I decided I needed a photograph of me for my blog. I don’t know why? It just seemed like a good idea. So I asked Felix to act as the official Viva Variety photographer. His qualifications include a degree in photography from the University of Utah and graduate work at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Not too shabby.
Felix took a bunch of pictures and knowing my penchant for photo booths, (I recently tried to purchase the photo booth at a K-Mart going-out-of business sale) he suggested the faked photo booth photo seen here. I think Felix made me look pretty dang good. Thanks Felix.
This year for the first time, Plan B Theatre Company’s annual Halloween radio show crept out of the Radio West studios and into the Studio Theater at Rose Wagner. That meant theatergoers could watch the show live. And it was more fun than I expected.
The show was Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, adapted for the 60-minute presentation by Ivan Bennett. Starring as Doctor Frankenstein was KUER’s Doug Fabrizio. He proved more convincing in the dramatic role than expected. And the other actors were just as engaging, even though they never left their chairs and read the entire show.
The most fun elements of the evening were the Foley artists, Jennifer Freed and Sam Mollner. They created a wide range of special effects from water lapping against a ship to sails blowing in the wind to driving rain. Two of my favorites; the sound of the ship’s captain’s pencil writing the Doctor’s story, and the constantly beating heart.
Not long ago, I listened to the unabridged audio book of Shelley’s Frankenstein on a trip to Wyoming. And it’s no small work of literature. So I was skeptical that one could stay true to the story, keep the show to 60 minutes, and not lose the audience. But this performance succeeded. It was the perfect story for a dark fall evening.
The run of the show has ended. But you can listen to the Radio West broadcast here.
I’ve lived in the neighborhood for over a decade and I’ve walked past the Chase Home Museum of Utah Folk Arts at least a thousand times. But until last weekend, I’d never entered the building. Bored on a rainy fall day, I thought I might as well check it out. It is, after all, free.
There was no one else there except for a little old lady, the volunteer museum attendant. She was delighted to see me and immediately began to dust and polish the cases to make sure I had a clear view of the treasures inside. But it was obvious that these cases get plenty of dusting and polishing.
The woman provided some valuable info about the museum. First, all of the items inside (although from diverse cultures) are made by Utah residents. Which is a surprising tribute to the cultural diversity of the State.
Also, the curators of the museum scour the state in search of folk art. These are not recognized artists but are ferreted out by the museum staff. I think that’s what gives the museum its quirky elegance.
And there’s plenty of quirkiness. Take the whittlings and small sculptures in the Rural Gallery. Many of the wooden whittled works are fantastic. And the miniature metal sculptures by M.J. Alldredge are deceptively folksy. On closer inspection, the big-breasted women are so sexually charged that the works feel like they were influenced by current art stars. And I’d own one of the paper cuts by Ada Rigby. They’re spectacular.
My other favorite room was the Ethnic Gallery featuring works from cultures around the globe. Of particular note were the Latin-American works like crucifixes by Jeronimo Lozano and Robert Martinez as well as the day-of-the-dead sculptures by Guillermo Colmenero.
There’s plenty more to see at the museum with galleries dedicated to Native American works and occupational crafts that are both functional and beautiful.
I don’t think most people are aware of this small, charming museum. But it’s definitely worth a visit. Unfortunately, it’s only open April through October. So plan a spring visit.
With the title of his new book (The Way We’ll Be; The Zogby Report on the Transformation of the American Dream), John Zogby acts like he can predict the future. Surprisingly, his arguments make a lot of sense. And I hope he’s right. Because I like many of his predictions.
There’s a fair amount of fluff in this book. And a lot of the set up can be tedious if you’re comfortable with the basic tenants of research. But there is plenty of interesting information. Take the comparison of Traditional Materialists to Secular Spiritualist. As with most pollsters, Zogby likes to give groups catchy names. These two groups are introduced with a story about Frederick Tudor and Henry David Thoreau. Here’s the idea, both men look at the same pond. As a leading ice manufacturer of his day, Tudor sees Walden Pond as an economic opportunity for ice harvesting (The Traditional Materialist). Thoreau sees the pond as a metaphor for America’s individualism, liberty, and our relationship with nature (The Secular Spiritualist). And it seems we may be moving in the direction of Secular Spiritualists—less concerned about what we own and buy and more concerned about how fulfilled we are personally and spiritually (and that doesn’t necessarily mean religion).
Zogby also argues that if you want to know what the future will look like, just look at the opinions of those ages 18 – 29. He calls this youngest age category First Globals. First Globals are really changing the game. Many of their ideas, from technology to consumption to expectations are dramatically different than previous generations. They seem more realistic about living in a global environment. They’re more tolerant and embrace diversity like no other generation.
I was particularly surprised about how much the kids these days are comfortable with the gays. I’ve always suspected that younger people are OK with homosexuality, but the number in this book surprised even me. By a nearly two to one margin, First Globals see no problem with same-sex marriage. Almost all of them have friends who are gay. And in this case, the phrase “some of my best friends are gay” doesn’t seem like the preface to an anti-gay argument.
Sure, even in this book the young can come across as frivolous and impetuous. But it’s been a long time since a book about numbers made me feel real hope for the future.
Last night, on my way to hear David Sedaris read, I received a text message. My 13-year-old niece Maggie sent me a cell phone photo (see inset) and this message, “As a subscriber to American Rifleman, and a strong member of the NRA, I find myself hating Barrack Odrama more and more.” (Emphasis added)
Thus began one of the most enjoyable political exchanges ever. I responded ironically saying, “You know, Barrack has been inspiring young people all over the nation to get involved politically. Looks like he’s inspired you too.”
After that, we traded witty political barb, for witty political barb; clever conservative punch for clever liberal punch. Finally, I commented, “Aren’t you offended that it’s American Rifleman? Shouldn’t it be American Rifleperson?” Maggie responded with what amounts to a text-message, teenager roll of the eyes. And then she called me a feminist.
As a proud feminist, nothing could make me happier than my favorite conservative—a girl of thirteen who can stand her ground and keep up with her crazy liberal uncle who’s more than twice her age. Keep it up Maggie.
It was a beautiful fall day. And BYU wasn’t playing football. So I thought the traffic would be bearable for a trip to Provo. Why go to Provo? To see Turning Point: The Demise of Modernism and the Rebirth of Meaning in American Art at the BYU Museum of Art. I’m guessing an academic came up with the title.
The exhibit takes viewers from the Abstract Art of the 1960s, through Minimalism and Conceptual Art, and on to Contemporary Art. I buy the show’s idea that Minimalism and Conceptual Art were a reaction to abstraction. I’m not sure I agree with the notion that Minimalism led to the explosion of artistic styles we see today. But whether or not you agree with the premise, the art is worth seeing.
Let’s start with some of the earlier works in the show like Frank Stella’s Agbatana III (Fluorescent Acrylic on Canvas, 1968). This huge, shaped canvas feels like something from Austin Power’s bachelor pad—it’s just plain groovy.
From the minimalists, we get two spectacular works. The first is Donald Judd’s Untitled (Anodized Aluminum and Plexiglas, 1969). The piece uses simple materials to deliver astonishing finishes that mimic the high-tech surfaces of works by Jeff Koons and Anish Kapoor. And Sol Lewitt’s impressive 49 Three-Part Variations on Three Different Kinds of Cubes (Enamel on Steele, 1967-71) is a whole new approach to cubism.
Later works in the show are just as intoxicating. Take Jenny Holzer’s Truisms 2 English (Mini LED Sign, 1977-79). The work is exactly as described: A tiny LED sign scrolling bits of wisdom like, “Holding back protects your vital energies.” The sign is so small you can barely make out the words. The effect is mesmerizing.
My pick of the show is a 2008 work by Uruguayan artist Marco Maggi, Double Hotbed (Cuts on 98 Letter-Size Sheets of Paper). This piece is both imposing and delicate. It’s like a gleaming white city of the future—a place I’d like to live. This work is hard to describe. Think miniature pop-up-book sculpture—only on a strangely grand scale.
Recommending Turning Point is tricky because so many people find this type of art perplexing. But you should go. It’s worth the trip. And if you’re afraid to go alone, call me. I’d visit again.
Turning Point is on display through January 3, 2009.
I know, mid-century modernism is all about architecture and design. But some times the same ideas spread to music and even dance. Repertory Dance Theatre’s (RDT) recent show The Messengers offered an interesting dose of mid-century modernism, mixed in with more contemporary works.
RDT is moving up in the world. This show is one of the best I’ve seen in several years. Maybe it was the stellar choreography. Maybe it was the better dancers. Whatever it was, it was a big leap in the right direction.
Let’s start with the overture performed by PARTCH, an ensemble that specializes in the music and instruments of composer Harry Partch. Partch’s work is an innovative mash-up that’s part John Cage and part hermit-like instrument builder that lives deep in the woods. The music is radical and the custom-built instruments are just plain cool. The overture was the first movement from Partch’s Castor and Pollux. From the glass bottle bells to the hand-built marimba-like instruments, this was a percussionist’s dream.
And the group returned later to accompany the dancers, a rarity to have live music with modern dance. The piece was Castor and Pollux, choreographed by Elizabeth Waters in 1958. And beyond the brilliant music, there was plenty of dancing to like. Take couple #1: Ashley Segura and Aaron Wood. I don’t want to like Aaron Wood but he’s making it hard not to. He’s proving to be a good addition to RDT. Combined with the newest dancer in the company, Chris Peddecord, the more experienced male dancers in the company have a lot to worry about.
I also have to mention Ariadne (1985), a solo by choreographer Ze’eva Cohen and danced by Chara Huckins-Malaret. I normally don’t like solos because it’s hard to appreciate the choreography. But this dance was so stylized, so precise that the choreographer’s presence was strong—it felt almost like she was sitting in the wings.
The best performance of the evening was Mythical Hunters (1965) choreographed by Greg Tetley. I’ve heard a lot about Mr. Tetley but this is the first of his works I’ve seen. The dance was challenging but thanks to the addition of several dancers from Ballet West, the company rose to the occasion. The work was created in 1965 for the Batsheva Dance Company in Tel Aviv. I liked the earthiness of modern dance combined with the long, lean lines of ballet.
Thanks to this intriguing performance, I’m more excited than I’ve been in a while to see what RDT does next.
I know, I said I don’t do favorites. But for the second time in just two posts, I’m ready to proclaim a favorite. Armistead Maupin is my favorite writer. After reading my third Maupin book, I’m hooked. I recently finished Maupin’s first book, Tales of the City. And it’s about as close to perfect as you can get.
First, a warning: I’ve taken to not recommending books because people get so sensitive. I never know what will offend. So as a warning, this book contains homosexuals, philanderers, druggies, potheads, child pornographers, and adulterers. Don’t read it if you’re going to get all preachy.
With that out of the way, let's talk about the book. Armistead Maupin pens better dialogue than any other writer I've read in a long time. Conversation drives the story. And you just can’t stop reading. The book reminds me that few things are as pleasurable as a great conversation. I'm dedicating myself to becoming a conversationalist. I want to chat with friends and acquaintances in a way that is charming, flirty, honest, emotional, sincere. I want to exit the room with short, carefully crafted statements loaded with intrigue and innuendo.
Then there’s the snappiness to Maupin's writing. Every word matters. There’s no need for embellishment. And that crisp, tight writing is refreshing.
Armistead also uses literary devices that I love. Take for example the way short, smart sentences punctuate the end of chapters. These sentences make it hard to put the book down. Before you know it, you’ve read a dozen chapters. And you still want more. Some of my favorite examples of chapter-ending morsels include:
- Connie, apparently, was still popular.
- Taped to the note was a neatly rolled joint.
- Venus reentering the clam shell.
- “Tell that to your gynecologist!”
- “O.K., O.K. So Nair doesn’t work for everybody.”
- “What else? Sickle cell anemia.”
Each short chapter in Tales of the City is a jewel; a sparkling gem that tells a complete story in just a few pages. And then, all those gems come together to create a tiara, a bracelet, or a brooch that dazzles and delights. And I love the literary bling.
I decided I needed a photograph of me for my blog. I don’t know why? It just seemed like a good idea. So I asked Felix to act as the official Viva Variety photographer. His qualifications include a degree in photography from the University of Utah and graduate work at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Not too shabby.
