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All art is real estate, too — especially in San Francisco, where tech companies have driven up property prices and forced many artists and their sponsoring organizations out of the city.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">CounterPulse\u003c/a>, a San Francisco-based presenter and incubator of activist performing arts, lost its longtime SOMA perch when Twitter and others in that cohort cast their long shadows over downtown San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://cast-sf.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Community Arts Stabilization Trust\u003c/a> (CAST) staged an 11th hour rescue, and, after an extensive overhaul of an old theater at 80 Turk Street, CounterPulse’s new home feels like a sanctuary in the grim Tenderloin: warmly lit, spare but functional, sleek and welcoming, with its audacious crimson neon sign signaling the venue’s past as a burlesque club.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Sanctuary” is also a fitting term for the twin bill from artists SAMMAY (a.k.a. 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The newest resident choreographers in a long-established program at CounterPulse known as \u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/event/performing-diaspora-2016/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Performing Diaspora\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, these two women prove a striking study in contrasts — and not just in the deployment of upper- and lower-case in their names.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12428954\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12428954\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-800x500.jpg\" alt=\"Samantha "SAMMAY" Dizon in her work, 'silbihan.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-800x500.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-768x480.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-1020x638.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-1180x738.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-960x600.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-240x150.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-375x234.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-520x325.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Samantha “SAMMAY” Dizon in her work, ‘silbihan.’ \u003ccite>(Robbie Sweeny)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Of the two works, SAMMAY’s \u003cem>silbihan\u003c/em>, which filters ancient Philippine rituals of faith healers into contemporary crises of migration, is the more expansive and messy — and gloriously so.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SAMMAY weaves her own matrilineal heritage into pre- and post-colonial mythology, singing and dancing the angst of a family torn apart. 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The insouciant, freewheeling spirit of house dance pervades, yet the movement vocabulary is magnificently disciplined and contained.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Transitions are as smooth as butter, with a dusting of capoeira, dashes of ballet, social dance and contact improv, blithely embellished by a cartoon-like animation of aimless doodles that appear on the backdrop.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ8O-gIcD_A\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the heart of \u003cem>unending\u003c/em> is \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ8O-gIcD_A\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an affecting cover of Kendrick Lamar’s “Dying of Thirst”\u003c/a> by jazz pianist Robert Glasper, who enlists his six-year-old son and his son’s classmates to recite the names of African-American victims of police shootings, and lines that include:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>I enjoy being brown. Especially if my skin rips, I am thinking about brown. And I’m thinking about what color I am, but I have to be myself. You have to be happy of who you are.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The serene yet fierce movement of fitchett and her three dancer-collaborators fuses a childlike innocence with the reality of violence and an instinct for self-preservation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>fitchett identifies herself in program notes as a radical mixed-race black woman; each of the individuals that make up the quartet of mixed-ethnicity dancers mostly inhabit their own tiny sectors of real estate on the stage, intent on solving specific logistical problems.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They rarely look at one another, though they sporadically unite to dance in unison or canon, and appear to have negotiated a territorial peace treaty. In one poignant sequence, Lauren Benjamin and Lindsay Leonard travel a diagonal path together, rarely touching but very close together – as if they were taking turns to protect each other from some unseen threat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12429616\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12429616\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-800x500.jpg\" alt=\"Lauren Benjamin and dana e. fitchett in fitchett's 'unending.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-800x500.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-768x480.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-1020x638.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-1180x738.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-960x600.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-240x150.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-375x234.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-520x325.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lauren Benjamin and dana e. fitchett in fitchett’s ‘unending.’ \u003ccite>(Robbie Sweeny)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>fitchett’s movement seems to spring organically from her score, whereas SAMMAY’s score sits lightly and not always convincingly atop her grand scheme of images and ideas. Both dance works are preoccupied with tensions over real estate that threaten the homeland of native peoples. These tensions threaten to dispossess the powerless and force migrations that tear the fabric of society.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another real estate issue looms over the production. For the first time in U.S. history, our government is to be helmed by a \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Trump's_Real_Estate_Tycoon\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">real estate tycoon\u003c/a> with a pronounced territorial agenda. Will the interests of property magnates, developers and other enterprises that live and die by real estate be advanced at the expense of the business of culture?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this climate, CounterPulse has seven years to raise the funding to make 80 Turk its permanent home. May it continue to provide sanctuary to performing artists of the multitude of diasporas that make San Francisco great.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Performing Diaspora 2016’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 4 at CounterPulse in San Francisco. \u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/event/performing-diaspora-2016/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Information and tickets here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>All art is politics, as Ai Weiwei and Pussy Riot, among others, have famously preached. All art is real estate, too — especially in San Francisco, where tech companies have driven up property prices and forced many artists and their sponsoring organizations out of the city.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">CounterPulse\u003c/a>, a San Francisco-based presenter and incubator of activist performing arts, lost its longtime SOMA perch when Twitter and others in that cohort cast their long shadows over downtown San Francisco.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://cast-sf.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Community Arts Stabilization Trust\u003c/a> (CAST) staged an 11th hour rescue, and, after an extensive overhaul of an old theater at 80 Turk Street, CounterPulse’s new home feels like a sanctuary in the grim Tenderloin: warmly lit, spare but functional, sleek and welcoming, with its audacious crimson neon sign signaling the venue’s past as a burlesque club.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Sanctuary” is also a fitting term for the twin bill from artists SAMMAY (a.k.a. Samantha Peñaflor Dizon) and dana e. fitchett that runs through Sunday, Dec. 4, at CounterPulse. The newest resident choreographers in a long-established program at CounterPulse known as \u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/event/performing-diaspora-2016/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Performing Diaspora\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, these two women prove a striking study in contrasts — and not just in the deployment of upper- and lower-case in their names.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12428954\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12428954\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-800x500.jpg\" alt=\"Samantha "SAMMAY" Dizon in her work, 'silbihan.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-800x500.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-768x480.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-1020x638.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-1180x738.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-960x600.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-240x150.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-375x234.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/SAMMAY.performance-520x325.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Samantha “SAMMAY” Dizon in her work, ‘silbihan.’ \u003ccite>(Robbie Sweeny)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Of the two works, SAMMAY’s \u003cem>silbihan\u003c/em>, which filters ancient Philippine rituals of faith healers into contemporary crises of migration, is the more expansive and messy — and gloriously so.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>SAMMAY weaves her own matrilineal heritage into pre- and post-colonial mythology, singing and dancing the angst of a family torn apart. Slight but compact and powerful, SAMMAY sways and convulses against a backdrop on which film clips of a mysterious female dancer – at times herself, at others Joanna Ursal — are projected.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In some of these clips we see her in sensual, sometimes disorienting close-up, shrouded in sheer stretchy fabric. Others capture long shots of the dancer braving a rugged coastline, drowning in a stormy sea, enveloped in flames, chicly costumed as a firebird-like deity of an uncertain era. Dancing live onstage with these dramatic visuals behind her, SAMMAY layers ancient traditions impressionistically onto the reality of her existence as a child of the diaspora.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>fitchett’s piece, \u003cem>unending\u003c/em>, is more tightly welded, minimalist in design, at one with its dynamite score that stitches together Thom Yorke, Blaq Soul, and Mos Def, among others.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The piece begins and ends in silence, with the dancers’ footfalls, catches of breath and occasional finger snaps serving as the only accompaniment. The insouciant, freewheeling spirit of house dance pervades, yet the movement vocabulary is magnificently disciplined and contained.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Transitions are as smooth as butter, with a dusting of capoeira, dashes of ballet, social dance and contact improv, blithely embellished by a cartoon-like animation of aimless doodles that appear on the backdrop.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/FQ8O-gIcD_A'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/FQ8O-gIcD_A'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>At the heart of \u003cem>unending\u003c/em> is \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQ8O-gIcD_A\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an affecting cover of Kendrick Lamar’s “Dying of Thirst”\u003c/a> by jazz pianist Robert Glasper, who enlists his six-year-old son and his son’s classmates to recite the names of African-American victims of police shootings, and lines that include:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>I enjoy being brown. Especially if my skin rips, I am thinking about brown. And I’m thinking about what color I am, but I have to be myself. You have to be happy of who you are.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The serene yet fierce movement of fitchett and her three dancer-collaborators fuses a childlike innocence with the reality of violence and an instinct for self-preservation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>fitchett identifies herself in program notes as a radical mixed-race black woman; each of the individuals that make up the quartet of mixed-ethnicity dancers mostly inhabit their own tiny sectors of real estate on the stage, intent on solving specific logistical problems.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>They rarely look at one another, though they sporadically unite to dance in unison or canon, and appear to have negotiated a territorial peace treaty. In one poignant sequence, Lauren Benjamin and Lindsay Leonard travel a diagonal path together, rarely touching but very close together – as if they were taking turns to protect each other from some unseen threat.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12429616\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12429616\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-800x500.jpg\" alt=\"Lauren Benjamin and dana e. fitchett in fitchett's 'unending.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"500\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-800x500.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-160x100.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-768x480.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-1020x638.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-1180x738.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-960x600.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-240x150.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-375x234.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/Benjamin-and-fitchett-2-520x325.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lauren Benjamin and dana e. fitchett in fitchett’s ‘unending.’ \u003ccite>(Robbie Sweeny)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>fitchett’s movement seems to spring organically from her score, whereas SAMMAY’s score sits lightly and not always convincingly atop her grand scheme of images and ideas. Both dance works are preoccupied with tensions over real estate that threaten the homeland of native peoples. These tensions threaten to dispossess the powerless and force migrations that tear the fabric of society.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Another real estate issue looms over the production. For the first time in U.S. history, our government is to be helmed by a \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donald_Trump's_Real_Estate_Tycoon\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">real estate tycoon\u003c/a> with a pronounced territorial agenda. Will the interests of property magnates, developers and other enterprises that live and die by real estate be advanced at the expense of the business of culture?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this climate, CounterPulse has seven years to raise the funding to make 80 Turk its permanent home. May it continue to provide sanctuary to performing artists of the multitude of diasporas that make San Francisco great.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Performing Diaspora 2016’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 4 at CounterPulse in San Francisco. \u003ca href=\"http://www.counterpulse.org/event/performing-diaspora-2016/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Information and tickets here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Through 'The Eyes of My Mother,' a Young Girl Grows Into a Vicious Killer",
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"content": "\u003cp>Perspective is everything in horror films. The most important decision any scare flick can make is whether it expects the audience to identify with the villain or their victims. To see through the eyes of the prey (as in \u003cem>Rosemary’s Baby\u003c/em>, or this year’s excellent \u003cem>Under the Shadow\u003c/em>) requires only that the director make their situation realistically terrifying, so that we imagine we are frightened for our lives, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But to assume the eyes of the predator (think of the \u003cem>Dracula\u003c/em> movies, or 2013’s body snatcher \u003cem>Under the Skin\u003c/em>) requires a new set of tools, because the viewpoint challenges us to sympathize with the devil — and to question our own moral compasses in the process. This is a surgical kind of filmmaking that is often unpleasant: giving us eyes we’d rather not have, because we shudder to think what we’ll see through them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exquisite new horror film \u003cem>The Eyes of My Mother\u003c/em>, from first-time writer-director Nicolas Pesce, is all about showing you what you’d rather not see. This is true on a visceral level, with implied or explicit imagery of human organs being carved out of still-living bodies like meat before slaughter. (Yes, the squeamish should definitely look away while they still can.) But it’s also true on a psychological level, as the film tracks one young woman’s evolution from innocent bystander to a horrific crime into the perpetrator of like-minded ones. Perhaps the depravity has always existed within her, but that’s for her to know and us to grapple with.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At a sleek ‘n’ bleak 76 minutes, divided into three chapters, there’s precious little time to waste. We first meet Francisca, the daughter of an American farmer and a Portuguese doctor, as a young girl (Olivia Bond) playing around her remote family farmhouse. (Although the story is set in the modern day, this house is a relic of a distant era, with 50-year-old appliances and floral-patterned wallpaper.) Francisca’s doctor mother (Diana Agostini) is teaching her about the human eye by carving up a cow’s, and holds up each part for her to inspect. “Everything we see passes through this,” she explains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From this compassionate killing comes a decidedly uncompassionate one, as a sinister stranger (Will Brill) coolly walks into the family home and murders Mommy Dearest. When Francisca’s nearly-mute father (Paul Nazak) discovers the crime, he betrays no emotion but ties the man up in their barn, allowing the young girl — who seems to never leave the family stead — to lovingly bond with the captive even as she gets out a knife and practices what her mother taught her. (All of this happens without much explanation; dialogue in the film is sparse, and the little there is may make you wish for even less.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As an adult, Francisca continues to glide through her farmhouse with the same childlike reserve and terror. She’s played by the brilliant newcomer Kika Malgalhaes, whose glassy-eyed nonchalance to her own actions is more unnerving than the actions themselves. Alone once her father dies, Francisca keeps the stiffening body in the house, continuing to dress and bathe him as she sets three places at dinnertime. And she’s still got her detainee, whom she cradles like an infant as she feeds him in the barn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Francisca’s actions become increasingly brutal as time goes on; soon she finds less deserving victims, and continues her obsession with peepers. But the film, which is shot in black-and-white, has a merciful way of establishing the details without relishing them. Cinematographer Zach Kuperstein’s camera favors the shadows of the barn to the bodies themselves. Often the really nasty stuff happens in the background or in-between cuts, leaving us with mere hints of the aftermath.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At every step there’s a kind of elegance to the way this character remains grounded by a nightmare logic of family psychology, a quilted patchwork of motivations only she understands. It’s a one-upping of the kind of monster-without-motive depiction that came into vogue in the days of \u003cem>Halloween\u003c/em>‘s Michael Myers and never really left. Creating nastiness for its own sake on the horror circuit these days is no longer innovative, but instead comes off as the calling card of the lazy gorehound. \u003cem>The Eyes of My Mother\u003c/em> is the rare entry to give depth to its destructive force, to force those new eyes onto us and make us truly believe the terror of what we see. \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Perspective is everything in horror films. The most important decision any scare flick can make is whether it expects the audience to identify with the villain or their victims. To see through the eyes of the prey (as in \u003cem>Rosemary’s Baby\u003c/em>, or this year’s excellent \u003cem>Under the Shadow\u003c/em>) requires only that the director make their situation realistically terrifying, so that we imagine we are frightened for our lives, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But to assume the eyes of the predator (think of the \u003cem>Dracula\u003c/em> movies, or 2013’s body snatcher \u003cem>Under the Skin\u003c/em>) requires a new set of tools, because the viewpoint challenges us to sympathize with the devil — and to question our own moral compasses in the process. This is a surgical kind of filmmaking that is often unpleasant: giving us eyes we’d rather not have, because we shudder to think what we’ll see through them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exquisite new horror film \u003cem>The Eyes of My Mother\u003c/em>, from first-time writer-director Nicolas Pesce, is all about showing you what you’d rather not see. This is true on a visceral level, with implied or explicit imagery of human organs being carved out of still-living bodies like meat before slaughter. (Yes, the squeamish should definitely look away while they still can.) But it’s also true on a psychological level, as the film tracks one young woman’s evolution from innocent bystander to a horrific crime into the perpetrator of like-minded ones. Perhaps the depravity has always existed within her, but that’s for her to know and us to grapple with.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At a sleek ‘n’ bleak 76 minutes, divided into three chapters, there’s precious little time to waste. We first meet Francisca, the daughter of an American farmer and a Portuguese doctor, as a young girl (Olivia Bond) playing around her remote family farmhouse. (Although the story is set in the modern day, this house is a relic of a distant era, with 50-year-old appliances and floral-patterned wallpaper.) Francisca’s doctor mother (Diana Agostini) is teaching her about the human eye by carving up a cow’s, and holds up each part for her to inspect. “Everything we see passes through this,” she explains.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From this compassionate killing comes a decidedly uncompassionate one, as a sinister stranger (Will Brill) coolly walks into the family home and murders Mommy Dearest. When Francisca’s nearly-mute father (Paul Nazak) discovers the crime, he betrays no emotion but ties the man up in their barn, allowing the young girl — who seems to never leave the family stead — to lovingly bond with the captive even as she gets out a knife and practices what her mother taught her. (All of this happens without much explanation; dialogue in the film is sparse, and the little there is may make you wish for even less.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As an adult, Francisca continues to glide through her farmhouse with the same childlike reserve and terror. She’s played by the brilliant newcomer Kika Malgalhaes, whose glassy-eyed nonchalance to her own actions is more unnerving than the actions themselves. Alone once her father dies, Francisca keeps the stiffening body in the house, continuing to dress and bathe him as she sets three places at dinnertime. And she’s still got her detainee, whom she cradles like an infant as she feeds him in the barn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Francisca’s actions become increasingly brutal as time goes on; soon she finds less deserving victims, and continues her obsession with peepers. But the film, which is shot in black-and-white, has a merciful way of establishing the details without relishing them. Cinematographer Zach Kuperstein’s camera favors the shadows of the barn to the bodies themselves. Often the really nasty stuff happens in the background or in-between cuts, leaving us with mere hints of the aftermath.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At every step there’s a kind of elegance to the way this character remains grounded by a nightmare logic of family psychology, a quilted patchwork of motivations only she understands. It’s a one-upping of the kind of monster-without-motive depiction that came into vogue in the days of \u003cem>Halloween\u003c/em>‘s Michael Myers and never really left. Creating nastiness for its own sake on the horror circuit these days is no longer innovative, but instead comes off as the calling card of the lazy gorehound. \u003cem>The Eyes of My Mother\u003c/em> is the rare entry to give depth to its destructive force, to force those new eyes onto us and make us truly believe the terror of what we see. \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Cirque Du Soleil and Kinetic Arts Fall Deep Into the Dark Pleasures Of Circus",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s Note:\u003c/strong> This review was written before a \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2016/11/30/cirque-du-soleil-suspends-performances-following-worker-death/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Cirque du Soleil technician was killed\u003c/a> during a show Tuesday night (Nov. 29). The show is on hiatus until further notice.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why the circus is fascinating remains a grand riddle. The emotions elicited by the art form are often so wild and contradictory that all you want is to harmonize them and find your way back to the normal, everyday world. Both Cirque du Soleil’s \u003cem>Luzia — A Waking Dream Of Mexico\u003c/em> and the Kinetic Arts Center’s \u003cem>Circus Disobedience: Inversion\u003c/em> hint at the answer to that riddle, while still keeping it a secret. Like the mystery of the Sphinx and our dreams, everything we need to know is right in front of us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cirque du Soleil’s \u003cem>Luzia\u003c/em> begins in terror. An airplane explodes, and a clown, the incredible, dough-faced Eric Koller, falls through the sky. Perhaps only a clown would find such a situation delightful, as the smiling Koller does here. He has a parachute, but soon loses it to a seagull. So things get worse fast, as well as more interesting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The clown pulls out a paper umbrella, which is the type of last-minute reprieve often imagined in a dream. Will it save him, or slow him down just enough to make his last moments of life more terrifying? The collective groan of the audience suggests the latter. And you think, well, at least he’s going to Mexico, which is where he was heading, though not quite in the way that he planned.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a beautiful start, and catches why this so-called family-friendly art form can often reach frightening levels of disturbance. Its fantasies are all encompassing — I can fall from a plane and live! — but death is always lurking, and not the kind where one goes to sleep and gently drifts away. So when our clown lands in a field of flowers, it’s both a brief respite from terror, and miraculous. And no circus worth its price of admission should ever leave either of those two states for long.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421448\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421448\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"The running butterfly woman (Shelli Epstein) touches down in Cirque du Soleil's 'Luzia.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-520x293.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The running butterfly woman (Shelli Epstein) touches down in Cirque du Soleil’s ‘Luzia.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>So almost immediately, a butterfly woman appears running through the air, her wings gigantic and fragile. She touches down on, of all things, an airport moving walkway — the kind that you glide on when you have too much luggage or just want to get a kick out of walking fast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The walkway, all straight lines, rotates in perfect circles on the mechanical stage. As right angles suddenly become circles and back again, the cast performs one of the most ornate series of hoop dives I’ve ever seen. You can almost feel the rules of geometry bend in front of you, as the perpendicular lines of the acrobats on the walkway defy and meld with the circular, rotating stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the finish of this improbability, Eric the clown is off again, leading us through a Mexico that only a tourist would dream of. In the woods where three women fly above the trees; on a movie set where the star balances on building blocks that take him higher and higher and higher; and finally to the “Swing to Swing,” a rather brutal contraption that hurls the performers wildly into the air.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421450\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421450\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Some terrifying acrobatics in Cirque du Soleil's 'Luzia.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-520x293.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Some terrifying acrobatics in Cirque du Soleil’s ‘Luzia.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It’s a full-blown fantasy of transcendence flecked with shards of reality as cutting as glass. Unbelievable, thrilling, and awful, I was relieved when this “waking dream” of Mexico was over and that it never became the nightmare that it so often threatens to become.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The performers in \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> aren’t on the level of the ones in Cirque du Soleil. But they’re quite good, and it’s a thrill to see them in the Kinetic Arts Center’s 150-seat warehouse space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421453\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421453\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-800x448.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) TT Robson, Julie Rogers, and Lillian Ferreira hang in unison in Kinetic Art's 'Inversion' directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander.\" width=\"800\" height=\"448\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-800x448.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-768x430.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-1020x572.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-1180x661.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-520x291.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654.jpg 1909w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) TT Robson, Julie Rogers, and Lillian Ferreira hang in unison in Kinetic Arts’ ‘Inversion,’ directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander. \u003ccite>(Photo: Eric Gillet)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Before the show properly begins, two clowns — brilliantly played throughout by Slater Penny and Julie Rogers — kind of mess around with the audience. It all seems a goof, and hardly worthy of grand ideas such as “disobedience” and “inversion.” But a good circus is always one step ahead of us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The show starts with a full cast dance number and when the performers stand before us, you realize that artistic director Jaron Hollander’s notion of the circus is much closer to theater than is Cirque du Soleil’s. Here, we’re confronted with character types, not categories of performers. There’s an angry teen, an anarchist punk, a conservative Republican family, a Ring Mistress with a whip, a little girl, and two fairies — one kind of devilish and the other a bit of an angel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As these types perform for us, they’re transformed by what they do. One of the most startling moments of \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> is Elliott Gittelsohn and Dwoira Galilea’s contortion act. It’s not just that they’re twisting their bodies in ways that defy basic biology; it’s that by doing so, their Republican identities implode while they contort. You feel how liberating talent, skill, and dedication are, and how their mere expression takes on an anarchic, uncontrollable force.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unlike most circuses, there are no obvious signals about what’s going to happen next and who is going to do what. Ross Travis’ anarchist punk flies up and down a metal pole the way most of us lean against a wall. Even after you begin to expect his oddball attacks on gravity, it’s still hard to anticipate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You would never guess that Erin $hredder’s Ring Mistress would rise in the air while twirling a dazzling array of luminescent hula-hoops, nor think that the angelic TT Robson could catch people in free fall with her feet, or believe that our casual clowns, so loose and natural, can scurry up dangling ropes and twirl in the air like mechanical whirligigs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421454\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421454\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-800x447.jpeg\" alt=\"Julie Rogers takes a twirl in Kinetic Art's 'Inversion' directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander.\" width=\"800\" height=\"447\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-800x447.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-160x89.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-768x429.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-1020x570.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-1180x659.jpeg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-960x536.jpeg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-240x134.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-375x210.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-520x291.jpeg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266.jpeg 1822w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Julie Rogers takes a twirl in Kinetic Art’s ‘Inversion’ directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander. \u003ccite>(Photo: Eric Gillet)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Nothing is as it seems. So even though the revolutionary ideals of \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> are quite tame, the show is nonetheless wildly explosive. Hollander has invested the whole piece with a verve and surprise that is beautiful and human. When the ending comes, it is both obvious and unbelievable. It’s both what we would expect and yet never imagine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The whole cast gets in the act as if they were all taking turns playing lead guitar in the happiest garage band in the world. And for one glorious moment — a slow motion fight set to William Tell’s \u003cem>Overture of 1812 — \u003c/em>everything feels as if it’s upside down.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So the riddle of the circus is always partial and right before us: people are miraculous and fragile; they dream of the impossible and make it come true. It’s just that no matter how wonderful the outcome, everyone finally falls to the ground. And then the lights go out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Inversion’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 18 at the Kinetic Arts Center in Oakland. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"http://www.kineticartsproductions.com/tickets-1\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Luiza’ runs through Sunday, Jan. 29 at the ATT parking lot in San Francisco. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.cirquedusoleil.com\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cstrong>Editor’s Note:\u003c/strong> This review was written before a \u003ca href=\"https://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2016/11/30/cirque-du-soleil-suspends-performances-following-worker-death/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Cirque du Soleil technician was killed\u003c/a> during a show Tuesday night (Nov. 29). The show is on hiatus until further notice.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Why the circus is fascinating remains a grand riddle. The emotions elicited by the art form are often so wild and contradictory that all you want is to harmonize them and find your way back to the normal, everyday world. Both Cirque du Soleil’s \u003cem>Luzia — A Waking Dream Of Mexico\u003c/em> and the Kinetic Arts Center’s \u003cem>Circus Disobedience: Inversion\u003c/em> hint at the answer to that riddle, while still keeping it a secret. Like the mystery of the Sphinx and our dreams, everything we need to know is right in front of us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cirque du Soleil’s \u003cem>Luzia\u003c/em> begins in terror. An airplane explodes, and a clown, the incredible, dough-faced Eric Koller, falls through the sky. Perhaps only a clown would find such a situation delightful, as the smiling Koller does here. He has a parachute, but soon loses it to a seagull. So things get worse fast, as well as more interesting.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The clown pulls out a paper umbrella, which is the type of last-minute reprieve often imagined in a dream. Will it save him, or slow him down just enough to make his last moments of life more terrifying? The collective groan of the audience suggests the latter. And you think, well, at least he’s going to Mexico, which is where he was heading, though not quite in the way that he planned.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a beautiful start, and catches why this so-called family-friendly art form can often reach frightening levels of disturbance. Its fantasies are all encompassing — I can fall from a plane and live! — but death is always lurking, and not the kind where one goes to sleep and gently drifts away. So when our clown lands in a field of flowers, it’s both a brief respite from terror, and miraculous. And no circus worth its price of admission should ever leave either of those two states for long.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421448\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421448\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"The running butterfly woman (Shelli Epstein) touches down in Cirque du Soleil's 'Luzia.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463-520x293.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusbutterflywoman-e1480581327463.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">The running butterfly woman (Shelli Epstein) touches down in Cirque du Soleil’s ‘Luzia.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>So almost immediately, a butterfly woman appears running through the air, her wings gigantic and fragile. She touches down on, of all things, an airport moving walkway — the kind that you glide on when you have too much luggage or just want to get a kick out of walking fast.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The walkway, all straight lines, rotates in perfect circles on the mechanical stage. As right angles suddenly become circles and back again, the cast performs one of the most ornate series of hoop dives I’ve ever seen. You can almost feel the rules of geometry bend in front of you, as the perpendicular lines of the acrobats on the walkway defy and meld with the circular, rotating stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At the finish of this improbability, Eric the clown is off again, leading us through a Mexico that only a tourist would dream of. In the woods where three women fly above the trees; on a movie set where the star balances on building blocks that take him higher and higher and higher; and finally to the “Swing to Swing,” a rather brutal contraption that hurls the performers wildly into the air.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421450\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421450\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-800x450.jpg\" alt=\"Some terrifying acrobatics in Cirque du Soleil's 'Luzia.'\" width=\"800\" height=\"450\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-768x432.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1020x574.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1920x1080.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-1180x664.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-960x540.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826-520x293.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusdeath3-e1480581564826.jpg 2048w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Some terrifying acrobatics in Cirque du Soleil’s ‘Luzia.’ \u003ccite>(Photo: Courtesy of the Company)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>It’s a full-blown fantasy of transcendence flecked with shards of reality as cutting as glass. Unbelievable, thrilling, and awful, I was relieved when this “waking dream” of Mexico was over and that it never became the nightmare that it so often threatens to become.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The performers in \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> aren’t on the level of the ones in Cirque du Soleil. But they’re quite good, and it’s a thrill to see them in the Kinetic Arts Center’s 150-seat warehouse space.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421453\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421453\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-800x448.jpg\" alt=\"(L to R) TT Robson, Julie Rogers, and Lillian Ferreira hang in unison in Kinetic Art's 'Inversion' directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander.\" width=\"800\" height=\"448\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-800x448.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-768x430.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-1020x572.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-1180x661.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654-520x291.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/CircusInversion1-e1480582298654.jpg 1909w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(L to R) TT Robson, Julie Rogers, and Lillian Ferreira hang in unison in Kinetic Arts’ ‘Inversion,’ directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander. \u003ccite>(Photo: Eric Gillet)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Before the show properly begins, two clowns — brilliantly played throughout by Slater Penny and Julie Rogers — kind of mess around with the audience. It all seems a goof, and hardly worthy of grand ideas such as “disobedience” and “inversion.” But a good circus is always one step ahead of us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The show starts with a full cast dance number and when the performers stand before us, you realize that artistic director Jaron Hollander’s notion of the circus is much closer to theater than is Cirque du Soleil’s. Here, we’re confronted with character types, not categories of performers. There’s an angry teen, an anarchist punk, a conservative Republican family, a Ring Mistress with a whip, a little girl, and two fairies — one kind of devilish and the other a bit of an angel.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As these types perform for us, they’re transformed by what they do. One of the most startling moments of \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> is Elliott Gittelsohn and Dwoira Galilea’s contortion act. It’s not just that they’re twisting their bodies in ways that defy basic biology; it’s that by doing so, their Republican identities implode while they contort. You feel how liberating talent, skill, and dedication are, and how their mere expression takes on an anarchic, uncontrollable force.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Unlike most circuses, there are no obvious signals about what’s going to happen next and who is going to do what. Ross Travis’ anarchist punk flies up and down a metal pole the way most of us lean against a wall. Even after you begin to expect his oddball attacks on gravity, it’s still hard to anticipate.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You would never guess that Erin $hredder’s Ring Mistress would rise in the air while twirling a dazzling array of luminescent hula-hoops, nor think that the angelic TT Robson could catch people in free fall with her feet, or believe that our casual clowns, so loose and natural, can scurry up dangling ropes and twirl in the air like mechanical whirligigs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12421454\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12421454\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-800x447.jpeg\" alt=\"Julie Rogers takes a twirl in Kinetic Art's 'Inversion' directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander.\" width=\"800\" height=\"447\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-800x447.jpeg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-160x89.jpeg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-768x429.jpeg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-1020x570.jpeg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-1180x659.jpeg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-960x536.jpeg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-240x134.jpeg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-375x210.jpeg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266-520x291.jpeg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/12/circusinversion2-e1480582604266.jpeg 1822w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Julie Rogers takes a twirl in Kinetic Art’s ‘Inversion’ directed and conceived by Jaron Hollander. \u003ccite>(Photo: Eric Gillet)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Nothing is as it seems. So even though the revolutionary ideals of \u003cem>Inversion\u003c/em> are quite tame, the show is nonetheless wildly explosive. Hollander has invested the whole piece with a verve and surprise that is beautiful and human. When the ending comes, it is both obvious and unbelievable. It’s both what we would expect and yet never imagine.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The whole cast gets in the act as if they were all taking turns playing lead guitar in the happiest garage band in the world. And for one glorious moment — a slow motion fight set to William Tell’s \u003cem>Overture of 1812 — \u003c/em>everything feels as if it’s upside down.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So the riddle of the circus is always partial and right before us: people are miraculous and fragile; they dream of the impossible and make it come true. It’s just that no matter how wonderful the outcome, everyone finally falls to the ground. And then the lights go out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Inversion’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 18 at the Kinetic Arts Center in Oakland. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"http://www.kineticartsproductions.com/tickets-1\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Luiza’ runs through Sunday, Jan. 29 at the ATT parking lot in San Francisco. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"https://www.cirquedusoleil.com\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Kamaiyah Proves She’s Oakland's Reigning Rap Queen at the Fox Theater",
"headTitle": "Kamaiyah Proves She’s Oakland’s Reigning Rap Queen at the Fox Theater | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>Considering her astronomical rise over the past six months, it’s hard to imagine that Kamaiyah was actually working night shifts as a security guard this time last year. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But off the strength of her March mixtape, \u003cem>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/em>, the Oakland native landed a deal with Interscope Records and became close collaborators with some of hip-hop’s brightest talents. Kamaiyah not only co-wrote YG’s infectious player anthem “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1CLmap_CVU\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Why You Always Hatin’\u003c/a>” — which, with its Oakland slang and a guest spot by Drake, rose to No. 62 on the Billboard chart — but she also steals the spotlight from her more famous co-stars in the video, rapping the hook in a silk robe as two men give her a foot rub. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, she’s become part of one of the most transgressive things to happen to hip-hop in 2016: YG’s “F–k Donald Trump” tour. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12409049\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3.jpg\" alt=\"Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"775\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12409049\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-768x744.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-240x233.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-375x363.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-520x504.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-32x32.jpg 32w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \u003ccite>(Nailah Howze (\u003ca href=\"http://www.cloudnaiii.com/\">Cloudnaiii.com\u003c/a>))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>YG became an unexpected leader of Trump resistance in hip-hop after dropping his single “FDT” during the primaries. The Compton native doesn’t exactly fit the stereotypical “conscious rapper” mold, but he, Kamaiyah, and the other rappers on the tour — RJ and Sad Boy — are using their platform and street credibility to mobilize hip-hop fans to get politically active.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Kamaiyah, the 24-year-old is ascending to a unique position in the hip-hop industry, both as a female artist and one from Oakland. Unlike New York, Chicago, or Memphis, the Bay Area doesn’t have a strong legacy of established female rappers. Nineties pioneers, such as the Conscious Daughters (whom Kamaiyah considers role models) and Suga T of E-40’s group The Click, never rose to the same level of recognition as their male peers. And the Bay Area’s regional style of street rap, mob music, has revolved so much around pimp culture that it’s easy to see why women might feel discouraged from rapping in the first place. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Add to those challenges the stringent expectations the recording industry places on its female stars — and the fact that major labels have historically overlooked Northern Californian rap talent — and Kamaiyah’s success feels like a win for Oaklanders and women everywhere. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGBVA42kmlg\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As Kamaiyah told me in \u003ca href=\"http://www.eastbayexpress.com/oakland/kamaiyah-makes-rap-for-the-99-percent/Content?oid=4705683\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an interview for the \u003cem>East Bay Express\u003c/em>\u003c/a> in March, she’s not interested in becoming a sexpot like Nicki Minaj, and could care less about presenting an image of unattainable wealth. And yet tickets sold out for the tour’s Oakland stop Friday night at the Fox Theater (tonight’s encore is also sold out), with audience members just as eager to root for their hometown hero as they were to see YG and publicly bash the president-elect. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A gleeful Kamaiyah looked triumphant on stage in her Rugrats-themed vintage bomber jacket, big T-shirt, and khakis. Members of Big Money Gang, her crew of childhood friends, endearingly cheered her on as she spat bars celebrating sexual freedom, friendship, and financial success over the funky bass lines of her debut release. And after performing “How Does It Feel,” the banger that vindicated broke twenty-somethings and gave her her rise, she even previewed some material from her yet-to-be-announced 2017 project.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kamaiyah wasted little time on stage banter, but when she did speak, her messaging was clear: “I’m the first lady of the F–k Donald Trump tour,” she declared, inspiring cheers for female empowerment and left-wing camaraderie.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12409050\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2.jpg\" alt=\"Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \" width=\"800\" height=\"740\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12409050\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-160x148.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-768x710.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-240x222.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-375x347.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-520x481.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \u003ccite>(Nailah Howze (\u003ca href=\"http://www.cloudnaiii.com/\">Cloudnaiii.com\u003c/a>))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the most energized points of the night was when YG and Kamaiyah performed “Why You Always Hatin’” (no surprise Drizzy appearance, though) and “F–k It Up” together. The two artists made clear their undeniable creative synergy, as both are torchbearers of West Coast street rap tradition, writing lyrics that celebrate a good time while acknowledging the dark realities of where they come from. (It was refreshing, too, to see YG praise Kamaiyah as his equal when many blogs and radio stations neglected to credit her for her feature on “Why You Always Hatin’” upon its release.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanna get political. I didn’t think I had it in me,” YG said after running through “Bicken Back Being Bool,” “Toot It and Boot It,” and other party songs and street anthems. He brought out Sad Boy to perform “Blacks & Browns,” a pensive track about solidarity among black and Latino people that speaks out against inner-city violence and systemic racism; the stage lit up green, white, and red as a flag bearer waved the Mexican flag behind them. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The night concluded with YG bringing out a Trump piñata and inviting four volunteers from the audience — one black, one white, one Latino, and one Asian — up to the stage. The four young people channeled their political rage into destroying the effigy, leading YG into his final and perhaps most powerful song of the night: “FDT.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But for many in the hometown crowd, the night was all about Kamaiyah — defying expectations of what a female rapper should look and sound like, and becoming an ambassador of Oakland culture to the mainstream while doing it.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "The talented 24-year-old Oakland native's swift ascension marks a welcome turning point both for the Town and for women in hip-hop.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Considering her astronomical rise over the past six months, it’s hard to imagine that Kamaiyah was actually working night shifts as a security guard this time last year. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But off the strength of her March mixtape, \u003cem>A Good Night in the Ghetto\u003c/em>, the Oakland native landed a deal with Interscope Records and became close collaborators with some of hip-hop’s brightest talents. Kamaiyah not only co-wrote YG’s infectious player anthem “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n1CLmap_CVU\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Why You Always Hatin’\u003c/a>” — which, with its Oakland slang and a guest spot by Drake, rose to No. 62 on the Billboard chart — but she also steals the spotlight from her more famous co-stars in the video, rapping the hook in a silk robe as two men give her a foot rub. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now, she’s become part of one of the most transgressive things to happen to hip-hop in 2016: YG’s “F–k Donald Trump” tour. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12409049\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3.jpg\" alt=\"Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016.\" width=\"800\" height=\"775\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12409049\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-160x155.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-768x744.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-240x233.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-375x363.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-520x504.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.3-32x32.jpg 32w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \u003ccite>(Nailah Howze (\u003ca href=\"http://www.cloudnaiii.com/\">Cloudnaiii.com\u003c/a>))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>YG became an unexpected leader of Trump resistance in hip-hop after dropping his single “FDT” during the primaries. The Compton native doesn’t exactly fit the stereotypical “conscious rapper” mold, but he, Kamaiyah, and the other rappers on the tour — RJ and Sad Boy — are using their platform and street credibility to mobilize hip-hop fans to get politically active.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for Kamaiyah, the 24-year-old is ascending to a unique position in the hip-hop industry, both as a female artist and one from Oakland. Unlike New York, Chicago, or Memphis, the Bay Area doesn’t have a strong legacy of established female rappers. Nineties pioneers, such as the Conscious Daughters (whom Kamaiyah considers role models) and Suga T of E-40’s group The Click, never rose to the same level of recognition as their male peers. And the Bay Area’s regional style of street rap, mob music, has revolved so much around pimp culture that it’s easy to see why women might feel discouraged from rapping in the first place. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Add to those challenges the stringent expectations the recording industry places on its female stars — and the fact that major labels have historically overlooked Northern Californian rap talent — and Kamaiyah’s success feels like a win for Oaklanders and women everywhere. \u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/eGBVA42kmlg'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/eGBVA42kmlg'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>As Kamaiyah told me in \u003ca href=\"http://www.eastbayexpress.com/oakland/kamaiyah-makes-rap-for-the-99-percent/Content?oid=4705683\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">an interview for the \u003cem>East Bay Express\u003c/em>\u003c/a> in March, she’s not interested in becoming a sexpot like Nicki Minaj, and could care less about presenting an image of unattainable wealth. And yet tickets sold out for the tour’s Oakland stop Friday night at the Fox Theater (tonight’s encore is also sold out), with audience members just as eager to root for their hometown hero as they were to see YG and publicly bash the president-elect. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A gleeful Kamaiyah looked triumphant on stage in her Rugrats-themed vintage bomber jacket, big T-shirt, and khakis. Members of Big Money Gang, her crew of childhood friends, endearingly cheered her on as she spat bars celebrating sexual freedom, friendship, and financial success over the funky bass lines of her debut release. And after performing “How Does It Feel,” the banger that vindicated broke twenty-somethings and gave her her rise, she even previewed some material from her yet-to-be-announced 2017 project.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kamaiyah wasted little time on stage banter, but when she did speak, her messaging was clear: “I’m the first lady of the F–k Donald Trump tour,” she declared, inspiring cheers for female empowerment and left-wing camaraderie.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12409050\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2.jpg\" alt=\"Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \" width=\"800\" height=\"740\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12409050\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-160x148.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-768x710.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-240x222.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-375x347.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kamaiyah.2-520x481.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kamaiyah performs at the Fox Theater in Oakland, Nov. 25, 2016. \u003ccite>(Nailah Howze (\u003ca href=\"http://www.cloudnaiii.com/\">Cloudnaiii.com\u003c/a>))\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>One of the most energized points of the night was when YG and Kamaiyah performed “Why You Always Hatin’” (no surprise Drizzy appearance, though) and “F–k It Up” together. The two artists made clear their undeniable creative synergy, as both are torchbearers of West Coast street rap tradition, writing lyrics that celebrate a good time while acknowledging the dark realities of where they come from. (It was refreshing, too, to see YG praise Kamaiyah as his equal when many blogs and radio stations neglected to credit her for her feature on “Why You Always Hatin’” upon its release.)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I wanna get political. I didn’t think I had it in me,” YG said after running through “Bicken Back Being Bool,” “Toot It and Boot It,” and other party songs and street anthems. He brought out Sad Boy to perform “Blacks & Browns,” a pensive track about solidarity among black and Latino people that speaks out against inner-city violence and systemic racism; the stage lit up green, white, and red as a flag bearer waved the Mexican flag behind them. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The night concluded with YG bringing out a Trump piñata and inviting four volunteers from the audience — one black, one white, one Latino, and one Asian — up to the stage. The four young people channeled their political rage into destroying the effigy, leading YG into his final and perhaps most powerful song of the night: “FDT.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But for many in the hometown crowd, the night was all about Kamaiyah — defying expectations of what a female rapper should look and sound like, and becoming an ambassador of Oakland culture to the mainstream while doing it.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Disney's 'Moana' Needs No Prince, Just The Land And Sea",
"headTitle": "Disney’s ‘Moana’ Needs No Prince, Just The Land And Sea | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>You would be forgiven for getting so lost in the world of \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em> that the story itself becomes merely a distant hum. Disney’s newest animated extravaganza takes as its inspiration the crystal blue waves and lush green island mountains of Polynesia, making the landscape into a 3-D storybook. The computer animation, so much crisper and more vibrant than the all-white X-Y planes of \u003cem>Frozen\u003c/em>, turns the film into a celebration of (bio)diversity. And not a moment too soon for a world that keeps needing to be reminded that this is all worth taking some effort to save.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part of getting lost in \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s world is honestly appreciating the culture at its center, as the film may be Disney’s most committed effort yet to accurately depict the lifestyle of the setting its animators have parachuted into. The studio recruited Pacific Islander talent and researchers, which it deemed the “\u003ca href=\"http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2016/11/moana-oceanic-trust-disney-controversy-pacific-islanders-polynesia\">Oceanic Trust\u003c/a>,” to aid in its depiction of the region. So characters break into hula or war dances without needing to tell us what they’re doing, and their natural, non-stagey interactions let us feel comfortable among them. The film achieves what the best Disney animated features do: a sense of place that is refined and specific.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/LKFuXETZUsI\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em> die-hards likely know Lin-Manuel Miranda co-wrote the original songs for the film with composer Mark Mancina, but the collaborator of arguably more importance is Opetaia Foa’i, the Samoa-born frontman to Oceanic fusion band Te Vaka. Foa’i’s influence is the one felt harder on the resulting sound, which mixes ecstatic marching bass drums with the swooning melodies of tribal chants. When he trades vocals with Miranda to sing about exploring far-reaching territories on the rousing “We Know the Way,” it’s enough to make all budding wayfarers, young and old, grab a telescope and set sail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Luckily, we have a surrogate to do all that adventuring for us, in the spunky preteen Moana (newcomer Auli’i Cravalho), the heir to her father’s chiefdom on the fictional Te Fiti, a remote, isolationist South Pacific island. (She resents the title “princess,” although one hopes she never stumbles across her own face in the Disney Princess marketing materials.) Moana dreams of setting sail for parts unknown, but dad (Temuera Morrison when speaking, and Miranda’s fellow \u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em> hero Christopher Jackson when singing) keeps dragging her back to parts known, reminding her of her duties to watch over the island tribe and ensure its future.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, the ocean calls: “The water is mischievous / I like how it misbehaves,” sings Moana’s feisty grandma (Rachel House), who, with that lovely line, pushes her granddaughter to venture beyond her island’s reef once the lackluster coconut harvest and fish depletion jeopardize the people’s way of life. In fact, the ocean is literally beckoning Moana, as it’s been anthropomorphized like the Disney sidekicks of yore, shooting jets of water for high-fives or to express annoyance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it’s hard to imbue a wave, no matter how mischievous, with as much personality as, say, Dopey. So we’re grateful once the film introduces a \u003cem>real\u003c/em> foil, the trickster demigod Maui (voiced with puffed-up chest by Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, \u003cem>People\u003c/em> magazine’s current Sexiest Demigod Alive). A mythical figure in Polynesian mythology, the Maui in this film has the build of a football player and the braggadocio of … well, a football player. He’s a shapeshifter who stole a trinket from Te Fiti’s island god, thus dooming Moana’s people; the girl’s assignment is to drag the headstrong yet thin-skinned Maui back to right his wrong, tattoos and all (his body is covered in them, and they have minds of their own).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story unfolds more or less in the same manner as Disney’s other lone-journey films, like \u003cem>The Lion King\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Hercules\u003c/em>, and the soundtrack provides an easy road map: the introduction song, the yearning song, the goofy-personality song. (We can only hope \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s numbers will peacefully fade onto Greatest Hits soundtracks before they turn on us like “Let It Go.”) Ron Clements and John Musker, whose previous features include \u003cem>The Little Mermaid\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The Princess and the Frog\u003c/em>, were the driving forces behind \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s vision. But they’re still two of four credited directors and two of eight credited writers, like the committee-driven nature of all in-house Mouse House productions. Often that approach works, as in the excellent \u003cem>Zootopia\u003c/em> earlier this year. But this story in particular seemed to demand a more idiosyncratic touch. Jemaine Clement as a giant crab who sings a Bowie-esque number about glitter is fun, but did it fit here?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, with all those names, the matter-of-fact way the film gets to treat its female protagonist is especially heartening. Her adversaries doubt her not because of her gender, but merely because of her youth; and she doesn’t have or need a love interest, a fact that may not even register with you until after the film has ended. Well, that’s not entirely true: Her love interest is the land and sea and its people, and anyone who sees \u003cem>Moana \u003c/em>will become smitten, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>A note on the preshow: \u003c/strong>“Inner Workings” is a suspiciously \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em>-like short about an office drone’s warring body parts. An overly cautious brain, situated inside the man’s boxy head, prevents his impulsive heart from enjoying all of life’s wonders, until an epiphany forces it to rethink its priorities. The film can’t measure up to the visual or emotional wonder of Disney’s similarly themed 2012 short “Paperman,” but director Leonard Matsuda still finds fascinating things to do with the animation form, particularly in the way he plays with geometric character models.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>You would be forgiven for getting so lost in the world of \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em> that the story itself becomes merely a distant hum. Disney’s newest animated extravaganza takes as its inspiration the crystal blue waves and lush green island mountains of Polynesia, making the landscape into a 3-D storybook. The computer animation, so much crisper and more vibrant than the all-white X-Y planes of \u003cem>Frozen\u003c/em>, turns the film into a celebration of (bio)diversity. And not a moment too soon for a world that keeps needing to be reminded that this is all worth taking some effort to save.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Part of getting lost in \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s world is honestly appreciating the culture at its center, as the film may be Disney’s most committed effort yet to accurately depict the lifestyle of the setting its animators have parachuted into. The studio recruited Pacific Islander talent and researchers, which it deemed the “\u003ca href=\"http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2016/11/moana-oceanic-trust-disney-controversy-pacific-islanders-polynesia\">Oceanic Trust\u003c/a>,” to aid in its depiction of the region. So characters break into hula or war dances without needing to tell us what they’re doing, and their natural, non-stagey interactions let us feel comfortable among them. The film achieves what the best Disney animated features do: a sense of place that is refined and specific.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/LKFuXETZUsI'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/LKFuXETZUsI'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em> die-hards likely know Lin-Manuel Miranda co-wrote the original songs for the film with composer Mark Mancina, but the collaborator of arguably more importance is Opetaia Foa’i, the Samoa-born frontman to Oceanic fusion band Te Vaka. Foa’i’s influence is the one felt harder on the resulting sound, which mixes ecstatic marching bass drums with the swooning melodies of tribal chants. When he trades vocals with Miranda to sing about exploring far-reaching territories on the rousing “We Know the Way,” it’s enough to make all budding wayfarers, young and old, grab a telescope and set sail.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Luckily, we have a surrogate to do all that adventuring for us, in the spunky preteen Moana (newcomer Auli’i Cravalho), the heir to her father’s chiefdom on the fictional Te Fiti, a remote, isolationist South Pacific island. (She resents the title “princess,” although one hopes she never stumbles across her own face in the Disney Princess marketing materials.) Moana dreams of setting sail for parts unknown, but dad (Temuera Morrison when speaking, and Miranda’s fellow \u003cem>Hamilton\u003c/em> hero Christopher Jackson when singing) keeps dragging her back to parts known, reminding her of her duties to watch over the island tribe and ensure its future.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, the ocean calls: “The water is mischievous / I like how it misbehaves,” sings Moana’s feisty grandma (Rachel House), who, with that lovely line, pushes her granddaughter to venture beyond her island’s reef once the lackluster coconut harvest and fish depletion jeopardize the people’s way of life. In fact, the ocean is literally beckoning Moana, as it’s been anthropomorphized like the Disney sidekicks of yore, shooting jets of water for high-fives or to express annoyance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But it’s hard to imbue a wave, no matter how mischievous, with as much personality as, say, Dopey. So we’re grateful once the film introduces a \u003cem>real\u003c/em> foil, the trickster demigod Maui (voiced with puffed-up chest by Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, \u003cem>People\u003c/em> magazine’s current Sexiest Demigod Alive). A mythical figure in Polynesian mythology, the Maui in this film has the build of a football player and the braggadocio of … well, a football player. He’s a shapeshifter who stole a trinket from Te Fiti’s island god, thus dooming Moana’s people; the girl’s assignment is to drag the headstrong yet thin-skinned Maui back to right his wrong, tattoos and all (his body is covered in them, and they have minds of their own).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The story unfolds more or less in the same manner as Disney’s other lone-journey films, like \u003cem>The Lion King\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Hercules\u003c/em>, and the soundtrack provides an easy road map: the introduction song, the yearning song, the goofy-personality song. (We can only hope \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s numbers will peacefully fade onto Greatest Hits soundtracks before they turn on us like “Let It Go.”) Ron Clements and John Musker, whose previous features include \u003cem>The Little Mermaid\u003c/em> and \u003cem>The Princess and the Frog\u003c/em>, were the driving forces behind \u003cem>Moana\u003c/em>‘s vision. But they’re still two of four credited directors and two of eight credited writers, like the committee-driven nature of all in-house Mouse House productions. Often that approach works, as in the excellent \u003cem>Zootopia\u003c/em> earlier this year. But this story in particular seemed to demand a more idiosyncratic touch. Jemaine Clement as a giant crab who sings a Bowie-esque number about glitter is fun, but did it fit here?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, with all those names, the matter-of-fact way the film gets to treat its female protagonist is especially heartening. Her adversaries doubt her not because of her gender, but merely because of her youth; and she doesn’t have or need a love interest, a fact that may not even register with you until after the film has ended. Well, that’s not entirely true: Her love interest is the land and sea and its people, and anyone who sees \u003cem>Moana \u003c/em>will become smitten, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cstrong>A note on the preshow: \u003c/strong>“Inner Workings” is a suspiciously \u003cem>Inside Out\u003c/em>-like short about an office drone’s warring body parts. An overly cautious brain, situated inside the man’s boxy head, prevents his impulsive heart from enjoying all of life’s wonders, until an epiphany forces it to rethink its priorities. The film can’t measure up to the visual or emotional wonder of Disney’s similarly themed 2012 short “Paperman,” but director Leonard Matsuda still finds fascinating things to do with the animation form, particularly in the way he plays with geometric character models.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Paul Verhoeven's 'Elle' is a Brutal, Elegant, Pitch-Black Comedy",
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"content": "\u003cp>At the fancy Christmas dinner she hosts in her posh Paris home, a stylish entrepreneur named Michèle, played to impassive perfection by Isabelle Huppert, verbally abuses her heavily Botoxed elderly mother and her mother’s very-much-younger consort. She inflicts injury on the very-much-younger girlfriend of her former husband. She pokes fun at her ineffectual son, his partner, and their baby. She takes a covert swipe at her pretty Christian neighbor while initiating a game of footsie with that neighbor’s handsome husband, a broker. By way of dessert she indulges, without noticeable pleasure, in some furtive post-prandial sex with her best friend and partner’s husband. ‘Tis the season!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I should add that by the time this jolly crew has convened halfway through Paul Verhoeven’s sardonic thriller \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em>, Michèle has been violently raped several times on her living-room floor by a masked intruder clad head-to-toe in black leather or rubber or some other appealing fabric from the sado-masochist runway. The graphically detailed sexual assaults function as little more than a hiccup in Michèle’s busy life as the CEO of a raunchy videogame company that appears to be staffed by callow twelve-year-olds. Oh, and one of these young blades has circulated a creatively pornographic video of Michèle being violated by a monster. I wouldn’t say she doesn’t turn a hair, but Michèle goes about her business while wreaking malicious damage on those who get in her way, and on plenty who don’t.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/gM96ne-XiH0\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If you saw Huppert in Michael Haneke’s 2001 erotic thriller \u003cem>The Piano Teache\u003c/em>r, you’ll know that she can serve up steely and kinky pretty much on demand. Behind her sustained deadpan in \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> and the misleading shades of beige in which she’s clad lurks a barely contained ironist and black comedian channeling, with quiet glee, the bracing nihilism of the man who made \u003cem>Robocop\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Basic Instinct\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Showgirls\u003c/em>. Never was such flat affect delivered through such expressive eyes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>How you feel about this brutal, elegantly crafted film will depend in part on whether you regard nihilism as a moral/political philosophy or as a film language that gets us to rethink the tired pieties that appeal to our vanity. A provocateur to his core, Verhoeven wades breezily into hot-potato territory, all the while refusing moral judgment. This hasn’t always worked: In \u003cem>Black Book\u003c/em> (2006) he comes \u003cem>this\u003c/em> close to suggesting that, ethically speaking, there was little room between the Nazis and the Dutch resistance. \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> is a far less blunt instrument, in part because the movie is cunningly ambiguous about what drives the strange woman at its center. The English-language screenplay for \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em>, which Verhoeven had hoped to make in the United States, is adapted by David Birke from a French novel written under the influence of the mass murders committed by Norwegian Anders Behring Breivik. Faux news footage shows Michèle at age ten, staring blankly into the camera at the scene when her now incarcerated father murdered a slew of neighbors who had asked him not to make the sign of the cross on their children’s foreheads.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12349839\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1269px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'Elle.'\" width=\"1269\" height=\"842\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12349839\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop.jpg 1269w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-1180x783.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-960x637.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-240x159.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-375x249.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-520x345.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1269px) 100vw, 1269px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘Elle.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Now she’s a successful, ruthless businesswoman who presides over a ludicrously dysfunctional ensemble of family, friends and employees whose loyalty to her is about as dependable as hers to them. Which at the very least brings enjoyably double-edged performances by Charles Berling as Michèle’s hapless husband, Anne Consigny as her best friend and business partner, Judith Magre as her mother, and Laurent Lafitte as her intriguing, handsome neighbor. There’s not a soul in \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> who’s above cheating and lying as needed, unless you count the lone committed Christian (Virginie Efira). And even she, it turns out, knows more than her blue saucer eyes let on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However brutal Michèle’s past, Verhoeven won’t allow us to jump to causal conclusions about her asocial behavior or the cat-and-mouse game she plays with her attacker. If you’re looking for it, there’s ample fodder in Michèle’s venal milieu for social commentary about the nasty post-millennial world we’ve created for ourselves. Humanity doesn’t much impress Verhoeven, but though I could wish he didn’t enjoy shoving the multiple rapes in our faces so much, he’s not endorsing rape and I don’t believe he’s anti-feminist. After all, Michèle’s in charge, even if the director won’t tip his hand about whether she’s a plucky survivor, a complete psycho, or just a woman so blitzed by her childhood that she responds to almost every turn of the screw, her rape included, with the same unruffled calm. Only the sick games she plays with her aggressor seem to get her worked up. “Why did you do it?” she asks him when, fittingly, they end up duking it out in the basement of her house. “It was necessary,” he answers. Over to you.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>At the fancy Christmas dinner she hosts in her posh Paris home, a stylish entrepreneur named Michèle, played to impassive perfection by Isabelle Huppert, verbally abuses her heavily Botoxed elderly mother and her mother’s very-much-younger consort. She inflicts injury on the very-much-younger girlfriend of her former husband. She pokes fun at her ineffectual son, his partner, and their baby. She takes a covert swipe at her pretty Christian neighbor while initiating a game of footsie with that neighbor’s handsome husband, a broker. By way of dessert she indulges, without noticeable pleasure, in some furtive post-prandial sex with her best friend and partner’s husband. ‘Tis the season!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I should add that by the time this jolly crew has convened halfway through Paul Verhoeven’s sardonic thriller \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em>, Michèle has been violently raped several times on her living-room floor by a masked intruder clad head-to-toe in black leather or rubber or some other appealing fabric from the sado-masochist runway. The graphically detailed sexual assaults function as little more than a hiccup in Michèle’s busy life as the CEO of a raunchy videogame company that appears to be staffed by callow twelve-year-olds. Oh, and one of these young blades has circulated a creatively pornographic video of Michèle being violated by a monster. I wouldn’t say she doesn’t turn a hair, but Michèle goes about her business while wreaking malicious damage on those who get in her way, and on plenty who don’t.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/gM96ne-XiH0'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/gM96ne-XiH0'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>If you saw Huppert in Michael Haneke’s 2001 erotic thriller \u003cem>The Piano Teache\u003c/em>r, you’ll know that she can serve up steely and kinky pretty much on demand. Behind her sustained deadpan in \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> and the misleading shades of beige in which she’s clad lurks a barely contained ironist and black comedian channeling, with quiet glee, the bracing nihilism of the man who made \u003cem>Robocop\u003c/em>, \u003cem>Basic Instinct\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Showgirls\u003c/em>. Never was such flat affect delivered through such expressive eyes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>How you feel about this brutal, elegantly crafted film will depend in part on whether you regard nihilism as a moral/political philosophy or as a film language that gets us to rethink the tired pieties that appeal to our vanity. A provocateur to his core, Verhoeven wades breezily into hot-potato territory, all the while refusing moral judgment. This hasn’t always worked: In \u003cem>Black Book\u003c/em> (2006) he comes \u003cem>this\u003c/em> close to suggesting that, ethically speaking, there was little room between the Nazis and the Dutch resistance. \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> is a far less blunt instrument, in part because the movie is cunningly ambiguous about what drives the strange woman at its center. The English-language screenplay for \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em>, which Verhoeven had hoped to make in the United States, is adapted by David Birke from a French novel written under the influence of the mass murders committed by Norwegian Anders Behring Breivik. Faux news footage shows Michèle at age ten, staring blankly into the camera at the scene when her now incarcerated father murdered a slew of neighbors who had asked him not to make the sign of the cross on their children’s foreheads.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12349839\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1269px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop.jpg\" alt=\"Still from 'Elle.'\" width=\"1269\" height=\"842\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12349839\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop.jpg 1269w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-160x106.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-800x531.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-768x510.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-1020x677.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-1180x783.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-960x637.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-240x159.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-375x249.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/2crop-520x345.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1269px) 100vw, 1269px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Still from ‘Elle.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Now she’s a successful, ruthless businesswoman who presides over a ludicrously dysfunctional ensemble of family, friends and employees whose loyalty to her is about as dependable as hers to them. Which at the very least brings enjoyably double-edged performances by Charles Berling as Michèle’s hapless husband, Anne Consigny as her best friend and business partner, Judith Magre as her mother, and Laurent Lafitte as her intriguing, handsome neighbor. There’s not a soul in \u003cem>Elle\u003c/em> who’s above cheating and lying as needed, unless you count the lone committed Christian (Virginie Efira). And even she, it turns out, knows more than her blue saucer eyes let on.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However brutal Michèle’s past, Verhoeven won’t allow us to jump to causal conclusions about her asocial behavior or the cat-and-mouse game she plays with her attacker. If you’re looking for it, there’s ample fodder in Michèle’s venal milieu for social commentary about the nasty post-millennial world we’ve created for ourselves. Humanity doesn’t much impress Verhoeven, but though I could wish he didn’t enjoy shoving the multiple rapes in our faces so much, he’s not endorsing rape and I don’t believe he’s anti-feminist. After all, Michèle’s in charge, even if the director won’t tip his hand about whether she’s a plucky survivor, a complete psycho, or just a woman so blitzed by her childhood that she responds to almost every turn of the screw, her rape included, with the same unruffled calm. Only the sick games she plays with her aggressor seem to get her worked up. “Why did you do it?” she asks him when, fittingly, they end up duking it out in the basement of her house. “It was necessary,” he answers. Over to you.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "In Michael Chabon's 'Moonglow,' Deathbed Confessions Enhance a Life",
"headTitle": "In Michael Chabon’s ‘Moonglow,’ Deathbed Confessions Enhance a Life | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em>, the newest book by Michael Chabon, is a novel wrapped in a memoir. Or maybe it’s memoir wrapped in a novel. Either way, it’s an elegantly structured narrative that examines what can be known about a family history colored by personal and historical suffering.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book is based on the deathbed confessions of Chabon’s grandfather. While high on painkillers, he began telling Chabon stories about his stint in jail, serving in World War II, retirement in Florida, and marriage to Chabon’s grandmother. \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> is the grandfather’s life story, but with embellishments to fill in the gaps. As Chabon puts it, “I have stuck to facts, except when facts refused to conform with memory, narrative purpose, or the truth as I prefer to understand it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The grandfather is a familiar 20th-century type, emotionally repressed and controlled. He’s the kind of man who drinks one glass of scotch every Friday night and makes models of lunar bases in his spare time. Chabon’s grandmother, on the other hand, is a dramatic figure who tells stories to her grandson using Tarot cards and who plays an Elvira-like character called the Night Witch on Baltimore television. The first time the grandfather sees her, she’s “posed beside a potted palm, in a fox stole and sunglasses, under a banner that read, TRY YOUR LUCK!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1020x1530.jpg\" alt=\"moonglow-cover\" width=\"640\" height=\"960\" class=\"aligncenter size-large wp-image-12358583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1180x1770.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-960x1440.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-240x360.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-375x563.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-520x780.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_.jpg 1600w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the best passages in \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> are about the grandmother’s mental illness, which involves terrifying hallucinations of a skinless horse. The illness is related to the grandmother’s trauma as a Jew during World War II. “She was a vessel built to hold the pain of history, but it had cracked her, and radiant darkness leaked out through the crack.” The grandparents’ relationship is a model in fidelity. Despite the turmoil driving them apart, they keep coming back together. Deep love exists alongside personal pain, which seems to necessitate careful negotiation. While Michael learns the full story of his grandmother’s experiences in the war, the grandfather remains willfully ignorant. “What if she were to tell you something or you learned something about her… that caused you to question everything she had told you before?” a psychiatrist asks the grandfather. He replies: “Sounds like I ought to tell her not to tell me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to beautiful language and complex structure, Chabon’s prose is dense with research, covering topics like the history of trick-or-treating, Florida’s invasive pet problem, and advanced robotic navigation research. You can almost picture Chabon looking up the underside of the Francis Scott Key Bridge or what type of sweater a GI might have worn during World War II: “Shawl collar, toggle buttons, and a sash that Aughenbaugh left untied because he felt self-conscious about having womanly hips.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the research can bog down the narrative, when done well it enhances \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em>’s interplay between fact and fiction. In one chapter, for example, Chabon drops storytelling for a digression on the history of German rocket engineering during the war. On the surface, it’s easy to lose patience with what feels like a sudden dive into a term paper, but the chapter gives depth to the grandfather’s war experience, which included witnessing a German labor camp. It’s a relief that we can both experience the gravity of what he saw without having to see it with him. Some things are too serious — too real, if you will — to be subjected to imaginative rendering. Perhaps the only respectful move is to let the facts stand as they are. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> is a subtle, poignant novel. A plot that first seems to be about mundane people soon circles and tightens and becomes more reflective of its themes. Revelations come out, sometimes only in footnotes, and connections are made. In the end, this complicated book is a rewarding read — with much to say about our perception of loved ones, the unreliable nature of memory, and the burdens of inheriting a family story damaged by history. \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "How well do we know our loved ones? In the Berkeley author's poignant 'Moonglow,' the answer is a complex combination of fact, memory, and projection.",
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"description": "How well do we know our loved ones? In the Berkeley author's poignant 'Moonglow,' the answer is a complex combination of fact, memory, and projection.",
"title": "In Michael Chabon's 'Moonglow,' Deathbed Confessions Enhance a Life | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em>, the newest book by Michael Chabon, is a novel wrapped in a memoir. Or maybe it’s memoir wrapped in a novel. Either way, it’s an elegantly structured narrative that examines what can be known about a family history colored by personal and historical suffering.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The book is based on the deathbed confessions of Chabon’s grandfather. While high on painkillers, he began telling Chabon stories about his stint in jail, serving in World War II, retirement in Florida, and marriage to Chabon’s grandmother. \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> is the grandfather’s life story, but with embellishments to fill in the gaps. As Chabon puts it, “I have stuck to facts, except when facts refused to conform with memory, narrative purpose, or the truth as I prefer to understand it.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The grandfather is a familiar 20th-century type, emotionally repressed and controlled. He’s the kind of man who drinks one glass of scotch every Friday night and makes models of lunar bases in his spare time. Chabon’s grandmother, on the other hand, is a dramatic figure who tells stories to her grandson using Tarot cards and who plays an Elvira-like character called the Night Witch on Baltimore television. The first time the grandfather sees her, she’s “posed beside a potted palm, in a fox stole and sunglasses, under a banner that read, TRY YOUR LUCK!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1020x1530.jpg\" alt=\"moonglow-cover\" width=\"640\" height=\"960\" class=\"aligncenter size-large wp-image-12358583\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1020x1530.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-160x240.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-800x1200.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-768x1152.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-1180x1770.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-960x1440.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-240x360.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-375x563.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_-520x780.jpg 520w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Moonglow.cover_.jpg 1600w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Some of the best passages in \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> are about the grandmother’s mental illness, which involves terrifying hallucinations of a skinless horse. The illness is related to the grandmother’s trauma as a Jew during World War II. “She was a vessel built to hold the pain of history, but it had cracked her, and radiant darkness leaked out through the crack.” The grandparents’ relationship is a model in fidelity. Despite the turmoil driving them apart, they keep coming back together. Deep love exists alongside personal pain, which seems to necessitate careful negotiation. While Michael learns the full story of his grandmother’s experiences in the war, the grandfather remains willfully ignorant. “What if she were to tell you something or you learned something about her… that caused you to question everything she had told you before?” a psychiatrist asks the grandfather. He replies: “Sounds like I ought to tell her not to tell me.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In addition to beautiful language and complex structure, Chabon’s prose is dense with research, covering topics like the history of trick-or-treating, Florida’s invasive pet problem, and advanced robotic navigation research. You can almost picture Chabon looking up the underside of the Francis Scott Key Bridge or what type of sweater a GI might have worn during World War II: “Shawl collar, toggle buttons, and a sash that Aughenbaugh left untied because he felt self-conscious about having womanly hips.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While the research can bog down the narrative, when done well it enhances \u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em>’s interplay between fact and fiction. In one chapter, for example, Chabon drops storytelling for a digression on the history of German rocket engineering during the war. On the surface, it’s easy to lose patience with what feels like a sudden dive into a term paper, but the chapter gives depth to the grandfather’s war experience, which included witnessing a German labor camp. It’s a relief that we can both experience the gravity of what he saw without having to see it with him. Some things are too serious — too real, if you will — to be subjected to imaginative rendering. Perhaps the only respectful move is to let the facts stand as they are. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Moonglow\u003c/em> is a subtle, poignant novel. A plot that first seems to be about mundane people soon circles and tightens and becomes more reflective of its themes. Revelations come out, sometimes only in footnotes, and connections are made. In the end, this complicated book is a rewarding read — with much to say about our perception of loved ones, the unreliable nature of memory, and the burdens of inheriting a family story damaged by history. \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "A Plant's-Eye View of the World",
"headTitle": "A Plant’s-Eye View of the World | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.barbarakyne.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Barbara Kyne\u003c/a>’s exhibition at Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/\">Krowswork Gallery\u003c/a>, \u003ci>A Crack in the World\u003c/i>, peeks into a world that most people would assume is impossible: the lived experience of plants. At least, it’s a glimpse at the possibility of a plant’s lived experience, visualized by Kyne through photographs that play with this unexpected notion to a startling, gorgeous effect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The artist wonders “what the consciousness of plants might be,” and uses digital photography (though not digital alterations) to explore that question, according to \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/barbarakyne.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">exhibition materials\u003c/a>. Though this query might seem wildly abstract or even too unimaginable to attempt (after all, plants don’t have eyes), the photo series manipulates lens-based vision to create multiple, slightly distorted vantage points that feel non-human. It’s oddly convincing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346339\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #11,' 2013.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346339\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #11,’ 2013. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Through playful exploration of depth of field, the photographs in \u003ci>A Crack in the World\u003c/i> shift human vision into an extraordinary terrain, one where Kyne and her camera revel. Kyne perceives her relationship with the camera as one that interlocks, forming a “camera-being” — a hybrid experience to which many photographers can likely relate. But it’s not only Kyne’s connection to her camera that comes through the work: it’s a connection to plants as other living things. By putting my gaze (her own gaze) into a plant’s shoes — or rather, roots — Kyne’s work transported me into a deeper visual empathy for the greenery underfoot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If trees had eyes, the leaves in \u003cem>A Crack in the World #28\u003c/em> are like hair falling across one’s face, and the branches appear the same way a human might ignore the limbs of her own body while concentrating elsewhere: appendages that are visible, yet not in focus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346340\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 3000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #28,' 2015.\" width=\"3000\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346340\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28.jpg 3000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 3000px) 100vw, 3000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #28,’ 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>An image that clearly resulted from the photographer laying in a field gives the impression that, instead, the view point is from one of the flowers gazing upwards and around at its compatriots. Again, a play on depth of field differentiates between subject and surroundings. In this case, a flower’s community simply cohabitates nearby, like a loved one on the couch next to you while you’re both mentally engaged elsewhere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s role reversal of perspective into flora is unexpected. We are used to gazing at plants. We are used to analyzing, dissecting and labeling plants — getting to know them through science. We are used to nature photography and landscapes, but I hesitate to include Kyne’s work in either genre. My visceral pleasure in looking fell on the uncanny side. Something else is happening here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346342\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #120,' 2014.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346342\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #120,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For the theory buffs out there, Kyne’s photographs effectively engage recent academic trends, such as UC Berkeley theorist \u003ca href=\"http://cssc.berkeley.edu/people/mel-chen-director/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Mel Chen\u003c/a>’s study of \u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/Animacies/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">animacy\u003c/a> and the language that regularly differentiates between the sentient and the inanimate. Kyne’s work even conjures up the heavy-hitting late-twentieth-century French philosophers, \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deleuze_and_Guattari\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Deleuze and Guattari\u003c/a>, who used plants’ root structures — the networked, tangled \u003ca href=\"https://lucian.uchicago.edu/blogs/mediatheory/keywords/rhizome/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">rhizomes\u003c/a> — as a way to emphasize social multiplicities (rather than promote individualism). But Kyne’s art doesn’t need (nor, I’d say, expect) to be contextualized within theory: the work just \u003ci>does\u003c/i> it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And if there’s a political message here, it’s just as easily philosophical, even spiritual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s work proves something extremely important, though easily missed: Plants’ names do not matter. Perhaps some viewers might readily identify such-and-such plant and find meaning in this act; however, I would argue that Kyne’s photographs — like the plants themselves — do not care about language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346343\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #155,' 2015.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346343\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #155,’ 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>To paraphrase Walt Whitman, whose 1855 poem \u003ca href=\"http://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/27\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">“Song of Myself”\u003c/a> rang clear in my mind as I studied Kyne’s works, the plants exist as they are, and that is enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s photographs remind us that systems of language keep us, at times, from realizing our commonality in coexistence with others. Rather than promoting empathy, words have a way of dividing us. Instead, we might focus more intently on the undeniable fact that we are each different from one another and yet we remain connected. We could all use more reminders like that right now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cb>A Crack in the World\u003c/b> is on view at Krowswork in Oakland through Dec. 3. For more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/barbarakyne.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">krowswork.com\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Photographer Barbara Kyne transports viewers into plants' shoes -- or roots -- with playful camera work and gorgeous images at Krowswork Gallery in Oakland.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://www.barbarakyne.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Barbara Kyne\u003c/a>’s exhibition at Oakland’s \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/\">Krowswork Gallery\u003c/a>, \u003ci>A Crack in the World\u003c/i>, peeks into a world that most people would assume is impossible: the lived experience of plants. At least, it’s a glimpse at the possibility of a plant’s lived experience, visualized by Kyne through photographs that play with this unexpected notion to a startling, gorgeous effect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The artist wonders “what the consciousness of plants might be,” and uses digital photography (though not digital alterations) to explore that question, according to \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/barbarakyne.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">exhibition materials\u003c/a>. Though this query might seem wildly abstract or even too unimaginable to attempt (after all, plants don’t have eyes), the photo series manipulates lens-based vision to create multiple, slightly distorted vantage points that feel non-human. It’s oddly convincing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346339\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #11,' 2013.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346339\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_11-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #11,’ 2013. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Through playful exploration of depth of field, the photographs in \u003ci>A Crack in the World\u003c/i> shift human vision into an extraordinary terrain, one where Kyne and her camera revel. Kyne perceives her relationship with the camera as one that interlocks, forming a “camera-being” — a hybrid experience to which many photographers can likely relate. But it’s not only Kyne’s connection to her camera that comes through the work: it’s a connection to plants as other living things. By putting my gaze (her own gaze) into a plant’s shoes — or rather, roots — Kyne’s work transported me into a deeper visual empathy for the greenery underfoot.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If trees had eyes, the leaves in \u003cem>A Crack in the World #28\u003c/em> are like hair falling across one’s face, and the branches appear the same way a human might ignore the limbs of her own body while concentrating elsewhere: appendages that are visible, yet not in focus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346340\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 3000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #28,' 2015.\" width=\"3000\" height=\"2000\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346340\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28.jpg 3000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_28-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 3000px) 100vw, 3000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #28,’ 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>An image that clearly resulted from the photographer laying in a field gives the impression that, instead, the view point is from one of the flowers gazing upwards and around at its compatriots. Again, a play on depth of field differentiates between subject and surroundings. In this case, a flower’s community simply cohabitates nearby, like a loved one on the couch next to you while you’re both mentally engaged elsewhere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s role reversal of perspective into flora is unexpected. We are used to gazing at plants. We are used to analyzing, dissecting and labeling plants — getting to know them through science. We are used to nature photography and landscapes, but I hesitate to include Kyne’s work in either genre. My visceral pleasure in looking fell on the uncanny side. Something else is happening here.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346342\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #120,' 2014.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346342\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_120-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #120,’ 2014. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>For the theory buffs out there, Kyne’s photographs effectively engage recent academic trends, such as UC Berkeley theorist \u003ca href=\"http://cssc.berkeley.edu/people/mel-chen-director/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Mel Chen\u003c/a>’s study of \u003ca href=\"https://www.dukeupress.edu/Animacies/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">animacy\u003c/a> and the language that regularly differentiates between the sentient and the inanimate. Kyne’s work even conjures up the heavy-hitting late-twentieth-century French philosophers, \u003ca href=\"https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deleuze_and_Guattari\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Deleuze and Guattari\u003c/a>, who used plants’ root structures — the networked, tangled \u003ca href=\"https://lucian.uchicago.edu/blogs/mediatheory/keywords/rhizome/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">rhizomes\u003c/a> — as a way to emphasize social multiplicities (rather than promote individualism). But Kyne’s art doesn’t need (nor, I’d say, expect) to be contextualized within theory: the work just \u003ci>does\u003c/i> it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And if there’s a political message here, it’s just as easily philosophical, even spiritual.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s work proves something extremely important, though easily missed: Plants’ names do not matter. Perhaps some viewers might readily identify such-and-such plant and find meaning in this act; however, I would argue that Kyne’s photographs — like the plants themselves — do not care about language.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12346343\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 2000px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155.jpg\" alt=\"Barbara Kyne, 'A Crack in the World #155,' 2015.\" width=\"2000\" height=\"1333\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12346343\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155.jpg 2000w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-768x512.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1020x680.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1920x1280.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-1180x786.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-960x640.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-240x160.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-375x250.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Kyne_Crack_155-520x347.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 2000px) 100vw, 2000px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Barbara Kyne, ‘A Crack in the World #155,’ 2015. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of Krowswork Gallery)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>To paraphrase Walt Whitman, whose 1855 poem \u003ca href=\"http://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1891/poems/27\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">“Song of Myself”\u003c/a> rang clear in my mind as I studied Kyne’s works, the plants exist as they are, and that is enough.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kyne’s photographs remind us that systems of language keep us, at times, from realizing our commonality in coexistence with others. Rather than promoting empathy, words have a way of dividing us. Instead, we might focus more intently on the undeniable fact that we are each different from one another and yet we remain connected. We could all use more reminders like that right now.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>\u003cb>A Crack in the World\u003c/b> is on view at Krowswork in Oakland through Dec. 3. For more information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.krowswork.com/barbarakyne.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">krowswork.com\u003c/a>.\u003c/i>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Dancer Attempts to Conjure Up Lost Leather Bars of SoMa",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/soma-now-and-then/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SOMA Now and Then\u003c/a>\u003c/em> is a walking tour made out of movement and memoir, leading visitors along the back alleys of SoMa in the company of the choreographer Joe Landini. He dances while a pre-recorded narration of his sexual awakening and ongoing dalliances plays out on the headset of visitors’ smartphones. Landini tells the story of the glory days of SoMa as a haven for gay libidinal liberation, and nods towards the neighborhood’s subsequent decline, particularly the loss of a number of its leather bars and clubs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Amy Lewis, who founded the dance company Push Up Something Hidden (P.U.S.H.), conceived and directed the production. This is her second piece aimed at exploring a San Francisco neighborhood with contemporary dance. Her first, \u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/tread-the-tendernob/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Tread the Tendernob\u003c/em>\u003c/a> from 2011, was also a “walking tour.” This new collaboration with Landini meets at the uneasy intersection of his personal history, dance, and the city’s busy streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345495\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345495 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a.jpg\" width=\"720\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-240x180.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-375x281.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-520x390.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On a recent afternoon at the start of the tour, a group of around 20 audience members gathers in a circle outside of the Eagle Bar on 12th Street. Lewis controls the audio from her mobile device as we follow a pink-hatted assistant around for an hour or so. A short prologue provides a brief collection of historical facts about SoMa, including how it used to be underwater, how redevelopment in the late 1960s made space for the leather community, and how AIDS, the closing of the local bathhouses and rising rents in the 1980s forced the leather community out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the group rambles down Ringold Street, Landini stands in front of a garage door in a large rectangle of sunlight. The performer begins to dance. In a white T-shirt and jeans, Landini wears the anonymous uniform of a gay cruiser looking for his next hookup. Instead of listening to music as he dances, we hear Landini’s disembodied voice through our headphones, codifying the various gay subcultures that thrive in SoMa’s leather bars, including fetishes like S&M, bondage and discipline (which, he notes, is not the same as S&M), watersports and fisting. Without a doubt, this is a sex-positive walking tour.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However, there is an discomfiting disconnect between watching Landini dance without music and listening to his voiceover playing in our heads. His arm movements — fists thumping against his chest then extending out like an archer’s — are intent on communication. But his gestures often make us feel like we’re watching someone sign in a weird physical language that none of us can interpret or understand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345498\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345498 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b.jpg\" width=\"720\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-240x180.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-375x281.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-520x390.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As we move from alley to side street, past sex clubs and former bathhouses, we begin to acquire a wealth of information about Landini’s sexual preferences. The example that resonates the most: he prefers to be topped by tall men because short men can’t get enough leverage to stimulate his prostate in quite the same way. After he finishes a dance accompanied by his narration, he suddenly stops, turns and continues down the street. Then we follow him from behind as if we’re cruising after a possible hookup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the performer is the bottom asking to be penetrated by the audience’s gaze. We become the tops he’s looking for. If that sounds like a heavy-handed reading, consider that Landini confesses on the recording that, at this point in his life, it’s too much work to be a top. He goes on to say that the great pleasure of hanging out in the back rooms of SoMa’s bars is the lack of effort it takes to get laid. The theme of being lazy, of developing the habit for easy sex, resurfaces unapologetically and relentlessly. That all the dances feel starchy and asexual, save the very last, distances them even further from all of Landini’s attempted aural titillation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345500\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 540px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345500 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c.jpg\" width=\"540\" height=\"720\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c.jpg 540w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-240x320.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-375x500.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-520x693.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 540px) 100vw, 540px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The handout and map of the tour contains a list of over two dozen current and former SoMa gay bars and clubs. While many of these venues have closed due to rising rents, Landini doesn’t sound sentimental or elegiac. He talks about a renewed interest in the neighborhood’s gay life because of the community’s growing fatigue with the gay hookup app Grindr. The changing face of SoMa may have brought down the number of places to cruise, but according to Landini, there are still gay men meeting up and dancing in the streets unwilling to have their desires displaced or forgotten.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If endless sex with random strangers is the main point of Landini’s storytelling — the neighborhood here exists less as an actual place than as a painted backdrop for his fantasies and encounters — then why not bring in different dancers at the various stopping points? The dances then might add up to a coherent, even moving performance, reinforcing ideas of loss, lust, and, perhaps even transient love in the midst of all of this shuddering and copulation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘SOMA Now and Then’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 4, starting at SF Eagle in San Francisco. For tickets and information, click \u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/soma-now-and-then/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">here\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Joe Landini's latest piece, a dance-infused audio walking tour of the neighborhood directed by Amy Lewis, gets mired in a personal history of the most repetitive kind. ",
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"title": "Dancer Attempts to Conjure Up Lost Leather Bars of SoMa | KQED",
"description": "Joe Landini's latest piece, a dance-infused audio walking tour of the neighborhood directed by Amy Lewis, gets mired in a personal history of the most repetitive kind. ",
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"headline": "Dancer Attempts to Conjure Up Lost Leather Bars of SoMa",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/soma-now-and-then/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">SOMA Now and Then\u003c/a>\u003c/em> is a walking tour made out of movement and memoir, leading visitors along the back alleys of SoMa in the company of the choreographer Joe Landini. He dances while a pre-recorded narration of his sexual awakening and ongoing dalliances plays out on the headset of visitors’ smartphones. Landini tells the story of the glory days of SoMa as a haven for gay libidinal liberation, and nods towards the neighborhood’s subsequent decline, particularly the loss of a number of its leather bars and clubs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Amy Lewis, who founded the dance company Push Up Something Hidden (P.U.S.H.), conceived and directed the production. This is her second piece aimed at exploring a San Francisco neighborhood with contemporary dance. Her first, \u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/tread-the-tendernob/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Tread the Tendernob\u003c/em>\u003c/a> from 2011, was also a “walking tour.” This new collaboration with Landini meets at the uneasy intersection of his personal history, dance, and the city’s busy streets.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345495\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345495 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a.jpg\" width=\"720\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-240x180.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-375x281.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_a-520x390.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>On a recent afternoon at the start of the tour, a group of around 20 audience members gathers in a circle outside of the Eagle Bar on 12th Street. Lewis controls the audio from her mobile device as we follow a pink-hatted assistant around for an hour or so. A short prologue provides a brief collection of historical facts about SoMa, including how it used to be underwater, how redevelopment in the late 1960s made space for the leather community, and how AIDS, the closing of the local bathhouses and rising rents in the 1980s forced the leather community out.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As the group rambles down Ringold Street, Landini stands in front of a garage door in a large rectangle of sunlight. The performer begins to dance. In a white T-shirt and jeans, Landini wears the anonymous uniform of a gay cruiser looking for his next hookup. Instead of listening to music as he dances, we hear Landini’s disembodied voice through our headphones, codifying the various gay subcultures that thrive in SoMa’s leather bars, including fetishes like S&M, bondage and discipline (which, he notes, is not the same as S&M), watersports and fisting. Without a doubt, this is a sex-positive walking tour.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However, there is an discomfiting disconnect between watching Landini dance without music and listening to his voiceover playing in our heads. His arm movements — fists thumping against his chest then extending out like an archer’s — are intent on communication. But his gestures often make us feel like we’re watching someone sign in a weird physical language that none of us can interpret or understand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345498\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 720px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345498 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b.jpg\" width=\"720\" height=\"540\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b.jpg 720w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-160x120.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-240x180.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-375x281.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_b-520x390.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 720px) 100vw, 720px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As we move from alley to side street, past sex clubs and former bathhouses, we begin to acquire a wealth of information about Landini’s sexual preferences. The example that resonates the most: he prefers to be topped by tall men because short men can’t get enough leverage to stimulate his prostate in quite the same way. After he finishes a dance accompanied by his narration, he suddenly stops, turns and continues down the street. Then we follow him from behind as if we’re cruising after a possible hookup.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the performer is the bottom asking to be penetrated by the audience’s gaze. We become the tops he’s looking for. If that sounds like a heavy-handed reading, consider that Landini confesses on the recording that, at this point in his life, it’s too much work to be a top. He goes on to say that the great pleasure of hanging out in the back rooms of SoMa’s bars is the lack of effort it takes to get laid. The theme of being lazy, of developing the habit for easy sex, resurfaces unapologetically and relentlessly. That all the dances feel starchy and asexual, save the very last, distances them even further from all of Landini’s attempted aural titillation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12345500\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 540px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-12345500 size-full\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c.jpg\" width=\"540\" height=\"720\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c.jpg 540w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-160x213.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-240x320.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-375x500.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/soma_c-520x693.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 540px) 100vw, 540px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">‘SOMA Now and Then’ (Photo: Scott Carroll)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The handout and map of the tour contains a list of over two dozen current and former SoMa gay bars and clubs. While many of these venues have closed due to rising rents, Landini doesn’t sound sentimental or elegiac. He talks about a renewed interest in the neighborhood’s gay life because of the community’s growing fatigue with the gay hookup app Grindr. The changing face of SoMa may have brought down the number of places to cruise, but according to Landini, there are still gay men meeting up and dancing in the streets unwilling to have their desires displaced or forgotten.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If endless sex with random strangers is the main point of Landini’s storytelling — the neighborhood here exists less as an actual place than as a painted backdrop for his fantasies and encounters — then why not bring in different dancers at the various stopping points? The dances then might add up to a coherent, even moving performance, reinforcing ideas of loss, lust, and, perhaps even transient love in the midst of all of this shuddering and copulation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘SOMA Now and Then’ runs through Sunday, Dec. 4, starting at SF Eagle in San Francisco. For tickets and information, click \u003ca href=\"http://www.pushproductions.org/soma-now-and-then/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">here\u003c/a>. \u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"slug": "baryshnikov-and-wilson-excavate-nijinskys-diary-in-letter-to-a-man",
"title": "Baryshnikov and Wilson Excavate Nijinsky's Diary in 'Letter to a Man'",
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"headTitle": "Baryshnikov and Wilson Excavate Nijinsky’s Diary in ‘Letter to a Man’ | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cp>Only the cruelest of Gods would have bothered to create Vaslav Nijinsky (1889-1950), the Russian dancer who burst to fame with the groundbreaking Russian dance company Ballet Russes under the direction of the impresario Serge Diaghilev. To fashion a mind and body that approached the perfection of music and then to let it shatter and decay into madness, and all of it just before the age of film, is the work of a punk and a sadist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The celebrated Russian-American dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov has had plenty of offers to play Nijinsky and has wisely, so far, said, no. Taking on an artist more myth than man is a probable path to failure. And yet as the 68-year old Baryshnikov has gently aged from the amazing dancer he was to the sly actor and conceptual artist he is today, the question of Nijinsky returned. In collaboration with the iconoclastic stage director Robert Wilson, a master of light and stillness, he may have realized that there was a different Nijinsky waiting just for him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So in Cal Performances’ presentation of their touring production \u003ca href=\"https://calperformances.org/performances/2016-17/special-events/robert-wilson-mikhail-baryshnikov-letter-to-a-man.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Letter to a Man\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, Baryshnikov and Wilson begin with Nijinsky the diarist, who in the act of going mad tries to explain what it means to have the grace of God in your art, or as the man himself proclaimed in the diary he wrote in 1919 right before he was institutionalized: “I am God. I am spirit. I am a man of love.” As painful as it is to read Nijinsky’s journal, to see these rambling, chaotic thoughts staged with such rigor is to fall into a world of exasperating beauty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12329720\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12329720\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-800x452.jpg\" alt=\"Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) shocks himself in 'Letter to a Man' directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov.\" width=\"800\" height=\"452\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-800x452.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-768x434.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1020x576.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1920x1085.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1180x667.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-960x542.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-240x136.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-375x212.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-520x294.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) shocks himself in ‘Letter to a Man’ directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov. \u003ccite>(Photo: Lucy Jansch)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The performance begins with Baryshnikov sitting in a chair — a ridiculous opener for a dancer playing a dancer. His makeup and demeanor resemble nothing less than a Kabuki mask of pain and surprise. In English and Russian, he says, “I understand war because I fought with my mother-in-law.” The audience laughs at what seems an easy joke, but the laughter ceases when the sentence and the image start to mutate into fragments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lights black out and return so fast, Baryshnikov changes his expression so slightly, and the sentence keeps on breaking into bits and pieces — “I understand war,” “mother-in-law,” “fought” — to the point that you feel like you’re having a seizure. Barely anything happens and yet the scene is a sensory overload. Like most of \u003cem>Letter to a Man\u003c/em>, we only get a glimpse of Nijinsky’s genius, but his descent into madness is catalogued with an infinite and loving care.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At one point Wilson transforms the stage into a long rectangle of light, making you feel like the black sky is weighing down on your head and the endless road before you is stretching out forever. We hear the diary entry: “I went out for a walk once and it seemed to me there was blood in the snow, and so I ran following the trail. I had the impression that somebody had killed a man but he was alive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What follows is some of the most beautiful walking you can imagine — hesitant, then leaping forward with great force, then somehow happening all over again. The choreography has the feel of a strip of film come to life. Then you notice that as Nijinsky investigates the bloody trail, right behind him, almost tiptoeing in pursuit, is his shadow, strikingly offset against a thick white fog. There seems to be no possible end or reconciliation, only the belief that a murdered man should be alive, and that a man and his shadow can never be one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the piece obsessively reminds us that the only Nijinsky we get is the one that has been violently severed from himself. At one point he takes off his jacket — a relatively simple gesture — but does it with such grace that you end up wishing that you could do the same. That doing so might be the beginning of your entrance to the divine, as it is for Nijinsky a memory of how beautiful and perfect he once was. As the scene ends the jacket takes center stage and the dancer disappears.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12329719\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12329719\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-800x451.jpg\" alt=\"Vaslav Nijinski (Mikhail Baryshnikov) dreams of perfection in 'Letter to a Man' directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov.\" width=\"800\" height=\"451\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-800x451.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-768x433.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1020x575.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1920x1082.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1180x665.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-960x541.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) dreams of perfection in ‘Letter to a Man’ directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov. \u003ccite>(Photo: Lucy Jansch)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And it is that split — the memory of a body, mind, and art in accordance with God — that makes \u003cem>Letter to a Man, \u003c/em>though brilliant, a difficult and rough go. Because in the end we can’t make it, and invariably come up short. Even with Baryshnikov and Wilson leading the way, two astounding and accomplished artists, they can only get us to Nijinsky the disaster. The other Nijinsky, well, he’s just a cruel rumor of heaven.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Letter to a Man’ runs through Sunday, Nov. 13 at Cal Performances’ Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"https://calperformances.org\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Robert Wilson and Mikhail Baryshnikov's arresting production at Cal Performances explores the famed Soviet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky's descent into madness.",
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"title": "Baryshnikov and Wilson Excavate Nijinsky's Diary in 'Letter to a Man' | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Only the cruelest of Gods would have bothered to create Vaslav Nijinsky (1889-1950), the Russian dancer who burst to fame with the groundbreaking Russian dance company Ballet Russes under the direction of the impresario Serge Diaghilev. To fashion a mind and body that approached the perfection of music and then to let it shatter and decay into madness, and all of it just before the age of film, is the work of a punk and a sadist.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The celebrated Russian-American dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov has had plenty of offers to play Nijinsky and has wisely, so far, said, no. Taking on an artist more myth than man is a probable path to failure. And yet as the 68-year old Baryshnikov has gently aged from the amazing dancer he was to the sly actor and conceptual artist he is today, the question of Nijinsky returned. In collaboration with the iconoclastic stage director Robert Wilson, a master of light and stillness, he may have realized that there was a different Nijinsky waiting just for him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So in Cal Performances’ presentation of their touring production \u003ca href=\"https://calperformances.org/performances/2016-17/special-events/robert-wilson-mikhail-baryshnikov-letter-to-a-man.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">\u003cem>Letter to a Man\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, Baryshnikov and Wilson begin with Nijinsky the diarist, who in the act of going mad tries to explain what it means to have the grace of God in your art, or as the man himself proclaimed in the diary he wrote in 1919 right before he was institutionalized: “I am God. I am spirit. I am a man of love.” As painful as it is to read Nijinsky’s journal, to see these rambling, chaotic thoughts staged with such rigor is to fall into a world of exasperating beauty.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12329720\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12329720\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-800x452.jpg\" alt=\"Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) shocks himself in 'Letter to a Man' directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov.\" width=\"800\" height=\"452\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-800x452.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-768x434.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1020x576.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1920x1085.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-1180x667.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-960x542.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-240x136.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-375x212.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-3-credit-courtesy-e1478864257902-520x294.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) shocks himself in ‘Letter to a Man’ directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov. \u003ccite>(Photo: Lucy Jansch)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The performance begins with Baryshnikov sitting in a chair — a ridiculous opener for a dancer playing a dancer. His makeup and demeanor resemble nothing less than a Kabuki mask of pain and surprise. In English and Russian, he says, “I understand war because I fought with my mother-in-law.” The audience laughs at what seems an easy joke, but the laughter ceases when the sentence and the image start to mutate into fragments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The lights black out and return so fast, Baryshnikov changes his expression so slightly, and the sentence keeps on breaking into bits and pieces — “I understand war,” “mother-in-law,” “fought” — to the point that you feel like you’re having a seizure. Barely anything happens and yet the scene is a sensory overload. Like most of \u003cem>Letter to a Man\u003c/em>, we only get a glimpse of Nijinsky’s genius, but his descent into madness is catalogued with an infinite and loving care.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At one point Wilson transforms the stage into a long rectangle of light, making you feel like the black sky is weighing down on your head and the endless road before you is stretching out forever. We hear the diary entry: “I went out for a walk once and it seemed to me there was blood in the snow, and so I ran following the trail. I had the impression that somebody had killed a man but he was alive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What follows is some of the most beautiful walking you can imagine — hesitant, then leaping forward with great force, then somehow happening all over again. The choreography has the feel of a strip of film come to life. Then you notice that as Nijinsky investigates the bloody trail, right behind him, almost tiptoeing in pursuit, is his shadow, strikingly offset against a thick white fog. There seems to be no possible end or reconciliation, only the belief that a murdered man should be alive, and that a man and his shadow can never be one.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s as if the piece obsessively reminds us that the only Nijinsky we get is the one that has been violently severed from himself. At one point he takes off his jacket — a relatively simple gesture — but does it with such grace that you end up wishing that you could do the same. That doing so might be the beginning of your entrance to the divine, as it is for Nijinsky a memory of how beautiful and perfect he once was. As the scene ends the jacket takes center stage and the dancer disappears.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12329719\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-12329719\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-800x451.jpg\" alt=\"Vaslav Nijinski (Mikhail Baryshnikov) dreams of perfection in 'Letter to a Man' directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov.\" width=\"800\" height=\"451\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-800x451.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-768x433.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1020x575.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1920x1082.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-1180x665.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-960x541.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-375x211.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/Baryshnikov-e1478863899668-520x293.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Vaslav Nijinsky (Mikhail Baryshnikov) dreams of perfection in ‘Letter to a Man’ directed and conceived by Robert Wilson and Baryshnikov. \u003ccite>(Photo: Lucy Jansch)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>And it is that split — the memory of a body, mind, and art in accordance with God — that makes \u003cem>Letter to a Man, \u003c/em>though brilliant, a difficult and rough go. Because in the end we can’t make it, and invariably come up short. Even with Baryshnikov and Wilson leading the way, two astounding and accomplished artists, they can only get us to Nijinsky the disaster. The other Nijinsky, well, he’s just a cruel rumor of heaven.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-12127869\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-800x78.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>‘Letter to a Man’ runs through Sunday, Nov. 13 at Cal Performances’ Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley. For tickets and information, \u003ca href=\"https://calperformances.org\">click here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "'Loving' Provides A Graceful, Intimate Portrait Of A Marriage That Changed History",
"headTitle": "‘Loving’ Provides A Graceful, Intimate Portrait Of A Marriage That Changed History | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>The title \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> may seem a rough fit for a movie made by Jeff Nichols, whose previous work includes \u003cem>Take Shelter\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Mud\u003c/em>. But Richard and Mildred Loving were the names of the real-life couple who inspired his new film; in the late 1950s they were forbidden to love and marry by the state of Virginia. And Nichols, who has elastic gifts, has made a gracefully classical film about the Lovings, who were arrested because they were an interracial couple living in a state that still had on its books an anti-miscegenation statute that many whites believed was decreed by God himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>How the couple, with help from two canny ACLU lawyers working pro bono, managed to overturn that statute and in the process change the U.S. Constitution makes a great story. But though Bobby Kennedy does get on the blower for a quick message to Mildred, \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is the furthest thing from a triumphalist courtroom thriller. It’s an intimate domestic drama about race in America, not Race in America, via a large-hearted portrait of two profoundly apolitical people who wanted to live with the same basic rights as those enjoyed by white Americans. Like them, \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is modest, quiet and deep. Like all Nichols’ work with his longtime cinematographer, Adam Stone, the film highlights the lush beauty of the rural American South.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://youtu.be/bQMF5MSohPA\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nichols tells this stirring story with a Southerner’s rich feel for the complexities of a region too often dismissed as a capital of crude racism. Bigots have their day in \u003cem>Loving,\u003c/em> but in the film’s tranquil opening scenes, the director sets up the casually integrated community of Central Point that’s home to Richard (Joel Edgerton), a white bricklayer, and Mildred (Ruth Negga), a homemaker who’s half black and half Native American. Their ethnically mixed peers take Mildred’s pregnancy and their marriage (in that order) in stride. Poverty in \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is never treated as disabling; the Lovings get on with their plans, helped without fanfare by family and friends. But the misgivings of their parents (Sharon Blackwood is wonderfully spare as Richard’s dour mother) are confirmed when sheriff’s deputies show up in the middle of the night to arrest them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thrown into jail and then banished for 25 years from the Comonwealth of Virginia by a judge, the two move to Washington, D.C., where they raise three children. But Mildred constantly pines for home and family, and it’s here that Nichols subtly shifts our attention from Richard, a loving husband nevertheless possessed of his mother’s stubbornly taciturn temperament, to Mildred, beautifully underplayed by Negga as an unassuming but steely activist who is more willing than her husband to solicit help and compromise where needed. Comedians Nick Kroll and Jon Bass are mischievously cast as the ACLU lawyers who leap on this opportunity to score big with the Supreme Court, and the long and thorny obstacle race to victory quickens the pace but never strays from the point of view of the Lovings. Michael Shannon, by this point a virtual muse for Nichols, gets in a puckish quickie as the \u003cem>Life\u003c/em> photographer who catches the money shot of Richard and Mildred on the couch, giggling at a television sitcom in a rare moment of unguarded happiness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That photo became a famous \u003cem>Life\u003c/em> cover, but not famous enough to make the Lovings’ fight a textbook case today. Given the import of \u003cem>Loving v. Virginia\u003c/em> for the civil rights of minority Americans (on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court struck down all anti-miscegenation laws), its disappearance from the history books is hard to explain. Nichols is not the first to make a film about the Lovings; in fact the idea for \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> sprang from Nancy Buirski’s HBO documentary \u003cem>The Loving Story\u003c/em>. With this lovely, empathetic account of their struggle, Nichols restores the couple’s brave moment to history.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>The title \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> may seem a rough fit for a movie made by Jeff Nichols, whose previous work includes \u003cem>Take Shelter\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Mud\u003c/em>. But Richard and Mildred Loving were the names of the real-life couple who inspired his new film; in the late 1950s they were forbidden to love and marry by the state of Virginia. And Nichols, who has elastic gifts, has made a gracefully classical film about the Lovings, who were arrested because they were an interracial couple living in a state that still had on its books an anti-miscegenation statute that many whites believed was decreed by God himself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>How the couple, with help from two canny ACLU lawyers working pro bono, managed to overturn that statute and in the process change the U.S. Constitution makes a great story. But though Bobby Kennedy does get on the blower for a quick message to Mildred, \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is the furthest thing from a triumphalist courtroom thriller. It’s an intimate domestic drama about race in America, not Race in America, via a large-hearted portrait of two profoundly apolitical people who wanted to live with the same basic rights as those enjoyed by white Americans. Like them, \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is modest, quiet and deep. Like all Nichols’ work with his longtime cinematographer, Adam Stone, the film highlights the lush beauty of the rural American South.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/bQMF5MSohPA'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/bQMF5MSohPA'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Nichols tells this stirring story with a Southerner’s rich feel for the complexities of a region too often dismissed as a capital of crude racism. Bigots have their day in \u003cem>Loving,\u003c/em> but in the film’s tranquil opening scenes, the director sets up the casually integrated community of Central Point that’s home to Richard (Joel Edgerton), a white bricklayer, and Mildred (Ruth Negga), a homemaker who’s half black and half Native American. Their ethnically mixed peers take Mildred’s pregnancy and their marriage (in that order) in stride. Poverty in \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> is never treated as disabling; the Lovings get on with their plans, helped without fanfare by family and friends. But the misgivings of their parents (Sharon Blackwood is wonderfully spare as Richard’s dour mother) are confirmed when sheriff’s deputies show up in the middle of the night to arrest them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Thrown into jail and then banished for 25 years from the Comonwealth of Virginia by a judge, the two move to Washington, D.C., where they raise three children. But Mildred constantly pines for home and family, and it’s here that Nichols subtly shifts our attention from Richard, a loving husband nevertheless possessed of his mother’s stubbornly taciturn temperament, to Mildred, beautifully underplayed by Negga as an unassuming but steely activist who is more willing than her husband to solicit help and compromise where needed. Comedians Nick Kroll and Jon Bass are mischievously cast as the ACLU lawyers who leap on this opportunity to score big with the Supreme Court, and the long and thorny obstacle race to victory quickens the pace but never strays from the point of view of the Lovings. Michael Shannon, by this point a virtual muse for Nichols, gets in a puckish quickie as the \u003cem>Life\u003c/em> photographer who catches the money shot of Richard and Mildred on the couch, giggling at a television sitcom in a rare moment of unguarded happiness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That photo became a famous \u003cem>Life\u003c/em> cover, but not famous enough to make the Lovings’ fight a textbook case today. Given the import of \u003cem>Loving v. Virginia\u003c/em> for the civil rights of minority Americans (on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court struck down all anti-miscegenation laws), its disappearance from the history books is hard to explain. Nichols is not the first to make a film about the Lovings; in fact the idea for \u003cem>Loving\u003c/em> sprang from Nancy Buirski’s HBO documentary \u003cem>The Loving Story\u003c/em>. With this lovely, empathetic account of their struggle, Nichols restores the couple’s brave moment to history.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>On Sept. 2, 1885 in Rock Springs, Wyoming, a mob of 150 white miners rioted against Chinese immigrants, who they perceived as taking away their work. Armed and violent, they demanded the Chinese leave town. By the end of what became known as the Rock Springs Massacre, 28 Chinese lives were taken, hundreds fled to the hills, and every Chinese home and business fell to fire.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is one of myriad forgotten or overlooked stories of the Chinese American experience — from the tragic and unjust to the resilient and remarkable — brought to light with the opening of the new exhibit, \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://chsa.org/support/chineseamerican/about-caei/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion\u003c/a>\u003c/i> at San Francisco’s Chinese Historical Society of America (CHSA).\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322857\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Diorama of the Rock Springs Massacre in 1885.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"806\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322857\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-800x537.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-768x516.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-1020x685.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-1180x793.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-960x645.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-240x161.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-375x252.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-520x349.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Diorama of the Rock Springs Massacre in 1885. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The presentation, on view indefinitely, is a gleaming collection of art, set pieces, films and interactive storytelling chronicling the history of Chinese in America, which is in many ways a history of the nation itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We want everyone to know that Chinese have been part of U.S. society as long as the country has been established,” says the historical society’s deputy director, Pam Wong. “We want people to know that Chinese people should not be seen as foreigners or those that do not belong, but we are very much a part of American society.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322853\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view of 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"1481\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322853\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-160x197.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-800x987.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-768x948.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-1020x1259.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-1180x1456.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-960x1185.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-240x296.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-375x463.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-520x642.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view of ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>First installed at the New York Historical Society in 2014 with curatorial help from Wong and the CHSA, the exhibit toured to Portland, Oregon. The New York Historical Society then gifted the show to San Francisco, where it is welcome representation of one of the city’s most enduring communities and cultural presences. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition itself is not vast, but the stories encompassed make the show a comprehensive and imaginative education of what makes Chinese Americans, well, American — a fact that Wong says still needs to be reinforced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Our visitors could be from the Midwest or the South where the [Chinese] population isn’t as big,” Wong says. “They’re surprised when they come and talk to me, and they say, ‘Oh, you speak very good English.’” American-born, Wong is never sure how to handle these awkward exchanges, but she’s certain a lot of work needs to be done to dispel such assumptions, and that \u003ci>Exclusion/Inclusion\u003c/i> is a vital push in the right direction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition weaves through a timeline of the birth and growth of Chinese America — from trade relations in the early 19th century to a tide of simmering prejudice: racist propaganda, violence and lynchings, and the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322852\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200.jpg\" alt=\"One element of 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"673\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322852\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-800x449.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-768x431.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-1020x572.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-1180x662.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">One element of ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In a constructed set of men’s barracks, Chinese characters are inscribed into wooden planks; detained immigrants etched their sorrows along isolated walls. A long row of placards hover overhead, representing the identification cards that Chinese Americans had to carry to prove their legal belonging. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But the landmark exhibit, like the very fabric of the immigrant experience, is not simply a record of discrimination, but of vitality and community in spite of hardship. Chinese immigrants became journalists, civil rights activists, and soldiers in service. The exhibition includes a rare collection of watercolors by 20th-century painter Jake Lee, a California native who devoted much of his practice to capturing scenes of daily Chinese American life — from shoemakers in Massachusetts to vineyard workers in Sonoma County.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322854\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200.jpg\" alt=\"Jake Lee paintings in 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"1008\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322854\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-160x134.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-800x672.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-768x645.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-1020x857.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-1180x991.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-960x806.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-240x202.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-375x315.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-520x437.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jake Lee paintings in ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Wong acknowledges that not every modern Chinese American will necessarily relate. “But for them to understand that pioneers have paved the way for society now, that is important in itself,” Wong says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for everyone else, the exhibit will hopefully expand awareness of America’s multifaceted history. “There’s not one face to being an American,” Wong says. “It could be someone whose family has been here for five generations or it could be someone who just arrived. But regardless of their story, America is known to be the land of the immigrants — to be inclusive rather than exclusive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion is on view at the Chinese American Historical Society in San Francisco. Visit \u003ca href=\"http://chsa.org/support/chineseamerican/about-caei/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">chsa.org\u003c/a> for more information.\u003c/i> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>On Sept. 2, 1885 in Rock Springs, Wyoming, a mob of 150 white miners rioted against Chinese immigrants, who they perceived as taking away their work. Armed and violent, they demanded the Chinese leave town. By the end of what became known as the Rock Springs Massacre, 28 Chinese lives were taken, hundreds fled to the hills, and every Chinese home and business fell to fire.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>This is one of myriad forgotten or overlooked stories of the Chinese American experience — from the tragic and unjust to the resilient and remarkable — brought to light with the opening of the new exhibit, \u003ci>\u003ca href=\"http://chsa.org/support/chineseamerican/about-caei/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion\u003c/a>\u003c/i> at San Francisco’s Chinese Historical Society of America (CHSA).\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322857\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Diorama of the Rock Springs Massacre in 1885.\" width=\"1200\" height=\"806\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322857\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-160x107.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-800x537.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-768x516.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-1020x685.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-1180x793.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-960x645.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-240x161.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-375x252.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/10.6_Diorama_RockSprings_1200-520x349.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Diorama of the Rock Springs Massacre in 1885. \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The presentation, on view indefinitely, is a gleaming collection of art, set pieces, films and interactive storytelling chronicling the history of Chinese in America, which is in many ways a history of the nation itself.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We want everyone to know that Chinese have been part of U.S. society as long as the country has been established,” says the historical society’s deputy director, Pam Wong. “We want people to know that Chinese people should not be seen as foreigners or those that do not belong, but we are very much a part of American society.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322853\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200.jpg\" alt=\"Installation view of 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"1481\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322853\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-160x197.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-800x987.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-768x948.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-1020x1259.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-1180x1456.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-960x1185.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-240x296.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-375x463.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/14_BarracksWomen_Quote_1200-520x642.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Installation view of ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>First installed at the New York Historical Society in 2014 with curatorial help from Wong and the CHSA, the exhibit toured to Portland, Oregon. The New York Historical Society then gifted the show to San Francisco, where it is welcome representation of one of the city’s most enduring communities and cultural presences. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition itself is not vast, but the stories encompassed make the show a comprehensive and imaginative education of what makes Chinese Americans, well, American — a fact that Wong says still needs to be reinforced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Our visitors could be from the Midwest or the South where the [Chinese] population isn’t as big,” Wong says. “They’re surprised when they come and talk to me, and they say, ‘Oh, you speak very good English.’” American-born, Wong is never sure how to handle these awkward exchanges, but she’s certain a lot of work needs to be done to dispel such assumptions, and that \u003ci>Exclusion/Inclusion\u003c/i> is a vital push in the right direction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition weaves through a timeline of the birth and growth of Chinese America — from trade relations in the early 19th century to a tide of simmering prejudice: racist propaganda, violence and lynchings, and the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322852\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200.jpg\" alt=\"One element of 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"673\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322852\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-160x90.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-800x449.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-768x431.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-1020x572.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-1180x662.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-960x538.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-240x135.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-375x210.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/9_GastMedia_DetailA_1200-520x292.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">One element of ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>In a constructed set of men’s barracks, Chinese characters are inscribed into wooden planks; detained immigrants etched their sorrows along isolated walls. A long row of placards hover overhead, representing the identification cards that Chinese Americans had to carry to prove their legal belonging. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But the landmark exhibit, like the very fabric of the immigrant experience, is not simply a record of discrimination, but of vitality and community in spite of hardship. Chinese immigrants became journalists, civil rights activists, and soldiers in service. The exhibition includes a rare collection of watercolors by 20th-century painter Jake Lee, a California native who devoted much of his practice to capturing scenes of daily Chinese American life — from shoemakers in Massachusetts to vineyard workers in Sonoma County.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_12322854\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1200px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200.jpg\" alt=\"Jake Lee paintings in 'Exclusion/Inclusion.'\" width=\"1200\" height=\"1008\" class=\"size-full wp-image-12322854\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200.jpg 1200w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-160x134.jpg 160w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-800x672.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-768x645.jpg 768w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-1020x857.jpg 1020w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-1180x991.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-960x806.jpg 960w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-240x202.jpg 240w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-375x315.jpg 375w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/11/JakeLee1200-520x437.jpg 520w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jake Lee paintings in ‘Exclusion/Inclusion.’ \u003ccite>(Courtesy of the Chinese Historical Society of America)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Wong acknowledges that not every modern Chinese American will necessarily relate. “But for them to understand that pioneers have paved the way for society now, that is important in itself,” Wong says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As for everyone else, the exhibit will hopefully expand awareness of America’s multifaceted history. “There’s not one face to being an American,” Wong says. “It could be someone whose family has been here for five generations or it could be someone who just arrived. But regardless of their story, America is known to be the land of the immigrants — to be inclusive rather than exclusive.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg\" alt=\"Q.Logo.Break\" width=\"800\" height=\"78\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-12127869\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-400x39.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2016/09/Q.Logo_.Break_-768x75.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ci>Chinese American: Exclusion/Inclusion is on view at the Chinese American Historical Society in San Francisco. Visit \u003ca href=\"http://chsa.org/support/chineseamerican/about-caei/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">chsa.org\u003c/a> for more information.\u003c/i> \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"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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"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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"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?",
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"info": "Political Breakdown is a new series that explores the political intersection of California and the nation. Each week hosts Scott Shafer and Marisa Lagos are joined with a new special guest to unpack politics -- with personality — and offer an insider’s glimpse at how politics happens.",
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"possible": {
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"info": "Possible is hosted by entrepreneur Reid Hoffman and writer Aria Finger. Together in Possible, Hoffman and Finger lead enlightening discussions about building a brighter collective future. The show features interviews with visionary guests like Trevor Noah, Sam Altman and Janette Sadik-Khan. Possible paints an optimistic portrait of the world we can create through science, policy, business, art and our shared humanity. It asks: What if everything goes right for once? How can we get there? Each episode also includes a short fiction story generated by advanced AI GPT-4, serving as a thought-provoking springboard to speculate how humanity could leverage technology for good.",
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"radiolab": {
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"reveal": {
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},
"rightnowish": {
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"title": "Rightnowish",
"tagline": "Art is where you find it",
"info": "Rightnowish digs into life in the Bay Area right now… ish. Journalist Pendarvis Harshaw takes us to galleries painted on the sides of liquor stores in West Oakland. We'll dance in warehouses in the Bayview, make smoothies with kids in South Berkeley, and listen to classical music in a 1984 Cutlass Supreme in Richmond. Every week, Pen talks to movers and shakers about how the Bay Area shapes what they create, and how they shape the place we call home.",
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"info": "Science Friday is a weekly science talk show, broadcast live over public radio stations nationwide. Each week, the show focuses on science topics that are in the news and tries to bring an educated, balanced discussion to bear on the scientific issues at hand. Panels of expert guests join host Ira Flatow, a veteran science journalist, to discuss science and to take questions from listeners during the call-in portion of the program.",
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"snap-judgment": {
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"title": "Snap Judgment",
"tagline": "Real stories with killer beats",
"info": "The Snap Judgment radio show and podcast mixes real stories with killer beats to produce cinematic, dramatic radio. Snap's musical brand of storytelling dares listeners to see the world through the eyes of another. This is storytelling... with a BEAT!! Snap first aired on public radio stations nationwide in July 2010. Today, Snap Judgment airs on over 450 public radio stations and is brought to the airwaves by KQED & PRX.",
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