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"content": "\u003cp> One of the most comforting things about a fairy tale is that it’s usually pretty easy to tell who the bad guys are. Gnarled faces, cackling laughs, abnormal love of black clothing, and enough ambitious, deeply evil schemes to make even a Bond villain take a moral pause — these are the not-so-subtle signs that certain characters can’t be trusted. Of course, this moral simplicity is also the fairy tale’s downfall, as kids are soon told that “real life” isn’t so clear-cut.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But as kids leave behind the black and white of fantasy, they also lose the genre’s enchantment: cool little elves, princesses, or miniature tree houses. This kind of magic isn’t any more realistic than the evildoer who announces himself through his creepy, glowing red eyeball, but really, it’s so much fun! There has to be a place for magic in the grown up world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>California artist Greg “Craola” Simkins brings his take on magic with adult complexity to the FIFTY24SF Gallery this month with the \u003cb>Don’t Sleep\u003c/b> show. This collection of paintings and drawings features the kind of elfin, impish creatures common in fairy tales, complete with an enchanted landscape of forests, butterflies, and dewy meadows.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But these aren’t sweet little frogs just waiting to be turned back into the prince who will then marry you and whisk you away to a life of castles and splendor. Actually, it’s better. These weird, twisted creatures have hints of darkness lurking behind them. They are awkward and gangly, with glowing yellow eyes and sullen faces. Simkins ups the complexity by placing his monster-sprites in elaborate and gorgeous worlds, under glowing dollops of ice cream sundae clouds, and posed in front of adorable cottages and treehouses.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> This art could easily fall into the type of intentionally creepy, Ryden-esque art currently flooding galleries (and drowning my patience for one more painting of a big-eyed girl). But Simkins has much more to say with his work than the boring “that looks cool” pleasure so common in hipster art. Simkins is an expert at using intriguing symbols to both entertain and provoke the viewer. \u003cb>Don’t Sleep\u003c/b> exhibits his skill in not only turning the usual sweetie pie imagery of fantasy on its head, but in working an almost literary irony out of the symbols.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In one painting a pensive demon, bright red cape pulled sullenly around his shoulders, perches pre or post-flight on the kind of gnarled tree branch seen most often as shade for a sleeping troll or mischievous band of leprechauns. Puffy, cute sheep are stacked in a tower gnawing on each other’s backs while a giant white jack-o-lantern in turns gnaws them. The pumpkin is clearly sinister, but its visual parallel to the big, round sheep invites us to look closer at the cute little animals. When we do, we see pink, bleary eyes and shifty gazes lurking in the poof of fluffy wool, and the painting takes on a new meaning.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though most pieces read like portraits, there’s a sense that the subjects are in the midst of the classic magical journey. Creatures gaze from scenes so full of loving detail that you can’t help but feel there is a whole world that comes to life when the gallery closes for the night. Walking through the show, there’s an excitement at having caught the characters on their way to finding that fabled magic talisman, or breaking the evil spell. Most fairy tales treat this “ugly duckling” phase as the stepping stone, but Simkins settles in this territory. With his treatment, the journey is beautiful, and it’s refreshing to appreciate the tension and discovery in these transition moments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Simkins gives irony back to the fairytale hero. His magical creatures seem more like bastardized mistakes; blends of normally cute parts into a strange little gremlin that can’t help but make you think, “ew.” My personal favorite was a bat-like creature in a Batman type costume with cape and insignia emblazoned across its chest. This curious little guy spoke to me — he looked so sad to be saddled with the hero costume. Was it that this mystical little player in a clearly enchanted world aspires to the easy heroism of Bruce Wayne? Or does he resent that in a magical world, there’s no choice but to be heroic? I can’t see yellow eyes and bat wings fitting into a suit and a desk job.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But I think Simkins’s world is open enough to mean different things to different people. And I’m willing to bet that no matter what the reaction, viewers will find it’s a pleasure just to be invited into \u003ca href=\"http://www.imscared.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Simkins’s world\u003c/a> for a passing trip.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Don’t Sleep\u003c/b> runs through February 24, 2007 at \u003ca href=\"http://www.fifty24sf.com\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Upper Playground’s Fifty24SF Gallery\u003c/a> in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>Last Friday night Jack Hanley Gallery reeked of spray paint. Large-scale, multi-layered landscapes of painted paper combined with thick textured materials were the backdrop for subtly placed, fabric-scrap creatures with tiny patches of fake fur hair. The sardonic figures seemed to have been created accidentally, yet pointedly, as if the images were spontaneously thrown together and then figured out later. Like the studio mistake an artist suddenly realizes is brilliant, similar to when Pollock supposedly accidentally dripped paint on a canvas and instantly discovered his moneymaker.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the paintings’ backgrounds were glossy and had lovely drippy streaks of metallic spray paint, which happens to be the most beautiful kind of spray paint ever. Easily missed in the crowded gallery was the fact that the little figures in the paintings had something pitiful and poetic to say. “It’s like looking in the mirror only you are a little smaller and I hate what I see,” was handwritten on a skinny strip of paper next to one of the hapless figures. Art school will lead you to believe that if you’re going to include text in your work, you better have a damn good reason. Here, the text made the paintings feel soulful and the artist seem like an empathetic smarty. Personally, the messages elicited a woeful emotional connection — an oddly reassuring reminder that frankly, everyone has to deal with the fact that life can be awfully sad sometimes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the work touches upon despairing subjects, it does so with razor-sharp wit. It’s hard to avoid amusement when viewing a piece of artwork titled \u003cb>Watch It Sucker Now I Have Two Husbands\u003c/b>, even if the imagery has a lonesome feeling. Jon Pylypchuk is the artist in question, and he also works sculpturally. Two of his raggedy, three-dimensional creatures were on display with evil eyes attached to their black fabric heads. They had muted, multicolored cotton patchwork bodies and furry hair. The smaller figure’s legs were simple wooden sticks attached to its cloth body, but somehow its pose conveyed a ‘f**k off’ attitude. The other figure was bigger and urinating a molded yellow stream that landed in a puddle in front of the little guy, who was holding a beer can and standing in the aforementioned pose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through salty scrap art, Pylypchuk comments on the dark parts of the human condition. His materials are not expensive (mostly wood and fabric scraps and a lot of glue), but his scenes are delightfully creative and recall Chinese landscape paintings or epic storybook illustrations. I once heard the photographer Catherine Wagner say she was disappointed when her students would say their artwork was too financially difficult to realize and that a dedicated artist could make substantive work out of cardboard and masking tape. Pylypchuk is a perfect illustration of this notion. He is equal parts poet and artist, and his work glows with a lighthearted, punked-out seriousness. It’s not often you find word art, scrap art, and fine art holding hands and comforting one another, but Pylypchuk’s work provides the opportunity to witness this anomaly in action. He doesn’t often exhibit locally and unless you saw his international showings or his New York exhibit titled \u003cb>And Now Occasionally and Reluctantly I Lift My Head From Where it Usually Hangs in Shame\u003c/b>, this is probably your first opportunity to see his work up close. If only time travel was a reality and I could revisit 2005 to see his Los Angeles exhibit, \u003cb>You Won’t Live Past 30\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sad music is good. Sad art is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jon Pylypchuk is at Jack Hanley Gallery through February 24, 2007.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Last Friday night Jack Hanley Gallery reeked of spray paint. Large-scale, multi-layered landscapes of painted paper combined with thick textured materials were the backdrop for subtly placed, fabric-scrap creatures with tiny patches of fake fur hair. The sardonic figures seemed to have been created accidentally, yet pointedly, as if the images were spontaneously thrown together and then figured out later. Like the studio mistake an artist suddenly realizes is brilliant, similar to when Pollock supposedly accidentally dripped paint on a canvas and instantly discovered his moneymaker.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the paintings’ backgrounds were glossy and had lovely drippy streaks of metallic spray paint, which happens to be the most beautiful kind of spray paint ever. Easily missed in the crowded gallery was the fact that the little figures in the paintings had something pitiful and poetic to say. “It’s like looking in the mirror only you are a little smaller and I hate what I see,” was handwritten on a skinny strip of paper next to one of the hapless figures. Art school will lead you to believe that if you’re going to include text in your work, you better have a damn good reason. Here, the text made the paintings feel soulful and the artist seem like an empathetic smarty. Personally, the messages elicited a woeful emotional connection — an oddly reassuring reminder that frankly, everyone has to deal with the fact that life can be awfully sad sometimes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though the work touches upon despairing subjects, it does so with razor-sharp wit. It’s hard to avoid amusement when viewing a piece of artwork titled \u003cb>Watch It Sucker Now I Have Two Husbands\u003c/b>, even if the imagery has a lonesome feeling. Jon Pylypchuk is the artist in question, and he also works sculpturally. Two of his raggedy, three-dimensional creatures were on display with evil eyes attached to their black fabric heads. They had muted, multicolored cotton patchwork bodies and furry hair. The smaller figure’s legs were simple wooden sticks attached to its cloth body, but somehow its pose conveyed a ‘f**k off’ attitude. The other figure was bigger and urinating a molded yellow stream that landed in a puddle in front of the little guy, who was holding a beer can and standing in the aforementioned pose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Through salty scrap art, Pylypchuk comments on the dark parts of the human condition. His materials are not expensive (mostly wood and fabric scraps and a lot of glue), but his scenes are delightfully creative and recall Chinese landscape paintings or epic storybook illustrations. I once heard the photographer Catherine Wagner say she was disappointed when her students would say their artwork was too financially difficult to realize and that a dedicated artist could make substantive work out of cardboard and masking tape. Pylypchuk is a perfect illustration of this notion. He is equal parts poet and artist, and his work glows with a lighthearted, punked-out seriousness. It’s not often you find word art, scrap art, and fine art holding hands and comforting one another, but Pylypchuk’s work provides the opportunity to witness this anomaly in action. He doesn’t often exhibit locally and unless you saw his international showings or his New York exhibit titled \u003cb>And Now Occasionally and Reluctantly I Lift My Head From Where it Usually Hangs in Shame\u003c/b>, this is probably your first opportunity to see his work up close. If only time travel was a reality and I could revisit 2005 to see his Los Angeles exhibit, \u003cb>You Won’t Live Past 30\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Sad music is good. Sad art is even better.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>There has been much smarty-pants speculation on what the Internet and our increased access to information means to society. Whenever I see these bloated “Here’s what it all means, children” type essays, I get a little embarrassed inside. I know that in a few years’ time, these articles will seem ridiculously pompous and out of touch — like 19th century articles claiming that the telegraph will make human speech irrelevant.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I get the feeling that, like me, a lot of people just get a big kick out of emailing each other\u003ca href=\"http://news.yahoo.com/photo/070129/480/wxs11201292359;_ylt=AivzdWICAEY9Hfbrk8WA9Q3q188F;_ylu=X3oDMTA4Y20zOW1jBHNlYwNtZXBo\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">baby animal pictures\u003c/a>, cool videos of \u003ca href=\"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VeIL7juFE0\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\"> dancing bears and lobster claws\u003c/a>, and certain teen wizards in \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/showbiz/showbiznews.html?in_article_id=432493&in_page_id=1773&ico=Homepage&icl=TabModule&icc=picbox&ct=5\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">newer, fleshier roles\u003c/a>. Unfortunately, this love of short-attention-span fun leaves us vulnerable to newscaster quips and flashy infographics — shiny stand-ins for real news or really exciting events. Like bobble heads. Nobody actually likes those. Or Super Bowl ads. In the week leading up to last sunday’s big game, I came across several actual news stories on this riveting nugget of current events: Extra! Sports events are often paired with advertising! I guess that makes them similar to, oh, pretty much every single thing on the planet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Into this swirl of an increasingly advert-laden environment drops Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ current exhibit,\u003cb>Sensacional! Mexican Street Graphics\u003c/b>. The show chronicles the look and feel of advertising South of the Border, as seen in murals, street parties, luchadores, and wheat paste flyers. Instead of slick, highly processed campaigns, individual artisans create hand-drawn masterpieces boasting anything from butcher shops,to car parts and public safety announcements. The painters often draft their work quickly and on the spot, so the art has all the charm of strange proportions and slightly wonky draftsmanship.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Sensacional! Mexican Street Graphics\u003c/b> runs through March 4, 2007 at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The absence of an industry to mastermind the ads means they rely on everyday imagery to catch attention. Symbols are used in a familiar, yet somehow still awkward, context — like the use of pregnant women to give a product the feel of “virtue,” even if that product is women’s lingerie. Since the “advertisers” are on the same level as the consumers, their tactics are incredibly direct. Ads for car parts show just that — straightforward paintings of the objects that read more like technical manuals in all their intricate detail. Can you remember the last time an ad for a product just simply showed you the thing with no bells and whistles?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But this matter-of-factness can also be uncomfortable (read: hilarious) for American eyes used to the sparkly illusions of Madison Avenue. For instance, we’d never be able to handle a butcher shop ad featuring an angry, pants-wearing chicken slaughtering a smaller, terrified, pants-less chicken, or a standing pig stirring a big pot of human soup. And as these weird, wonderful little paintings point out, that’s a shame.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If there’s one thing Americans can relate to, though, it’s the co-opting of pop culture to push consumer goods. With Mexico’s laissez-faire copyright laws, celebrities and popular characters show up pretty much anywhere to make a sale — like the pizzeria sign where R2-D2 delivers a steaming pie. These ads possess all the novelty and appeal that corporate ad execs try so desperately to manufacture in their endless rotation of talking dogs or painfully cute kids with lisps. But these ideas succeed because they aren’t studied or sly, and carry no sense of a six-figure deal lurking behind in the background.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> is also a refreshing example of the creative potential of a gallery show. For one, most of the pieces are street photographs or anonymous reproductions. This frees the accompanying information panels to give earnest and amazingly non-condescending insight into Mexican culture. No egos to soothe, or oeuvres to reference. But the curating also has a definite tongue-in-cheek tone. One video was described as “kick-ass” in the same sentence that described rival videos as “insipid.” Curators designed interactive elements to recreate the feeling of randomly encountering these pieces on a street. A video about taxicab art invites viewers to sit and watch from a car seat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But mostly, I see \u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> as a golden opportunity for the general improvement of life on Earth. There’s no way to deny the simple elegance of a churro ad featuring a man looking sad while a thought bubble over his head shows him smiling as he munches on, guess what, a tasty churro! Is there really more to advertising than that? Can we just close the book on cartoon bees with annoying accents, beer-drinking birds that scream “Waaaassssssup,” and K-Fed?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Okay, maybe keep K-Fed around long enough for him to flame out in a blaze of Pay-Per-View, WWF, eBay auctions of personal items, and Made-for-TV movie glory. I’d like to see that. But let’s take some of the power away from advertisers in suits and focus groups making billions. Advertising can be art, but that usually happens when it focuses on communicating with people based on what they know, need, and like — not what obnoxious pandering can distract them and their pocketbooks for the longest amount of time. No matter what any disco-dancing monkey with a love of mac’n’cheese will tell you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Editorial note: After writing this review, it came to my attention that the publisher of \u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> the book, is an imprint distributed by Chronicle Books, where I currently work a few days a week.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There has been much smarty-pants speculation on what the Internet and our increased access to information means to society. Whenever I see these bloated “Here’s what it all means, children” type essays, I get a little embarrassed inside. I know that in a few years’ time, these articles will seem ridiculously pompous and out of touch — like 19th century articles claiming that the telegraph will make human speech irrelevant.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I get the feeling that, like me, a lot of people just get a big kick out of emailing each other\u003ca href=\"http://news.yahoo.com/photo/070129/480/wxs11201292359;_ylt=AivzdWICAEY9Hfbrk8WA9Q3q188F;_ylu=X3oDMTA4Y20zOW1jBHNlYwNtZXBo\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">baby animal pictures\u003c/a>, cool videos of \u003ca href=\"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VeIL7juFE0\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\"> dancing bears and lobster claws\u003c/a>, and certain teen wizards in \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/showbiz/showbiznews.html?in_article_id=432493&in_page_id=1773&ico=Homepage&icl=TabModule&icc=picbox&ct=5\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">newer, fleshier roles\u003c/a>. Unfortunately, this love of short-attention-span fun leaves us vulnerable to newscaster quips and flashy infographics — shiny stand-ins for real news or really exciting events. Like bobble heads. Nobody actually likes those. Or Super Bowl ads. In the week leading up to last sunday’s big game, I came across several actual news stories on this riveting nugget of current events: Extra! Sports events are often paired with advertising! I guess that makes them similar to, oh, pretty much every single thing on the planet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Into this swirl of an increasingly advert-laden environment drops Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ current exhibit,\u003cb>Sensacional! Mexican Street Graphics\u003c/b>. The show chronicles the look and feel of advertising South of the Border, as seen in murals, street parties, luchadores, and wheat paste flyers. Instead of slick, highly processed campaigns, individual artisans create hand-drawn masterpieces boasting anything from butcher shops,to car parts and public safety announcements. The painters often draft their work quickly and on the spot, so the art has all the charm of strange proportions and slightly wonky draftsmanship.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Sensacional! Mexican Street Graphics\u003c/b> runs through March 4, 2007 at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The absence of an industry to mastermind the ads means they rely on everyday imagery to catch attention. Symbols are used in a familiar, yet somehow still awkward, context — like the use of pregnant women to give a product the feel of “virtue,” even if that product is women’s lingerie. Since the “advertisers” are on the same level as the consumers, their tactics are incredibly direct. Ads for car parts show just that — straightforward paintings of the objects that read more like technical manuals in all their intricate detail. Can you remember the last time an ad for a product just simply showed you the thing with no bells and whistles?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But this matter-of-factness can also be uncomfortable (read: hilarious) for American eyes used to the sparkly illusions of Madison Avenue. For instance, we’d never be able to handle a butcher shop ad featuring an angry, pants-wearing chicken slaughtering a smaller, terrified, pants-less chicken, or a standing pig stirring a big pot of human soup. And as these weird, wonderful little paintings point out, that’s a shame.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If there’s one thing Americans can relate to, though, it’s the co-opting of pop culture to push consumer goods. With Mexico’s laissez-faire copyright laws, celebrities and popular characters show up pretty much anywhere to make a sale — like the pizzeria sign where R2-D2 delivers a steaming pie. These ads possess all the novelty and appeal that corporate ad execs try so desperately to manufacture in their endless rotation of talking dogs or painfully cute kids with lisps. But these ideas succeed because they aren’t studied or sly, and carry no sense of a six-figure deal lurking behind in the background.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> is also a refreshing example of the creative potential of a gallery show. For one, most of the pieces are street photographs or anonymous reproductions. This frees the accompanying information panels to give earnest and amazingly non-condescending insight into Mexican culture. No egos to soothe, or oeuvres to reference. But the curating also has a definite tongue-in-cheek tone. One video was described as “kick-ass” in the same sentence that described rival videos as “insipid.” Curators designed interactive elements to recreate the feeling of randomly encountering these pieces on a street. A video about taxicab art invites viewers to sit and watch from a car seat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But mostly, I see \u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> as a golden opportunity for the general improvement of life on Earth. There’s no way to deny the simple elegance of a churro ad featuring a man looking sad while a thought bubble over his head shows him smiling as he munches on, guess what, a tasty churro! Is there really more to advertising than that? Can we just close the book on cartoon bees with annoying accents, beer-drinking birds that scream “Waaaassssssup,” and K-Fed?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Okay, maybe keep K-Fed around long enough for him to flame out in a blaze of Pay-Per-View, WWF, eBay auctions of personal items, and Made-for-TV movie glory. I’d like to see that. But let’s take some of the power away from advertisers in suits and focus groups making billions. Advertising can be art, but that usually happens when it focuses on communicating with people based on what they know, need, and like — not what obnoxious pandering can distract them and their pocketbooks for the longest amount of time. No matter what any disco-dancing monkey with a love of mac’n’cheese will tell you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>* Editorial note: After writing this review, it came to my attention that the publisher of \u003cb>Sensacional!\u003c/b> the book, is an imprint distributed by Chronicle Books, where I currently work a few days a week.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Gray Area Gallery is a baby gallery, less than two months old. Their second exhibition, \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>, is cute and quirky and makes you want to pinch its cheeks. I was drawn to the group show because of Steven MacDonald, a local artist who creates stitched illustrations and sculptures on his Singer sewing machine. Three of MacDonald’s skateboard decks with embroidered fabric treatments were featured in the show, along with one of his embroidered cuckoo clocks with a design reminiscent of a paint-by-number book. A handful of framed works are also on display, including a tiny embroidered fawn in a gaudy gold frame. MacDonald uses a palette of metallic gold fabric and red thread that makes his work appear sumptuous and precious. Though it wasn’t included, he is famous for embroidering a fabric-covered, life-sized military tank.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For this textile-themed exhibit, Manuel “Gonz One” Gonzalez created a site-specific installation of his \u003cb>Audio Monsters\u003c/b>, creatures that look similar to the Japanese television character, Domo-kun, and are made of vinyl and fur with amplified speakers hidden in their mouths that hook up to iPods or radios. At the opening reception, the monsters served as speakers for the DJ — a true interdisciplinary collaboration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>‘s artists have creative day jobs. It’s nice to see what happens when a commercial artist has the opportunity to make art for the sake of art, rather than success or a paycheck. Fashion designer, Kylea Borges created large, thread-covered cocoons that were clunky and beautiful. Hannah Stouffer, a designer for the artsy t-shirt and wallet company, Poketo, created animal illustrations suggestive of Victorian fabric, and architect Stephanie Choo’s framed assemblage pieces incorporated soft, round forms rarely found in structural designs. Disappointingly, I missed two of the artists’ pieces — most of Katja Ollendorff’s abstract fabric works had been sold, and Chris Golden’s video installation was unavailable because he’d taken his projector home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott Barry’s corner installation resembled an altar with an afghan blanket laid out in front of a television. Surrounding the T.V. were some vases with faces on them and the words, “Holy Ghost” painted on the wall in Spanish. It seems that all the recent group shows I’ve seen incorporate at least one of these meditation-type corner installations. I can’t tell if many artists are currently exploring this format, or if I’m just seeing Barry’s work all over the place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A rebirth of L.A.’s Hear Gallery, Gray Area was opened last November by Josette Melchor and Carrie Martin. Holding it down underground in San Francisco, they strive to provide an all-inclusive “safe space” for artists and gallery crawlers. \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>‘s curator, Catherine Kaleel, seemed genuinely and justifiably proud of the new digs and gave me a tour of the resident artists’ studios and the newly painted roof mural. Nestled between Slim’s and the DNA Lounge, right above Bowzer’s Pizza Place, they’re open Wednesday through Saturday from 6:00pm to Midnight to dovetail with the hours of other nightlife venues on that particular SoMA block. For emerging collectors, Gray Area’s art is affordable, even on a teacher’s salary. The gallery also smells terrific.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gray Area is like an undiscovered indie rock band. When their exhibits start selling out and blowing up, you can be one of those self-righteous people who say, “I was into them way before they were famous.” Gray Area is located at 371 11th Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hurry and check it out! \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>‘s closing reception is \u003cb>January 13, 2007\u003c/b>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Gray Area Gallery is a baby gallery, less than two months old. Their second exhibition, \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>, is cute and quirky and makes you want to pinch its cheeks. I was drawn to the group show because of Steven MacDonald, a local artist who creates stitched illustrations and sculptures on his Singer sewing machine. Three of MacDonald’s skateboard decks with embroidered fabric treatments were featured in the show, along with one of his embroidered cuckoo clocks with a design reminiscent of a paint-by-number book. A handful of framed works are also on display, including a tiny embroidered fawn in a gaudy gold frame. MacDonald uses a palette of metallic gold fabric and red thread that makes his work appear sumptuous and precious. Though it wasn’t included, he is famous for embroidering a fabric-covered, life-sized military tank.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For this textile-themed exhibit, Manuel “Gonz One” Gonzalez created a site-specific installation of his \u003cb>Audio Monsters\u003c/b>, creatures that look similar to the Japanese television character, Domo-kun, and are made of vinyl and fur with amplified speakers hidden in their mouths that hook up to iPods or radios. At the opening reception, the monsters served as speakers for the DJ — a true interdisciplinary collaboration.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Many of \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>‘s artists have creative day jobs. It’s nice to see what happens when a commercial artist has the opportunity to make art for the sake of art, rather than success or a paycheck. Fashion designer, Kylea Borges created large, thread-covered cocoons that were clunky and beautiful. Hannah Stouffer, a designer for the artsy t-shirt and wallet company, Poketo, created animal illustrations suggestive of Victorian fabric, and architect Stephanie Choo’s framed assemblage pieces incorporated soft, round forms rarely found in structural designs. Disappointingly, I missed two of the artists’ pieces — most of Katja Ollendorff’s abstract fabric works had been sold, and Chris Golden’s video installation was unavailable because he’d taken his projector home.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott Barry’s corner installation resembled an altar with an afghan blanket laid out in front of a television. Surrounding the T.V. were some vases with faces on them and the words, “Holy Ghost” painted on the wall in Spanish. It seems that all the recent group shows I’ve seen incorporate at least one of these meditation-type corner installations. I can’t tell if many artists are currently exploring this format, or if I’m just seeing Barry’s work all over the place.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A rebirth of L.A.’s Hear Gallery, Gray Area was opened last November by Josette Melchor and Carrie Martin. Holding it down underground in San Francisco, they strive to provide an all-inclusive “safe space” for artists and gallery crawlers. \u003cb>Sugar Sugar\u003c/b>‘s curator, Catherine Kaleel, seemed genuinely and justifiably proud of the new digs and gave me a tour of the resident artists’ studios and the newly painted roof mural. Nestled between Slim’s and the DNA Lounge, right above Bowzer’s Pizza Place, they’re open Wednesday through Saturday from 6:00pm to Midnight to dovetail with the hours of other nightlife venues on that particular SoMA block. For emerging collectors, Gray Area’s art is affordable, even on a teacher’s salary. The gallery also smells terrific.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Anselm Kiefer, Heaven and Earth",
"headTitle": "Anselm Kiefer, Heaven and Earth | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>As I tried to dodge an enormous flying book, I fell into a rabbit hole and woke up in a burning attic. As I feverishly tried to escape the doomed structure, I noticed a wrecked plane surrounded by a fiery forest. After running through a medieval brick corridor, I found myself in a desolate, snowy field. A fallen angel lay in a pile of burnt, oil-soaked straw. As I stared at the angel, I stumbled into what must have been God’s bookcase. The books were huge and made of lead, bigger than me and punctured by meteorites. Star maps, long numbers and abstract poppies filled their pages. I noticed a flurry of specks flying toward a light in the distance, and as my eyes followed their path, I realized they were sunflower seeds flying to escape the tragic destruction behind us. I passed another airplane, not wrecked but abandoned. To my far right was an Egyptian pyramid radiating copper wire, and to my immediate right, a treacherous ocean furiously tossed a golden submarine about. It was as though the sky had cracked open and rained down upon the little boat, and it struggled to remain just below the waves. The waves were angry, tempered only by a subtly sexy and calming streak of purple light. I noticed another huge book and hurried past a starry sky to crawl inside its pages, hiding until the fight between Heaven and Earth subsided.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nope, it wasn’t a dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was my overactive imagination spurred by German artist, Anselm Kiefer’s current exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern art, titled \u003cb>Heaven and Earth\u003c/b>. Dramatically laid out, the exhibit offers a seeming passage through another world. It begins with Kiefer’s \u003cb>Attic\u003c/b> series of drawings, created in the late seventies when he inhabited an old wooden schoolhouse. Using genuine charcoal (actual fire remnants), he rendered expansive images of wooden interiors and dead forests pierced with symbols of good and evil. The creeping transformation of Kiefer’s work starts to become evident in \u003cb>The Hierarchy of Angels\u003c/b>, an extra-large-scale wall piece created over two years in the eighties that incorporates a huge propeller and rough rocks made of curdled lead. It looked as if the burnt site of a plane crash had been ripped from the ground and hung on the wall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kiefer works with thick, endless layers of very specific media including oil, lead, burnt wood, plant material, straw, and clay. Heavily caking the material onto canvases, Kiefer creates life-sized landscapes that appear as though you could walk right into them. The pieces employ alternating images of life and death and call into question the viewer’s personal notions of microcosm versus macrocosm and the influence of the universe on humans. Though he uses plants and images of living organisms, they are presented in a wintry, desolate state. One enormous painting is flanked with a gargantuan dead sunflower at least 15 feet tall — a symbol of thriving life that once was.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The huge books made of lead are just as described — taller than the average human with slumping pages splayed open far enough to crawl inside. Kiefer uses masses of lead, a medium he acquired an enormous supply of when he purchased the roof of the Cologne Cathedral in France. I could’ve spent hours looking at two pieces titled \u003cb>6th Trumpet\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Leviathan\u003c/b>, which hung together toward the end of the exhibit. Like many of Kiefer’s wall pieces, I wanted to stare at them from far away, then see them up close, then soak them in from a distance again. I have now visited the exhibit three times and each time I’ve discovered new things about the work. Not to be missed are Kiefer’s smaller paintings. Equally as powerful as the larger pieces, they made me want to cry. With textured and uneven brushstrokes and empathetic titles such as \u003cb>Everyone Stands Under his Own Dome of Heaven\u003c/b> and \u003cb>To the Unknown Painter\u003c/b>, they seemed to converse with my soul.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the end of the exhibit, there is a short documentary about the artist. In the video, Kiefer admits that he wanted to be a poet, which makes sense since most of his pieces incorporate lovely handwritten text reminiscent of my grandmother’s script. He creates his work alone, “the old-fashioned way,” with his own hands and only calls upon assistants to help him lift things. He talks about a desire to create spiritual art that uses no material, which is fascinating since he currently uses material in excess. Though his toolkit is far from traditional, it is carefully chosen to create artistic arrangements that evoke interpersonal connections and provide meaning and symbolic dichotomy. In viewing the video piece, you will also learn how many trucks it took to get the roof of a cathedral to Kiefer’s studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Anselm Kiefer, Heaven and Earth\u003c/b> runs through January 21, 2007 at theSan Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 151 Third Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>As I tried to dodge an enormous flying book, I fell into a rabbit hole and woke up in a burning attic. As I feverishly tried to escape the doomed structure, I noticed a wrecked plane surrounded by a fiery forest. After running through a medieval brick corridor, I found myself in a desolate, snowy field. A fallen angel lay in a pile of burnt, oil-soaked straw. As I stared at the angel, I stumbled into what must have been God’s bookcase. The books were huge and made of lead, bigger than me and punctured by meteorites. Star maps, long numbers and abstract poppies filled their pages. I noticed a flurry of specks flying toward a light in the distance, and as my eyes followed their path, I realized they were sunflower seeds flying to escape the tragic destruction behind us. I passed another airplane, not wrecked but abandoned. To my far right was an Egyptian pyramid radiating copper wire, and to my immediate right, a treacherous ocean furiously tossed a golden submarine about. It was as though the sky had cracked open and rained down upon the little boat, and it struggled to remain just below the waves. The waves were angry, tempered only by a subtly sexy and calming streak of purple light. I noticed another huge book and hurried past a starry sky to crawl inside its pages, hiding until the fight between Heaven and Earth subsided.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nope, it wasn’t a dream.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It was my overactive imagination spurred by German artist, Anselm Kiefer’s current exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern art, titled \u003cb>Heaven and Earth\u003c/b>. Dramatically laid out, the exhibit offers a seeming passage through another world. It begins with Kiefer’s \u003cb>Attic\u003c/b> series of drawings, created in the late seventies when he inhabited an old wooden schoolhouse. Using genuine charcoal (actual fire remnants), he rendered expansive images of wooden interiors and dead forests pierced with symbols of good and evil. The creeping transformation of Kiefer’s work starts to become evident in \u003cb>The Hierarchy of Angels\u003c/b>, an extra-large-scale wall piece created over two years in the eighties that incorporates a huge propeller and rough rocks made of curdled lead. It looked as if the burnt site of a plane crash had been ripped from the ground and hung on the wall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kiefer works with thick, endless layers of very specific media including oil, lead, burnt wood, plant material, straw, and clay. Heavily caking the material onto canvases, Kiefer creates life-sized landscapes that appear as though you could walk right into them. The pieces employ alternating images of life and death and call into question the viewer’s personal notions of microcosm versus macrocosm and the influence of the universe on humans. Though he uses plants and images of living organisms, they are presented in a wintry, desolate state. One enormous painting is flanked with a gargantuan dead sunflower at least 15 feet tall — a symbol of thriving life that once was.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The huge books made of lead are just as described — taller than the average human with slumping pages splayed open far enough to crawl inside. Kiefer uses masses of lead, a medium he acquired an enormous supply of when he purchased the roof of the Cologne Cathedral in France. I could’ve spent hours looking at two pieces titled \u003cb>6th Trumpet\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Leviathan\u003c/b>, which hung together toward the end of the exhibit. Like many of Kiefer’s wall pieces, I wanted to stare at them from far away, then see them up close, then soak them in from a distance again. I have now visited the exhibit three times and each time I’ve discovered new things about the work. Not to be missed are Kiefer’s smaller paintings. Equally as powerful as the larger pieces, they made me want to cry. With textured and uneven brushstrokes and empathetic titles such as \u003cb>Everyone Stands Under his Own Dome of Heaven\u003c/b> and \u003cb>To the Unknown Painter\u003c/b>, they seemed to converse with my soul.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the end of the exhibit, there is a short documentary about the artist. In the video, Kiefer admits that he wanted to be a poet, which makes sense since most of his pieces incorporate lovely handwritten text reminiscent of my grandmother’s script. He creates his work alone, “the old-fashioned way,” with his own hands and only calls upon assistants to help him lift things. He talks about a desire to create spiritual art that uses no material, which is fascinating since he currently uses material in excess. Though his toolkit is far from traditional, it is carefully chosen to create artistic arrangements that evoke interpersonal connections and provide meaning and symbolic dichotomy. In viewing the video piece, you will also learn how many trucks it took to get the roof of a cathedral to Kiefer’s studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Anselm Kiefer, Heaven and Earth\u003c/b> runs through January 21, 2007 at theSan Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 151 Third Street in San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Kickin It with Joyce J. Scott",
"headTitle": "Kickin It with Joyce J. Scott | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>The Museum of Craft & Design is a lovely little space tucked neatly to the side of Union Square on Stockton Street. This month, as a perfect respite from obligatory holiday shopping, stop by and enjoy the opportunity to “kick it” with one of Baltimore’s most revered artists, Joyce J. Scott. It was my first visit to the Museum of Craft & Design, and I found the building to be just as special as the work it showcases. The interior design of the space features exposed brick — appropriately revealing the structure and craftsmanship of the building — a seemingly direct comment on the fact that it is a craft AND design museum, rather than an art museum.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott’s work is considered craft but follows the current trend in contemporary art where pieces reinterpret universal meaning. She’s a pioneer in this field since she’s been at it for more than thirty years, and her retrospective exhibit has the power to educate and enlighten viewers. Using intricate beadwork, weaving, glass, photographs, and assemblage techniques, she expresses her thoughts on stereotypes, violence, and societal injustices. Her work appears playful and has a dry sense of humor, but her subject matter is serious and is rarely discussed in such a poignant manner.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the first pieces I noticed was titled \u003cb>Cuddly Black Dick I\u003c/b>. Sitting on a small, sweetly crafted wire bench, a female figure made of a porcelain doll’s head and a sky blue beaded body posed with her arm around a large penis made of iridescent black beads. The piece was unexpectedly frank and actually quite adorable. I read a quote in the programming guide that accompanies the exhibit where Scott points out that the phallus in a similar piece, \u003cb>Cuddly Black Dick III\u003c/b>, represents the woman’s husband or lover, “but when people who dislike this, or have one narrow view of what blacks are, see her, they see her with just a dick.” So, I’ll admit that at first I only saw a dick, but after reading further into the artist’s intentions, I had a new perspective and found myself reassessing my own notions of stereotypes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott works with beads in a way that is very sculptural and sometimes painterly. The number of icons she recreates through beadwork is astounding: playing cards made of beads, scripted beads, beaded human figures, and one of her specialties — necklaces that incorporate photographs, beaded images, and Native American, Mexican, and African traditions. Another quote from the programming guide illustrates why Scott is an artist who’d be more than fun to kick it with — “I make jewelry to be worn. And if it tells about scary, icky subjects, then so much the better for the person who has the cojones to wear it in public.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s impossible to pigeonhole Scott as an artist because she uses an array of media and presentation styles. She studied arts education and fine arts in Maryland and Mexico and is a storyteller in the true sense of the word. In the back of the museum, you will find a screen playing a two-minute excerpt from her performance piece, \u003cb>Genetic Interference: Genetic Engineering\u003c/b>, in which Scott dons one of her creations — a headdress made of baby-dolls, a shirt with a skull on it, and crazy glasses — and does a spoken word performance to give a better understanding of the messages conveyed in her artwork.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the center gallery space, I stood dumbfounded and tried not to drool as I stared at an extraordinary wall hanging that incorporated weaving, quilting, and the richly colored extra-chunky yarn that I’m absolutely enamored with. I wanted to wrap myself up in the piece and roll around, then maybe ogle every inch of it carefully with a magnifying glass. It sounds insane, but anyone who has studied weaving will understand how I felt and recognize the incomparable level of skill and imagination involved in creating such a piece.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the performances, sculptures, weavings, and wearable art pieces aren’t enough, Scott is also an outstanding printmaker, and a few of the lithographs from her \u003cb>Soul Erased\u003c/b> series are on display. The lithographs incorporate screen-printing and embossing to give them a multi-dimensional feeling. Most of the works in the series feature skeleton’s bodies with heads of flesh. One image was of a small child backed by wings made of guns — just one of Scott’s works that comments on youth violence. I sensed that Scott takes great care with her work, and all her pieces are carried out beautifully while they not so subtly remind the viewer of everything that is wrong with society. In the programming guide, she discusses being worried about youth desensitization with violence and says that she feels “a responsibility living in a land where this is happening” and her artwork conveys her active and thoughtful comments on violence, among other issues.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I read that Scott aims to “incite people to look and then carry something home — even if it’s subliminal, that might make them change.” Before I left the museum, I witnessed a direct connection between the artist’s intentions and a viewer’s experience, when I read a handwritten message on a hot pink post-it note on the museum’s comment wall that said “You have transformed a past world of darkness and pain into something more meaningful and bright.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Kickin’ it with Joyce J. Scott\u003c/b> runs through January 7, 2007 at the Museum of Craft and Design, 550 Stockton Street in San Francisco. Additional jewelry creations by Joyce J. Scott are on display at \u003ca href=\"http://www.velvetdavinci.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Velvet Da Vinci\u003c/a> on Polk Street through December 31, 2006.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "The Museum of Craft & Design is a lovely little space tucked neatly to the side of Union Square on Stockton Street. This month, as a perfect respite from obligatory holiday shopping, stop by and enjoy the opportunity to \"kick it\" with one of Baltimore's most revered artists, Joyce J. Scott. It was my first visit to the Museum of Craft & Design, and I found the building to be just as special as the work it showcases. The interior design of the space features exposed brick -- appropriately revealing the structure and craftsmanship of the building -- a seemingly direct comment on the fact that it is a craft AND design museum, rather than an art museum.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The Museum of Craft & Design is a lovely little space tucked neatly to the side of Union Square on Stockton Street. This month, as a perfect respite from obligatory holiday shopping, stop by and enjoy the opportunity to “kick it” with one of Baltimore’s most revered artists, Joyce J. Scott. It was my first visit to the Museum of Craft & Design, and I found the building to be just as special as the work it showcases. The interior design of the space features exposed brick — appropriately revealing the structure and craftsmanship of the building — a seemingly direct comment on the fact that it is a craft AND design museum, rather than an art museum.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott’s work is considered craft but follows the current trend in contemporary art where pieces reinterpret universal meaning. She’s a pioneer in this field since she’s been at it for more than thirty years, and her retrospective exhibit has the power to educate and enlighten viewers. Using intricate beadwork, weaving, glass, photographs, and assemblage techniques, she expresses her thoughts on stereotypes, violence, and societal injustices. Her work appears playful and has a dry sense of humor, but her subject matter is serious and is rarely discussed in such a poignant manner.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One of the first pieces I noticed was titled \u003cb>Cuddly Black Dick I\u003c/b>. Sitting on a small, sweetly crafted wire bench, a female figure made of a porcelain doll’s head and a sky blue beaded body posed with her arm around a large penis made of iridescent black beads. The piece was unexpectedly frank and actually quite adorable. I read a quote in the programming guide that accompanies the exhibit where Scott points out that the phallus in a similar piece, \u003cb>Cuddly Black Dick III\u003c/b>, represents the woman’s husband or lover, “but when people who dislike this, or have one narrow view of what blacks are, see her, they see her with just a dick.” So, I’ll admit that at first I only saw a dick, but after reading further into the artist’s intentions, I had a new perspective and found myself reassessing my own notions of stereotypes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Scott works with beads in a way that is very sculptural and sometimes painterly. The number of icons she recreates through beadwork is astounding: playing cards made of beads, scripted beads, beaded human figures, and one of her specialties — necklaces that incorporate photographs, beaded images, and Native American, Mexican, and African traditions. Another quote from the programming guide illustrates why Scott is an artist who’d be more than fun to kick it with — “I make jewelry to be worn. And if it tells about scary, icky subjects, then so much the better for the person who has the cojones to wear it in public.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s impossible to pigeonhole Scott as an artist because she uses an array of media and presentation styles. She studied arts education and fine arts in Maryland and Mexico and is a storyteller in the true sense of the word. In the back of the museum, you will find a screen playing a two-minute excerpt from her performance piece, \u003cb>Genetic Interference: Genetic Engineering\u003c/b>, in which Scott dons one of her creations — a headdress made of baby-dolls, a shirt with a skull on it, and crazy glasses — and does a spoken word performance to give a better understanding of the messages conveyed in her artwork.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the center gallery space, I stood dumbfounded and tried not to drool as I stared at an extraordinary wall hanging that incorporated weaving, quilting, and the richly colored extra-chunky yarn that I’m absolutely enamored with. I wanted to wrap myself up in the piece and roll around, then maybe ogle every inch of it carefully with a magnifying glass. It sounds insane, but anyone who has studied weaving will understand how I felt and recognize the incomparable level of skill and imagination involved in creating such a piece.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the performances, sculptures, weavings, and wearable art pieces aren’t enough, Scott is also an outstanding printmaker, and a few of the lithographs from her \u003cb>Soul Erased\u003c/b> series are on display. The lithographs incorporate screen-printing and embossing to give them a multi-dimensional feeling. Most of the works in the series feature skeleton’s bodies with heads of flesh. One image was of a small child backed by wings made of guns — just one of Scott’s works that comments on youth violence. I sensed that Scott takes great care with her work, and all her pieces are carried out beautifully while they not so subtly remind the viewer of everything that is wrong with society. In the programming guide, she discusses being worried about youth desensitization with violence and says that she feels “a responsibility living in a land where this is happening” and her artwork conveys her active and thoughtful comments on violence, among other issues.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I read that Scott aims to “incite people to look and then carry something home — even if it’s subliminal, that might make them change.” Before I left the museum, I witnessed a direct connection between the artist’s intentions and a viewer’s experience, when I read a handwritten message on a hot pink post-it note on the museum’s comment wall that said “You have transformed a past world of darkness and pain into something more meaningful and bright.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Kickin’ it with Joyce J. Scott\u003c/b> runs through January 7, 2007 at the Museum of Craft and Design, 550 Stockton Street in San Francisco. Additional jewelry creations by Joyce J. Scott are on display at \u003ca href=\"http://www.velvetdavinci.com\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Velvet Da Vinci\u003c/a> on Polk Street through December 31, 2006.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Dancing rivers, a field of mustard flowers, a love letter, and a coral reef are some of the lustrous images gracing the walls of Micaëla Gallery this month. Produced on stainless steel canvases coated with synthetic resin and pigment, Christo Braun’s provocative and avant-garde works of art are labeled as paintings, which can be misleading — they are actually comprised of a unique mixed-media combination that does not include typical painting media. Inspired by nature in all its forms and the emotional imagery nature often displays, Braun’s work neatly balances on the line between abstract and representational art, and invokes an extended gaze.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since the 2005 exhibition of his \u003cb>Open Water\u003c/b> series, Braun’s work has become more emotionally charged. His muse is his late wife, Deborah Gibbon, a dear friend and mentor of mine and the dynamic originator of the educational platform for KQED’s Spark program. She was also an accomplished artist, and the two supported one another wholeheartedly. In dealing with the recent loss of his beloved and inspirational partner, Braun told me that putting together his new exhibit was the second hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. When one is familiar with the conditions under which he created his new series, the dimensions of Braun’s work become more powerful — both visually and viscerally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His work provides a reflective viewing experience inherent in using both stainless steel and mirrored tiles as the backgrounds for his paintings. Surrounding light sources and viewers’ images and movements are reflected in the specialized canvases, fulfilling the ever-present desire of artists to draw the audience and the environment into the work. The mirroring effect adds a feeling of energy that is equally as important as the actual images.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When an artist’s body of work is as solidified as Braun’s, a viewer might assume that the artist has found his niche after years of perfecting a particular style. Though Braun has built a career through his resin paintings, which have been collected internationally, he has also been successful in many other avenues — as a carpenter, sculptor, designer, photographer, and writer. Also impressive to note is the technique and skill required to work with synthetic resin, a moody medium that behaves erratically, with a setting process heavily dependent on specific weather conditions and a precise chemical balance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Braun’s controlled yet impassioned hand is obvious in his work. His paintings are abstract, but can seem impossibly close to a glorified representation of their natural subjects. The river paintings seem in constant flux, and the Coral Reef image appears to wave back and forth with the tides. Made up of deep sapphire blues and purples with swelling white waves, \u003cb>Seachange\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Riverflow\u003c/b> maintain an unmatched depth and sensation of velocity, while the exhibit’s anchor work, \u003cb>Riverdance\u003c/b>, gives the appearance of an underwater perspective. Several of the pieces in Braun’s 2005 exhibit had a more uniform turquoise-based color palette reflective of open expanses of water, but his 2006 series explores the lushly broad range of all of nature’s hues. The surface treatment has a gem-like quality and the colors are intensely sensuous and glossy, bringing to mind a variety of comparisons such as molten lava, melting candy, and bright lights reflected on wet pavement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Braun’s work can be compared to certain impressionist and abstract expressionist painters, but his successful manipulation of fluctuating media sets him apart from other artists. With a remarkable use of color that is intensely rich, many of the pieces draw upon the tones of the bluest tropical oceans and the brightest oranges and reds of an impetuous flame. It is challenging to reproduce the piercing colors found only in nature, and he meets that challenge through his use of materials and his keen eye for harmonizing color.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibit also provides evidence that art has the power to be therapeutic for both the artist and viewer. Through the nightmare of a sudden and horrifying loss, Braun directed his artistic talent to channel his grief and produced beautifully rendered images from which emanate the true nature and spirit of life.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The \u003cb>Christo Braun\u003c/b> exhibition runs through December 1, 2006 at the Micaëla Gallery.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Dancing rivers, a field of mustard flowers, a love letter, and a coral reef are some of the lustrous images gracing the walls of Micaëla Gallery this month. Produced on stainless steel canvases coated with synthetic resin and pigment, Christo Braun’s provocative and avant-garde works of art are labeled as paintings, which can be misleading — they are actually comprised of a unique mixed-media combination that does not include typical painting media. Inspired by nature in all its forms and the emotional imagery nature often displays, Braun’s work neatly balances on the line between abstract and representational art, and invokes an extended gaze.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Since the 2005 exhibition of his \u003cb>Open Water\u003c/b> series, Braun’s work has become more emotionally charged. His muse is his late wife, Deborah Gibbon, a dear friend and mentor of mine and the dynamic originator of the educational platform for KQED’s Spark program. She was also an accomplished artist, and the two supported one another wholeheartedly. In dealing with the recent loss of his beloved and inspirational partner, Braun told me that putting together his new exhibit was the second hardest thing he’d ever done in his life. When one is familiar with the conditions under which he created his new series, the dimensions of Braun’s work become more powerful — both visually and viscerally.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>His work provides a reflective viewing experience inherent in using both stainless steel and mirrored tiles as the backgrounds for his paintings. Surrounding light sources and viewers’ images and movements are reflected in the specialized canvases, fulfilling the ever-present desire of artists to draw the audience and the environment into the work. The mirroring effect adds a feeling of energy that is equally as important as the actual images.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When an artist’s body of work is as solidified as Braun’s, a viewer might assume that the artist has found his niche after years of perfecting a particular style. Though Braun has built a career through his resin paintings, which have been collected internationally, he has also been successful in many other avenues — as a carpenter, sculptor, designer, photographer, and writer. Also impressive to note is the technique and skill required to work with synthetic resin, a moody medium that behaves erratically, with a setting process heavily dependent on specific weather conditions and a precise chemical balance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Braun’s controlled yet impassioned hand is obvious in his work. His paintings are abstract, but can seem impossibly close to a glorified representation of their natural subjects. The river paintings seem in constant flux, and the Coral Reef image appears to wave back and forth with the tides. Made up of deep sapphire blues and purples with swelling white waves, \u003cb>Seachange\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Riverflow\u003c/b> maintain an unmatched depth and sensation of velocity, while the exhibit’s anchor work, \u003cb>Riverdance\u003c/b>, gives the appearance of an underwater perspective. Several of the pieces in Braun’s 2005 exhibit had a more uniform turquoise-based color palette reflective of open expanses of water, but his 2006 series explores the lushly broad range of all of nature’s hues. The surface treatment has a gem-like quality and the colors are intensely sensuous and glossy, bringing to mind a variety of comparisons such as molten lava, melting candy, and bright lights reflected on wet pavement.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Hamlet: Blood in the Brain",
"headTitle": "Hamlet: Blood in the Brain | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>There comes a point in Naomi Iizuka’s adaptation \u003cb>Hamlet: Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> when the Hamlet character, H, is out at a club, watching as his friends pass the mic and freestyle lighthearted rhymes about their lives. At this point, H is well steeped in his descent into madness; no longer able to even feign the lightest of conversations with the former allies he now believes to be plotting his death. The scene is a welcome break in tension — full of energy, dancing, and characters we’ve watched struggle with big issues of loyalty and ambition just cutting loose. Then H grabs the mic, and all hell breaks loose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play, written by Ms. Iizuka and directed by Jonathan Moscone, is the result of daring new collaborations in both concept and creation. \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> relocates \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b> to 1980’s Oakland -— in the thick of a culture of violence, drug dealing, and bloody power grabs. Hip hop culture provides additional context for the production, as characters beatbox, dance, and deliver lines against the backdrop of looped beats. Local theater companies, Intersection for the Arts, its resident group Campo Santo, and California Shakespeare Theater worked together on the project, with public forums, writing workshops, and input from students at the University of California at Santa Barbara’s Summer Theatre Lab helping to push the language of the adaptation towards a believable vernacular.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yet despite all the theory, a play is only as good as the actors who perform the vision, and I can’t imagine \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> carried by a better cast. Sean San José is intense and committed as H, opening up the character’s claustrophobic monomania with earnestness and a ton of heart. Ryan Peters captivates as O (Ophelia), Ricky Marshall somehow manages to make The Ghost of H’s Father both likable and menacing, and Tommy Shepard is sweetly sincere through L’s (Laertes) tough dilemmas. Margo Hall commands scenes as the beguiling G (Gertrude), writhing through the drama in a slinky dress, heels, and smoke-trailing cigarette, at turns comforting her tortured son and driving her lusty husband in a desperate attempt to find and protect the status quo. Hall wraps her considerable talents like a shroud around the fragile G, always keeping her true motivations concealed in a flashy dancing, joke cracking or church-going exterior.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With a total of only six actors, channeling \u003cb>Hamlet’s\u003c/b> iconic characters relies on nuance (and costume changes) and the parsing of Elsinore down to only a few key players. Gone are Polonius, Horatio, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern, along with all minor characters beyond a chorus. Each actor rotated through an array of talents -— acting, singing, rapping and dancing at various times throughout the production, though this chameleon act never dissolves the mood built up around each part.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the end, the effect of a smaller cast both exaggerates and diminishes the tragedy of \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b>. In such sharp dramatic focus, each character becomes an almost larger-than-life instigator of the impending doom. While this does help us empathize with H’s otherwise polarizing desire to, you know, kill people, it lessens the chaotic haze of something rotten in Denmark by creating uncomplicated villains. For instance, the Claudius character, C, played flawlessly by Donald E. Lacy Jr., seemed almost distractingly creepy—cocky and unapologetically ruthless even down to his slimy physical movements. It was almost too easy to hate this bright orange tracksuit-wearing, gold chain-dripping interloper, leaving H’s urge to seek revenge less of a hideous burden than some rather unpleasant business we unapologetically wait to unfold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although playwright Naomi Iizuka has said she doesn’t see \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> as a traditional adaptation so much as a “conversation” with the text, comparison is inevitable. Despite all its earnest innovation, the current production ended up feeling somewhat one-note, although it was a dazzling note, to be sure. The Shakespearean hallmark of pithy and elegant language is replaced by a more unfocused, nearly stream of consciousness style. Iizuka’s characters suss out their situations in a kind of scattershot rush of fragments and isolated imagery and serial questions -— a style reminiscent of slam poetry. Not surprisingly, more turns out to be less with the language, and clear, memorable lines are sacrificed for chaotic impressions of action.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Spoiler alert for anyone who slept though Freshman English, but Shakespeare’s final bloodbath does make it through to \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b>. While this ending maintains the original’s sense of waste and pervasive doom, what was lost was the subtlety of the tragedy — the gripping sense that Hamlet is a victim of not just his chaotic environment, but his personal fate. Chalking all the violence up to the culture of Oakland and drugs is interesting as a social comment, but the tragedy flowing from inherent flaws in humanity is more intriguing dramatically, at least from my flawed, human perspective.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But the beauty of an adaptation is that acknowledgement of the source material is only one way to approach a piece. Anyone not interested in the Shakespeare can see \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> as its own tale of how the culture of violence and drugs in 1980’s Oakland tore one family apart and appreciate all the play has to say about the city and its cultural legacy. After using his freestyle to accuse and alienate all of his friends and family, H finds himself outside a club with G, sitting in her car listening to the radio as she smokes a cigarette. She waxes poetic about the good old days -— the clothes, the 45’s -— and H patiently listens. Both characters share a moment where they seem to acknowledge that something has gone terribly, irrevocably awry in their lives, but that this moment, listening to music and talking together, is the reason that they’ll keep trying to make it right.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Hamlet: blood in the Brain\u003c/b> runs through December 3 at The Intersection for the Arts in San Francisco. \u003ca href=\"http://www.theintersection.org/calendar/program_theatre.php\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Get Tickets and information\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There comes a point in Naomi Iizuka’s adaptation \u003cb>Hamlet: Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> when the Hamlet character, H, is out at a club, watching as his friends pass the mic and freestyle lighthearted rhymes about their lives. At this point, H is well steeped in his descent into madness; no longer able to even feign the lightest of conversations with the former allies he now believes to be plotting his death. The scene is a welcome break in tension — full of energy, dancing, and characters we’ve watched struggle with big issues of loyalty and ambition just cutting loose. Then H grabs the mic, and all hell breaks loose.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The play, written by Ms. Iizuka and directed by Jonathan Moscone, is the result of daring new collaborations in both concept and creation. \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> relocates \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b> to 1980’s Oakland -— in the thick of a culture of violence, drug dealing, and bloody power grabs. Hip hop culture provides additional context for the production, as characters beatbox, dance, and deliver lines against the backdrop of looped beats. Local theater companies, Intersection for the Arts, its resident group Campo Santo, and California Shakespeare Theater worked together on the project, with public forums, writing workshops, and input from students at the University of California at Santa Barbara’s Summer Theatre Lab helping to push the language of the adaptation towards a believable vernacular.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Yet despite all the theory, a play is only as good as the actors who perform the vision, and I can’t imagine \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> carried by a better cast. Sean San José is intense and committed as H, opening up the character’s claustrophobic monomania with earnestness and a ton of heart. Ryan Peters captivates as O (Ophelia), Ricky Marshall somehow manages to make The Ghost of H’s Father both likable and menacing, and Tommy Shepard is sweetly sincere through L’s (Laertes) tough dilemmas. Margo Hall commands scenes as the beguiling G (Gertrude), writhing through the drama in a slinky dress, heels, and smoke-trailing cigarette, at turns comforting her tortured son and driving her lusty husband in a desperate attempt to find and protect the status quo. Hall wraps her considerable talents like a shroud around the fragile G, always keeping her true motivations concealed in a flashy dancing, joke cracking or church-going exterior.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With a total of only six actors, channeling \u003cb>Hamlet’s\u003c/b> iconic characters relies on nuance (and costume changes) and the parsing of Elsinore down to only a few key players. Gone are Polonius, Horatio, Rosencrantz, and Guildenstern, along with all minor characters beyond a chorus. Each actor rotated through an array of talents -— acting, singing, rapping and dancing at various times throughout the production, though this chameleon act never dissolves the mood built up around each part.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the end, the effect of a smaller cast both exaggerates and diminishes the tragedy of \u003cb>Hamlet\u003c/b>. In such sharp dramatic focus, each character becomes an almost larger-than-life instigator of the impending doom. While this does help us empathize with H’s otherwise polarizing desire to, you know, kill people, it lessens the chaotic haze of something rotten in Denmark by creating uncomplicated villains. For instance, the Claudius character, C, played flawlessly by Donald E. Lacy Jr., seemed almost distractingly creepy—cocky and unapologetically ruthless even down to his slimy physical movements. It was almost too easy to hate this bright orange tracksuit-wearing, gold chain-dripping interloper, leaving H’s urge to seek revenge less of a hideous burden than some rather unpleasant business we unapologetically wait to unfold.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although playwright Naomi Iizuka has said she doesn’t see \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> as a traditional adaptation so much as a “conversation” with the text, comparison is inevitable. Despite all its earnest innovation, the current production ended up feeling somewhat one-note, although it was a dazzling note, to be sure. The Shakespearean hallmark of pithy and elegant language is replaced by a more unfocused, nearly stream of consciousness style. Iizuka’s characters suss out their situations in a kind of scattershot rush of fragments and isolated imagery and serial questions -— a style reminiscent of slam poetry. Not surprisingly, more turns out to be less with the language, and clear, memorable lines are sacrificed for chaotic impressions of action.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Spoiler alert for anyone who slept though Freshman English, but Shakespeare’s final bloodbath does make it through to \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b>. While this ending maintains the original’s sense of waste and pervasive doom, what was lost was the subtlety of the tragedy — the gripping sense that Hamlet is a victim of not just his chaotic environment, but his personal fate. Chalking all the violence up to the culture of Oakland and drugs is interesting as a social comment, but the tragedy flowing from inherent flaws in humanity is more intriguing dramatically, at least from my flawed, human perspective.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But the beauty of an adaptation is that acknowledgement of the source material is only one way to approach a piece. Anyone not interested in the Shakespeare can see \u003cb>Blood in the Brain\u003c/b> as its own tale of how the culture of violence and drugs in 1980’s Oakland tore one family apart and appreciate all the play has to say about the city and its cultural legacy. After using his freestyle to accuse and alienate all of his friends and family, H finds himself outside a club with G, sitting in her car listening to the radio as she smokes a cigarette. She waxes poetic about the good old days -— the clothes, the 45’s -— and H patiently listens. Both characters share a moment where they seem to acknowledge that something has gone terribly, irrevocably awry in their lives, but that this moment, listening to music and talking together, is the reason that they’ll keep trying to make it right.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Hamlet: blood in the Brain\u003c/b> runs through December 3 at The Intersection for the Arts in San Francisco. \u003ca href=\"http://www.theintersection.org/calendar/program_theatre.php\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Get Tickets and information\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Like the insidious vine marking doom in Scott Smith’s novel \u003cb>The Ruins\u003c/b>, the Mission district has become overgrown with a similarly invasive species — the beard. What began among the freak folk kids as a harmless experiment has, in the past year, become an undiscriminating plague of seconday sex characteristics attacking every strain of the area’s formerly fresh faced hipster boys.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A mid-length growth clings to the jaws of bike messengers, scraping against and weakening the straps of Timbuk2 bags citywide. DJs, once renowned for elite Euro-grooming, are now sprouting artful seven day scribbles. In addition to the folk community, the metal populace has been hit the worst — coarse, grey-flecked growths have been reported reaching nearly chest-level proportions in some cases.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These are hairy times, friends, when even Justin Timberlake has gone beyond the fuzz and into the bush.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Could it be that the beard is the hipster death knell? In the way that hippie gave way to punk, is the beard a shaggy indicator that something is dying, that a cycle is nearing completion? Is Devendra Banhart both our Patient Zero and our Father Time?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Perhaps we must take the beard as a warning that the time has come to accept the twilight descending around us and make way for something bright and fresh waiting to be born on the horizon. Better we accept it now before it’s too late.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To the clean-shaven future!\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>Human blood, water color, gold leaf, coffee, wax, and graphite — what do these things have in common? They are all materials used in artworks viewed at October’s Art Murmur. Many of San Francisco’s art openings are slated for the first Thursday of the month and, following suit, several emerging Oakland art galleries have established the first Friday of the month for their gallery openings. Unlike San Francisco, where stylish hipsters wander around galleries schmoozing and drinking wine, Oakland’s streets are riddled with art students drinking malt liquor disguised in paper bags, dropping loose change in the accordion cases of street corner troubadours placidly serenading gallery crawlers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our first stop was Buzz gallery, which adjoins the popular Mama Buzz café on Telegraph Avenue. The walls of the gallery were painted with a pink, circle-heavy design, and artist Zefrey Throwell’s drawings hung unframed on the painted walls with a similar pinkish color scheme. Illustrated quite beautifully, one would not necessarily notice the dark brown lines in the drawings were blood until reading the tags listing materials used, which also contained the paragraph-long titles of the drawings. Many contained images of pelicans, animals, and human figures. The title card on a drawing featuring the recurring pelican backed by a golden moon read “So elegant, yet one must never forget that the pelican of Baffin island is carnivorous at heart and won’t spare you, no matter how sincere your prayer.” After some research, I’ve learned that Throwell has written a mythical narrative about a mind-controlling pelican, and the drawings are illustrations of his capricious tall tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As we rounded the corner to the next gallery, I noticed an impromptu exhibit of text-laden art pieces on 5″ x 7″ cards taped to the outside wall of the building. Some cards had drawings, some had gum stuck to them, and some had sayings such as “God, vegans taste good on the grill,” and “Make out, not art”. An incense-burning hippy sat on the sidewalk nearby the card display selling handmade purses, and a bus outfitted as a gallery sat waiting for us up the street. The bus gallery had a sign outside stating its mission: “Institutionalizing Institutional Critique since 2006.” Though I wasn’t bowled over by the presentation of the artwork on the walls of the bus — lit by flashlights tied to the ceiling with scarves — I appreciated the alternative art-viewing experience and the guy in the back of the bus who played an electric guitar while singing an improvised song about it being a lovely Friday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next stop: Ego Park gallery, showcasing large-scale fish-eye photographs of young Arab citizens. Each photo was equipped with a small MP3 player and two sets of headphones playing audio of the person in the photo discussing cultural issues.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We moved on to the cavernous Esteban Sabar gallery, and I had my doubts when I saw that the first room was populated with puff-paint cityscapes by Sue Averell, titled as numbered “Unstill Life” pieces. However, as I traveled further into the endless rooms, I was impressed by a number of the other artist’s works. Liz Amini-Holmes’ unmistakably Chagall-inspired acrylic paintings, Douglas Light’s “Psyche Series” of abstract oil paintings, and especially Patricia Gillespie’s mixed media works with colorful figures of women pushing shopping carts and ironing that were vibrantly painted, cut out of a hard material, and mounted on quilted canvases.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our last stop was the Rock Paper Scissors Collective where artists looked down upon us from a loft loaded with faux fur rugs, a giant pixilated photo of Jerry Springer, and a television playing “The Neverending Story.” There were socially active baby clothes for sale among other lefty gear, and a participatory altar where one could donate a dollar and choose a cigarette lighter out of a basket attached to the altar. I noticed a note next to the altar instructing us to choose a lighter intuitively and the note proclaimed that the mantra printed on the lighter we chose was meant for us. It also said that once we picked up the lighter, we were committed to convening on 23rd and Telegraph at 9:30pm to chant our mantra. The lighter I selected was decorated with the words “to know” which I interpreted for myself as “to know when it’s time to call it a night,” so I returned the lighter to the basket and headed for the train.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though I love the glitz and glamour of openings at San Francisco art galleries, Art Murmur boasts artwork in its rawest and most approachable form. The date’s the same each month and it’s a quick trip on BART. Don’t forget to pick up a paper bag for your necessary libations, and, if you really want to fit in, wear a fake moustache (not kidding).\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Human blood, water color, gold leaf, coffee, wax, and graphite — what do these things have in common? They are all materials used in artworks viewed at October’s Art Murmur. Many of San Francisco’s art openings are slated for the first Thursday of the month and, following suit, several emerging Oakland art galleries have established the first Friday of the month for their gallery openings. Unlike San Francisco, where stylish hipsters wander around galleries schmoozing and drinking wine, Oakland’s streets are riddled with art students drinking malt liquor disguised in paper bags, dropping loose change in the accordion cases of street corner troubadours placidly serenading gallery crawlers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our first stop was Buzz gallery, which adjoins the popular Mama Buzz café on Telegraph Avenue. The walls of the gallery were painted with a pink, circle-heavy design, and artist Zefrey Throwell’s drawings hung unframed on the painted walls with a similar pinkish color scheme. Illustrated quite beautifully, one would not necessarily notice the dark brown lines in the drawings were blood until reading the tags listing materials used, which also contained the paragraph-long titles of the drawings. Many contained images of pelicans, animals, and human figures. The title card on a drawing featuring the recurring pelican backed by a golden moon read “So elegant, yet one must never forget that the pelican of Baffin island is carnivorous at heart and won’t spare you, no matter how sincere your prayer.” After some research, I’ve learned that Throwell has written a mythical narrative about a mind-controlling pelican, and the drawings are illustrations of his capricious tall tale.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As we rounded the corner to the next gallery, I noticed an impromptu exhibit of text-laden art pieces on 5″ x 7″ cards taped to the outside wall of the building. Some cards had drawings, some had gum stuck to them, and some had sayings such as “God, vegans taste good on the grill,” and “Make out, not art”. An incense-burning hippy sat on the sidewalk nearby the card display selling handmade purses, and a bus outfitted as a gallery sat waiting for us up the street. The bus gallery had a sign outside stating its mission: “Institutionalizing Institutional Critique since 2006.” Though I wasn’t bowled over by the presentation of the artwork on the walls of the bus — lit by flashlights tied to the ceiling with scarves — I appreciated the alternative art-viewing experience and the guy in the back of the bus who played an electric guitar while singing an improvised song about it being a lovely Friday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Next stop: Ego Park gallery, showcasing large-scale fish-eye photographs of young Arab citizens. Each photo was equipped with a small MP3 player and two sets of headphones playing audio of the person in the photo discussing cultural issues.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We moved on to the cavernous Esteban Sabar gallery, and I had my doubts when I saw that the first room was populated with puff-paint cityscapes by Sue Averell, titled as numbered “Unstill Life” pieces. However, as I traveled further into the endless rooms, I was impressed by a number of the other artist’s works. Liz Amini-Holmes’ unmistakably Chagall-inspired acrylic paintings, Douglas Light’s “Psyche Series” of abstract oil paintings, and especially Patricia Gillespie’s mixed media works with colorful figures of women pushing shopping carts and ironing that were vibrantly painted, cut out of a hard material, and mounted on quilted canvases.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Our last stop was the Rock Paper Scissors Collective where artists looked down upon us from a loft loaded with faux fur rugs, a giant pixilated photo of Jerry Springer, and a television playing “The Neverending Story.” There were socially active baby clothes for sale among other lefty gear, and a participatory altar where one could donate a dollar and choose a cigarette lighter out of a basket attached to the altar. I noticed a note next to the altar instructing us to choose a lighter intuitively and the note proclaimed that the mantra printed on the lighter we chose was meant for us. It also said that once we picked up the lighter, we were committed to convening on 23rd and Telegraph at 9:30pm to chant our mantra. The lighter I selected was decorated with the words “to know” which I interpreted for myself as “to know when it’s time to call it a night,” so I returned the lighter to the basket and headed for the train.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Though I love the glitz and glamour of openings at San Francisco art galleries, Art Murmur boasts artwork in its rawest and most approachable form. The date’s the same each month and it’s a quick trip on BART. Don’t forget to pick up a paper bag for your necessary libations, and, if you really want to fit in, wear a fake moustache (not kidding).\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>What drew me to Dustin Fosnot’s exhibit was mention of a rotating mechanical shark. You can’t go wrong with mechanized sea creatures, and Fosnot’s show was hardly disappointing. Though the shark was not what I expected, it was a fine example of art that does not take itself too seriously. Set atop a rectangle of Astroturf and installed lovingly inside a retro Coleman cooler full of mystical dry ice, a blue rubber toy shark –looking antique and well-loved by its owner — repeatedly dove in and out of the small foggy sea as a tiny seagull perched on the side of the cooler and watched. To be accurate, I should say that the shark was actually a dolphin with sharp teeth, and a vaporizer was used to create the dry ice effect, but who’s keeping track?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>With an unwavering attention to detail, Fosnot also created an entire table full of miniature pieces out of metal, plastic, wood, and paint. Hundreds of teeny-tiny sculptures populated the sawhorse-supported plywood table including exacting replicas of garbage cans, shopping carts, a bookshelf of miniscule file folders, a shower, trampolines, a couple of chopping blocks, a barbeque grill, and even a tiny woodshop table holding an even tinier circular saw. I watched a little girl point to all the items she recognized and enjoyed noticing that Fosnot had created a kid-friendly show. The only distracting part of the installation of miniatures was the fact that each little piece had a big colored dot sticker next to it indicating its price, ranging from $100 to $500 dollars. For one Benjamin, you could be the proud owner of a plastic grocery bag sized perfectly for Barbie. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What I love about Steven Wolf Fine Arts is the gallery owner’s willingness to showcase quality work that isn’t overly earnest. The gallery also happens to be the site of one of my favorite art-viewing experiences when I attended the opening of sculptor/painter Kaz Oshiro’s solo show. Oshiro had perfectly rendered everyday objects out of acrylic paint on canvas, including a large pink and white fast food trash can — the kind with the swinging door that says Thank You. I watched a clueless viewer pass by the sculpture and errantly place her empty wine glass on top of it. I’d like to give her credit by saying the sculpture really did look like a trash can, complete with some sticky stuff spilled on it, but, hello? When’s the last time there was a trash can in the middle of a gallery? The gallery assistant and I shared a wide-eyed look before she quickly removed the garbage from the garbage-inspired artwork. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pardon my digression — back to the artwork at hand. On your way into the gallery, be sure not to trip over a sea of painted blue garden gloves cradling a lonely freight ship. A larger freight ship sculpture is also on display, in addition to an homage to a key item in a sculpture student’s career — boxes of drywall joint compound. Though reminiscent of Andy Warhol’s work with the recognizable Brillo Box, I wasn’t exactly sure how the boxes fit in with the rest of the installations. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Be sure to look up, down, and all around because Fosnot included a couple of easily-missed tiny surprises in his show. In the adjoining gallery is Ryan Boyle’s exhibit entitled Architexturism that includes wall installations of colorful miniature oil-rig sculptures. Both exhibits were playful and inviting and I walked away with a better understanding of what it might be like to be a big friendly giant. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Dustin Fosnot: Roadside Attractions is at Steven Wolf Fine Arts through October 28, 2006.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cb>Hamburger Eyes\u003c/b> is a photo magazine and a collective of photographers and wise-guys that travel the world capturing images that could easily accompany the phrase “Check this out.” The flashing of a photo of your drunken friend in an Elvis wig, for example, might follow your version of that phrase. My version of that phrase would lead to me digging up a photo I have of my mom standing next to a sunglasses-wearing donkey and a Rastafarian.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Surprisingly, Hamburger Eyes’ version of something worth checking out is very similar to what yours or mine might be, no matter who we think we are. The photos range from raunchy to funny to cute to disturbing and are mostly shot in black and white. They are installed at Steven Wolf Fine Arts floor-to-ceiling in a continuous clump, as if someone took a huge stack of small and medium framed photographs and tossed them with centrifugal force at the wall until they stuck. Though crowded, the installation’s flow is very lyrical, as Hamburger Eyes’ main contributor has said. As your eyeballs ricochet from one picture to the next, your brain quickly processes the images and moves on. In a matter of nanoseconds, you might see photos of a car crash, a seaside house built to look like a whale, a group of seriously inebriated partygoers, a man in a banana suit, and a pile of newborn puppies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gallery shows are usually sparse and many exhibits have just a few pieces to look at. I’m beginning to prefer the style that Hamburger Eyes employs where the viewer is inundated with hundreds of images to try and make sense of. It’s the second recent installation I’ve seen literally crammed onto a gallery wall in a way that is visually stimulating and satisfying. Art mirrors life, and life is jam-packed with stuff, so it’s ironically comforting to see the same hysterically busy feeling that everyday life invokes displayed on a gallery wall.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The work of Ray Potes and his fellow San Francisco-based documentarians (his brother, David Potes, Uri Korn, Ted Pushinsky, and Stefan Simikich, among others) does not seem to focus on fancy printing and lighting techniques, nor does it seem to be concerned with high-concept composition. Their work is about the realities of life. Not staged reality, just plain old 35mm photographic reality snapped at just the right time, when you had to be there to really comprehend the situation. Lucky for us, these guys are absolutely dedicated to being there and showing us pictures of what we missed out on. This is not to say that all the scenes in Hamburger Eyes’ photos are unbelievable — many are ordinary, yet still captivating, especially in the installation format.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hamburger Eyes’ Web site is addictive and is updated weekly with photos, videos, hip San Francisco happenings, and information about “all kinds of more stuff if you aren’t sick of stuff yet,” as one of their recent postings states. And if their casual, grammar-less, too-cool-for-school writing gets you hooked, check out their cross-promoting pals at Fecal Face dot com — disgusting name, fantastic arts scene coverage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hamburger Eyes: \u003cb>The Odyssey is at Steven Wolf Fine Arts through September 30,2006. \u003c/b> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"info": "KQED’s new podcast, Bay Curious, gets to the bottom of the mysteries — both profound and peculiar — that give the Bay Area its unique identity. And we’ll do it with your help! You ask the questions. You decide what Bay Curious investigates. And you join us on the journey to find the answers.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Bay-Curious-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/news/series/baycurious",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 3
},
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}
},
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"id": "bbc-world-service",
"title": "BBC World Service",
"info": "The day's top stories from BBC News compiled twice daily in the week, once at weekends.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9pm-10pm, TUE-FRI 1am-2am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/BBC-World-Service-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/live:bbc_world_service",
"meta": {
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"source": "BBC World Service"
},
"link": "/radio/program/bbc-world-service",
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"rss": "https://podcasts.files.bbci.co.uk/p02nq0gn.rss"
}
},
"californiareport": {
"id": "californiareport",
"title": "The California Report",
"tagline": "California, day by day",
"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-California-Report-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareport",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 8
},
"link": "/californiareport",
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}
},
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"title": "The California Report Magazine",
"tagline": "Your state, your stories",
"info": "Every week, The California Report Magazine takes you on a road trip for the ears: to visit the places and meet the people who make California unique. The in-depth storytelling podcast from the California Report.",
"airtime": "FRI 4:30pm-5pm, 6:30pm-7pm, 11pm-11:30pm",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareportmagazine",
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"order": 10
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM3NjkwNjk1OTAz",
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},
"city-arts": {
"id": "city-arts",
"title": "City Arts & Lectures",
"info": "A one-hour radio program to hear celebrated writers, artists and thinkers address contemporary ideas and values, often discussing the creative process. Please note: tapes or transcripts are not available",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/cityartsandlecture-300x300.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.cityarts.net/",
"airtime": "SUN 1pm-2pm, TUE 10pm, WED 1am",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "City Arts & Lectures"
},
"link": "https://www.cityarts.net",
"subscribe": {
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/City-Arts-and-Lectures-p692/",
"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
"closealltabs": {
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"info": "Close All Tabs breaks down how digital culture shapes our world through thoughtful insights and irreverent humor.",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 1
},
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"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"meta": {
"site": "radio",
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},
"link": "/radio/program/code-switch-life-kit",
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},
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"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/commonwealth-club-of-california-podcast/id976334034?mt=2",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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},
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"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
"link": "/forum",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"freakonomics-radio": {
"id": "freakonomics-radio",
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"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/freakonomics-radio/id354668519",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
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},
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"id": "fresh-air",
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"link": "/radio/program/fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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},
"hidden-brain": {
"id": "hidden-brain",
"title": "Hidden Brain",
"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
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"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/howIBuiltThis.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510313/how-i-built-this",
"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
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"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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},
"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
"link": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
}
},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
"subscribe": {
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/464615685/mind-shift-podcast",
"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
"spotify": "https://open.spotify.com/show/0MxSpNYZKNprFLCl7eEtyx"
}
},
"morning-edition": {
"id": "morning-edition",
"title": "Morning Edition",
"info": "\u003cem>Morning Edition\u003c/em> takes listeners around the country and the world with multi-faceted stories and commentaries every weekday. Hosts Steve Inskeep, David Greene and Rachel Martin bring you the latest breaking news and features to prepare you for the day.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3am-9am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Morning-Edition-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"link": "/radio/program/morning-edition"
},
"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
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