeya McArdle

11 2

Title: Tiny Bubbles (side view close-up)

Size: 6" x 9"

Medium: Ink on Paper

Artist: Thaneeya McArdle

The theme of this highly charged drawing is the mythic concept of existence and consciousness. An array of variously-sized bubbles floats across a black starry cosmos. Inside the bubbles are elaborately-detailed psychedelic eyes, each one bursting with a special uniqueness. The composition of this piece represents the interconnectedness of life amidst our apparent individualities. This drawing is incredibly detailed! My abstract artwork is very process-oriented and carries a spiritual meaning related to the mystery of existence and a reverence for the unfolding process of life. The designs in this drawing arose spontaneously in a stream-of-consciousness manner. While working on drawings that are this detailed, I become so immersed in the work that drawing the images becomes a meditative process through which I strive to achieve balance amidst chaos (similar to the concept of mushin). The colors and designs arise spontaneously and reflect my interest in tribal and aboriginal art, specifically in the act of storytelling through nonrepresentational means. My abstract art is also heavily inspired by my world travels, particularly my visits to remote tribal villages in the Kutch region of India, as well as my visits to temples and roadside shrines in Sri Lanka, India, and Nepal.

You can see the full image in my photostream <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/thaneeya/2845738534/" here.

Isabella Kirkland by Christopher Michel

3

Isabella Kirkland stands at the intersection of art and natural history, a painter who has dedicated her life to documenting the fragile and often overlooked corners of the living world. From her home in Sausalito, she lives aboard the Yellow Ferry, an historic 1888 paddlewheel boat moored in Richardson Bay. The water around her residence serves as a constant reminder of nature’s rhythms, a daily tide chart written across the pilings and reflected light. Each day she makes her way to a floating studio nearby, a space surrounded by the same waters that shape her daily life and provide the shifting light in which she paints.

Kirkland’s art is driven by a devotion to species that most people never notice, and to others that are perilously close to vanishing. Her paintings emerge from long hours of research and observation. She studies preserved specimens in natural history collections, pores over taxonomic records, and spends time in the field. Out of this careful study come works that are both meticulous in detail and emotionally resonant. Her canvases teem with life. Fish, insects, orchids, lichens, and deep sea creatures appear together in arrangements that suggest both abundance and fragility.

One of her most celebrated projects, the “Taxa” series, grouped species by their ecological status: extinct, endangered, threatened, or newly discovered. Seen together, the panels resemble devotional altarpieces. Each species is presented as worthy of reverence, and their collective presence carries a sense of mourning as well as wonder. Other series have focused on pollinators, tropical organisms, and overlooked plants. Each body of work is an act of preservation, pulling subjects from the margins of field notes and placing them firmly in the cultural imagination.

Her choice to live on the Yellow Ferry and to paint in a floating studio is as deliberate as the choice of her subjects. Life on the water roots her in an environment that requires constant awareness of natural cycles. The tides lift and lower her home each day, storms rattle the harbor, and seabirds sweep overhead. In her floating studio, the light shifts across the bay and fills the room where she works. The setting has become both sanctuary and observatory, a place where art and ecology meet in real time.

Her practice is slow, layered, and deliberate. She begins with a concept, then sketches species into arrangements that reflect both science and imagination. Each organism is painted with fidelity to its anatomy, yet the compositions carry a sense of poetry. What emerges is not simple illustration but meditation, a luminous reminder of the interconnectedness of life and the precariousness of its continuance.

Kirkland’s paintings have found their way into museums, collections, and conservation dialogues. Scientists look to her work as a way of showing biodiversity that goes beyond charts and data tables. For broader audiences, her canvases open a door into the extraordinary richness of the natural world. They invite a kind of seeing that lingers. Viewers often stand before her paintings for long stretches, absorbing the tension between beauty and loss, awe and lament.

Living and painting on the water has given her life a clarity of focus. The rhythms of Richardson Bay echo in her brushwork, in her patience, in her determination to bear witness. She paints not to instruct but to offer presence, a sustained act of attention in a distracted world. In her hands, art becomes a vessel for memory, science becomes an act of devotion, and the living world becomes something to hold, even as it slips away.