October 2011 Archives
WYA Manhattan International Film Festival 2012
The World Youth Alliance (WYA) invites young directors from around the world to submit original short films that effectively and creatively portray human dignity and authentic accounts of the human experience.
The short films of the finalists will be featured at the Manhattan International Film Festival Januart 27th-28th, 2012 at Marymount Manhattan College.
Submission Deadline: December 1st 2011
Please visit http://wya.net/ourwork/
On Beauty: Lecture and Discussion at Friday Arts Project
Friday Arts Project is hosting a lecture and discussion session on Oct 13th on the topic of Beauty at Space 157 (157 East Main Street, Rock Hill, South Carolina)
Time: 7pm-10pm
"A subject that has been discussed for millennia, “Beauty” is still important today…maybe more so. But WHAT is it? Why is it important? And how is it related to the Art community and the non-artist community? Is it mere “window dressing”—confined to that which we see in the visible world, or is it perhaps a deeper thing? What is the source of Beauty? Is it a brute power—in and of itself—like “the Force” in Star Wars? Is it even valuable to simple everyday life?"
Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/
Sounds so interesting, anyone who lives near by should check it out!
Tribute to Michel (Mike) Doreau
Last month, International Arts Movement lost a dear friend. Michel (Mike) Doreau and his wife, Kathy, have been part of IAM since participating in our very first IAM Docent weekend. Since then, they have attended three Encounters, donated money to name the IAM Library in honor of their good friend, Peter Cook, and have emailed us periodically to express their joy and support for the movement.
I remember speaking with Mike at Encounter 10. He was very fatigued, and had to miss part of the program to rest. Shortly after that event, Mike was diagnosed with cancer. After rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, he was well enough to join us again at Encounter 11, much thinner from his illness, but remaining very hopeful for the future. I got to introduce my then-fiancé to him, and we had a brief conversation. Then in April, we had an email exchange in which he shared that his condition had worsened. I sent him a picture from my wedding. He sent me news that his cancer had returned. At that point, he knew it was not curable, but was hopeful for a treatment that would manage it "over a period of years."
The staff of International Arts Movement has started many staff meetings in prayer for Mike and Kathy. When we got news of his condition over the summer, we sent flowers and art; Mako created a small piece especially for them, as part of a calling he has to offer beauty to those who are sick.
Then, a few weeks ago, I received an email from Kathy: on Sunday, September 11, "our dear Mike passed away."
Mike and Kathy were introduced to IAM by another long-time part of our community, poet Patricia Cook. To honor Mike, I asked Pat to write a tribute for us to share with the wider IAM community. She has done so, and beautifully. We are grateful.
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“When Jesus saw [Mary] weeping . . . he raged at his own spirit, and harrowed himself... Jesus once more was inwardly raging, and went to the tomb.” John 11:33,38 (trans. Richmond Lattimore)
“I've met someone as insecure as I am,” my husband said of Mike in 1967 after their first day of graduate school at Carnegie Mellon. Ironically both went on to significant careers: Pete at IBM, Mike at DEC, and each had Gordon Bell as his mentor. From then on, our house became a home for Mike as well. He often spent the night, especially on weekends. Our children, six months and two, loved him and he them. On Saturday night we would prepare our Sunday school lesson (the first of a series on Job), which Mike would join in, though all this new to him. He sat with Pete during Narnia stories, Bible Stories in Pictures for Little Eyes, and prayer with the children. Once he said, “That story sounds familiar.” He had been given The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as a prize at an Episcopal grade school in New York.
Michel T. Doreau's backgound fascinated his friends. Born in Paris in 1944, his father a journalist from Rochelle; his mother an American from Newport, Michel would often take or invite us to the house she had leased there. We walked across the road to events, for a meal, or to swim at the Spouting Rock Beach Association. Michel's joie de vivre became most intense when sharing that delight with friends – whether a meal at Bailey's Beach (the informal name), cooking steaks on the grill, touring the Breakers, or an evening cliff walk and returning after dark through a thick fog.
Mike's maternal grandfather was Edward Knight He loved to recite family history: the Knights, railroad magnates and defendants in the first antitrust suit; a patent for one of the earliest sleeping cars; Claradon Court on Bellevue Ave., one of his mother's childhood homes. Or the aunt who wrote a letter to Hitler during the occupation of France asking him to check on the welfare of her son. A German soldier subsequently showed up at the father's door and asked after the son's welfare. She received a reply that he was indeed well. The Doreaus had been neighbors of the Jacqueline Bouvier family, their Beach Club membership in Newport also shared with the Kennedy clan. Mike, however, never conveyed pride or name-dropping; but rather spoke with a chuckle, a slight shake of his head almost as though it were not his background he alluded to. No matter who you were, he spoke with the same “approachable charm.”
He and Kathy were my companions at IAM events beginning in 2007 just after my husband's sudden death. They joined me for a lovely weekend that helped to fund IAM's work. We had the privilege of three IAM Encounters together following that. Their faithful care for me included coming from Boston to cook Thanksgiving dinner, my first holiday alone. I remember Mike as one of two men who wept by Pete's casket. He and Kathy took care of me for about a week and a half after. In spite of the pancreatic cancer Mike was battling, they still visited several times this year. We had planned a trip to Italy for this October.
September 10, 201l the phone rang for the second time in less than half an hour. The first, my son, who was getting married the following Saturday, had arrived in New York from Burlingame, California, and wanted to drop by to check out boxes sent in preparation for the wedding. But before he came, the second ring was Kathy telling me they were calling in the family. Mike was in ICU and nothing more could be done for him. He was on a respirator and just being made comfortable. Even up to the previous week, Mike and Kathy had been planning to attend the wedding.
I got off the phone, wept, yelled, screamed no. I called two of my three children to tell them of Mike's condition. Each said, “Mom, you're going to Boston.” “I can't.” “But why not?” “I have things to do before the wedding.” Both questioned my response. My daughter listed things to take. My younger son arrived and held me as I cried. The phone rang again -- daughter with further thoughts. Then she wanted to talk to Jonathan. Off the phone, he said, “Mom, you're going to Boston.” I still could not concentrate. Not even first step. I thought of Susan, my housemate. If she went with me, maybe?. She asked, “But what do you think you should do?” I still didn't know, and I couldn't work it out. I needed a shower, took one, knew I had to go.
So I woke on September 11th in Boston across the street from Massachusetts General Hospital and was the second visitor to see Mike that day. Because Mike could not talk through the mask of his respirator, he printed notes on paper held by a clipboard. I said, “Because you cannot come to the wedding, I came to see you.” He printed, having some difficulty but determined to manage, that he was glad I was there. He had written to his first visitor, “It is hard to say goodby to your friends when you know you are dying. I'm still making plans for what I will do next with them.”
Mike became uncomfortable. So they rearranged his bedding and got him in the position he wished. I wanted to give him a new sheet of paper because it was hard for him to fit the notes on the rest of the page. He had begun writing in former margins and around corners, but for some reason he did not want a new one. His mind totally alert, he mentioned various people by name including the surgeon who came in and that he had performed the first surgery for cancer fifteen years previously. He asked about the wedding and how things were going with each of my children. We spoke of Pete and of the first day they met.
But the pain increased. Eventually, he called for the nurse and had to begin meds which he had not needed the day before. Kathy, Edward (Mike's youngest son) and his wife, Bekah, came in. Edward and Bekah left for church; Kathy and I talked quietly as Mike slept. Then his whole medical team arrived.. Kathy decided we would go to the waiting room where other visitors joined us. Kathy's family from Pittsburgh arrived.
Eventually the waiting room filled with Mike's visitors. I decided I should go in and say goodbye. I told Mike how much I had always loved him. Speaking in spite of the mask, he said, “I love you too; we have been good friends.” I said, “Yes, the best of friends.” He leaned his head forward so I could kiss him goodby on the cheek. He died that night. Mike, Mike. The last goodby -- the hardest goodby I have ever spoken to a conscious person.
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We are tremendously grateful to have known Mike Doreau and to have had him and Kathy with us for some very fun times celebrating the rehumanizing effects of art that is good, true and beautiful. From attending the American Ballet Theatre with docent/dancer Karen Lacy to Jazz at Lincoln Center with docent/saxophonist Kevin Gosa to touring sculptor Julie Allen's studio and enjoying a meal at Katz's famous deli on Houston Street, I will cherish the memories of these experiences, and the conversations that filled them, with Mike Doreau.
God in the Yard: Karen's Journey, Part 11
L.L. Barkat's book, God in the Yard: Spiritual Practice for the Rest of Us, is an invitation to rediscover a healthy rhythm of life. The book is meant to encourage spiritual formation largely through re-engagement with nature and solitude. But what about those people who live in urban settings, where they literally do not have a "yard" to speak of, and often live with roommates? IAM has invited urban dwellers in New York City to go through God in the Yard and report back on how it might look to take Barkat's principles and apply them in an urban context. Karen Lacy is a professional dancer with a background in literature, and she joins us as a guest blogger.
“If there’s one thing I like about Jesus, it’s his cool-as-cucumber demeanor.” Inserted into L.L. Barkat’s eleventh chapter of God in the Yard, “with:submission,” this comment about Jesus made me smile. There is something deeply calming about Jesus, in all that we read of Him (and all that I feel of Him) in Scripture. Being a high energy, physically active person (I am a dancer), I am drawn to calm. In the light of this always controversial topic, submission, Barkat looks at the “Jesus-kind” of submission that goes above and beyond.
Barkat considers the difference between submission and mimicking, which can look a lot like submission but only on the surface: “...family members learn to do things they don’t want to, say yes when they mean no...meet people’s needs before asked, fix others’ feelings.” Mimicking is a survival mechanism that I believe we all employ at different times. Barkat asks her readers to consider whether or not it’s okay to shape and re-shape our behavior depending on who we’re with. My answer?
“I feel like it is sometimes okay...only because I think it is sometimes necessary for survival or in the vein of ‘pick your battles.’ If we change all the time, it can’t be good for ourselves or others. But sometimes- in a moment.”
In a moment is one thing. A lifetime of changing like a chameleon to blend into our surroundings and keep things calm on the surface, not so much. I love the quote by Adele Calhoun that Barkat includes in this chapter: “Sometimes submission means giving. Sometimes it means receiving. Sometimes submission means leading and at other times it means following. But in each case, there is an element of self-giving.” This perspective feels much more active to me- there are times when we don’t feel up to giving, but there are others when receiving is harder. Leading and following have the same tension. It’s a tug and pull of holding and letting go.
At the end of this chapter, Barkat suggests the idea that “cultivating admiration” is an essential first step toward learning to submit. Linked to her earlier thought that submission “is more like the art of working with a person or situation,” this idea of looking for things to admire in others really grabbed my heart. Barkat points to Psalm 104, where the psalmist admires God’s works as way of admiring Him. “How many are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you made them all; the earth is full of your creatures.” (v. 24). We are ALL God’s creation. In cultivating admiration for everyone we meet as “created by God,” we might get a little closer to understanding what the “Jesus-kind” of submission looks like, as I reflected on mid-chapter:
“The art of working with seems like a plausible way to frame submission because... it feels more collaborative, giving value to both sides (giver and receiver, leader and follower). It seems to involve more paying attention. Not just deciding on or being told what to do, but with discernment.”
With discernment, Jesus responded to people as no one had before and no one has since. Simply coming to earth in the first place was the greatest act of submission this world has ever seen. “with:submission” reminds us...we’re all in this together.
Book Review: American Masculine
The following is a guest post by Melissa Ergo.
Shann Ray’s “American Masculine” thoughtfully illustrates notions of our human condition in the fresh context of Montana, Idaho, and Washington. More like a reel of visually striking short films, the stories unfold before our imaginations in a wintry quietude. They dance with presence and clarity in poignant delivery and their poetic rawness leaves an icy bite.
The author creatively addresses questions of our human nature, brokenness, and masculinity. Is our desire for goodness hopelessly shrouded by the darkness of our humanity? Is there nothing other than what we see before us in this often bitter and trying existence? How do we reconcile the broken facets of traditional masculinity that often work deep fissures into relationships? The stories evoke the piercing sting that settles so deeply within us when we experience loss, death, and broken relationships. We are swept into a burdened emptiness alongside the characters as they work through their struggles. Ray uses characters and conflicts both fresh and familiar to subtly suggest that there is indeed hope for redemption from this messy and complicated human existence.
A motif of light penetrating darkness draws these stories together with aesthetic and metaphorical effectiveness. The light both literally and figuratively seeps its way into each vignette as a glimmer of indistinguishable hope. Hope-- it does not run dry even in the bleakest of these gritty tales. Ray paints a series of numinous images with a deeply moving and ethereal light that peeks into the icy gray settings of eerie desolateness and heartbreak. He brews a tension between the human tendency to withdraw into darkness and that sacred light of hope for redemption from it. The tension is a wild rodeo, a brittle and tangled knot, yet there is beauty in the struggle.
Ray illustrates the wondrous beauty of towering mountains, vast canyons, broad plains, and rivers that sprawl with majesty and exquisite verdure. He has a powerful and multisensory manner of engaging the reader; like a lived experience, is difficult to forget the striking images of snow-laden land, the bite of crisp air and the smell of fresh outdoors. Something in the grand beauty of the land provokes the characters to stillness and insists that our humanity is originally something to do with that goodness. It suggests that perhaps, at our core we are wired with a capacity to access that great goodness once again.
Understated yet vibrant, “American Masculine” gracefully delivers a deeply moving and cinematic account of our humanity. It is an excellent and complex narrative that prods us to evaluate our notions of manhood and forgiveness, and to see the glimmer of hope that is present even in the darkest of our trials.
MORE:
Click here to listen to author Shann Ray discuss his work with Christy Tennant on IAM Conversations.
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Melissa Ergo is an artist based in Seattle, where she is a student at Seattle Pacific University and an intern for International Arts Movement.
Human Rights and The Artist: A response to the attack on Ali Ferzat
At International Arts Movement, we often receive requests to help spread the word about art exhibitions, calls for art, Kickstarter campaigns, and group projects. Sometimes we post them here (though we are planning to stop doing so, and instead post them in a special "opportunities" section on our site in the future.)
Recently, we heard from an artist in Kentucky, Gretchen Smith, who asked us to consider helping raise awareness of a Syrian cartoonis, Ali Ferzat, who, in August 2011, was viciously attacked for creating and publishing art that challenged "the overbearing brutality of bureaucracy, the hypocrisy and corruption of leaders, and the wealthy elite, as well as, communicating multiple injustices of life across the Middle East."
Writes Gretchen:
On August 25, 2011 the visual voice of Mr Ali Ferzat was silenced, but not for long. Bashar Assad's government in Syria engaged in a targeted brutal attack on the country's most popular cartoonist.
According to Wikipedia, "On August 25, 2011, Farzat was pulled from his vehicle in Umayyad Square in central Damascus by masked gunmen believed to be part of the security forces and a pro-regime militia. He was then badly beaten and dumped on the side of the airport road where passersby found him and took him to a hospital. According to one of his relatives, the security forces notably targeted his hands with both being broken and then told Farzat it was 'just a warning.' The Local Coordination Committee (LCC), an activist group representing the rebellion in Syria, stated that his briefcase and the drawings in them were confiscated by the assailants."
In response to news of Farzat's ordeal, Syrian opposition members have expressed outrage and several online activists changed their Facebook profile picture with that of a hospitalized Farzat in solidarity with the cartoonist. According to the BBC's Arab affair's analyst, Farzat's beating is a sign that the Syrian authorities "tolerance for dissent is touching zero."
Ali Ferzat is a great proponent of civil rights. In his drawings, most without captions, he is clear on sending messages of the overbearing brutality of bureaucracy, the hypocrisy and corruption of leaders, and the wealthy elite, as well as, communicating multiple injustices of life across the Middle East. With his sharp humor, Ferzat had satirical cartoons published in both regionally and internationally. He has published more than 15,000 caricatures. In 1994, he was voted as one of the world’s top five humanitarian-themed cartoonists.
Gretchen has asked us to issue an open call to all artists and other activists to help bring awareness to the deplorable human rights conditions in Syria. "Most artists can agree that the issue is not about what Mr. Ferzat published," she said, "but instead about basic human rights."
While we try not to take political stances as an organization, we are, above all, about the work of protecting and celebrating basic human rights and the role of the artist in helping humanity to flourish. Part of that flourishing requires that some artists use their gifts to speak prophetically into their culture as a mirror highlighting brokeness and decay in order that systems of injustice might be changed.
To that end, we are supporting Ms. Smith's request to issue a call for participation. Please create a piece of art in response to human rights violations in Syria or specifically of Mr. Ferzat's attack, and post it as your profile picture on Facebook. If you tag the photo with "International Arts Movement," we will share your art with others.
If you have questions, please feel free to direct them to me via email.
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