Text by John Ravenal, David Levi Strauss, Anne Wilkes Tucker.
Sally Mann: The Flesh and The Spirit
is the first in-depth exploration of this world-renowned artist's
approach to the body. Throughout her career, Mann has fearlessly pushed
her exploration of the human form, tackling often difficult subject
matter and making unapologetically sensual images that are
simultaneously bold and lyrical. This beautifully produced publication
includes Mann's earliest platinum prints from the late 1970s, Polaroid
still lifes, early color work of her children, haunting landscape
images, recent self-portraits and nude studies of her husband. These
series document Mann's interest in the body as principal subject, with
the associated issues of vulnerability and mortality lending an elegiac
note to her images. In bringing them together, author and curator John
Ravenal examines the varied ways in which Mann's experimental approach,
including ambrotypes and gelatin-silver prints made from collodian
wet-plate negatives, moves her subjects from the corporeal to the
ethereal. Ravenal also supplies a comprehensive introduction as well as
individual entries on each series, and essays by David Levi Strauss
("Eros, Psyche, and the Mendacity of Photography") and Anne Wilkes
Tucker ("Living Memory") add different, but equally illuminating
perspectives to this work. Sally Mann: The Flesh and The Spirit is a must for any serious library of photographic literature, students, scholars, collectors and others interested in her work. Sally Mann
(born 1951) is one of America's most renowned photographers. She has
received numerous awards, including NEA, NEH, and Guggenheim Foundation
grants, and her work is held by major institutions internationally.
Mann's many books include What Remains (2003), Deep South (2005), and the Aperture titles At Twelve (1988), Immediate Family (1992), Still Time (1994) and Proud Flesh (2009). She lives in Lexington, Virginia.
Featured image is from Sally Mann: The Flesh and The Spirit, published by Aperture with the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts.
Listen
up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m
stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic
excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole, because I’m Comic Sans,
and I’m the best thing to happen to typography since Johannes fucking
Gutenberg.
You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing
her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over
your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that
new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what,
Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass
Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros. Sorry the entire
world can’t all be done in stark Eurotrash Swiss type. Sorry some people
like to have fun. Sorry I’m standing in the way of your minimalist
Bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest. Maybe sometime you should take off
your black turtleneck, stop compulsively adjusting your Tumblr theme,
and lighten the fuck up for once.
People love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the party. I bring
levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message
about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business’ website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.
When people need to kick back, have fun, and party, I will be there,
unlike your pathetic fonts. While Gotham is at the science fair, I’m
banging the prom queen behind the woodshop. While Avenir is practicing
the clarinet, I’m shredding “Reign In Blood” on my double-necked
Stratocaster. While Univers is refilling his allergy prescriptions, I’m
racing my tricked-out, nitrous-laden Honda Civic against Tokyo gangsters
who’ll kill me if I don’t cross the finish line first. I am a sans
serif Superman and my only kryptonite is pretentious buzzkills like you.
It doesn’t even matter what you think. You know why, jagoff? Cause I’m
famous. I am on every major operating system since Microsoft fucking
Bob. I’m in your signs. I’m in your browsers. I’m in your instant
messengers. I’m not just a font. I am a force of motherfucking nature
and I will not rest until every uptight armchair typographer cock-hat
like you is surrounded by my lovable, comic-book inspired, sans-serif
badassery.
Enough of this bullshit. I’m gonna go get hammered with Papyrus.
At the Tribeca Rooftop the other night, members of the Authors Guild
gathered to celebrate Dave Eggers. The mood was light; the crowd young.
Previous galas had been held uptown, at the Metropolitan Club, which,
according to numerous guests, was stuffy.
Zadie Smith circulated through the room in a strapless dress, a knit
cardi, and a turban—looking bohemian with a splash of glamour. I asked
her how she met Eggers, whom she’s known for five years. “My memory of
how we met was that I paid for a subscription of McSweeney’s. At a certain point, for a hundred dollars, he was giving away McSweeney’s
for life, and you could have all the back issues or something. I paid
the money, but they never arrived, so I e-mailed the editorial office,
saying, ‘Where the hell are my issues?’ ” She laughed. “So, that’s how
we met: customer complaint.”
Eggers, who didn’t know that the evening was black tie (“I bought
this today at Macy’s," he said, "It's a Donald J. Trump collection
tie.”), was being honored for his charity work. The focus was on 826 National,
the nonprofit writing and tutoring centers aimed for children ages six
through eighteen. The name originates from the first center Eggers
founded seven years ago, in the Mission District of San Francisco at 826
Valencia Street. He seemed slightly anxious, but excited, as he took
the podium to address the crowd. He spoke with conviction as he twisted a
paperclip in his hands:
To any of you who are feeling down, and saying, “Oh, no
one’s reading anymore”: Walk into 826 on any afternoon. There are no
screens there, it’s all paper, it’s all students working shoulder to
shoulder invested in their work, writing down something, thinking their
work might get published. They put it all on the page, and they think,
“Well, if this person who works next to me cares so much about what I’m
writing, and they’re going to publish it in their next anthology or
newspaper or whatever, then I’m going to invest so much more in it.” And
then meanwhile, they’re reading more than I did at their age. …
Nothing has changed! The written word—the love of it and the power of
the written word—it hasn’t changed. It’s a matter of fostering it,
fertilizing it, not giving up on it, and having faith. Don’t get down. I
actually have established an e-mail address, deggers@826national.org—if
you want to take it down—if you are ever feeling down, if you are ever
despairing, if you ever think publishing is dying or print is dying or
books are dying or newspapers are dying (the next issue of McSweeney’s
will be a newspaper—we’re going to prove that it can make it. It comes
out in September). If you ever have any doubt, e-mail me, and I will buck you up and prove to you that you’re wrong.
The crowd responded with rousing applause. Some rose to give a
standing ovation. Others, with guilty looks on their faces, stood up to
leave. It was late. But for a night, at least, print lived.
(Photograph: Anna King)
This is precisly why I started looking for a website with easy and good recepies. I have given up on finding a really cool cook book...they are terribly expensive, half of the book is filled with photos and I would probably never cook half of the recepies anyway...
Browsing through the countless websites on cooking, I came accross a website called Goop, which is, to my surprise, a website created by Gwynteh Paltrow. I am sure that the whole world already knows about it, but I JUST discovered it. It's actually a blog about healthy way of living. Of course, Jamie Oliver's recepies were in there as well....and here's what I'm making for dinner today - easy and fast as hell :).
This pasta sauce takes minutes to cook. What’s great about this
recipe for beginner cooks is that once you’ve done it a few times you
can add other simple ingredients to your basic tomato sauce to
completely transform it. Check out the end of the recipe, where I’ve
given you some ideas to get started.
Serves 4-6
2 cloves of garlic
1 fresh red chile
A small bunch of fresh basil
Sea salt and freshly ground pepper
1 pound dried spaghetti
Olive oil
1 x 14-ounce can of diced tomatoes
4 ounces Parmesan cheese
To prepare your pasta
Peel and finely slice the garlic. Finely slice your chile (halve and
seed it first if you don’t want the sauce too hot). Pick the basil
leaves off the stalks and put to one side. Finely chop the stalks. To cook your pasta
Bring a large pan of salted water to a boil, add the spaghetti and cook
according to the package instructions. Meanwhile, put a large saucepan
on a medium heat and add 2 good lugs of olive oil. Add the garlic,
chile, and basil stalks and give them a stir. When the garlic begins to
brown slightly, add most of the basil leaves and the canned tomatoes.
Turn the heat up high and stir for a minute. Season with salt and
pepper. Drain the spaghetti in a colander then transfer it to the pan of
sauce and stir well. Taste and add more salt and pepper if you think it
needs it. These can be added to your tomato sauce when it’s finished. Just stir in and warm through:
Add a handful of baby spinach leaves to the sauce at the same time
you add the pasta—when the leaves have wilted remove from the heat and
serve with some crumbled goat’s cheese on top.
A few handfuls of cooked shrimp and a handful of chopped arugula with the juice of ½ a lemon.
A can of tuna drained and flaked into the sauce with ½ teaspoon of
ground cinnamon, some black olives and the juice of ½ a lemon.
A handful of fresh or frozen peas and fava beans.
'The Dark Side Of The Lens', a short film from renowned surf photographer Mickey Smith, is by far one of my favorite wave films ever. I've seen it a million times and can't seem to stop watching it. All possible kudos to you, dear Mickey Smith. (Also posted here)
The next issue of McSweeney’s will be formatted like a newspaper —to demonstrate that newspapers have a future. A few weeks ago, Dave Eggers promised to personally e-mail anybody in despair over the future of print, and now he has (albeit via mass e-mail).
Here’s an excerpt:
We’re convinced that the best way to ensure the future of
journalism is to create a workable model where journalists are paid well
for reporting here and abroad. And that starts with paying for the
physical paper. And paying for the physical paper begins with creating a
physical object that doesn’t retreat, but instead luxuriates in the
beauties of print. We believe that if you use the hell out of the
medium, if you give investigative journalism space, if you give
photojournalists space, if you give graphic artists and cartoonists
space— if you really truly give readers an experience that can’t be
duplicated on the web— then they will spend $1 for a copy. And that $1
per copy, plus the revenue from some (but not all that many) ads, will
keep the enterprise afloat.
As long as newspapers offer less each day— less news, less great
writing, less graphic innovation, fewer photos— then they’re giving
readers few reasons to pay for the paper itself. With our prototype, we
aim to make the physical object so beautiful and luxurious that it will
seem a bargain at $1. The web obviously presents all kinds of advantages
for breaking news, but the printed newspaper does and will always have a
slew of advantages, too. It’s our admittedly unorthodox opinion that
the two can coexist, and in fact should coexist. But they need to do
different things. To survive, the newspaper, and the physical book,
needs to set itself apart from the web. Physical forms of the written
word need to offer a clear and different experience. And if they do, we
believe, they will survive. Again, this is a time to roar back and
assert and celebrate the beauty of the printed page. Give people
something to fight for, and they will fight for it. Give something to
pay for, and they’ll pay for it.
I first want to say that I think this is a very sad week for
American letters. Howard Zinn was the embodiment of the term “living
legend,” and his effect on how we see and teach history is immeasurable.
And the man worked till the very end, it seems. He’d just done work at
Mission High School here in San Francisco last year. He was an
astonishing guy; it’s hard to think of what the landscape would look
like without him.
To lose Salinger the same week is odd, given that his work and life
serves as an interesting counterpoint. If Zinn was the archetypal engagé
writer-historian-activist, Salinger was his opposite. And for decades
I’ve wondered what exactly happened to Salinger to drive him away from
publishing and people, from much of an active participation in the
world. Clearly he was wounded by the attention he received, and I’ve
always wondered exactly what the breaking point was.
I read “The Catcher in the Rye” the average number of times for a
young person my age—which is to say, every few years between when I was
sixteen and twenty-six or so. When I was about twenty I read the rest of
the books and stories, and when I began to teach, about ten years ago, I
usually included a Salinger story in every syllabus, usually
demonstrating the use of dialogue to illuminate character. His is still
my favorite dialogue, the dialogue that rings truest, that’s at once
very naturalistic and musical; it’s really remarkable how difficult it
is to do what he does between quotation marks.
I like to think that had he continued to write and publish, he would
have continued to evolve in bold new ways. The man was an artist, no
doubt about it, and his work was always growing in new—darker, stranger,
more wonderfully obsessive—directions. And always, no matter where the
stories go (or don’t go), his sentences are so beautiful, and so unlike
anyone else’s. A few years back, when he backed out of the publishing of
“Hapworth,” I wanted so badly to write to him, to say that we’d publish
that and anything else he saw fit, and that we’d do it in whatever
quiet and respectful way he sought. It’s clear he wasn’t so crazy about
the splashy aspects of publishing on a certain scale, and I can identify
with that—with the desire to just have the book look like you want it
to, on the scale you feel comfortable with. But I don’t think he ever
could strike that balance between the public and private worlds of
writing and publishing his work.
To me the question of whether or not he continued to write strikes at
the heart of the nature of writing itself. If he indeed wrote volumes
and volumes about the Glass family, as has been claimed, it would be
such a curious thing, given that the nature of written communication is
social; language was created to facilitate understanding between people.
So writing books upon books without the intention of sharing them with
people is a proposition full of contradictory impulses and goals. It’s
like a gifted chef cooking incredible meals for forty years and never
inviting anyone over to share them.
My own pet theory is that he dabbled with stories for many years,
maybe finished a handful, but as the distance from his last published
work grew longer, it became more difficult to imagine any one work being
the follow-up; the pressure on any story or novel would be too great.
And thus the dabbling might have continued, but the likelihood of his
finishing something, particularly a novel, became more remote. And so I
think we might find fragments of things, much in the way “The Original
of Laura” was found. But there’s something about the prospect of
actually publishing one’s work that brings that work into focus. That
pressure is needed, just like it’s needed to make diamonds from raw
carbon.
Of course, the possibility most intriguing—and
fictional-sounding—would have Salinger having continued to write for
fifty years, finishing hundreds of stories and a handful of novels, all
of which are polished and up to his standards and ready to go, and all
of which he imagined would be found and published after his death. That,
in fact, he intended all along for these works to be read, but that he
just couldn’t bear to send them into the world while he lived.
I guess we’ll see.
Annie Liebovitz is one of the best photographers in the world. There are several, of course, but not so many you couldn't count them on your both hands. She is one of those ten fingers, that's for sure.
Photography has become so major that is part of everyone's everyday lives. But still, the top photographers just simply stand out and you can recognize them immediately.
Annie Liebovitz shoots Charlize Theron....Here's a video of how she photographs Charlize Theron for the Vanity Fair.
Annie Leibovitz was born on October 2, 1949, in
Waterbury, Connecticut. While studying painting at the San Francisco Art
Institute, she took night classes in photography, and in 1970, she
began doing work for Rolling Stone magazine. She became Rolling Stone’s
chief photographer in 1973. By the time she left the magazine, 10 years
later, she had shot 142 covers. In 1983, she joined the staff at Vanity Fair, and in 1998, she also began working for Vogue.
In addition to her magazine editorial work, Leibovitz has created
influential advertising campaigns for American Express and the Gap and
has contributed frequently to the Got Milk? campaign. She has worked
with many arts organizations, including American Ballet Theatre, the
Brooklyn Academy of Music, and the Mark Morris Dance Group, and with
Mikhail Baryshnikov. Her books include Annie Leibovitz: Photographs (1983), Photographs: Annie Leibovitz 1970–1990 (1991), Olympic Portraits (1996), Women (1999), American Music (2003), A Photographer’s Life: 1990–2005 (2006), and Annie Leibovitz at Work
(2008). Exhibitions of her images have appeared at museums and
galleries all over the world, including the National Portrait Gallery
and the Corcoran Gallery, in Washington, D.C.; the International Center
of Photography, in New York; the Brooklyn Museum; the Stedelijk Museum
in Amsterdam; the Centre National de la Photographie, in Paris; and the
National Portrait Gallery in London. Leibovitz has been designated a
Living Legend by the Library of Congress and is the recipient of many
other honors, including the Barnard College Medal of Distinction and the
Infinity Award in Applied Photography from the International Center of
Photography. She was decorated a Commandeur in the Ordre des Arts et des
Lettres by the French government. She lives in New York with her three
children, Sarah, Susan, and Samuelle.
.... was / is the title of my most extensive work (actually my thesis at the Karl-Franzens Universität in Graz). My interest in the Southern literature and photography did not end with the completion of that extensive work....so, here's a little something about a famous photographer of the South...
Walker
Evans’s early documentary photographs of poverty in the South during
the Great Depression captured the public’s attention—even altering the
way many Americans saw their country—and helped define his 46-year
career. Yet his little–known works produced in the ensuing decades are
equally as innovative. Drawn chiefly from a largely unseen private
collection, and curated by the ever–inventive James Crump, the
Cincinnati Art Museum’s Decade by Decade (on display through September 5), is the first exhibition spanning Evans’s work from every decade, including his years at Fortune
magazine in the 1940’s, 50s, and 60s, until his death in 1975. The
exhibition also debuts rare photographs from the Victorian House survey
series, which Evans began in 1931, as well as prints from a trip to
Tahiti the following year. As a coda, the show offers Evans’s very last
images, shot in the 70s with the then–new Polaroid SX–70. Quote Evans,
“The matter of art in photography may come down to this: it is the
capture and projection of the delights of seeing; it is the defining of
observation full and felt.”
Below: A display of both iconic and lesser–known gems from Walker Evans.
Just saw a Vanity Fair article about a famous jazz photographer, who diceased ---- already in January 2010!!!.
Herman Leonard’s Eye for Jazz
Legendary jazz photographer Herman
Leonard, now 86, shot virtually every giant of the genre—from Louis
Armstrong and Art Blakey to Miles Davis and Lena Horne—in his trademark
high-res, lush-light style. A vibrant new exhibition at New York’s Jazz
at Lincoln Center (on display through February 14) showcases Leonard’s
incomparable lens, as evidenced in this accompanying review by V.F.’s editor of creative development and this up-tempo slide show.
That Leonard look: young Dexter Gordon in New York City, 1948 (left), and the Duke in Paris, 1958.
The pictures, at first, seem jarring. Each is eerily nocturnal,
as jazz photos tend to be. Each is flooded with the brilliance—even
shock—of harsh flash. Each offers a splash of vivid detail (thanks to
the high resolution of the large Speed Graphic camera), as if the film’s
very emulsion has been awakened by a trumpet blast. And many of the
images have been taken at odd angles, conveying the sense that the scene
has somehow been rudely wrenched from midnight’s clutches.
Take the 1948 shot of Billy Eckstine.
The body of the bandleader-vocalist appears to loom across the frame at
45 degrees, leaning like a deckhand might lean into a gale. And yet the
filigree in the photo has a delicacy: the dappled ceiling above the
bandstand suggests a tropical setting; beads of sweat evoke an inner
fire; Eckstine’s long-nailed fingers, as if in prayer, are soft petals
enveloping the microphone.
Here, in a single frame, is the magic of Billy Eckstine. And here, too, is the magic of the man behind the camera.
You
can count the truly great jazz photographers on your fingers and
toes—and still leave a digit or two for tapping. I’m talking about the
legendary Bill Gottlieb and Bill Claxton and Francis Wolff, certainly,
along with peers also accomplished in other photographic genres, such as
Anthony Barboza, Roy DeCarava, Lee Friedlander, Art Kane, Gjon Mili,
Julio Mitchel, Sam Shaw, Phil Stern, and W. Eugene Smith. I’m inclined
to add to their ranks the longtime dean of jazz bassists, Milt Hinton,
whose nimble forefinger knew its way around a shutter release. And
surely I’m omitting a handful whose names escape me at the moment.
But
there’s one jazz lensman who is having a real resurgence these days,
just as the medium he covers appears to be enjoying its own renaissance.
I’m speaking, of course, of Herman Leonard.
Leonard, 86 and
still cooking, has become a 21st-century darling of gallery collectors.
His iconic shot of Dexter Gordon graces the cover of the hot new jazz
history by Gary Giddins and Scott DeVeaux—called, simply, Jazz. And, most impressive of all, Leonard has a new exhibition at New York’s Jazz at Lincoln Center, “In the Best Possible Light,” on display through Valentine’s Day.
In
the 40s, Allentown, Pennsylvania, native Herman Leonard, the son of
Romanian immigrants, was taken under the wing of Karsh of Ottawa, the
famed portraitist who excelled at using columns of light to mold
photographic icons of statesmen, celebrities, and literary figures. By
1948—around the time of bebop’s birth—Leonard had established his own
studio in Manhattan’s West Village and was making nighttime forays to
the fabled jazz clubs along 52nd Street. He would use floodlights and
his trusty Speed Graphic to lushly render musicians as luminous figures
against their dimly lit surroundings, just as the Hollywood studio
photographers of the 30s had rendered film stars amid the dark folds of
the Depression. Leonard’s studies of jazz greats, from Miles Davis to
Dexter Gordon, are among the finest ever committed to film.
Over
the last half-century, Leonard has divided his time between Europe, the
Gulf Coast, and Los Angeles, eventually losing some 6,000 photographic
prints when Hurricane Katrina swept through his New Orleans home. (All
of his negatives were miraculously spared. Two haunting water-damaged
prints—one of Frank Sinatra and one of Miles Davis—command their own
wall at the Jazz at Lincoln Center exhibition.)
For the bulk of
the J.A.L.C. show, we linger in New York, Paris, and Montreux (from 1948
through 1991). The exhibition is simply the best yet to have been
displayed in the music venue that regulars refer to as “the House of
Swing.” Though the pictures are hung in a modest hall outside the Rose
Theater (recent exhibitions have featured quirky collages by Louis
Armstrong and vintage jazz performance shots by Ryszard Horowitz),
Leonard’s collection enlivens the space as none before it. Images of six
percussionists are wisely grouped together like a veritable drum
circle. (One standout: a 1958 depiction of Art Blakey, in mid-report, at
the Club Germain, in Paris.) Jazz singers appear in trios: Eckstine
plus Sinatra plus Tony Bennett; Dinah Washington plus Lena Horne plus
Pearl Bailey. The joint curation—by Robert G. O’Meally, C. Daniel
Dawson, Diedra Harris-Kelley, Emily J. Lordi, and designer Linda
Florio—turns out to have been a blessed collaboration.
Among the
other highlights of the show include a 1960 portrait of Louis
Armstrong, with his signature bruised lips and wipe-down rag, his hands
folded and his trumpet downturned. We know he is sitting off stage right
because we see the telltale shadows of the drummer’s cymbals (not
visible in the scan that is posted in the slide show).
But we also feel the heat of an unseen performance, as viewed by
Armstrong, glaringly lit and set apart like a lonely, imperious
sovereign.
The jewel of the show, however, is Leonard’s classic
study of a young Dexter Gordon (with drummer Kenny Clarke) at New York
City’s Royal Roost in 1948. Gordon’s head is raised to the light, as if
he were inspired from on high (or, more likely, as if asked by Leonard,
“Hey, Dexter, can you just raise your chin an inch?”). His crossed hands
and the gaping mouth of his sax draw the eye subconsciously to the
photo’s fulcrum. The picture incorporates three Leonard trademarks:
bracing sidelight; the low-angle perspective that imparts grandeur upon
his subject; and the use of billows of cigarette smoke to mimic the
improvised curls that often waft from a jazzman’s horn. This particular
image also adds some tantalizing visual grace notes—a mysterious,
upturned trumpet, at left, balances the microphone (or music stand or
cymbal base) to the far right, helping to frame the photo; a relaxed
Clarke offsets Gordon’s reverential pose; and sheet music appears in the
bottom-right-hand corner, its notations soft but resonant, like a
just-completed solo that has been muffled by applause and consigned to
memory....
Howdy folks.
I am at work at the moment, so there's no time for ya di da di da... but I am administrating our website - meaning the Festival Maribor website and I came accross many articles about the Festival Maribor... and I need to share an amusing one with you.
It was posted here and written by Laurence Vittes.
Festival Maribor (1):Hell Breaks Loose Ligeti, Bartok and Sculthorpe at Maribor Festival, Slovenia
September 6, 2011
Richard Tognetti (violin), Festival Maribor Orchestra, Marko Letonja
(conductor). Maribor (Slovenia), Union Hall, 02.09.2011 (LV)
Peter Sculthorpe: Earth Cry (1986) György Ligeti: Violin Concerto (1992) Béla Bartók: Concerto for Orchestra (1943)
Ligeti’s massive and somewhat scary Violin Concerto of 1992, a sophisticated blend of Liszt’s Mephisto Waltz and Saint-Saens’ Danse Macabre, has rightly assumed the title of a 20th-century
masterpiece. Like all of Ligeti’s music, hearing it live brings you far
closer to the music’s purpose and soul than any recording could. Over a
carefully constructed and dramatically superb structure, Ligeti drapes
musical adventures of the most amazing sort, a bewildering pastiche of
the hip, the traditional and the definitely intoxicated. The whole is
compounded by a battery of unique instrumental effects including one
violin and one viola each sitting by themselves playing deliberately
mistuned instruments.
The 30-minute, 5-movement concerto
begins with a movement that is neither fast nor slow before continuing
on to a series of encounters between the orchestra and the soloist.
Requisite to a deeply human experience that is also a virtuoso concerto,
it poses immense difficulties, both showy and subtle, concluding with a
brilliant cadenza that, after a short final respite, brings the music
to a close.
In addition to showing off the chops and
charisma that have made him a superstar, violinist Richard Tognetti
“sold” the concerto with a performance that stressed not only the
obviously dazzling theatrical elements but also those meant to
communicate.
For their part, the sold-out Festival
Maribor audience particularly enjoyed the music’s fierce and unyielding
technical challenges, the effects of which were perhaps compounded by
bouts of thunder raining outside the hall – as if extra percussion
instruments had been written into the score. Led by Marko Letonja, the
Festival Orchestra delivered the demanding Concerto after only a few
hours’ rehearsals – an astounding testament to what world-class
musicians can produce under pressure. (As an aside, in 2012 Letonja
arrives in Strasbourg where he will lead the over 100 musicians of its
Orchèstre Philharmonique, and embark on an ambitious program including
hopefully, a new recording initiative.)
After intermission, Letonja and the
ensemble returned to give a reading of Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra
that for once had a feel of the composer’s Eastern European roots and
studies, coupled with playing from the horns and winds that handled the
Concerto’s virtuoso aspects with glee, clarity and triumphant power. The
rich, full sound of Union Hall again made clear the virtues of a live
concert.
Peter Sculthorpe’s Earth Cry,
borrowing harmonic principles from the astronomer Kepler and evoking
nature with the help of an indigenous Australian instrument or two, was a
comforting starter to the concert before Ligeti’s hell broke loose.
Laurence Vittes
And here's another article that I found amusing....
Rock 'n' Roll (written by Aljaž Zupančič)
Editor’s note: “Rock ‘n roll” was written by Aljaž Zupančič in
a prose review style dedicated to Laurence Vittes that surrounds the
Maribor Festival 2011, Boundless Creativity and Song project No. 2, with
Giovanni Sollima on cello and Marino Formenti, piano. Author Zupančič
was born in 1988 in Ljubljana, Slovenia. After finishing grammar school
in Kočevje, he went to study at the University of Ljubljana, where he is
now a senior member of the musicology program in the Faculty of Arts.
Currently he is also president of the student section of the Slovenian
Musicological Society. Besides writting reviews for various
publications, he is also active as a composer.
Giovanni Sollima; Photo Dejan Bulut; Festival Maribor 2011
Rock ‘n Roll It was a rock concert. A man who plays Vivaldi and Nirvana. A man who plays Stravinsky and Nirvana. It was a rock concert. It was all about Sollima. Sollima is a rockstar. One feels a desire to start dancing. Nirvana sounds better with Kobain’s guitar, but his cello almost became one. It became obvious: music sounds better, when it looks good. During the break, a woman in a black dress shouted: »This was the best concert of all!« If you weren’t there, you missed a lot. Giovanni is not only a hard-core guy, he is also sentimental: Wild plus romantic equals Italian: I wouldn’t be able to say no to him… … if he was selling shoes. He can play without glasses. He can play and walk at the same time. He can walk and play at the same time. He can play one cello with his friend – cello for four hands. He can play two cellos at once (for a price of a thread of a bow). Sometimes other musicians were a little bored. Sometimes they seemed like bass players, who only have tonic and dominant to play. But most of the time, they were infected by his energy. It became obvious: someone who doesn’t like rock music is missing a lot. It became obvious: someone who doesn’t like rock music doesn’t get much sex. Sometimes, things were too cheesy. But that comes with the Sollima package. And how could an Italian be any different?He opens his mouth and fills it with the sounds of his cello. He reminds me of Glenn Gould. (in a certain way) He is a show-off. He is multipersonal though. He reminds me of Vinko Globokar too. (in a certain way, of course) The cello becomes an extension of his body.Marko Letonja just helped – the ego wasn’t there. Someone might say that Violoncelles, vibrez is an empty piece, that it lacks musical substance. Some other piece with the narrator reminded me of music of the French composer Luc Ferrari. He was also a crazy guy. After the concert a woman shouted: »This was the best concert of my life!« I wouldn’t like to hear it again, but this one time it was awesome. It was a rock concert. It was also a jazz concert. A rock-jazz concert. A jazz-rock concert. It was all about Formenti. Formenti is a jazz-rock star. He tried to show the power of non-classical music. He rushed onto the stage and immediately started playing – it was a bombastic beginning. Nothing he did later was comparable. Sitting next to an Australian woman, drinking cold beer and listening to Kurt Weill’s music was a special experience.
He reminded me of Glenn Gould.
(He hummed a lot.) He demanded applause for the pretty girl who was then turning pages of his scores. (Every rock star has a pretty girl somewhere around.) Marino is not only a hard-core guy, he is also sentimental: Wild plus romantic equals Italian: I wouldn’t be able to say no to him… … if he was selling shoes. He had lectures between the songs. That was great. If you weren’t there, you missed a lot. He was a show-off. He played a lot of tangos. He said that tangos are erotic. Sometimes, things were too cheesy. But that comes with the Formenti package. He does not know what rest (a pause) means. No waiting, no time for metaphysics to come! Monday, 5th September 2011 was a great evening. Tango is erotic music. Erotic music is hot. The cellar where the concert was became hot as well and it was hard to breathe. Formenti suggested voting if we should turn on the air conditioning,
which was very loud, so then it wouldn’t be possible to play beautiful
music. We would have to wait for a bit. But some woman shouted: »Just play!« Women in Slovenia shout a lot. He played Coldplay. He played Nancarrow. He played Nirvana. Nirvana sounds better with Kobain’s guitar, but his piano almost became one. His Nirvana had an interesting prelude – he was hitting the piano strings with a glass, I think. I thought it would be great if he would continue experimenting with that. But then he started playing chords and melody. There was no music, there was only theatre. But it was awesome! Before the last song of the evening, the doors of the restaurant
upstairs opened and the noise from there was heard downstairs: the
festival staff ran to close them to stop the noise. They did it. But
only a few moments later the loud air conditioning system started. All that happened while Marino was already playing the last song of the evening. There was no music, there was only theatre. I wouldn’t like to hear it again, but this one time it was awesome.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
As the whole area of this part of the world knows, Maribor (where I currently live and work) is the European Capital of Culture this year.
I had no expectations when I moved to Maribor two years ago. I moved here because I was on a crossroads of my life and didn't quite know what to do with my life - but I needed a job and those don't exactly grow on trees in Carynthia (Koroška). So, I moved here and eventually found a job. But the city itself has not managed to impress me, although I do have a small part in making it more cultural, diverse and lively....
Here are some critical reviews of the happenings in the European Capital of Culture so far:
Nemška novinarka o Mariboru: "Beda od mesta" (19.1.2012)
Kdor želi spoznati to deželo, naj za
božjo voljo naredi ovinek okoli Maribora, piše v današnji izdaji
dnevnika Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung Andrea Diener Slovenija je lepa. Ima hribe in morje. A kdor želi spoznati to deželo,
naj za božjo voljo naredi ovinek okoli Maribora, piše v današnji izdaji
dnevnika Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung Andrea Diener. Novinarka
je Maribor obiskala ob odprtju Evropske prestolnice kulture (EPK), a
tako mesto kot organizacija EPK sta jo vse prej kot navdušila.
Dienerjeva
v obsežnem prispevku ne skriva, da jo je Maribor razočaral - in to
kljub temu, da njena pričakovanja že pred prihodom niso bila visoka.
"Funkcionarji
me že dva dni zasipajo s Powerpoint besediščem. In ko ne znajo naprej,
kar se pravzaprav stalno dogaja, me obmetavajo s pisanimi brošurami.
Nihče ničesar ne ve, saj se funkcionarji stalno menjajo, in nihče ni
nikoli dovolj dolgo na položaju, da bi dobil vsaj približen pregled nad
zadevami. In tisti, ki imajo nekaj pojma, nimajo besede in so zato
frustrirani," se je Dienerjeva v Mariboru pritoževala nad organizatorji
EPK.
K temu doda še nekaj ostrih besed na račun samega mesta
oziroma "bede od mesta". "Dve, tri kolikor toliko stare ulice v centru,
na katerih so postavile svoje razprodajne košare vse verige s poceni
šaro na svetu, mestni grad in nekaj starih hiš, čedno nabrežje po imenu
Lent, ki si ga ogledaš v približno desetih minutah, najstarejša trta na
svetu", razen tega pa le še stanovanjski bloki, dolgočasni betonski
kompleksi, trume prometnic ter gradbišča.
"Tu ni ničesar, kar bi
lahko človek opisal kot vsaj na pol čedno. Če bi se zelo močno
potrudila, bi lahko to mesto označila kot zanimivo, a se ne želim
potruditi," je neusmiljena novinarka.
Razočarana nad Mariborom se
je odpravila še malo po Sloveniji "in z vsakim kilometrom, ko smo se
oddaljevali od Maribora, je postajala pokrajina lepša". Na svoji poti si
je med drugim ogledala Bled - ta jo je očitno zelo očaral, saj njegovim
naravnim lepotam in drugim zanimivostim nameni precej lepih besed - ter
v Posočju splezala na Kolovrat, na vrhu katerega je "postopoma razumela
to deželo, ki je bila in je še vedno z vseh strani izpostavljena
različnim kulturam".
Ker ji je bil preostanek države
neprimerljivo bolj všeč od prizorišča EPK, se v članku med drugim
sprašuje, zakaj je bilo prav to mesto izbrano za prizorišče EPK. Ena od
sogovornic v Sloveniji ji na to vprašanje odgovori z besedami: "Hja,
mislim, da je tamkajšnje letališče preslabo izkoriščeno."
V
razmišljanju o Mariboru navede še besede neke druge sogovornice: "V
Mariboru vlada neverjetna povezanost. Zato je poslovanje z njimi tako
težko: vsak nekomu dolguje neko uslugo, vsak se na nekoga obeša. Kar je
danes obljuba, jutri to ni več, ker je pač nekdo nekaj blokiral." Kot
dodaja Dienerjeva, to vsaj delno pojasnjuje funkcionarsko domače
rajanje, ki mu je bila izpostavljena v Mariboru, nenehne menjave v
organizaciji EPK in frustracijo tistih, ki so se želeli vključiti, a so
bili zavrnjeni.
(pogovor Katja Beck Kos samostojna producentka v kulturi in programski vodja Živih dvorišč)
"Zavod se obnaša kakor tujek v mestu"
Tekst: Tomaž Klipšteter
Maribor
- Po treh letih dela kot asistentka programskega direktorja Tanzhaus
NRW se je štipendistka sklada Roberta Boscha leta 2010 vrnila v Maribor.
V okviru festivala Ana Desetnica je lani, v času Festivala Lent,
zagnala imeniten projekt Živa dvorišča, ki je bil tako všeč ustvarjalcem
oddaje Metropolis pri najbolj uglednem nemško-francoskem kulturnem
TV-kanalu Arte, da so mu v prispevku o Evropski prestolnici kulture v
Mariboru posvetili največ pozornosti.
Vodstvo EPK pa kaže do Živih dvorišč manj navdušenja. "Po letu dni predepekajevske tekme sem utrujena," je razočarana Katja Beck Kos.
"Utrujena sem od nenehnih dokazovanj, da počnemo dobre stvari. Utrujena
sem zaradi neurejenih razmer in pomanjkanja podpore. Po letu dni imam
občutek, da moj koproducent, zavod Maribor 2012 - EPK, dela zgolj za
projekte in plače 150-članske ekipe v Vetrinjskem dvoru. Ne ve, kaj
delam jaz, ne ve, kaj dela moj sosed, ne ve, kaj delajo tisti, ki so v
Mariboru in zunaj njega uspešni zadnja desetletja. Pravzaprav se zdi,
kot da ga to sploh ne zanima. Ne ve niti, koliko in kakšne prostore ima
Maribor, ne pozna ljudi, ki v Mariboru kujejo ideje. Ali pa jih raje
spregleda? In tako kuje svoj program kot tujek v mestu. Upam, da ve vsaj
to, kaj dela on sam." Zakaj ste se odločili, da javno spregovorite o svoji izkušnji sodelovanja z zavodom Maribor 2012? Nisem privrženec tarnanja. Ko pa je začel programski direktor EPK
Mitja Čander prejšnji mesec kalimerovsko groziti z odstopom s funkcije
in se s tem poskušal izmakniti odgovornosti oziroma jo preložiti na
financerje, sem sklenila, da sem bila dovolj dolgo tiho. Pripovedujte, prosim. Ko sem se pred dvema letoma vrnila iz Nemčije, sem bila prepričana,
da je program EPK že postavljen. Ugotovila sem, da sem bila v zmoti, in
ko je bil leta 2010 objavljen prvi razpis za sofinanciranje, smo nanj
prijavili svoj projekt, ki je bil takrat še v povojih. Prva izkušnja z Živimi dvorišči
nas je utrdila v prepričanju, da ima projekt velik potencial, ker je
bil odziv sodelujočih in občinstva zelo pozitiven. Hkrati smo z veliko
optimizma sprejeli nove programske sklope, ki jih je oblikoval Čander,
saj cilji Ključev mesta
skorajda sovpadajo z našimi. Super, smo si rekli in začeli pisati
elaborate. A že prvi odziv Borisa Cizeja, programskega vodje Ključev
mesta, je bil streznjujoč. "Mi bomo večji, vi boste manjši," mi je
rekel. Kaj naj bi to pomenilo? Da bodo oni, torej zavod Maribor 2012, delali veliki program v starem
mestnem jedru, ne pa mi. V pripravi elaborata sem nadaljevala pogovore s
producenti zavoda. Ti so nas zmeraj vzpodbujali in zaradi navdušenja
nad projektom celo predlagali, da napišemo več kot 30 strani elaborata
za širitev v partnerska mesta. Aprila lani pa smo po vseh svojih
prizadevanjih dobili odgovor, da nam bo zavod Maribor 2012 odmeril zgolj
šest odstotkov predvidenega denarja za mariborski del projekta, to je
3000 evrov za leto 2011 in 10.800 evrov za letos. Za partnerska mesta pa
nismo dobili nič! Ker nismo razumeli neskladja, smo zaprosili za
sestanek z glavno producentko Almo Čaušević. Razložila je, da zavod
Maribor 2012 podpira zgolj presežne nove projekte, ne pa že obstoječih. To je absurdno! Živa dvorišča so se do takrat zgodila samo enkrat,
poleg tega pa Čander v svojih programskih izhodiščih piše: "Središče
mora zabrbotati kot kvaliteten socialni prostor. Dogajanje mora ob
obstoječih napolniti nove prostore in ulice." Kako boste zdaj izpeljali
projekt do konca? S podporo zavoda Maribor 2012 bodo Živa dvorišča
živela do marca, potem pa bomo morali najti nove podpornike; lani sta
nas podprla Narodni dom Maribor in Mestna občina Maribor. Če bo seveda
sploh ostalo kaj denarja: velika večina mariborskih projektov in
institucij namreč še kar čaka na večino lanskih financ, podpisanih
pogodb za to leto pa tudi ni na vidiku. Morda bi utegnilo vodstvo EPK svojo odločitev o skromnem
financiranju utemeljiti s sobotno izkušnjo Živih dvorišč. Kljub temu da
so bila umeščena v otvoritveni konec tedna EPK, je bil obisk Živega
dvorišča ob Orožnovi ulici klavrn. Čemu to pripisujete? Dvorišča so intimni prostori, ki ne prenesejo velikih množic, zato
smo s sobotnim obiskom zadovoljni. Dejstvo je tudi, da je bil program za
otvoritveno soboto, tudi zaradi finančne nestabilnosti in čakanja na
pogodbe, dorečen v zadnjem trenutku in zato tudi ni bil objavljen v
tiskanih medijih EPK, kar pomeni, da je program dosegel naše stalne
obiskovalce, drugih pa ne. Vendar naj pripomnim, da se to soboto razen
na osrednji otvoritveni prireditvi nikjer ni trlo obiskovalcev - ne
tujih ne domačih. Kar kaže tudi na (ne)uspešnost zastavljenega programa
javnega zavoda Maribor 2012 in (ne)uspešnost vključevanja in motiviranja
prebivalcev mesta. Se je lanskih dvajsetih dogodkov v okviru Živih dvorišč udeležil kateri izmed programskih vodij in producentov EPK? Aprila so nas posneli za končni zagovor EPK v Bruslju, oktobra pa sta nas obiskali dve predstavnici zavoda Maribor 2012. Kako je v praksi potekalo programsko sodelovanje z zavodom Maribor 2012 oziroma EPK? Vedno znova se pojavi neko novo ime, ki mu je treba poslati poročila,
elaborate, pojasnjevati to in ono. Po mojem je posledica slabe
komunikacije s strani zavoda tudi dejstvo, da jim je Mestna občina
Maribor pred nedavnim umaknila gostoljubje v vseh nezasedenih občinskih
lokalih. Mnogi Mariborčani, ki delajo v tem zavodu, niso zadovoljni z
organizacijo in potekom dela ter se počutijo onemogočene. Kaj naj bi to pomenilo? Da imajo občutek, kot da delajo na drugi strani. Torej ne za Maribor,
ampak za javni zavod Maribor 2012. V minulih mesecih je prišlo v zavod
delat ogromno ljudi iz vse Slovenije, ki se prvič srečujejo z Mariborom
in njegovo kulturno sceno oziroma so v najboljšem primeru poznali stanje
pred 15 ali 20 leti. Ne iščejo stika z mestom, ne poznajo posebnosti
posameznih institucij. Še zdaj imajo težave najti uveljavljena kulturna
prizorišča v mestu. Naj povem anekdoto: nekdo iz zavoda je klical
Branimirja Ritonjo, vodjo Fotokluba Stolp, in ga vprašal, zakaj ne
morejo galerije narediti dostopne invalidom. "Kaj sploh veste, kje smo?"
je bil začuden Ritonja. "Veste, nisem iz Maribora," mu je odgovorila ta
oseba. Pa saj vsak povprečno kulturno ozaveščen Mariborčan ve, da je ta
fotoklub v Židovskem stolpu! Če bi se ta klicatelj sprehodil 500 metrov
od Vetrinjskega dvora do Židovskega trga, bi vedel, da galerija ne more
biti dostopna invalidom zaradi specifične arhitekture srednjeveškega
poslopja. To, da nekdo ni iz Maribora, ne more biti izgovor. Gre za ignoranco
in aroganco, skratka za neprofesionalno obnašanje in neznanje. Ti ljudje
venomer poudarjajo, kako so prišli "reanimirat" mesto. Svoj program
reklamirajo kot pomoč Mariboru, ki ga doživljajo kot mrtvaka. Ker očitno
v minulih mesecih niso nikoli stopil iz pisarne v Vetrinjskem dvoru,
sploh ne vedo, da Maribor še kako živi. Raje živijo v svoji namišljeni
podobi Maribora in postavljajo svoje spomenike.
Obujanje za fasadami skritega
Živa dvorišča Maribora, ki so del programa Evropske
prestolnice kulture v Mariboru, spodbujajo ustvarjalnost, kulturo in
kakovost življenja v središču Maribora, na dvoriščih, ki se skrivajo za
fasadami mariborskih mestnih hiš. V teh novoodkritih družabnih prostorih
se dogajajo nenavadne instalacije, predstave in koncerti, poje se in
pleše, izvajajo se delavnice umetnostne obrti, ohranjajo praktična
znanja, ob ognju pa se pripovedujejo zgodbe prebivalcev dvorišč. Nosilec
projekta je Gledališče Ane Monro, partnerji pa so zavod Maribor 2012,
Narodni dom in Pekarna Magdalenske mreže.
Sally Mann: The Flesh and The Spirit
is the first in-depth exploration of this world-renowned artist's
approach to the body. Throughout her career, Mann has fearlessly pushed
her exploration of the human form, tackling often difficult subject
matter and making unapologetically sensual images that are
simultaneously bold and lyrical. This beautifully produced publication
includes Mann's earliest platinum prints from the late 1970s, Polaroid
still lifes, early color work of her children, haunting landscape
images, recent self-portraits and nude studies of her husband. These
series document Mann's interest in the body as principal subject, with
the associated issues of vulnerability and mortality lending an elegiac
note to her images. In bringing them together, author and curator John
Ravenal examines the varied ways in which Mann's experimental approach,
including ambrotypes and gelatin-silver prints made from collodian
wet-plate negatives, moves her subjects from the corporeal to the
ethereal. Ravenal also supplies a comprehensive introduction as well as
individual entries on each series, and essays by David Levi Strauss
("Eros, Psyche, and the Mendacity of Photography") and Anne Wilkes
Tucker ("Living Memory") add different, but equally illuminating
perspectives to this work. Sally Mann: The Flesh and The Spirit is a must for any serious library of photographic literature, students, scholars, collectors and others interested in her work.
