Art Biz with Liz: A Time of Reopening

It’s been over a year since I’ve been to an in-person concert or performance (besides my own for Grand Night for Singing). While I’m not very well-versed when it comes to classical musical, I’m ecstatic to be seeing the Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra at Hill Auditorium tonight. I don’t know much about Pictures at an Exhibition, but the A2 Symphony describes it as a 10-piece suite “originally composed for piano in 1874.”

Thinking about the concert tonight, I can’t help but reflect on how the pandemic has affected the arts. It still wows me when I consider the changes that have taken place to keep the arts alive. Prior to the pandemic, I never considered how a concert or other live event might have to navigate public health advice or consult with public health professionals to get the okay to go on. It’s interesting to think about the way some venues have even connected with a team of public health professionals to get advice on reopening strategies. While COVID-19 is an ongoing concern, groups have implemented policies to keep people safe. The Ann Arbor Symphony Orchestra, for example, requires proof of vaccination or a negative test.

Whether live or online, people in the arts have to be resilient. Early on, theaters and art galleries shut down in efforts to mitigate the spread. At the same time, people need the arts to survive dark times. They give us meaning, expression, and a sense of community. For many, the arts help us form connections to family, friends, and strangers around the world. Creativity is one of the key things that has sustained us throughout the pandemic. With means of livelihood threatened, there was no other option for some artists and groups but to adapt quickly to new circumstances. Museum collections moved online, collective concerts were put together, and art classes sent people materials for crafting at home. Artists bonded together, concentrating on their artistic visions and goals just as much as survival.

Moving forward, the unexpected will continue to happen. It’s important for people in the arts to be transparent when it does, which means communicating new information promptly to artists, donors, or the public. Even before the pandemic, I was impressed by the communication and camaraderie of many arts organizations with their staff and public. Throughout the pandemic, these factors have been even more valuable. There’s a mutually beneficial relationship between patrons and artists, and it was tested during a period where everything else fell apart. Sustaining this relationship, which endured even a pandemic, will be key to the arts’ continued success. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the importance of community support in giving vitality to the arts.

I’m glad to be supporting the arts tonight, and I look forward to be back in Hill Auditorium. We bought tickets before we knew the concert would appear in Passport to the Arts, but if you’re strapped for cash and would love to attend tonight’s concert, you’ll be delighted to find it in this week’s Passport to the Arts. Have a great weekend, everyone!

TOLAROIDS: Fallin’ for the campus!

There is simply no way I would start a photography blog at UMich without posting any photos of the campus during the fall season. I think I will make it a theme for a few of the future posts as we grasp the last moments of fall before the cold comes. This week’s series is simple though: it’s just a daily walk through the campus that we all have in our schedules but sometimes don’t get to appreciate the beauty of.

 

*Don’t worry, the Arb will get its own appreciation post 😉

 

If you want to tell me which place is your favorite or have any other comments, thoughts, or questions you can contact me here or at @akilian.jpg on Instagram!

– Tola

NEW STORY: My Name is Minette, Chapter One: Minette Is Being Driven Mad

(Hi, readers! This next story is still fantasy, but set in Ye Olden Times. I am turning this story into my Senior Honors Thesis, and hope to publish it as a full-length book. I hope you enjoy! Sincerely, Theo.)

MINETTE did not have a bad life.

No, it was quite the opposite: she had a roof and four walls, a loving family, delicious meals, and a stable future laid out for her.

It was the little particularities that made it all so unbearable for her; the secrets she carried with her that she could not reveal on pain of death, the lies that built up and up and up.

She loved her family, she honestly did. She loved Maw’s crass jokes, how reliable and true Paw was. Her brother Rhys had a gentle heart, an irremovable sweetness, and a quick wit; Irma, her sister, was strong. Strong and spirited. Irma was born blind, and now, as a wiry twelve-year old, she was a loud talker, a fast runner, and a quick learner. Irma had a bright future ahead of her.

Even their homestead felt like a member of the family to Minette: the thatched roof, the sun-bleached boards on the walls, the little hallway upstairs with the circle window that spilled glittering dust motes in the late afternoon sun. The rug in the kitchen that was so worn down Minette couldn’t remember what the pattern or even the color used to be. The house groaned and creaked, but in a reliable way, in a way that spoke of the generations upon generations of lives that had been lived here.

And Minette did not want to be one of them.

You see, despite all the cuddly warmth of her little family and the reliability of the old house, Minette could not speak. Minette could not move. She couldn’t even breathe.

Every day, her family called her Morton, or, even worse, Morty. 

They talked about her with free lease, completely unaware of how it bothered her: our Morton is so strong! He’s built like an ox! He’ll manage the smithy just fine one day!

Minette hated it all to the point of madness. She felt like a perpetual actor, forced to read lines from a script, lines that were so wrong, so different from her reality. And the worst part was that her family, her whole world, they only knew the character, not the actor, and they loved him. They couldn’t tell the role didn’t fit. Minette didn’t think they would love her the same as him.

No one ever seemed to notice the fact that Minette was always onstage and in costume. Minette supposed that it was a good thing that her family never noticed anything wrong, never questioned her. If they did, she had absolutely no idea what she would say. She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

The Rise of the Band Geeks, Episode 5: Beanie

O pom-pom graced atop the knitted dome

Secured by laces tipped with aglets clear;

Beneath thee soft-striped stitches tightly roam

In chevrons spanning from thee to the ear.

O stitches stretched into a snug caress

Around the fragile flesh and mind and hair

You trap soft heat and ward off cruel duress

That would arise were this pale pate left bare.

O flesh, that warmth may bless thy frigid heart

Nestled within thee, that the stitches may

Envelop fragile you from the game’s start

And shield you till night voids the might of day.

May ev’ry precious strand upon your head

Of the band beanie undermine cold’s dread.

Parktown: Olson Park, Part 2

Olson Park, North Campus

For this week I wanted to emphasize how much the landscape changes during this time of year. Taken at the same time of day in Olson Park, the foliage has begun to fall, the tall grass has browned, and the sky is overcast. However, life still persists right beside the trail and into the forest. This time of year marks the loss of summer abundance, yet there remains a beauty to be seen in the grays and the browns of dormant flora. One of my guiding principles for this blog is to capture Ann Arbor as we see it through its transition into different stages of life. Beauty can be found at every stage. Rather, it is more subtle at times and comes to you with a deeper appreciation of diversity of a fall or winter landscape.

I look forward to the leaves falling further.

 

This image was taken on 11/9/21.

 

 

The Poetry Snapshot: The Night Shift

Curtains pulled back to midnight,
And a stage of dancing stars.
Too brief, this autumn light.
Stolen, but never ours.

Meadowbrook Amphitheater

Ours was never a bite
into a crisp apple autumn sky.
A bright, chilled dewy cry.
No.

Ours was the brink of a buoyant horizon,
turned to shade in the blink of an eye.
Tied down by an emerging moon.
For one moment, the pulse in this room ceases,
as the death of day show steals our breath.

Welcome to The Night Shift.
Time drenched in thrifted emotions,
sharing silence in slow motion.
In the midst of darkness,
we create color.

Shadowed vision,
but you catch a broken smile
and words unspoken.
It’s always one touch forward,
but two thoughts back.

In my corner of nightfall
I set down all composure.
I’ve been here before,
been here often.
Moonbeams feel no pressure to enter my window,
for I can navigate transience with my eyes closed.