A Wolverine Abroad: Churches Churches Everywhere…

Mantova (Mantua)
Mantova (Mantua)

Yesterday I visited the town of Mantova and learned exactly how it felt to be really hungry in one of the yummiest countries in the world, and trapped inside churches and museums most of the day. It does not feel good, let me tell you. Not only are you famished, but you feel bad because instead of thinking, “ooo what an interesting painting” you are thinking, “I think this town is famous for pumpkin stuffed tortellini. As soon as this is over I’m finding the closest restaurant that serves it and ordering four plates!” That is not what one should be thinking while standing inside a ducal palace that consists of three separate time periods of construction and style, but what can you do? That being said, I would like to tell you about a building that we visited that as part of my art history class. And like 75% of the buildings you visit in Italy, this building is a famous church. Basilica di Sant’Andrea di Mantova to be exact.

We visited Saint Andrea’s because it was designed by Leo Battista Alberti, who was a famous Renaissance humanist figure. His works are among those that initiated the renaissance and produced aspects of the art and architecture that were later to be known as the high Renaissance. One of the most famous churches in Florence, Santa Maria Novella, has a façade designed by him which, like many of his works, was criticized by the catholic church for making buildings that seemed to resemble pagan temples. His humanist style using classical themes was trailblazing in what would become the most recognized architecture style of the Renaissance.

This class I’m in, so far at least, has only studied the artists and times leading up to the renaissance, and since my interests are more of the late Renaissance and Baroque periods, I have been kind of bored and haven’t really enjoyed the churches we’ve seen. But this one I feel is among one of my favorites in Italy. The façade had me guessing, because I thought it was strange and unfitting for its position in the city and its reputation. The façade itself was added later and instead of being put directing on the church’s face it is separated from the church by a large open barrel vault, which I admit is impressive. The geometric spacing and lack of decoration, however, leave me wanting more.

This feeling disappeared soon after walking inside Sant Andrea. This is one of few churches with one large center aisle, or nave. And it is wonderful! Right now the entire nave is covered by scaffolding, so you can’t see past four feet above your head. But walking to the main space at the front of the church and standing under the dome; that is amazing. Alberti designed a window on the roof of the church, in a structural feature called a “cappellone” or “ombrellone” (“big top” or “big umbrella”). This window fills the crossing point under the dome with so much light that reflects to the apse and the chapels adjacent to it. It is magnificent. The decoration is rich and luxurious like always and it’s finally reached the point in time where gold is toned down and the church is more elegant than gaudy. Thank you, Renaissance, for freeing us from the madness of the middle ages!

So what is it that I look for in a church? It isn’t a great priest or a certain faith. It isn’t the right crowd or food. It isn’t even the best artist. I just want something that will make me feel at peace and interested at the same time. Something beautiful that doesn’t go overboard. It’s not too much to ask, is it? Looking around at all of the “greatest” old catholic churches, I sometimes would rather have stayed outside (San Marco’s for instance…). But I have to say, I would pay to go back and see this one, especially after the scaffolding is gone and the restoration has made it even better! I would enjoy seeing more of Alberti’s works, especially I they are in this region, because that way I won’t spend a sack of cash to get to them.

I hope you enjoyed my art history lesson for today! J

Ciao ciao!

Danny Fob

Your Wolverine Abroad Blogger

(The pumpkin stuffed tortellini was AMAZING by the way).

The Death of Classical Music

Let’s talk a little about the death of classical music. Because nothing pushes my buttons more than to suggest that classical music is dead. It’s my humble opinion that “classical” music has just adapted a new name, place, and time. It’s just as relevant as Adele, and just as emotionally potent.

Now I use air quotes around the word “classical” because it’s such a misnomer. True Classical Music, with a capital C, refers to the music produced exclusively in the time period from about 1750-1820. It’s when people like Mozart and Haydn were active. Now, I love me a little Mozart as much as the next guy, but that music is old. It’s great, but it’s very, very old. We live in a modern day society, right? And there are still some orchestras around playing this “classical” music? So where are our Mozarts and Haydns? Where are the people producing music that speaks to us as a modern generation? And the answer…well it requires a little history lesson.

Im old and Im sad about it
"I'm old and I'm morose about it"

Near the beginning of the Twentieth Century, composers started to get a little ambitious. They were fed up with the old style and how music followed exact patterns, so they started to push the boundaries of music more and more. This meant a lot of things (levels of complexity in the music started to pick up, composers started doing some weird things) but suffice to say, listeners’ reactions were all across the charts. Some people cheered on this new music, others rioted at the premieres (See: Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring). Music really started to push some buttons, go farther and father out, and the audience started to deplete a bit.

All the while, this crazy thing called “jazz” started popping up.

Pictured: this crazy thing called jazz
Pictured: "this crazy thing called jazz"

And by the 1950s, we’ve got jazz and folk music and r&b and full on rock and roll. All of these genres outside of classical music. We have the creation of what is now referred to as “”pop music.” Because of a lot of factors, audiences grew to like this music in much greater numbers than the “classical” composers of the time. This created a bit of tension between these two groups. And you can still feel that tension now. Fans of “classical” music are quick to point out that their music is much more intelligent and high-class. Fans of pop music criticize classical music as being lofty, boring, and much too stuck up.

Anyway, this is a huge oversimplification that sets the scene for where classical music went to. A bunch of young kids were raised on pop music AND classical music. They grew up loving the Beatles just as much as Beethoven. And they eventually went to school for music, but wanted to breech this barrier that separated the music they loved. A whole group of composers wanted to create music that wasn’t just “classical,” but was rather true to all the music that they enjoyed.

The answer to this in the 60s and 70s was a movement called minimalism. This music favored repetitive structures, a unifying process to create a piece, and mixed instrumentation (that is, whoever the composers could find to play their music). The sound owed a lot to rock music, african music, and eastern thought. The idea was that you could experience music in a very different time structure―something that hinted at a much more primal and basic human level. Repetition was a natural human sensation that could be exploited through music. A great example of this aesthetic is Steve Reich:

Or Phillip Glass:

Personally, I find a lot of beauty in this music. It’s incredibly simple, but really quite striking.

But how about people that are even younger than that? Members of the new generation? Well, let’s start with one of the most well-known groups, the Bang-on-a-Can All Stars. This is a New-York based group that pioneered the idea of a classical “band.” They have a set instrumentation and tour with new music being produced by composers and artists that want to collaborate. Here is a piece by a Bang-on-a-Can composer and professor of composition at The Yale School of Music, David Lang-

Notice the beat-based structure that sounds a lot closer to prog rock than it does Beethoven. And yet, David Lang is a classically trained composer, one that has studied all the greats. He is trying to write music that he wants to hear, regardless of what kind of genre it falls under.

Todd Reynolds is another name I’ll throw out as well. Reynolds is a composer and a violinist also out of New York. He writes in a way very similar to David Lang, which is to say he ignores boundaries of genre and just writes what he wants to hear.

It’s also worth noting the artists that aren’t considered to be composers in the classical tradition. This means people and groups like Sufjan Stevens, Arcade Fire, Radiohead, Bjork, and the Dirty Projectors. These folks all owe a lot to this weird classical tradition, and, I would argue, are some of the great composers of our time. Songs like The Age of Adz, by Sufjan Stevens are just great demonstrators of this.

Besides the obvious instrumentation that owes itself to the classical realm, Stevens’ whole aesthetic is informed by the shifting timbres, experimentation, and the violent energy that modern classical music has.

To mention these artists and not mention their backup groups would quite a travesty. These artists, like Sufjan, often enlist help from musicians who are also active in the classical community. See Colin Stetson or yMusic as great examples. Stetson has toured and recorded with Arcade Fire, Tom Waits, TV on the Radio, Yeasayer, and a whole host of other “non-classical” groups. But he also operates his own solo efforts, which are incredibly well thought out and simply amazing to listen to. They are certainly within an experimental classical tradition:

He uses his instrument (bass saxophone) to its full potential, exploiting it to generate all sorts of sounds that you wouldn’t think could come from a bass sax. This is a huge scores aspect of the modern classical aesthetic―experimentation with generating new and interesting sounds from instruments that simply weren’t made to do such things.

Along the same lines, yMusic is a group of musicians who have toured and recorded with the likes of Sufjan Stevens, The National, Grizzly Bear, Bon Iver, Bjork, and lots of other awesome acts as well. Here they are performing with Shara Worden (yet another one of these genre bending artists who are just CRAZY GOOD)

yMusic was founded with the idea of overlapping the pop and classical worlds, an endeavor sometimes referred to as “indie-classical” or “post-classical.” I just see it as great music played by great musicians.

So. Classical music. Dead? Not at all. The musicians and composers trained to be “classical” have just created a new world in music where genre doesn’t exist. You can find these academically trained composers writing just about anything these days, from indie rock to orchestral concert music. Good music is good music, regardless of what people call it. Classical music never died. It just became more relevant.

Bear Parade (1): Nosferatu

“His feet keep walking.

A lonely night.“

I’m going to start a series of posts about bearparade.com, because I really like bears’ parading and feel like maybe not a lot of people know about bears’ parading (?) and feel like it ‘deserves’ attention. Did you know bears parade? I didn’t until like a month ago.

“3. People who have gotten published at Bear Parade know that literature is dead, it has gone the way of painting, poetry, jazz, sculpture, and heavy metal, it is dead. But like learning that there [is] no god, a new freedom arises, knowing that the audience will never be that big again, gives a new view on the literature, I’m not sure if Bear Parade has a correct or incorrect view, but it is a new view, of fun mixed with existential hell.”

Bearparade.com is, basically, a website with free semi-amateurish fiction and poetry on it. Its type of writing is ‘writing that people who seriously read Steven King novels wouldn’t like probably.’ Or ‘writing that people who “read seriously” in general probably wouldn’t like.’ Or ‘the only literary writing people who grew up w/ internet access and w/ unexplained subconscious disdain towards classic books and literature in general could maybe read w/ genuine enjoyment.’

What excites me about bears’ parading is that it seems like the type of writing that people who don’t generally read could maybe read and enjoy.

I like to read—I read both ‘serious literature’ and ‘semi-amateurish stuff on the internet’ and enjoy both—and bears’ parading is the only material I feel like I could earnestly share w/ friends who don’t read.

As a person who reads, I consciously try not to get atop altitudinous horses and tell people that they ‘should’ read. Truly nobody really ‘should’ read; some people must read, because it’s, like, required for their job or something, but nobody really should just feel compelled to read thick novels just because reading thick novels is ostensibly eo ipso good, I feel. But, as person who reads but doesn’t like to tell other people to, I feel like I could earnestly tell someone who doesn’t read that they should read bearparade.com, because I would feel like I’m telling them to do something that’ll result in genuine enjoyment, not telling them to do something that’ll result in ‘enjoyment from fulfilling societal pressures to read oddslot because reading supposedly means you’re an intelligent, artsy, cultured person.’ (It’s a huge, commonly held fallacy that reading is just automatically always a good thing. Like, “I should read The Great Gatsby because reading The Great Gatsby is intrinsically good.” No. Don’t ever read just because you ‘feel like you should read more,’ ever.)

Noah Cicero’s “Nosferatu” is a bear in the aforementioned parade of bears. I’ve decided to write about “Nosferatu” first in my series of posts about bears’ parading because my house is having a ‘vampire party’ this weekend and vampires currently feel relevant to me.

“In a city that does not require a name.

The city has a McDonalds, Wal-Mart, several municipal parks, sewage, city-water, garbage men, coffee shops, several colleges, coffee shops, and even some poets. The city has obese women who sweat when it is hot outside, it has men who think their haircut is more important than commerce, and it has cats who shit in litter boxes and never know the touch of grass on their paws.

This is where Nosferatu walks. “

‘Relevance’ is really important for writing online—that’s one thing I’ve been figuring out, by reading / writing online.

I posted the first page of “Nosferatu” to my house’s vampire party’s Facebook wall, in relevance. Posting “Nosferatu” to a party wall seems like a good example of how I feel bears’ parading is suitable for people who maybe don’t like to read. I would never post, like, a James Joyce excerpt to a party wall. But “Nosferatu” seemed somehow suitable. I would never post, like, an excerpt from Bram Stoker’s Dracula to a party wall.

The writing on bearparade.com is like that friend whom you feel comfortable bringing to a party because she’s cool and can handle herself and won’t embarrass you, whereas ‘serious literature’ is like that friend you feel uncomfortable partying with because, although he’s your good friend and you really like him, he can only handle himself in a few limited social contexts and situations, which is fine, but parties aren’t included in his relatively small social ‘comfort zone.’

I.e.: James Joyce is the awkward guy w/ whom I can’t party, Noah Cicero is the guy who maybe would be too cool to party w/ me.

“Nosferatu’s” word length is probably in the ‘short-story’ range, but the way it’s spaced out—it has a weird style that utilizes very short paragraphs that have like only one or two sentences each—and its presence on the internet instead of on cut-down trees makes me want to arbitrarily call it a ‘novella.’

“Nosferatu” is a ‘novella,’ by Noah Cicero.

“Nosferatu looks sad and says, “Why is everyone criticizing me?”

Leo in an exasperated tone of voice says, “Because you have done nothing in years. Not since the fall of Rome have you done anything. It is like you’ve been depressed for 1500 years.”

I used to wear an uniform.”

“Nosferatu” really doesn’t have anything to do with vampires. Cicero’s choice of a vampire-lord protagonist is arbitrary, which is funny. Bears’ parading is arbitrary, which is funny. I just read “Cicero’s” and pictured the Roman political guy instead of the internet author guy. Which is…

“Nosferatu” is arbitrarily set in a city “that does not require a name.” As our world continues to homogenize—(e.g. there’s supposedly now a McDonald’s very close to the Great Pyramid of Giza)— it no longer seems to matter whether something is set in New York or Berlin or Chicago or wherever; all these places = ‘city’ now. Noah Cicero seems to know that [bunch of different cities] = ‘city’ now, which makes me think he’s smart.

Cicero picks a vampire-lord for a protagonist because the character is dark and detached and badass—and that’s all there is to his decision, it seems. “Nosferatu” just as easily could have been “Holden Caufield” or something. On bearparade.com, it seems the writers pay less attention to trying to make every detail and nuance of their stories ‘make perfect sense’ and pay more attention to trying to write things real people—instead of just, like, English professors—will actually want to read, for genuine enjoyment, which seems very good to me.

By Googling “bear parade” I found some words from Cicero himself about why he likes bears’ parading, and I share his sentiments (literally [get it?]):

“Why I like Bear Parade

1. Bear Parade does not publish idiots. Idiots can write well, an idiot can construct a 1000 page plot full of great poetic beautiful sentences, and still be an idiot. When Gene Morgan reads a submission and it is well written yet idiotic, he says, “This person is a [trucking grasshole (what’s the rules for profanity on arts, ink anyway?)],” and does not publish it.

2. People who write for Bear Parade do not take themselves seriously. People who write for Bear Parade don’t go around calling themselves writers and acting like bookish asses, and learn the names of really obscure shitty authors so they can sound cool inside of a coffee shop. There is no such thing as a “writer”, it doesn’t exist, it is like the word “cowboy”, it is a myth made up by movies to sell movies for the sake of profit. There is nothing awesome about a person sitting alone at a typewriter or computer, they are sitting, alone, their fingers are moving, that scene in that Rimbaud movie with him upstairs in the cold writing, that is really lame, it is a myth made up by the media.

3. People who have gotten published at Bear Parade know that literature is dead, it has gone the way of painting, poetry, jazz, sculpture, and heavy metal, it is dead. But like learning that there no god, a new freedom arises, knowing that the audience will never be that big again, gives a new view on the literature, I’m not sure if Bear Parade has a correct or incorrect view, but it is a new view, of fun mixed with existential hell.”

He goes on, but those first three points seem like the main reason to like–or dislike–bears’ parading. I imagine the bearparade style is not everyone’s cup of tea. But I personally find it refreshing to read something different, on the internet, with nicely colored font. Because I get bored of reading 12 pt.-Times-New-Roman canonical books printed on paper sometimes.

“Ako says, “Nos, you have to listen to me: Leo wants the power. And you don’t want it. You should just let him have it.”

“They are all short, flaccid penises.”

“One last question Nosferatu, do you want to be the vampire-king?”

Nosferatu stands up and says, “I have always been king,” and walks out of the room.”


18th C. Expose of Female Artists

Melissa Hyde’s challenge to “cherchez la femme” defines 18th Century views on femininity within the context of a hostile masculine world; even the colloquial implication of the phrase indicates the accusatory and suspicious dismissal of female influence that confined women artists like Vallayer-Coster, Labille-Guiard, and Vigée-Le Brun.  Hyde’s thesis makes the case that the problem with the modern lack of visibility of 18th Century female artists does not rest in any shortage of women painters, but rather the limitations put in place by institutions like the Académie and the Salon that obstructed any significant advancement in the profession.  The combination of this intrinsic “culpability” of the female and the hindrances to professional acceptance are weighed on opposite sides of Elizabeth-Louise Vigée-Le Brun’s Madame Rousseau et sa fille, from the side of the painter and of the sitter.  Paradoxically, Vigée-Le Brun does the work of capturing the confines of a woman’s space while still being a successful, albeit scandalous, artist.

Gill Perry’s introduction to gender and art history charges the reader with not only assessing the constructs of femininity that can be gleaned from visual representations of women, but also contemporary definitions of masculinity.  An unintentional glimpse into this duality can be gained through the Louvre’s current mistranslation of Vigée-Le Brun’s work, which lists Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille as “Madame Rousseau and His Daughter.”  The emphasis on an external masculine possession is fitting, particularly if Perry’s aspect of the “role of gender in the physical or social environment” is considered.  Madame Rousseau inhabits the role of mother and, consequentially, dutiful wife.  Her daughter appears as more of a prop to support Madame Rousseau’s apparent fecundity; the little girl is

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held up by the mother but is still forced toward the back of the painting, is mostly covered by shadow, and does not look toward the viewer.  Despite motherhood being more or less Madame Rousseau’s ‘profession,’ it is still a private space.  Vigée-Le Brun’s own self-portraits even supersede her actual career in place of motherhood; similar to Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille, her role as a mother is what defines her.

Presumably, Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille would have been commissioned by Madame Rousseau’s husband, the architect of the Palais de le Légion d’Honneur, Pierre Rousseau.  This normative representation of femininity twists the typical definition of the male “gaze” into a purely dominating form, sans overt sexuality.  Monsieur Rousseau’s commission would have given him a work that placed his wife in a respectable context and reminded the viewer of her position within the confines of the Rousseau family.  This subtle confining of the woman is reflective of the diverting of male concern over the power of female sexuality with references to maternity that Geraldine A. Johnson writes about in her essay on Marie de’ Medici.  Like Marie de’ Medici’s allusions to fertility and the Virgin Mary, Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille extirpates any “culpability” of the female sex with the placement of the daughter in what is essentially a portrait of Madame Rousseau.

Vigée-Le Brun’s position as the painter of this work, however, does not necessarily lend her to accusations of being complacent to this misogyny.  Her status as the chosen portraitist of Marie Antoinette would have gained her no ground with the revolutionaries or the conservatives who wished to ground women within the home.  Vigée-Le Brun may have been painting a portrait of a woman within the private sphere, but ultimately the fact remains that a female was the one being commissioned.

Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille
Madame Rousseau et Sa Fille

Ode to the Local Bookstore

Now that the sun has decided to show its face in Ann Arbor again, State Street has been reanimated.  Everyone is back– all of the people eating ice cream on the sidewalk, the guy playing guitar on the corner, and my personal favorite, the man who sells books outside of Amer’s.  This man and I have a very complicated relationship.  I love his prices and the books he has on display (sometimes with the sign “Good Books $5, Bad Books $10), but I also hate him, because I cannot walk by that table without buying a book.  And just like that, another bit of my non-disposable income has been spent on A Prayer for Owen Meany.

The sidewalk bookseller makes me undeniably happy not just because he has great prices and reminds me of the best parts of Ann Arbor but also because he is like my local bookseller.  Yes, I go to and adore Dawn Treader, but the sidewalk bookseller is directly on my way to and from home, and he becomes a part of my day just as much as a trip to the grocery store or CVS.  That’s how reading should be.  Digesting good literature should be just as important as digesting a turkey sandwich.

I love local bookstores.  I do miss Borders, in all its corporate accessibility, but there is something so personal and beautiful about searching for and eventually finding the exact book you’re looking for.  There’s a history in a dog-eared paperback that you don’t get with a clean, crisp first edition.  I think there is a place on my bookshelf for both shiny books with their binding in tact as well as well-worn, well-read books that have passed from person to person.  And without that search for the book you want, you might never accidentally stumble upon another treasure.  You might find something you never knew you were looking for.

One thing I’ve noticed about the sidewalk bookseller, the cashier at Dawn Treader, and the workers at nearly every other local bookstore I’ve visited, is that they love books.  And they love to talk about books too.  That is what we lose by ordering from Amazon or going into Barnes and Noble.  Sure, you can go online and engage in discussion in some forum or on a fansite, but you won’t get that same spontaneous gut reaction that you get when the person ringing you up notices that you bought their favorite book and they can’t help but gush about it.

The simple beauty of the local bookstore is unmatched.Locally-owned bookstores can be a vital part of a community.  I am obsessed with the website McSweeney’s, and they are often advertising readings and tours that take place exclusively in small, local bookstores.  By integrating a bookstore into the community, it becomes uniquely specific to that community’s needs and feel.  A bookstore you find in Ann Arbor won’t look the same as a bookstore you find in rural Pennsylvania won’t look the same as a bookstore you find in Southern California.  That’sjust the nature of book buying and selling.  The store’s tone and focus depends on the seller, the buyer, and their relationship with one another.

I understand why Amazon is taking over the world.  I do.  It’s convenient, it’s cheap, and you have pretty much anything you could ever want right at your fingertips.  But Amazon can never replace the physical bookstore.  At least not spiritually,emotionally, whatever you want to call it.  I know this is an argument that has been beaten to death a million times over.  If you search “Amazon vs bookstores” you get six million results.  But I think it is an important thing to think about.

When you go shopping for clothes, you want to try the clothes on, right?  That’s how I feel about shopping for books.  I want the one that feels right.  You probably have a certain brand of electronics you trust.  The same holds for books for me.  There are certain booksellers who I know I can turn to to find what I need, at a price that fits my needs, and I will enjoy my entireexperience when purchasing said book.  Bookstores are about books.  That is obvious.  But that’s not all.  Bookstores are about the experience.  I am convinced that having local bookstores inspires lifetime readers.  I know that I am a more avid reader because of the experiences I had picking out books at the local stores growing up.  When a child sees the passion that a group of people have for reading, they want to understand what that is about and hopefully become a part of it.

So, I guess what I’m saying is, thank you sidewalk bookseller, thank you Dawn Treader, thank you Olympia Books in Dowagiac, Michigan, for reminding me why I fell in love with books in the first place.

A Wolverine Abroad: And the Art Fair Returns with a Burst of Color!

Yeah, so this isn’t food like I promised. I know I could talk to you for hours about food, but I didn’t end up going anywhere fancy this week. I did however cook a huge delicious meatloaf, my contest complimented  parmesan mashed potatoes, and real American biscuits made from Bisquick, imported in a care package of a friend. Basically, a delicious American meal to give me a break from the Italian food. It is amazing, I know, but sometimes there is just too much pasta! So for this week I would like to show you another artist I discovered at the art fair. Name: Sandy Skoglund. Media: I’m not really sure…photos? Sculpture? Both? Will someone tell me?

What I like so much about this artist is the use of color and repeating shapes. The use of certain shapes and objects, such as popcorn, squirrels, fish, and babies creates a landscape that is so impressive and so interesting. I think these images provide us with a new way to view the space that we occupy and even the objects that accompany us.

The bold colors in this work, red and yellow, are almost shocking to your eyes, which adds so much to the actual representation of the photo. The man is cowering in fear under a stool being surrounded by the tiny army men he once played with. The picture is like pain and fear, red and yellow, plastic and flesh. The tiny little details that went into making this must have been incredibly infuriating. Every angle and every position exactly perfect to create these feelings. Just amazing.

And then an image like this comes along and you see the contrast of colors and light, nature and humanity, melancholy and hopeful dreaming. The flying orange fish are like something out of a dream world, while the cold blue plastic furniture and light give us the image of a sad point in the figure’s life. It really is so deep and fantastic

Speaking of nature and humanity, look at this mesh of the two. The mixture of the sculptures and the human figures, the trees that walk like us, the creation of forms from the natural elements and from the same clay (or whatever media it is) as the rest of the landscape. And Skoglund uses colors like I’ve never seen before. She puts them next to each other and dares you to think deeper, pushes you to imagine what you can do with these colors.

All in all, she is fantastic. I have been putting her name into the search bar and the images that come up are just fabulous. I would definitely recommend taking a look. I know you all just got back from Spring Break (which I don’t get till Easter by the way) and that you have midterms, but give her a quick ten minutes. You won’t be sorry!

Ciao ciao!
Danny Fob
Your Wolverine Abroad Blogger

Ciao ciao!

Danny Fob

Your Wolverine Abroad Blogger