this week!
I’m reading some poetry on Thursday night with a line up of other awesome writers. Here’s the flyer, stop by if you can!

I’m reading some poetry on Thursday night with a line up of other awesome writers. Here’s the flyer, stop by if you can!

Here is John Maloof’s explanation of how he acquired the photography of Vivian Maier:
I acquired Vivian’s negatives while at a furniture and antique auction. From what I know, the auction house acquired
her belongings from her storage locker that was sold off due to delinquent payments. I didn’t know what ’street photography’
was when I purchased them.It took me days to look through all of her work. It inspired me to pick up photography myself…After some researching, I
have only little information about Vivian. Central Camera (110 yr old camera shop in Chicago) has encountered Vivian from
time to time when she would purchase film while out on the Chicago streets. From what they knew of her, they say she was a very
“keep your distance from me” type of person but was also outspoken. She loved foreign films and didn’t care much for American films.Out of the 30-40,000 negatives I have in the collection, about 10-15,000 negatives were still in rolls, undeveloped from the
1960’s-1970’s. I have been successfully developing these rolls. I still have about 600 rolls yet to develop. I must say, it’s
very exciting for me. Most of her negatives that were developed in sleeves have the date and location penciled in French
(she had poor penmanship)…She was a Socialist, a Feminist, a movie critic, and a tell-it-like-it-is type of person. She
learned English by going to theaters, which she loved. She wore a men’s jacket, men’s shoes and a large hat most of the
time. She was constantly taking pictures, which she didn’t show anyone.I found her name written with pencil on a photo-lab envelope. I decided to ‘Google’ her about a year after I purchased these
only to find her obituary placed the day before my search. She passed only a couple of days before my inquiry on her.



To read more about Vivian and see more of her brilliant photography, click here to go to the site.
(i’m posting this after reading about vivian on sweet juniper, another very-favorite blog which you can find in the links on the right side of my site)

Pina Bausch, German Choreographer, Dies at 68
Pina Bausch, the German choreographer who combined potent drama and dreamlike movement to create a powerful form of dance theater that influenced generations of dancemakers, died on Tuesday in Wuppertal, Germany. She was 68.The cause was cancer, her company, Tanztheater Wuppertal, announced. She received the diagnosis just five days ago, said Ursula Popp, a company spokeswoman. Ms. Bausch’s family did not release the exact nature of the illness, Ms. Popp said. As recently as June 21, Ms. Bausch stood on stage after a performance of a new work, which is untitled, Ms. Popp said.
Ms. Bausch, whose roots were in prewar German Expressionism, helped change the perception of what could be brought into a dance performance. Her shows featured a deep sense of theatricality; disconnected and sometimes absurd episodes; and elaborate, unusual sets, like carpets of carnations and peat moss or a collapsing wall.
Her base was in Wuppertal, an industrial city near Düsseldorf in northwest Germany, but the company was often at Sadler’s Wells Theater in London, the Théâtre de la Ville in Paris and festivals around the world. This summer, the company is to appear at the Spoleto Festival in Italy.
In the United States, Ms. Bausch has been a regular at the Brooklyn Academy of Music since 1984. The academy’s executive producer, Joseph V. Melillo, said he had attended a performance of Ms. Bausch’s new work in Wuppertal on June 12. She seemed tired, he said, but no more so than usual after creating a new piece.
“She was Pina, loving and enjoying the company of all of us who had come to be at the premiere, celebrating with the dancers who had worked so hard,” he added.
Mr. Melillo described Ms. Bausch as having created a new dance form — tanztheater — by transforming a pure formal dance background through “her own passions and technique and discipline.”
“The whole scale of Pina Bausch’s tanztheater no one had ever seen before,” he added.
Ms. Bausch established a method of creating dances that was widely copied. She would begin rehearsals by asking specific questions of the dancers: about memories, about their daily lives. She would ask them to act out the recollections, and create minidramas from their responses. The dance would grow out of that work, as well as a sense of place derived from foreign residencies.“I don’t know where the beginning or the end is,” she said in an interview with The New York Times last year. “You have to digest. I don’t know what will come out.”The ideas and feelings were often harsh, like frustration and alienation, cruelty and pain, but the works were frequently suffused with humor. Ms. Bausch was quoted as saying she was “not interested in how people move but in what moves them.”
Pina Bausch was born on July 27, 1940, in Solingen, also near Düsseldorf. She started dance study at 14, at the Folkwang School in Essen, which was directed by Kurt Jooss, a major figure in German dance before World War II whose antiwar masterpiece “The Green Table” (1932) is still performed. After graduating in 1958, she received a scholarship to continue her studies in the United States, working with José Limon, Antony Tudor and others at the Juilliard School.
She soon joined Tudor’s company at the Metropolitan Opera and also worked with Paul Taylor. In his autobiography, Mr. Taylor described Ms. Bausch back then as a Tudor favorite, homesick for Germany and “one of the thinnest human beings I’ve ever seen.” As a dancer, he said, she could “streak across the floor sharply, though a bit unevenly, like calipers across paper.”
“She’s also able to move slower than a clogged-up bicycle pump,” he added.
In 1962, Ms. Bausch returned to Germany and joined Jooss’s Folkwang Ballet as a soloist. She took up choreography, making her first work, “Fragment,” in 1968. She succeeded Jooss as company director the next year.
In 1973, she took over a company in Wuppertal, which was quickly renamed Tanztheater Wuppertal, and created her first work there, “Fritz,” with music by Wolfgang Hufschmidt. But what really captured the dance world’s attention was a 1975 production of Stravinsky’s “Rite of Spring” on a stage covered with soil. She revived “The Rite of Spring” for the Paris Opera Ballet in 1997.
One of her most important early works, “Café Müller,” was based on memories of growing up in the restaurant and hotel run by her parents.
Ms. Bausch is survived by her companion, Ronald Kay, and a son, Salomon Bausch, 27.
Her influence is clear in the work of European choreographers like Jan Fabre, Anne Teresa De Keersmaeker, Sasha Waltz and Alain Platel. Her work has also been a major influence on American contemporary-dance choreographers who question the boundaries between theater and dance.
Yet her work provoked sharp divisions among critics. Her “greatest and most terrifying works are unified by place and ambience,” wrote Deborah Jowitt in The Village Voice. “Bausch builds our expectations with brilliant theatricality.”
Others saw her as a purveyor of over-emotive and manipulative patchworks. Arlene Croce, the dance critic of The New Yorker, was notably scathing, calling her choreography “glum, despondent, dabblings in theatrical Dada,” pointlessly repetitive, marked by “thin but flashy shtick” suggestive of the “pornography of pain.”
In the mid-1970s, Ms. Bausch staged two Gluck operas, “Iphigénie en Tauride” and “Orfeo ed Euridice.” Her work was also featured in several films, including Fellini’s “E la Nave Va” (“And the Ship Sails On”) and Pedro Almodóvar’s “Hable con Ella” (“Talk to Her”).
Ms. Bausch restaged “Orfeo” at the Paris Opera Ballet in 2005. In an interview with Le Figaro at the time, she said the dancers had plenty of technique.
“I look for something else,” she said. “The possibility of making them feel what each gesture means internally. Everything must come from the heart, must be lived.”
article source: nytimes
more of pina…
(more…)
Thanks to Renee for passing on this article from The Brooklyn Rail. She knows that I’m a huge fan of Basinski’s Disintegration Loops. Joel played Disc 1 for me at some point last spring, and I drifted off to sleep listening/loving Loops 1.1, giddy about writing to it in the future. I also published a piece with The New Yinzer about this particular track. So yes, a love. And a very interesting read about art and decay.

a picture of Basinski conducting Alter Ego as they play Disintegration Loops 1.1
The Music Was Dying
by Brandon Kreitler“Sound and image flakes falling like luminous grey snow—falling softly from demagnetized patterns into blue silence.”—William S. Burroughs, The Ticket that Exploded
In 2003, American composer William Basinski released a four-disc set entitled The Disintegration Loops. The music on these discs was not initially intended for release, nor was it even really composed music at all. In August and September of 2001, Basinski discovered some loops of mostly orchestral music that he had recorded on then-standard magnetic tape in the early 80s. Because magnetic tape degrades over time, and because its use is becoming increasingly rare in the digital age, Basinski set out to transfer the music to digital form to preserve it. However, as the twenty or so-year-old tape passed over the reader, tiny bits of the tape were scratched or flaked off, sometimes to land in other places on the reel. The tape had begun to disintegrate in its long storage. The process of this degradation was slow and not initially noticeable to Basinski, who let the tapes roll. The music on the tapes underwent a long decay and endless reconfigurations during the digital transfer, which captured the results.
The individual loops last anywhere from 15 to 60 minutes. The listening experience, while initially languid and somber, becomes enthralling and disorienting as each piece progresses. The music begins as repetitive and transparent, over time revealing the infinite complexity and depth in even a short clip of audio information. The music becomes a ghost of itself. In a remarkable coincidence, as Basinski was listening to his loops destroy themselves in his Brooklyn apartment, two planes flew into the World Trade Center towers across the East River in downtown Manhattan. He and a few friends watched smoke and the haze of destruction cover the skyline across the river. Could there be a music more analogous?
Thanks to my sister for sending this to me with the words: “…it just inspires me to do my own stuff and know that folks are doing some beautiful things when the world can seem so ugly.” I agree sis, I agree.

Cinquenta, Tigre Real

Flaming Giraffe

Groucho Marx as the Shiva of Big Business

Musical Tempest
It’s hard to think of ourselves as something important to something, to somebody else. Some people, that’s all they hope for, that’s all they want. Some people spend their living looking for the evidence, and it is like missing the lips to hunt a limb–right there, as certain as anything could ever be. You breathe, it matters. This extends. Mixes with others, feeds plants.
It’s hard to say what happens when we lose sight of what matters to hold staring contests with what doesn’t. Unattainable understanding? Tangled in a fishing net, caught finally in the life current–the littlest thing, the biggest tradition; certain defeats caught by your conquering meaning most? What is it we want from ourselves?
I write to try and understand it, to remind myself. I can unravel a thousand times in a day, but I’m still tied to something. I’m proud of that knot. I do not have a name for it; I can’t say why it’s there. Whatever tethers my heart in my chest, whatever keeps self tied to self, soul/flame/belly, precious instinct in gut. Whatever keeps me going.
Something will always bring it back. A phone call, a letter, a father, the right song/shitty weather combination–a mystery in rhythm, or the wrecking thereof. Something will take you to the bare sequence, force you to begin again there. Scrap paper and a leaky pen–get to it. It all falls under what the heart carries close, and if your heart is the kind that carries a lot, then it’s all about what you do not drop.
Squint against the light, the sound of your own voice hurting you more. The left arm goes numb and it’s frightening. You apologize over and over to whoever is with you–I’m sorry that I’m like this. I’m sorry that I’m putting you through it. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. The pain is embarrassing. The pain is the most mortifying thing you will ever experience, because it isn’t a visible type of pain. It isn’t a gaping wound, a broken limb. This is the monster that forces you into a makeshift night at 1pm, all the blinds drawn and blankets over the head. Even the pillow hurts. You put a trash can nearby because the journey to the bathroom gets too complicated. You are forced to back out of commitments, and you worry about how others perceive you–if they just assume you are some unreliable jerk. Again, embarrassed. You learn to do what you can to keep the tears from coming–crying just magnifies the pain. You let the frustration consume you–this invisible beast that eats away at your life.
I’ve been giving serious thought to a project, something to do with all the migraines/chronic pain that I’ve had to deal with over the past twenty years. It’s such a big part of my life. I will not say that pain rules it, but dealing with pain like that, consistent pain, will change the way you look at things.I have a lot to say about the matter. I know that art is a perfect medium to express it–I think a combination of words, painting, and noise would work best. I’m working on that. I happened to be very sick yesterday and part of it had to do with head pain, ye old migraine. In my head, during the worst of it, I tried to articulate how I felt exactly. Tried to imagine how one might put it into words. How do you describe the most blinding, stupid pain that kicks in the left side of the head, steals the eye completely? I went through all the metaphors. I thought about reaching for a pen and some paper, but felt too sick to do so. I think it’s important to attempt creation while in pain–I believe the migraine would have a definite influence on what is produced. Ah, but the crux–the pain is so intense that it’s hard to lift my head, let alone create something. I’ve been thinking about making use of the dictaphone or short videos for this matter. I need to get this into a medium that is accessible to other people. I think others need to understand. I think I need to be understood. Also, I need help wrapping my own head around it. Dealing with it devastates me. I get tired of dealing with it, tired of feeling devastated. So I’m going to look to expression, to art, and say: please help me. Please help me translate what I go through.
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