Marvin Gaye, The Greatest

Marvin in a track suit, reclined on a sofa, doing a warm up for "I Want You"?!!! Absolutely gorgeous, I don't know what to do with myself. Thank you Marvin for making this life so beautiful. So so gifted. Makes my heart melt and hurt to see him perform.

Sofia Ajram, photographer

Gina Czarnecki

Videos I saw at Sundance this year as part of the New Frontiers exhibit that still haunt me, from artist Gina Czarnecki... Cell Mass N2, Infected, and Nascent. Wish the videos existed online. These stills, as mesmerizing as they are, are pale in comparison to the moving sculptural experience of the videos projected wall-size, of figures layered, coming into being, disintegrating and moving through space and darkness, the expression of the dancer's bodies, the computer manipulation of them, the flow of bodies from one unknown starting point, disappearing off frame, into another unknown realm. Reminiscent of Bosch's hell, Francis Bacon's figures, but also of something sublime, an energy force, without singular form.

Helen Levitt

Our city's summertime experience is marked by the laughter and playful shrieks of so many kids playing out on the streets often with open hydrants bringing cool concrete-transcending relief, reminiscent of Helen Levitt's photographs of New York City through several decades.

Lee Tamahori's "Once Were Warriors" and Mathieu Kassovitz' "La Haine"

Two of my favorite films from the 90's from directors who after these breakout films, had bigger budgets but never created work of such quality.

David Alfaro Siqueiros "Echo of a Scream"

Time and time again, reading about world situations, or thinking about mankind, my mind always conjures this image up.

Wangechi Mutu

I can't even begin to discuss what her work does for me. First, there's the classicism of form, composition, that draws you to the work from across a museum floor; the strength of her use and unique quality of color and paint, sometimes reminiscent of surrealism; the redefining and recontextualizing of the female form and symbols, new perspectives and stories; then up close the discovery of the collages, and the layers of meaning they add to the form at large; the violence and gut-wrenching truths, the grotesque, the majesty. There's one of her works hanging at the Museum of Modern Art right now in the "The Modern Myth: Drawing Mythologies in Modern Times" show. One must experience her work in person to appreciate its full capacity. It's a moving experience, one that you can't take your eyes off of. I look forward to when New York City hosts a large retrospective of her work.

Arvo Pärt "Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten"

Aurel Schmidt's "Master of the Universe/Flexmaster 3000"; The Whitney Biennial 2010

Aurel Schmidt's "Master of the Universe/Flexmaster 3000" (above) is my favorite, distorting mythology and form, among just a tiny handful from this year's Whitney Biennial, which was otherwise crap. A lifeless display of what happens when MFA-wielding artists are safely selected among those in the insider's institutional name game club. Themes were so out of touch with the times we're living in, and so conceptual, that the works required more background reading than anything else... we could've easily have just read an essay about what the work wanted to achieve, without experiencing the work itself. In fact that would've been preferable instead of the distraction of going through the vast spaces of the museum, and seeing the work merely as wasted real estate, imagining the money that it took to support the work's space in the museum. And although sometimes conceptual and abstract art can be interesting because of meticulous production value...here...what production value? Art that exists only within its own community has developed a language for insiders only, stripped of the experiential aspect of art. Not that it has to appeal to the masses on the other end of the spectrum, but there needs to be a serious re-evaluation of where the art world is going. Because right now? Boring. Pointless.

Urban Blooz and the Colonization of Public Spaces

Contemporary art has become so institutional, and absolutely boring and irrelevant. The most exciting stuff I've seen lately all come from "street artists." I love this project by the artist that goes by the name Urban Blooz. "It is a reaction to the colonization of public spaces by advertisement. The content of the billboards is getting erased and replaced by a poster showing the frame of the environment, that is covered by the billboard itself." Simple, yet poignant. I hark back to my time in Cuba. Public wall mural paintings state/reflect the social ideals of the society and community. They made you think. Connected back to the country's history. There weren't constructed billboards, thus the landscape was unobstructed. After spending a month there, making my way back to the states felt oppressive. The weight of all the noise in advertisements, of ads appearing in every direction you turn, a glance here, in your peripheral, pounding as video and audio in elevators, of all the junk screaming, "Consume! And thus be happy!" You don't realize how much signage for shit we have in every far-reaching corner of American Capitalism and Imperialism, until you're able to experience a society that doesn't sell and privatize every imaginable piece of space, real or abstract. And how we become numb to its presence. I remember when H&M sales ads showed up on subway turnstiles! It pissed me the fuck off, but was also impressed with the idea of its placement. Some of the most brilliant minds and artists I've ever met, work in advertising. They come up with this stuff, placement and content, sometimes ingenious (although often squashed with the dumbing down and industry shift into client/accounts/marketing-based creativity...an oxymoron...net result is garbage). But what if we were to replace the needs of industry with something that reflected a different value system. Does advertising have to sell the idea that a product fills a void? Can it just provide engaging public art or does it have to literally sell something.

For more, check out "The Art of Rebellion 2: World of Urban Art Activism" published by Publikat, a great anthology of "street art." Also look out for the new Banksy film "Exit Through the Gift Shop." It made it's debut at Sundance this year and should hit the theaters in May. Really phenomenal film. And Banksy's work, just incredible.

Jacques Audiard's "Un Prophète" and David Michôd's "Animal Kingdom"

Casting casting casting.
But more to come on these films...

Wu-Tang Appreciation Day

Wu-Tang Lego: Da Mystery of Chessboxin' from davo on Vimeo.

In anticipation for the new Rae-Meth-Ghostface album, highlighting some tributes here from over the years... The video on top is shot-for-shot identical to the original, except of course, in all Lego. El Michels Affair does all these Stax-like dusty sounding instrumental Wu-Tang covers. I think they travel with Raekwon for live shows. Check out youtube for an entire selection of tracks. Then there's graphic design/brand artist Logan Walters' Wu-Tang covers (top still image) in the old Blue-Note record cover style (click here to see all). As much as they look like copies of yore, layout is still skillful and the artwork, still very satisfying.

Documentaries "The Shock Doctrine" and "Life and Debt," and Haiti

Two documentaries on my mind in the wake of Haiti's earthquakes are Stephanie Black's 2001 documentary on Jamaica, "Life and Debt," and "The Shock Doctrine" that just premiered at the Sundance Film Festival this year. "Life and Debt" gives a step by step view of how and why Jamaica's post-colonial economy is laden with debt, and how as a resource-rich nation, it is rife with extreme poverty in this era of "free market" multi-national corporate globalism. It'll make you sick to your stomach, how small post-colonial nations are carved up and attacked so insidiously on all sides by these multi-nationals, with international political policies and military might they are able to buy to support their insatiable greed. The film is specific to Jamaica but the trends are seen over and over and over again in post-colonial nations that span the Carribean, Asia, Africa and Latin America. Pretty much most of the globe.

"The Shock Doctrine" takes a step back to look at trends that involve a relationship between "shocks" to a society and a "free market" economy. The idea behind the film and Naomi Klein's theory in the book by the same name for which the film is based on, is that after a "shock," whether as a result of military activity or environmental catastrophe, radical changes of some form of authoritarianism is often implemented, leading to the selling of ones nation to privatization. "Disaster Capitalism" is the term for this relationship. A nation is open and vulnerable to foreign interests and/or the interests of private companies are able to manipulate public support. Nations are also literally held at gun point to force the opening of their doors for economic rape and pillage and authoritarianism under the guise of "free markets" led by the doctrines of University of Chicago economist Milton Friedman, who ultimately won a Nobel Prize. Nixon, Reagan, Bush, Pinochet, Thatcher all brought this radical economic philosophy to the fore, and the resulting inequities of societies that were forced to implement it, and extent of environmental destruction, are unprecedented. The role of shock, or disorientation, where a person or society is disconnected from history and sound judgement, is utilized by corporate and imperialist agendas, and is at the heart of Klein's "Disaster Capitalism." An article providing an alternatively nuanced take on disaster and rebuilding via Voltaire's philosophies came out in the Wall Street Journal days after Haiti's earthquake, "Rising from the Ruins" examining a historical view of catastrophe and "progress," and even how trends are vastly different from the past in the wake of Katrina and Haiti.

Within a week of Hurricane Katrina, communities that were dismantled and in a state of flux, were carved up for privatization, from education to real estate. The process of foreign companies coming in to "divvy up the loot" happened within 24 hours of the earthquake in Haiti. A good article that ties in the "Shock Doctrine" and many of the issues addressed in "Life and Debt" specific to Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake can be found here, "The Shock Doctrine for Haiti," in the Socialist Worker.

It's all happening with tsunami-like speed and might. When is this all going to become transparent to the public? Will the public even care enough to organize for change? When is the true disaster of capitalism going to end? Global warming?

"La Jetée" by Chris Marker; Last Year at Marienbad" by Alain Resnais

Time and memory

Dope-ass Movie Posters

I love not only the image components, but also the visual quality of text/alphabets from the other languages. Films from top down: More, Last Year at Marienbad, Downhill Racer, The Girl on a Motorcycle, Boom.

PJ Harvey "This is Love" by Sophie Muller

Sometimes all it takes is a one camera, one take performance, one white fringe-sleeved tuxedo, accessories, a good haircut, and PJ HARVEY!!! Of course, just discovered this video was created by my all-time favorite music video director, Sophie Muller. Still kicking ass.

"I can't believe life's so complex, when i just wanna sit here and watch you undress..."

yes

Scriabin Etude Op.8 No.11 performed by Horowitz

This Scriabin piece performed by Horowitz is what I have to get me through today. Thanks to them both for their genius and sensitivity. I love that this video piece is a page by page read of the music. Absolutely beautiful. There is something about reading the music while hearing it played, by a prodigy no less, that is so moving. I love seeing Scriabin's rhythms, the change ups, in visual form. We can hear, relative to what we are seeing, Horowitz's touch--there is no one who has his touch and sensitivity and interpretation and ability to communicate his interpretations with transcending nuance. Makes him my all time favorite pianist, especially when he plays Chopin. And we can also see in the sheet music, as in any piece I love by Chopin or Scriabin, a full load of flats and black keys. That one bar rest one line from the end of the piece, so bad ass.

Doing "Dark" in Music Videos; Jay-Z feat. Swizz Beatz "On To The Next One" Directed by Sam Brown

Above, Jay-Z feat. Swizz Beatz "On To The Next One" Directed by Sam Brown; The Cardigan's "Losing My Favorite Game" Directed by Jonas Akerlund; Director Chris Cunningham Montage...

American pop videos can make "dark" look cartoony or pretty pop commercial clean as in Jay-Z's new video. That trancy chant in the song though is dope (for the vid). And I looove for some weird reason, the image of the speaker chords. I mean love it. Also like the "Rorschach test" images. Some interesting imagery speckled throughout, but meaningless because of the lack of visual story and build, just random intercutting. A few changes during the breaks, but otherwise no climax. Drones on. The attempts at darkness makes me reminiscent of Jonas Akerlund's gothic or "sick" sensibility in pop form in his videos (see recent entry/post of Prodigy's "Smack My Bitch Up"), and Chris Cunningham's twisted vision. Those Swedes and Brits do dark well. Though Sam Brown may be British, it's definitely not his sensibility, in addition to the collaborating artist being Jay. There were several versions of this Akerlund/Cardigan piece. One where she's decapitated. One where she brushes herself off and walk away unscathed (guess which market that one was for). Chris' work sometimes is unbearable to watch, too gross. But images always compelling, so I posted a trailer, the "best of's".

What I do love about the Jay-Z video is the immediacy of sound quality relative to image movement/action... of each shot, object, setup. Things drip, things fall, camera moves towards, pulls back, tracks sideways, wind blows, cloudshapes gush, etc. And the simplicity of shapes relative to stark black and white. There is a sense of drama within each setup. Too bad they don't build to anything. But the visuals definitely enhance the song. The edit is fantastic. Solely listening to the song, with the persistent chant, is a little crazy making.

Ravens, Personal Mythologies and the New Year

The other night, I learned of a friend's unexpected death, and I found myself baffled more than anything else. If 2009 had taught me anything, is the weariness of death. I was weary. Sadness developed a callus and I was becoming desensitized. I couldn't commit to the sadness anymore. But it had transformed into an anxiety, of the unexpectedness, the out-of-your-control surprise of death. Any second could be the last. And I had a mind-boggling image of every living being on this earth, on that long line to shed this mortal coil, to decay into the earth... I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

The year started with a beloved aunt committing suicide leaving behind 2 beautiful teenage sons. And then more death. And more. Old friends, teachers, acquaintances, even public figures that loomed large in my imagination. I couldn't catch my breath.

"I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet."

I couldn't believe they were all gone. In the earth. Eaten by maggots. While I could still see their faces. Hear their voices. I mean, I can't believe T.S. Eliot, who wrote and spoke such profound poetry, no longer walks the earth. I mean, I can't believe Donny Hathaway, with that voice that is so embedded in my breathing life, no longer breathes. I can't believe Marlon Brando, so alive onscreen, no longer has a heart that beats. I can't believe all those bodies mangled in war, from images of the Vietnam War to those who die daily and senselessly in the Middle East, were someone's children, someone's mother, a life that inspired another, that struggled to eat and be loved, came to being to be tossed like butcher's trash. I can't believe war had assassinated my grandparents so long ago and that my mom had experienced such loss at so young an age, loss that I had feared as a child (and still do). I know my grandparents are dead - I've never met them. But still I rack my brains, how is that possible? They walked the earth. They taught my mom things in her short 6 years of knowing them. How are they gone? And why am I baffled when I've never met them? Death baffles me. What is the mechanism of this disbelief?

Today is the birthday of my auntie, our matriarch, who passed away last September. New Year's Day is and will always be associated with her. I think of her whenever I see or hear crows. When she was alive and crows were in our midst, she would chase them away and yell at them with urgency. If we heard them "caww" in the distance, she'd raise her hand to god and speak in tongue with a fury. She taught me their association with death. When she passed away, I thought, she was wrong. There was no crow omen to foretell her passing, that was until we were at the cemetery and lowered her coffin into the ground... high above, the voice of one crow squawked, once, loud and clear, a single voice which filled the skies and echoed melodiously. The sound swept the air, washed the skies. I looked up, didn't see the bird, but its voice rang loud. I looked around - no one else noticed. Everyone's eyes were fixated on the hole in the ground. I looked up again at the clear blue sunny sky, looked at the tall trees, and took flight.

Unlike my aunt, who chased crows away, I embraced them. Birds and their feathers, have always come to me in incredible ways, in my time of need, and given me signs. They are my messengers. They tell me to trust. To have faith. That I am taken care of. That all is ok. They remind me that I am more than my body's identification. And when I heard that beautiful voice on the day of my aunt's burial, I laughed at the cosmic significance of it all. She was right. They are messengers of death, but not in the way she thought, and one must have the courage to fly with them.

So back to a few days ago, a few days shy of the new year, the morning after I heard about the death of a friend I hadn't seen in about a year, my last death in a string of many for 2009... it was a brilliantly sunny winter morning, my father excitedly rushed into my room. Look at the front lawn! What is it, I ask perturbed at the intrusion to my melancholic state. Pull open your shades! I pulled the string, the blinds went up, and I couldn't believe my eyes! My dad gaped with boyish wonder and uncontrollable gleeful laughter. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. It was miraculous, biblical. The entire ground before my eyes, our deep front lawn all the way across the street to our neighbor's front lawn, was covered with small black birds. On closer examination, they were pear-shaped ravens. Black feathers shimmering blue. Then a dark frenzied cloud would sweep through, depositing more of these jet black birds on the ground, pushing forward the ones before them into the air. Frenetic waves kept sweeping through. The air and ground, filled with black wings reflecting brilliant sunshine. The ravens energetically pecked away at the ground (what were they pecking at?), beat their determined wings in the air (where were they rushing to?). My dad and I couldn't make sense of what we had never seen before and watched in awe. The birds kept sweeping through, dumping more birds, sweeping through. They moved with great speeds and great numbers filling the space before my eyes. I thought of Hitchcock's "The Birds". I thought of the locusts in the bible. And within a minute, they were all gone. The cloud lifted and dissipated. Not a single bird before me. What could this mean?

It freaked me out. My first thought was, is this the omen for the new year? 2009 had taken so many... how would I stomach 2010 if this was the case? I took a few days. I meditated last night as time shifted to the new year, soon after, running into a good friend where I spent New Year's eve. And I heard the words come out of my mouth as I told her about the birds to her amazement, as I discovered for myself their significance, as I heard myself define them... it was a great cloud that lifted. As that one great bird that took flight from my aunt's graveside funeral did, an army swept through. The ravens washed away all the souls of the last year in one collective sweep, carrying them off, the way a violent summer storm will clear away the hot and sticky, the muddled heavy air, and provide comfort, new air, clean and light, to breathe. A purification. A Kali yuga. She was witness to my realization and waves of chills ran through me. The magnitude of the realization is not something I can put into words, but it was a moment of connection, of complete faith. How had I forgotten the compassionate messengers of my life? My winged friends. My fear of death had blinded me to what I had always known. I had forgotten to trust. Even the miracle of this raven's event in the moment couldn't shake that fear that freezes. It took the stillness and introspection of the last few days to pry open that space of remembering.

In my brief read about these black birds at the wee hours of this morning, I discovered that what I had seen were all young ravens, and that ravens hold a prominent place in the mythologies of different traditions. Of course. They are highly intelligent, having the highest aviary IQ, and capable of manipulating and communicating with other animals for their purpose. All in addition to what we already know about these birds, as consumers of carrion, vehicles for transformation. In mythology, they are often equated to the trickster god, holding a prominent position in the hierarchy of deities, as god of the crossroads, among them, Ganesha (Hindu), Elegua (Santeria).

Bridging life and art, I think about the importance of props to an actor, per Uta Hagen. And the satisfaction of having symbolic images, or objects, patterns that we rely on as anchors in dramatic storytelling on stage and on film. It's something we can follow, a baton, something grounding, so that we can see changes relative to that anchor. It can be a phrase, spoken, or in music, "themes." Then "variations on theme" are track-able, and thus, clear and moving. It's so clear in art, and I am thinking a lot about the unconscious palate of symbols we can create in our lives, that myths have done consciously for collectives/societies over time (a diminishing and disconnected practice in modern society). I think it is important to think about what the symbolic components are, and the function of our own personal mythologies, make it a conscious function, to create conscious rituals around them to celebrate and acknowledge them. Images, memories, objects that we find, create, connections to. Religious icons. Mantras. Elements in nature. Anchors. A system-ology we link up to, that we create, a language, a filter through which we interpret the vastness of the universe. It is a conscious practice of something small, local, with the understanding that it is a key or microcosm, for the greater cosmic model. Through these "symbols," we can tell the story of a life. Today provides the opportunity to acknowledge one of my personal symbols, my winged messengers, and a conscious acknowledgment to the function of symbols in storytelling. Personal symbols are something I know so well through my parent's stories of their lives, but this past year, it has lived in the forefront of my imagination, connecting its importance in my life and as dramatic device in storytelling.

Last night, after I broke meditation, I was able to hear the teachings of my most cherished beloved guru, David Life, co-founder of Jivamukti Yoga. He said, make death a small thing, of no importance, no big deal. Have the courage to make yourself die, and fold that into life, so it's one and the same. I think about the cartoon-like images from Mexico's Day of the Dead celebration, colorful dancing skeletons. The dressing up and party that is Halloween. Martin McDonagh's uproarious graveyard comedies. Kali's skull-beaded necklace. I hope through the practice of my art and storytelling, that through my personal mythologies, I can practice this... making death small, a celebration of life.... so that they are little birds that fly in and sit on my front lawn for a moment, then fly away, that eat and shit and soar through wind. Small, banal and miraculous.