I’m Corey, the newest member of the arts,ink team! I’ll be posting every Sunday, and I’m super excited to be here! Exclamation points! But. I’m terribly afraid this blogging will turn into an egotistical rampage where all I do is talk about myself. And no one wants to read that. So let’s take this first blog post and do just that. Let’s talk about who I am, where I come from, and why you should trust any word that comes out of my mouth…
I’m from a small town in south-east Michigan, near Toledo, Ohio. I’m a sophomore here at UM, studying Music Composition. I’m really into contemporary art, and fancy myself an amateur visual artist. I am a DJ at the local radio station, WCBN (listen to me live from 1-3am on Monday night/Tuesday mornings!). I dig most music, from hip-hop to avant garde jazz. Some of my favorite bands/musicians include tUnE-yArDs, Sufjan Stevens, Jack’s Mannequin, Steve Reich, Nico Muhly, Alarm Will Sound, and much much more….Most of my posts will probably be about music, but I’m exploring everything around, so expect some theatre, performance art and whatever else is floating around my mind.
But let’s talk a little about studying music composition, because this tends to raise the most questions with people I meet. This means I take classes in music, but I take lessons in composition. And writing music is what I focus on. I do play a few instruments (trumpet, piano, accordion), but I’m not that good (still pretty good though!). As a composer, I do write “classical†music. But I have a real issue with that term. That’s worth another blog post entirely, but I don’t feel that just because my music is played in a concert hall, that it should be any less fun/interesting/relevant than anything else you might listen to. So, as a result, I like to explore ideas of genre in my music. Perhaps the best example of that is my string trio with accordion, blacklight…
In blacklight, I tried to incorporate a club music aesthetic into an otherwise very modern and dissonant soundscape. It’s somewhere between a love song to Lady Gaga and a critique of the culture that exists around clubs.
Some of my other work you can find at my soundcloud, but I’ll also link to this interesting piece, called the radio keeps saying the end is near, or something like that. This is a piece I wrote last Friday, in a TWENTY FOUR HOUR PERIOD. It was a super stressful “Composer Marathon†event that the school of music put on. Essentially, I was given the ensemble of Cello and Viola at 8pm on Friday night, and was expected to perform a piece on Saturday at 8pm. This is what happened…
It’s not a great piece, but I’m proud of it, for sure. It still needs some work still, but it was fun to do! Particularly to add myself to the ensemble and start screaming at the audience, THAT’s pretty fun.
Anyway, that’s me and my music! I’m really excited to be posting here and look forward to next week, where the subject won’t even be me!
Iceland is a contoured landscape of vibrant green and volcanic grey, of mossy color on a dark charcoal. It’s sometimes sand and ice and windswept plains, sometimes fire and carved earth and vast volumes of water, deposited and gouged. It’s dynamic, and unexpected. Somewhere, though, in the imagination, the color is always there.
Yet— yet, photographer Michael Schlegel has managed to capture Iceland in a series of square-cropped black and white. Each is a minimalistic frame of something, stark and ethereal. “When photography is not about colours but about emotions,†says a design blog. The blacks are deep and rich, the whites bright but somehow not blown out, as one might say of other pieces. Contrast is high, but not in an overly forced way; the focus of these photographs is not on minute textures and details, and yet it breathes texture. Even in simple greyscale, the gradients are at once robust and subtle.
Jagged outcroppings of stone arise from nowhere, at their feet pools of sea mist. Â Wide sweeps of sky and water and land alike have, with the help of a long shutter, perhaps, have begun to oddslot flow as if they were the lot of them made of the same fluid substance, only in different densities. A pearly wash of ocean is offset by a knife of dark stone, just enough detail visible to hint at its cragged texture, but without brazenly displaying it. Less is more, so they say.
And it might be, indeed. The suddenness of the Icelandic landscape is already in itself full of the unexpected, the aesthetically pleasing. Who might suppose that there could be such a thing as conventional photography of it? Then someone like Schlegel comes along, saps out the color, removes the unnecessary, and suddenly the world is an entirely different place.
Today is Valentine’s Day and I’m feeling like this guy:
Robert Wilson. "Video 50," 1978. Courtesy Electronic Arts Intermix (EAI), New York
Sometimes when I’m feeling like this guy I go walk around in the UMMA. It clears my head. Something about all that marble flooring. The word austere comes to mind.
So I’m in the UMMA. It’s afternoonish and I’m pretty much the only person in there. I feel mildly artsy for being the only person in the UMMA on Valentine’s Day afternoon. And mildy lonely. I feel like an aesthete—“Who needs lousy Hallmark holidays when there’s the cold, austere beauty of the UMMA?â€
Loud noises are coming from the back-leftish corner, from the New Media Gallery.
Currently I don’t know that the room in the back-leftish corner is called the “New Media Gallery.†I Google it later.
The noises sound like a film score: orchestral instruments blare and echo off the austere marble flooring.
In general the UMMA’s atmosphere right now seems somewhat funny, because it’s pretty much empty and silent, but then there are all these melodramatic, film-score-y, orchestral instruments playing loudly. It seems ‘surreal,’ not unlike a Robert Wilson avant-garde short-film conglomeration thing.
Which is what the exhibit making loud funny noises and breaking the austere atmosphere of the UMMA turns out to be: Robert Wilson’s Video 50.
I walk over to the New Media Gallery and read this introduction posted at the entrance: “Robert Wilson gained a reputation as a creator of aggressively experimental theater work. Wilson first came to prominence with works from the mid-1970s such as The Life and Times of Joseph Stalin (1973) and Einstein on the Beach (1976).†(My roommate saw Einstein on the Beach a couple weeks ago. Einstein on the Beach was in town a couple weeks ago. In situ I suddenly remember this. And just now ex situ I asked my roommate “if it was sweet†and he said “yeah it was sweet.†He said that it was five hours long and that he thought he wouldn’t be able to sit through the whole thing, but he ended up sitting through the whole thing and not really feeling bored or whatever. I can’t imagine sitting through anything for five hours.) “These lavish, unusually long productions broke and then redefined every convention of theater.†After reading “these lavish, unusually long productions broke and redefined every convention of theater†I feel mildly skeptical. I skim over some more praiseful Robert Wilson bio and get to the part about Video 50 itself. “Video 50 are smaller-scale experiments, but they share with these spectacles the qualities that typify Wilson’s aesthetic: surreal, dreamlike imagery, unlinear narrative, conflation of seemingly unrelated characters and micro-stories, and a mesmerizingly slow pace…Video 50 consists of a random arrangement of 30 second ‘episodes’…The work is immersive and experiential, seductively dissolving the distance between viewer and subject.â€
So basically it sounds to me like your SOP for an avant-garde short-film conglomeration thing.
There’s a sign outside the doorway warning about adult content and unsuitability for young viewers, which makes me mildly excited. Eventually I walk through a little L-shaped hall into the NMG itself, passing by yet another warning for adult content on the way  (there turns out to be nothing I would consider adult content in Video 50), and now I’m standing in an empty dark square room. A ceiling-mounted projector projects Video 50 on the front wall. Currently some type of credits are rolling and I’m uncertain whether they’re the end or beginning credits. The only seating in the room are two austere wooden benches, one pushed up against the back wall and the other against a side wall. I sit down on the back-wall bench so I don’t have to painfully twist my neck 90 degrees to see the film(s).
The credits keep rolling—I determine they’re the opening credits, meaning my timing for entering the NMG was perfect—and I take out my trusty Moleskine notebook and begin writing notes about the austerity of the room. I write things like, “The room is empty, except for four Sony speakers placed atop the four corners of a spotless white wall that doesn’t quite reach the ceiling.†Did I mention that today is Valentine’s today?
After the credits, the first “episode†of Video 50 arrives. The first episode is this guy:
I write: 1. Business-dressed man standing by waterfall. Loud waterfall noises. The image sort of flickers.
I write: Screen flickers…shitty projector or intentional part of the film?
Before long the first episode is over and cuts straight into the next episode:
2. A window with white drapes. Wind blows the drapes. Loud whooshing noises.
And before long it cuts to the next episode:
3. A cream-white old, rotary-style phone. It’s ringing loudly.
This is more or less how the entire thing goes: I see a short clip of a pretty random-seeming object or scene or something, and before I can even jot a few notes down describing what it is the episode is over and I’m looking at something new.
I try to write fast enough to make notes for every episode, but I end up missing a few here and there.
4. A door opens. A woman in a pink dress enters the room. Romantic music starts playing.
5. Overhead view of a man smoking and an unlit light bulb. Dripping noises. The man turns on the light bulb. (I.e.,
Robert Wilson. "Video 50," 1978. Courtesy Electronic Arts Intermix (EAI), New York
6 makes me chuckle. I like 6. In my notebook I write “my fav†next to 6.
7. Man holding ice pack on head, sitting on bed. Monkey/animal noises. Then a close-up of a woman in curlers making loud scary monkey/animal noises.
I’m legitimately frightened by the woman in curlers.
8. Woman in bed w/ black phone on bedside table. Slow sad music. Then there’s a naked man sitting by a fire. (Is this supposed to be the adult content? No…parts…are being shown.)
At this point I’ve missed an episode or two and my episode-numbering in my notes is basically arbitrary. My wrist is hurting from trying to make notes as fast as the episodes change. It occurs to me that I’m still alone in the room, and I wonder when/if other museum patrons will enter.
9. Chair floating in an orange-pink sky. Classical piano music. Chair rotates back and forth slightly.
10. White door slowly closing by itself. A second after it closes, a hand juts into the frame, as if it just closed the door.
10 makes me laugh. I don’t know why. I guess the hand’s jutting into the frame was unexpected and funny.
In general I don’t know how Video 50 is supposed to make me feel. I feel it’s entertaining because I never know what the next episode will be, so it’s sort of suspenseful. But I don’t feel too much else about it.
I never really know how to take avant-garde art. But I guess it’s sort of the point of avant-garde art to make the audience feel uncertain about how to take it?
In any case I deicide I more or less like this Video 50 thing, even if only because it’s ‘different’ and I’ve never really sat through anything like it.
11. A man sleeping during a thunderstorm. He snores in a cartoony, ZZZZzzzzZZZ manner.
12. Close-up of a glasses-, mustache-faced man rhythmically touching his temple and grimacing and groaning ad nauseam.
13. A back view of a man wearing a safari hat and looking out at a still seascape. The man makes noises like “hruumph hruumph hruumph†metronomically ad nasuseam.
Even though the episodes are only like 30 sec. long, their repetitiveness and “mesmerizingly slow pace†induce me to write notes like “ad nauseam.â€
14. Floating chair in an orange-pink sky (again). Classical piano music.
For some reason I like the floating chair. The floating chair calms me down, especially after having been made antsy by the men making groaning noises ad nauseam in the immediately preceding episodes. I wonder if a lot of thought was put into arranging the episodes in a specific way for effects such as the floating chair’s calming me down after I’ve been emotionally primed by the groaning men, or something.
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I decide it’s true what the description posted at the entrance said, that Video 50 “is immersive and experiential, seductively dissolving the distance between viewer and subject.†While being sucked into the experience, I’ve even almost forgotten that it’s Valentine’s Day.
Upon realizing that I’ve almost forgotten that it’s Valentine’s Day, I remember that it’s Valentine’s Day. I take out my phone to see if a certain girl has texted me.
She hasn’t.
15. Red hammer silently hammering a blue back ground. Then the blue background shatters like glass.
16. Close-up of a large-foreheaded baby crying.
The close-up of the big-headed baby startles me, especially after the preceding shattering.
I write “encephalitic†in my notebook.
For about 10 episodes I sort of lose myself. I get “sucked in†or “immersed†or “mesmerized†or whatever you want to call it. In any case, it’s basically the effect I was looking for when I decided to come to the UMMA.
I come to the UMMA when I’m thinking too much about something, like Valentine’s Day, so I can try to ‘lose myself’ in pieces of art.
What Video 50 seems to want to do is make you ‘lose yourself.’ It short-circuits your brain—you can’t really actually make sense of the conglomeration of floating chairs and encephalitic babies and business men standing near waterfalls, but your brain nevertheless tries to and in trying gets confused and before long you’re entranced and don’t even remember that you’re worried about a certain girl texting you or something.
Unfortunately, my Video 50 dream is broken when an old couple walks into the room and sits down next to me. I wonder if they’re on some sort of Valentine’s Day date. Maybe that’s what older couples do on Valentine’s Day: watch avant-garde film in museums.
Now because I’m not alone, I’m immediately aware of myself, my surroundings—Video 50 is no longer able to suck me in. I shoot sideways glances at the old couple. I start writing notes about them instead of the artwork taking place in front of me.
I write things like, “The husband is ‘paunchy.’â€
I consider leaving. I wanted to watch Video 50 all the way through, but the experience basically seems over for me now. My wrist hurts carpal-tunnelishly from writing frantically. The edge of my right hand is completely covered in ink. I’ve made it to 30 in my notebook.
A lot of the episodes repeat themselves. For example right now the safari-hatted man staring at a seascape and going “hruumph hruumph hruumph†has returned.
A dramaturg. Â Webster’s defines us as experts in dramaturgy, which, in turn they define as “the art or technique of dramatic composition and theatrical representation.” Â They also spell dramaturg dramaturge, which is common and I’ve never really found why we’ve decided to drop that little e at the end.
As far as dramaturg definitions go, this is one of the better ones I’ve heard. Â I guess there’s a reason Merriam-Webster is still in business. Â I’d like to shed a little light and give some first hand examples of what has constituted dramaturgy for me. Â I think you’ll find most dramaturgs have different experiences, but we all have one thing in common: love for the text.
What that really translates to is that dramaturgs are the nerds of theatre. Â If you’re still in high school mode and think of actors as Drama Club dorks, then you would be floored by just how dorkier it can get. Â Read some of our Twitter conversations that include playwright puns and heady discussion about artistic responsibilities and new work philosophies and you’ll see what I mean.
In established work, a dramaturg is around primarily to help the director and actors best understand the material and make informed choices regarding their work. Â Mostly, a production dramaturg in these situations is like a researcher. Â For example, I worked on the University’s production of Spring Awakening recently. Â The first thing I do when I get the script for a show is I read it twice. Â I read it once for myself and then once to compile a list of terms, people, and places that the actors may need defined. Â For some shows I’ve worked on, the glossary has almost reached 300 words, but for a regular show the total is usually around 100, give or take 20. Â For Spring Awakening I think it was around 90 words. Â I also try to include pictures as often as possible.
Going along that visual route, most dramaturgs also compile a visual research board. Â For Spring Awakening this was fun because there are two worlds: 1891 Germany where the scenes take place and the interior monologue space which is based in contemporary pop-rock. Â I included images of 1890s Germany, the German countryside, haylofts, expressionistic art, and post-punk to give a feel for the song world. Â This is one of my favorite parts of the process, because it’s the one you really see the results of. Â As much as dramaturgs and directors know the research is critical, it’s always a crapshoot if the actors actually use it. Â Actors are invariably drawn to visual mediums though, and they will undoubtedly take some inspiration from the visual research board.
After those two steps are over, I get to more particulars of the production. Â Each play has a few issues that are specific to the play. Â For Spring Awakening, there were quite a few. Â I had sections in my production binder about Lutheranism, 1890s Germany, Germany in general, abortion, teenage sexuality, and suicide. Â This musical was also adapted from a play, so I had a section about the play and its author, Frank Wedekind. Â I included the play’s production history and the difficulties it faced getting produced because of the subject matter. Â I also always include a section on the writers of the show as well as any previous production history. Â This gives the artists working on a show an idea of where they are coming from and what new levels they can take the show to. Â It also shows where previous productions may have found difficulty so they know what to be aware of in the future.
Some production dramaturgs are also literary managers at their home theatres, so their dramaturgy sort of ends at the first rehearsal. Â They send their research into the rehearsal room and hope it is utilized. Â Then they must move onto the next project, starting the whole process over again. Â The show in production is just a thought in the back of their mind, save the program article they will probably be asked to write, where they can share a little snippet of their research with the audience. Â (Let me tell you, condensing weeks’ worth of research into a 300-word article is a challenge.)
Luckily for me, when working in the university setting, I’ve been able to pop in on rehearsals at my convenience. Â I also try to make myself as available to the actors and directors as possible, which is much easier for us in this technological age than it was for our predecessors. Â Without fail, new areas of interest emerge in rehearsal, whether it is a product of a new direction the director decides to pursue or an actor’s decision that they need more information on a location their character mentions offhandedly. Â You may have included that place in your glossary, but the actor has decided that this location is instrumental in their characterization and they need more information. Â This is the part that is fun for me, when the actors really delve into the script and begin asking interesting questions.
We’re also the first people to go to when you want to nerd out about syntax or word choice. Â If you want someone to get giddy about script analysis, find yourself a dramaturg. Â I could spend days thinking about the repetition of one word throughout a script and the different ways that it operates within the text. Â That is my idea of a good time.
So that is one type of dramaturg. Â Next week we can talk about new works dramaturgs. Â They share a lot, but it is really a different world. Â For me, it’s a more fun one too.
Being in another country changes your perspective so much. When you go on vacation somewhere you see the sights and taste the foods, but when you actually live somewhere that is fundamentally different from everything that you know your entire view changes. Taking a trip to Italy you see the coliseum and the canals of Venice, you taste the pasta, pizza, and gelato, and you hear the people speak without understanding a word. It is all beautiful. But I’ve spent a month and a half here and already I begin to see those things that we miss as tourists. It’s a country filled with immigrants and poverty. There isn’t enough work and the government is struggling to repair itself and its people. The colors start to fade and blend until I can see a sort of grey film. This is what the artist for this week has depicted. Paolo Ventura, a Milanese photographer, had an exhibition at the ever-famous art fair. The works on display were from a collection called “behind the walls.†I found them interesting because of the mode in which everything was grey, but still hopeful. Sad, yet beautiful. Sad beauty is strangely one of my favorite themes in expression and in nature. Enough intro, this is one of his works.
Street music is, as Willy Wonka said, “…a good deed in a weary world†and that is what I think when I see the works of this artist. The people are placed in this tired grey world, but still they work hard and create something so beautiful. And in another work Mr. Ventura shows how nature and man can coexist.
Though the tree has lost its leaves for the greyness of the coming winter, it lives still within the city walls, which in a place like Bologna I’ve learned is something very rare. I’ve never felt so far from trees before, coming from Michigan. And the man holds a bird in his hand, as if it just landed there by itself. At first glance the picture seems be rainy and glum, but looking deeper you see the light of the caffe’ escaping into the street, lighting up the man and his companion. The use of light and shadow in this man’s work is wonderful. He has mastered the use of city light, which is simultaneously bright and dreary.
It is so beautiful to learn about a culture through its developing artists. I’ve studied the artists from the past and have learned about their culture. Now though, seeing artworks like these and researching them further, I am seeing things about life here that these artists are trying to make statements about. I’m excited to continue writing about the art here. Hopefully soon I’ll have some classical art for you. Maybe I’ll check out a museum this week!
I seem to always be posting these late, and for that I apologize. I have a really sweet artist this week though Teun Hocks is the name. Photoshop is the game. Yeah, that was cheesy, but that’s okay, right? Anyway, he does some really amazing things with digital photo editing. This is one of the artists that had a display at the art fair last week. I want to show just a few of his works so that you can see how creative he is.
What I like about the works is the way you can see how large a life he leads. The main figure goes about his normal day by doing things that are on a much grander scale than the rest of us. He catches music in a net instead of butterflies. He picks up after the stars fall. He farms time. He cries a literal waterfall. These things are extraordinary.
There would be a picture here, but his website won’t let me use it… so you can use this
What a grand life it must be to catch music the way others catch insects. The artist uses the medium so well to mix colors and enlarge the main figure. He even seems oversized for the landscape he is placed on. Another aspect that I like in Mr. Hocks’ work is his use of the road. His character is always traveling, always going someone. Even when he is looking at a picture, he looks through it and travels beyond it.
Many of his works depict his main character traveling, through space, time, landscapes, etc. Often the figure seems sad, he is completely alone. And when another figure is present, it is a reflection of himself. There is never another character. But the artist makes a point to tell us home goes with you wherever you are. No matter the burden it could bring, home is always with you.
The picture that really grabbed my attention is one that I can’t find online, of course. But it’s this figure crying on the edge of a canyon. His tears form a stream, which turn to a river and then cascade over the canyon in one of the most beautiful and sad waterfalls I’ve ever seen. Teun Hocks has so many intriguing images and I’ve actually been flipping through his website for two hours now checking them all out. I love his style. It’s so centered on the models, but the landscape still takes up space in the viewer’s analysis, in our gaze.
It’s sort of strange that I’m in the middle of all of this old Italian art and I’m writing about modern stuff, but I figure I have plenty of time to find the old art. The new is here today and gone tomorrow!
Again, I’m sorry this is late. There is just so much life happening here! And I still don’t have a regular schedule. But I’m not complaining. I’m in Italy folks!
