Posts by Miss Rosen

Leonard Freed – This Is the Day: The March on Washington

Posted on August 28, 2017

Photo © Leonard Freed

…and still the chills come as the words reverberate in the ear, Martin Luther King Jr.’s voice as clear as the call of the clarion. “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.’

“I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

“I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heart of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but the content of their character.

“I have a dream today!”

King first spoke these unforgettable words on August 28, 1963, at the historic March on Washington, where he stood at the Lincoln Memorial before 250,000 people gathered at the National Mall in Washington, D.C., to mount a peaceful protest demanding Civil Rights, justice, and equality for African Americans nearly one hundred years after slavery was abolished in the United States.

In tribute to the fiftieth anniversary of one of the proudest days in this country’s history, Getty Publications has just released This Is The Day: The March on Washington by Leonard Freed, with texts by Julian Bond, Michael Eric Dyson, and Paul Farber. Most of the seventy-five photographs featured here have never been published before, and taken as a whole they offer a compelling, powerful, and uplifting vision of the day itself—before, during, and after the march.

As Dyson writes, “The moral beauty of Freed’s photographs bathes the aesthetics that guides his flow of images. The folk here are neat, dignified, well-dressed—in a word, sharp, with all the surplus meaning the word summons, since black dress can never be divorced from political consequence…. Freed captures the simple dignity and the protocols of cool—the ethics of decorum—that characterizes large swaths of black life. And when his camera swings wide to include a vision of America too rarely noticed in the mainstream press at the time, and in some cases even now, he records almost mundanely, and hence rather heroically, the everydayness of the encounters between white and black. He allows the images to steep in the crucible for American race. One can almost catch the subliminal suggestion: This is what it should always be like.”

Indeed, the legacy of this historic day is that it offered to not only America but to the world a vision of the power that healing brings. We return again and again to the day, not only for what King verbalized for us but for what Freed’s images say. We see in these images the American ideal: all power to the people, and for that we reflect with a quiet reverence and hopeful spirit that the dream shall be fulfilled.

First Published in L’Oeil de la Photographie
on June 28, 2013

Photo © Leonard Freed

Categories: 1960s, Photography

The Voice is Dead. Long Live the Voice.

Posted on August 27, 2017

Noel and son Peter Jr on an April 2000 Voice cover

Paging through Richard Boch’s new book, The Mudd Club (Feral House, September 12), I was reminded that nothing lasts forever—and more than that, the best things in life shine bright like a comet flying through the sky, then burn out and fade away—remembered for the greatness they achieved and not for what they later became.

The desire to never die reveals a deeper desire to be undead; to become a mere shell of what once was and hope no one notices that which it now is. In a world where people simply can’t let go, we hold these truths to be self-evident: the fantasy that eternal life exists on earth if we just will, insist, and pretend.

When I learned earlier this week that The Village Voice was closing it’s print edition, my first reaction was disappointment, then disgust. I, who came of age as the golden age of print was reaching its sunset years, developed a deep and abiding love for the printed page: for the intoxicating scent of fresh ink, the feel of paper between my fingertips, the sheer physicality that I would alternately preserve in its whole, complete state and stack diligently like the collector of some rare form; tear apart madly and decorate my walls in all sorts of patterns that revealed its ability to be both bound object, art object, and artifact in one; or more boldly cut, rearrange, tape or paste, constructing the story I wanted to tell from its tremulous carcass.

I came of age believing that print was the answer to every problem I faced. It offered an instant pick me up through its combination of pictures and words, a glimpse into worlds I was too young to enter but could fog up the glass from the privacy of my bedroom in the Bronx. I read stories, studied photos, and remembered names—names of people I never realized I would one day meet, but for the fact that New York isn’t always a metropolis—sometimes it’s a village in its own way.

The Village Voice was a singular voice within the cacophonous harmony of city life: the only paper I respected because it didn’t purport to be objective. It had an agenda, openly. It was about the recognition of New York’s natives, its indigenous arts, its political struggles, its populist loves and hatreds. It didn’t pretend to be a noble in the Fourth Estate; it was composed of revolutionary minds and innovative souls, of people whose greatest joy came from upending the status quo.

It was the heart of Old York, ya know?

I went to school pretty much buying time. I loved to learn and I yearned to work but I loathed the system so much. I was that weird kid who blushed in the bookstore when she saw the cover of Irvine Welsh’s book, If You Like School, You’ll Love Work. I mean, I guess…

I didn’t actually like school. I was insulted by those who stood in the front of the room and asserted their authority, agents of indoctrination who never had a critical thought in their life. But I loved being antagonistic, to put it lightly. I could openly challenge them while drawing masterpieces in my notebooks. I could stumble into class on a Xanax or slounge against the desk a couple of days after dropping an X. I could show up in Technicolor outfits, chomping on gum. I could not be bothered. My grades made me think: I guess an “A” is okay as I tossed the paper into the trash.

Then, something magical happened back in the Fall of ’96. I started grad school and the folks there introduced me to the idea of an internship. “Wait, I gotta pay you to earn credits so I can work for free for someone else?”

“Well, you could intern at The Village Voice.”

Bet. I was in. I wanted to write about art so I was assigned to open Vince Aletti’s mail. This was back when people used to send mail. It was great. I had to sort it into three piles, and was allowed to attend anything he wasn’t planning to cover. This came in handy when I met Brian Parks, who was launching the fledgling website and needed stories.

Whew. I can still remember wandering into Deitch Projects one day after class, to check out this artist who locked himself inside a cage, where he was pretending to be a dog. Surreptitiously I stepped inside. The dog-man didn’t see me but I saw him. He was straight up naked, collar around his neck. There was a padded suit hanging on the wall, inviting me to put it on and get in the cage where we could wrestle.

I think not.

Silently I pivoted and hightailed it out of there, with enough instanteously insight to pen the piece. “Maybe throw a ball and see if he will catch it in his mouth,” was the final line to the piece that Brian and I wrote together as he edited my work.

I was thrilled. $50 in my pocket and my byline in place. I was hitting up MoMA openings, making my way over to Chelsea in its earliest days when Pat Hearn was showing German fashion fetish photography and I was taking notes for Suzanne Bartsch party ideas.

I was also writing nightclub reviews. Does it get any better than this? Yes! I had an expense account. My cab fare was covered. I was living for it. I must have written 30 reviews, each one rhyming entirely too much, like Mother Goose dropping tabs because why not.

Suddenly my life made sense. It was destiny. I was already living the life—what could be better than to let people know about the scene? I can remember getting ready, alternating between bumps of coke and K, whirling around my friend’s apartment. Wait, maybe I wasn’t even covering a club that night—who really knows.

The mid-90s were a blur, but my Voice ID’s bring it back. For some reason or other, I had to have two made, not that I lost em. Meg Handler snapped my photos: the first one looked like a mugshot from the Boogie Down, all blonde curls cut short after bleaching caused breakage that required me to start again. Bold, brick red lipstick, lips pursed like “What!?” A Gaultier jacket that wasn’t mine, the patterns perfectly defining the times, and I was probably wearing tight jeans and those high-top K-Swiss that were the same color as Timberlands.

In the second ID, taken just a couple of months later, I was someone else: short, straight brown hair, soft make up, warm magenta top. All soft, smiling, peaceful. It occurs to me now, I was at home and my face reflected this.

Because, by then, I had reached a new height. While sitting in the smoking room (flossy), I met Frank Owen. I complimented his shoes and he stuck his leg in the air, saying, “Dolce,” and I nodded with approval. We started talking, I mean he started talking and I sat, enraptured with the words he spoke, all fast-paced British pitter-patter talking about …

Michael Alig! Peter Gatien! Lord Michael! Limelight! Honey Trap—

—wait. Did you say Honey Trap? I was there and wooo, I met this boy. Wait, let me stay on topic.

Frank was working on an expose. We had mutual friends/sources. He invited me to join him for an interview with Peter Gatien at the Tunnel, where I sat in silence watching this exquisite game of cat and mouse.

I had no idea journalism could be so thrilling. I was absolutely overwhelmed. Things had taken a dark turn when the body of Angel Melendez washed ashore earlier that summer.

“Read this,” Frank said to me one day, passing along a fax that had the handwritten confession of Michael Alig. My stomach lurched.

None of this was my scene—but I was close enough to watch how history unfolds in real time when you’re standing on the frontlines. It reminded me of the moment when Vince Aletti gave me a tour through the morgue, showing my the stories he had written back in the 1970s when he started at The Voice as a music critic, covering the disco scene.

Like. Wow. Do you hear Wu Tang? Can it be that it was all so simple then?

I have no idea. Twenty years have passed since that fateful moment of my life, where I got to do things like call Bill Clinton’s drug czar to interview him for a piece on their anti-drug advertising campaign.

“’This is your brain on drugs’ was a highly successful ad,” he told me.

I laughed. “You’re kidding right? It was a joke.”

“What do you mean?” the publicist for the Drug Czar sounded hurt.

“C’mon everyone was laughing about that ad. Everyone made fun of it.”

“Well, what would you do?” the publicist asked, accusingly.

I remember thinking it was weird that the publicist was asking for my advice, but I couldn‘t resist. “I think I’m close in age to the target audience you’re trying to reach,” I said, trying to suggest that age was what we shared, rather than say, habits. “I don’t know enough about the subject to speak on it, but I would focus on rehab instead. Like, why is methadone addictive?”

Nothing like a strawman argument to end an interview.

I’m just skating along here, gliding on the surface of things, trying to remember the details that are surrounded in a succulent haze of weed smoke, strobe lights, and stiletto heels, vodka cranberries, random prose, and dancing past dawn.

I don’t think The Voice made me want to be a journalist; I think it made me realize I was one without actually having to go to school or work inside the system. It made me aware that as unlikely as I am, there is a place where I’m not the only one. That there were generations of us, from Nat Hentoff to Greg Tate, Stanley Crouch to Ellen Willis, Michael Musto to Donna Gaines—not to mention legends like James Baldwin, Lorraine Hansberry, e.e. cummings, and Ezra Pound.

The Voice was my paper of record. In 1980 alone, it put The Times Square Show and breakdancing on the cover. I wasn’t even reading it then and yet—these are the works that would come to define vast swaths of my life, not to mention the singular importance of the printed object not just as news—but as artifact.

Upon reflection, I can’t be mad that a comet has come and gone any more than I can shake my fist at the nature of the Universe. One of the things I learned from my life in the clubs is that it is to leave when the party is going then to stumble out when everyone on the train is heading to church.

Categories: Bronx, Brooklyn, Manhattan

“Art in Ad Places” Transforms City Sidewalks into a Gallery

Posted on August 23, 2017

Photo: Hope and Promise by Jamel Shabazz. Photo by Luna Park. Courtesy of Art in Ad Places.

“People are taking the piss out of you every day. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are ‘The Advertisers’ and they are laughing at you,” Banksy wrote in his 2004 book, Cut It Out.

People intuitively sense this kind of neg, their egos becoming more increasingly defensive and critical while simultaneously entertaining the lengths advertisers will go to win them over. In the court of public opinion, the attention we are willing to give them serves as costs paid.

Art in Ad Places, a New York City public service campaign, understands this, and has taken the high road by transforming the landscape with public art. Every week throughout 2017, the organization partners with a contemporary artist, installing their works in payphone kiosks across the city in order to reimagine the way we see the world.

Read the Full Story at Crave Online

Photo: Caterpillar by Mab Graves. Photo by Luna Park. Courtesy of Art in Ad Places.

Photo: HOODED by Myles Loftin. Photo by Luna Park. Courtesy of Art in Ad Places.

Categories: Art, Crave, Painting, Photography

Tabloid Art History x Mythomania

Posted on August 21, 2017

Artwork: Rihanna at Crop Over 2017, Barbados // Plate from Ernst Haeckel’s ‘Kunstformen der Natur’ (‘Artforms of nature’), 1904. Courtesy of TabloidArtHistory.

“Everything has already been done,” Stanley Kubrick opined “Every story has been told. Every scene has been shot. It’s our job to do it one better.”

Perhaps this is true—perhaps it is not. It’s impossible to know that which has never existed until it takes form. But one thing is for sure, and that’s the power of myth, which speaks of human nature’s relentless desire to find a narrative that makes sense out of the chaos and complexities of existence.

We do not need to look all the way back to mythologies of yore, to the heroic, monstrous, and villainous archetypes that have inspired great art, music, and literature in all cultures across time. The classical ideals of god, mortal, and beast have so completely subsumed our conscious (and even unconscious) minds that we simply follow the script.

Read the Full Story at Crave Online

Artwork: Prince Harry at a pool in Miami, Florida, 2014// ‘Portrait of Nick Wilder’ (detail), by David Hockney, 1966. Acrylic on Canvas, 183 x 183 cm. Courtesy of TabloidArtHistory.

Artwork: A pregnant Beyoncé amongst flowers, Mother’s Day 2017 // ‘Mary Little, later Lady Carr’ by Kehinde Wiley, oil on canvas, 30” x 24”, 2012.Courtesy of TabloidArtHistory.

Categories: Art, Books, Crave, Painting, Photography

An Incomplete History of Protest: Selections From the Whitney’s Collection, 1940–2017

Posted on August 21, 2017

Carol Summers (1925-2016), Kill for Peace, 1967, from ARTISTS AND WRITERS PROTEST AGAINST THE WAR IN VIET NAM, 1967. Screenprint and photo-screenprint with punctures on board, 23 3/8 × 19 1/4 in. (59.4 × 48.9 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; purchase, with funds from the Print Committee 2006.50.14 © Alexander Ethan Summers

“Tyranny naturally arises out of democracy,” Plato observed in Republic, revealing the underlying paradox of humanity: the will of the masses will eventually lead to oppression in one form or another.

The Founding Fathers of the United States knew this better than most, perhaps knowing themselves well enough to understand that he corrupt seek power and will do whatever it takes to gain the upper hand, whether that means scripting blatant hypocrisies into The Declaration of Independence or advocating for armed rebellion in the Second Amendment.

Perhaps most telling above all was their insistence on protest, of “the right of the people to peaceably assemble and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances,” which closes out the First Amendment of the Constitution.

Undoubtedly, they understood that the nation, founded on stolen land using stolen people, was a ticking time bomb, one that could easily blow up lest any group gain advantage over the other. The will of the people, such as it were, is not inherently “good”—nor moral. It is merely self-serving and invested in appearance politics above all.

Within this space, the act of protest is designed to call attention to that which it perceives as wrong, using the power of the people to make its point in the most public manner possible. As we have seen from recent events in Charlottesville, protest is not intrinsically honest or honorable; it is simply the will of the masses to stand in their beliefs, however valid or flawed.

Hock E Aye VI Edgar Heap of Birds. Relocate Destroy, In Memory of Native Americans, In Memory of Jews, 1987 Pastel on paper Sheet: 22 × 29 13/16in. (55.9 × 75.7 cm). Gift of Dorothee Peiper-Riegraf and Hinrich Peiper 2007.91

But what protest does is let us know: those who will not be silenced and are compelled to have their words heard and their faces shown; that which we celebrate and that which we vilify are simply extensions of our own principles, character, and moral fiber.

In times of strife, artists often take to the frontlines, eager to use their skills in the service of the cause. As 2017 slogs along relentlessly, more and more artists, curators, galleries, museums, and organizations find themselves compelled to make a stand. To find a way to look to the lessons of the past to figure out solutions to the present day; to consider why we are doomed to repeat the wars of the past with new technological possibilities more horrific than ever before.

And, perhaps, inspired to energize and activate those who are simply overwhelmed, disinformed, or have lost their way. History recurs simply because the solutions we sought did not hold; they were simply tenuous measures used to placate the crisis at hand, and over the ensuing years easily wore thin. The solutions require a paradigm change, one that goes beyond shadowboxing with lies and debating disinformation. Solutions require truth, however gruesome it may be, about the corporate project that is the United States of America.

But first, before we ravage the deeply held dreams of the delusional, a little reflection on the past and the ways in which protest can be used to stand against legalized tyranny. The Whitney Museum of American Art, New York, presents An Incomplete History of Protest: Selections From the Whitney’s Collection, 1940–2017.

Guerrilla Girls (est. 1985), Guerrilla Girls Review the Whitney, 1987. Offset lithograph, 22 × 17 in. (55.9 × 43.2 cm). Purchase 2000.91 © Guerrilla Girls

The exhibition looks at the ways in which people have organized in resistance and refusal, strikes and boycotts, anti-war movements, equal rights actions, and to fight the AIDS crisis. The artworks selected span the gamut from posters, flyers, and photographs to ad campaigns, paintings, and screenprints.

Featuring works by artists including Richard Avedon, Larry Clark, Lous H. Draper, Larry Fink, Theaster Gates, Gran Fury, Guerilla Girls, Keith Haring, Barbara Kruger, Glenn Ligon, Toyo Miyatake, Gordon Parks, Ad Reinhardt, Faith Ringgold, Dread Scott, and Gary Simmons, among others—the exhibition is as much a study in politics as it is contemporary American art.

The more you look, the more you see how iconography informs our belief system and the ways in which propaganda can be used in the fight against exploitation. Simply put, it’s not enough to tell the truth. Reality is simply to terrifying, and most people would prefer to bury their heads in the sand than face the stark prospect of a revolution that is without beginning or end.

“All art is propaganda,” George Orwell deftly observed, leading by example with his novels, critical essays, and insights into the nature of wo/man as political animal. When taken as a whole, An Incomplete History of Protest offers more than just a look back at the past: it also shows us how to activate people by appealing to their emotions.

For above all, people react; action simply requires more effort than most are willing to put forth, but reaction—whew! Try to stop the avalanche once it starts. Art, in as much as it is perceived by the senses before it is understood by the mind, is one of the most primal, visceral paths to stir the heart. And so An Incomplete History of Protest reminds us: if you want to move the people, how you say it may be even more important than what you say—and there’s no use fighting it.

Toyo Miyatake (1895–1979), Untitled (Opening Image from Valediction), 1944. Gelatin silver print mounted on board, 9 7/16 × 7 5/16 in. (24 × 18.6 cm). Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; purchase with funds from the Photography Committee 2014.243 © Toyo Miyatake Studio

Categories: 1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, Art, Exhibitions, Photography

Jonny Kaye: The Other Side of the Camera

Posted on August 20, 2017

Photo © Jonny Kaye

The best part about writing is all the work that happens off the page: the conversations and connections, the looking and the listening, the simple act of engagement that occurs when you slowwww down to take in the eternal essence of the ever-changing world.

My determination to write comes from a fundamental desire to understand, to acknowledge and articulate the questions, the answers, and the ambiguities of life. I’ve long believed that you can’t ever known how you affect anyone; you simply do as you must, and in an ideal situation that need would better both your own and other people’s lives.

One of the greatest pleasures is recognition: that what you do matters to someone else, and so it was with great pleasure that I received an email from Jonny Kaye, model and photographer, who wrote, “I stumbled across your piece on DAZED and fell in love with your writing. It’s the first piece I’ve read from top to bottom in a long time.”

While many people believe that digital media is killing literacy, I’ve working in book publishing and the media for far too long to believe the hype. Most people don’t read much, if at all, and they never really did—because literacy is an aberration in the course of human history. For the better part of our existence, we have expressed ourselves through oral and visual traditions; digital existence erases the myths that people hold in their hierarchical hearts, and restores truth to the fore by revealing that fundamental way people are compelled to communicate.

While I love words, perhaps entirely too much, I’m not inclined to exalt them above other means: I see them as the complement. The mind has nine intelligences, and linguistics is but one, one that I love to use to reveal and expose, unwrap and explore, discover and dialogue with strangers, colleagues, and friends. But never let it be forgotten: a picture speaks all languages at the same time without ever saying a word.

And the drive to create images is not always something one chooses to explore or explain, until someone asks why. Perusing Kaye’s photos made in Milan while on assignment with a group of models, I was struck by the fact that though the circumstances may change, the human condition remains the same. No matter where we come from, and when we arrive, we all share a yearning for something that is beyond our immediate grasp yet resides deep in us, this half animal, half divine creation that is entirely familiar—yet peculiar.

Kate graciously agreed to share his work and discuss his work on the other side of the camera.

Photo © Jonny Kaye

Photo © Jonny Kaye

How did you get into photography?

Jonny Kaye: I started out as a model and from there I started doing other things like a T-Shirt brand. With that I was coming up with concepts for photo shoots, putting together shoots, and booking models and photographers. I think that sparked something inside of me to want to get more involved in the creative side of things.

I love modeling; its taken me around the world, I’ve met some really cool people but you’re never really involved in the creative process. You just turn up on set and do your thing, have a laugh, and go home. I felt like I wanted more from it all.

As a model, I imagine you’re used to being on the other side of the camera. How does this experience influence or inform your sensibility as a photographer?

Jonny Kaye: I think it helps when I’m giving direction. I remember how sometimes my anxiety would have an impact on me in front of the camera for at least the first hour or so, so I always bear this in mind when I’m shooting models myself.

When did you realize this was something you want to pursue beyond a casual hobby?

Jonny Kaye: Almost immediately. When work started getting in the way of shooting, all I would think about was ways to make money from photography so I could sack my day job off.

Photo © Jonny Kaye

Photo © Jonny Kaye

I’m fascinated by what it must be like to be born into the digital age. I’m interested in knowing what is it like coming up as a photographer in this world?

Jonny Kaye: When I first started, I was using digital because it’s all I really knew at the time. I think a lot of photographers use it because of cost and how fast paced we have become today. People want things done yesterday, at least in London anyway.

I shoot mostly on 35mm now. I find the images a lot more dense and real. I love shooting a roll of film and not actually knowing for certain what you’ve really got. It builds the suspense almost. When I get emailed my images from the lab, it feels like Christmas Day.

Oo nice! When I came up taking photos was a bit of a luxury because it cost money, you could only afford to make so many, and you didn’t see them til they came back a week later — so basically every photo was “an event.” What makes the situation special for you? Do you feel compelled to do something different or edgier because everyone is shooting?

Jonny Kaye: When I started out shooting digital, I found myself pushing the images so far in post-production to try and stand out. A lot of the stuff I’m shooting for magazines at the moment is staged so there’s quite a lot of planning that goes into the actual shoot from various people on the day, which makes it pretty special when it all comes together.

What’s your dream for photography?

Jonny Kaye: I love to use my photography to bring awareness to certain subjects that I feel need more attention in the media. i.e mental health, equality, and global warming.

For more information, visit
JK Pops | Jonny Kaye Photography

Photo © Jonny Kaye

Photo © Jonny Kaye

Categories: Photography

Juergen Teller: Enjoy Your Life!

Posted on August 16, 2017

Photo: © Juergen Teller 2016, from Enjoy Your Life! published by Steidl.

If Juergen Teller had a theme song, it would be “My Way,” but not the Frank Sinatra version. No, he would make sure to subvert your expectations at every turn, and cue up the Sid Vicious cover. Like Sid, Juergen is so anti-glamour that he’s chic, always finding a peculiar beauty and joy in the uncomfortable.

His new book, Enjoy Your Life! (Steidl), published in conjunction with the recent exhibition at Martin-Gropius-Bau, Berlin, embraces the ethos the unexpected. Because what gives life a greater kick than catching you off guard with the curious and the absurd. Teller loves to hone in on things we usually ignore, or look at them from a new vantage point, demystifying their aura and allure. On the reverse, he finds a queer loveliness in things we might otherwise think a bit grotesque, savoring all of the pleasures of our strange and quixotic existence.

Read the Full Story at Crave Online

Categories: Art, Books, Crave, Photography

Broadway Star of “The King & I” Opens Wellness Center in Queens

Posted on August 14, 2017

We live in a culture that believes the mind and body to be separate entities and treats them as such, driving a wedge between two halves of whole, which only serves to stress and weaken our power, health, and soul. We grow stiff yet flabby in action and thought, losing the simply joys of movement that allow us to reconnect with our inner spirit.

In the same way, we are taught to climb the short ladder of success, for the path to bourgeois accomplishment came easily be accomplished early in life. And once we reach the top—there’s nowhere to go; we can either stay put and block the flow of life, or we can let go and start afresh.

XiaoChuan Xie (a.k.a. Chuan) discovered the pathless path by virtue of coming full circle to where it all began. She began her began her career as a dancer in the Nanjing Jinling Arts Organization in China before coming to New York in 2009 to join the legendary Martha Graham Dance Company, and was described as a “scene stealer” by The New York Times. In 2013, she appeared on the cover of Dance Magazine’s November issue and nominated for the Clive Barnes Award.

After this auspicious start, she went on to star in Tony Award-winning production of The King & I on Broadway, as part of the Lincoln Center Theater’s 2015 Revival. While dancing on Broadway, Chuan became exhausted. She took a break to begin a recovery that would change her the course of her life.

Through her study of the mind-body connection, Chuan discovered her calling as a healer. The applause on stage could not compete with the gratification she received helping her fellow dancers heal from stress and injury, and she left the stage in pursuit of her dreams.

Chuan has always dreamed of opening a wellness and arts center so when the opportunity arose, Chuan took the change, and moved forward with plans to open Spec-Chuan Movement & Arts (SCMA) at 8810 Whitney Avenue in Elmhurst, Queens. The name “Spec-Chuan” comes from Latin word “specter” and sounds like the English word “spectrum.” The name represents acceptance and inclusiveness of all peoples, all cultures, all styles, and all traditions.

A Certified Movement Analyst from Laban/Bartenieff Institute of Movement Studies, Chuan is pursuing a M.S in Dance/Movement Therapy at Sarah Lawrence while honing her talents and skills at SCMA. SCMA provides dance and movement classes, performances, and special events that honor the native traditions of people from all walks of life. Body conditioning classes include Yoga, Pilates, Bartenieff Fundamentals, and Mindfulness Practice weekday mornings and evenings.

Every Saturday morning, World Dance Series highlights traditional dances from all corners of the globe, drawn from the different ethnicities that call Queens their home. SCMA showcases Bollywood, African/Caribbean, and Chinese Folk Dance. Classes are taught by leading experts in the field, and offer a safe, loving environment for people of all ages from all walks of life. SCMA will also host free movement-based arts events, including the Movement Choir, for communal moving and sharing every Friday evening.

Chuan speaks with us about her transformation from performer to healer, and the ways in which SCMA is an extension of her life and philosophy.

Photo: Paul B. Goode

I’d like to begin with your life in China, growing up as a dancer and being committed to the art of movement from such a young age. Many Westerners have “ideas” about Chinese medicine, but those are usually filtered through a Western perspective. I wanted to ask if you could speak about what you see as the ethos of the Chinese approach to health, and the way in which movement is central to this, in so much as it can be conceived of as a form of medicine.

Chuan: Growing up in China, I never felt that Chinese medicine was that different or special until I came to know New York culture. Traditional Chinese Medicine was considered as the “four olds” that was suppressed during Mao’s era. The interesting thing about culture is that no one is able to strip one’s culture.

Chinese medicine is how Chinese people live. I grow up eating certain food in certain seasons and in certain times of the day because we believe that nature provides us the best nourishment. If I ever wake up with a tummy ache or cold, my parents would tell me that I might have caught some negative energy at night because we believe that Yin (negative energy) dominates night and we are the most vulnerable at night. If I have any muscle pain on my body from practice, my mother would take me to see doctors and they would tell us that the circulation is blocked in that area and I need to massage it and make it circulate again.

My parents often teach me how to find certain meridians on my body and stimulate them in order to prevent or help relieve some pains. I still remember why my mother sent me to gymnastics class when I was four years old: She said that I used to get sick very often when I was little, so she thought I needed to get stronger by training my body.

Overall, I think Chinese medicine culture taught me that: 1. The body is so powerful and wise that if we pay attention to its signals, we don’t need unnecessary interventions; In other words, Chinese medicine is about prevention, self-care/self- cure.

2. In Chinese, the word “movement” or “exercise” means “progressive movement” also “the universal revolutionary movement.” Therefore as long as the earth still spins and circles around the sun dancing with other planets, our fluids, organs and energy are moving, our bodies need to be active/mobile/flexible to adapt this ever-moving environment.

3. Our bodies are related with each other and the environment.

Photo: XiaoChuan Xie, courtesy of SCMA

I’m very impressed by your growth within the art, as I remember being so impressed with you as a dancer. It seemed to me, as a member of the audience, that you were not simply dancing, but fully embodying the roll, becoming an actor so that we didn’t just see the movement but we felt the expression of it on an emotional level. What made you realize that performing was no longer your destiny?

Chuan: Performing on stage was never just dancing on stage for me. I early treated performing as an accomplishment and celebration for the long and tough training that I had had in dance school and later in the Red Army dance company.

Later, I doubted about this rewarding pattern, which is when I got into modern dance. Then I felt that performing was cathartic, the stage is where I could express fully and experience different feelings. I did a speaking/dancing part in Annie B. Parson’s choreography, I discovered that I love the feeling of being able to communicate with the crowd. From then on, performing on stage is about communicating and connecting. Performing repertoires, or Broadway shows are very rewarding, however my body is burning out through intense repetitions and they can’t fulfill my desire of communicating and connecting.

In 2015, due to a hip injury, I took two months off from the show to heal. During this recovery time, I began being exposed to many kinds of healing methods, such as Physical Therapy, Acupuncture, Emotional Freedom Technique, Body-Mind Centering, Expressive Arts Therapy, Reiki, etc. I have been a long time meditation and Buddhism practitioner. So it was quite easy for me to get into those healing practices. It was the first time ever in my life that I really took a great look at my body’s being and start appreciating its function and support.

It was a breakthrough. I began understanding more about my posture, physical habits and functions. I relearned how to walk properly with my PT; I learned about certain meridians that run through our bodies also affect the emotional side of us; I experienced that how body can restore so many of our childhood traumas and memories without the conscious mind knowing it.

I found out that I would unconsciously lock my arms close to myself as a result of locking my ribcage as well, as if I was over-protecting myself; I discovered that my tail bone was always tucked under first because of my ballet training, second I believe it’s because the female protection (I am still studying this fact, which is fascinatingly happening to a lot of females); I also explored that I could connect with my organs, fluids and nerves when moving so I would be more fully supported.

When I went back to the show, I was able to utilize those methods to help me get through eight shows a week and even help other cast members feel better in their bodies. That’s when I knew that being a healer and body/mind advocate is my calling. Now I see performing is a way through which I could help people heal, stimulate their senses and serve their needs.

I love that being a dancer was a stop on the path to being a healer, and the way in which you have incorporated aspects of art and movement to focus on the mind- body connection. Could you speak about why this is so important, particularly in our age of hyper digital communications?

Chuan: I think dancing has been the journey to know myself, to know my own body, my mind, and my spirit. As I mentioned above, through dancing, I was able to re-locate my body-mind connection. I personally think being a professional dancer might not be the healthiest, however, everyone is a dancer in nature.

Dancing makes me to be able to connect this modern me with the ancient me, as if it’s a time machine that takes me way back to our origins. Dancing/moving is such a primitive act that we start as a fetus. We are living in the world that we have technologies to sense, feel and act for us. We are losing our primitive senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch; and senses for temperature, kinesthetic, pain, and balance).

However, we are still humans, which means that we still have feelings and emotions. Therefore, the consequences of disconnection between modern living and human body are that we have lots of substances abuses, life style/diet related diseases, mental health crisis, and dare I say: environmental issues.

When our basic senses are heightened, we become more sensible and perceptive to our own bodies and the world around us. If we start paying attention to our bodies’ wisdoms, we would respect this mortal body; if we respect the body, we would nourish the body instead of harming it; if we understand that our body is just a small reflection of what’s going on in the bigger world or universe, we would respect and nourish the others, the other forms of beings, and the environment.

Therefore the messages, or the educational part of all somatic practices is that it brings the awareness in our own body then we can bring that awareness into the space—meaning noticing every subtle beings around us. But before we put ourselves into the world, we have to know ourselves well. Otherwise, we see so many lost souls driven away by the fascinating world. Having a centered self, knowing clearly where the body parts are and understanding how they move take us to the world moving freely without losing the self. It’s a very fine balance.

We don’t want to stay in ourselves too much; we also don’t want to spend all the energy out there and forget ourselves. Thus body/mind practice offers the opportunity to be able to move in/out to find our own balance. Another fascinating benefit of the somatics is that it empowers us. To know and experience that we are able to heal our bodies and strengthen the mortal weaknesses are empowering. In which way, we heal our mind as well.

Photo: XiaoChuan Xie, courtesy of SCMA

One of the things I love about Spec-Chuan is the energy of accessibility you create. I think it can often feel intimidating to step into a dance studio and reconnect with your body in a public (albeit private) space. Could you speak about the importance of creating a space where all people are welcome, and how this speaks to your vision of dance within the community?

Chuan: One of the reasons that I didn’t think performing alone was enough for me was that I couldn’t make people dance with me and share the joy of expressing when I perform in an opera house. In Spec-Chuan, all levels of movers are welcome because dancing/moving joyfully belongs to everyone. We don’t’ have mirrors in the space because I want to encourage people to start listening to their body, feeling the body, and sensing the body without any judgments.

All somatic classes start with warm-ups, which are designed to focus on breaths and tuning-in, so the heightened sense of awareness and acceptance can be carried through the whole class. Although as abstract or tedious as somatic sounds, I still believe that dancing/moving needs to be joyful. So I incorporate many folk dance or community dance element in my classes to let people experience the joy of rhythms and movements, as if we are recreating the celebratory feelings of dancing together in a communal settings.

Human beings used to get together, dancing, singing and sharing stories in a community, whereas nowadays we sit in a theater watching artists performing as if we were all royals. Spec-Chuan is a safe and loving space for all who are looking for a community of creative/therapeutic arts.

Here is a quote from William H. McNeill’s Keeping Together in Time: “… the expanded emotional solidarity that dancing together arouses must have conferred an important advantage on those groups that first learned the trick of keeping together in time. So great, indeed, was the advantage, that other hominid groups presumably either learned to dance or became extinct.”

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I love how you look at dance as an art and practice within individual cultures, and you desire to bring these cultures together through movement. What inspired this interest in diversity and tradition?

Chuan: First I wanted to have a community-based space, religion free, where people can come in learning more about their bodies, cultures, humanity, and creativity. I have lived here for almost eight years. This neighborhood is the most diverse neighborhood in the world. I am proud to be part of this multicultural harmony, and I want to highlight this harmony.

Often we are separated or categorized by our skin colors, nationalities, or religions. However, I believe that we all share the same root-—humanity. As long as all cultures’ existence, there is dance. As a body/mind believer, I don’t think there is a better way to embody the culture than learning its folk form of dance. Culture is so powerful that some Islamphobes eat Halal food without any hesitation. So I believe that learning different cultural dances can help us understand more about each other.

Please talk about where Spec-Chuan fits in on your path as an artist, and how it becomes a space for creation unto itself. What would you like to realize here?

Chuan: Opening Spec-Chuan was really a dream come true. However, there lay many challenges. Being able to own an ideal business is empowering for an independent artist. I have always believed that art is a reflection of life. More layered and diverse life experiences make an artist’s work fuller and richer. I am innately curious and adventurous so life takes me on a forever-interesting ride.

Many people are surprised that I chose this route as suppose a shining dancer. For me, this really is an extension of what I have been doing—exploring the unknown. I am at the stage that I need to create my own works. Thus creating Spec-Chuan, figuring out what I want to teach and make is a complex project. At this transformational moment of my life, I am encountering another self-discovery episode. I would use the image of snake or insect shedding the skin seasonally to describe my feelings about growing.

I think once a while, I need to let what has grown on me peel, then I eat it as a kind of nourishment, then give the new organism a chance to grow. This sounds a little disgusting, but it’s exactly how I feel. I am learning to accept the painful process of peeling the old and to be patient with the new organism’s growth.

For more information, visit
Spec-Chuan Movement & Arts
8810 Whitney Ave, B, Elmhurst, NY 11373
Monday-Saturday, 9am-9pm

Photo: XiaoChuan Xie, courtesy of SCMA

Categories: Art

Dave Schubert: Photos from the Underground

Posted on August 11, 2017

When Dave Schubert was six years old, his father gave him a camera – and he hasn’t put it down since. As the son of a military man and an English mod, Schubert was drawn to anti-authoritarian subcultures. He started writing graffiti after watching The Warriors and skipping school to head up to New York, where he photographed the underground skate scene at the banks by City Hall.

He started shooting for Slap magazine and realised that doing commercial work made him lose his natural instincts. In the 90s, he moved out to San Francisco to go to school and returned to the art of street photography. In the 20 years since he’s been out west, he’s seen the city transform. Once upon a time, there were gun battles right outside his door; today, Silicon Valley computer nerds rock Star Wars t-shirts at the bar.

“I’m only staying here out of spite,” Schubert laughs. “I really want to go somewhere and get my own Unabomber cabin, not be around anyone, and make prints all day long.”

That day may come but until then, Schubert shoots and scores, living as an artist on his own terms. His photographs capture the essence of rebellion, the freedom to create and destroy, the pleasures of sex, drugs, and art, and the spirit of “never say die.” He speaks with us about the pictures he’s made – and the ones that got away.

Read the Full Story at Dazed

Categories: 1990s, Dazed, Graffiti, Photography

Dissecting the Political Impact of Acid House

Posted on August 10, 2017

Norman Jay MBW. Photographer unknown.

Back in 1979, in a Chicago nightclub called The Warehouse, DJ Frankie Knuckles helped incubate the nascent genre of house music. Taking its name from The Warehouse, house music spread through the US underground and around the globe, and in London, it transformed into something entirely new. The acid house movement combined the hippie spirit found on the island of Ibiza with the sensation of taking a trip, be an ecstasy pill, a hit of acid, or a plane ticket to a faraway land.

By 1987, acid house had taken UK by storm with an irrepressible, revolutionary energy that evoked the utopian vibes of the Summer of Love. Peace, love, respect, and unity were the order of the day, albeit within the confines of illegal parties that were cropping up across the country, drawing thousands of revelers from all walks of life who wanted nothing more than to dance through the dawn. But the acid house scene was more than a cosmic display of hedonism. It was a movement that subverted the racial and class boundaries of Margaret Thatcher’s seemingly endless premiership. Although its political impact is often overlooked, acid house united a deeply segregated society, and what’s more, it empowered those who have been written out of history to rise and come to the fore.

In celebration of the 30th anniversary of acid house, Sky Arts are broadcasting The Agony & The Ecstasy, a three-party documentary series that tells the story of the rave revolution through 40 seminal figures on the scene including superstar DJs Norman Jay MBE, Goldie MBE, Paul Oakenfold, and Dave Pearce, as well as producers, promoters, club owners, former police officers, and the unsung heroes of the scene.

Norman Jay MBE, one of the original godfathers of warehouse parties, first got his start at the tender age of eight, when he DJed a tenth birthday party. The Notting Hill, London native was born to Grenadian parents and came of age during the 1970s when collaborating with his brother with a reggae sound system they called Great Tribulation. A visit to New York City changed everything and they renamed the system Good Times, with a nod to Nile Rodgers’ disco band Chic. Good Times led the way as acid house came up, helping to spread the culture through the creation of London pirate radio station Kiss FM in 1985.

Norman Jay MBE spoke to Dazed about the political implications of acid house, and how the music forever changed the British landscape.

Read the Full Story at Dazed Digital

Categories: 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, Dazed, Music

Screaming in the Streets: AIDS, Art, Activism

Posted on August 9, 2017

David Wojnarowicz, Democracy, 1990, Black-and-white silkscreen print, 23 x 20 inches, inches, Sold

Looking back at the AIDS crisis through the prism of history, the scale is so vast, the scope is broad, and the trauma is so real. They say time heals all wounds, but they were wrong. “The past is never dead. It’s not even past,” William Faulkner understood.

Two decades after the epidemic hit its zenith, we can now begin to look back, to reflect, to consider, discuss, and reflect on what happened, what it meant, and the lessons we can take as we enter a brave new world.

ClampArt and Ward5B present Screaming in the Streets: AIDS, Art, Activism, a new group show curated by Greg Ellis, currently on view at the gallery through September 23, 2017. The exhibition presents the work of artists including Peter Hujar, David Wojnarowicz, Keith Haring, Reinaldo Arenas, Jimmy De Sana, and many more, who are no longer with us—but their art lives on.

The exhibition also looks at radical spaces like the Pyramid Club, Boy Bar, Danceteria, The Club Baths, and other venues that became safe spaces for the community, but also grounds where intimate contact could propel the spread of the disease.

“There is a tendency for people affected by this epidemic to police each other or pre- scribe what the most important gestures would be for dealing with this experience of loss. I resent that. At the same time, I worry that friends will slowly become professional pallbearers, waiting for each death, of their lovers, friends and neighbors, and polishing their funeral speeches; perfecting their rituals of death rather than a relatively simple ritual of life such as screaming in the streets,” David Wojnarowiz observed, recognizing they many ways AIDS destroyed lives.

Yet, all was not lost for amid the horror, a beacon of hope that came about as AIDS activists took on the United States government and did not back down until they won. We speak with curator Greg Ellis about his vision for the show, the ways that art is used as a tool of agitation and community alike, and the lessons we can take forward.

Nan Goldin, Suzanne and Phillippe on the train, Long Island, NY, 1985, Cibachrome print
(Edition of 100), 16 x 20 inches.

I’m so pleased you are doing this show, as the AIDS crisis has been on my mind for the past few years, in part because I feel that so much time has passed, there’s a new generation that has grown up without any real knowledge or understanding of the past.

The other reason it’s been on my mind is upon reflection of how successful ACT UP was in forcing the government’s hand—lessons we can all benefit from as much today as back then. I wanted to begin by asking what was the inspiration or impetus for this show?

Greg Ellis: The inspiration for this show has always been the friends we lost during the epidemic; creative, talented, and fiercely independent people that helped shape our politics and love of the arts. We were also interested in illuminating the interpersonal relationships that link the many artists and queer spaces to the microbiological disaster that was unfolding.

Boy/Girl With Arms Akimbo and ACT UP were intentionally the jumping off point in this exhibition. What was important for us was illustrating the downtown art community’s activism that eventually resulted in these larger collectives. Wheatpasting, graffiti/stencil work, Xerography and film all were mediums that lent themselves to disseminating political messages in a way that was previously unavailable.

This heritage of radical NYC politics was already in place in groups like Colab and their historic Times Square Show. Many of the artists represented in this show also had pieces in the 1980 exhibition, including Cara Perlman, Keith Haring and Jack Smith. Downtown artists were already collaborating on political and social issues as the first cases of seroconversion began to be reported.

While AIDS affected so many people in the arts community, there has been a distinct absence of addressing the crisis since it occurred. May I ask, how do you account for the silence, as well as the resurgence of interest?

Greg Ellis: We’ve included as the theoretical framework for the show Laura Cottingham’s essay, Notes on Lesbian. She speaks about the many ways the broader culture “erases” sexual minorities and other marginalized communities from the public record – whether through the exclusion in cultural histories or familial erasure in the disposal of material/memories related to homosexual family members and their partners.

And while I believe this erasure did occur in many ways during the epidemic, I think it is a bit more complex with the AIDS crisis, primarily because it was such an emotionally and psychologically disfiguring trauma for those that survived.

Time is a great healer, but the reality has been that addressing the overwhelming emptiness takes decades, as is common with those that have lived through wartime. What was so disquieting is that it hit a small, targeted minority so heavily, resulting in the deaths of so many lovers and friends. Some silence though is preferred. After the initial attacks on our civil liberties through hotly contested ballot measures and the homophobia of immoral nuts like Jesse Helms, their prejudice was quieted.

Crisco Disco, c. 1970s-80s, Bar sign from original club on 11th Avenue in Manhattan (Silkscreen), 22 x 25 inches.

The subject is so vast and profound, having affected tens of thousands of people from all walks of life in a wide number of ways. How did you conceptualize the exhibition in terms of what you wanted to cover as well as which artists and works you wanted to showcase?

Greg Ellis: It is a very personal show. I believe if the show affects people, that is the reason why. Everybody loses loved ones, and they create personal shrines for them. That is what the exhibition attempts to do, as well.

Every piece in the show can be linked to another work with very few degrees of separation due to the collaborative working relationships of the downtown arts community, along with the limited options available to those pushed into the margins. Ethyl Eichelberger, Ken Tisa, Peter Hujar, David Wojnarowicz, and the others all shared close relationships within this tight knit circle. In fact much of the collection comes either directly from the artists or from their lovers and friends. And many of the pieces were gifts from the artists to fellow PWAs.

We included memorial ephemera to punctuate the show with the ultimate indignity of what transpired. The title of the exhibit comes from a passage in David Wojnarowicz’s memoirs that highlight the importance of eulogizing the dead through direct action. David was right. As he became sicker I think the sense was that his artwork and AIDS activism became more intertwined.

The work in the show conveys this sense of uniting activism with art. Mark Morrisroe was creating work from his hospital bed, documenting his physical decline while also using x-rays and his waning medical condition as a muse. They are powerful images of the disease, and bold statements of an artist using their own body as an agent of activism. This was taken a step further with the political funerals, and ashes actions of ACT UP.

I’m particularly interested in the focus on radical spaces, as this is something that powerfully speaks to the times in which we live. Could you speak about the importance of having an actual space where the community can meet to connect to deal with the crisis? Could you also address the double-edged nature of these spaces—it seems so surreal to imagine that added layer, the very real threat of contagion, existing at the same time.

Greg Ellis: Fundraising during the height of the epidemic often took place in nightclubs, sex positive spaces and galleries. Art was utilized to provide awareness about the deadly new contagion and to raise funds for combating it as the official response was anemic. Bathhouses served as sites where progressive politics, social constructs and both private and professional contacts were made. It was at gallery openings, club performances and while cruising for sex where these relationships were often formed.

The trauma of course was that we were also risking exposure to the virus if we hadn’t embraced safe sex guidelines. And while the advent of harm reduction existed as early as 1983, when Joe Sonnabend, Michael Callen, and Richard Berkowitz penned How to Have Sex in an Epidemic, resistance to that message was strong.

People were scared and often compulsively returned to those places for sex and community. This occurred in backrooms, at the baths, and in nightclubs where people commingled, entertained and met one another. They were both highly sexual as well as creative spaces that allowed for personal expression – an unknown for most queer people prior to relocating to urban centers.

Keith Haring, Humiliation Victim, 1980, Xerox print, 8 x 10 inches.

Lastly, I’d love your insights on the relationship between art and activism, and the lessons we can learn from the past. What are the most critical aspects of this crisis that can benefit our communities today?

Greg Ellis: If we learned anything from the AIDS epidemic it was that we shouldn’t turn to the people that have oppressed us to save our lives. Audre Lorde addressed this idea in her 1984 essay, The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House. Turning to the government to save us while they still criminalized homosexuality proved to be a larger battle than anyone could have foreseen.

Artists tend to be activists by nature. Whether breaking new aesthetic ground or fighting against societal ills, they are our guiding lights in the darkest of times. That dynamism was especially clear when AIDS came to wreak havoc on their own. That we lost so many immensely talented voices in the heart of the major American urban centers, particularly NYC, unquestionably relates to the intellectual and cultural drought that has been felt for the past three decades.

Screaming in the Streets: AIDS, Art, Activism
Curated by Greg Ellis
On view at ClampArt, New York, now through September 23 2017

Ethyl Eichelberger/Peter Hujar | s.n.a.f.u. (Ethyl Eichelberger as Minnie the Maid). s.n.a.f.u. (Ethyl Eichelberger as Minnie the Maid). May/June 1987. Xerox copy (Photograph by Peter Hujar), 11 x 8.5 inches.

Categories: 1980s, 1990s, Art