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The Art of Wedded Bliss

Sarah Ogar Leave a comment

Last year, on July 7 my sister got married.  It was fun.  It was fabulous. And it was most definitely themed.  In fact, one of the first things that people asked my sister when they found out she was engaged was, “So what are you colors? And have you picked a venue?”

In essence, if you had to pick something (besides you and your fiancee, who this whole shindig is about) to encapsulate your nuptials, what would it be?

After a lot of trial and error, my sister eventually found a venue, picked her colors (pink and green) and created a fairytale wedding at Meadowbrook Hall in Rochester.

The Best Part!!
The Best Part!!

One year later, with my family still recovering, my older brother pops the question to his significant other and we are back in the throes of the wedding industry.  Theirs will also be fairytale, but with slight alterations.

I could be a curmudgeon and talk about the commodity fetish in relation to all things wedding, but instead I think it is worth acknowledging the undoubtable aesthetics of weddings.  They are almost like grand architectural, musical, floral feats of greatness, are they not?

This ‘Peter Pan-themed Wedding’ on Buzzfeed is one that will knock your stockings off.  Time and time again I am amazed at the small details that create weddings.  They are often like huge bacchanalian paintings but with sound and more dancing and (sometimes) more wine.   And while you’re at one of these things, it’s almost hard to appreciate the setting, when the thing itself (the marriage ceremony) has all of your attention.

But when considering a wedding as ‘art’, I proceed with caution only because it is undoubtedly one of the most profitable industries out there.  If wedding planners and event coordinators are ‘artists’ then they have definitely sold out to the Man (or the Woman as is often the case).

In one of my classes, we are examining the theme parks of DisneyWorld in all of its fairytale glory.  I plan to focus my research on Cinderella’s Castle and Disney Weddings*.  If you want to talk about themes, there is no theme so ubiquitous as the fairytale and no conglomerate more suited to this theme than Disney Weddings.

*When adding the Disney Wedding link, their site was so beautiful and so enchanting, I was almost tempted to click the ‘Let’s Begin Designing Your Disney Wedding’ button, even though I am not engaged, going steady, or casually dating anyone at the moment  :/

“Icona’s Ball”: insight or violence?

Taylor 1 Comment

I know Icona Pop through frat party spectacle’s, angsty/mainstream dance parties, clubbing, working out–basically every occasion of my life can be narrated by, “I DON’T CARE, I LOVE IT.” Or really just “I don’t care . . . .”
Due to the nature of this song, I didn’t expect much from Icona Pop’s newest song/video combo, “All Night.” I was looking for another outlet for my “poor” angsty privileged self where I can thrive in my suburban ennui, hiding in my one bedroom apartment inside of my full-size bed. But I was pleasantly surprised and intrigued, and full of feelings. I love song-screaming and I love new anthems but there were just so many damn feelings, so little time. I’ve watched the video over and over and I can’t tell how exactly I feel.
On one hand, the lyrics make my heart beat faster and I feel that it magically matches the video. Now while the “official video edit” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FWRT9C9XMQ) is  palatable for the average YouTube viewer estranged from queerness in general (coming in around 3 minutes), the better “official extended video” (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LNuNJLlq8eQ) is what really packs the punch–around 5 minutes of personal narratives, the names of the participants (NAMES! SUBJECTS! HUMANS!), and glimpses of people in and outside of the Ball. Lived experience oozes through the pop anthem’s video and it’s as if you’re being sprayed with a bottle of champagne. It’s pretty magical.
But is Icona Pop really paying tribute? And even if they intend to, are they really respecting and not exploiting the Ball scene, queer people, people of color, queer people of color, etc.? Is this trying to reach an audience (obviously) just to raise more profit and have more sales? DOES EVERYTHING STILL SUCK?
I support the Ball scene getting publicity if it’s what it wants. I support all of them having their shining moment for not only the people in the room but the 270,000+ people that have not and will probably never go to a Ball. I support Ball Culture.
But on the other hand, I feel guilting going into the space as a viewer without any real interaction with the humans whose lives depend on the Ball for happiness, community, and solidarity. My gaze is different from the average viewer because I’m queer but my other salient, privileged identities still hold when viewing it. Part way through I feel like I’m watching this beautifully orchestrated video that Capitalism has created: something that seems inclusive of Ball Culture in all of its queerness and diversity but something that is still a bit terrifying. I feel like this video is equating my life with those of the participants and say that I, too, can have this shining day. While this isn’t a bad message I feel like a message of equality is not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for a respectful celebration of difference where I get to celebrate people. That often does not include me, and that’s ok.
The extended cut makes the video purely magical. Although it is no “Paris is Burning” nor is it intending to be, the video portrays the hope and joy found within Balls and I think Icona Pop really show that through their intense, repetitive lyrics and rhythms that there is no room for any option besides a constructed paradise, a better life.

Authorial Intent and ‘The Gershwin Initiative’

Sarah Ogar Leave a comment

If you haven’t heard of it, The Gershwin Initiative is a new collaboration between the Gershwin family (most famously known for George and Ira) and the University of Michigan.  Specifically, U of M has already received the Gershwin Steinway piano, which was made in 1933, purchased in 1934, and played for decades by one of America’s most musically contributive families.

The Gershwin Piano (UM School of Music)
The Gershwin Piano (UM School of Music)

Piano gifts aside, a more critical reason for the collaboration is the creation of a critical edition of the Gershwin songbook.  U of M has been granted full scholarly access to the works, including early versions and supplementary notes to all the pieces.

This may not seem like much to the average music listener, but to put it in comparison, it would be like receiving access to all of Shakespeare’s diaries and sticky-notes (if they had sticky notes in the 17th century) with his comments and thought process laid out in one collection.

It is kind of a big deal.

As an English major and self-proclaimed bibliophile who reads copyright information and dedications before delving into its contents, I am frequently made aware of the editorial contributions of many people even with books written by one author.  And once a book has gone to print, there is also the fact that new editions arise within years (and sometimes months or even weeks).  Decisions are made and contents can be drastically altered.

But I don’t often think this way towards music.  Music is such a prescribed art form, with its rhythmic and timing constraints.  Classical or orchestrated music in particular, always sounds so rigidly controlled.  The musicians have no free reign to alter the music if the conductor does not alter his commands.  And the fact that there can be such varied interpretations of this kind of music befuddles a music neophyte like myself.

Needless to say, I cannot wait to attend one of the accompanying Gershwin events in the coming months.  There is no denying the Gershwin influence on American opera, orchestra, and jazz.  I’ve never heard a Gershwin piece that didn’t make me want to return to a classier, swankier time. In fact, my first Ann Arbor Symphony performance viewing included ‘Cuban Overture’ which stayed in my head for weeks afterwards.   Here’s to musical compilation and collaboration!

Sight, Sound, and Stir

Taylor Leave a comment

An academic talk, I assume, will have a standard format: “Here’s what I’m going to do, here’s me doing it, here’s what I did, questions?” The do/did/done is usually particular research, lots of (beautiful) jargon (#HomoNationalism, #Schizoanalysis, #FungibilityAndAccumulation), and a take away that blows something (my mind, not something (just blows), etc.). I am used to this format. This format gives me comfort. There is a certain formula/art, if you will, to the standard talk.

When the normal academic talk is disrupted, however, by queer-black-dance identity, I know this talk isn’t just an art form but art itself. Here are some signs:
1. There is a Wii controller that, when it moves, adjusts sounds that I’ve never heard before–whirrs and chants and whizzes and vhroooooongs.
2. Every so often the mouse on screen ventures into the unknown, seemingly jumping from the screen onto the board to drag another window (invisible) into plain sight. As if all computer windows are always open but invisible to the naked eye, all information like atoms, tucked away into the smallest depths of reality, the mouse dragged j-stepping videos into plain sight. J-step over here and over there, and all of a sudden the talk stopped to only watch a video (all with accompanying Wii controller controlled sound).
3. Before long all windows flashed away from the screen and a lone Word document lay in our midst. The cursor blinks in a terrifyingly regular way, more steady than my own heart or the internal metronome keeping the Wii controller controlled. Words, fragments, phrases, and identities appear. Are corrected. Disappear. Move on.
4. There is silence. Between words, sentences, remarks, sounds. He stares back at our staring eyes.

Some talks have audio-visual components, but again–”I’m playing this for you, here it is, wow, I just played that–cool.” “OH MY, I’m going to play this video for you, BAM, here it is, AH! it just played.”

This academic talk was less talk more performance art. Hinging on creative interests and experiences as an artist, dancer, queer person of color, it was no surprise that Tomm(ie/y) would disrupt our notions of an academic talk to center himself along the edges, cracks, and space in order to create something that was original and unique. Something that wouldn’t just talk about “Dancing [Black|Queer] Diasporas” but be dancing, black, queer diasporas.

Blackness and Queerness disrupt most things in civil society, if not all things. In my experience they (it, since I identify as Queer) do so in a beautiful way by allowing for more possibilities than first realized.

The talk finished, the questions answered, and then we danced.

We were to dance Black dance insofar as Black dance is an aesthetic style appropriated by some, embodied by some, and rendered (un)intelligible by some. The beat to 212 (by, yes, Azealia Banks) started to play and I knew that this was some pivotal moment in my life. We were beckoned to stand up (if able) and an individual led us through several dance moves that involved hip and bum movement, dropping it low, and sidestepping. We laughed and danced and became community all while the beat beat beat beat beat.

Coming back to campus, coming (back) to academia, and coming back to beloved spaces, it was nice to have a Monday night interrupted with dance, art, performance art, and a big queer audience of which to be a part.

The world said “welcome back” to Ann Arbor and we replied “I guess that . . . gettin eatin.”

Movement Science

Sarah Ogar Leave a comment

Thursday night (September 12) at the Ruthven Natural History Museum, Ann Arbor Danceworks put on an encore performance of Within/Beyond. The show was comprised of modern choreography inspired by scientific research at the University of Michigan and intriguing stories across the disciplines (including my personal favorite, a solo that told the harrowing tale of Henrietta Lacks).

Though I was not moved by a piece where dancers wore pink and orange colored outfits and tossed bouncy balls around (to illustrate the cellular process of autophagy) I was moved by everything else.

My favorite pieces were ‘HeLa’ and ‘From Afar: The Loneliest Star’.

‘HeLa’ was a solo performance that felt more like interpretive dance or spoken word performance. It was essentially the dancer (the beautiful and talented Robin Wilson) boldly telling the world the story of Henrietta Lacks.  Lacks was a cervical cancer patient in the 1950s whose cells and cancer tissue was taken and used without her permission.  “I’m not talking about an arm,” Wilson said, holding up her arm, “Or a leg” she said, bringing her pointed foot up in the air with great precision.  “I am talking about tissue” she said, running her hands down the front of her body.  As Wilson spoke, gesticulated, and brilliantly articulated the injustice of Lacks’s unknown cell donation, I was transfixed in my seat.  Feeling the insides of my body as I breathed and Wilson drew cuts of breath as she flung her hands out, grasping one wrist with the other to physically embody the imprisonment of Lacks’s DNA in the hands of scientists.

‘The Loneliest Star’ was one of three pieces in the ‘From Afar’ suite, all of which centered around the cosmos.  These pieces were by far the most aesthetically pleasing as the dancers moved in unison, creating swirling circles with their light, cream-colored costumes and curved arms.

Lynsey Colden performs in From Afar
Lynsey Colden performs in 'From Afar' Photo credit: Kirk Donaldson

On the whole, it was an eye-opening experience that demonstrated the human-side of science.  Even science that is very vast or very small can be brought to life when enough raw emotion is fostered into dance.

The art of knowing myself

Taylor Leave a comment

Each semester at University has had its distinct theme:
Fall 2011: HOLY SHIT THIS IS COLLEGE. THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GAY, TO FAIL, TO PUT MYSELF OUT THERE, TO NEVER SLEEP, AND TO NEVER STOP DANCING.
Winter 2012: Oh, this is what it’s like to never see the sun and to never stop reading and to lose my eyesight and myself.
Fall 2012: This is what love feels like, this is what it’s like to have people who get you and are there for you, this is what experience feels like.
Winter 2012: Things fall apart, things will be ok, the world doesn’t exist but it’s prettier that way.
Fall 2013: Summer can last into fall but winter comes quick and this is what it’s like to dive into a snowbank of knowledge and feels and space.
Winter 2013: I know myself and I love myself. I will fall I will cry I will learn I will grow I will succeed and I will become closer to myself.

After 6 (woah!) semesters I can firmly say that I am closer to knowing myself than ever before. I have changed so much and I will continue to change but I finally feel like I’m am reaching a comfortable plateau of selfhood.

I realize that I have people who are there for me. My family has grown out from the same house to inhabit two states thousands of miles away and somedays I only love technology to hear their voices. I am so happy that I live with a great friend and that I am only minutes and miles away from others. I am so blessed to have a network that believe in the same things I do and that, no matter what, they will be there to keep me rooted and keep me challenged so I can continue to grow. My network remains friendly, leftist, queer, and anti-society, and they let me know that my feelings are always valid.

But outside of the family I have and have created there are days where I seem to disappear. I float between walls and windows and lose myself to others and to clouds. But I remain trapped within the world and reality and I know my limits and know my comfort. I can feel a landslide and can feel destruction and that feeling morphs into self-care that I have finally honed.

University has taught me so much. I have taught myself so much. I am being taught everyday. Knowledge has gained an immense value this semester because it comes in the form of classes, groups, friends, parties, clubs, reading groups, books, music, and the sun. Knowing that knowing comes from everything in my life is comforting.

And after reaching this plateau I sometimes take excursions off the cliff and into the hidden depths of lakes and potholes that remain ever present. I let myself feel too much, I invest too much. And this surplus of trust that spills over into, now, ruin has helped me stay vulnerable. Vulnerability has been my biggest teacher this semester and that’s ok.

So at the end of the day, the end of the semester, and the end of winter I can say that I at least know and love myself. Some will enter my life and then leave, some will stay for a while and part ways, some will be taken from me. But there is a beautiful art to knowing myself and loving myself that I can finally say that I am starting to understand. And only in this position now can I say that I am so happy to continue to grow, to love, to learn, and to go blue.

queer love, rainbows, fire, and poetry.
until next semester,
taylor.