Okay, it's been ages since I've posted. I haven't been as diligent in my concert going or my arts consumption as I usually am, and then took off for India for a month.
I come back to find the Montreal Jazz Fest at my doorstep, a nonstop carnival of fantastic delights, ranging from mindblowing to head scratching. I saw quite a few wonderful things, but the toast of the festival is Ahmad Jamal. This free jazz legend, keyboard player extrodinaire, has ruined jazz music for me. I kid you not. I have see the mountain and nothing will be good ever after. To put it simply, on his 80th birthday, Mr. Jamal delivered what is the best jazz quartet I can ever expect to spend an evening with. There isn't much else to say. He was modest in speech but warm and delighted in his own band. The drummer had the fastest, smoothest hands that awed us all (two drummers were with me).
I can't comment much further than that. If you have the opportunity to see Mr. Jamal, by all means, do not pass go without paying $50 and see his show.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Commodification of the "Criminal" Genius: Exit Through the Gift Shop
Banksy, the internationally celebrated Bristol U.K. street artist, made a name for himself dismissing crass commercialism and the shallowness of Western corporate culture. Symbolically using the rat for his nemeses, Banksy teased his targets as self interested vermin. Even peacefully sipping his coffee, a business man on the Chiltern Lines riding his way into London with the Guardian in hand is just a rodent in a nice suit.
The street art movement proved fertile ground for artists and social commentators to voice and display their visions. Rooted in the urban ghetto graffiti scene of the 70's and 80's, street artists seem to embrace that their creations share in the alienated, criminal ethos. Men who were powerless in society plastered tags along bus lines and subway lines to mark territory and immortalize themselves. The appeal of alienation and the seething anger spoke to suburban white boys who took on graffiti art, tagging in old styles and new. It is in this atmosphere that the street artist, a graffiti artist par extrodinaire, works. Using the same techniques as his predecessors, but with the creativity of the artist, graffiti goes beyond vandalism to social commentary, to beautification or uglification, to medium-as-message advertising. What all versions share is a sense of being immortalized, not so much by being everywhere (though that is part of it), but by doing something so monumental that it is spoken of ever after. But while the suburban white boy and the street artist can enjoy the vigilante nature of their vanadalism, the graffiti roots are in lawlessness or arbitrary law that allowed taggers to post indiscriminately, guided only by the law of the street.
Exit through the Giftshop is seen by many as yet another act of street art, in this case presented on the screens of the nation. No one cares all that much if that was its intent. The charming story of a French camcorderist who shoots thousands of hours of graffiti artists before jumping feet first into his own commercial success as one of them plays well without irony. He begins by selling low value T-shirts that become valued only as their price tag is set to ludicrous levels, so too with his art. Derivative pieces fill a warehouse and sell to a public starved to own art work they can relate to and value, without an ability to assess its quality.
Banksy is hardly the first artist to comment on the presumed emptiness of the wealthier classes and by no means the first man to use public space as his venue. He is not the first artist to be celebrated by those he seems to satirize and chastize, nor is he the first to be commodified in spite of his anti-commerical stance. Whether his intent is genuine or his protagonist a fiction, it matters not. HIs points are valid and the street art movement deserves no less than a feature length work of art to celebrate its birth and florit. Banksy can no more escape the contradictions of fame than any other person of visible talent. Even if all he is is his own "brand" without a face or identity.
The street art movement proved fertile ground for artists and social commentators to voice and display their visions. Rooted in the urban ghetto graffiti scene of the 70's and 80's, street artists seem to embrace that their creations share in the alienated, criminal ethos. Men who were powerless in society plastered tags along bus lines and subway lines to mark territory and immortalize themselves. The appeal of alienation and the seething anger spoke to suburban white boys who took on graffiti art, tagging in old styles and new. It is in this atmosphere that the street artist, a graffiti artist par extrodinaire, works. Using the same techniques as his predecessors, but with the creativity of the artist, graffiti goes beyond vandalism to social commentary, to beautification or uglification, to medium-as-message advertising. What all versions share is a sense of being immortalized, not so much by being everywhere (though that is part of it), but by doing something so monumental that it is spoken of ever after. But while the suburban white boy and the street artist can enjoy the vigilante nature of their vanadalism, the graffiti roots are in lawlessness or arbitrary law that allowed taggers to post indiscriminately, guided only by the law of the street.
Exit through the Giftshop is seen by many as yet another act of street art, in this case presented on the screens of the nation. No one cares all that much if that was its intent. The charming story of a French camcorderist who shoots thousands of hours of graffiti artists before jumping feet first into his own commercial success as one of them plays well without irony. He begins by selling low value T-shirts that become valued only as their price tag is set to ludicrous levels, so too with his art. Derivative pieces fill a warehouse and sell to a public starved to own art work they can relate to and value, without an ability to assess its quality.
Banksy is hardly the first artist to comment on the presumed emptiness of the wealthier classes and by no means the first man to use public space as his venue. He is not the first artist to be celebrated by those he seems to satirize and chastize, nor is he the first to be commodified in spite of his anti-commerical stance. Whether his intent is genuine or his protagonist a fiction, it matters not. HIs points are valid and the street art movement deserves no less than a feature length work of art to celebrate its birth and florit. Banksy can no more escape the contradictions of fame than any other person of visible talent. Even if all he is is his own "brand" without a face or identity.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Sebastian Bolesch at the Goethe Institut. Afghani Lives
Photojournalist Sebastian Bolesch elevates photojournalism to higher levels with his pictures of everyday people in extreme environments. Whether capturing children or adults, Bolesch captures the humanity and personal concerns of his subject matter. The viewer's ability to identify with the subject's simple gestures of friendship, intimacy, pain, joy, or passion give each photo photo a transcendent sense of man's ultimate concerns.
The exhibit at the Goethe institute of Bolesch's work, running until June 30, is a moving study of a country that is largely known for its lawlessness and troubles. It reminds us how easy it is to forget the ordinariness of the individuals who live there.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Motor Sport?: Clint Neufeld and Jason Gringler at the Parisian Laundry
Kissing Sisyphus by Jason Gringler, 2009, 72 by 84 inches, acrylic, collage, broken mirror, spray enamel, plexiglass
The Parisian Laundry continues to provide Montreal with avant garde installation exhibitions. Clint Neufeld and Jason Gringler's joint show celebrates the beauty of the mechanical and re-examine the concept of what is traditionally conceived of as masculine.
Neufeld's ceramic pieces are porcelain depictions of motors and car transmissions, decorated with dainty floral motifs commonly found on dish ware. Organized around the room on hip level cabinets, each engine component is turned into an artwork demanding contemplating. Initially, the viewer is amused by the juxtaposition of the traditionally masculine car part presented in such a feminine medium as porcelain. However, the cool white porcelain also beckons the viewer to appreciate the beauty of the motor, its unintended beauty and disguised symmetries. It is not so much as a jarring blend of masculine and feminine elements, but rather, a celebration of an ordinary object, elevated to the status of the Beautiful.
In the Bunker, four large paintings by Grigler also celebrate every day existence and mundanity as well. Constructed out of everyday architectural components -- enamel, glass, plexiglass, mirror, metal pieces, and spray paint -- these abstract pieces ask the viewer to consider their materials as objects of contemplation. The pieces resemble angular puzzles, with their components cut into long sharp triangles and rectangles, fitted together in an organic composition. Although rather masculine in their media and size, the paintings also utilize arrangement in a less aggressive and more familiar style. The blend of the two leaves the viewer rather satisfied with a tension brought to balance.
The Parisian Laundry continues to provide Montreal with avant garde installation exhibitions. Clint Neufeld and Jason Gringler's joint show celebrates the beauty of the mechanical and re-examine the concept of what is traditionally conceived of as masculine.
Neufeld's ceramic pieces are porcelain depictions of motors and car transmissions, decorated with dainty floral motifs commonly found on dish ware. Organized around the room on hip level cabinets, each engine component is turned into an artwork demanding contemplating. Initially, the viewer is amused by the juxtaposition of the traditionally masculine car part presented in such a feminine medium as porcelain. However, the cool white porcelain also beckons the viewer to appreciate the beauty of the motor, its unintended beauty and disguised symmetries. It is not so much as a jarring blend of masculine and feminine elements, but rather, a celebration of an ordinary object, elevated to the status of the Beautiful.
In the Bunker, four large paintings by Grigler also celebrate every day existence and mundanity as well. Constructed out of everyday architectural components -- enamel, glass, plexiglass, mirror, metal pieces, and spray paint -- these abstract pieces ask the viewer to consider their materials as objects of contemplation. The pieces resemble angular puzzles, with their components cut into long sharp triangles and rectangles, fitted together in an organic composition. Although rather masculine in their media and size, the paintings also utilize arrangement in a less aggressive and more familiar style. The blend of the two leaves the viewer rather satisfied with a tension brought to balance.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Edge of the Seat Ride in Avatar
Avatar is the kind of movie I imagine my father rolling his eyes and saying, "Ugh! Cartoons."
It is animated -- or dare I say it -- CGIed. But the animation is almost believable and the characters so human that the fantasy bleeds into reality. We've come a long way from Mary Poppins and Roger Rabbit. Those talented New Zealanders who brought us Lord of the Rings certainly do not disappoint in bringing us the world of Pandora and its ferocious inhabitants.
The film uses the age old no-fail (=cliche) formula of underdog people with a heart of gold do battle with evil men bent on domination. Avatar is not exactly a film with a complicated plot structure. A human mining corporation has set up shop on Pandora in search of Unobtainium, a prized substance that unfortunately is richly deposited underneath a sacred tree. Accompanying the company man are a contingent of tougher than steel and sham wow Marines who are at cross purposes with a contingent of scientist-anthropologists, headed up by Dianne Fossey (oops, I mean Grace, played by the indominitable Sigourney Weaver). Without my revealing too much of the film, suffice to say that both sides take very different view on the fate of the planet's inhabitants. Unobtanium or no unobtanium.
Where the film succeeds most, though, is in a number of premises that underlie the film. The first of these is the creation of the world of Pandora. The blueish, feline humanoids that seem to represent the local intelligent life have the unique ability to plug into the planet's heart and soul. They become one with different species of animals that they are able to utilize to serve different purposes. Their culture is created on screen, a combination of celtic, aboriginal, native american, and african cultures. Or, in other words, any culture that is finely attuned to nature. Warrior culture, mythology, and rites of passage are emphasized, though it is a culture that seems to (very PCishly) respect male and female members equally. They are people who seem to draw a hard line between divinity and science, preferring, of course, divinity. This is not the Judeo-Christian concept of God, but the kind one sees in Miziyaki films, a nature goddess, all powerful and timeless.
The second of these is character development, particularly of the protagonist, Jake Sully, a Marine. Though paralyzed from the waist down, Sully proves to be a complex and interesting man whose life takes on new meaning as he serves both the scientists and the Marines on Pandora. Again, as with a Miziyaki film, Sully's loyalties are tested and he ends up not quite the man he started.
Finally, the third premise is the Avatar. The planet is hostile to humans, who only venture out with big guns and face masks to protect them from the atmosphere. The scientists make use of Avatar bodies, genetically modified organisms that are part Pandora inhabitant, part human. The physical Avatar bodies are controlled in the safety of the bunker by their respective humans in much the same way a person may take on the persona of a character in an online mass multiplayer video game. When the human relinquishes control of his Avatar, the Avatar body goes limp and lifeless. I did spend a good chunk of the film wondering what would happen if someone's Avatar should die while they were in it.
I shall say no more about the film except that it is moving, exciting, and works on many (but not all) levels. It is not an intellectual discourse, nor does it pretend to be. It deals with very basic aspects of human nature and covers territory many films have covered before. Yet, it has the magic and suspense that made other films like ET, STar WArs, and Lord of the Rings so enjoyable. This film, though, exceeds the others in that it looks so damned real. Maybe it is our video game culture that has conditioned us to accept virtual worlds, but this one goes beyond in every respect I could imagine. Even the technologically wizardry of the 3D, which didn't really mean all that much to me, but did add a layer of interest, was well done.
It is animated -- or dare I say it -- CGIed. But the animation is almost believable and the characters so human that the fantasy bleeds into reality. We've come a long way from Mary Poppins and Roger Rabbit. Those talented New Zealanders who brought us Lord of the Rings certainly do not disappoint in bringing us the world of Pandora and its ferocious inhabitants.
The film uses the age old no-fail (=cliche) formula of underdog people with a heart of gold do battle with evil men bent on domination. Avatar is not exactly a film with a complicated plot structure. A human mining corporation has set up shop on Pandora in search of Unobtainium, a prized substance that unfortunately is richly deposited underneath a sacred tree. Accompanying the company man are a contingent of tougher than steel and sham wow Marines who are at cross purposes with a contingent of scientist-anthropologists, headed up by Dianne Fossey (oops, I mean Grace, played by the indominitable Sigourney Weaver). Without my revealing too much of the film, suffice to say that both sides take very different view on the fate of the planet's inhabitants. Unobtanium or no unobtanium.
Where the film succeeds most, though, is in a number of premises that underlie the film. The first of these is the creation of the world of Pandora. The blueish, feline humanoids that seem to represent the local intelligent life have the unique ability to plug into the planet's heart and soul. They become one with different species of animals that they are able to utilize to serve different purposes. Their culture is created on screen, a combination of celtic, aboriginal, native american, and african cultures. Or, in other words, any culture that is finely attuned to nature. Warrior culture, mythology, and rites of passage are emphasized, though it is a culture that seems to (very PCishly) respect male and female members equally. They are people who seem to draw a hard line between divinity and science, preferring, of course, divinity. This is not the Judeo-Christian concept of God, but the kind one sees in Miziyaki films, a nature goddess, all powerful and timeless.
The second of these is character development, particularly of the protagonist, Jake Sully, a Marine. Though paralyzed from the waist down, Sully proves to be a complex and interesting man whose life takes on new meaning as he serves both the scientists and the Marines on Pandora. Again, as with a Miziyaki film, Sully's loyalties are tested and he ends up not quite the man he started.
Finally, the third premise is the Avatar. The planet is hostile to humans, who only venture out with big guns and face masks to protect them from the atmosphere. The scientists make use of Avatar bodies, genetically modified organisms that are part Pandora inhabitant, part human. The physical Avatar bodies are controlled in the safety of the bunker by their respective humans in much the same way a person may take on the persona of a character in an online mass multiplayer video game. When the human relinquishes control of his Avatar, the Avatar body goes limp and lifeless. I did spend a good chunk of the film wondering what would happen if someone's Avatar should die while they were in it.
I shall say no more about the film except that it is moving, exciting, and works on many (but not all) levels. It is not an intellectual discourse, nor does it pretend to be. It deals with very basic aspects of human nature and covers territory many films have covered before. Yet, it has the magic and suspense that made other films like ET, STar WArs, and Lord of the Rings so enjoyable. This film, though, exceeds the others in that it looks so damned real. Maybe it is our video game culture that has conditioned us to accept virtual worlds, but this one goes beyond in every respect I could imagine. Even the technologically wizardry of the 3D, which didn't really mean all that much to me, but did add a layer of interest, was well done.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Robert Downey Jr. Retrospective
Ah, well, Sherlock Holmes has prompted me to go on something of a Robert Downey Jr. movie retrospective. My goal is to watch all of his movies and review them here. On a similar note, I am planning to do the same for U2 with their albums.
so, in the coming weeks, look for reviews of old RDJ films and possibly TV shows have held up.
so, in the coming weeks, look for reviews of old RDJ films and possibly TV shows have held up.
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