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| Jackson Pollock, #5 |
Thursday, March 27, 2014
With Pollock as a Metronome
In Symphony Band at the University of Wisconsin Eau Claire we have just begun rehearsing "Dance Rhythms", an exciting and challenging piece by Wallingford Riegger. As you listen, it seems as if notes are bouncing around the band; being thrown with an almost care-free precision from one section to another. During rehearsal our director eloquently stated that the structure of this piece is almost like a Pollock, if Jackson had opted for staff paper instead of canvas. His analogy struck me; I couldn't help but picture paint flying along with the complicated rhythms; it made my imagination soar, added another layer of depth to the piece, and was, in simplest terms, incredibly fun. Take a minute and listen to this great piece! I wonder what Pollock would think of it?
Monday, March 24, 2014
Street Art Magic
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to one of the strangest and most beautiful places I've ever been; the spirited and seemingly unflappable city of New Orleans. While the style and pizzazz of the French Quarter is enough to make jaws drop and inspire visions of elegance and grandeur, the ever-present sparkle of Cajun flare and fun is what makes the city truly unique. Part of the individuality that sets New Orleans apart from other places around our great nation, is the way art permeates every nook and cranny of the Mississippi-cradling city. Not only is it impossible to escape the sounds of jazz--be it blues played by a single sax on the sidewalk, or the perfectly imperfect rhythms created by small quartets making camp in cafes along balcony-lined streets--but the city is also a living breathing art museum. The scenery is magnetic to artists young and old, and breathes life into works which, in my opinion, rival some that carry famous names along with them. This art, this way of life, is what makes New Orleans so special. It is new expression born of its surroundings and the spirit of those holding the brush. Challenge: next time you go somewhere new, seek out street artists; their works may open your eyes to a whole new perspective.
Sunday, March 23, 2014
Extatic about Ekphrastic; a look at Art Poetry
Ekphrastic poetry takes an artistic perspective, and expresses it through lines which prompt the birth of new ideas. Sometimes it isn't enough to simply view a masterpiece; Ekphrastic poetry makes such works come alive through prose which stand alone as art themselves.
Stealing The Scream
Monica Youn
Stealing The Scream
by Monica YounIt was hardly a high-tech operation, stealing The Scream. That we know for certain, and what was left behind-- a store-bought ladder, a broken window, and fifty-one seconds of videotape, abstract as an overture. And the rest? We don't know. But we can envision moonlight coming in through the broken window, casting a bright shape over everything--the paintings, the floor tiles, the velvet ropes: a single, sharp-edged pattern; the figure's fixed hysteria rendered suddenly ironic by the fact of something happening; houses clapping a thousand shingle hands to shocked cheeks along the road from Oslo to Asgardstrand; the guards rushing in--too late!--greeted only by the gap-toothed smirk of the museum walls; and dangling from the picture wire like a baited hook, a postcard: "Thanks for the poor security." The policemen, lost as tourists, stand whispering in the galleries: ". . .but what does it all mean?" Someone has the answers, someone who, grasping the frame, saw his sun-red face reflected in that familiar boiling sky.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16477#sthash.k3pIS2IJ.dpuf
Stealing The Scream
by Monica YounIt was hardly a high-tech operation, stealing The Scream. That we know for certain, and what was left behind-- a store-bought ladder, a broken window, and fifty-one seconds of videotape, abstract as an overture. And the rest? We don't know. But we can envision moonlight coming in through the broken window, casting a bright shape over everything--the paintings, the floor tiles, the velvet ropes: a single, sharp-edged pattern; the figure's fixed hysteria rendered suddenly ironic by the fact of something happening; houses clapping a thousand shingle hands to shocked cheeks along the road from Oslo to Asgardstrand; the guards rushing in--too late!--greeted only by the gap-toothed smirk of the museum walls; and dangling from the picture wire like a baited hook, a postcard: "Thanks for the poor security." The policemen, lost as tourists, stand whispering in the galleries: ". . .but what does it all mean?" Someone has the answers, someone who, grasping the frame, saw his sun-red face reflected in that familiar boiling sky.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16477#sthash.k3pIS2IJ.dpuf
Stealing The Scream
by Monica YounIt was hardly a high-tech operation, stealing The Scream. That we know for certain, and what was left behind-- a store-bought ladder, a broken window, and fifty-one seconds of videotape, abstract as an overture. And the rest? We don't know. But we can envision moonlight coming in through the broken window, casting a bright shape over everything--the paintings, the floor tiles, the velvet ropes: a single, sharp-edged pattern; the figure's fixed hysteria rendered suddenly ironic by the fact of something happening; houses clapping a thousand shingle hands to shocked cheeks along the road from Oslo to Asgardstrand; the guards rushing in--too late!--greeted only by the gap-toothed smirk of the museum walls; and dangling from the picture wire like a baited hook, a postcard: "Thanks for the poor security." The policemen, lost as tourists, stand whispering in the galleries: ". . .but what does it all mean?" Someone has the answers, someone who, grasping the frame, saw his sun-red face reflected in that familiar boiling sky.- See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16477#sthash.k3pIS2IJ.dpuf
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