Iâ€™m still in the process of attending all those shows I recommended in my Wisconsin fall preview a few months ago. Itâ€™s difficult for even the most dedicated art nerd to cover a state as large as Wisconsin. Because of this Iâ€™ve picked up the habit of turning my art excursions into comprehensive road trip experiences with an ever-evolving set of rituals: check the weather; load the podcasts; fill the travel mug with coffee; plug address into the GPS; pick up the jalapeno flavored beef jerky and two bottles of Dr. Pepper from the Speedway convenience store.
My most recent performance came en route to the Wisconsin Triennial at the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art (MMoCA.), when I listened to a podcast on medieval history from iTunes U and scorched my mouth on jerky â€“ I think I forged a permanent association between a swollen, stingy tongue and Pepin the Short. I pulled into Madison on the one-year anniversary of seeing Leo Villarealâ€™s sensational show there last year and I hoped to match the pleasure again on that afternoon.
I immediately recognized the work of Madison local Derrick Buisch in the first floor gallery of the Overture Center, where MMoCA is housed. His wall grid of small paintings quickly goes from quirky illustration to chewy examination of the relationships between painting, graphics, gesture and text. The piece, called â€œ77 Monstersâ€, forces one to consider the subtle differences between seeing, looking, and reading. Adjacent to this, an eccentric construction by artist Paul Sacaridizâ€™s complements Buischâ€™s 2-D work nicely. It has the same formal sensibility as Buischâ€™s, only in three-dimensions and with a touch of Vladimir Tatlin.
On the third floor, home to the majority of the show, I was especially moved by a video installation by Madison artist Chele Isaac, titled â€œThe End of Angelsâ€. The surreal, dreamy work is reminiscent of Janet Cardiffâ€™s and George Bures Millerâ€™s moodiest dioramas. Around the corner, Justin Bitnerâ€™s sculptural installation aroused my suspicion of sculpture made of tube televisions, though he sidestepped the oft-overdetermined application of the tube as a nostalgic bauble, or a naked symbol of media overload, by using its hissing analog snow as the soundtrack for a video of crashing waves. A rare and interesting use of television as a sonic rather than visual medium.
Nearby three photographs of hunting shelters by artist Jason Vaughn cheekily bring together the dissonant languages high-modernism and Wisconsin hunting culture. His photographic treatment of the structures gives them a personal, even sentimental feel, but his compositional framing of the them suggests something more monumental. The location of the work struck me as a superb curatorial counterpoint to Vaughnâ€™s growling TV sets which could be faintly heard on the other side of an enclosure.
I was asked to leave at closing by an attendant while I stared transfixed into a light box photograph of a cinder cone volcano (?) by Stephen Hilyard, wondering if and to what degree the image was digitally altered. I still donâ€™t know for sure.
I think one could do worse that to be prodded out of a museum satisfied but still looking for answers.
Two weeks later, I was checking the weather for Milwaukee on my iPhone. â€œTwo degrees,â€ said Siri in her tinny voice. I laughed smugly as I read the gauge on my rented Dodge Caliber. 82 degrees. Schadenfreude. I was heading to Miami Beach, and the yearly spectacle of the art fairs.
Art fairs in Miami have proliferated like Tribbles over the past decade. There are too many now to see over the entire week. One could spend days at the main Basel fair alone. I spent three hours there and canâ€™t tell you now if the images in my head are from this yearâ€™s fair or lastâ€™s â€¦or from a visit to a museum prior to that. I spent hours at five other fairs as well, but I lost steam as each booth and tent passed. Thereâ€™s not enough space here to describe the full scope of the Miami circus, and plenty of others are taking on that task for me anyway. Itâ€™s enough to say though that one couldnâ€™t have a great art experience under the conditions in Miami anymore than one could have a deep philosophical conversation at their own wedding reception: itâ€™s too fast, too disjunctive. The mind turns into a dispatcher of information rather than a feeler or processor of it.
Eventually, the absurd undertakings in plastic surgery take over and you start planning your trip the beach.
Which is where I lived out the final hours of my short trip.
When I was a kid, I lived in with my family in a pine forest in Window Rock, Arizona for a while. It was isolated and deprived of modern commercial pleasures. On the weekend weâ€™d drive to Albuquerque and I would ritually indulge in the travel luxury of a bag of pine nuts sold to us from the side of the road. Albuquerque was a two hour drive, and if I extricated 11 nuts from their shell with my teeth during that time, I was lucky.
Now I can get a grocery sack-full of shelled pine nuts at Costco for 6 bucks. And I hate them. I donâ€™t even like them on salads.
I donâ€™t care what all the idealist critics say about the autonomy of art. Bullshit. Context and ritual matters.
â€œIf you build it, they will come,â€ lows a voice to Ray Kinsella in the film â€œField of Dreams.â€ Incredulous but faithful, Ray, played by Kevin Costner, obeys, carving a baseball diamond out of his Iowa cornfield and,after some plot twists and life lessons, they do in fact come.
In Fond du Lac last week the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts opened to the public. A hybrid of contemporary architecture and a Masonic temple that had previously housed the Windhover Art Center, the Sadoff Center is an impressive specimen: granite topped bars; a spacious terrace for live music; two large and gloriously lit art galleries, classrooms, workshops and a hall for lectures and performances. Itâ€™s a cultural diamond in the heart of a pragmatic industrial town â€“ an only slightly less quixotic enterprise than trying to lure the ghost of Shoeless Joe Jackson out of a cornfield.
Its opening was marked by two moving and exceedingly complementary exhibitions.
The title of sculptor/ceramicist Novie Trumpâ€™s show â€œthe Weight of Airâ€ perfectly captures the dreamy intimacy evoked by the delicate objects comprising it. Her work is somewhat insistent at first, but ultimately lets us find our own way through the mysterious and meditative imagery.
A row of gentle white bird nests cast crisp shadows on the floor; a series of white branches dangle lightly from filament; a wall of black ceramic butterflies elevates toward the skylights. All incredibly suggestive, literally and visually, but, in the end, just out of reach. As intangible as air itself. The most exquisite and suggestive of these airy sculptural vignettes are two small white reliquaries filled with fragile artifacts. Her work recalls Christian Boltanski, but where he chooses to reveal the painful truth, Trump conceals, and lets us sift through our own memories and associations.
Trumpâ€™s quiet theater is enhanced by the ample light that pours into the third floor gallery. Cast shadows in the show become as much a part of the works as the ceramic objects themselves.
Equally dependent on light and shadow but to entirely different effect is the work of Hap Tivey. The impact of his work is most profound when descending the stairs directly from Trumpâ€™s show upstairs. Her blue-tinged natural light scheme is interrupted by the sour yellow haze of his work â€œSodium Exchange.” It’s a relatively abrupt transition, but still Tivey’s work is light and quiet.
At the opening I overheard several viewers questioning what â€œto doâ€ with the â€œSodium Exchangeâ€. At one point Hap came in and told them to â€œnot to do anythingâ€ and to â€œlet go.â€ Indeed they did, and the environment overcame them.
â€œSodium Exchangeâ€ essentially creates two experiences on either side of a Â fabric membrane. The south side offers a trip through a spectrum of diffuse atmospheric light. Soft, tonal shadows cast by the viewer dance almost imperceptibly on the scrim bisecting the room. The north side bathed in harsh sodium light, reveals a more distinct cast shadow of the viewers on the opposite side, setting up an anxious, jarring and voyeuristic experience.
Tivey is a veteran light-and-space artist whose aim, as he mentioned in a lecture Wednesday night, is to â€œcreate experiences that an individual canâ€™t not have anywhere else.â€ Itâ€™s a simple but profound conceit that his work lives up to, especially when the viewer yields control.
Though experience is primary for Tivey, the interactivity in â€œSodium Exchangeâ€ happens to be a living metaphor for how human nerve cells transmit information, and by extension, how one perceives the very light that is functioning as the metaphor in the work itself.
The relationship between the works and the new space is exceptional. A literally brilliant way to inaugurate the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts.
Today at the Center theyâ€™re having a screening of Baz Luhrmannâ€™s â€œGreat Gatsbyâ€ down the hall from Trumpâ€™s and Tiveyâ€™s wonderful environments. It seems an almost perfectly cheeky choice by comparison. I canâ€™t imagine anything less slow and subtle than Luhrmannâ€™s movies. Maybe an actual car crash. I hope everyone who attends the screening goes from the green light beyond Gatsbyâ€™s dock, toward the sodium and sunlight in the galleries. Their minds just might get blown.
Blown minds or not, my guess would be that such outrageous variety will be a necessary recipe for the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts in Fond du Lac. So far itâ€™s an ambitious and well-executed endeavor, especially the delicately curated art work. With a smashing public opening on Thursday, it seems the public is on board so far.
If you build it, they just might come.
Unless youâ€™re one of the lucky ones who can swing the Venice Biennale package excursion, or go off on a museums-of-the-world grand tour, late summer is a drag in the art world. In New York, after the kitchen-sink group shows conclude in July, the economic drivers of the art world flit off to the Hamptons, Fire Islandâ€¦or Venice, and the apparatus effectively shuts down until they return after Labor Day. Thankfully September is bananas and more than makes up for the brief hibernation.
I wasnâ€™t sure when I arrived in Wisconsin if the same would be true, but by late July it was clear that haute culture takes a back seat here as well, only in favor of jet skis, pontoon boats, and prime rib Saturdays. Even for the philanthropist/board member set, which is part of the charm of the place. Iâ€™m told Door County is Wisconsinâ€™s version of the Hamptons, though I donâ€™t think there are any go-karts in the Hamptons.
So in terms of spectatorship, it was a fairly dry late summer. With one significant exception.
I finally found the time to drive two-and-a-half hours north to the tiny town of Little Wolf to see, indeed, experience, The Poor Farm, the experimental exhibition project imagined by Michelle Grabner and Brad Killam.
On the way there my GPS went out of range somewhere outside of Manawa, so I stabbed forward like a pioneer searching for a pass through the mountains. I eventually hit County Road B by blind luck, took a right turn and happened by a large building with a David Smith-y looking sculpture out front. I was right in assuming I was where I was supposed to be.
The Farm might pass as your typical two-story rustic house in the country, only contemporary art occupies the spaces that might otherwise be used to store mason jars full of rhubarb preserves. The dozen-or-so galleries spread over two floors and basement are home to installations that run an entire year. That year officially kicked-off last week with an annual extravaganza called the â€œGreat Poor Farm Experimentâ€, complete with video screenings, performances, and a little wholesome socializing. Ahem.
Itâ€™s difficult to appraise the individual exhibitions at the Poor Farm independently from the raw charm of the space itself. Though there is a clear demarcation between exhibitions, the Farmâ€™s ambient personality unifies the experience. One of my favorite pieces on view is a painting by John Riepenhoff in gallery 5 on the second floor; another is a nearby wall in gallery 3 whose stratified paint layers happen to be artfully flaking away.
Also captivating is an installation of large abstract paintings by the Italian artist Lucio Pozzi, occupying the largest gallery on the main floor. Pozziâ€™s suite of paintings, like the gallery and building encasing them it, are a healthy mix of sophistication and eccentricity. The paintings seem to be clean and hermetic at first but their composure degrades and their informal, slightly skewed character is comes to the fore.
The installations in the basement join forces to create somewhat of a Freddy Krueger-esque experience. That I was alone and the rural silence was split only by an eerie sound piece under the stairwell by C. Spencer Yeh, contributed significantly to the impression.
I left satisfied and compensated for Augustâ€™s otherwise paltry offerings. The Poor Farm is a recommended trip even given the Chicago-to-Manawa road time. Perhaps on the way back home can hit some other Wisconsin art offerings I recommend for fall.
First, Iâ€™ll nerd-out with a show that might not get every art lover salivating, but as an art history professor, Iâ€™m looking forward to a survey of painter-of-presidents and theatrically-derived genre scenes, Thomas Sully, at the Milwaukee Art Museum.
As for local, contemporary interests, two Wisconsin surveys are happening concurrently: the Wisconsin Triennial at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Madison (MMoCA) and the third installment of the Haggerty Museum of Artâ€™s Current Tendencies. Iâ€™m looking forward to seeing Kristy Deetzâ€™s paintings in Madison, which draw equally from craft, folk art, Fra Angelico, and imagination. Current Tendencies boasts work by photographer Jon Horvath, mixed media artist Jason S. Yi, and other favorites from the Milwaukee area.
For the bananas portion of the season, Iâ€™ll save my wilder enthusiasms for the fourth annual Ghost Show, a collaboration during Halloween among a number of independent art spaces in Milwaukee that will merge the occult, the esthetic and the potable to what Iâ€™ve heard are thrilling, if not supernatural results. Stay tuned for more details about that.
Coinciding with the grand opening of the Thelma Sadoff Center for the Arts in Fond du Lac, New York-based light/space and all-around phenomenological pirate, Hap Tivey, will reconfigure an extraordinary installation called â€œSodium Exchangeâ€. The piece invites viewers to interact with each other on either side of an illuminated scrim. Think: Robert Irwin, Doug Wheeler, but with a ladle-full of relational gravy and a sprig of playfulness on top.
Iâ€™ll conclude my short list of things to see in Wisconsin this fall with a plug for a show a thousand miles away on 20th Street in New York City. Mike Womack, an artist Iâ€™ve championed in the past will have his third show at ZieherSmith. It opens on September 5 if youâ€™re in the area. This time around for the protean artist: concrete encased works on paper. The sketchbooks of Frida Kahlo colliding with Brutalist architecture? Paul Kleeâ€™s drawings in a death match with Donald Juddâ€™s Chinati cubes? I can only hope, but Iâ€™ll have to be surprised.
So no one thinks Iâ€™m taking thematic liberties, Iâ€™d like it noted that one-half of ZieherSmith, Scott Zieher, is, beyond being an exceptional poet and collage artist, a native son of the great state of Wisconsin. So there.
Happy viewing and Gooo bee-ad-yers.
After a year-and-a-half of writing about more basic cultural differences between New York and Milwaukee, the results of my cultural reconnaissance will now take the form of local art coverage. This being the first piece, Iâ€™d like to mention that, unlike NYC where almost everything including what passes for ‘underground’ are usually pre-dug, locating art culture in Milwaukee has proven to be a little, well, subterranean.Â So far the digging has been the most gratifying part of being here. Not having the luxury of a media guide dedicated to informing masses of art goers about what is yet undiscovered, is a pleasure. Searching for art in Milwaukee makes me feel feral â€“ itâ€™s the art equivalent to hunting and gathering.
Like a weathered master to a young apprentice, he wrote cryptically in an email, â€œLook out, they think theyâ€™re more pure there.â€
â€œThereâ€ is Milwaukee, and â€œtheyâ€ are artists. That master is my friend who had lived in Milwaukee for years before moving to New York and eventually opening a gallery.
And I am the implanted apprentice in the trenches, trying to understand the lay of the irregular terrain of the Milwaukee art scene.
Several weeks ago I was urged by a friend of a friend to attend an event called the â€œUmali Awardsâ€ at a space called Imagination Giants (IMG). Unfortunately, I couldnâ€™t be there, but, was encouraged by yet another friend to check out a current show at the host space anyway.
Other than some ambiguous text on IMGâ€™s ultra spare website, I knew nothing when I contacted them to meet for a conversation (which was a nice departure from years of reviewing shows on 22nd Street in Chelsea.)
â€œApproaching work that deals with literal, theoretical, or conceptual space, Imagination Giants takes on interpretations of the infinite world.â€
I met proprietors Ashley Janke, Lara Ohland, and Tim Stoelting on a particularly steamy late evening last week. Tim greeted me at the door of a non-descript corner storefront, let me in, and suggested I take in their latest show, â€œVinyl Loveâ€, while we waited for Lara and Ashley to arrive.
I milled about the show by Polish-born, Milwaukee local Waldek Dynerman feeling by turns repulsed and attracted to the strange scattering of objects and a dozen or so quirky and surprisingly handsome provisional paintings that were integrated into the spaceâ€™s hardware such that one might assume the thermostat and exposed piping are on the showâ€™s checklist. Dynermanâ€™s installation amply filled the gallery with everything from contorted sex dolls atop stools, to haunting video projections on bed sheets, to a working QR code that opens to a â€œfamily portraitâ€ of the dolls in their unaltered state. A friezelike print of a glistening blue beachfront hung cheekily above a wall of gestural painting, like a Cy Twombly assaulting a Corona commercial. The entire mÃ©lange was bathed in half carnival-festive, half sex-dungeon, neon light. The kitsch here is the spoonful of sugar that helps Dynermanâ€™s more personal medicine go down. It does go down, and stays with you after you part with the work.
I had flashes of the show even as the four of us moved into a separate parlor area to discuss IMG with its creators.
Ashley, Lara and Tim met while at the Milwaukee Institute of Art and Design, and began planning the space shortly after Ashley graduated in 2012. IMG is dedicated to an expanded and reimagined notion of exhibition space, as is made clear in their somewhat obscure mission statement, which, as it turns out is more straightforward than I first gathered. They are interested in helping artists realize projects that require a large contiguous and alterable space, and to occasionally assist in producing those projects. Gallerists-cum-meta artistic collaborators.
This mission was well articulated in performative events â€˜Bon Voyageâ€™ and â€˜Amorphous Selfâ€™, and in â€œOne Ton Beach WIâ€, a collaboration with LA-based artist Jena Lee that provided â€œyou and yours with a day of sunny respite and warm relaxation.â€ Meaning, they literally installed a beach in the gallery on which guests could lounge, meditate and practice yoga in the thick of the Wisconsin winter.Â Fun for the entire family interested in leisure activity and quirky relational esthetic projects.
But unchecked relational projects can be a challenge for a young gallery working out preperatorial issues as it goes.
Lara Ohland mentioned that IMG has faced some interesting logistical problems in their short run, but also held that their willingness to work through such issues are exactly what makes the project indispensable to the local art community.
According to Ohland, â€œWhen roadblocks have come up as we transformed our location into an inhabitable space, and developed past shows, they have come as opportunities to creatively meet the problem. When we brought the building up to code we sifted through legal documents that were not written to accommodate a project like ours, but lead us to creative solutions like turning a boarded up window into a mural. In a similar way the process of obtaining liability insurance lead to developing a performance piece, as we sifted through insurance forms that are worded in a way that they undo themselves. Obtaining one ton of frozen sand in Milwaukee during the winter and then transporting it to our gallery felt more like a performance than a task. This process, even when met with logistical problems, is informative. What I am motivated to make is influenced by the processes I know, and through IMG has come a constant flow of these opportunities.â€
They seem to relish unorthodox interventions. A good example is their upcoming show with Milwaukee artist Shane Walsh and his recent painting series of mix tapes he made in the 80s and 90s. Stoeling mentioned when we spoke that IMG collaborated with Walsh to find a way to place his 2-d works into a logical dialogue with the 3-d space of the gallery by turning it into a fully functioning music store circa 1987.
Given two roads, it seems IMG looks for the unpaved first, and if both are smooth, searches next for the more elevated.
When I asked what motivated the trio to start IMG, they were matter-of-factly unified in the idea that projects like theirs are what give Milwaukeeâ€™s art scene its vitality. They agreed that the lack of commercial distraction combined with cheap real estate makes the scene ripe and relatively risk-free for untrammeled experimentation, though even the most worthwhile projects can shortened by the easy-come-easy go mindset of the community.
Ashley Janke elaborated:
â€œMilwaukee rent is affordable enough where you can get away with building a room in your attic, partitioning your studio, using the front room of your house, or making a deal with a landlord to refurbish a warehouse space into a 6,000 square foot white cube. These projects cannot be fueled by dreams forever. With little funding or market, they often evolve into transient spaces or break down completely allowing their founders to move on to larger projects or move with them.â€
Janke to her own credit has run an independent side-project called nAbr (pronounced neighbor) which began in her attic and has since migrated to a number of locations, settling most recently on the outdoor grounds of the Lynden Sculpture Garden. nAbr has had its own run of critically challenging shows that cross pollinates with other pop-up spaces, ultimately reinforcing the fabric of the local DIY art scene.
Imagination Giants is headed ambitiously into their second full season, with a book launch and sewing workshop by artist and author Brian Nigus, whose work derives from a summer spent with a native tribe in Papua New Guinea. This, along with the aforementioned record store to accompany Shane Walshâ€™s mix tape collection, and a fourth year of â€œ00000 GH00ST $HOWâ€, a one night exhibition of horror and occult projects, should help fuel anticipation for the new season at IMG.
I spent yesterday shuffling through herds of art junkies at Bushwick Open Studios. Iâ€™ve been to Bushwick a dozen times in the past year and still the terrain was almost unrecognizably different. Itâ€™s evolving and mutating like some crazy bird flu. Galleries everywhere. New high-end bars and restaurants everywhere else. All the old studio buildings like 56 Bogart and 17-17 Troutman have traditional galleries running out of what used to be raw studio space.
Despite the hoopla, for the most part the work at Bushwick Open Studios was boring. Not terrible, but mostly meh. Competent. Like stones polished by constant flow of water, shaped by the years, but less unique for all the wear. Still, what does one expect â€œpop-upâ€ proprietors to do in the face of throngs of hungry collectors and ambitious curators, skyrocketing rents and huge expectations?
Itâ€™s hard to sell a make-shift beach or an installation comprised of contorted sex dolls and grainy videos.
Freedomâ€™s just another word for nothing left to lose.
Rents are cheap in Milwaukee, and are likely to stay cheap no matter how many Imagination Giants move into bohemian areas like Riverwest or Bay View. Hopefully this will keep the challenging, chewy, difficult and eccentric shows coming.
And hopefully Iâ€™ll encounter them as they do.
â€œThey think theyâ€™re more pureâ€?
Let me get back to you about this…
January 18, 2013 · Print This Article
I came on as the Managing Editor of the Bad at Sports blog about a month ago. It’s been an exciting turn and I hope to do well by it. A few people have asked what my vision going forward is, and I thought I might say something about it here.Â I hope to continue reflecting on the dynamic energy in Chicago’s contemporary art world while connecting to conversations and aesthetic agendas in other cities and disciplines. That agenda was set in place a while ago and I believe I can continue to guide and focus that intention. There is room for experimentation in that vision, which seems necessary to me. Bad at Sports has never presented a tidy, singular package and as such, I believe it would go against the nature of the project to filter content and tone through a single, editorial lens. Its roots in independent, DIY and Punk Rock collectivism remain at the heart of the project’s vitality and the blog is a platform for unique and individual voices that pass through the subject of contemporary art and culture. As such it becomes a nexus of concerns and responses to culture at large. That is something I hope to preserve under my stewardship. As an artist-run forum, Bad at Sports has the unique capacity to reflect on a host of subjects, exposing the intellectual, aesthetic and social networks that define and subsequently influence cultural production. I believe it is our job to explore and discuss the contexts we inhabit. In doing so, we further establish a living touchstone and future archive of contemporary discourse.
Some changes should be apparent already â€” others will fall into place like pieces of a puzzle in the coming months. The process is organic, but I’ve been trying to set up a casual, thematic architecture Â that unfolds over the course of a given week. Eventually, I hope to schedule two posts a day, one before 2pm and one after. Built in to this, is room for special occasions and guest writers â€” those posts would either go live in the evenings, or fill in existing gaps. To that endÂ I’ve been inviting a number of new writers, many of whom I have admired for a long time.
Here is something of a loose schedule:
Mondays: Essays and reflections from old favorites Jeriah Hildewin, Shane McAdams and Nicholas O’Brien â€” writers who have been posting with consistent dedication. In addition, I’m excited to announce a new bi-weekly column by Dana Bassett, whom you may know for her ACRE Newsletters.
Tuesdays are dedicated to three subjects: Performance, Social Practice, Language (or the performance thereof) and Object Oriented Ontology. Confirmed participants include longstanding contributor Abigail Satinsky and Mary Jane Jacob (Social Practice), Anthony Romero and JoÃ£o FlorÃªncio (performance), Gene Tanta (language), Robert Jackson (OOO).
On Wednesdays, we will read about artists and art in other cities. The following writers will post on rotation: Jeffery Songco is covering the Bay Area, Sam Davis continues to represent Bad at Sports’ Los Angeles Bureau,Â Sarah Margolis-Pineo is writing about Portland. Juliana Driever will be relaying posts, interviews and artist profiles about New York, and then we’ll bring it back to the Midwest with Kelly Shindler’s dispatch from St. Louis, and Jamilee Polson Lacy writing about Kansas City.
ThursdaysÂ herald our illustrious Stephanie Burke’sÂ Top 5 Weekend PicksÂ and a new monthly contribution from author/translator Johannes GÃ¶ransson whose writing you can also find here.
Fridays have been set aside for art reviews and artist profiles with contributions from Danny Orendoff, Monica Westin, Abraham Ritchie and myself.
WEEKENDS will feature a range and flux of the above, plus Brit Barton’s Endless Opportunities, cultural reflections and short essays by Terri Griffith, continued posts from Jesse Malmed, in addition to a monthly contribution from the newly confirmed Bailey Romaine and Adrienne Harris.
My last note is this â€” there is room in this schedule for additional posts, posts that would feature special events, festivals and conferences in the city. That space would also be available to, at times, connect the blog and the podcast. As a first indication of this, we will be highlighting IN>TIME, a performance festival that is going on as we speak, from January until March.
Otherwise if you have any comments, suggestions or, even guest posts you would like to submit, please feel free to contact me at: email@example.com