Everything you've learned in school as "obvious" becomes less and less obvious as you begin to study the universe. For example, there are no solids in the universe. There's not even a suggestion of a solid. There are no surfaces. There are no straight lines.
I LOVE the movement in this silent clip.
I've never seen a separation between my art and movement teaching/practice. It's all the same thing. I get that from both Anni and Josef Alber's work.
Apprentice is the beginner - the first
years you work in a craft in the European sense you are an apprentice.
That takes 3 or 4 years. Then you are a journeyman. You can go from one
master to another and learn other tricks and other secrets.
You have to love dancing to stick to it. It gives you nothing
back, no manuscripts to store away, no paintings to show on walls and
maybe hang in museums, no poems to be printed and sold, nothing but that
single fleeting moment when you feel alive.
The story of Black Mountain College begins in 1933 and comprises a
fascinating chapter in the history of education and the arts. Conceived
by John A. Rice, a brilliant and mercurial scholar who left Rollins
College in a storm of controversy, Black Mountain College was born out
of a desire to create a new type of college based on John Dewey’s
principles of progressive education. The events that precipitated the
College’s founding occurred simultaneously with the rise of Adolf
Hitler, the closing of the Bauhaus by the Nazis, and the beginning of
the persecution of artists and intellectuals on the European continent.
Some of these people found their way to Black Mountain, either as
students or faculty. Meanwhile, the United States was mired in the Great
Depression, and Franklin Roosevelt, committed to putting people back to
work, established the Public Works Arts Project (a precursor of the
WPA).
The founders of the College believed that the study and practice of
art were indispensable aspects of a student’s general liberal arts
education, and they hired Josef Albers to be the first art teacher.
Speaking not a word of English, he and his wife Anni left the turmoil in
Hitler’s Germany and crossed the Atlantic Ocean by boat to teach art at
this small, rebellious college in the mountains of North Carolina.
Black Mountain College was fundamentally different from other
colleges and universities of the time. It was owned and operated by the
faculty and was committed to democratic governance and to the idea that
the arts are central to the experience of learning. All members of the
College community participated in its operation, including farm work,
construction projects and kitchen duty. Located in the midst of the
beautiful North Carolina mountains near Asheville, the secluded
environment fostered a strong sense of individuality and creative
intensity within the small College community.
Legendary even in its own time, Black Mountain College attracted and
created maverick spirits, some of whom went on to become well-known and
extremely influential individuals in the latter half of the 20th
century. A partial list includes people such as Willem and Elaine de
Kooning, Robert Rauschenberg, Josef and Anni Albers, Jacob Lawrence,
Merce Cunningham, John Cage, Cy Twombly, Kenneth Noland, Vera B.
Williams, Ben Shahn, Franz Kline, Arthur Penn, Buckminster Fuller, M.C.
Richards, Francine du Plessix Gray, Charles Olson, Robert Creeley,
Dorothea Rockburne and many others, famous and not-so-famous, who have
impacted the world in a significant way. Even now, decades after its
closing in 1957, the powerful influence of Black Mountain College
continues to reverberate
I went to see the Black Mountain Collage Leap Before You Look exhibition
at the Boston ICA this weekend and was blown away by it. I highly recommend taking a look (if you are in that neck of the woods). It is a wonderful exploration of the legendary school and of the work of the
artists who spent time there...and it has inspired the theme for this
weeks blog posts...
“The optimal way for getting super-regenerating skin would be to
allow our foot to interact with natural surfaces outside of the shoe
over a lifetime, prompting a slow adaptation in foot skin thickness over
that lifetime, giving us a much better ability to cope with the
sensations caused by walking barefoot.”
Christopher McDougall explores the mysteries of the human desire to run. How did running help early humans survive — and what urges from our ancient ancestors spur us on today? McDougall tells the story of the marathoner with a heart of gold, the unlikely ultra-runner, and the hidden tribe in Mexico that runs to live.
Ingredients
8 to 10 slices of unpeeled, fresh ginger
1 tablespoon grated fresh ginger
maple syrup or raw honey and fresh lemon to taste
Directions
Add ginger slices and grated ginger to 4 to 5 cups water and bring to a boil in a saucepan for approximately 20 minutes.
Add honey or maple syrup, fresh lemon (and or cayenne pepper, chamomile leaves, apple cider vinegar) to taste, whilst stamping a la Ginger Rogers.
Strain and serve immediately...alternatively you can leave it to steep over night, which will give you more of a ginger kick.
"Movements
are not programs. They are intent, followed by constant adaptation to
variables. The more control a person has over their individual
articulations, the more degrees of freedom = better adaptability."
"Janet Echelman creates experiential sculpture at the scale of buildings that transform with wind and light. The art shifts from being an object you look at, to a living environment you can get lost in. Using unlikely materials from fishnet to atomized water particles, Echelman combines ancient craft with cutting-edge technology to create artworks that have become focal points for urban life on four continents."
"You adapt to your conditions and your conditions include your characteristics as well as the characteristics around you...As a human who is blind I have adapted to my blindness by finding a different way to see in a world that isn't really conducive to not seeing."
What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose-knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace anything, solemn, slight or beautiful, that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking them through. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself and refined itself and coalesced, as such deposits so mysteriously do, into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life, and yet steady, tranquil compounds with the aloofness of a work of art. The main requisite, I think, on reading my old volumes, is not to play the part of a censor, but to write as the mood comes or of anything whatever; since I was curious to find how I went for things put in haphazard, and found the significance to lie where I never saw it at the time.