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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": "\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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"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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"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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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\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\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"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": "\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": "\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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"content": "\u003cp>“Look at the earrings on that giraffe” is not a phrase one often overhears at an art opening, and the fact that I heard it uttered at David Hevel’s new exhibit, \u003cb>Fierce\u003c/b>, was only one of the many reasons why the show was “off the chain,” as the kids are saying these days. Where, oh where, do I begin? I entered the packed gallery to hear Justin Timberlake rocking everyone’s body over the speakers and stopped dead in my tracks to gawk at a seven-foot-tall sculpture of a realistic life-sized tiger rearing up on its hind legs in a giant pot of cascading faux flora and huge glittery gold butterflies. For a moment, it was like nobody else was in the room — just Beyoncé’s animal likeness and me. Fantastically overwhelming, forcibly glee inducing, and straight up hilarious, the tiger was mesmerizing. The pedestal-like flowerpot overflowed with giant gardenias, birds of paradise, and greenery so lush I didn’t even notice the gaudy fakeness of it all. 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I nodded as if I knew all about reconstructive surgery for farm animals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also draped in jewels and radiating sparkly golden butterflies, Mariah gazed across the gallery at a tiny gold-leafed deer called \u003cb>Little Lord Suri\u003c/b>, representing the incredibly hyped, already super-famous child of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I told Hevel the Suri piece was extremely timely since her photos had been released by Vanity Fair the previous day — Hevel admitted he wished he’d brought a tiny black wig to add to the baby deer so she’d look more like Hollywood’s newest “It” Girl.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gallery also displays pigment prints of Hevel’s other celebrity baby sculptures, including a stunning example called \u003cb>Big Anna (Baby Nicole)\u003c/b>. The baby portraits are reminiscent of 18th century French paintings, though instead of nude women or Napoleon, they feature exotic looking animals dressed in fur, sitting in lushly staged environments. One portrait I loved in particular was a doe-eyed, silly-looking Bambi sitting among ferns and toadstools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hevel was in a show called \u003cb>Nancy Boy\u003c/b> at the Richmond Art Center earlier this year that involved male artists commenting on feminism, a feat he accomplishes brilliantly. And aside from Andy Warhol and Jeff Koons, I haven’t seen many artists commenting on the world’s obsession with celebrity status. Hevel’s symbolism is flawless and his work is equal parts glamour, humor, and hideousness. He uses Styrofoam taxidermy forms to create his celebrity creatures and buys animal skins at a place called Hollywood Love Rug, then dyes them to look like the appropriate hide. The work is not about animal preservation or glorification, Hevel has no interest in taxidermy, he simply draws attention to the overly accessorized jungle that is Hollywood. 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Appropriately, Gwen Stefani happened to be on the stereo singing about having expensive taste as I stared at the garishly gorgeous piece.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fierce is a word Tyra Banks uses every chance she gets on her ruthlessly intellectually stimulating reality show, \u003cb>America’s Next Top Model\u003c/b>. It’s become her trademark statement and inspired the title and central piece of Hevel’s exhibit — the giraffe I mentioned earlier. Towering above the gallery at twelve feet, the giraffe’s head and neck protrude from the wall and giant ants on the floor trail its long beaded necklaces. Framed by plants and orange and red flowers, the giraffe wore humongous hoop earrings had at least two feet of shells dangling from them — in a word, amazing. Hevel says his work sells well and he’s often surprised at what people will buy for their homes. He said his wife has minimalist taste and his sculptures don’t decorate their living space. 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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>“Look at the earrings on that giraffe” is not a phrase one often overhears at an art opening, and the fact that I heard it uttered at David Hevel’s new exhibit, \u003cb>Fierce\u003c/b>, was only one of the many reasons why the show was “off the chain,” as the kids are saying these days. Where, oh where, do I begin? I entered the packed gallery to hear Justin Timberlake rocking everyone’s body over the speakers and stopped dead in my tracks to gawk at a seven-foot-tall sculpture of a realistic life-sized tiger rearing up on its hind legs in a giant pot of cascading faux flora and huge glittery gold butterflies. For a moment, it was like nobody else was in the room — just Beyoncé’s animal likeness and me. Fantastically overwhelming, forcibly glee inducing, and straight up hilarious, the tiger was mesmerizing. The pedestal-like flowerpot overflowed with giant gardenias, birds of paradise, and greenery so lush I didn’t even notice the gaudy fakeness of it all. It felt like walking around Liz Taylor’s Animal Safari. Lily pads among iridescent aqua-blue puddles and two swans surrounded the tiger, its jaws dripping with sticky golden drool, off-setting its long brunette wig, ostentatious crystal necklaces, and wildly humanistic eyes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>About to be pounced upon by the tiger was Mariah Carey as a goat standing precariously on piles of small silk pillows. I noticed happily that Mariah’s teeth seemed a bit pearlescent. Oakland-based Hevel, whom I had the pleasure of meeting, said the goat, though life-sized, was not so true to form. He mentioned something about the head looking better closer to the hip so he’d cut out part of the body. I nodded as if I knew all about reconstructive surgery for farm animals.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also draped in jewels and radiating sparkly golden butterflies, Mariah gazed across the gallery at a tiny gold-leafed deer called \u003cb>Little Lord Suri\u003c/b>, representing the incredibly hyped, already super-famous child of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. I told Hevel the Suri piece was extremely timely since her photos had been released by Vanity Fair the previous day — Hevel admitted he wished he’d brought a tiny black wig to add to the baby deer so she’d look more like Hollywood’s newest “It” Girl.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gallery also displays pigment prints of Hevel’s other celebrity baby sculptures, including a stunning example called \u003cb>Big Anna (Baby Nicole)\u003c/b>. The baby portraits are reminiscent of 18th century French paintings, though instead of nude women or Napoleon, they feature exotic looking animals dressed in fur, sitting in lushly staged environments. One portrait I loved in particular was a doe-eyed, silly-looking Bambi sitting among ferns and toadstools.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hevel was in a show called \u003cb>Nancy Boy\u003c/b> at the Richmond Art Center earlier this year that involved male artists commenting on feminism, a feat he accomplishes brilliantly. And aside from Andy Warhol and Jeff Koons, I haven’t seen many artists commenting on the world’s obsession with celebrity status. Hevel’s symbolism is flawless and his work is equal parts glamour, humor, and hideousness. He uses Styrofoam taxidermy forms to create his celebrity creatures and buys animal skins at a place called Hollywood Love Rug, then dyes them to look like the appropriate hide. The work is not about animal preservation or glorification, Hevel has no interest in taxidermy, he simply draws attention to the overly accessorized jungle that is Hollywood. But Hevel isn’t aiming to criticize his famous subjects; he merely puts a freshly hilarious spin on the already spun images of the celebrity set that permeate the media. Because celebrities are made out to be larger-than-life and better-than-your-average-human, glamorized animals seemed the perfect way to represent them. And think of how fun it would be to take Hevel’s craft to the next level, dressing up enormous exotic pets with all the Neil Lane jewels and extravagant hair extensions you could get your hands on. I sense a new hobby for absurdly rich girls everywhere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I smiled throughout my tour of Hevel’s exhibit. Not only did I have a chance to meet and chat with the artist, who was very nice and forthcoming and not at all pretentious as he toted one of his two tiny children around his exhibit, but I relished viewing work that aimed to be funny. Artists are all desperately trying to communicate something, but usually it’s something of a more serious nature. When asked what his kids thought of his work, Hevel laughed and said they definitely had opinions and would tell him what they liked and what looked scary. He also admitted that walking down the street, one of his children might pick up a rogue silk flower and ask if Hevel wanted it for his art. He noted that it was a little freaky that the kids — neither much older than Suri — were already picking up on his style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hevel’s \u003cb>Love Angel Music Baby\u003c/b> sculpture was around a corner in the back of the gallery and was absent of an animal form save for a mountain lion’s tongue and teeth that protruded from stacked bird baths spilling over with flowers, tiny pink birds, blonde locks of hair, and an impressively enormous plastic pink diamond. Appropriately, Gwen Stefani happened to be on the stereo singing about having expensive taste as I stared at the garishly gorgeous piece.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fierce is a word Tyra Banks uses every chance she gets on her ruthlessly intellectually stimulating reality show, \u003cb>America’s Next Top Model\u003c/b>. It’s become her trademark statement and inspired the title and central piece of Hevel’s exhibit — the giraffe I mentioned earlier. Towering above the gallery at twelve feet, the giraffe’s head and neck protrude from the wall and giant ants on the floor trail its long beaded necklaces. Framed by plants and orange and red flowers, the giraffe wore humongous hoop earrings had at least two feet of shells dangling from them — in a word, amazing. Hevel says his work sells well and he’s often surprised at what people will buy for their homes. He said his wife has minimalist taste and his sculptures don’t decorate their living space. Like a fabulously glamorized hunter’s den, or collaboration between The Natural History Museum and a Las Vegas showgirl, Hevel’s exhibit is like nothing you’ve seen before. And, as Paris Hilton* would say, that’s hot. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>*Hevel also has a Paris Hilton sculpture that was unfortunately damaged and not in the show.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>A group art exhibit is like a mix tape. None of the artists created their work with the intention of having it displayed right next to another artist’s work. Even when the pieces are displayed in the same gallery, it is challenging to find a common thread. Much more difficult than writing about one artist’s body of work, it’s like writing about the very small exhibitions of too many artists, so I have wholeheartedly been avoiding writing about group shows until now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was wary when a row of life-sized human figures shrouded in white greeted me at the \u003cb>Cosmic Wonder\u003c/b> show at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts — maybe because they were standing in piles of broken bottles, or maybe because I caught a glimpse of their small creepy hands through the white fabric that covered them. A nearby vase of white felt flowers that was taller than me made me wonder if the exhibit — put together by guest curator Betty Nguyen — should have been called \u003cb>Bleached Wonder\u003c/b> instead.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But beyond the initial sculptures was an interactive show teeming with artwork worthy of the title \u003cb>Cosmic Wonder\u003c/b>. A wall installation stuffed with neon, psychedelic, childlike paintings and drawings, and two monitors displaying unrecognizable animation was the first piece I saw and seemed to be the quintessential installation for this particular exhibit. Created by the collective artists of the organization Paperrad, the paintings and monitors were complete with headphones playing techno trance music. I’ll admit I don’t remember if the music was actually trance, but the artwork screamed Candy Kid Raver, so trance would’ve been the most appropriate musical genre to accompany the installation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Several other wall installations were featured in the show, including an enormous mixed media mandala by Hisham Bharoocha that had me standing as close as the museum guards would allow (one inch away at YBCA, I love those guys) to try and determine how the artist went about creating the piece. Next to it was a piece entitled \u003cb>Craftsbury Common II\u003c/b> by Reed Anderson — a giant blueprint paper circle hanging wrinkled on the wall and decorated with intricate cut-out designs and two lovely birds in ink. I liked the juxtaposition of an intricately fragile art process carried out on such an everyday type of paper — what some might call a comment on high art versus low art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It wasn’t until I saw a skate video filmed at the skate park in the coolest town on the Peninsula (where I currently reside) that I decided to write about this show. “What is a skate video doing in an art exhibit?” you might ask. Well, the skaters carried or were in the vicinity of a large white pentagon-shaped sculpture throughout the video, which is apparently enough to make it art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>YBCA’s terrace gallery houses another exhibit from emerging Oakland artists called \u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b>, which included the best piece of art I’ve seen all summer — a work of genius by SFSU alum Lucrecia Troncoso, who once created a wall installation of delicate flowers made of her own hair. Troncoso’s latest work is an installation of three deer sculptures made of Irish Spring soap standing on a felt meadow in the corner of the gallery, backed by minty-green grass spears painted sparsely on the wall. Not only did the piece smell terrific, but the title \u003cb>Deeroderant\u003c/b> won me over — there’s nothing I love more than clever word combinations, except maybe art featuring the gentle woodland creatures that frequent my backyard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rather than listing the rest of the pieces I enjoyed in \u003cb>Cosmic Wonder\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b>, I’ve created a scavenger hunt.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Find the following items:\u003cbr>• A triangular mirrored tunnel where you can see 1,000 reflections of yourself.\u003cbr> • A painting featuring infinite paranoid text, including words like “rehab” “meth lab” “soft money” and “sell-outs”.\u003cbr> • Mixed plastic bugs crawling up the wall.\u003cbr> • $1.55 in change on the floor near one of the more curious cosmic wonders.\u003cbr> • Two pieces that politely ask viewers to please remove their shoes. I mostly like looking at art, and I frown upon those who attempt to put their grubby hands on pieces in an exhibit, but it’s definitely fun to be given permission to kick off your shoes and walk on the artwork.\u003cbr> • A Zen sand garden that appears to be designed by The Teletubbies.\u003cbr> • An old television showing footage of old televisions.\u003cbr> • A phantom shopping cart video displayed on a grocery store shelf and a video by the same artist that features a moving car with no driver.\u003cbr> • A tribute wall featuring drawings of recently deceased artists and writers.\u003cbr> • A wall installation that incorporates air freshener trees (hooray, smell-a-vision!).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once you’ve completed the scavenger hunt, you can reward yourself with lunch at A.G. Ferrari Deli, which is less than a block away and a delicious way to complete your cosmic art adventure. Sit outside, have a glass of wine, process all the wonderment you’ve just experienced, and continue pondering how interestingly-named artist, Mads Lynnerup, managed to get a Toyota Camry to drive itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Curious Wonder\u003c/b> runs through November 5, 2006\u003cbr>\u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b> runs through October 8, 2006\u003cbr>Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission Street at Third Street, San Francisco\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>YBCA’s terrace gallery houses another exhibit from emerging Oakland artists called \u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b>, which included the best piece of art I’ve seen all summer — a work of genius by SFSU alum Lucrecia Troncoso, who once created a wall installation of delicate flowers made of her own hair. Troncoso’s latest work is an installation of three deer sculptures made of Irish Spring soap standing on a felt meadow in the corner of the gallery, backed by minty-green grass spears painted sparsely on the wall. Not only did the piece smell terrific, but the title \u003cb>Deeroderant\u003c/b> won me over — there’s nothing I love more than clever word combinations, except maybe art featuring the gentle woodland creatures that frequent my backyard.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rather than listing the rest of the pieces I enjoyed in \u003cb>Cosmic Wonder\u003c/b> and \u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b>, I’ve created a scavenger hunt.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Find the following items:\u003cbr>• A triangular mirrored tunnel where you can see 1,000 reflections of yourself.\u003cbr> • A painting featuring infinite paranoid text, including words like “rehab” “meth lab” “soft money” and “sell-outs”.\u003cbr> • Mixed plastic bugs crawling up the wall.\u003cbr> • $1.55 in change on the floor near one of the more curious cosmic wonders.\u003cbr> • Two pieces that politely ask viewers to please remove their shoes. I mostly like looking at art, and I frown upon those who attempt to put their grubby hands on pieces in an exhibit, but it’s definitely fun to be given permission to kick off your shoes and walk on the artwork.\u003cbr> • A Zen sand garden that appears to be designed by The Teletubbies.\u003cbr> • An old television showing footage of old televisions.\u003cbr> • A phantom shopping cart video displayed on a grocery store shelf and a video by the same artist that features a moving car with no driver.\u003cbr> • A tribute wall featuring drawings of recently deceased artists and writers.\u003cbr> • A wall installation that incorporates air freshener trees (hooray, smell-a-vision!).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once you’ve completed the scavenger hunt, you can reward yourself with lunch at A.G. Ferrari Deli, which is less than a block away and a delicious way to complete your cosmic art adventure. Sit outside, have a glass of wine, process all the wonderment you’ve just experienced, and continue pondering how interestingly-named artist, Mads Lynnerup, managed to get a Toyota Camry to drive itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Curious Wonder\u003c/b> runs through November 5, 2006\u003cbr>\u003cb>Sampling Oakland\u003c/b> runs through October 8, 2006\u003cbr>Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission Street at Third Street, San Francisco\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>At one point in my life I thought photography was a sham. All you have to do, I reasoned, is press a button and cross your fingers in hopes that the shot comes out in focus. What kind of skill does that take? I am now enlightened and realize that photography is a technical and skillful craft that is difficult to master. Composition, lighting, subject matter, printing techniques, and many other components are to be considered when creating an aesthetically pleasing photo, and even when an artist makes all the right choices, the image can still turn out ineffectual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now I have a newfound respect for photography, and I am in love with C-Prints. They’re usually big, vivid and, most importantly — they seem genuine. The subject of a painting could be completely fictional, but there’s no faking photography. I know that’s not entirely true when you take into account Photoshop, air-brushing, and staged shots, but the illusion of reality is always present in a photograph.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ll get to the point — I saw \u003cb>Brian Ulrich’s\u003c/b> exhibition of eleven selections of large-scale photographs from his ongoing series entitled \u003cb>Copia\u003c/b>. The series was started in response to Bush’s “Go shopping!” manifesto after 9/11, which is why Ulrich’s message, though clear, seems slightly dated. Even so, comments on consumerism in the US are always applicable as we continue to shop like it’s going out of style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ulrich captures subjects we can relate to — a woman with a cell phone pressed to her ear stares wide-eyed at the wine and cheese section of Jewel-Osco (the Midwest’s answer to Albertson’s) — who hasn’t had trouble deciding whether to get the ’93 or the ’94 Merlot? He also captures scenes we’re familiar with, like the gnarled mess that can occur when a toy aisle at Wal-Mart is left unattended for too long. My personal favorite was an enticing composition of Target check-out lines. The depth of field is quite lovely, and there’s something so pleasing about little red signs lined up in a row. I’m biased because Target is my Happy Place, but I assure you that Ulrich can candidly photograph a middle-American consumer wasteland like nobody’s business.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In most of the photos, Ulrich doesn’t stray far from the ever-present grid formation that artists and viewers alike are attracted to, whether they know it or not. One of the central photos in the exhibit features spilled milk in the Faygo soda aisle. The orange, yellow and lime-green crates of soda, the tiled floor, the wood-paneled wall and the plastic curtain protecting the dairy products create a stunning composition, especially when punctuated with a puddle of milk. It’s no wonder that the original and the four limited edition prints of this piece are already sold out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ulrich’s work reminded me of Bill Owens, a photographer who shoots in grocery stores and is obsessed with food. I also thought of Catherine Wagner’s commissioned series of shots taken at Disneyland because one of Ulrich’s photos features a tiny girl who is almost invisible amongst the paraphernalia in a Disney Store. I wonder if Ulrich received his nasty letter yet. Someone should purchase that Disney Store piece before it’s too late; otherwise it’ll have the same fate as Wagner’s Disney shots — impossible to find online due to sanctions imposed by Mickey Mouse and his thugs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What I loved most about Ulrich’s exhibit was the dichotomy of seeing images of decidedly ordinary locations on display in an upscale gallery. I also found it hilarious that even though the exhibit commented on the ugly side of consumerism, I still found myself looking at the photos saying “I want that!” just like the good little consumer that I am. Seriously, that Faygo soda aisle shot would look terrific in my kitchen. My birthday’s coming up soon for anyone who needs gift ideas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Brian Ulrich: \u003cb>Copia\u003c/b>\u003cbr>\nRobert Koch Gallery\u003cbr>\n49 Geary St.\u003cbr>\nJuly 6 – September 2, 2006\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>At one point in my life I thought photography was a sham. All you have to do, I reasoned, is press a button and cross your fingers in hopes that the shot comes out in focus. What kind of skill does that take? I am now enlightened and realize that photography is a technical and skillful craft that is difficult to master. Composition, lighting, subject matter, printing techniques, and many other components are to be considered when creating an aesthetically pleasing photo, and even when an artist makes all the right choices, the image can still turn out ineffectual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now I have a newfound respect for photography, and I am in love with C-Prints. They’re usually big, vivid and, most importantly — they seem genuine. The subject of a painting could be completely fictional, but there’s no faking photography. I know that’s not entirely true when you take into account Photoshop, air-brushing, and staged shots, but the illusion of reality is always present in a photograph.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ll get to the point — I saw \u003cb>Brian Ulrich’s\u003c/b> exhibition of eleven selections of large-scale photographs from his ongoing series entitled \u003cb>Copia\u003c/b>. The series was started in response to Bush’s “Go shopping!” manifesto after 9/11, which is why Ulrich’s message, though clear, seems slightly dated. Even so, comments on consumerism in the US are always applicable as we continue to shop like it’s going out of style.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ulrich captures subjects we can relate to — a woman with a cell phone pressed to her ear stares wide-eyed at the wine and cheese section of Jewel-Osco (the Midwest’s answer to Albertson’s) — who hasn’t had trouble deciding whether to get the ’93 or the ’94 Merlot? He also captures scenes we’re familiar with, like the gnarled mess that can occur when a toy aisle at Wal-Mart is left unattended for too long. My personal favorite was an enticing composition of Target check-out lines. The depth of field is quite lovely, and there’s something so pleasing about little red signs lined up in a row. I’m biased because Target is my Happy Place, but I assure you that Ulrich can candidly photograph a middle-American consumer wasteland like nobody’s business.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In most of the photos, Ulrich doesn’t stray far from the ever-present grid formation that artists and viewers alike are attracted to, whether they know it or not. One of the central photos in the exhibit features spilled milk in the Faygo soda aisle. The orange, yellow and lime-green crates of soda, the tiled floor, the wood-paneled wall and the plastic curtain protecting the dairy products create a stunning composition, especially when punctuated with a puddle of milk. It’s no wonder that the original and the four limited edition prints of this piece are already sold out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ulrich’s work reminded me of Bill Owens, a photographer who shoots in grocery stores and is obsessed with food. I also thought of Catherine Wagner’s commissioned series of shots taken at Disneyland because one of Ulrich’s photos features a tiny girl who is almost invisible amongst the paraphernalia in a Disney Store. I wonder if Ulrich received his nasty letter yet. Someone should purchase that Disney Store piece before it’s too late; otherwise it’ll have the same fate as Wagner’s Disney shots — impossible to find online due to sanctions imposed by Mickey Mouse and his thugs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What I loved most about Ulrich’s exhibit was the dichotomy of seeing images of decidedly ordinary locations on display in an upscale gallery. I also found it hilarious that even though the exhibit commented on the ugly side of consumerism, I still found myself looking at the photos saying “I want that!” just like the good little consumer that I am. Seriously, that Faygo soda aisle shot would look terrific in my kitchen. My birthday’s coming up soon for anyone who needs gift ideas.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Brian Ulrich: \u003cb>Copia\u003c/b>\u003cbr>\nRobert Koch Gallery\u003cbr>\n49 Geary St.\u003cbr>\nJuly 6 – September 2, 2006\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
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"order": 8
},
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},
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"order": 1
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"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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"id": "commonwealth-club",
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"meta": {
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"source": "WNYC"
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"id": "fresh-air",
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"hidden-brain": {
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"hyphenacion": {
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"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. ",
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"jerrybrown": {
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"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. ",
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"order": 18
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"title": "Latino USA",
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"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",
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},
"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": {
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"source": "American Public Media"
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"masters-of-scale": {
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"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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"source": "WaitWhat"
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"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>",
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"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
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}
},
"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/",
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"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
"tagline": "Deeply-reported investigative journalism",
"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/On-Our-Watch-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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