I just took a caravan to Afghanistan, didn’t buy an airline ticket, and thank heavens didn’t get shot at. Rather, I’ve been snuggled under the cover of my very own down comforter, reading about other people getting knifed, mummified by desert winds, running off with tribal chieftains, and marrying men who already have several other wives in tow. Sometimes you just have to get out of yourself, know what I mean? If you want to know a whole lot about any number of countries, check out James Michener’s oeuvre. Chances are, he wrote about it.
The Michener book that’s been keeping me up nights is Caravan, published in the early sixties. It just goes to prove that if you do enough research, you can look prescient, even if the information was there all the time. Michener accurately predicted tribalism resulting in near civil war, Soviet invasion, extreme abuse of Afghani women, and a whole host of stuff you can read about any day in your newspaper’s front page. And if you want to get a really good perspective on why a war in Afghanistan is probably even more unwinnable than one in Iraq, why, look no further than this 40 year old book. The Afghanistan of Caravan makes other messed up countries, like Somalia and Nigeria, look like child’s play to get organized.
Nobody will ever accuse James Michener of intricate plots, psychodrama, or brevity (my soul mate!), but he knows how to amass a mountain of data as high as the Hindu Kush, twist it into a forthright yarn that shadows real characters, and by the time you plow through 300 to 1,000 pages, you know everything he knows about the subject. He wrote big books, but ones where the storytelling is so engaging that you find yourself reading over lunch, carrying the brick into the bathroom, and, in my case, burning yourself because you were stirring something with one hand while holding the book in the other.
In addition to Caravan, I’ve read Tales of the South Pacific, Hawaii and Caribbean. Hawaii is fun and poignant (don’t bother with the awful movie they made from part of it). After reading the horrifying Caribbean, I don’t think I’d ever be able to vacation there again. Best of all, though, was Michener’s autobiography, The World Is My Home. It was a pleasure to visit with this seemingly kind, self made guy who seldom has a bad word to say about anyone. Whether he was really that way in person (hmmm, he was married 3 times), we’ll never know. It’s a big book, but it leaves out perhaps as much as it includes. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for an easy read that will give you more entertainment than whatever you just rented from Netflix, check out Michener, any Michener. Years ago any of his books was eagerly awaited and an instant bestseller. You don’t hear about his work much since he passed away. More’s the pity.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
A Christmas sugar plum
I went to the opera recently and nobody died. Franz Lehar just isn’t like that. The Merry Widow is a huge whipped cream torte of music, frivolity, and child-like swirls of emotions. The Lyric Opera of Chicago has done it up right, with great costumes, beautiful voices, and a cast that makes a serious stab at acting.
It does seem that these financial times have returned us to more conventional productions. A number of years ago the Lyric was experimenting with “modernizing” some operas. For me, the nadir was reached in their production of Gluck’s Alceste, where everyone was costumed in beige and gray. At one point there was a pile of naked, writhing bodies on stage that, far from being erotic, resembled a plate of Klingon Gagh, or the earthworms in my compost heap. My guess is the people who pay for the big ticket seats didn’t exactly relish it either.
Opera, well done, can be the best of all theater experiences: music, dance, plot, lyrical language, voice, orchestra, acting—it CAN have it all. Okay, sometimes it’s a little weak on a few of those things. Acting can be a bit dubious when the two “young lovers” are pretty clearly pushing fifty under the spackled on makeup, or when they’re as big as two belugas circling each other. And the plots, well, I’ve been meaning to write “the three plots of all operas” for a long time. But sometimes the lyricism can move me to tears. Maybe it’s my age, but the regret of getting older in the words of the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier, or just about any line in La Bohème, have me crying like I’m peeling onions.
The Nikipedia only likes happy endings, and by that standard Lehar ought to be her favorite composer (he’s not, but that’s another blog post). Both the Merry Widow and his other well-known work, The Student Prince, have all the problems you’d like to have, and even the villains are not so bad and have good reasons to oppose the hero/heroine. If only life were like that.
I have one horrible problem in viewing opera, and that is that after nearly freezing to death getting to the production (never once have I bought tickets that the day didn’t turn out to be a ride on the polar express), once I sit down and the overture starts, the combination of warmth and relaxation often puts me right to sleep. Usually, I have the Nikipedia to poke me in the ribs ruthlessly, but sometimes the Sandman even affects her. Not so this time—the constant action, the music, the dance, the colorful costumes kept me charged from beginning to end, and that’s saying something because it’s a 3 hour production. However, thanks to this somnambulance affliction, I’ve discovered that I quite enjoy opera on DVDs as well, where you don’t have to watch the entire thing at once. Also, while nothing compares to the live experience, you can wait a long time to see the opera you want produced within driving distance. DVDs fill the gap, and may be an easier introduction for squirmy kids. I haven't seen either the Merry Widow or one of the available versions of The Student Prince on DVD (the old version is available on Netflix), so let me know how they are if you check 'em out.
It does seem that these financial times have returned us to more conventional productions. A number of years ago the Lyric was experimenting with “modernizing” some operas. For me, the nadir was reached in their production of Gluck’s Alceste, where everyone was costumed in beige and gray. At one point there was a pile of naked, writhing bodies on stage that, far from being erotic, resembled a plate of Klingon Gagh, or the earthworms in my compost heap. My guess is the people who pay for the big ticket seats didn’t exactly relish it either.
Opera, well done, can be the best of all theater experiences: music, dance, plot, lyrical language, voice, orchestra, acting—it CAN have it all. Okay, sometimes it’s a little weak on a few of those things. Acting can be a bit dubious when the two “young lovers” are pretty clearly pushing fifty under the spackled on makeup, or when they’re as big as two belugas circling each other. And the plots, well, I’ve been meaning to write “the three plots of all operas” for a long time. But sometimes the lyricism can move me to tears. Maybe it’s my age, but the regret of getting older in the words of the Marschallin in Der Rosenkavalier, or just about any line in La Bohème, have me crying like I’m peeling onions.
The Nikipedia only likes happy endings, and by that standard Lehar ought to be her favorite composer (he’s not, but that’s another blog post). Both the Merry Widow and his other well-known work, The Student Prince, have all the problems you’d like to have, and even the villains are not so bad and have good reasons to oppose the hero/heroine. If only life were like that.
I have one horrible problem in viewing opera, and that is that after nearly freezing to death getting to the production (never once have I bought tickets that the day didn’t turn out to be a ride on the polar express), once I sit down and the overture starts, the combination of warmth and relaxation often puts me right to sleep. Usually, I have the Nikipedia to poke me in the ribs ruthlessly, but sometimes the Sandman even affects her. Not so this time—the constant action, the music, the dance, the colorful costumes kept me charged from beginning to end, and that’s saying something because it’s a 3 hour production. However, thanks to this somnambulance affliction, I’ve discovered that I quite enjoy opera on DVDs as well, where you don’t have to watch the entire thing at once. Also, while nothing compares to the live experience, you can wait a long time to see the opera you want produced within driving distance. DVDs fill the gap, and may be an easier introduction for squirmy kids. I haven't seen either the Merry Widow or one of the available versions of The Student Prince on DVD (the old version is available on Netflix), so let me know how they are if you check 'em out.
Friday, December 11, 2009
NaNoWriMo: alas, No Mo’
NaNoWriMo wound up on November 30th, so I think I’ve finally recovered enough to pontificate. Some have said it’s pretty hard to teach me anything, but I did learn a few things about writing and life from the experience.
Writing a novel is a humbling experience.
As is probably evident from the length of some of these blog posts, I’m no slouch at spewing words. I’d thought about my novel, researched it for months, even translated tons of material from French reference books. I’d outlined it, summarized it, plotted crises and down time. None of it was enough—I was done with my first draft at 40,000 and really had to struggle to make it to 50,000. Sure, it’s a teen historical novel (also known as YA), and they can be shorter, but probably not that short. Halfway into my story, which is set in a girls’ school during the time of Louis XIV, I felt like all my characters did was eat meals and walk around the corridors. My respect for another author, who sets her story in a similarly closed environment, went up a thousand per cent. Hats off, J.K. Rowling.
Forget the research until you’ve written the first draft
I know this is heresy for historical fiction. Okay, maybe you can read a Time Life book or some background piece so you don’t make glaring mistakes. Even though I have a file drawer and several shelves worth of books on Louis XIV, everyday life in the period, carriages, maps, etc., I couldn’t remember any of it while writing at the speed required by NaNoWriMo. Far from combing through files, I didn’t even have time to look at the binder I put together of essential details. Know what? Didn’t matter. I just stuck in brackets and moved on with the story. Now I can see exactly what details I need to round out the story, rather than trying to cram in all the interesting facts just because I spent so much time accumulating them. Plus, I could have saved myself months of work.
I think historical novelists need to distinguish what is fun to know from what is essential to the story. Unless you have a publisher that is willing to print a brick, your attention is better focused on the plot and characters rather than your file cards.
Forget the outline
I had an extensive outline which was little help in gauging how much needed to be written to get my characters from plot point to plot point. Also, it encouraged me to feel that I had to begin at the beginning and work through to the end. Not much room for innovation there.
Maybe if I wasn’t working on the thirty day deadline, an outline would have worked better. But if I ever do NaNoWriMo again, I’m just going to have 30 sections that I can write 1,667 words on, probably also called “chapters”. The whole point of this speed writing exercise is that you finally get something down. It doesn’t have to be good, and believe me, mine isn’t. But you have something to work with. Either an outline or a 30-points list works for that, but the 30 points would have had me writing faster, and better spread out over the time period.
If something’s too hard, make it harder
For most of my life I’ve been the type who can only write during the day (preferably morning) with significant quiet. During NaNo, I wrote while in coffee shops with kids screaming next to me, wrote while the Nikipedia clacked along on her keyboard, wrote at 12:30 at night and woke up with my hands still on the keyboard. You can type in unexpected places like the bathroom, as long as you’re sitting down (eeuw, gross).
Also, making it harder really cures writer’s block and perfectionism. I wrote 6,000 words the Saturday before the deadline. There wasn’t any time to think or worry. As my friend Pat Bracewell (another historical novelist) advised me, “Bang it out, baby”—four sage words of advice.
On the other hand, you can’t keep up that kind of pressure
One of the reasons it works is because it’s time-limited. You can’t go forever without cleaning the bathroom, or ever reading a book, or eating Spam and lettuce for dinner. A month a year, yes, but it isn’t a lifestyle.
Even though I can dither for a long time about a single sentence, not thinking at all just isn’t fun. It’s a fine first draft method to crank, but a little slower and I’d have enjoyed the writing. Actually, 1,700 words would be doable, but what with Thanksgiving, house guests, etc. I missed several days. Which brings me to the next principle…
Front load it
I knew there would be days when I couldn’t write, but I didn’t realize how fast they’d pile up. Hey, it’s been a year or two or 30 since I’ve been in grad school. If I do NaNo again, I’m going to lock myself in my room for the first weekend at least. They tell you this, but until you’ve lived it, you won’t realize the number of ways things interfere.
Don’t be intimidated by what other people seem to be doing
One of the virtues is the buddy system, where you can see how much your friends are writing every day. One of my buddies wrote about half her novel the first weekend. She never wrote another word. She’s not a close friend, and I haven’t had the heart to ask her what happened. Other people made extraordinary leaps at times when I was grinding along. But out of the 8 people I watched, only 3 finished (one being the Nikipedia). So, don’t assume everyone else is having an easier time with anything than you are. And maybe don’t front load so much you never want to see the thing again.
You will be very proud of yourself if you accomplish something hard
The Nikipedia has been so excited she’s been carrying her printed copy everywhere. It’s hard to resist the urge to buttonhole total strangers in coffee shops and bookstores and tell them all about it. I was sure I could write a novel, but not sure I could produce a first draft of 50,000 words in a month. Now I know. I have the winners’ certificate right in front of me.
Nobody wants to hear about your great idea
I learned this at the final party when one woman talked me cross eyed. Even I didn’t want to hear the whole thing, which she seemed determined to punish me with, line by line. You need an elevator speech for any great idea, and those were quite interesting to hear. But the idea isn’t the product, the manuscript (or invention, or report, or new business) is, and unless that is produced in finished form, the draft is pretty useless to anyone but the creator.
Nothing is as famous as you think
NaNo has over 120,000 participants a year. Except for few friends and some other writers, no one I mentioned it to had ever heard of it. Think about that the next time you make a gaffe or mistake and think "everyone will know". Also, no matter how much publicity you generate, there will still be plenty of people to reach.
Now…on to revisions.
Writing a novel is a humbling experience.
As is probably evident from the length of some of these blog posts, I’m no slouch at spewing words. I’d thought about my novel, researched it for months, even translated tons of material from French reference books. I’d outlined it, summarized it, plotted crises and down time. None of it was enough—I was done with my first draft at 40,000 and really had to struggle to make it to 50,000. Sure, it’s a teen historical novel (also known as YA), and they can be shorter, but probably not that short. Halfway into my story, which is set in a girls’ school during the time of Louis XIV, I felt like all my characters did was eat meals and walk around the corridors. My respect for another author, who sets her story in a similarly closed environment, went up a thousand per cent. Hats off, J.K. Rowling.
Forget the research until you’ve written the first draft
I know this is heresy for historical fiction. Okay, maybe you can read a Time Life book or some background piece so you don’t make glaring mistakes. Even though I have a file drawer and several shelves worth of books on Louis XIV, everyday life in the period, carriages, maps, etc., I couldn’t remember any of it while writing at the speed required by NaNoWriMo. Far from combing through files, I didn’t even have time to look at the binder I put together of essential details. Know what? Didn’t matter. I just stuck in brackets and moved on with the story. Now I can see exactly what details I need to round out the story, rather than trying to cram in all the interesting facts just because I spent so much time accumulating them. Plus, I could have saved myself months of work.
I think historical novelists need to distinguish what is fun to know from what is essential to the story. Unless you have a publisher that is willing to print a brick, your attention is better focused on the plot and characters rather than your file cards.
Forget the outline
I had an extensive outline which was little help in gauging how much needed to be written to get my characters from plot point to plot point. Also, it encouraged me to feel that I had to begin at the beginning and work through to the end. Not much room for innovation there.
Maybe if I wasn’t working on the thirty day deadline, an outline would have worked better. But if I ever do NaNoWriMo again, I’m just going to have 30 sections that I can write 1,667 words on, probably also called “chapters”. The whole point of this speed writing exercise is that you finally get something down. It doesn’t have to be good, and believe me, mine isn’t. But you have something to work with. Either an outline or a 30-points list works for that, but the 30 points would have had me writing faster, and better spread out over the time period.
If something’s too hard, make it harder
For most of my life I’ve been the type who can only write during the day (preferably morning) with significant quiet. During NaNo, I wrote while in coffee shops with kids screaming next to me, wrote while the Nikipedia clacked along on her keyboard, wrote at 12:30 at night and woke up with my hands still on the keyboard. You can type in unexpected places like the bathroom, as long as you’re sitting down (eeuw, gross).
Also, making it harder really cures writer’s block and perfectionism. I wrote 6,000 words the Saturday before the deadline. There wasn’t any time to think or worry. As my friend Pat Bracewell (another historical novelist) advised me, “Bang it out, baby”—four sage words of advice.
On the other hand, you can’t keep up that kind of pressure
One of the reasons it works is because it’s time-limited. You can’t go forever without cleaning the bathroom, or ever reading a book, or eating Spam and lettuce for dinner. A month a year, yes, but it isn’t a lifestyle.
Even though I can dither for a long time about a single sentence, not thinking at all just isn’t fun. It’s a fine first draft method to crank, but a little slower and I’d have enjoyed the writing. Actually, 1,700 words would be doable, but what with Thanksgiving, house guests, etc. I missed several days. Which brings me to the next principle…
Front load it
I knew there would be days when I couldn’t write, but I didn’t realize how fast they’d pile up. Hey, it’s been a year or two or 30 since I’ve been in grad school. If I do NaNo again, I’m going to lock myself in my room for the first weekend at least. They tell you this, but until you’ve lived it, you won’t realize the number of ways things interfere.
Don’t be intimidated by what other people seem to be doing
One of the virtues is the buddy system, where you can see how much your friends are writing every day. One of my buddies wrote about half her novel the first weekend. She never wrote another word. She’s not a close friend, and I haven’t had the heart to ask her what happened. Other people made extraordinary leaps at times when I was grinding along. But out of the 8 people I watched, only 3 finished (one being the Nikipedia). So, don’t assume everyone else is having an easier time with anything than you are. And maybe don’t front load so much you never want to see the thing again.
You will be very proud of yourself if you accomplish something hard
The Nikipedia has been so excited she’s been carrying her printed copy everywhere. It’s hard to resist the urge to buttonhole total strangers in coffee shops and bookstores and tell them all about it. I was sure I could write a novel, but not sure I could produce a first draft of 50,000 words in a month. Now I know. I have the winners’ certificate right in front of me.
Nobody wants to hear about your great idea
I learned this at the final party when one woman talked me cross eyed. Even I didn’t want to hear the whole thing, which she seemed determined to punish me with, line by line. You need an elevator speech for any great idea, and those were quite interesting to hear. But the idea isn’t the product, the manuscript (or invention, or report, or new business) is, and unless that is produced in finished form, the draft is pretty useless to anyone but the creator.
Nothing is as famous as you think
NaNo has over 120,000 participants a year. Except for few friends and some other writers, no one I mentioned it to had ever heard of it. Think about that the next time you make a gaffe or mistake and think "everyone will know". Also, no matter how much publicity you generate, there will still be plenty of people to reach.
Now…on to revisions.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
What do you want for Christmas?
If your answer is more time, world peace or true love, well, mine too. But I don’t think I can do a whole lot to get them, so I have a few other ideas for gifts that might do a tiny bit of good in this world. Since I’d almost prefer being run over by a Hummer (at least it’s quick) to having to brave the mall on a Saturday, I’ve come up with a different list. This is a tough Christmas for a lot of people, and an awful lot of businesses, too, and I’d like to see people who put out a creative and useful product stay afloat.
My first suggestion is, shop locally. No, I don’t mean your local Ann Taylor or Coldwater Creek (okay, please shop at Coldwater Creek—I have stock in them and it stinks lately), I mean creative, single store merchants that have a personal vision and are selling something unique—the individual clothing shop, the local antiques merchant, the floral or plant store. People that own and run these stores are doing it as much for love as money, and they’ll be willing to talk over your problem giftees and help you come up with something. Shop there before all individuality is eaten alive by mega-corporation homogenization.
Second idea is, how about donating to a charity that has a nifty premium for a gift? National Wildlife Federation has a lot of adorable plushies and great magazines for adults and kids. Ditto World Wildlife Fund, Sierra Club, Audubon, Defenders of Wildlife, etc. I admit I don’t get a real gift thrill out of just making a donation, but these organizations have figured out that it’s a lot more fun if you have something to wrap up, or a nifty magazine.
While we’re on the subject of magazines, most of them are struggling. You can find a magazine for nearly anyone on your list—New Moon is terrific for tweens, and Carus publications has a ton for different age brackets (literary, social sciences and science). For adults, too—go to your local (preferably independent) bookseller, look through the racks and racks, pick one out, mail one of the hundreds of blown-in subscription cards and wrap up the sample. Me, I love Somerset Studio, Belle Armoire, Threads, The Washington Monthly, Marie-Claire Idées, Poets & Writers, Piano, and an armload of others (hint, hint).
A more unusual variation of the magazine gift is the literary journal subscription. In my book these have some distinct advantages: they don’t publish as frequently, hence they don’t remind me of the kind of machine that keeps spitting tennis balls at you, and I don’t add to my six foot bedside stack; and they’re smaller and you can stuff them in a pocket or purse more easily. Ones that I really like or have liked in the past include Alimentum, Granta, Glimmer Train, The Believer, and The Sun. I’ll be reviewing these in more depth one of these days.
If you’re really broke and live near a major city, I have three ideas. Do a search of second hand stores and library used book sales. The stuff at second hand stores can be unbelievable—recent finds include an Irish fisherman handknit sweater for $5, a sequined top for $1 and a Kenneth Cole dress for $5. Call it “vintage” not used and add instant chic. The Nikipedia is the queen of finds, but it really just takes a little browsing, particularly if you can find one that specializes in upscale second hand. Library book sales are amazing—it just makes me heartsick to see books for which I’ve paid $29.95 (still unread) going for $1. A lot of libraries in our area have permanent for-sale shelves or even for-sale rooms. You can come up with a nice armload of mysteries or historicals or biographies, wrap it in a big box and give a huge present for $10, while helping the library. Cheaper than the fines some of us pay, ahem.
Those same libraries, or nearby universities, have concert series for no or very low cost. How about making up a schedule and buying tickets, or designing some fake ones and provide the transportation and companionship to go with them. Me, I’d be delighted to have a friend make a commitment to attend a free series with me—so often I don’t go if I don’t have someone to go with me. And wouldn’t it be fun to have a regular “date” with a friend to do such a fun thing? Or if you’re going to purchase tickets for someone, how about favoring small theater groups, new music or early music ensembles, or student performances? These people can really use support in building an audience, and you’ll be giving something a lot more original than a gift card to the local megaplex.
Finally, don’t buy jewelry as gifts until you check out your local crafts fair or bead store. To my intense aggravation when I’m a seller, people at craft fairs often price jewelry ridiculously low, and have said to me that they just want to get their materials costs back so they can make some more. Grrrgh, but it’s great if you’re the buyer. Also, if you have the slightest jewelry making skills, at a bead store you can put together a nice gemstone bead necklace (often with loaner tools on the premises and the help of the owner) for a fraction of the department store cost. One of the bead stores in my town used to display pictures from the Sundance catalog next to nearly identical beads that you could use to make your own for about 25% of the cost. Also, take a look at the stuff on Etsy.com. My New Year’s resolution is to put stuff in my own “store” there, but in the meantime, there’s plenty of nifty things to buy, all made by highly creative kitchen table entrepreneurs.
Now, do I get an award as Santa’s little helper?
My first suggestion is, shop locally. No, I don’t mean your local Ann Taylor or Coldwater Creek (okay, please shop at Coldwater Creek—I have stock in them and it stinks lately), I mean creative, single store merchants that have a personal vision and are selling something unique—the individual clothing shop, the local antiques merchant, the floral or plant store. People that own and run these stores are doing it as much for love as money, and they’ll be willing to talk over your problem giftees and help you come up with something. Shop there before all individuality is eaten alive by mega-corporation homogenization.
Second idea is, how about donating to a charity that has a nifty premium for a gift? National Wildlife Federation has a lot of adorable plushies and great magazines for adults and kids. Ditto World Wildlife Fund, Sierra Club, Audubon, Defenders of Wildlife, etc. I admit I don’t get a real gift thrill out of just making a donation, but these organizations have figured out that it’s a lot more fun if you have something to wrap up, or a nifty magazine.
While we’re on the subject of magazines, most of them are struggling. You can find a magazine for nearly anyone on your list—New Moon is terrific for tweens, and Carus publications has a ton for different age brackets (literary, social sciences and science). For adults, too—go to your local (preferably independent) bookseller, look through the racks and racks, pick one out, mail one of the hundreds of blown-in subscription cards and wrap up the sample. Me, I love Somerset Studio, Belle Armoire, Threads, The Washington Monthly, Marie-Claire Idées, Poets & Writers, Piano, and an armload of others (hint, hint).
A more unusual variation of the magazine gift is the literary journal subscription. In my book these have some distinct advantages: they don’t publish as frequently, hence they don’t remind me of the kind of machine that keeps spitting tennis balls at you, and I don’t add to my six foot bedside stack; and they’re smaller and you can stuff them in a pocket or purse more easily. Ones that I really like or have liked in the past include Alimentum, Granta, Glimmer Train, The Believer, and The Sun. I’ll be reviewing these in more depth one of these days.
If you’re really broke and live near a major city, I have three ideas. Do a search of second hand stores and library used book sales. The stuff at second hand stores can be unbelievable—recent finds include an Irish fisherman handknit sweater for $5, a sequined top for $1 and a Kenneth Cole dress for $5. Call it “vintage” not used and add instant chic. The Nikipedia is the queen of finds, but it really just takes a little browsing, particularly if you can find one that specializes in upscale second hand. Library book sales are amazing—it just makes me heartsick to see books for which I’ve paid $29.95 (still unread) going for $1. A lot of libraries in our area have permanent for-sale shelves or even for-sale rooms. You can come up with a nice armload of mysteries or historicals or biographies, wrap it in a big box and give a huge present for $10, while helping the library. Cheaper than the fines some of us pay, ahem.
Those same libraries, or nearby universities, have concert series for no or very low cost. How about making up a schedule and buying tickets, or designing some fake ones and provide the transportation and companionship to go with them. Me, I’d be delighted to have a friend make a commitment to attend a free series with me—so often I don’t go if I don’t have someone to go with me. And wouldn’t it be fun to have a regular “date” with a friend to do such a fun thing? Or if you’re going to purchase tickets for someone, how about favoring small theater groups, new music or early music ensembles, or student performances? These people can really use support in building an audience, and you’ll be giving something a lot more original than a gift card to the local megaplex.
Finally, don’t buy jewelry as gifts until you check out your local crafts fair or bead store. To my intense aggravation when I’m a seller, people at craft fairs often price jewelry ridiculously low, and have said to me that they just want to get their materials costs back so they can make some more. Grrrgh, but it’s great if you’re the buyer. Also, if you have the slightest jewelry making skills, at a bead store you can put together a nice gemstone bead necklace (often with loaner tools on the premises and the help of the owner) for a fraction of the department store cost. One of the bead stores in my town used to display pictures from the Sundance catalog next to nearly identical beads that you could use to make your own for about 25% of the cost. Also, take a look at the stuff on Etsy.com. My New Year’s resolution is to put stuff in my own “store” there, but in the meantime, there’s plenty of nifty things to buy, all made by highly creative kitchen table entrepreneurs.
Now, do I get an award as Santa’s little helper?
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
It’s a living
It ain’t easy making a living as any kind of artist. I wish I had a signed contract for every time I’ve heard a parent tell me, “Oh, my kid is so creative [fill in artist, actor, writer, dancer, whatever] but I’m telling him or her to major in [physics, accounting, chemistry, education—whatever the parent thinks is “practical”] because, of course, you can’t make a living at it.”
Well, the truth is, you can and this is dumb advice. Tons of people make a living every day at these professions, and there are plenty of out-of-work computer science majors. But, the employment path is fairly clear for computer science or chemistry: get the degree and get someone to hire you. The path for the arts is not: get the degree (or maybe not), get someone to hire you (or maybe not), sell your services, get a day gig (or maybe not)…but just because it’s not clear doesn’t make it un-doable. What does it require? Well, duh, it requires CREATIVITY.
If you want to eat and be any kind of artist, you need to think outside the box, not only with your art, but with your marketing, packaging, and bill paying. Maybe you will need to cobble together several jobs, sell several different versions of what you do, find a non-demanding dumb job (plenty of novelists have worked for the customs house, or the post office, or waiting tables) so you can still think and are raring to go when you get home.
But what these parents don’t tell their kids, what actually would be worthwhile advice, is that if you want to live by art, you'd better minor in business or plan to teach at some level. Acquiring the acumen to run a business, market, set up your website and social networking blitz—they’re all essential or no one is ever going to hear about your art.
Just like dating. It’s unlikely that anyone is ever going to arrive on a white horse. And if they do, it’s because you already have the door open and are looking out for the whinnying.
Two good books about making a living in one of the arts (writing):
Well, the truth is, you can and this is dumb advice. Tons of people make a living every day at these professions, and there are plenty of out-of-work computer science majors. But, the employment path is fairly clear for computer science or chemistry: get the degree and get someone to hire you. The path for the arts is not: get the degree (or maybe not), get someone to hire you (or maybe not), sell your services, get a day gig (or maybe not)…but just because it’s not clear doesn’t make it un-doable. What does it require? Well, duh, it requires CREATIVITY.
If you want to eat and be any kind of artist, you need to think outside the box, not only with your art, but with your marketing, packaging, and bill paying. Maybe you will need to cobble together several jobs, sell several different versions of what you do, find a non-demanding dumb job (plenty of novelists have worked for the customs house, or the post office, or waiting tables) so you can still think and are raring to go when you get home.
But what these parents don’t tell their kids, what actually would be worthwhile advice, is that if you want to live by art, you'd better minor in business or plan to teach at some level. Acquiring the acumen to run a business, market, set up your website and social networking blitz—they’re all essential or no one is ever going to hear about your art.
Just like dating. It’s unlikely that anyone is ever going to arrive on a white horse. And if they do, it’s because you already have the door open and are looking out for the whinnying.
Two good books about making a living in one of the arts (writing):
Thursday, November 12, 2009
NaNoWhat?
On November first I transformed my writing life. No, I didn’t get the advance I think I deserve, no super agent has had the good sense to sign me yet, and I didn’t land that million dollar corporate communications contract. I signed up for NaNoWriMo.
For anyone (like me) who’s been living under a rock for the last several years, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, where you take leave of your senses and actually volunteer yourself to produce 50,000 novel words in 30 days. Yes, I already know it’s impossible, but that didn’t stop me. After all, the Nikipedia joyously plunged in and I’m not going to be outdone on my home turf by a 15 year old. Well, okay, she outdoes me on nearly everything, but I’m not just going to lie down and die, right?
We went to a kickoff party November 1, where the average age was a whole lot closer to hers than mine, but it was awesome to be with a lot of writers talking about writing. Of course, they weren’t actually doing it, which is similar to a lot of people that get together and TALK writing. However, I had smugly banged out 2500 words that first day, and believe me that entitled me to a drink.
You already know how this story is going, right? It’s been dang near impossible to make the daily quota, 1,667 words if you are to have any hope of actually finishing up in the allotted time. I’m talking headaches, evening meetings, assignments where someone actually called ME, missives from the divorce lawyer, and other unpleasant, time wasting events. This morning, when the cat decided to run away, I was certainly tempted to shake my fist at heaven.
Now, note I did not say you had to produce 50,000 good words, and believe me, I have not. But what has astounded me is how much I have produced. I’ve been yammering about this novel for at least 5 years, spent months doing research, translating material from the French, making what I thought was a detailed outline, but written nary a word in that whole time. Well, okay, I wrote a first chapter which I labored over for several months for a contest. It’s horrendous, and I tossed it and started over for NaNoWriMo. Just goes to show the stuff you agonize about ain’t necessarily any better.
So, what have I discovered so far? I don’t have to be in a good mood, or inspired, or know where I’m going with the chapter, or even awake. What I have written has mostly happened at 6 am, or 9:45 pm with the Nikipedia sitting next to me on the couch and both of us clacking away. The stuff is awful, but there’s no way to go back or you can’t possibly finish the word count. I’m 2 days behind and hope to catch up this weekend, but I’ve written over 15,000 (hopefully revisable) words. This is the most I have ever written on one subject in my life.
I’m determined to win this, although my writing buddies (on the NaNo site) must be related to Road Runner as some of them have far EXCEEDED the needed daily count. I wonder if they would like my pets for a month? Next year (or next novel) I’m not going to bother with research, or outlining, until I write the first 50,000 words. I haven’t had time to go look up the details I recorded, name all the characters authentically, consult the timelines, nada. But I am going to have 30 distinct “talking points” so I’ll be able to figure out what the heck to write about. It ain’t easy getting my characters from chapter to chapter.
Now, if I could just add the 600 and some words from this post to my NaNoWriMo total...
For anyone (like me) who’s been living under a rock for the last several years, NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, where you take leave of your senses and actually volunteer yourself to produce 50,000 novel words in 30 days. Yes, I already know it’s impossible, but that didn’t stop me. After all, the Nikipedia joyously plunged in and I’m not going to be outdone on my home turf by a 15 year old. Well, okay, she outdoes me on nearly everything, but I’m not just going to lie down and die, right?
We went to a kickoff party November 1, where the average age was a whole lot closer to hers than mine, but it was awesome to be with a lot of writers talking about writing. Of course, they weren’t actually doing it, which is similar to a lot of people that get together and TALK writing. However, I had smugly banged out 2500 words that first day, and believe me that entitled me to a drink.
You already know how this story is going, right? It’s been dang near impossible to make the daily quota, 1,667 words if you are to have any hope of actually finishing up in the allotted time. I’m talking headaches, evening meetings, assignments where someone actually called ME, missives from the divorce lawyer, and other unpleasant, time wasting events. This morning, when the cat decided to run away, I was certainly tempted to shake my fist at heaven.
Now, note I did not say you had to produce 50,000 good words, and believe me, I have not. But what has astounded me is how much I have produced. I’ve been yammering about this novel for at least 5 years, spent months doing research, translating material from the French, making what I thought was a detailed outline, but written nary a word in that whole time. Well, okay, I wrote a first chapter which I labored over for several months for a contest. It’s horrendous, and I tossed it and started over for NaNoWriMo. Just goes to show the stuff you agonize about ain’t necessarily any better.
So, what have I discovered so far? I don’t have to be in a good mood, or inspired, or know where I’m going with the chapter, or even awake. What I have written has mostly happened at 6 am, or 9:45 pm with the Nikipedia sitting next to me on the couch and both of us clacking away. The stuff is awful, but there’s no way to go back or you can’t possibly finish the word count. I’m 2 days behind and hope to catch up this weekend, but I’ve written over 15,000 (hopefully revisable) words. This is the most I have ever written on one subject in my life.
I’m determined to win this, although my writing buddies (on the NaNo site) must be related to Road Runner as some of them have far EXCEEDED the needed daily count. I wonder if they would like my pets for a month? Next year (or next novel) I’m not going to bother with research, or outlining, until I write the first 50,000 words. I haven’t had time to go look up the details I recorded, name all the characters authentically, consult the timelines, nada. But I am going to have 30 distinct “talking points” so I’ll be able to figure out what the heck to write about. It ain’t easy getting my characters from chapter to chapter.
Now, if I could just add the 600 and some words from this post to my NaNoWriMo total...
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Modern Romance
Sunday’s New York Times Magazine has an interesting article on “The First Marriage”. No, that’s not Adam and Eve; they’re talking about the Obamas. It was a delightful thing to read in bed on Sunday morning, almost as good as a juicy romance novel. I mean, wouldn’t we all like to be tall, thin, rich (well moderately, anyway), have a great career and a spouse that adores us?
Oh, I meant Barack. No, seriously, I think the Obamas are a great example of middle aged love, one to be admired and emulated insofar as possible, just like I hold up Barack’s life story to my daughter as an example of someone who can take bad life events and make something beyond the ordinary out of them. But the story in the Times is really about effort, not romance. Here are two people with ferocious intelligence, significant ambition, and apparently tons of energy. That combination can equal fireworks or synergy, and it clearly works because of real effort to understand, make compromises and trades, and take the best available to them (as opposed to seeking perfection.)
Unlike the bombastic buffoon we were beset with for the previous 8 years, one of Barack’s salient traits seems to be the ability to shut up and listen. How incredible to have a President who actually thinks he has something to learn from other people, maybe even his wife! As is obvious from the interview, Barack is still struggling to understand Michelle’s needs, and she struggles to mesh her personality with the needs of his role.
It ain’t easy being a mom and having a brain. Michelle’s career has certainly suffered for her support of Barack. It strikes me as so sad that, although feminism has certainly opened doors for women never possible before the ‘70s, it ended up costing women a lot as policies were implemented. Traditional work place protections were swept away, women who had spent many years raising children suddenly found themselves eligible in a divorce for only “rehabilitative” maintenance (as if motherhood made them handicapped…well, come to think of it…) or (very temporary) alimony, and now we are expected not only to have a career, be a spouse and bear children, but also do all the housekeeping and nurturing that used to be considered already a full time job. When my mother was a single working woman in her 20’s, she lived in an apartment building that was designed for working women and had maid service, because someone working a full time job couldn’t be expected to clean a (small) apartment! Dream on…
The other societal support that feminism did not achieve was the establishment of quality, easily available child care. Any woman that wants to pursue a career usually has a part time job arranging for the safety and well being of her children. Here’s where Barack and Michelle really won lotto. Michelle’s mother, Marilyn Robinson, is the unsung hero of their marriage.
Think about it—if you had a devoted, non-working grandmother who adored your kids, probably didn’t need to get paid, and was still spry enough to chase after them and young enough to drive without running over people on the sidewalk, wouldn’t you feel a great sigh of relief? Okay, if you have that, I’m green with envy. My mom was 80 years old when I had the Nikipedia, and she babysat a total of 4 times during Nikipedia’s childhood.
So now we know the secrets of the Obama marriage. Well, it wasn’t exactly a big secret—they love each other and work at it. It may not be perfect, but, gee, I’d take it. Now, what’s the other secret about the Obamas that I’d really like to know? What exercises does Michelle do for those arms?
Oh, I meant Barack. No, seriously, I think the Obamas are a great example of middle aged love, one to be admired and emulated insofar as possible, just like I hold up Barack’s life story to my daughter as an example of someone who can take bad life events and make something beyond the ordinary out of them. But the story in the Times is really about effort, not romance. Here are two people with ferocious intelligence, significant ambition, and apparently tons of energy. That combination can equal fireworks or synergy, and it clearly works because of real effort to understand, make compromises and trades, and take the best available to them (as opposed to seeking perfection.)
Unlike the bombastic buffoon we were beset with for the previous 8 years, one of Barack’s salient traits seems to be the ability to shut up and listen. How incredible to have a President who actually thinks he has something to learn from other people, maybe even his wife! As is obvious from the interview, Barack is still struggling to understand Michelle’s needs, and she struggles to mesh her personality with the needs of his role.
It ain’t easy being a mom and having a brain. Michelle’s career has certainly suffered for her support of Barack. It strikes me as so sad that, although feminism has certainly opened doors for women never possible before the ‘70s, it ended up costing women a lot as policies were implemented. Traditional work place protections were swept away, women who had spent many years raising children suddenly found themselves eligible in a divorce for only “rehabilitative” maintenance (as if motherhood made them handicapped…well, come to think of it…) or (very temporary) alimony, and now we are expected not only to have a career, be a spouse and bear children, but also do all the housekeeping and nurturing that used to be considered already a full time job. When my mother was a single working woman in her 20’s, she lived in an apartment building that was designed for working women and had maid service, because someone working a full time job couldn’t be expected to clean a (small) apartment! Dream on…
The other societal support that feminism did not achieve was the establishment of quality, easily available child care. Any woman that wants to pursue a career usually has a part time job arranging for the safety and well being of her children. Here’s where Barack and Michelle really won lotto. Michelle’s mother, Marilyn Robinson, is the unsung hero of their marriage.
Think about it—if you had a devoted, non-working grandmother who adored your kids, probably didn’t need to get paid, and was still spry enough to chase after them and young enough to drive without running over people on the sidewalk, wouldn’t you feel a great sigh of relief? Okay, if you have that, I’m green with envy. My mom was 80 years old when I had the Nikipedia, and she babysat a total of 4 times during Nikipedia’s childhood.
So now we know the secrets of the Obama marriage. Well, it wasn’t exactly a big secret—they love each other and work at it. It may not be perfect, but, gee, I’d take it. Now, what’s the other secret about the Obamas that I’d really like to know? What exercises does Michelle do for those arms?
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Not born yesterday
Commercials seldom sell me anything. We don’t watch TV much anymore, preferring to control the images and pursue our obsessions by Netflix. After watching all seven years of Star Trek Voyager and half the French movies of the last decade, it seemed time to check out broadcast TV for an evening or two. What we ended up watching was, sigh, more Star Trek (Next Gen, this time) on something called MeTV. That’s when I fell in love.
No, not with Data. With the commercials. Specifically, with all the commercials for E.D. prescription products. (If you don’t know what that is, think Bob Dole.) The guys in these commercials look great—slim, intelligent, relaxed, successful and, well, juicy. Like, maybe you wouldn’t even care if they had a problem or two, no? But it’s not the guys I’m so in love with.
It’s the image of the women “in their lives” that blows me away. These women look like no other media image I’ve seen. There’s always plenty of fairly good looking if weather worn guys in the movies, but they usually have arm candy young enough to be their granddaughters. (Don’t these over the hill actors ever feel just a teensy bit silly and embarrassed?) But where have you seen a decent looking, tastefully dressed older guy lusting after (gasp!) a woman about his age? Oh, thank you, thank you advertising agency!
What I especially like about these women is that the air brushing isn’t obvious—they have lines around their eyes (albeit nice straight ones, not crinkly puffs), they don’t appear to be wearing Miracle Bras, and they’re relaxing in tasteful settings with guys who look happy. Sure, there’s no teenage kids begging for the car keys or slamming doors, we don’t see what the women look like first thing in the morning, and they’re not standing at the refrigerator gulping a pint of ice cream. They’re not annoyingly slim, but they certainly aren’t plump.
It’s fantasy land, but it’s a tiny blow for women who aren’t on their first round. Oh my gosh, it might be possible to be desirable after, say, 25 years old.
And if it’s all too much, you can always wait for the ads telling you how to get Medicare to pay for your electric “scooter”…
No, not with Data. With the commercials. Specifically, with all the commercials for E.D. prescription products. (If you don’t know what that is, think Bob Dole.) The guys in these commercials look great—slim, intelligent, relaxed, successful and, well, juicy. Like, maybe you wouldn’t even care if they had a problem or two, no? But it’s not the guys I’m so in love with.
It’s the image of the women “in their lives” that blows me away. These women look like no other media image I’ve seen. There’s always plenty of fairly good looking if weather worn guys in the movies, but they usually have arm candy young enough to be their granddaughters. (Don’t these over the hill actors ever feel just a teensy bit silly and embarrassed?) But where have you seen a decent looking, tastefully dressed older guy lusting after (gasp!) a woman about his age? Oh, thank you, thank you advertising agency!
What I especially like about these women is that the air brushing isn’t obvious—they have lines around their eyes (albeit nice straight ones, not crinkly puffs), they don’t appear to be wearing Miracle Bras, and they’re relaxing in tasteful settings with guys who look happy. Sure, there’s no teenage kids begging for the car keys or slamming doors, we don’t see what the women look like first thing in the morning, and they’re not standing at the refrigerator gulping a pint of ice cream. They’re not annoyingly slim, but they certainly aren’t plump.
It’s fantasy land, but it’s a tiny blow for women who aren’t on their first round. Oh my gosh, it might be possible to be desirable after, say, 25 years old.
And if it’s all too much, you can always wait for the ads telling you how to get Medicare to pay for your electric “scooter”…
Friday, October 16, 2009
Maybe it's NOT the schools
The recent talk given by Dr. Edward Gordon at the Independent Writers of Chicago (IWOC) meeting made my brain hurt. The talk was supposed to be about how independent writers can thrive in the global marketplace. I had hoped Dr. Gordon was going to talk about how to get out of cold, grey, drizzly Chicago and catch the transporter beam to Paris or Amsterdam (which are equally cold and grey this time of year but who cares?)
Unfortunately for me, Dr. Gordon’s talk was not exactly nuts and bolts. He focused on what workers need to compete in the coming world order as he sees it. His central point was that there is more demand for certain kinds of skills than people to fill them. No duh there. But then he started sawing away on the same old, “Schools need to educate our kids better. We need more math and science. We need to teach writing skills.” Doesn’t anyone ever question this? Even my beloved Barack Obama has been known to blather about these tired chestnuts.
I never got to argue with Dr. Gordon as he was beset by other writers handing him their business cards and giving their elevator speeches (which I usually do and I’m only mad that so many beat me to it this time. ) As with so many examples of entrenched wisdom, maybe the reason we can’t solve this issue is that we’re starting from the wrong premise. What if, in fact, the schools ARE doing a (fairly) good job and the problem is entirely elsewhere?
I live in Evanston, where the schools are supposed to be good to excellent, the median income is nearly $70,000, and the poorest segments of the community are not living anywhere near the level that they are in, say, Chicago’s Englewood neighborhood, where the median income is more like $19,000. No matter which school your kids attend, they’re sitting side by side with kids of other races and income levels. Let’s put it another way, though—no matter the race or income level, from first grade on, kids are sitting in the same classes, with the same (multi-racial) teachers, using the same materials, for the same amount of time a day. However, from the early grades through high school, testing shows a gigantic gap between the achievement of African-American and Hispanic students, and Caucasian students. The most recent data, for example, on Evanston Township High School seniors’ ACT scores shows Black students (their term) attaining an average score of 19.2, Hispanic students averaging 19, and white kids getting 27.2. Folks, this is a GIGANTIC difference. These kids had the SAME schooling.
Even more interesting is to look at the pre-high school statistics. From third grade on (the first time the kids are tested) on through 8th grade, African-American students lag the performance of white students by 20 points or so, and for the most part the gap gets worse the longer they’re in school. (I’m omitting Hispanic kids here, because I have no way of gauging the impact being a non-native speaker might have. Cop out, I know.) Now, in third grade you can hardly blame the schools—they haven’t had the kids long enough to “fail” that dramatically. Is it biological inferiority of one race over another? Oh come on, only Southern Republicans and Fox News fans are dumb enough to believe that garbage anymore.
So what is it? If you give kids functionally identical education and they score wildly differently, maybe it isn’t the schools. I think Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, has a clue. In it, he talks about the difference between music students who go on to study and become performers (his elite) versus those who either do not go on, or go on to music education programs. The difference is, he says, the amount of time each practices. The magic number, according to Gladwell, is 10,000 hours. 10,000 hours spent doing anything is a gigantic amount of time, but some kids achieve it early on (practicing 6 or 7 hours a day from early childhood) and some never make it. Figure it out—a kid practicing an hour a day, five days a week, 50 weeks a year is only going to put in 250 hours a year, and is going to need 40 years to reach that 10,000 hours mark. A kid practicing 4 hours a day will need only 10 years. Butt-in-seat time makes a huge difference.
My proposition is that it’s the exposure that kids gain outside of class that makes all the difference. Put another way, it’s the haul-your-kid-around factor. Evanston is filled with anxious white parents with eyes on the prize—an Ivy League education for the little darlings, or as close as they can get. From kindermusik on, (white) Evanston parents begin hauling the kids to library story hour, crafts day at museums, soccer, Northwestern kiddie concerts, music lessons, ballet lessons, theater performances and workshops, you name it. Schools eliminated music and art? The parents find it, whether at the lower cost park district or the private music and art programs. Let’s not even get started on all the play groups, support groups, and better parenting seminars. And show me the parent who hasn’t got the kid’s summer all laid out—camp, enrichment, language or creative writing intensive. You can go all summer before you see white kids riding their bike in the street (unless they have an instrument slung over their back on the way to music lessons.)
As a battle scarred veteran of the hauling routine (those moms have sharp elbows) I can attest to the overwhelming color of the participants: white. I don’t know why black kids don’t show up at free storybook programs, or library science night, or why music scholarships go begging. But they don’t show up, at least here. Every once in a while there’s an exception (I bet the Obamas are fine “haulers”), but for the most part, the crowd of kids at any cultural activity is 98% white, even though Evanston itself is nearly 30% African-American. It doesn’t take a sociologist to figure out that white kids in my neck of the woods are getting exposed to, and have the opportunity to learn far more than kids who don’t constantly participate in these enrichment activities.
Wealthy parents know it. Pick out any high priced private school and you’ll see floods of art, music and literature classes, and enough afterschool and before school activities to fill just about all the waking hours of the kids, and the parents or au pairs that drive them. Pick any Saturday at the Evanston Arts Center or Piven Theater workshop and you’ll get run over by all the parents driving Hummers and Mercedes SUVs.
Maybe what we need (with apologies to Dr. Gordon) is to stop wringing our hands over providing “the basics” in schools. Maybe all the enrichment that some kids get really makes the difference—gives them a broader context and a head start on absorbing what schools actually can accomplish. Maybe all the stuff we’ve eliminated from schools (art, music, Great Books clubs) is what really makes the difference. I don’t know how to get all kids participating in enrichment. At least here in Evanston, it’s been “built” but they haven’t come. And there might be a topic for some worthwhile research.
Unfortunately for me, Dr. Gordon’s talk was not exactly nuts and bolts. He focused on what workers need to compete in the coming world order as he sees it. His central point was that there is more demand for certain kinds of skills than people to fill them. No duh there. But then he started sawing away on the same old, “Schools need to educate our kids better. We need more math and science. We need to teach writing skills.” Doesn’t anyone ever question this? Even my beloved Barack Obama has been known to blather about these tired chestnuts.
I never got to argue with Dr. Gordon as he was beset by other writers handing him their business cards and giving their elevator speeches (which I usually do and I’m only mad that so many beat me to it this time. ) As with so many examples of entrenched wisdom, maybe the reason we can’t solve this issue is that we’re starting from the wrong premise. What if, in fact, the schools ARE doing a (fairly) good job and the problem is entirely elsewhere?
I live in Evanston, where the schools are supposed to be good to excellent, the median income is nearly $70,000, and the poorest segments of the community are not living anywhere near the level that they are in, say, Chicago’s Englewood neighborhood, where the median income is more like $19,000. No matter which school your kids attend, they’re sitting side by side with kids of other races and income levels. Let’s put it another way, though—no matter the race or income level, from first grade on, kids are sitting in the same classes, with the same (multi-racial) teachers, using the same materials, for the same amount of time a day. However, from the early grades through high school, testing shows a gigantic gap between the achievement of African-American and Hispanic students, and Caucasian students. The most recent data, for example, on Evanston Township High School seniors’ ACT scores shows Black students (their term) attaining an average score of 19.2, Hispanic students averaging 19, and white kids getting 27.2. Folks, this is a GIGANTIC difference. These kids had the SAME schooling.
Even more interesting is to look at the pre-high school statistics. From third grade on (the first time the kids are tested) on through 8th grade, African-American students lag the performance of white students by 20 points or so, and for the most part the gap gets worse the longer they’re in school. (I’m omitting Hispanic kids here, because I have no way of gauging the impact being a non-native speaker might have. Cop out, I know.) Now, in third grade you can hardly blame the schools—they haven’t had the kids long enough to “fail” that dramatically. Is it biological inferiority of one race over another? Oh come on, only Southern Republicans and Fox News fans are dumb enough to believe that garbage anymore.
So what is it? If you give kids functionally identical education and they score wildly differently, maybe it isn’t the schools. I think Malcolm Gladwell’s book, Outliers, has a clue. In it, he talks about the difference between music students who go on to study and become performers (his elite) versus those who either do not go on, or go on to music education programs. The difference is, he says, the amount of time each practices. The magic number, according to Gladwell, is 10,000 hours. 10,000 hours spent doing anything is a gigantic amount of time, but some kids achieve it early on (practicing 6 or 7 hours a day from early childhood) and some never make it. Figure it out—a kid practicing an hour a day, five days a week, 50 weeks a year is only going to put in 250 hours a year, and is going to need 40 years to reach that 10,000 hours mark. A kid practicing 4 hours a day will need only 10 years. Butt-in-seat time makes a huge difference.
My proposition is that it’s the exposure that kids gain outside of class that makes all the difference. Put another way, it’s the haul-your-kid-around factor. Evanston is filled with anxious white parents with eyes on the prize—an Ivy League education for the little darlings, or as close as they can get. From kindermusik on, (white) Evanston parents begin hauling the kids to library story hour, crafts day at museums, soccer, Northwestern kiddie concerts, music lessons, ballet lessons, theater performances and workshops, you name it. Schools eliminated music and art? The parents find it, whether at the lower cost park district or the private music and art programs. Let’s not even get started on all the play groups, support groups, and better parenting seminars. And show me the parent who hasn’t got the kid’s summer all laid out—camp, enrichment, language or creative writing intensive. You can go all summer before you see white kids riding their bike in the street (unless they have an instrument slung over their back on the way to music lessons.)
As a battle scarred veteran of the hauling routine (those moms have sharp elbows) I can attest to the overwhelming color of the participants: white. I don’t know why black kids don’t show up at free storybook programs, or library science night, or why music scholarships go begging. But they don’t show up, at least here. Every once in a while there’s an exception (I bet the Obamas are fine “haulers”), but for the most part, the crowd of kids at any cultural activity is 98% white, even though Evanston itself is nearly 30% African-American. It doesn’t take a sociologist to figure out that white kids in my neck of the woods are getting exposed to, and have the opportunity to learn far more than kids who don’t constantly participate in these enrichment activities.
Wealthy parents know it. Pick out any high priced private school and you’ll see floods of art, music and literature classes, and enough afterschool and before school activities to fill just about all the waking hours of the kids, and the parents or au pairs that drive them. Pick any Saturday at the Evanston Arts Center or Piven Theater workshop and you’ll get run over by all the parents driving Hummers and Mercedes SUVs.
Maybe what we need (with apologies to Dr. Gordon) is to stop wringing our hands over providing “the basics” in schools. Maybe all the enrichment that some kids get really makes the difference—gives them a broader context and a head start on absorbing what schools actually can accomplish. Maybe all the stuff we’ve eliminated from schools (art, music, Great Books clubs) is what really makes the difference. I don’t know how to get all kids participating in enrichment. At least here in Evanston, it’s been “built” but they haven’t come. And there might be a topic for some worthwhile research.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Writing Mentor
I’m always on the lookout for mentors. I’ve had the privilege of a few good ones over the years: professors, an editor, a therapist or two. But as I get older, it’s increasingly difficult and depressing—I see from my alumni magazine many of my old professors are passing on, ones I wish I could have one more talk with. Perhaps I’ve arrived at an age in life where I shouldn’t need a mentor, but such is not the case.
Being a devotee of the printed word, my natural ecosystem involves books, and increasingly I find that they can serve well as mentors. I read a lot of books by writers on writing, but I find most of them are aimed at beginners and the never published. Like knitting books and jewelry craft books, the first third or half seems to be devoted to the same basic instructions, instructions I could have written myself long ago. No time anymore to wade through all that, especially given what books cost. So it was with great delight that I came across Word Work, by Bruce Holland Rogers. No idea where I heard of it.
Rogers considers so many facets of a writer’s concerns and issues that his book ought to be shaped like a dodecahedron. Each of the 35 chapters is short (3-4 pages) and many were apparently written as magazine columns. Don’t let the length fool you—these are nuggets that profitably can be read 3 or 4 times. I got it out of the library, but it’s a compelling buy—you just can’t absorb it all in one reading.
Rogers considers topics such as how to get started, how to fight for your identity, how and whether to form relationships with other writers, fighting negative feelings, and all the usual topics, but always with something fresh to say, or something which recasts the traditional wisdom, or something that draws from other fields in the service of the writer. Rogers must read a lot, and omnivorously, because he draws in wisdom from Kierkegaard to Maslow to S.I. Hayakawa, with a lot of stops in between. I found nearly every chapter worthwhile, so I’ll just pick out a few examples.
I’ve heard people prattling on about affirmations for years, but they always felt silly and self-deluding to me. Rogers explains how to write ones that won’t make you throw up, and why they work (hint: it ain’t magic). His discussion of time management showed me why I can stop feeling guilty about not writing much when the Nikipedia was younger—he says that you can only fulfill so many segments, and , “If your multiple callings require conflicting sacrifices, you probably won’t be able to balance them perfectly…” How many heroic roles can you take on? Parent, lover, friend, writer, and a full time job? Something’s got to go. I found this oddly comforting. In order to write, you will have to find ways to defend and protect your identity, and this book gives many techniques that show how. In fact, in most of the book musicians, artists, etc. could profitably substitute their own art every time Rogers says “writer” and probably find the techniques just as relevant. It’s all just very wise, fresh and, well, creative.
I tried to find more info on Rogers, but the web results were pretty thin. Apparently he’s living and working in Europe, having landed a Fulbright for 2010. I hope he comes back soon. I want to move in with him. Darn, he’s already married.
Being a devotee of the printed word, my natural ecosystem involves books, and increasingly I find that they can serve well as mentors. I read a lot of books by writers on writing, but I find most of them are aimed at beginners and the never published. Like knitting books and jewelry craft books, the first third or half seems to be devoted to the same basic instructions, instructions I could have written myself long ago. No time anymore to wade through all that, especially given what books cost. So it was with great delight that I came across Word Work, by Bruce Holland Rogers. No idea where I heard of it.
Rogers considers so many facets of a writer’s concerns and issues that his book ought to be shaped like a dodecahedron. Each of the 35 chapters is short (3-4 pages) and many were apparently written as magazine columns. Don’t let the length fool you—these are nuggets that profitably can be read 3 or 4 times. I got it out of the library, but it’s a compelling buy—you just can’t absorb it all in one reading.
Rogers considers topics such as how to get started, how to fight for your identity, how and whether to form relationships with other writers, fighting negative feelings, and all the usual topics, but always with something fresh to say, or something which recasts the traditional wisdom, or something that draws from other fields in the service of the writer. Rogers must read a lot, and omnivorously, because he draws in wisdom from Kierkegaard to Maslow to S.I. Hayakawa, with a lot of stops in between. I found nearly every chapter worthwhile, so I’ll just pick out a few examples.
I’ve heard people prattling on about affirmations for years, but they always felt silly and self-deluding to me. Rogers explains how to write ones that won’t make you throw up, and why they work (hint: it ain’t magic). His discussion of time management showed me why I can stop feeling guilty about not writing much when the Nikipedia was younger—he says that you can only fulfill so many segments, and , “If your multiple callings require conflicting sacrifices, you probably won’t be able to balance them perfectly…” How many heroic roles can you take on? Parent, lover, friend, writer, and a full time job? Something’s got to go. I found this oddly comforting. In order to write, you will have to find ways to defend and protect your identity, and this book gives many techniques that show how. In fact, in most of the book musicians, artists, etc. could profitably substitute their own art every time Rogers says “writer” and probably find the techniques just as relevant. It’s all just very wise, fresh and, well, creative.
I tried to find more info on Rogers, but the web results were pretty thin. Apparently he’s living and working in Europe, having landed a Fulbright for 2010. I hope he comes back soon. I want to move in with him. Darn, he’s already married.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Good books about Great Books
Whenever non-homeschoolers find out that I’ve homeschooled the Nikipedia for the past 8 years, I immediately get one or both of the following questions: What about socialization? and, How did you know what to teach? The first question is usually asked by someone who has just spent a lot of time complaining about peer influence on their kids, disinterested, crazy or cruel teachers, etc., so I’m usually able to answer, “Yes, I’m so glad she’s avoided most of that.” The second question always leaves me square mouthed.
Why? Because it’s invariably asked by a college educated adult, often one with many years of post- graduate study. Holy baccalaureate, Batman, if you’ve spent more than 16 years in the halls of academe, you should have some idea what you found valuable to study, some grip on the basics of at least an elementary school education, and some ability to organize information into a logical order. Add to that the amount of sample syllabi online, the plethora of educational materials catalogs that are often as thick as phonebooks (particularly if they’re peddling to homeschoolers), and I don’t think it should take a parent all that long to come up with some direction. How on earth do the same parents judge whether they are happy with the education their children are receiving in regular schools?
My guess is that most parents don’t think so much about what content their child is learning so much as whether said offspring is “doing well” according to the school’s standards. Maybe if the child starts zooming through math or gets in trouble for inserting a more interesting, higher level book inside the duller, dumber book the class is reading, the parent will get an inkling that the child needs more challenging material. By the time college application season rolls around, some parents will start to seek lists of 100 books Every High Schooler should have read.
There’s a minor industry, however, in books about books, telling us what we should have read in high school, college, and most of our adult life, instead of being the slackers that many of us were. Because the Nikipedia was bored with kid’s books by about sixth grade (except for science fiction and an 8 foot shelf of Star Trek novels she bought at a used book sale), I’ve acquired quite a collection of these books on great books. In case anyone else has many spare hours that they can’t think what to do with, or actually might consider homeschooling, I offer this review. Beats Cliff’s notes.
The granddaddy of the genre has to be Clifton Fadiman’s The New Lifetime Reading Plan. Fadiman has been dead for 10 years, and the book was updated by John Major, especially to include non-Western literature. A lot of people have objected to the revisions, but I am so grateful to finally have solid suggestions for something not written in Europe. I find the summaries to be a bit short, however, and not all that opinionated or thought provoking. Still, it’s a good catalog to order from, so to speak. Definitely a book shelf basic.
Susan Wise Bauer has a collection aimed at adults who would like to self-educate, The Well-Educated Mind. Bauer wrote a homeschooling war horse that we have followed more or less closely for curriculum suggestions over our homeschooling career, The Well-Trained Mind. WTM is definitely aimed at parents trying to think through what to teach, but I suspect Well-Educated is for all those parents who took a look at WTM, gulped, and decided their own education was woeful. Bauer treats great lit by genre (WTM works through it chronologically by subject, which I prefer, actually) and is heavy on the ancients, although she does include some modern literature as well. I’ve enjoyed owning both of these, but I’d browse them at the library to see if you need all the background instruction in how to read each genre. Otherwise, you may just want to note her suggestions.
Book Smart is billed as “Your essential reading list for becoming a literary genius in 365 days”. I like this one, but I suspect it’s because I’ve read a lot of the books she suggests and so I feel smart and smug. Jane Mallison has organized her lists by month, and given each month a theme. She has some good advice on how to work your way through the list and which ones to choose (way more than I could possibly get through in one 365 day period and I read pretty quickly). All of the selections are fiction, and most are Western. However, the non-Western works are terrific, and she includes two of my favorite lesser known authors, Sigrid Undset and Naguib Mahfouz (both Nobel prize winners). Nice book for ideas, but not, and not intended to be, a comprehensive compendium.
A great one for browsing in the little room is Steven Gilbar’s Good Books, which really is a compendium of books that you should have read, have read, never heard of but want to read now, etc. Good Books has plenty of info for non-fiction selections, and is organized by topics (e.g., the World, Society, Work, Nature, etc.). I stuck so many post-its in this one that it looks like a porcupine, and you never want to have this in the same room as you have access to Amazon. Each description is only a few sentences, but it was enough to do me in.
I’m not a huge fan of Michael Clay Thompson’s homeschooling books, but I really enjoyed Thinkers. This consists of essays on why you should want to read the 20 books discussed: literature, history, and science, for the most part, with satisfying discussions of each book. You’ll feel compelled to read them all, and wish for a sabbatical to do so. BTW, I'm not including a link for this one, as Amazon only has a listing for it at $100. Geez, it's a small paperback. Try to get it from the library.
David Denby makes me crazy with Great Books. It recounts his effort to go back to Columbia, attend their core curriculum classes, and re-read all the books he had first read when he attended college there 30 years earlier. As I’ve said before, education is so wasted on the young, but this guy made a book of taking that literally. I got through about 96 pages until I realized I have to read or re-read along with him, and boy that’s a big project. If you want to embark on a similar project, or just look up what he has to say on the books he covers, I can’t imagine a more entertaining companion. Definitely a personal vision.
Invitation to the Classics is beloved of homeschoolers, although more so with those of the conservative Christian stripe. I’ve found it to have very useful summaries and backgrounds on the authors and their time periods, but I think the authors have sometimes selected lesser works by great authors. It includes college-type discussion/essay questions, but they nearly all ask you to think of these works as a Christian, or what would Christians do. I suppose how you define Christian will have something to do with your answers. I’m still wondering what a “Christian world view” is, and I don’t think Jesus joined the Republican party, but what do I know? Not a bad reference work to inflict on your high school age child, with some lively discussions possible.
If you can dig it up used, Gail Thain Parker’s book College on Your Own is a great edition to refer to. Parker kicked up quite a bit of controversy while she was (briefly) the 30-something president of Bennington, but this is a very serious look at the basics (and then some!) of various fields of college study. It’s dated (1978) and contains a lot of really dull books, but it’s great for a glimpse at what you might read if you had majored in the subject (or have a child who’s thinking about the major). That said, I majored in Sociology at just about this time, got a stellar Graduate Record score, and read maybe 25% of the books suggested. But I do feel guilty. You can, too.
Beowulf on the Beach (Jack Murninghan) is one I just picked up last week. It’s highly opinionated and personal. So far I’m not totally in sync with what he likes and dislikes, but he is funny. It’s pretty clear that he’s a lot younger than most of the people who do these greatest hits books, and it’s nice to see that sort of take on some of these hoary chestnuts. No non-Western stuff (he says it’s beyond him to compile). I really appreciate that he’s willing to wade through some looong works that I’ve always meant to get to (Canterbury Tales, Decameron, etc.) and picked out the “good parts”. I think the Nikipedia will also appreciate some abridgement in her assignments.
A sub-genre of books-about-books is writers-about-books. In this category, I’ve enjoyed the following for browsing (haven’t read them thoroughly).
The Top Ten, edited by J. Peder Zane, allows you to look up what an awful lot of contemporary writers like. There was apparently great agreement on some books, but many writers mention some very offbeat but interesting selections, and quite a few contribute memoirs and appreciations. Nice book for a Sunday afternoon.
Francine Prose (no slouch herself at the book production biz and is that a perfect name?) tells you how in Reading Like A Writer. While this is a very different format than the other books I’ve mentioned (the chapters focus on how to improve your writing, with examples from great books), she does provide a neat list of “books to be read immediately” at the end. You’ll have to read the rest of the book to find out why. This would be a great companion to a reading program (or high school class) introducing reading from a more skills oriented perspective; call it creative writing through literature.
Finally, A Passion for Books is one I’ve enjoyed for its often thought provoking essays by prominent literati about books, experiences, and just general book amour. It’s another one for the little room or in bed for nights when you really should already be asleep, as most of the essays are just a few pages long.
Okay, if you’ve read this far, I get to gripe a little. What about modern works, and I don’t mean Hemingway and Faulkner? Can’t someone stick their neck out a little and pick something less than 50 years old? Gosh, maybe I’ll write one myself. And another thing, what about creative non-fiction? Tracy Kidder, John McPhee, Peter Matthiessen, M.F.K. Fisher…?
But, as they say, that’s a story for another time.
Why? Because it’s invariably asked by a college educated adult, often one with many years of post- graduate study. Holy baccalaureate, Batman, if you’ve spent more than 16 years in the halls of academe, you should have some idea what you found valuable to study, some grip on the basics of at least an elementary school education, and some ability to organize information into a logical order. Add to that the amount of sample syllabi online, the plethora of educational materials catalogs that are often as thick as phonebooks (particularly if they’re peddling to homeschoolers), and I don’t think it should take a parent all that long to come up with some direction. How on earth do the same parents judge whether they are happy with the education their children are receiving in regular schools?
My guess is that most parents don’t think so much about what content their child is learning so much as whether said offspring is “doing well” according to the school’s standards. Maybe if the child starts zooming through math or gets in trouble for inserting a more interesting, higher level book inside the duller, dumber book the class is reading, the parent will get an inkling that the child needs more challenging material. By the time college application season rolls around, some parents will start to seek lists of 100 books Every High Schooler should have read.
There’s a minor industry, however, in books about books, telling us what we should have read in high school, college, and most of our adult life, instead of being the slackers that many of us were. Because the Nikipedia was bored with kid’s books by about sixth grade (except for science fiction and an 8 foot shelf of Star Trek novels she bought at a used book sale), I’ve acquired quite a collection of these books on great books. In case anyone else has many spare hours that they can’t think what to do with, or actually might consider homeschooling, I offer this review. Beats Cliff’s notes.
The granddaddy of the genre has to be Clifton Fadiman’s The New Lifetime Reading Plan. Fadiman has been dead for 10 years, and the book was updated by John Major, especially to include non-Western literature. A lot of people have objected to the revisions, but I am so grateful to finally have solid suggestions for something not written in Europe. I find the summaries to be a bit short, however, and not all that opinionated or thought provoking. Still, it’s a good catalog to order from, so to speak. Definitely a book shelf basic.
Susan Wise Bauer has a collection aimed at adults who would like to self-educate, The Well-Educated Mind. Bauer wrote a homeschooling war horse that we have followed more or less closely for curriculum suggestions over our homeschooling career, The Well-Trained Mind. WTM is definitely aimed at parents trying to think through what to teach, but I suspect Well-Educated is for all those parents who took a look at WTM, gulped, and decided their own education was woeful. Bauer treats great lit by genre (WTM works through it chronologically by subject, which I prefer, actually) and is heavy on the ancients, although she does include some modern literature as well. I’ve enjoyed owning both of these, but I’d browse them at the library to see if you need all the background instruction in how to read each genre. Otherwise, you may just want to note her suggestions.
Book Smart is billed as “Your essential reading list for becoming a literary genius in 365 days”. I like this one, but I suspect it’s because I’ve read a lot of the books she suggests and so I feel smart and smug. Jane Mallison has organized her lists by month, and given each month a theme. She has some good advice on how to work your way through the list and which ones to choose (way more than I could possibly get through in one 365 day period and I read pretty quickly). All of the selections are fiction, and most are Western. However, the non-Western works are terrific, and she includes two of my favorite lesser known authors, Sigrid Undset and Naguib Mahfouz (both Nobel prize winners). Nice book for ideas, but not, and not intended to be, a comprehensive compendium.
A great one for browsing in the little room is Steven Gilbar’s Good Books, which really is a compendium of books that you should have read, have read, never heard of but want to read now, etc. Good Books has plenty of info for non-fiction selections, and is organized by topics (e.g., the World, Society, Work, Nature, etc.). I stuck so many post-its in this one that it looks like a porcupine, and you never want to have this in the same room as you have access to Amazon. Each description is only a few sentences, but it was enough to do me in.
I’m not a huge fan of Michael Clay Thompson’s homeschooling books, but I really enjoyed Thinkers. This consists of essays on why you should want to read the 20 books discussed: literature, history, and science, for the most part, with satisfying discussions of each book. You’ll feel compelled to read them all, and wish for a sabbatical to do so. BTW, I'm not including a link for this one, as Amazon only has a listing for it at $100. Geez, it's a small paperback. Try to get it from the library.
David Denby makes me crazy with Great Books. It recounts his effort to go back to Columbia, attend their core curriculum classes, and re-read all the books he had first read when he attended college there 30 years earlier. As I’ve said before, education is so wasted on the young, but this guy made a book of taking that literally. I got through about 96 pages until I realized I have to read or re-read along with him, and boy that’s a big project. If you want to embark on a similar project, or just look up what he has to say on the books he covers, I can’t imagine a more entertaining companion. Definitely a personal vision.
Invitation to the Classics is beloved of homeschoolers, although more so with those of the conservative Christian stripe. I’ve found it to have very useful summaries and backgrounds on the authors and their time periods, but I think the authors have sometimes selected lesser works by great authors. It includes college-type discussion/essay questions, but they nearly all ask you to think of these works as a Christian, or what would Christians do. I suppose how you define Christian will have something to do with your answers. I’m still wondering what a “Christian world view” is, and I don’t think Jesus joined the Republican party, but what do I know? Not a bad reference work to inflict on your high school age child, with some lively discussions possible.
If you can dig it up used, Gail Thain Parker’s book College on Your Own is a great edition to refer to. Parker kicked up quite a bit of controversy while she was (briefly) the 30-something president of Bennington, but this is a very serious look at the basics (and then some!) of various fields of college study. It’s dated (1978) and contains a lot of really dull books, but it’s great for a glimpse at what you might read if you had majored in the subject (or have a child who’s thinking about the major). That said, I majored in Sociology at just about this time, got a stellar Graduate Record score, and read maybe 25% of the books suggested. But I do feel guilty. You can, too.
Beowulf on the Beach (Jack Murninghan) is one I just picked up last week. It’s highly opinionated and personal. So far I’m not totally in sync with what he likes and dislikes, but he is funny. It’s pretty clear that he’s a lot younger than most of the people who do these greatest hits books, and it’s nice to see that sort of take on some of these hoary chestnuts. No non-Western stuff (he says it’s beyond him to compile). I really appreciate that he’s willing to wade through some looong works that I’ve always meant to get to (Canterbury Tales, Decameron, etc.) and picked out the “good parts”. I think the Nikipedia will also appreciate some abridgement in her assignments.
A sub-genre of books-about-books is writers-about-books. In this category, I’ve enjoyed the following for browsing (haven’t read them thoroughly).
The Top Ten, edited by J. Peder Zane, allows you to look up what an awful lot of contemporary writers like. There was apparently great agreement on some books, but many writers mention some very offbeat but interesting selections, and quite a few contribute memoirs and appreciations. Nice book for a Sunday afternoon.
Francine Prose (no slouch herself at the book production biz and is that a perfect name?) tells you how in Reading Like A Writer. While this is a very different format than the other books I’ve mentioned (the chapters focus on how to improve your writing, with examples from great books), she does provide a neat list of “books to be read immediately” at the end. You’ll have to read the rest of the book to find out why. This would be a great companion to a reading program (or high school class) introducing reading from a more skills oriented perspective; call it creative writing through literature.
Finally, A Passion for Books is one I’ve enjoyed for its often thought provoking essays by prominent literati about books, experiences, and just general book amour. It’s another one for the little room or in bed for nights when you really should already be asleep, as most of the essays are just a few pages long.
Okay, if you’ve read this far, I get to gripe a little. What about modern works, and I don’t mean Hemingway and Faulkner? Can’t someone stick their neck out a little and pick something less than 50 years old? Gosh, maybe I’ll write one myself. And another thing, what about creative non-fiction? Tracy Kidder, John McPhee, Peter Matthiessen, M.F.K. Fisher…?
But, as they say, that’s a story for another time.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
University of Chicago tour
This week we bagged school for a day and trekked down to the University of Chicago for an unofficial college tour. Sure, it’s early for the Nikipedia, but hey, with three years to go before grinding out the college essay, there’s plenty of lead time to get the anxiety level to the appropriate fever pitch. Although we live in the area, the connection was actually made through a friend in West Virginia (long way ‘round!) We met a third year student, who I’ll call V.S. (for very superior, like cognac) since I don’t have her permission to identify her.
It appears that things haven’t changed much since the days I was there, in grad school. According to V.S., there are actually clubs to join and some kids who (try to) play sports, but pretty much it still appeals to the same kind of nerd that loved it 30+ years ago. I mean, broomball is one of the main sports on campus. As Robert Hutchins once proclaimed, “Whenever I feel the need to exercise, I lie down until it goes away.” You don’t get into the U of C (or enjoy it there) if you were homecoming queen, or because mommy went there (although I’m hoping it helps), or because you had an armload of volunteer experiences. You find yourself there because you’re SMART, and because you want to be with 4,000 other undergrads who won the eccentricity award at their own high schools. I mean, the school has the unofficial motto, “where fun goes to die”.
As luck would have it, we ended up there the same day as freshman orientation, with tons of geeky looking parents wandering around with apples who didn’t fall far from the tree. Nikipedia was rubber-necking like crazy. Not one to be attracted to football players, these were her kind of (guy) people. I was particularly bemused by the name tags on the parents—“I’m the proud parent of a University of Chicago student”. I’m glad that wasn’t me because I would have felt obligated to take a sharpie and alter that “proud” to “exhausted” or “soon to be broke” or maybe “free-at-last”.
I pretty much knew my way around campus, and Nikipedia was anxious to dump me anyway, so I hiked over to the Seminary Coop bookstore, where I bought the traditional shopping bag full of books you’ll never hear of at Barnes and Noble, and which I won’t get to for another 4 or 5 years. Meanwhile, Nikipedia and V.S. must have travelled in a hovercraft, because when I next located them about an hour later, they were in International House, having already covered Rockefeller Chapel, the Music building, Fullerton Hall, and another dorm or two. We met for lunch at the Medici, where Nikipedia had written her initials on a wall when she was 3 (don’t worry, it’s traditional.) I’m going to try to work that into her future admissions application.
Being the old bag that I somehow have become, I often lament the state of young people today. Except for Nikipedia, who keeps talking even in her sleep, I often find young people to be, well, rather dull and inarticulate, and sport that deer-caught-in-the–headlights look. Not at the U of C, and certainly not V.S. She was poised, articulate, and able to talk clearly about her impressions, the development of her ideas and change of focus over time, and how her education was exposing her to far more ideas and possibilities. Really, she should be the poster child for the value of a liberal education. When we made contact, she told me she was an anthropology major with an interest in Hindu epics. Now, that kind of passion makes parents shudder. I mean, we’re forking over $200K and facing the fact that the kid with that major will be living in the basement until they’re 45, right? Not so fast. Turns out V.S. worked for an international non-profit this last summer, and got interested in non-profit management and international development. She’s now headed for a semester in India, with the background to know what she’s seeing, and an interest in a field where that background will be unique and valuable. My guess is that while all those people who majored in something practical like physics or accounting are grinding it out in their cubicles, V.S. will be traveling the world, doing something that actually is meaningful and productive.
Hutchins once railed against the impetus to make college a trade school, and the U of C is still a bastion of a core Great Books-style curriculum, although it has been modified over the years. People complain it’s been dumbed down, but compared to what? Not much of this double-major stuff, where you major in one thing you love, with the recognition that you’ll never work in it, and another thing so you can sell your soul in the marketplace. Those kind of students always tell me how grateful they are not to be stuck with “requirements”. But if you belong at the U of C, those arts and humanities classes are why you picked U of C, a school where English is still one of the most popular majors. Or put another way, as one Northwestern student tour guide once told me, Northwestern trains CEOs, Chicago trains professors. She did not seem embarrassed by this.
V.S. emphasized to both of us that classes were really HARD. Given the fact that plenty of these kids have 99th percentile SATs and a string of AP classes (for which they get little credit towards a U of C degree), this puts the school in perspective. On the other hand, V.S. glowed about her professors, and said she had never seen so much depth and detail in her readings before being re-sculpted by the core curriculum. One of my standards of a school is to listen to the conversations around me in the student union, the campus hangouts, etc. At Northwestern, I hear a lot of analysis of parties and the weekend’s date (or shortcomings). At the U of C, you hear snippets of “I have never experienced such transcendence as when I read…” or “I finally got the breakthrough I needed to explicate…” I kid you not. Yes, they’re 19 years old.
At Northwestern, they know designer brands, and the coeds are beautiful. At the U of C they’re still wearing the same stuff they beat up in high school, no one bothers about hair “product” as far as I can see, and significant butt-in-seat time is spent at the library. That’s not to say there’s not plenty of drinking, both when I was there and now. It’s the only time I’ve ever attended parties where you could be having a very significant discussion with someone who suddenly keeled over like a felled tree. It’s one of the few places where the campus drinking hole (Jimmy’s) has an encyclopedia over the bar to settle arguments. V.S. didn’t seem all that into the booze scene (her parents can probably sigh with relief) but didn’t seem to lack for fun. After all, she pointed out, it’s a little college surrounded by a big graduate operation, and you get to know everyone, while being able to take advantage of great facilities and connections. While the school is an ivy covered enclave, downtown Chicago, with its great museums, arts scene, opera and symphony is a public transit ride away.
One thing has changed—safety. When I was there, muggings were not uncommon and you never went anywhere at night without a group. The University really stepped up security in later years, and Hyde Park became much safer. However, about a year ago there was a terrible murder, and the consensus of the community was that security had become complacent. That consciousness has really been raised, and V.S. says she feels comfortable and safe, although it ain’t Kansas, and one needs to exercise the caution that would be reasonable in any major city in the U.S.
All in all, it’s still a great place, but certainly not for everyone. It might be the back up school for a lot of Easterners who really hope they get into Harvard, but for those for whom the University of Chicago is first choice, there just really isn’t any other place like it. Education is so wasted on the young. I want to go back.
It appears that things haven’t changed much since the days I was there, in grad school. According to V.S., there are actually clubs to join and some kids who (try to) play sports, but pretty much it still appeals to the same kind of nerd that loved it 30+ years ago. I mean, broomball is one of the main sports on campus. As Robert Hutchins once proclaimed, “Whenever I feel the need to exercise, I lie down until it goes away.” You don’t get into the U of C (or enjoy it there) if you were homecoming queen, or because mommy went there (although I’m hoping it helps), or because you had an armload of volunteer experiences. You find yourself there because you’re SMART, and because you want to be with 4,000 other undergrads who won the eccentricity award at their own high schools. I mean, the school has the unofficial motto, “where fun goes to die”.
As luck would have it, we ended up there the same day as freshman orientation, with tons of geeky looking parents wandering around with apples who didn’t fall far from the tree. Nikipedia was rubber-necking like crazy. Not one to be attracted to football players, these were her kind of (guy) people. I was particularly bemused by the name tags on the parents—“I’m the proud parent of a University of Chicago student”. I’m glad that wasn’t me because I would have felt obligated to take a sharpie and alter that “proud” to “exhausted” or “soon to be broke” or maybe “free-at-last”.
I pretty much knew my way around campus, and Nikipedia was anxious to dump me anyway, so I hiked over to the Seminary Coop bookstore, where I bought the traditional shopping bag full of books you’ll never hear of at Barnes and Noble, and which I won’t get to for another 4 or 5 years. Meanwhile, Nikipedia and V.S. must have travelled in a hovercraft, because when I next located them about an hour later, they were in International House, having already covered Rockefeller Chapel, the Music building, Fullerton Hall, and another dorm or two. We met for lunch at the Medici, where Nikipedia had written her initials on a wall when she was 3 (don’t worry, it’s traditional.) I’m going to try to work that into her future admissions application.
Being the old bag that I somehow have become, I often lament the state of young people today. Except for Nikipedia, who keeps talking even in her sleep, I often find young people to be, well, rather dull and inarticulate, and sport that deer-caught-in-the–headlights look. Not at the U of C, and certainly not V.S. She was poised, articulate, and able to talk clearly about her impressions, the development of her ideas and change of focus over time, and how her education was exposing her to far more ideas and possibilities. Really, she should be the poster child for the value of a liberal education. When we made contact, she told me she was an anthropology major with an interest in Hindu epics. Now, that kind of passion makes parents shudder. I mean, we’re forking over $200K and facing the fact that the kid with that major will be living in the basement until they’re 45, right? Not so fast. Turns out V.S. worked for an international non-profit this last summer, and got interested in non-profit management and international development. She’s now headed for a semester in India, with the background to know what she’s seeing, and an interest in a field where that background will be unique and valuable. My guess is that while all those people who majored in something practical like physics or accounting are grinding it out in their cubicles, V.S. will be traveling the world, doing something that actually is meaningful and productive.
Hutchins once railed against the impetus to make college a trade school, and the U of C is still a bastion of a core Great Books-style curriculum, although it has been modified over the years. People complain it’s been dumbed down, but compared to what? Not much of this double-major stuff, where you major in one thing you love, with the recognition that you’ll never work in it, and another thing so you can sell your soul in the marketplace. Those kind of students always tell me how grateful they are not to be stuck with “requirements”. But if you belong at the U of C, those arts and humanities classes are why you picked U of C, a school where English is still one of the most popular majors. Or put another way, as one Northwestern student tour guide once told me, Northwestern trains CEOs, Chicago trains professors. She did not seem embarrassed by this.
V.S. emphasized to both of us that classes were really HARD. Given the fact that plenty of these kids have 99th percentile SATs and a string of AP classes (for which they get little credit towards a U of C degree), this puts the school in perspective. On the other hand, V.S. glowed about her professors, and said she had never seen so much depth and detail in her readings before being re-sculpted by the core curriculum. One of my standards of a school is to listen to the conversations around me in the student union, the campus hangouts, etc. At Northwestern, I hear a lot of analysis of parties and the weekend’s date (or shortcomings). At the U of C, you hear snippets of “I have never experienced such transcendence as when I read…” or “I finally got the breakthrough I needed to explicate…” I kid you not. Yes, they’re 19 years old.
At Northwestern, they know designer brands, and the coeds are beautiful. At the U of C they’re still wearing the same stuff they beat up in high school, no one bothers about hair “product” as far as I can see, and significant butt-in-seat time is spent at the library. That’s not to say there’s not plenty of drinking, both when I was there and now. It’s the only time I’ve ever attended parties where you could be having a very significant discussion with someone who suddenly keeled over like a felled tree. It’s one of the few places where the campus drinking hole (Jimmy’s) has an encyclopedia over the bar to settle arguments. V.S. didn’t seem all that into the booze scene (her parents can probably sigh with relief) but didn’t seem to lack for fun. After all, she pointed out, it’s a little college surrounded by a big graduate operation, and you get to know everyone, while being able to take advantage of great facilities and connections. While the school is an ivy covered enclave, downtown Chicago, with its great museums, arts scene, opera and symphony is a public transit ride away.
One thing has changed—safety. When I was there, muggings were not uncommon and you never went anywhere at night without a group. The University really stepped up security in later years, and Hyde Park became much safer. However, about a year ago there was a terrible murder, and the consensus of the community was that security had become complacent. That consciousness has really been raised, and V.S. says she feels comfortable and safe, although it ain’t Kansas, and one needs to exercise the caution that would be reasonable in any major city in the U.S.
All in all, it’s still a great place, but certainly not for everyone. It might be the back up school for a lot of Easterners who really hope they get into Harvard, but for those for whom the University of Chicago is first choice, there just really isn’t any other place like it. Education is so wasted on the young. I want to go back.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Jewelry: art, craft, whatever
I must be stuck on jewelry making this week, because I keep coming across ideas that reel me in. I’m so taken with the artistry that is put into craft these days that I often wonder why we even bother to make a distinction between craft and art. Well, sure, I can tell the difference between a crocheted toilet paper cover and the Mona Lisa, but I also see a lot of jewelry and artwear that easily belongs in a frame.
I like gems and precious metals as well as the next rapacious female, but I tend to like big and bold. (As an aside, can someone tell me why huge ladies seem to love teensy gold chains just long enough to let the charm dangle on top of their amazing shelves? Like mom used to say, a peanut on a watermelon.) Anyway, I’m not little and I like jewelry that can be seen across the room. It’s supposed to attract attention, right? So far no one has offered to give me rocks the size of Liz Taylor’s, and I wouldn’t have any place to wear them anyway, so I go for “unusual”.
I’ve just mentioned steampunk, and am really looking forward to Jean Campbell’s upcoming book on it, but in the meantime, I’ve been really intrigued by books showing how to make jewelry from hardware. There are plenty of instructions out there on using hardware, paper, or various recycled materials. Nicole Sherman's got a great one on mixing industrial with beads and precious metals, and there's another one (link below) that is more "purist" in just using hardware--and it comes with a spiral binding so you can actually follow the instructions rather than wrestling the book. After spending a lot of time being awestruck by these folks’ creativity (still am), it finally hit me that the key to selecting and using such materials is shape, not actual object. If you take traditional bead shapes (cylinders, spheres, cubes, tubes) and check out what objects from (anywhere) might be the approximate similar shape, you’re off to the races. And isn’t abstraction of form what all artists do?
I like gems and precious metals as well as the next rapacious female, but I tend to like big and bold. (As an aside, can someone tell me why huge ladies seem to love teensy gold chains just long enough to let the charm dangle on top of their amazing shelves? Like mom used to say, a peanut on a watermelon.) Anyway, I’m not little and I like jewelry that can be seen across the room. It’s supposed to attract attention, right? So far no one has offered to give me rocks the size of Liz Taylor’s, and I wouldn’t have any place to wear them anyway, so I go for “unusual”.
I’ve just mentioned steampunk, and am really looking forward to Jean Campbell’s upcoming book on it, but in the meantime, I’ve been really intrigued by books showing how to make jewelry from hardware. There are plenty of instructions out there on using hardware, paper, or various recycled materials. Nicole Sherman's got a great one on mixing industrial with beads and precious metals, and there's another one (link below) that is more "purist" in just using hardware--and it comes with a spiral binding so you can actually follow the instructions rather than wrestling the book. After spending a lot of time being awestruck by these folks’ creativity (still am), it finally hit me that the key to selecting and using such materials is shape, not actual object. If you take traditional bead shapes (cylinders, spheres, cubes, tubes) and check out what objects from (anywhere) might be the approximate similar shape, you’re off to the races. And isn’t abstraction of form what all artists do?
Monday, September 14, 2009
Steampunk—what is it?
Unless you have a fifteen year old hanging around your house, you may not have heard of steampunk yet. (I do, aka known as World’s Foremost Authority on Everything. However, she has recently informed me that she prefers the moniker Nikipedia, so WFA will be hereby retired from this blog. But I digress…) I felt that perhaps I had qualified as a true cool artsy, though adult, type when even some of the jewelry artists at the recent American Craft Exhibition had not heard of “steampunk”.
It’s interesting and weird, and you might keep your eye out for examples. Right now the term seems to refer mostly to jewelry and clothing designs. As near as I can fathom it (lots of pointing to items and being told, no that’s not steampunk), it’s a combination of Victorian filigree and lacy looking objects combined with industrial components like wire, gears, and clock parts. Almost as if you were punk styling but lived in the 19th century. There’s some good examples of jewelry on www.etsy.com (where apparently it is one of the most searched terms) and Wikipedia has an entry on it, also, detailing its roots in science fiction and fantasy.
I like the style a lot—it’s off kilter and abstract and not easily mass produced—just my kind of look (or at least I try…)
It’s interesting and weird, and you might keep your eye out for examples. Right now the term seems to refer mostly to jewelry and clothing designs. As near as I can fathom it (lots of pointing to items and being told, no that’s not steampunk), it’s a combination of Victorian filigree and lacy looking objects combined with industrial components like wire, gears, and clock parts. Almost as if you were punk styling but lived in the 19th century. There’s some good examples of jewelry on www.etsy.com (where apparently it is one of the most searched terms) and Wikipedia has an entry on it, also, detailing its roots in science fiction and fantasy.
I like the style a lot—it’s off kilter and abstract and not easily mass produced—just my kind of look (or at least I try…)
Monday, September 7, 2009
American Craft Exposition--the real bling
For the last weekend in August, Evanston becomes the center of the crafts universe, when the American Craft Exposition runs at Northwestern University. If you have the slightest interest in artful objects for every day use—clothing, furniture, jewelry, ceramics, baskets, you get the idea—this is a not to be missed date, up there with tax day (and for that, you can get an extension.) Yeah, this is a late post, but if you weren’t there, it’s too late anyway. Mark your calendars and be there next August.
This year, my impression is that the crowds were a little thinner and there were fewer exhibitors, but it may just have been that I was there on closing day. There were the usual plethora of women d’une certaine âge, and thankfully I’m still a little younger than that âge. However, most of them were in black, and didn’t hesitate to try stuff on (which I do, knowing I’m not going to buy). After watching a few modeling sessions, though, I can confidently say a lot of stuff that doesn’t look so hot in the case looks AMAZING on, so it’s definitely worth trying and watching other people, and if you can’t be beautiful, be rich.
Art clothing has changed a lot over the years, and though you still see a lot of Asian themes and shapes, the formless kimono jackets have been supplanted by much more body conscious cuts, and coats of many colors were less in evidence. On the other hand, sheer layers seem to be in, with many designers showing chiffon and organza overblouses, jackets, and dresses. I’m not sure exactly what you wear under them, but it probably isn’t your basic Hanes t-shirt.
Why would anyone pay $1,000 for a stupid plastic purse with LV's all over it when they could have John Milligan's work for $300-500? I don't think I could use them, though. These purses are so beautiful they belong in a frame. Ditto Kathleen Dustin, whose polymer clay work I have long admired. There aren't many place where I need to carry an artichoke, but the purses she makes would be startling art objects on a coffee table or a curio cabinet.
In jewelry, it seemed to me that gold was a lot less in evidence. Aaron Macsai, whose work I have loved for many years, showed a lot of well done gold. I particularly liked the gold bead strands, with every bead different, and lots of gemstone beads mixed in. I used to like his incorporation of found objects, but I didn’t see so much of that in his current work. I know Aaron’s mother, an amazing quilter—in fact, the whole family is wearingly creative. When dear daughter was young, I called Gerry Macsai for advice on how to raise creative kids. Aaron well maintains the family tradition.
Some other booth had doorknocker cocktail rings for the impulse buyer at about $28,000. Someone was actually trying them on—when I think that some people might spend that kind of dough on impulse, I become even more of a socialist. If you’ve got that kind of money to flip, the government ought to take it away from you since you obviously don’t know how to spend it in any defensible way.
Is there a way to make gold look cheap and tawdry? Yup, after seeing the booths of Hongsock Lee and Pat Flynn. Both these artists use silver in amazingly restrained but stunning designs. Lee has an stunning feel for shape and line. Flynn creates breathtaking work combining precious metals with black iron—stuff that looks like it came from another planet. I wanted to send him whatever I own (not much) and have him melt it all down or reset it.
When the next book advance comes in (power of positive thinking!) some part of it will be sent to Christina Goodman. She paints the most incredible miniatures on jewelry objects, originals reminiscent of Camille Corot or Italian landscapes. I don’t necessarily want to wear the stuff, I just want to look at it, with my reading glasses on. In a frame. Too good for us mortals.
Once I got away from jewelry I couldn’t afford and clothes I could make (better, faster, cheaper), I was stopped dead in my tracks by the most amazing piece of craft I’ve ever seen. I wanted to remortgage my house, I wanted to sell my car, hey, I offered to trade my only-born child if only I could have the cabinet Anthony Beverly (apparently no website: woodenworks@msn.com) displayed at the show. It looked like Prairie style until you peered inside and saw the gilded dome. Like stepping through a Stargate or, no, worshipping at a shrine. It was a not so stunning-for-furniture $8,500. However, I tore myself away when I realized 1) I have no place in my house to put it and 2) nothing I own is worth displaying in such a space (oh, sure, I have $8,500 lying around just waiting for an impulse to strike). But when I finally bag it all and move to Paris with a 20 year old lover, I’m having that cabinet shipped to me. I’m thinking I’ll fill it with an assortment of antique Japanese tea ceremony cups, none of which I own at present.
While at the show I ran into Virgil Robinson, with whom I studied metal casting. Virgil makes some pretty amazing jewelry himself, but was just there, as he said, taking notes. I talked to three other artsy-craftsy people I know over the course of the last week, and in each case I asked, “Buy anything?” No, just taking notes. As was I. And drawing pictures. Now, none of us have ever exactly reproduced what we’ve seen, and the AmCraft is a potent source of inspiration. But my aim next year is to go with SOME money. The amazing artistry offered to us deserves our support. And if you have any interest at all in supporting, making, or educating yourself about what fine, non-production line work is really about, do not miss the Exposition next year. Forget the manufactured bling and go for the real thing.
This year, my impression is that the crowds were a little thinner and there were fewer exhibitors, but it may just have been that I was there on closing day. There were the usual plethora of women d’une certaine âge, and thankfully I’m still a little younger than that âge. However, most of them were in black, and didn’t hesitate to try stuff on (which I do, knowing I’m not going to buy). After watching a few modeling sessions, though, I can confidently say a lot of stuff that doesn’t look so hot in the case looks AMAZING on, so it’s definitely worth trying and watching other people, and if you can’t be beautiful, be rich.
Art clothing has changed a lot over the years, and though you still see a lot of Asian themes and shapes, the formless kimono jackets have been supplanted by much more body conscious cuts, and coats of many colors were less in evidence. On the other hand, sheer layers seem to be in, with many designers showing chiffon and organza overblouses, jackets, and dresses. I’m not sure exactly what you wear under them, but it probably isn’t your basic Hanes t-shirt.
Why would anyone pay $1,000 for a stupid plastic purse with LV's all over it when they could have John Milligan's work for $300-500? I don't think I could use them, though. These purses are so beautiful they belong in a frame. Ditto Kathleen Dustin, whose polymer clay work I have long admired. There aren't many place where I need to carry an artichoke, but the purses she makes would be startling art objects on a coffee table or a curio cabinet.
In jewelry, it seemed to me that gold was a lot less in evidence. Aaron Macsai, whose work I have loved for many years, showed a lot of well done gold. I particularly liked the gold bead strands, with every bead different, and lots of gemstone beads mixed in. I used to like his incorporation of found objects, but I didn’t see so much of that in his current work. I know Aaron’s mother, an amazing quilter—in fact, the whole family is wearingly creative. When dear daughter was young, I called Gerry Macsai for advice on how to raise creative kids. Aaron well maintains the family tradition.
Some other booth had doorknocker cocktail rings for the impulse buyer at about $28,000. Someone was actually trying them on—when I think that some people might spend that kind of dough on impulse, I become even more of a socialist. If you’ve got that kind of money to flip, the government ought to take it away from you since you obviously don’t know how to spend it in any defensible way.
Is there a way to make gold look cheap and tawdry? Yup, after seeing the booths of Hongsock Lee and Pat Flynn. Both these artists use silver in amazingly restrained but stunning designs. Lee has an stunning feel for shape and line. Flynn creates breathtaking work combining precious metals with black iron—stuff that looks like it came from another planet. I wanted to send him whatever I own (not much) and have him melt it all down or reset it.
When the next book advance comes in (power of positive thinking!) some part of it will be sent to Christina Goodman. She paints the most incredible miniatures on jewelry objects, originals reminiscent of Camille Corot or Italian landscapes. I don’t necessarily want to wear the stuff, I just want to look at it, with my reading glasses on. In a frame. Too good for us mortals.
Once I got away from jewelry I couldn’t afford and clothes I could make (better, faster, cheaper), I was stopped dead in my tracks by the most amazing piece of craft I’ve ever seen. I wanted to remortgage my house, I wanted to sell my car, hey, I offered to trade my only-born child if only I could have the cabinet Anthony Beverly (apparently no website: woodenworks@msn.com) displayed at the show. It looked like Prairie style until you peered inside and saw the gilded dome. Like stepping through a Stargate or, no, worshipping at a shrine. It was a not so stunning-for-furniture $8,500. However, I tore myself away when I realized 1) I have no place in my house to put it and 2) nothing I own is worth displaying in such a space (oh, sure, I have $8,500 lying around just waiting for an impulse to strike). But when I finally bag it all and move to Paris with a 20 year old lover, I’m having that cabinet shipped to me. I’m thinking I’ll fill it with an assortment of antique Japanese tea ceremony cups, none of which I own at present.
While at the show I ran into Virgil Robinson, with whom I studied metal casting. Virgil makes some pretty amazing jewelry himself, but was just there, as he said, taking notes. I talked to three other artsy-craftsy people I know over the course of the last week, and in each case I asked, “Buy anything?” No, just taking notes. As was I. And drawing pictures. Now, none of us have ever exactly reproduced what we’ve seen, and the AmCraft is a potent source of inspiration. But my aim next year is to go with SOME money. The amazing artistry offered to us deserves our support. And if you have any interest at all in supporting, making, or educating yourself about what fine, non-production line work is really about, do not miss the Exposition next year. Forget the manufactured bling and go for the real thing.
Monday, August 31, 2009
New Music
Unless you majored in music at the university level, “New Music” is probably not what’s loaded on your ipod under “classical”. I’m not even sure what to call it, and I don’t think even its fans do—new music, twelve-tone, atonal, experimental, fashion-forward, whatever. However, World’s Foremost Authority on Everything (aka, my daughter) spent her pacifier days being entertained (read, shut up) by a video of the Three Tenors, so traditional classical music is so, well, BTDT that we trot off to “New Music” a lot.
WFA was delighted, early on, by hearing John Adams conduct his Grand Pianola Music, Shaker Loops, and other works during his guest artist gig at Northwestern. We progressed on to attending a performance of his opera A Flowering Tree, which oddly enough I loved and she detested. It made her so aggravated she wanted to argue with him in person, but Mr. Adams escaped her clutches, luckily for him. However, my toleration for pure orchestral new music only goes on for so long, but unfortunately most orchestral performances go on for about twice that long.
Therefore, it was with some shaking in my crocs sandals that I agreed to form part of the cheering squad at the final concert of Camposition, a showcase for music composition students in the summer program of the Chicago Academy for the Arts. Dal Niente was playing the music composed by these students, and I was delighted to see a harpist, and even more delighted to see that that harpist was Ben Melsky, from whom WFA took a few lessons before he graduated from Northwestern. Well, I’m certainly not qualified to say that Ben is the best harpist of his generation (although others have), but I can certainly report he hasn’t been slacking off since graduating, as the guy has forearm muscles like steel bands.
It was a most interesting chamber music ensemble overall, with Mabel Kwan on piano, Paul Mulligan playing clarinet and Ryan Muncy on saxophone—a different set of instruments than the omnipresent violin, cello, etc. The piece I most enjoyed was Monica George’s One Day a Rabbit of My Own. It was the longest work, and employed a lot of innovative techniques (striking harp strings, for example) which actually enhanced the music. Monica put a lot of thought into the piece and how to use the available instruments in the composition. I know so, especially since she came over to borrow WFA’s harp composition handbooks several weeks earlier.
Student composer Brendan Mohr gets the prize for the most works generated, with 4 works on the program. I found most of them a bit difficult for me to click on, but his endings were particularly striking and exciting. WFA and I had a fine time arguing about Lauren Williams’ work Illusions and WFA was thrilled to get the sheet music for Jahan Nolley’s piece Wane.
Maybe it was because the entire concert only lasted an hour and I knew relief was in sight if needed. Maybe it was because the room and the audience was small, with black walls, but it seemed like a velvety experience to me: intimate, engaging, and an exciting showcase of personal vision. My only gripe is that, in an educational setting with a production of music most of us still need to learn to appreciate, there was no information whatsoever provided. Come on folks! How about some liner notes for us dunderheads who would like to know about your inspirations, what you were thinking, even why you chose your titles?! And Dal Niente! PR, guys! I don’t want to have to go chasing you down on the internet just to find out who you are! What if I were super rich and wanted to hire you? (Okay, I’m not, but I wish…)
Anyway, I’m not quite a convert, and I do think listening to music with no clear theme and a lot of mathematics is a bit of a stretch. But that Sunday, in that setting, with so much earnest talent, it was a privilege, a delight, and why I am so happy to live near a big city.
WFA was delighted, early on, by hearing John Adams conduct his Grand Pianola Music, Shaker Loops, and other works during his guest artist gig at Northwestern. We progressed on to attending a performance of his opera A Flowering Tree, which oddly enough I loved and she detested. It made her so aggravated she wanted to argue with him in person, but Mr. Adams escaped her clutches, luckily for him. However, my toleration for pure orchestral new music only goes on for so long, but unfortunately most orchestral performances go on for about twice that long.
Therefore, it was with some shaking in my crocs sandals that I agreed to form part of the cheering squad at the final concert of Camposition, a showcase for music composition students in the summer program of the Chicago Academy for the Arts. Dal Niente was playing the music composed by these students, and I was delighted to see a harpist, and even more delighted to see that that harpist was Ben Melsky, from whom WFA took a few lessons before he graduated from Northwestern. Well, I’m certainly not qualified to say that Ben is the best harpist of his generation (although others have), but I can certainly report he hasn’t been slacking off since graduating, as the guy has forearm muscles like steel bands.
It was a most interesting chamber music ensemble overall, with Mabel Kwan on piano, Paul Mulligan playing clarinet and Ryan Muncy on saxophone—a different set of instruments than the omnipresent violin, cello, etc. The piece I most enjoyed was Monica George’s One Day a Rabbit of My Own. It was the longest work, and employed a lot of innovative techniques (striking harp strings, for example) which actually enhanced the music. Monica put a lot of thought into the piece and how to use the available instruments in the composition. I know so, especially since she came over to borrow WFA’s harp composition handbooks several weeks earlier.
Student composer Brendan Mohr gets the prize for the most works generated, with 4 works on the program. I found most of them a bit difficult for me to click on, but his endings were particularly striking and exciting. WFA and I had a fine time arguing about Lauren Williams’ work Illusions and WFA was thrilled to get the sheet music for Jahan Nolley’s piece Wane.
Maybe it was because the entire concert only lasted an hour and I knew relief was in sight if needed. Maybe it was because the room and the audience was small, with black walls, but it seemed like a velvety experience to me: intimate, engaging, and an exciting showcase of personal vision. My only gripe is that, in an educational setting with a production of music most of us still need to learn to appreciate, there was no information whatsoever provided. Come on folks! How about some liner notes for us dunderheads who would like to know about your inspirations, what you were thinking, even why you chose your titles?! And Dal Niente! PR, guys! I don’t want to have to go chasing you down on the internet just to find out who you are! What if I were super rich and wanted to hire you? (Okay, I’m not, but I wish…)
Anyway, I’m not quite a convert, and I do think listening to music with no clear theme and a lot of mathematics is a bit of a stretch. But that Sunday, in that setting, with so much earnest talent, it was a privilege, a delight, and why I am so happy to live near a big city.
Monday, August 24, 2009
The Modern Wing of the Art Institute
There’s been a lot of buzz lately gushing over Renzo Piano’s design of the new Modern Wing of Chicago’s Art Institute since it opened in May, but I’ve just now had the chance to hike down there and take it in. Now, be forewarned that I may be irrationally prejudiced in my comments—I was wearing what turned out to be the most uncomfortable shoes of my life, and it was a teensy bit hard to focus on the architecture when you are developing 5 blisters the size of lollipops. Oh well, they match the mosquito bites all over my ankles. So much sacrificed in the attempt to look arty and chic, vs. crocs and gone to seed!
Photographs of the outside of the building have produced some spectacular images of line and negative space, but from street level, gee, I dunno—looks like an industrial park building to me. Inside, I really really wanted to see the collection, much of which has been “in the basement” for years. We wandered in the door, asked for information, and were told to start at the third floor and work our way down. Getting to the third floor, that was the trick! Asked a security guard, took the elevator he pointed at, ended up on the third floor in the restaurant/drinks area. Can’t get there from here—back downstairs, long walk to another elevator, not the right one either. Another security guard, another elevator. I felt like Pac man in the maze, and needed to sit down even before, on the third try, we finally reached the galleries.
The galleries themselves strike me as being exceptionally well lighted, and glare and shadow free. Although there was quite a crowd, it was easy to move around the rooms, and there’s plenty of space between paintings to take a good look without having to listen to someone else’s ipod. However, I wish my companion’s name had been Ariadne, because I needed a large ball of string to find my way in and out of each gallery, and make any sort of efficient progression from room to room, out of one level and down to the next. Maybe we’re supposed to feel the delight of discovery and surprise, but I like some sort of sensible path, myself. I don’t want to be aware of the route, or need to pay close attention, when I am trying to focus on a display. So, as an interior space, while Piano’s design may work well for the art, it doesn’t work all that well for the humans who want to use it, and thus fails my own personal architecture test.
As to th
e art—it was great to see the Matisse Apples again, as my daughter and I had spent several delightful hours copying it several years ago. (Hint: nonchalantly swipe one of the folding stools and just sit down as if you belonged there. Confine your art materials to colored pencils and paper and no one will bother you.) Also, I really enjoyed seeing the Giorgio de Chirico Eventuality of Destiny. I asked about this painting over 17 years ago, was told it was in storage, and it’s 
been moldering there ever since, to the best of my knowledge. It’s a very interesting work with figures who look like Greek statues, dancing like the Graces, but far out of proportion to the room they’re in, with the ceiling closing in on them. I’m still thinking about that image. I’m not sure it’s entirely serious, although with that ponderous title De Chirico might not have actually been joking, either.
I particularly enjoyed seeing the collection of Joseph Cornell’s boxes. These works resemble the little personal shrines you see in Japan, and I think they do a very good job of focusing your attention down on the artist’s personal iconography and drawing you into an intimate visual experience. There are quite a few of them, and seeing them all together helps somewhat to explain each one. I’m anxious to go back and spend some time just focused on that selection. There’s also some nice Legers, albeit mostly smaller works. The place to see Leger is definitely the Pompidou Center in Paris, where it’s a breathtaking experience to see the Legers in the context of a building that looks so much like them.
After about two hours of wandering (45 minutes of it futilely), we ended up with dinner at the eponymous Renzo Piano restaurant. Delicious, but definitely in the cute food category. It does seem to be a trend that the more you pay for the meal, the less food you get. My companion’s face really fell when the “red plum upside down cake” arrived and it was the size of a spool of thread. All very delicious, but I wasn’t worried about the scale the next morning.
Anyway, it’s a fine collection and well worth a look see. But clutch your map, and, oh yeah, wear comfortable shoes.
Photographs of the outside of the building have produced some spectacular images of line and negative space, but from street level, gee, I dunno—looks like an industrial park building to me. Inside, I really really wanted to see the collection, much of which has been “in the basement” for years. We wandered in the door, asked for information, and were told to start at the third floor and work our way down. Getting to the third floor, that was the trick! Asked a security guard, took the elevator he pointed at, ended up on the third floor in the restaurant/drinks area. Can’t get there from here—back downstairs, long walk to another elevator, not the right one either. Another security guard, another elevator. I felt like Pac man in the maze, and needed to sit down even before, on the third try, we finally reached the galleries.
The galleries themselves strike me as being exceptionally well lighted, and glare and shadow free. Although there was quite a crowd, it was easy to move around the rooms, and there’s plenty of space between paintings to take a good look without having to listen to someone else’s ipod. However, I wish my companion’s name had been Ariadne, because I needed a large ball of string to find my way in and out of each gallery, and make any sort of efficient progression from room to room, out of one level and down to the next. Maybe we’re supposed to feel the delight of discovery and surprise, but I like some sort of sensible path, myself. I don’t want to be aware of the route, or need to pay close attention, when I am trying to focus on a display. So, as an interior space, while Piano’s design may work well for the art, it doesn’t work all that well for the humans who want to use it, and thus fails my own personal architecture test.
As to th
e art—it was great to see the Matisse Apples again, as my daughter and I had spent several delightful hours copying it several years ago. (Hint: nonchalantly swipe one of the folding stools and just sit down as if you belonged there. Confine your art materials to colored pencils and paper and no one will bother you.) Also, I really enjoyed seeing the Giorgio de Chirico Eventuality of Destiny. I asked about this painting over 17 years ago, was told it was in storage, and it’s 
been moldering there ever since, to the best of my knowledge. It’s a very interesting work with figures who look like Greek statues, dancing like the Graces, but far out of proportion to the room they’re in, with the ceiling closing in on them. I’m still thinking about that image. I’m not sure it’s entirely serious, although with that ponderous title De Chirico might not have actually been joking, either.I particularly enjoyed seeing the collection of Joseph Cornell’s boxes. These works resemble the little personal shrines you see in Japan, and I think they do a very good job of focusing your attention down on the artist’s personal iconography and drawing you into an intimate visual experience. There are quite a few of them, and seeing them all together helps somewhat to explain each one. I’m anxious to go back and spend some time just focused on that selection. There’s also some nice Legers, albeit mostly smaller works. The place to see Leger is definitely the Pompidou Center in Paris, where it’s a breathtaking experience to see the Legers in the context of a building that looks so much like them.
After about two hours of wandering (45 minutes of it futilely), we ended up with dinner at the eponymous Renzo Piano restaurant. Delicious, but definitely in the cute food category. It does seem to be a trend that the more you pay for the meal, the less food you get. My companion’s face really fell when the “red plum upside down cake” arrived and it was the size of a spool of thread. All very delicious, but I wasn’t worried about the scale the next morning.
Anyway, it’s a fine collection and well worth a look see. But clutch your map, and, oh yeah, wear comfortable shoes.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Live music’s dirty secret
It’s been unintentional, but it struck me recently that I’ve stopped going to the movies. I used to enjoy the dimming of the lights, the giant screen, the hushed concentration that the theater offered. When the hush disappeared, slowly so did I.
There are certain types of features where you’re prepared for having the back of your seat kicked constantly: mostly pictures made by Disney, Pixar or the Harry Potter series. After all, it’s a time honored tradition to dump your kids off at the Saturday matinee. When it’s an adult movie, at the ten o’clock show on Saturday night, I can’t bear the sound of wailing infants. In fact, some of us went on Saturday night to ESCAPE the sound of our wailing infant. My take on it is, if you can’t afford the $15 for a babysitter, you can’t afford the $20 for the tickets, either. And running a baby around at 10 o’clock at night, with a ton of other people, and the oh-so-clean state of most movie theaters—ugh!
Babies are only half the problem, though. The other half is people old enough to know better—senior citizens. Some seem to think they are still sitting in their living rooms, where they apparently talk throughout the programming, and ahem! some of us have become a trifle hard of hearing. Or maybe it’s just that they have to ENTIRELY DROWN OUT the sound of the movie. And when we run out of commentary, some of us just seem to have to find that little piece of wrapped candy (or four or five) that’s wwaaaaayyyy down at the bottom of our purses.
Thanks to a giant screen tv and Netflix, I can now watch a movie with someone who knows how to behave, and the snacks are cheaper chez nous, also. Surely, though, a classical music concert attracts a different audience, no?
Well, maybe an evil fairy waved her wand over the Yo Yo Ma/Chicago Symphony Concert at Ravinia on Saturday night, but the same brigade showed up. The lawn seats there were $20 (special and dare I say cynical increase over the usual $10 for less pop star performances?), so I know the couple on the next blanket had enough dough to cover the babysitter. They had a stroller the size of a Hummer, and decided to keep their infant quiet by rattling a large set of toy keys throughout the performance. Then there was the three year old who began her aria just at Yo Yo Ma’s longest cello solo cranked up. But the most enjoyable performance was the mother-daughter team, now dubbed the cackle hens. Want to know all about daughter’s roommates, shopping expeditions, friends’ love affairs, problems with finding good shoes? I can tell you. In fact, so can anyone sitting within 100 feet of them. MY daughter was reduced to tears of frustration trying to hear.
For many outdoor classical performances you can get away from these boors by moving your blanket. But Ravinia seems to have no limit to the amount of tickets they will sell. (We once were forced to sit on the sidewalk during a performance of the Gypsy Kings. I wonder what would have happened if someone had shouted “fire!”) In an attempt to squeeze the juice out of anyone dumb enough to attend, there is obviously no concern that there be any type of quality to the experience.
I had resolved never to attend again unless I bought seats in the Pavilion. That is, until I remembered the Lyric Opera’s matinee of Der Rosenkavalier that daughter and I attended a couple of years ago. We had good seats on the main floor, and my memory is that they cost around 70 bucks a pop. However, I have no idea of how the opera ended, as the entire last scene of the opera was utterly drowned out, and the sight lines totally obscured, by the amount of elderly patrons who decided to get up, leave early, clank their walkers up the aisles, discuss the exact time their trains left, and slap-slap-slap the exit doors, not necessarily in time to the music. Haven't these people learned any manners in their seventy or eighty years? Where do they have to be that is so much more important than where they are? Has attention span become so short that a stellar production requiring hundreds of hours of work and thousands and thousands of dollars, and for which they paid a tidy ticket price, cannot hold their interest?
I did complain several times to Lyric management. They don’t let people in once the music has started, and they make an announcement to turn off cell phones. I asked them to add a request that people who must leave early, do so at intermission. Although they said they would consider it, nothing has been done. They lost my yearly subscription. Although I’ve been a subscriber off and on for nearly 30 years, never again until something is done. We buy individual tickets only, far fewer, and only for evening performances.
Maybe nobody cares. Maybe the bean counters are satisfied with their gate. Maybe I’ll switch to music dvds.
There are certain types of features where you’re prepared for having the back of your seat kicked constantly: mostly pictures made by Disney, Pixar or the Harry Potter series. After all, it’s a time honored tradition to dump your kids off at the Saturday matinee. When it’s an adult movie, at the ten o’clock show on Saturday night, I can’t bear the sound of wailing infants. In fact, some of us went on Saturday night to ESCAPE the sound of our wailing infant. My take on it is, if you can’t afford the $15 for a babysitter, you can’t afford the $20 for the tickets, either. And running a baby around at 10 o’clock at night, with a ton of other people, and the oh-so-clean state of most movie theaters—ugh!
Babies are only half the problem, though. The other half is people old enough to know better—senior citizens. Some seem to think they are still sitting in their living rooms, where they apparently talk throughout the programming, and ahem! some of us have become a trifle hard of hearing. Or maybe it’s just that they have to ENTIRELY DROWN OUT the sound of the movie. And when we run out of commentary, some of us just seem to have to find that little piece of wrapped candy (or four or five) that’s wwaaaaayyyy down at the bottom of our purses.
Thanks to a giant screen tv and Netflix, I can now watch a movie with someone who knows how to behave, and the snacks are cheaper chez nous, also. Surely, though, a classical music concert attracts a different audience, no?
Well, maybe an evil fairy waved her wand over the Yo Yo Ma/Chicago Symphony Concert at Ravinia on Saturday night, but the same brigade showed up. The lawn seats there were $20 (special and dare I say cynical increase over the usual $10 for less pop star performances?), so I know the couple on the next blanket had enough dough to cover the babysitter. They had a stroller the size of a Hummer, and decided to keep their infant quiet by rattling a large set of toy keys throughout the performance. Then there was the three year old who began her aria just at Yo Yo Ma’s longest cello solo cranked up. But the most enjoyable performance was the mother-daughter team, now dubbed the cackle hens. Want to know all about daughter’s roommates, shopping expeditions, friends’ love affairs, problems with finding good shoes? I can tell you. In fact, so can anyone sitting within 100 feet of them. MY daughter was reduced to tears of frustration trying to hear.
For many outdoor classical performances you can get away from these boors by moving your blanket. But Ravinia seems to have no limit to the amount of tickets they will sell. (We once were forced to sit on the sidewalk during a performance of the Gypsy Kings. I wonder what would have happened if someone had shouted “fire!”) In an attempt to squeeze the juice out of anyone dumb enough to attend, there is obviously no concern that there be any type of quality to the experience.
I had resolved never to attend again unless I bought seats in the Pavilion. That is, until I remembered the Lyric Opera’s matinee of Der Rosenkavalier that daughter and I attended a couple of years ago. We had good seats on the main floor, and my memory is that they cost around 70 bucks a pop. However, I have no idea of how the opera ended, as the entire last scene of the opera was utterly drowned out, and the sight lines totally obscured, by the amount of elderly patrons who decided to get up, leave early, clank their walkers up the aisles, discuss the exact time their trains left, and slap-slap-slap the exit doors, not necessarily in time to the music. Haven't these people learned any manners in their seventy or eighty years? Where do they have to be that is so much more important than where they are? Has attention span become so short that a stellar production requiring hundreds of hours of work and thousands and thousands of dollars, and for which they paid a tidy ticket price, cannot hold their interest?
I did complain several times to Lyric management. They don’t let people in once the music has started, and they make an announcement to turn off cell phones. I asked them to add a request that people who must leave early, do so at intermission. Although they said they would consider it, nothing has been done. They lost my yearly subscription. Although I’ve been a subscriber off and on for nearly 30 years, never again until something is done. We buy individual tickets only, far fewer, and only for evening performances.
Maybe nobody cares. Maybe the bean counters are satisfied with their gate. Maybe I’ll switch to music dvds.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Skyline from a different angle
It’s generally a good event if you’re thinking of it two days later. Sunday I had the opportunity to go on a Chicago lakefront architectural cruise guided by Geoffrey Baer, who has hosted a number of PBS programs on Chicago architecture and history. As is always the case with this oh-so-architectural city, there was a lot to take in.
For many years (years ago) I sold real estate on Chicago’s near-downtown Gold Coast and Lincoln Park, and during my college years worked for temp agencies so there is hardly a pre-1977 office building or pre-1992 apartment or condo that I haven’t been in. In short, I thought I had seen ‘em all. But, in a metropolitan area we tend to see things either from street level or from the windows of another building. Seeing the downtown area from river level, while details were pointed out by a knowledgeable guide, really knocks your perceptions out of whack.
It’s hard for me to see architecture as pure art. To me, a building is mostly about usability and function, and harmony with its surroundings (with nods to Mies and Wright). I’ve been particularly impressed with the kind of analysis Christopher Alexander et al make in the book A Pattern Language, which ably documents how space can influence and shape behavior, use and comfort. Building as fine craft, yes, but as art, not so much.
Seeing downtown skyscrapers, infrastructure and transportation from river level somehow abstracted the beauty of the structures for me, and I was much more able to appreciate line, surface and inter-relationships. That was awesome enough. But then the magic happened. As we headed back in from the lake portion of the trip, a fog began rolling in, obscuring the lower half of most of the buildings hugging the beach. Suddenly, Chicago seemed some hi-rise Brigadoon or Fata Morgana. Truly, we were in the fairy realm.
For many years (years ago) I sold real estate on Chicago’s near-downtown Gold Coast and Lincoln Park, and during my college years worked for temp agencies so there is hardly a pre-1977 office building or pre-1992 apartment or condo that I haven’t been in. In short, I thought I had seen ‘em all. But, in a metropolitan area we tend to see things either from street level or from the windows of another building. Seeing the downtown area from river level, while details were pointed out by a knowledgeable guide, really knocks your perceptions out of whack.
It’s hard for me to see architecture as pure art. To me, a building is mostly about usability and function, and harmony with its surroundings (with nods to Mies and Wright). I’ve been particularly impressed with the kind of analysis Christopher Alexander et al make in the book A Pattern Language, which ably documents how space can influence and shape behavior, use and comfort. Building as fine craft, yes, but as art, not so much.
Seeing downtown skyscrapers, infrastructure and transportation from river level somehow abstracted the beauty of the structures for me, and I was much more able to appreciate line, surface and inter-relationships. That was awesome enough. But then the magic happened. As we headed back in from the lake portion of the trip, a fog began rolling in, obscuring the lower half of most of the buildings hugging the beach. Suddenly, Chicago seemed some hi-rise Brigadoon or Fata Morgana. Truly, we were in the fairy realm.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Clear Glass
I’m very fond of music DVDs. No, not the MTV kind, but the kind where a usually classical artist talks about his work, plays, and we get to follow him around. Sometimes the talent is so overwhelming, it’s hard to picture a Leif Ove Andsnes or Boris Berezovsky inhabiting the same recognizable universe as the rest of us.
While these videos somewhat cut them down to human size, in other ways they elevate these artists—even though they live in the same cities we do, the excellence of their art transforms them and shapes their world. Recently, we had the opportunity to see Glass: A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts. I wouldn’t say I was the biggest fan of Philip Glass’s music—I’ve found it hard to listen to, sometimes harsh, and repetitive. But after watching this, and hearing the snippets of pieces in the background throughout the DVD, I feel a serious need to get my hands on some of his works. It’s absolute torture not to hear any complete works while watching the program.
The people surrounding Glass also captured my heart, especially his latest wife. She clearly loves him, and early on is clearly so thrilled that this genius loves her. As time goes on, though, and they have children, she appears to become lonely and filled with longing for a deeper relationship with a man whose deepest relationship is with his music. I wanted to send her a copy of Middlemarch, but I didn’t think it would help her be any happier.
I once heard a Spanish proverb, “Take what you want. Take what you want and pay for it.” Everybody in this film has gone after what they want, and they have all paid, heavily. The music is stunning and complicated, but you will want to hear more of it after watching portrait. I got it from Netflix, but it’s also available on Amazon.
While these videos somewhat cut them down to human size, in other ways they elevate these artists—even though they live in the same cities we do, the excellence of their art transforms them and shapes their world. Recently, we had the opportunity to see Glass: A Portrait of Philip in Twelve Parts. I wouldn’t say I was the biggest fan of Philip Glass’s music—I’ve found it hard to listen to, sometimes harsh, and repetitive. But after watching this, and hearing the snippets of pieces in the background throughout the DVD, I feel a serious need to get my hands on some of his works. It’s absolute torture not to hear any complete works while watching the program.
The people surrounding Glass also captured my heart, especially his latest wife. She clearly loves him, and early on is clearly so thrilled that this genius loves her. As time goes on, though, and they have children, she appears to become lonely and filled with longing for a deeper relationship with a man whose deepest relationship is with his music. I wanted to send her a copy of Middlemarch, but I didn’t think it would help her be any happier.
I once heard a Spanish proverb, “Take what you want. Take what you want and pay for it.” Everybody in this film has gone after what they want, and they have all paid, heavily. The music is stunning and complicated, but you will want to hear more of it after watching portrait. I got it from Netflix, but it’s also available on Amazon.
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