Once upon a time...there was a flute

The flute, in any of its versions, holds a unique place in cultural, folkloric and mythological traditions and history. Yes, the flute is special. May I dare say much more so than any other instrument? Perhaps the drum comes close. The Indians have the bansuri (Krishna apparently was a virtuoso), the Chinese have the "di", Japanese have the shakuhachi, the Armenians have the sring, the Irish fife, the Incan quena, nose flutes, the ney, xiao, kaval, danso, anasazi, zampoña, ocarina, and the biggest of all, yes, the organ.

Meeting a Native American flute maker at the Bayou City Arts Festival opened up my eyes to the cool history and aesthetic associations of the instrument, both in terms of the western concert flute and others. 

I am reminded of the delicious, sensual and smokey opening of Debussy's Prélude à l'après-midi d-un faune, where the flute exposes a sense of eroticism mirroring the Stephane Mallarme poem, its main inspiration. It describes a faun's encounters with water nymphs in a pseudo-dreamlike state after waking up from his afternoon slumber (pictured left is Manet's depiction of the faune). The exotic chromaticism of Ravel's Daphnis et Chloé ravishing flute solo awakens the memory of Pan (god of shepherd, flocks, mountain wilds, hunting and rustic music) who made a flute out of reeds to commemorate his love for Syrinx (a nymph known for her chastity) who was transformed into hollow water reeds that made a haunting sound to avoid him. The name of the pan flute is derived from this story.  The tale is deliciously hot. At any rate, is it time for a cigarette?

And then there's Syrinx, the solo flute piece by Debussy, based on Pan's sadness for losing his love. Death. Tragedy. Passion. Another cigarette. Add a martini. 

Popular in the baroque period and largely ignored in romanticism other than a few Brahms solos in his first and fourth symphony and a Schubert tour the force (yes and some other horribly cheesy theme and variations), my talk with Gillermo Martinze made me think about the special attributes that would allow the flute to make a comeback and become a favorite among impressionist and post-impressionist composers. Guillermo Martinez reminded me about one more trait: spirituality and the supernatural. 

I am not referring to Mozart's Die Zauberflöte or Gluck's Orfeo ed Euridice but rather legends of its origins. Native American culture links the flute to the spirit world and has, just as many cultures have their own creation story, many legends that give its birth a supernatural element. To read a few, click here. Whether the impressionists were aware of this at a conscious or unconscious level is of no concern to me, but rather justification for using it to carry this type of symbolism.

Gillermo's flutes themselves bridge the craft of instrument making with spiritual and artful elements. Inspired by dreams and visions, Gillermo incorporates the horse in this gorgeous creation. The horse symbol is widespread through many cultures as the emblem of the life force and is assigned the attributes of the four elements: Earth, Fire, Air and Water. In Native American culture specifically, it combines the grounded power of the Earth with the whispers of wisdom found in the spirit winds. The horse is a honored helper and messenger. It harbors spirit knowledge and is considered an wild emblem of freedom. There is mutual respect, awareness, and responsibility when man enters into a silent contract with the animal.

I love when instrument making goes beyond craft. To learn more about Gillermo and his flutes, visit http://www.quetzalcoatlmusic.org/.

Thinking about Bars, in Bars, and through Bars

Whether you believe in green beer or a pint of Guinness, St. Patrick's day is celebrated by the Irish to remember their patron saint. The philosophy? Eat, drink, and be merry. It's festive, I dig it, although I am not much of a drinker these days. The only thing that could make it better, is art.

The concept of art in bars is not by any means new. Art and wine pair beautifully together, and slight inebriation eases collectors wallets to enhance their private collection. This has expanded into a trend where some progressive bars showcase art work to show collaboration with the local scene, use it as PR strategy, as well as donate a portion of their tabs towards an artist or non-profit. Think about it. It's plain brilliant. Some people do not want to go to a gallery per se, but a brew is always a welcome companion.

Let's think about our own experiences in bars. Typically, we arrive at the conclusion to visit one for a variety of reasons: we are meeting a friend for a simple chat, or a group for raucous sinful fun, we need to get drunk and forget, looking to people watch, therapy session with the bar tender, and other less honorable activities. But we never directly look for drama, although sometimes, drama finds us. Unexpectedly. Sometimes the appearance of alcohol lowers our inhibitions and inadvertently we are drama.

Horse Head Theater production of Stephen Belber's Fault Lines shows us that our perception of the strength of our relationships may be confused. What appears to be solid ground may indeed start shifting, at first unnoticeably, then forcefully until we are forced to make a choice. What begins as an innocent meeting between two friends to rekindle a friendship turns into a test of character, morality, trust, loyalty, and love. Although this are things we readily do not associate with bar scenes, digging deep into my past, I can see where all of these have been tested, at one level or another.

As you celebrate tonight, try not to be the drama. But I would encourage you to check out Horse Head Theater's Fault Lines. And get one of their cool mugs.

Animals and Things that Stick

Sometimes unexpected things haunt your memory. Perhaps an experience, a look, a traumatic or joyful event, and sometimes something banal. As I go through the weekend overwhelmed at the boundless events in such a limited amount of time, I explore what sticks and what is fleeting.

I can't help put a marketing hat on. From a for-profit basis, we are constantly researching the creation of products and marketing strategies to create a "purple cow." Seth Godin describes purple cow as a remarkable product with a remarkable marketing strategy. Something, that people want, that communicates, and sticks out. So when something sticks, I want to question: why?

Interestingly, in researching the origin, I came across "Purple Cow: Reflections on a Mythic Beast Who's Quite Remarkable, at Least", a well known poem by Gelett Burgess written in 1895. Although it is best to leave this more as a humorous little rhyme, according to the title, it is better to be anything than boring.

I never saw a purple cow;

I never hope to see one;

but I can tell you anyhow;

I'd rather see than be one!

In regards to art, I am reminded of Michael Kaiser's strategy: exception art + creative marketing strategies = successful fundraising. Quite similar in message, different in level of sophistication.

So why does my memory commits to Allison Hunter's Zoosphere on display at Diverseworks? Purple cow? Well not that literal, but certainly trumpeting elephants, birds in flight, herding zebras, barking sea lions, a giant toad, and an unidentifiable peeping tom-esque eye come to mind. A quick tour: http://www.allisonhunter.com/Art/zoosphere.html.

Hunter shifts my paradigm. In an urban environment, we often recognize animals as exhibits and forget that indeed, they have an essential place in our natural world. Threatened with extinction, awareness of these species does not infiltrate our everyday. In this engaging active space, Hunter video installation challenges us to rethink our relationship with them by transferring to an aesthetic venue. Is there meaning in their movements? Is there sublime beauty in the frogs movement? Can animals truly be part of the aesthetic experience? How would the world change without their existence?

The eye of this unidentified animal, although I speculate is a turtle or some sort of a reptile, shifts the players. Are we watching them, or are we the exhibit? More importantly, are we being judged?

All rather big questions that lead us to think about eco subjects and revaluate our responsibility to them. As a species, we have taken control over a almost all natural elements, and our human footprint in the world is rather destructive. I am forced to think about the environmental forces that are omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent at some level. At some point, are we worried that these will take over? I believe we all agree that there are many examples of that already in progress.

So that is what sticks. On display until April 17, 2010.

How much time can a single image represent?

I have always known this, but it is nice to be able to verbalize it and put it out there. Similar to the mantra that admitting something is the first step to recovery, I have been made aware that accessible art (in my own aesthetic language and experience) is just boring and I most likely will not be interested in it. Accessibility is a personal continuum. In essence, if I can figure it out quickly, it is as interesting as a shiny object: it can only hold my attention for a short period of time.

Perhaps thats one of the reasons why banal comedy holds my interest for all but two seconds. After the initial chuckle, I am done. So, what are the things that are able to hold my attention? That which allows for an experience (aesthetic), a thought (academic), and engages me in narrative.

Today was a fun day of art and aesthetic exploration. Looking at 18th Century works of Benjamin West, John Singleton Copley, and Jonathan Trumbull at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston, I explored different genres from the highly regarded historical paintings, portraits, the "lower brow" landscapes, most of which explore narrative and character development. The portraits hold clues that tells a story about a person. Historical depictions capture a turning point in socio-political development, while dramatic landscapes evoke a sense of awe. The seascapes of William Turner (pictured above Sheerness as seen from the Nore, 1808), for example, explore the sublime which in "aesthetics, the sublime (from the Latin sublimis ([looking up from] under the lintel, high, lofty, elevated, exalted) is the quality of greatness or vast magnitude, whether physical, moral, intellectual, metaphysical, aesthetic, spiritual or artistic. The term especially refers to a greatness with which nothing else can be compared and which is beyond all possibility of calculation, measurement or imitation." However, I do believe this greatness is fleeting. Once we are exposed to something aesthetic, it has the power to loose its power. I call this a sublime aesthetic orgasm. We look for more.

Ever notice that the words sublime (elevated) and subliminal (unnoticed, below the surface) are related? One theory states it has to do with a threshold after which our response is unexpected and uncontrollable, whether aware or unaware. I diverge. Tangents are fun.

Most of these 18th century works employ and suggest narrative by what is included around the subject. Sometimes, they even imply different stages of the linear story line. I encountered an artist at Lawndale Art Center that attempts to do the exact opposite: juxtaposing time and narrative to create an interesting aesthetic image that attains what the artist affectionately calls gorgeousness. Chuck Ivy (pictured below Untitled Film Composite #24 from Tapeheads, 2009) questions "How much time can a single image represent?" The key to his questions lies in the semantics. He is not interested in the narrative aspect, but rather the passage of time's ability to create something sublime.

We are wired to find narrative in things. The challenge here is too look at the images without attempting to attach narrative values, but rather appreciate the abstract colors, shapes, composition, and depth.

Chuck Ivy's collection at Lawndale in partnership with Dan Havel "Dirty Secrets from the Cataract Cinema" is breathtaking, challenging, not readily accessible and holds my attention for a long time. Worth taking the time to explore.

Links:

Lawndale Art Center

Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

Chuck Ivy

Big Questions and Inner Dialogue

Yes. I talk to myself. Sometimes little harmless conversations that may have to do with strange behavioral idiosyncrasies, others with big unanswerable (and somewhat pointless) existential content. Or not.

After a company event at L'Auberge du Lac where I miserably failed at gambling, I returned rushed to Midtown to catch Mildred's Umbrella Theater's production "Flu Season." Enjoying a breakfast of champions consisting of bloody mary's and crown and coke on our way there, I sobered up in the "buffat" and took a slight nap on the way back. A day like this makes internal dialogue so much more active as you go through different stages of psychosis. Excitement. Alcohol. Munchies. Cigarettes. Junk Food. Water. Nap. Sickness. Theater. Home. Dog.

Maybe it was this heterogenous roller coaster that put me in such a contemplative state to make "Flu Season" so exceptionally effective, or perhaps it was just fucking awesome. At any rate, it dealt with a similar range of dialogues: internal, external, connected and disjunct. Yes people do experience joy in winter and some do get cancer in a bright summer day. Life is not full of pathetic fallacy where winter is always the season of death while summer is cheerfully happy. If you'd live in Houston for one season cycle, you'd know this intimately.

"Flu Season" is about a lot of things, including playwriting, interpretation of events, failing positivity, hope and the inevitability of falling into darkness. It tells a linear story of a man and a woman falling in and out of love in Crossroads, a psychiatric facility, with asides from non-participating characters. Do you remember a moment in your life that changed the course of your history? You will be challenged with rather large questions like this or rather funny ironies like questioning whether two people can be alone.

I have always enjoyed the casual nature of Mildred's ambiance and the professionalism of their productions. Grab a beer and enjoy. You'll have just a few more days to catch this. More info here:

Picture above: set of Flu Season. Although I have to admit, I spent some time figuring out how these tetris-esque graphics fit together, it also made me think as to the disjunct and seemingly complicated and unpredictable pieces and somehow fit to make us psychologically whole.

PETA Conspires with Bengal Tiger to Eliminate Complete Indian Village

Humor me. It's late and I am under the narcoleptic haze (a la Bayadere style) of french fries dipped in hummus.

I am seriously thinking that Houston Ballet's La Bayadere, aka the Temple Dancer is a huge conspiracy similar to the terrorist methods of a suicide bomber as they try to annihilate a group of people. PETA, I believe, talked a Bengal tiger, let's call him Tony, into sacrificing himself in order to create a chaotic love polygon ending in the destruction of the the main temple in mythic India, killing everyone. Somehow, the snake got jealous and had to participate in the demise of mythic Indians (which by the way were wearing delicious costumes). How original sin-esque.

PETA was counting on people's stupid naivete regarding such a ridiculous false feeling of falling in "love" like it is ever perfect. They weren't counting on the high rate of divorce, the hours of counseling needed to work out why don't you take out the garbage and you spent how much type of issues. If they knew what their therapist and botox treatments would cost (thanks to stress wrinkles), they would have happily accepted the Tony as a pet and moved on.

Somehow, ballet makes falling in love magical. Being swept off your feet takes on a more literal meaning.

I love going to the ballet. But I have to admit, last night's experience was a deliciously strange combination of fast narrative, feature numbers within the story line, and some that really added nothing to story development except artistic and aesthetic eye/soul candy. And lots of piccolo. Lots and lots of stereotypical cutely annoying piccolo playing in what should have been the afterlife or Kingdom of Shades.

Moral of the story, don't kill a Bengal tiger or all everyone will end up dead. And PETA didn't count on afterlife reunions. So at the end, the guy gets the girl, and the girl gets the guy.

Photo: Ballet La Bayadère. Dancer: Melody Herrera and Connor Walsh. Choreographer: Stanton Welch. Photo: Pam Francis.