ArtSake

When we asked Williamstown Film Festival director Steve Lawson about ties to Massachusetts artists for this year’s festival, he mentioned that one of the films in the “All-Shorts” series was by emerging Boston-area filmmaker Charlie Anderson.

Charlie traveled to Williamstown to participate in the festival, and here, he shares his unique film-arts-in-the-Berkshires experience, illustrating by example how to make the most of a gathering of engaged and inventive film artists.

(Re-posted with permission by the artist from Focus, an alumni blog of the Boston University’s Film/TV Department.)

One of my short films, Werewolf Trouble, has had a fortunate run at a dozen film festivals and I’ve been able to attend most of them. I knew the Williamstown Film Festival was different the moment I received my acceptance. Having grown accustomed to carbon copied e-mails, I was mildly shocked when the good news came in the form of a phone call from Executive Director Steve Lawson. When Steve also offered me lodging, I thought he had momentarily confused me with one of WFF’s celebrity guests, like James Ivory or Barry Levinson.

The fun started with a resplendent autumn drive along the Mohawk Trail as I headed west through the Berkshires from Boston. I arrived in Williamstown to find my room waiting and food served at a cocktail party before a screening of La Nave De Los Monstrous (The Ship of Monsters), a campy sci-fi feature accompanied by a live original score by the string quartet, Ethel. The after-party was held in the lobby of  MASS MoCA where I enjoyed a conversation with one of Ethel’s violinists, Mary Rowell. As the party advanced on the wee hours, I wondered if anyone would wake up in time for my screening at 10:00 the next morning.

But the “All-Shorts” session at Images Cinema was packed. Before the movies started I had a pleasant conversation with Tom Fontana, writer/producer of Oz and Homicide, and member of WFF’s board of directors. An eclectic selection of ten movies was shown and the audience ranked their favorites. I crossed my fingers in hopes that Werewolf Trouble would not be screened immediately after Bill Plympton’s weird and hilarious Hot Dog. I’ve been a fan of Plympton’s since his first animated short, Your Face (1988 Oscar contender). WFF surprised me again when I found myself sitting next to Plympton during the Q&A after our screening. Bill was well-spoken and genuine, and he stood in Images’ lobby personalizing drawings of his hero dog for anyone who waited in line.

Director James Ivory (The Remains of the Day, Howards End) was the honored guest at a lunch seminar that afternoon. I won’t forget one of his stories: during a break from filming Mr. and Mrs. Bridge, James took a drive with Paul Newman as an evening snow dusted the streets. Fatigued from the shoot, Ivory fell asleep in the passenger seat during a lull in the conversation about Newman’s character. The star continued cruising and thinking as his director dozed. Eventually James woke to the sound of Newman singing. For a fleeting moment he felt like he was in his own movie - as though he were young Douglas Bridge and Newman his father. We spend so much energy as filmmakers trying to turn dreams into reality that unique anecdotes like this really stand out, when reality becomes the dream and those enigmatic creative forces we are always playing with gently push back like childhood friends.

I met Bill Plympton again at a cocktail party hosted by Bill Wagner, president of Williams College. Delighted to raise a glass with an artist I admire, I mentioned that I’m also a film instructor at Boston University and asked Plympton what advice he would offer students to inspire creativity. “Look at real life,” he said. “That’s where the interesting stuff is happening.” I couldn’t agree more. Joining the conversation was Alycia Delmore, star of Lynn Shelton’s new feature, Humpday. Alycia’s advice was to first imagine something that would never happen in this world, then imagine the world in which it would happen. I’m also fond of Alycia’s comment because so many effects-happy movies get this backwards - or even worse, just skip the first part entirely.

Alycia and I attended the screening of Barry Levinson’s new “film essay,” Poliwood, at The Clark. Levinson (Rain Man, The Natural) answered questions about his treatise on the influence of celebrity culture and television on politics, and accepted an award from WFF: a hand-painted still from the 1998 feature, What Dreams May Come, by celebrated artist Stephen Hannock (also a member of WFF’s board of directors). Delicious Halloween desserts were then served in the Clark Courtyard. The next morning I met Alycia for coffee and we attended a screening of her movie, Humpday. That was another unique experience - sitting in the theater next to an actress I had just met while watching her movie. I was impressed by Alycia’s command of the screen and her insightful comments during the Q&A. Look for Humpday if you like provocative comedies. It’s very well done.

I was a little glum leaving Images Cinema for the last time that weekend - sad to leave off new friendships for the time being and to depart Williamstown after such a wonderful weekend. Then Steve Lawson did it again: he offered to treat the remaining filmmakers to lunch. Was he also feeling a bit heavyhearted to see the lights come up on WFF’s eleventh season? I think so. And I’m sure most will agree that kind of commitment to any endeavor is a rare joy to behold. If you made it this far, I hope you will consider getting involved with the Williamstown Film Festival. There simply aren’t enough quality venues where emerging filmmakers can showcase their work and established artists can bring their passion projects. Even less common are events that hold their audiences and lesser-known guests in the same regard as their superstars. Submit your movie if you have one, make a donation if you are able, or plan on attending next season.

-Charlie Anderson

Images: Williamstown Film Festival photos: © 2009 ROMAN IWASIWKA. Photos top to bottom: Charlie Anderson at the Q&A session.; L to R: Jesse Bernstein, Bill Plympton & Charlie Anderson during Q & A; Bill Plympton, Steve Lawson, Jesse Bernstein, Charlie Anderson; Charlie Anderson, Alycia Delmore at The Clark Art Museum.

You can see more photographs by Roman Iwasiwka at the Cultural Icons exhibition at Brill Gallery in North Adams, MA. The show, a dual exhibition with Sedat Pakay, features Roman’s portraits of such icons as Jeff Beck, Mick Jagger, Michael Jackson, Bob Dylan and Joni Mitchell, and runs through January 2010.

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Through a combination of need and resourcefulness, writer/artist Mira Bartok has learned the ins and outs of grants, awards, and residencies. Add to that a spirit of goodwill, and the result is Mira’s List, her thorough and useful website on opportunities for individual artists. We invited her to share her background in applying for funding as well as her pragmatic insights on finding “money, time, and a place to create.”

Ten years ago, a truck hit my car on the New York Thruway. Because of a subsequent brain injury, I lost all my freelance work. After maxing out my credit cards, I knew I had to do something soon or I would be out on the street. I had been applying for grants for years as both an artist and a writer, so it was only natural for me to turn to arts foundations for help. It took me over three hours to write each cover letter because of my cognitive deficits, but I was determined to apply for every grant I found. Fortunately, I received enough funding to sustain me until I slowly began to recover. This past winter, I began my blog, Mira’s List, so I could share my experience and knowledge with other artists seeking money, time and a place to create. The info below is from a longer blog article I wrote called, Finding Money for Your Dreams. I hope you find it useful!

THE NUTS AND BOLTS OF GRANT WRITING
What is the secret formula to getting a grant? Here is what you need to do:
1. Work really hard at what you do. You can’t get a grant if you have nothing to show.

2. Get your work out there. Except for rare situations, you wont get funding if you dont have a track record. Grant givers want to know that art is your passion, not your hobby.

3. Do your homework. First, figure out what kind of grant you need. Here are just a few kinds available to you: emergency grants, travel and research grants, residency fellowships, emerging artist grants, collaborative grants, production grants and more. Next, learn how to search for grants and discern which ones are right for you. If you’ve never published a story before you are not going to apply for a Guggenheim. Read the eligibility requirements. Are you emerging or mid-career? You can be an artist in your fifties, but still be considered emerging if you haven’t had many shows.

4. Know where to look. The Internet is now the best source for your grant search so make friends with technology. There are dozens of websites that post grants and other opportunities. If you are a visual artist, visit the College Art Association and the New York Foundation for the Arts, if you are a writer, check out the listings on PEN American and Poets & Writers. There are hundreds more so please check my blog for more links.

5. Put yourself out there. Cultivate professional relationships by attending conferences, residencies, workshops, retreats, etc. Check out blogs, list-serves and forums and connect with other artists on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and other social networking sites.

6. Have your ammunition ready. Before applying for a grant, you should have these things at your fingertips: if you are an artist, have a great artist statement. Keep it to around 250 words. Talk about your artistic approach and who your influences were, what your accomplishments have been, what your personal vision is. You also need a good paragraph-long bio. The same goes for writers. Have a professional looking CV and published reviews about your work if you have them. You will need recommendation letters from professionals in your field, so ask for these weeks in advance. Last but not least, you need a good solid work sample for each application. Have you revised that story so it is absolutely polished? Have you double-checked to see if your jpegs are overexposed? Strive for perfection. Your work sample should be the best example of what you do.

7. Start local but dream global. If you’ve never applied for a grant before try your hand at a local arts council grant first. Ask for enough money to attend a writing conference or an artist residency in another state. Most local grants are between $500-1000. That will buy you a plane ticket and more.

8. Ask only for what you need and show that you are resourceful. You have a better chance of getting a grant if you ask for less than what is offered. Also, let the foundation know that you are trying to find funding from other sources, but not for the exact same thing. You can apply to the first organization for travel expenses and another for art supplies or something else.

9. Be clear about what you want. The same rules apply for grants as they do for good writing. Your application should be focused and concise. Use direct verbs and don’t be redundant or vague. Let them know why your work stands out from the others. What you specifically will do with the money. Where else you are looking for funding. Why this opportunity is important at this time in your career. How it will impact your community and the art world at large. Serve the project, not yourself.

10. Pay attention to what the foundation asks for. If you have to write a proposal, note the order of things you are asked to discuss and follow that order. As for page length, if they ask for up to five-pages, dont submit ten. But by all means, use all five pages if you need them. After you have filled everything out check for mistakes and make sure you send the application on time.

THE RIPPLE EFFECT
Grants beget grants, so do residencies, fellowships and any kind of award. When foundations see them listed on your resume, they’ll assume you have resourcefulness and drive. This ripple effect also affects others. Honor those who have helped you, send thank you cards, encourage others to apply for things. And never ever throw in the towel, even if you have a year of rejections. Don’t put stones in your pockets and walk into the river if you don’t get an NEA. Go to the river and toss a stone in instead. See the ripple effect of your own making. Grants beget grants beget grants, which inspires others to apply, which in turn begets change and courage and brings forth art and stories that do not destroy but heal. We need your poems and paintings, your songs and films to keep us going. You need money, time and a place to create. So toss a pebble in the stream, open your journal, your studio door or violin case and begin.

Copyright 2009 Mira Bartok

Author/artist Mira Bartok’s writing has appeared in several anthologies and literary journals, including the Bellingham Review, Kenyon Review, Tikkun, Another Chicago Magazine, among others. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has been sited in The Best American Essay series. Her illustrated memoir, The Memory Palace, forthcoming by Free Press (Simon & Schuster), is due to come out late 2010. She has also published over twenty-five children’s books on the art of world cultures.

Mira is a spokesperson for A Room of Her Own Foundation, a foundation for women writers, and for Transcultural Exchange, an international organization that promotes peace and understanding through artistic collaborations across the globe. Visit Mira at http://www.miraslist.blogspot.com.

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George Fifield is the founder and director of Boston Cyberarts, Inc., a nonprofit arts organization, which produces the Boston Cyberarts Festival. The 2009 festival takes place April 24 - May 10 at dozens of locations across Greater Boston.

We asked George to offer some insight as to how the region came to be known as a nexus of art and technology.

The Boston Cyberarts Festival came about as I began to understand the incredible history of art and technology that had occurred in the Greater Boston area. At this time in the mid 90s, I was writing a column for Art New England, and in my search for ideas, I slowly came across this history. Of course, this made perfect sense as Boston has always been a center for technology. Boston is where the future is beta-tested.

But the convergence of this technology with art came about in the 1960s. One program was the WGBH New Television Workshop, officially founded in 1972. Though video artists were mostly working in New York, the first television presentation of this work was a WGBH show called The Medium is the Medium in 1969, which presented six video artists to a national audience.

Subsequently, WGBH started an artist-in-residence program allowing video artists in the television studio to use the equipment for the very first time. The first artist in residence was Nam June Paik, who while here invented the Paik Abe synthesizer, the first machine that controlled the distortion of the existing video signal. This synthesizer was distributed around the world. This led to the New Television Workshop, through which hundreds of well known and aspiring artists came to make work.

The first-ever video art exhibit in a museum, Vision & Television, occurred at the Rose Museum in Waltham in 1970.

M.I.T. has germinated many programs of technological art, including the Architecture Machine Group, the Center for Advanced Visual Studies (CAVS), the Visual Language Workshop and the Media Laboratory. CAVS, established in 1967, was especially famous for the number of important artists who worked and visited there. Boston area art schools are well known for the excellence of their art and technology courses.

Boston companies that specifically advanced the technology of art were numerous, like Avid and Z-Corp. Some followed a tradition of working directly with artists to develop their technologies, following the close relationship between Dr. Edwin Land and Ansel Adams in developing the Polaroid camera.

But while digital art works were being presented and exhibited by a select number of Boston area organizations, there had not been a major event highlighting the art and the artists combined with a public education effort. So the Boston Cyberarts Festival was created in 1999 to recognize and celebrate this long tradition of innovation in the arts and focus attention on local artists in this important field.

Today, this region is known worldwide as having one of the highest concentrations of digital artists, including key innovators. Its academic institutions have built up excellent departments in digital art, new media and electronic music. The digital media industry, especially computer game development, has grown and added an important component to the creative economy sector.

The Festival can take no credit for the concentration of digital artists who live here the area is a great place to be an artist, with ample exhibition and performance opportunities and many jobs, including teaching for support. But I do believe the Festival can take some credit that the world knows about us.

Images, top to bottom: Nam June Paik and Shuya Abe, “Paik/Abe Synthesizer,”" 1969 and still from “Nam June Paik: Edited for Television,” 1975

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When organizing a Commonwealth Reading Series event this past February 2009, I was sorry to learn Cam Terwilliger, a 2008 Fellow in Fiction/Creative Nonfiction, would be unable to participate. But I had to admit, he had a terrific excuse: he’d be in a different hemisphere that month.

I’ll let Cam explain where he was and what he was up to, as he’s graciously agreed to share his Massachusetts-artist-abroad story as an ArtSake guest blogger.

The Nomad Life by Cam Terwilliger

I recently spent a little over five months traveling through parts of Asia in search of I don’t know what. Six months ago, I had just finished a book of short stories and wanted to get away from my routines for a while. But, to be honest, the specifics of my travel plans didn’t extend beyond the following two items: a one-way ticket to Japan to visit a friend, and the vague notion I had saved enough money to travel for 4-6 months. When people asked if I planned to write about the trip in my next book, I often replied mysteriously, “Um. Maybe eventually.” In truth, I have no designs on travel writing, and the next book I plan to write is a historical novel set during the French and Indian war. So what on earth was I doing on a trip to Asia?

Laos: I spent a lot my time driving through the countryside on a motorbike.

At the outset, I had many ideas about using this trip to challenge myself, to experience a true sense of freedomno job, no schedule, no telephone. I had the impulse to see what happened when the world lay open for my perusal, to blow up my life and see what remained. In short, I desired to get to know myself better. This did happen in a way. But it wasn’t the triumphal time I imagined.

From the start, I did everything I was supposed to. I inspected temples. I sampled the live octopus tentacles. I sang the karaoke. I gawked at the world’s largest flower. Still, a sense of unease set in. I had imagined so much freedom would empower me, but more often it gave me a sense of lonely purposelessness as I wandered from Japan to Korea to Malaysia to Thailand. In an email to my sister I described the feeling. I felt hollow. Part of this was merely complaining about the number of tourists clogging up the scenerythough I was little differentbut there was more as well. My very wise sister made the following observation in response to my complaints: “I know that everyone’s impetus to travel is to gain an experience in their livesbut that can only be meaningful if they step outside of themselves. You seem so caught in your emotions and how you are feeling that you haven’t been allowing yourself to engage with the places you are visiting.”

She was right. I was making myself the center of this trip. All I talked about was getting to know myself, challenging myself, me, me, me. I was so fixated on this that I wasnt respecting local cultures on their own terms. This realization cemented itself when I enrolled in a meditation retreat run by several monks in order to escape my own head, but found I was only capable of sitting for hours under their attention, obsessing over my time abroad and what I should do once it was over. Maybe most travelers are this way. But it’s startling to be confronted by the notion that you may, in fact, be a narcissist.

Malaysia: This silver leaf monkey is even more excited about Hawthorne than I am.

Heading for Laos and Cambodia, I resolved to do my best to focus my energies outward, to engage with the places I visited as my sister suggested. As a writer, I naturally turned to words to do this. It’s true I’d been journaling all along, but now I had a different sense of its importance. Instead of holing up to record my thoughts each day, I decided to use my notebook to observe the world around me, without casting my shadow over it if possible. Specifically, I attempted to describe what I saw in three to four sentences. I thought of these short bits as “word photographs,” and I found the work of thoughtfully observing far more rewarding than snapping off so many easily forgotten pictures with my camera. (more…)

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I recently met David Bookbinder (Photography Fellow ‘07). The following is an account, in his own words, of how he became a photographer.

To the Edge, Back, and Beyond: A Wounded Healer’s Journey

I am a person with a big heart and a deep need to be connected who grew up insulated both from others and from myself. The arc of my life has been to reclaim my birthright of connection and compassion, which have manifested themselves mainly in my work as a psychotherapist and in my photography.

My entry onto the path both to psychotherapy and to the photography I do now began with a near-fatal medical error in Albany, New York, in 1993, where I was a graduate student in a PhD program in English Literature. That event, which included a near-death experience, divided my life into two parts: who I had been, and who I am becoming. To paraphrase the Grateful Dead’s Jerry Garcia, the way back from the brink has been “a long, strange trip.” On it, I have discovered what I was put on the planet to do.

During the long recovery from my brush with death, I took long walks on Good Harbor Beach in Gloucester, MA, to distract myself from pain. In 2001, I bought a digital camera and began taking pictures of the light at the end of the day, and of the flowers I saw on my way to the beach. Eventually I began to manipulate these images on my computer, at first just trying to improve them, but soon realizing that once they were on my hard drive, I could do anything I wanted with them. From this process was born the first of my flower mandalas. Working with these images was as therapeutic and centering as the walks themselves, at once a meditation and a means of communing with forces larger and more powerful than myself. Listening to what the flower mandalas were telling me led me out of a dark place and indirectly, to my decision to become a psychotherapist.

The original flower moved me enough to photograph it. The mandala-making process distilled the initial feeling into something more precise and more deeply felt. Looking at the mandalas I’d made brought that enhanced feeling back into me, purified and amplified.

With each iteration of the creating/receiving cycle, a previously inaccessible facet of my divided self became more revealed, and little by little I became more whole. This strengthening of my soul has enabled me to open my heart to what I now realize is my greatest gift, to be a healer.

Two years after my brush with death, I was in a support group for people who had survived near-death. I was still finding my way back into this world, and although I knew I had returned from the brink with something of great potential value, I was also profoundly disoriented, split between the me I was and the me I was yet to be. One of the group members, addressing my confusion, made a wide half-circle gesture with his arm and said, “David, I think you’re one of those people who has to take the long way ’round.” He paused, his arm fully outstretched. “But when you get there,” he continued, closing his hand into a fist and pulling it to his chest, “it’ll be important.”

What I do now, more than a decade later, does seem important. As a psychotherapist, I see the light in people and help bring it into the world. I know I am saving lives, sometimes literally. As an artist and writer, I know I am positively affecting people I may never meet. Through these gifts, I hope to pass on the boons I have garnered from my journey, boons that, had I not taken that long, strange trip, I would never have been able to exercise.

Recently, a good friend and fellow traveler, Larry “Doc” Pruyne, completed a short film about my recovery from near-death and my work as artist and therapist. The film, “healing image,” is also the prototype for a series of films Larry is working on that that deal with art, artists, and the artistic process.

View “healing image.”

Photo Credit: All images by David Bookbinder

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Mira Cantor’s solo exhibition UNIFORM, 22 life-size portraits of the Boston police, is currently on exhibit at the Moakley Courthouse in Boston. We asked Mira if she would share how the project - and the exhibition - came about.

UNIFORM: New Work by Mira Cantor at the Moakley Courthouse

I grew up in the sixties when the police were mostly white. The uniforms haven’t changed but the people in them have. They are an integrated force in many cities where there is still a high degree of segregation. I was interested in reaching out to the community to commemorate the people who serve. I was not only interested in the police as a collaborative but also as individuals; people who have hopes and dreams and families to go home to.

I am professor at Northeastern University in the Department of Art and Design where I teach drawing and painting. I started drawing the Northeastern Police about a year and a half ago. One day soon after, I was standing on a check out line in a grocery store behind a policewoman. We started up a conversation and I invited her to come to my studio to see my work. Soon after we had arranged for some of her fellow officers to become participants in my project. I met officers Bill Jones and Fred Allen who came to the studio together. They are one of the longest partnerships on the force. Officer Belinda Barrett has a long family history on the police force. Then there is Angel, a motorcycle cop and Christa, a policewoman who drives alone. Joe travels with his dog, Tiburion, a large German Shepherd. Each one has a story to tell and different reasons for becoming a cop.

Officers Bill Jones and Fred Allen, one of the longest partnerships in the Boston Police Force.

Christa Milton in front of her portrait, with Belinda Barrett (right) and Antionette Rafael (left) all from E-13 in Jamaica Plain.

My drawings are 93″ high by 43″ wide and are drawn in charcoal on Arches paper. I have looked at the costumed portraits of Manet who presented these singular works in triptychs during the mid 1800s and the large scale singular portraits of Eakins and Sargent. It is the scale that creates the dynamic relationship between the viewer and the image on the wall as both are the same size. One begins to feel a familiarity with the image (individual). You begin to know these people as if you have already met them. The character of each individual comes through the uniform.

Northeastern Police Officer Mike Blue standing in front of his portrait.

I met the events planner at the Moakley Courthouse during an art auction and I immediately thought my work would fit the architecture and context of the building. I made a proposal to her and she like the idea. I received a grant from Northeastern to mount the work and produce and invitation.

Artist Mira Cantor talking to one of the Boston police officers about the work.

Antionette Rafeal in front of her portrait.

The reception was attended by some of the policemen and women in the drawings. It was quite clear by their expressions that they were indeed honored to be represented in this exhibition. Many brought their children, extended family and friends.

The drawings are on the first and second levels of the Moakley Courthouse. The show will be up until March 27th 2009.

- Mira Cantor

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You’re strolling around your city, and you see this cartoon-inspired painting.

Then you see the attached note saying the painting is free, with one catch. So you take the painting, follow its instructions, and with that… you’ve joined Bren Bataclan’s Smile Boston Project.

We asked Bren Bataclan, a street artist like no other, to guest post and describe his effort to use his paintings to lift the corners of a few mouths in cities across the map.

This month marks the fifth year anniversary of Smile Boston Project. I still can’t believe that I am now painting full-time and that the street art project is now global. When I first started in the fall of 2003, I thought that my project would last for just a couple of weeks.

I began painting these cartoon characters that I have been drawing since I was a kid back in the Philippines during the summer of 2003. Back then I was one of those unemployed ex-dotcommers affected by the economic crash (that was nothing in comparison to today’s crisis). I had plenty of time that summer to get to know my childhood imaginary friends again and explore painting them on canvases (they were just rendered as drawings prior to this venture). I premiered my cartoon inspired acrylic paintings during CAOS (Cambridgeport Artists Open Studios) and to my surprise 49 out of 56 paintings sold during that summer!

The practical thing to do after such a successful show was to look for a job. My confidence was skyrocketing, and I was just truly elated. I would have won over anyone at any interview. Instead, I poured back the money I made during CAOS into my very first street art project. I grew up in San Francisco, and so I was exposed to a lot of graffiti. Though I was (still am) a huge fan of street artists, I was not the type of kid who would spray paint a wall. And so an idea came to me while in bed at 2 AM in the morning a few days after CAOS… Why not leave paintings for folks to take for free all over Boston? I didn’t want to vandalize nor to wait for a gallery show. So I decided to use the city as my exhibit space.

Aside from wanting to do my own street art, my other goals were to expose people to art who normally do not go to galleries or museums and to give original art to folks who may not be able to afford them. I also thought that giving away my pieces would be a great way to thank Boston for purchasing so many paintings in just two days.

I also wanted to see more smiles in New England. I was in the Midwest for grad school prior to moving here to teach at UMASS Amherst, and I was missing the warm interactions and eye contact. I complained about the lack of smiles in Boston for almost a decade. But that all changed when I saw Bostonians smile when they saw my paintings. In many ways, this was the catalyst for the Smile Boston Project. I told myself to stop complaining and to be proactive. And so for five years, I have been leaving paintings for folks to take for free with a note saying, “This painting is yours if you promise to smile at random people more often,” across the country and around the world. Below are feedback and photo samples from my recent Smile Chicago Project.

Know what? After doing Smile Boston Project for five years, I was proven wrong. Bostonians are friendly– they are just different from the Midwesterners or Californians. I’ve since ceased to complain. How can I not? I feel the love here in Boston… I am a full-time artist during this economic disaster! What more can I ask for? This is the best job I have ever had.

With that in mind, I am altering my street art project for a while. Instead of leaving my smile-related note, I will now tape a different one saying, “Everything will be alright.” I can’t think of a better way to uplift peoples feelings than to give free paintings during the Wall Street Blues. Look out for free paintings this month because I will be leaving them all over Boston and NYC!

Responses from the recent Smile Chicago Project:

I’m a 19 year old college student who lives in Chicago… I was out on a jog when I stumbled upon one of your paintings. I glanced at the bench in disbelief. I had heard of this project before and couldn’t believe my luck. I had a problem though. I had just started my run and still had about a mile to go. Do I take it and risk ruining it by clutching it tightly? Or do I leave it and if it’s here on the way back it’s meant to be. I made a deal with myself. Smile at everyone on the rest of my run and if it’s still here you can take it. If it’s gone, at least you smiled. Well I imagine I looked pretty funny sprinting down Columbus with a smile plastered on my face, but when I got back it was still resting just where you left it. I was so happy. I snatched it up and skipped home… My older brother and I are going on a backpacking trip around the world this summer. We’ve scrimped and saved enough to just get by and maybe be able to eat every once in a while. But I’ll be sure to smile at every one I see. Thanks for all your great work. I admire your strength and determination to spread love and respect in the world. Laura

Dear Bren, I was running some errands in the rain today when I spotted one of your paintings (the cutest little blue guy, sporting a big smile and a pair of red antennae). I stood there a minute and read and re-read the note, making sure it was really OK to take it–and then yoink! it was mine. Not only that, but then as I kept walking down the street, I smiled at someone who (now that I see your photo on the site) might have been you. Thank you for the painting, and for putting a smile on my face! I will keep up my end of the deal! What a wonderful way to put good energy into the world. I feel so lucky. xo Anne

Thank you for brightening my return to work on this rainy Chicago day!! I will take very good care of my whimsical little guy. And, ironically I AM a SMILER!!! and I will definitely pay it forward over and over again. Susan

Images: Bren Bataclan, UNTITLED (2008), 24 in x 36 in; Bren Bataclan and his paintings (photo by Yuri V.); Laura from Smile Chicago; Anne from Smile Chicago; Susan from Smile Chicago. Bren Bataclan and filmmaker David Tams collaborated on a documentary film about the Smile Boston Project. Watch a preview. A book featuring Bren’s work, The Smile Project, is forthcoming from Ginko Press.

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Tracy Strauss, a poet, prose writer, educator, and past recipient of a Somerville Arts Council Artist Fellowship, recently attended the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference, set in Vermont’s Green Mountain National Forest. We asked Tracy about her thoughts on the conference, and she passed along this terrific description of her particular experiences, ranging from the view (stunning), to the road (harrowing), to the writing (refocused).

Diary of a Bread Loafer
by Tracy L. Strauss

I just returned from the Bread Loaf Writers’ Conference in Ripton, VT, where 200 writers of fiction, nonfiction, and poetry gathered for twelve days of literary exploration. As I reflect upon my first-time attendance, I can say that my experience atop “The Mountain” was challenging, exhilarating, and inspiring.

Each day was filled with a lineup of lectures and readings by great writers, panel discussions on acquiring an agent and approaching book and magazine editors, craft classes, and writing workshops. A familiar face, Chris Castellani, of Boston’s Grub Street, was also present on the mountain to talk about writing centers, colonies, and other professional development opportunities.

Evenings brought the chance for us Bread Loafers to read our work in the Blue Parlor, where we cheered each other on and shared our latest pieces of poetry and prose. (Each day’s itinerary was delivered to us via The Crumb, Bread Loaf’s daily dose).

Studying with Patricia Hampl, I had the opportunity to share a chapter of my memoir-in-progress with faculty and fellow writers for critical response. A discussion about metaphor and structure brought my project into rack focus within my inner eye, and sent me off with keener vision, motivation, and direction.

During breaks in the action, I would take some time for a little solitude, sitting in one of Bread Loaf’s many Appalachian chairs, looking out at the contemplative majesty of the Green Mountains. The sun glowed over parts of it, casting shadows over others. My journey to Bread Loaf, as in the writer’s life, seemed to be pictured in those mountains in the darkness and light, in the peaks and valleys, standing tall, reaching for the heavens.

The stars were amazing at Bread Loaf. The sky was like a planetarium, with perfectly lit constellations and even the distinct appearance of the Milky Way. Many times I found myself standing in the middle of a field with fellow Bread Loafers, our heads craned back as we stared up at the stars, unable to tear ourselves away.

Before my trip to Bread Loaf Mountain, I had heard about a sense of elitism that some said pervades the Conference. What I did witness was easy to simply tune out. Many attendees, myself included, chose rather to tune in the camaraderie between newfound friends, and, in doing so, unnecessary competitiveness disappeared from the radar.

With no cell phone access and limited internet, many Bread Loafers went a little batty over the course of twelve days in literary seclusion, but the Conference scheduled two fun-filled barn dances to provide an outlet for such energy. Imagine a bunch of writers at a dance the kind of social situation most of us dreaded in junior high. Then imagine us in our own skins, dancing to “Thriller” and “Crazy,” and having the time of our lives.

Meals were a time for us to share stories about ourselves, and, in many instances to make further connections with agents and editors and writing consultants who sat alongside us at the dining hall tables. Midway through the Conference, we took a 1.5 mile hike to the Robert Frost Farm, where we enjoyed a picnic lunch, toured Frost’s cabin, and listened to a lecture by Jay Parini, who spoke about Frost’s inspiration in nature. Bread Loaf also continued its tradition of the Poets and Prosers Pig Roast one evening, with vegetarian options available.

My trip to Bread Loaf began with some bumps in the road: literally, recent floods washed out the road to Ripton, forcing me to take a detour, which meant a steering-wheel gripping forty-five minute drive through an unpaved ditch-ridden “road” that wound through the woods. At one point the path split in two, and I did not know which one was the path to Bread Loaf. I wondered if I was re-living Robert Frost’s “The Road Not Taken.” (Frost, who shared his craft at Bread Loaf from 1939 until his death in 1963, is legacy at this Conference.) I chose right, however, as a half hour later I came upon a small sign that read “To Bread Loaf” and included an arrow outlined in yellow “Caution” tape.

My time away from Massachusetts seemed to isolate me from my life yet it simultaneously brought me back to it. The road I traveled home was smooth repaired and open and filled with a renewed sense of clarity, and the drive to write.

Images: Tracy Strauss reads in the Blue Parlor; view of the Green Mountains from Bread Loaf; on the porch at Bread Loaf; “To Bread Loaf” sign with caution tape.

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Mary Sherman (Painting Finalist ‘04) is currently a Fulbright Senior Scholar and artist-in-residence at the Kuandu Museum of Fine Arts in Taipei, Taiwan, and she sent us a fascinating update on her projects there. While in Taipei, Mary is running a workshop called “Here, There and Everywhere” collaborating with students and faculty from Taipei National University of the Arts, as well as local artists, to create an exhibition at the Kuandu Museum (running July 11 to August 31). Below are posts from Mary’s KdMoFa Collaborative Workshops blog, detailing projects by two of the artists teams participating in the workshop.

TEAM D

Mary Sherman / Pan Ping-Yu / Fujui Wang /Tao Ya-Lun/ Chang Ling/Josef Bares

Starry Night (on Mars)

When we were all showing each other our work, the idea of a shooting star came up; and everyone instantly locked onto it. Then, when we met again at the museum, we decided that we would create a sky - complete with shooting stars and a cosmic atmosphere. At the same time, we talked about how we all have the same sky above us; but we are culturally different and as such our myths and tales about the stars differ. However, what does seem universal in these stories is that they represent a projection of our desires, resulting in our interest to also make a star manual that would be open to everyone’s own cultural interpretation.

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TEAM C

Chong Yi-Kei / Fan Sih-Ci / Ho Tsan-Wen / Lin Shin-Mei / Chang Feng-Shih / Huang Po-Chih

Crack Down 2.2

All our work, on some level, is an investigation of fragments of the human body or personality. Our investigation is undertaken to better understand the complexities of both these fragments and their role in understanding ourselves and those around us. For this exhibition we have decided to switch from our more usual visual format to focus on the sound of the human voice. We, thus, have created a dialog of disembodied voices so that the audience also can experience what we believe - that such a fragment of ourselves can convey a great deal.

See more images from the collaboration.

Here Comes the Sun

Along with her work in Taipei, Mary collaborated with Italian artist Rudi Punzo on another project, a massive public art performance in partnership with Shanghai’s Zendai Museum of Modern Art. Here Comes the Sun featured 800 hand-printed Kongming lanterns, launched into the sky in a carefully choreographed sequence to spell “here comes the sun” in ASCII programming code. A sound design accompanied each launch.

The text “here comes the sun” (along with its obvious debt to the Beatles) is a rough translation of a Chinese blessing, a tribute to Chinese citizens following the recent earthquake disaster. Mary and her collaborator invited the public to add their own messages being sent to the heavens.

Mary Sherman is the founder of TransCultural Exchange. As an artist, she has exhibited widely in the U.S. and abroad, including New York, Seoul, Vienna, Chicago, London, and Venice.

“Starry Night (on Mars)” by Team D, KdMoFa Collaborative Workshops, Taipei, Taiwan; “Crack Down 2.2″ by Team C, KdMoFa Collaborative Workshops, Taipei, Taiwan; Artists prepare to launch Kongming lanterns, “Here Comes the Sun,” Zendai MoMA, Shanghai, China; Mary Sherman works with artists to prepare lanterns for “Here Comes the Sun,” Shanghai, China; Another view of “Here Comes the Sun,” Zendai MoMA, Shanghai, China

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Take a moment to check out this artifact from the life of 21-year-old Drey Fank, care of Ariel Kotker’s (Sculpture/Installation Fellow ‘07) “His Room As He Left It” installation:

Defibrillator sticker

17 May 08
Git Up N’ Go Defibrillator Co.
A sticker Drey finds on a box at the Rest Home one day. He peels it off, takes it home and puts it on his bass guitar. He thinks it’s a band sticker for the metal band from Beam called “Luvstrikken”.

*****

Ariel will exhibit in-progress selections from “His Room As He Left It” in the upcoming En Mass show at Boston Sculptors Gallery (May 21-June 22). When finished, Ariel’s installation will be a “walk-in novella,” a room filled with sculptures from Drey’s everyday life, stuff like a whiffle ball, Chevaline brand beer cans, a rabbit’s foot, and Oak Smokes cigarettes, all handmade and approximately life-size.

Ariel is documenting the project on an accompanying blog, and we asked if she’d let us put up her most recent post. Bless her heart, she agreed!

See more artifacts from Drey’s life in an intriguing video clip on Ariel’s MCC profile page. And check out her work (as well as work by other Sculpture/Installations Fellows Alan Colby, Peggy Diggs, Matthew Hincman, and Nick Rodrigues) at En Mass at Boston Sculptors Gallery, May 21-June 22, 2008. Opening reception June 6 (First Friday), 6-9 PM.

Image: Ariel Kotker’s “Git Up N’ Go Defibrillator Co.”, acrylic inks on origami paper with added adhesive (2008). From the ongoing installation His Room As He Left It.

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