Updates on transforming conservation-oriented investments into experiential investments; i.e. carpool for 20% mobility transit energy reduction into karaoke carpool experience; sharing native plant seeds to plant at property boundaries for habitat corridor creation; inviting rotation of friends for special vegetarian meals 3x per week (equals 1 day of meals) or more. ; \\ to how modeling and acting celebrities are sort of the ultimate existential/experiential industry expression [and professional dancers sometimes get to a point where the work is about their body and life culminate in expression], or how apple's store and brand was about the experience rather than the tech, or starbucks being about a gathering place rather than just its coffee, or McDonald's about its convenience, "non-judgment" and "happiness"/loving it happy meals and play place for kids. Very similar to how CK Raju would state corruption and religion being the two primary vehicles for colonialism; good experiences are the essence of what often fuels religion. Instead of corruption, systemically positive alchemic/allegoric transformation can be the appropriate and compelling alternative to outmode.
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In high school, I briefly joined the our high school [U.S.] football team because, among the un-cut sports, it seemed like one of the most well-balanced for conditioning and teaching someone how to get started with intensive fitness.
While I joined too late to really grasp and take part in critical parts of it (especially camp and scrimmages) that probably would have given the best of the applied fundamentals, I enjoyed what I learned during off-season conditioning in the weight room (mostly thanks to a handful of hilarious and goofy Junior Varsity (JV) and Varsity teammates who’d blast “Coach’s 80s [Music] Favorites” between sets), defense and hitting drills on the blocking sled (basically a big padded dummy for you to run up to, block and push).
Of course there were things that come to mind when you’re very inexperienced in the middle of a sport that has an aggressive reputation — some are reasonable like how to tackle properly (I missed the chance to do a lot of that by joining late and missing the camp) and build confidence on the field, people get bigger and more lethal with their hits as they progress beyond freshman year into JV and Varsity teams.
But what spooked me most after the season was over was a dream where my actions crossed into the real world: I’m at practice doing drills with the blocking sled, hitting it, driving forward, and hearing the coach say “Good hit.” and running back into position before waking up to realize I shoved my pillow from across my bed into a wall at the side of my bed.
I’ve been reluctant to deeply train in a lot of striking combat sports because of that event: The muscle memory and actions in my subconscious were real, and I realized if I wasn’t able to keep a simple motion like basic blocking, doing a more aggressive push or hit could potentially injure other people too.
Would that stay with me forever? What if stayed with a girlfriend and when a dream or nightmare like that comes up and I wind up attacking her without knowing what I was doing?
Recently I’ve been focused on how to cohere the sounds that come from working on practical tasks — construction for example — into something that people can approach, engage, enjoy, and celebrate from the perspective of music.
If you’ve heard or partaken in some of my participatory pieces before, Watershed (using “raindrops” from clapping, etc. like you might have heard elsewhere), or Breathing (breath and wind-aesthetic noises), there are ways to cohere random noises that
On a spectrum starting from the precise control a composer might have with a traditional instrumental or symphony vs. what happens when embracing random (the musical term is aleatory) events in music like John Cage’s 4 minutes and 33 seconds or Pauline Oliveros’s games for deep listening, there’s an in-between place where you can facilitate noise and “frame it” that’s especially interesting to me in music that can have a role in accelerating the way a community takes care of its basic needs while giving room for people to explore and build their own skills (again, construction in Detroit neighborhoods and a dream that inspired ways to merge both concerts and construction into the same event).
Which brings us back to percussive hitting motions.
Returning to a classic* (at least, classic for dating back to 1997 haha) video of a shamisen and Taiko drum duo, I realized that building the stamina and coordination involved with striking a large drum might actually be very similar to the kind of practice that goes into learning how to strike and build up the basic form and endurance that’s conducive to (though definitely not a substitute) learning the basics in some combat sports/martial arts like boxing.
This isn’t as big a leap as one might think. Johnny Nguyen ( I like to imagine him as my big brother or cousin as we share LA-Vietnamese roots ) stakes much of his professional image in teaching about boxing, his website is titled Expert Boxing, and at the same time, he swears by the role dance had in transforming his ability to move and work the ring as a better fighter.
You know how after working out, you feel pretty good as the endorphins release, and then your capacity to be present with or navigate past lots of silly and otherwise petty events magically goes up? I’m pretty sure being a taiko drummer would do that on a lot of levels. Even in my brief experience with playing in the University of Michigan-Dearborn’s West African Drum Ensemble, the joy and mental clarity that came from playing on the sanban (a medium sized laundry hamper-sized drum often heard in West Gunean drum ensembles) or dunnun (the largest drum, think of an extra long barrel) was second to none.
Unlike playing a stringed instrument, where you’re suddenly met with countless variables plus the risk of carpel tunnel, there’s a kind of peace that comes from the simplicity of being very physically engaged as a drummer.
So seeing the drummer in this taiko video swinging giant drum sticks to literally (albeit rhythmically in an artful sense) and noting that he looks as fit as someone who does lots of pushups and chinups on a regular basis, it wouldn’t be too far off to look at learning an endeavor like boxing with the same attitude: there’s an art and rhythm that comes with striking the bag (or opponent, though whether one chooses to engage another person is a different case), and when sparring with an opponent, there’s an element of improvisation and pacing that comes in which is very similar if not the same as learning to improvise with another musician during a jam — albeit the outcomes and goals might differ greatly.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_M4K5wk9DCM
[Feel free to ignore my comments -- rarely in spaces where talking about this stuff with people who interface with symphonic/orchestral music at an analytical level so I'm taking the opportunity to ramble reflections out loud]
Listening again to Orient and Occident all the way through for the first time in probably over a decade, I'm starting to appreciate some new layers to the piece. There are the overt elements of counterpoint in the call/response which strike us right away, and then there's a subtler dimension of stylistic counterpoint too -- a lot of unison voicings (akin to what's heard in traditional Turkish/Arab orchestras) and some embedded octaves/artificial harmonics but also harmonies and chords (presumably on the occidental side) in a way that drastically go against the "oriental" traditions. A Turkish friend once scolded me for adding drone notes during an improvisation on a melody that reminded him of traditional Turkish music. I'm shuddering from the recollection now that I can listen closely with more seasoned ears than my high-school self would have ever known haha
In the 90s, a British band called Chumbawamba suddenly became a hit in the U.S. (and probably worldwide, too) with a song called "Tubthumping", in which the energetic chorus "I get knocked down, but I get up again, and you'll never ever keep me down." becomes the soundtrack to the lives of youth as countless shows and radio stations play it on repeat.
Yet when you listen to the rest of their album, pointed and political statements fill the songs with themes that would be relevant to a lot of politically active people even today. I still recall hearing a recorded sample from one of the tracks with someone asking in testy tones: "what about free speech!?" and some bizzare training audio for washing out the brains of a cow, likely a suggestive nod to brainwashing in media.
Which brings me to wonder: of all the people who bought their album, how many actually listened to the rest of the album and its content?
So I looked up the band not too long ago and found they disbanded around 2014 to focus on -- guess what? -- their activism.
Most people in the U.S. are inclined to write the band off as a one-hit wonder, and the commercial stations and media spheres that surrounded its sudden popularity certainly made it so--but it seems like it answers a question I and many others tend to ponder:
At what point can the reach of your platform, storytelling, or media outweigh the need for impact?
If we consider Chumbawamba's commercial radio and record store (at that point, cassettes and CDs where the primary medium) success, their story might point us to an answer:
Some people were certainly switched on by the band when they realized how "music could be a political tool" (as one youtube user comments), but the novelty effect of becoming an overplayed hit on the radiowaves sometimes overshadows the genuine message and story of the group by the time it reaches certain audiences.
Getting beat up does not make you a better fighter
In most of my experiences, if there's clear focus and deeper reason for doing something, any harm experienced should become a minor if not negligible concern. When I focus on what I genuinely wish or strive to do, the fears that hint to potential injuries from failure tend to get outweighed by the experience.
At the same time, courage doesn't always remind you which direction actually brings you closer to living your own life on a better path--whatever "better" means to you. Which is where it can be easy to commit yourself to terrible situations for the sake of trying to withstand whatever you can because you think you're doing the "right" thing.
I benefited from growing up in circumstances where "Tighten up your defense, stay relaxed, and avoid as many shots as you can until the fight is over." was the only realistic way for operating intact around people who were two to seven times your age or size. I sometimes used the "go out like a warrior and die on your shield" approach from time to time. Regardless of the approach however, it was really challenging to realize the situation was always a losing one.
Johnny's articles on boxing interest me because he takes an insightful approach with very intentional and intensive experiences. He applies wisdom garnered from ballroom dance to boxing rings. He looks deeply into fight strategy and tactics, and like the below excerpt, there's typically something worth learning about life outside of boxing.
Getting beat up does not make you a better fighter
Sure, it MIGHT make you tougher. But it also MIGHT make you a more psychologically damaged fighter. Your ego can only take so much abuse before your self-esteem is damaged. I can bet you right now that the most confident fighters you see in the gyms are probably not going to be the most beat-up ones.
Often, the reason why fighters are scared of getting hit is because they’ve subjected themselves to getting hit hard. They’ve somehow made up in their mind that they need to get hit hard in order to learn how to fight.
I'm not sure where I stand on how Johnny looks at self-esteem in this case--I suspect that recovering that might be possible even if it takes a lot more work and time.
One thing I'm sure about is that I wish I learned this earlier in my life--it applies beyond fighting in a ring. It certainly would have spared me a lot of pain and confusion.
Odd ironies for reducing unnecessary injury:
Today (I'm finishing this post on May 11th/12th), Chayn Labs published a "How to build your own domestic violence case without a lawyer" guide I helped develop. The intent is to help people (the organization was focused especially on women, but it applies to anyone) put themselves into healthier situations.
Here I am contemplating Johnny Nguyen's boxing advice about skillfully losing fights and overcoming punches that upholds the importance of smart self-preservation.
To an extent, some physical injuries are a bit easier to deal with: with good fortune, you can assess and understand what needs to be done to heal or adjust accordingly.
It's not about feeling hurt that matters, anyone willing to face life will know that happens. What matters is when someone doesn't know what to do about the pain, doesn't know whom to look to for help, or not knowing why something's wrong that keeps people in a world of hurt.
Emotional injuries, the deep kinds that darken your outlook on life and the world for years when left unchecked, needs honest perspective from wherever you can find it.
Getting beat up does not make you a better fighter.
Don't get beat up anymore than what's necessary for doing what you need to do.
Get up, get out and [figuratively or if necessary, literally] kick ass in the world.
FYI, no photographers were harmed in the making of this picture.
The photo was taken in good fun--a roommate intended the wood for
windchimes, I couldn't resist using them for a Bruce Lee-esque moment.
Resources cited
How to build your own domestic violence case without a lawyer via Chayn Labs and friends (myself included--you're welcome to reach me if you have questions and I'll try to direct you to support as feasible): http://chayn.co/how-to-build-your-own-case/
In a way, I sort of regard him as a big brother even though we've never met. Perhaps it's because he grew up in a similar part of California where I was briefly raised (before memory), I can easily imagine how boxing might have become my primary art rather than music had I grown up in the area longer.
"Artist friends,When you are feeling hopelessly uninspired (and frustrated/desperate enough about it to post a Facebook status asking for help), how do you fix it? Any and all advice appreciated." -K
I take comfort in the following guidelines when making art for myself. Hopefully they're useful in showing possible paths to making meaningful work for others and pulling the uninspired out of their ruts: 0) Approach art as a form of communication that stirs curiosity and wonder. Curiosity for yourself, or for others--it's up to you. How? Choose one, some, or all of the following as a start: 1) suffer and/or empathize 2) explore, experiment, play 3) mix all of the above
0) Consider art a form of communication that evokes a deep curiosity—about yourself, about the world around you. Do you have something to say or convey to the world? Make it so.
“Art ain’t about paint. It ain’t about canvas. It’s about ideas. Too many people died without ever getting their mind out to the world.” — Thornton Dial, SR.
1)Suffer or/and empathize If you find nothing compelling within your imagination and memory, then expose yourself and empathizewith genuine suffering or an injustice that can capture your heart's attention. OR re-imagine something familiar from a different perspective or through a different medium. It might be an analytic endeavor at first, but sometimes those will yield artful discoveries too. In any case, find the contents of a story worth telling/making/re-presenting. In the sense of finding and creating stories worth sharing, good artful acts of creation can exist in conversation too.
2) Treat creating as an act of play or experimentation--where the process of exploration matters more than the outcome [1], then revisit with intention.
3) Sometimes, you'll mix all of the above, or discover integral themes emerge, or poetic parallels.I may hear a snippet of melody that compels me to experiment. At the same time, I may witness or work on something that galvanizes the idea in time with current events and overarching themes of human endeavor [2]. I then set out to bridge meaning between the two. Sometimes it's an organic blend from the start, others I force together before they melt into one, and sometimes, it's creation without attachment or any explicit meaning necessary.
Angular study in azure--familiar subjects and experimentation.
Compelling outcome? Perhaps not to most.
I did, however, learn that corners of rooms can be
interesting for experiments with image composition.
[1] I really enjoyed hearing Eric Gordon's characterization of play (where process matters more than the outcome) at the IADB's 2014 Demand Solutions summit in DC. Imitating play (whoa, meta!), by playing around with odd notes on a piano? Yes, you can do that too! [2] Emotive Mechanics started with me pondering experiences in life, and then sitting down to improvise on a tune of mine as my mind processed the ideas (see video description for initial circumstance).
Edit: I recently read Sabina Berman's [most excellent] novel, "Me, Who Dove Into the Heart of the World" and really appreciate the notion of "letting the world think through you." That's exactly what I'd use as the core principle for the above: let the world think through you. That said, I believe my guidelines can remain useful for retroactively thinking about what you've done or getting into a frame of mind that allows creative processing.
Science is the conscientious process for discerning Truth. Ethics are a qualitative science for discerning what is good. We seek to discern what is truly good, yet the process of discovery goes beyond understanding, it is also lived. When we do good, life can be beautiful. I strive to find beauty through experiencing, recognizing, re-presenting and creating reality in its truest forms.
Engaging experiences in the arts and amid the built and natural environment can elicit a tremendous curiosity. "The sense of wonder", a phrase coined by Rachel Carson, captures this phenomenal experience well. It awakens a timeless reverence for beauty that is inspirational, simple, and mysterious at the same time. To contextualize the significance of this phenomenon, I'll refer to the wisdom of a quote from Baba Dioum:
"In the end we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught."
We can surmise that we'll best learn when our interests are ignited for discovery through exploratory inquiry. Discovering these facets of creativity and inquiry through the sense of wonder, I believe, is key to authentic learning and appreciation for the people and world we live with alike. Engaging experiences--the arts, outdoors, courageous conversation, etc.--compel us to relate with the world through our sense of wonder, present a nexus between living and deeper learning. For that reason, I champion pedagogical methods that foster deep learning through exploration, mutual inquiry, reciprocity, and re-integrating our connectivity for a better understanding of the world and one's abilities to purposefully live with it.
When the insight of an individual or community can discern and constructively elicit beauty from parts of life that were once mundane, they've discovered what I call the reality aesthetic. It's how people find profound inspiration, dignity, and meaning in their work. It's the art of living and shines brightest when our basic needs are met with love.
Extraordinary people inspire empathy. Intuition brings our attention to what astonishes us first, then what distinguishes an extraordinary individual from everyone else. By most merits, that's how we often interpret it. Yet when we look beyond all bedazzlement, something deeper calls us to the extraordinary.
Art is a special form of communication. Art compels us to heed that calling, to explore with a sense of wonder and seek to understand. We identify our own aspirations in relation to the extraordinary, whether we strive to live them in modesty or overtly as exemplars in our ordinary lives.
In that sense, extraordinary feats, works, people and places elicit deep empathy from their presence and actions. A trick for making your own life extraordinary?
Whenever you encounter the extraordinary, use the encounter as a reminder for who you are. Remember to look into yourself, as there's more to the ordinary found within that can inspire others us to bridge the gap between remarkable and mundane.
By doing so, chances are you'll find something about yourself worth cultivating and sharing as well. Your wisdom for discerning the extraordinary originates from bridging life's experience with inward learning. When living life fully and honestly, even in making your own mistakes, your life becomes too extraordinary for anyone to reproduce. That's perfection for heartful humans, an irreplaceable art of living.
Photo credit to Margaret __ in Ann Arbor, MI
. . .
The Detroit Institute of the Arts has an exhibit on ordinary people by extraordinary artists. Check it out, the typecast for the exhibit sparked the above thought. Whomever the graphic artist was has my appreciation--I hadn't parsed "extra" and "ordinary" until looking at the pamphlet for the exhibition.
As displayed, it made me think (ineloquently): "what if extraordinary people are remarkable because they make something MORE ordinary, more identifiable for those who encounter them?" thus, it makes us think of the more ordinary and inspires us to bridge the gap between remarkable and mundane.
"To me, perfection is honesty--live your life as honestly as possible, even your mistakes. That's perfection."
- Danny Perez (paraphrased?)
"Study you. After you've studied everything in the world, I want you to study you." -Stuart Mitchell (transient man in Lansing, MI)
Editing note:
I initially wrote: "Your wisdom for discerning the extraordinary originates from bridging life with learning." and realized I was pulling nice sounding words from thin air without really thinking about what it means. Still sounds like a nice line, but it doesn't really register.
A revelation: The "take rice from the hand of a kung fu master" thing we see in movies is a really practical exercise for proper* fist formation in a punch. You must keep swift and relaxed, tighten your hand to a fist as you propel forward and immediately withdraw for a proper snap-punch. Taking the rice isn't the outcome where mastery lies, it's the practice of swiftly delivering and restoring oneself with elegant force, repose, and clarity of intention. Honing how to get what you need even in messy situations. *note: it's not the same a striking--there's a nuanced difference in distance and the exact moment for clenching the hand--but the essential motions and general timing approximate well to one another. A tangent on rice and the fist: Is anyone familiar with and able to explain the conflict between First Nation's rights to wild rice harvest and the DNRE's permitting for mining companies in Northern Michigan? Is this a regulatory outcome of environmental conservation which overlooks other aspects of our existence? It seems there's a double standard between the regulation for harvesting and how the State's departments permit mining and other activities that may/already harm the area. I overheard someone explain as I was signing out of the Michigan Environmental Justice Summit but wasn't able to catch the whole conversation. EDIT (!): In retrospect (and after a lot of googling to find where the idea/media inspiration for this post really came from), I guess I've never seen a kung fu movie where the student takes rice from the hand of their teacher. I'm guessing it's actually a pebble. Now that I found the clip below, I'm glad I didn't. Otherwise, I probably never would have made the connection between striking form and reaching for rice. I like my example better, but the advice in the clip on humility's nice to hear too.
New life-challenge: turn curiosity into courageous questions quickly.
Not so new but still challenging for me to do: elicit passion and wisdom from other people as soon as appropriate.
“Art ain’t about paint. It ain’t about canvas. It’s about ideas. Too many people died without ever getting their mind out to the world.” — Thornton Dial, SR.
Art, as I’ve come to understand, exists as a special form of communication. It’s communication that inspires a sense of wonder—a deep curiosity that has us ponder the encounter and ideas behind what we engage. It compels us to activate our curiosity as we wonder about the possible implications an encounter can have on our lives or the that of others.
I saw Thornton Dial SR.’s quote in the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s folk artist exhibit. It was liberating as much as it was validating: To make art, one requires no rigorous history of training, art degree, special materials or extraordinary circumstances to start. To me, Thornton Dial’s quote was an invitation to make whatever was on my mind if I so wished to do so. Better yet, it comforted me to know there’s boundless opportunity to share any idea, including those that can’t be experienced in writing. Perhaps what we have to share comes forth as good and beautiful. Whatever we choose to do, the act of honestly communicating our ideas certainly brings us closer to truth for our minds and hearts. Whenever that happens, it’s an invitation to live life artfully.
Looking at Mr. Dial’s quote again, it also applies to how I look at living life when speaking with and listening to people. There’s an art to good conversation and dialogue. If we consider Seth Godin’s distinction between the characteristics of work and art, artful conversation becomes a palpable ideal. Godin believes that work can be recognized as something people want to do less of, while art is something people want to make more. In that sense, we can all strive to make artful conversations. Both are important, good work can be necessary for creating better art.
. . .
I believe everyone benefits being in and moving from a place of passionate curiosity. Being as Rachel Carson describes, in a “sense of wonder”. When activated, it entices profound intrigue straight from the spirit. Whether mentally or physically, that place could be our own, among others, or perhaps better yet: shared. What matters most is that we speak with the flames of inspiration, those burning deeply from within our being to create that place.
If there’s dead space or if confusion nags at your attention in a way that prevents peace for everyone in the conversation, call it out and help shake things up. Time and life in the presence of another person are too precious an opportunity to squander. For anyone who grants me the privilege of sharing a conversation, this applies to us too. Call me out if I don’t do so first. Just because I’m familiar with the recesses of awkward pause doesn't mean I necessarily need or want us to stay there.
Perhaps the cost of very good conversation comes from committing yourself wholly to the people you speak with by thoroughly listening and keeping the courage to share what really matters to you. But do so in the greater interest of co-creating an enriching dialogue for everyone involved. Live boldly. Don’t be cautious, but be considerate with presence, intelligence, and equal heart. With this in mind, we can strive to create heartful conversations.
I’m still learning how to do so with excellence. But I like the idea that it’s an endeavor to live and share.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Last week I briefly attended an event held at the N'Namdi gallery by artist ____ fleur, who discussed how the future of Detroit's aesthetic will likely move from a grungy/gritty presentation to something brilliant and colorful--she pointed to traditional African aesthetics, and even the diversity of existing architecture in Detroit. I used to think about parallels between abuse and the Detroit aesthetic--its music, a lot of its art, the stories in the news. There's something about some people who experienced deep and sustained harms where we find an attitude that's a mix of resilience and a weary-worn frankness. Sometimes, an element of guarded shame stands as a likely possibility. It's often comfortable to recognize it. You know you're at peace in their company but there's a certain darkness to how they live--unanswered or seldom explored questions remain like mysterious gashes: no one can tell whether they're still wounds to be healed or closed scars, and we've either developed habits for moving in ways that don't aggravate them, or are too afraid to move any further. Knowing that a lot of media and negative imagery already exists for both, I never expressed it to anyone before.
However, I happen to know several people who endured sustained abuse, sometimes terrifying in its truest sense, who can embody the most vibrant aspects of life. They often define what's possible for living in a better world, or demonstrate how to carry on by living amid its realities. In spite of misfortune, they continue, we live well. I also had the privilege to know so many brilliant people who know Detroit as their home do brilliant things. Their actions and the communities they create exist as the tinder and fuel aflame--the growing feathers of a phoenix--through which the city finds itself amid its ashes. While I've been through gunshots on the East side, I've also been to the Alkebu-Lan Village which soon celebrates a 35 years of exceptional karate in Detroit and sustained community enrichment that's drawn the attention and admiration of companies known for their mid-town investment presence like Quicken Loans.
Going back to the idea of parallels in mental illness and community: In a lot of ways, the negative media and identity stigma that many Detroiters loath mirrors the same imposition of identity a person undergoing mental health challenges meets when labeled with a certain disorder/illness. Identity becomes objectified by another, opportunity for change is denied in the reality constructed by those who impose/accept it as such.
There's one more thread of thought I'd like to share about the program and my experience with the LSO and how it can relate to audiences. Even if the article will be printed tomorrow without it, I think it's important to share as it adds some depth to what I was trying to capture in our conversation yesterday.
In essence: we're privileged to discover glimpses of what drives the nexus of art and science, and we have the opportunity to experience profound reminders about the nature of life as part of the symphony.
I vividly remember one of the French Horn players rushed out of rehearsal to attend to one of his patients during rehearsal this season. Last year in the summer, our piccolo/flutist passed away after a long grapple with breast cancer and chemo therapy shortly after performing in the spring concert. Our director, Oriol Sans, sent the following letter to members of the symphony:
"At this moment I want to share a few words with you. Last week I went tosee Lisa at the hospital, and it was an experience that I will neverforget. The open and honest way she talked about her cancer and what wasgoing to happen to her, made a deep impression on me. Among other things,she told me that for the last year music made her forget about all thehealth problems she was going through. Music didn't cure her, she said, butit helped her to get through that. I told her what a great example she was for all of us. She came to ourrehearsals with a crutch, without it, with a wig, without a wig, with longhair, with short hair... But she was always there, and I never heard asingle complaint from her. Until the very end, the illness never stoppedher to do one of the things that she most loved: making music. The sameweek of our last concert she didn't agree to a last round of chemo untilthe doctors promised her that she would be ready to play for our dressrehearsal and the concert. I think that I can speak from all of us when I say that seeing her examplewas truly a gift. I am glad that my last words to her before I left herroom at the hospital were thank you."
Medicine and health care are intimately connected tied to the life and environmental sciences. Given that the causes of cancer are an interconnected mix between genetics, diet, and environmental factors ( http://www.niehs.nih.gov/health/materials/cancer_and_the_environment_508.pdf ), the past experiences are a reminder to me about some of the people and things we love and strive to creatively improve about the world we live in.
One last note: Curiosity and experience drive the arts and sciences alike: "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science." - Albert Eistein
As mentioned in the program notes written by Oriol for our upcoming concert, the Mahler symphony was deeply influenced by themes from nature and our relationship with it--it features bird calls (of a cuckoo) in its opening movements, and the story of a hunter's funeral--attended by animals. Shostakovich's Festival Overture was performed as a fanfare for the 2009 nobel prize. The LSO presents an opportunity for audiences and participants alike to entice a shared sense of wonder.
Thank you again for sharing your time to consider my thoughts, I hope I was able to share this in time with you.
All the best, Ian D. Tran
--- B.S. Environmental Science, Political Science Minor
Class of 2012
The University of Michigan-Dearborn
I'll perform two West African (Guinean) drum pieces tomorrow on sangban (a medium-sized drum) and cowbell with the West African Drum Ensemble at UM-Dearborn [side-note: we're a pretty tight ensemble, woodchips fly off of the drumsticks every time we play, and in the spirit of "MORE COWBELL!" I broke a cowbell, as did another ensemble mate as we rehearsed. I'm pleased to report that the replacement cowbells are bigger {thus fulfilling the request for more cowbell} and sturdier].
Tangentially related image:
Ameyaw Kofi of Ghana performing on djembe
at the River Folk Music Festival in
Manchester, MI in 2010. He has almost no
relation to the West African Drum Ensemble of UM-Dearborn,
but the instrument and the opening rhythms
he played are similar.
The first (called Wurende), I learned to my delight, is a harvest rhythm. Sometimes a motion makes things click. Our instructor, Dr. Vera Flaig, explained that the rhythms are played as farmers worked the field to gather the end of the year's harvest, and also performed at the beginning of a season for planting. What really caught my memory was that she made a simple reaping motion, which instantly reminded me about railroad songs, and drum beats for rowing.
I believe the arts are most substantial for their ability to evoke authentic curiosity and appreciation for the world around us (see "the reality aesthetic" for my writings on that). This "sense of wonder" (as environmental author Rachel Carson would describe this sensational sort of inquiry) opens the door to deeper inquiry and learning, but beneath that, the tangible and practical nuances of the arts also go undetected in our lives on a regular basis. I think the social nuances of music are frequently lost in media and a fair amount of society. For many, it's a challenge to explain how the arts are a valuable part of culture and society beyond giving an argument about "art for art's sake". I suspect it's because we're exposed to it as background noise through a machine (radios, computers, other media players), encounter what seems like insubstantial music, or more likely, we're unaware of the content or context of the music. Yet many people in the U.S. still value musicians enough to devote large portions of their wedding ceremonies. Think about it in a Judeo-Christian ceremony--aside from words spoken by the priest and bride/groom, people spend a lot of time in a church wedding ceremony listening to a musician. Stranger still, I suspect most of them hire musicians whom they might never have met before. Meanwhile, while the military no longer give buglers the responsibilities they once had, it still uses music (think running cadences) for purposes of morale, and I suspect singing while running also adds to endurance as well. Wurende, the Guinean harvest rhythm mentioned above, is a powerful reminder of music in a similar context.
Dr. Wayman investigates the title of the Boccherini, expresses
his enthusiasm for the composer, and adds his thumbs up.
Photograph courtesy of UM-Dearborn's
institutional advancement photographer.
Today, I played a Bocherrini piece at an event that celebrated international diplomacy and the United Nations. I received a vivid complement from a UM-Dearborn Political Science professor Dr. Frank Wayman who focuses on war in his research and teaching. The beginning of one of his trademark courses, "Peace and War" (link goes to a very rich and educational syllabus), actually focused a great deal on defining war and scaling conflicts, and very little on giving explicit focus to the elements that create a vibrant example of a nation in peace. In that class (and in most international dialogue), "peacekeeping" forces, would actually be better defined as "drastic-security-keeping" forces since they are usually deployed to stem, minimize, or quell violent conflicts in drastic circumstances.
Aside: According to the statistical data he presented in both the class and today's special "Two Cheers for the United Nations" (a reference to a book titled "Two Cheers for Democracy"--the two cheers [out of three] implying that substantial work remains to be done--presentation on the United Nations, "peacekeeping" forces are at least successful in reducing the number of casualties in wars despite the frequency of wars.
I found it ironic that a professor who focused so much on the characteristics of war (in part defined by the number of direct conflict-related deaths, non-combatant civilian casualties weren't included) and genocide really enjoyed hearing music Boccherini (he's a huge fan of the Boccherini cello concerto).
I wonder what that means? Surely we can find something to speak about our sense of humanity in that...
Roughly translated, the martial art Aikido stands for "the way of harmonious energy": Ai=harmony ki=energy/spirit (AKA Chi/Qui in Chinese) do= way/"an artful path to discovery" (I like how the site articulated "do")
Foremost, aikido has compelling appeal to me because it's centered on a win-win approach to drastic situations. Opponents don't (or rather more accurately, shouldn't) exist, a practitioner simply acknowledges the situation, momentum, and redirects it to a more favorable outcome for everyone. Reading up on the philosophy of the art again, I found the following quote:
"We believe that since we all share a common energy source, that in some important way we are all truly members of the same family, and truly sharing our lives with all of nature. We do not have an attack form in Aikido, because attacking an opponent would be like attacking a family member that you love." (source)
Those familiar with Aldo Leopold or beliefs frequently held among First Nations people might find this concept familiar: we share fundamental similarities and needs, and thus merit respect for one another and across species. Leopold's essays use common sense to lay out nuanced wisdom, and it strikes a chord with people of very diverse backgrounds. I know hunters, vegans, conservative and liberal friends who continue to appreciate the writings found in his essays. Of particular pertinence to the quote found above in Aikido, Leopold's Land Ethic came to mind immediately.
While Leopold undoubtedly held a different paradigm about life and his relationship to the world prior to writing many of the essays found in his "Sand County Almanac", it's interesting to note how his views developed and the development of Aikido as a martial art share a similar story of transcendence. Read Leopold's "Thinking like a mountain" essay and then read his "Land Ethic" essay to get a chronological sense of Leopold's discoveries. Then recognize that Aikido emerged out of combative martial arts for samurai--life/death techniques which went from a mentality of winning via attacker/defender to a co-creative ethos revolving around redirecting force for favorable outcomes.
In accessible English, Aldo Leopold expounds on the scientific matter-life-energy processes of ecology and builds up to an ethos that considers how we rely upon and share our existence with other living things. For those with biological/ecological/environmental science backgrounds, it's a familiar foundation to our education, but it can be a daunting challenge to make clear and accessible for any reader--Leopold describes it well. From this he advances the idea that we live with the land, not just on it or as owners of land. Leopold then adds that our notion of ethics ought to extend toward considering those we share the land as neighbors in a community.
This may be the first time I've written about Aikido and the Land Ethic, but it's been in my mind for a long time. The concept is among one of my core principles for conflict resolution and problem solving, and friends might even recognize threads of it in my musings and research. All of it frequently examines this kind of collaborative/embracing participatory approach. More to come...
"She heard my footsteps approaching in the corridor and found them intriguing. (I have a vague memory that I ran down the corridor in 7/8 time.)" -Richard Stallman
It's odd though, there exists a research paper I despise, even if only for its title ("The Dark Side of Creativity: Biological Vulnerability and Negative Emotions Lead to Greater Artistic Creativity") which I think of frequently, and I suspect it ties closely to influence on Melynda Reid's work and artistry. If anything one's creativity in this context indicates the breadth and depth of their capacity to experience and convey humanity. However, it's unfortunate and sombering to recognize real stories about others who really struggle with keeping brighter moments in mind and sometimes, the stories of their lives don't capture the moments when they make it to the next peak.
The video above is a mind-blowing adaptation of a Macedonian love song adapted for two cellists on one cello. If you're not taken by watching them play, watching their bows is like realizing how related rates in calculus work. Coincidentally, the tune is also in 7/8 meter, much like Stallman's footsteps!
I've heard about interactive digital installation pieces in art journals and I think I've been through at least one before. Though they seemed like they could be neat, none were so compelling and convincing to me.
This series of clips is fantastic: between the music* (*I've not heard this kind of quality noise since the Homeworld soundtrack and NASA Voyager planetary recordings), sense of motion, and dance it's a mind-altering experience, it's wonderful and potentially mind-blowing for some [this phrase is frequently overused, but I believe it merits it].
The only thing that's missing is some form of educational bit, but the work is so fine I'm happy to see it as it is, and the bonus points for using C++ (programming language) and Open GL (I don't even konw what Open GL does) I'd award to them makes up for it too:
For what might be the whole thing (I only saw the above):
Okay here's another (different coreographer named Gideon Obarzanek):
Three take-aways I can surmise from seeing these clips:
1) Technology ought to be co-creative with, not independent from, the human being(s) using them.
2) This is really neat stuff, but what about ideal ethical energy consumption for its use? It can be done, the creator(s) and presenter(s) eventually need to make sure it's from renewable sources (wind, water*, solar).
3) A while back (around 2007 shortly after I saw the dance film "Amelia") I thought about dance on floors with a mirror angled at 45 degrees from above to see the performer from above. Obarzaneks achieves it by having the audience view the performers from high up via angled floors and steep seating.
"Find good reasons to trust yourself."
It seems I wrote this at at 03:19 (AM EDT) on January 1st 2012. Will do! Maybe I should start a book for generic life-advice statements too.
Also, "The play combined the music of Arnold Schoenberg and the aesthetic of Noh theater." (p.66 of Art Journal 2012 [winter]) Double whammy!
Perhaps I'll add more re-discovered thoughts here from earlier in January/February...
There exists a fountain of inspiration and encouragement at the UM-Dearborn Wellness Center: Willie, the clerk. Before I get to quoting him, it's worth noting that Willie is a virtuoso artist. In four swift pen strokes he can create a horse, in about five he can sketch an anatomically correct human skull. What's even more remarkable to me is that his knowledge about what he draws (he says he mostly paints but I've only been able to witness him sketching) is integral to his life and interests. He'll tell you what muscles, tendons, and ligaments are attached to what part of which bone, and can probably tell you when the bone(s) start to fuse together. He's almost always seen sketching or expounding upon powerful learned nuances of life.
In some ways, he's one of the first personal mentors I've ever known. The first time he found out I played an instrument, he signed me up to play the National Anthem for the University's basketball games. When I mentioned the song "Tequila" inspired me to choose the saxophone as one of my primary instruments, he let me borrow a tape (yes, cassette tape) by Wes Montgomery. Almost half a decade later I ran into him at the wellness center again
Below are rushed and somewhat paraphrased quotes from a conversation inspired by watching him teach Aerie(? a fellow student stopping in to exercise, not sure how to spell his name) the anatomy of the forearm, wrist, and hand based on a freshly completed ballpoint pen-on-printing paper sketch.
"They teach you to memorize what the bones are called, but they should really teach you so to appreciate them as part of your life."
"Maybe that's how they are, but it doesn't mean that's how they can be."
[the second time I've heard him say this] "Slavery exists today...
[from a different discussion circa __ 2012]: There's painting, called the School of Athens--man, that's what College should be like! Everybody's engaged and discussing.
[today: building on it]
"When a kid goes to class, he should look forward to it every time--it's like going to class to get gas in the tank and see where he can go from there. No one should ever go to a class, feel like they left on empty, and wonder if they'd be learning more at their job."
On the world's finest engineers:
"Remember this when the Woodward Dream Cruise comes up: there are so many masters out there who know their cars and would love to teach somebody about what they can do. Meanwhile, there are kids out there who could be the greatest engineers jacking peoples' cars. Why not catch them and say 'Hey, you're pretty good! Let's see you put a car back together'"
Column "re-constructed"at approximately 18:30
after an eventful day. Photographed by Ian Tran
A fond memory from my freshman year of college at University of Michigan-Dearborn, this piece was as much a prank as it was a tongue-in-cheek nod to contemporary arts, minimalism, and call to action spurred by the lack of fine arts activity on the University of Michigan-Dearborn campus. It was up for approximately six hours and viewers/other artists (unknown) had rearranged the tables in interesting ways as the day progressed.
Inspired by very minimalistic (and almost non-functional) and unusually hip tables that populated student study spaces on the third and fourth floors of the UM-Dearborn College of Arts, Sciences and Letters building, and a bit of frustration that the Dearborn campus community was fairly deficient in the arts (no performing or applied arts majors offered, and almost no fine arts initiatives from the student body). There's a fantastic story that goes along with the construction and conception of the piece, but you'll have to hear it live sometime as I won't fit all of its details here. On December 6th, 2006 I improvised a descriptive art placard and affixed it to the side of the column minutes before an accomplice (Sean Clyne, a Count Ant) and I started gathering the tables from student study areas on the 3rd and 4th floor of the building. It read:
Exhibit #1 of the Constructive Energy exposition
Column-homage to Donald Judd, 2006
This interference of the vertical space is a paradox between the literal and scientific. The medium (readymade tables ¾ utilized without the consent of the University of Michigan Dearborn department of Humanities and ¼ utilized without the consent of the University of Michigan Dearborn department of the Behavioral Sciences) in its original state has a high potential to further or enhance the learning experience of the student. At the same time, the tables (in their default dispersal) are a demonstration of high entropy. This stacked arrangement reduces the entropy, thereby raising its potential energy. Though it reduces the potential for conventional student learning, it is the artist’s hope that it will bring fine and performing arts to the attention of the public (especially the student body). To those impassive of the piece, it is merely a troublesome object imbued with capricious and mildly plausible meaning by a troublesome set of students.
For those curious about Donald Judd and why I made this an homage: Donald Judd is a famous minimalist artist who has one of his installation pieces (a stack of blocks adhered to the wall) on display at the Detroit Institute of the Arts.
Column mid-day; also pictured: Professor Lee Brooks
of English Composition
Photo credit to Brandon Segrest
Column circa 16:26
Photographed by Ian Tran
What's minimalism to me? Here's my take--be concise, communicate an idea with simplicity. You'll hear the maxim of simplicity in minimalist music as well, though repetition may be more prevalent over conciseness . I think the "stack" sculpture of his on the wall of the Detroit Institute of the Arts is a pretty good example of that.
