Arts & Culture

Student Turns Her Apartment Into Pandemic-Themed Art

Anonymous — Fri, 05 Nov 2021 06:00:00 +0000

Student Turns Her Apartment Into Pandemic-Themed Art Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 11/05/2021 - 00:00

When COVID hit, Taylor Passios (MediaPro’21) watched the world fall into the same pattern she lives in as a hypochondriac: Feel something, Google it, panic — repeat. She couldn’t find an academic name for this cycle, so she coined it “The ICA Loop.”

“The ICA Loop is a theoretical concept linking information overload, cyberchondria and the attention economy together using relational evidence between the information seekers and COVID-related media,” Passios told CMCI Now.

To physically demonstrate this idea of cyclical online patterns while adhering to COVID restrictions, she turned her apartment into a three-room, interactive art installation, complete with fog, heat and lighting. The public installation, part of her senior honors thesis, included walls plastered with news articles, graffiti, broken televisions and “a Wheel of Fate.”

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Photo courtesy Taylor Passios

When COVID hit, Taylor Passios (MediaPro’21) watched the world fall into the same pattern she lives in as a hypochondriac: Feel something, Google it, panic — repeat.

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Fall 2021

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Woodturner David Ellsworth Received the Smithsonian Institute’s 2021 Visionary Award

Anonymous — Fri, 05 Nov 2021 06:00:00 +0000

Woodturner David Ellsworth Received the Smithsonian Institute’s 2021 Visionary Award Anonymous (not verified) Fri, 11/05/2021 - 00:00

Barbara Brooks

David Ellsworth (Art’71; MFA’73) hovers over the lathe for hours at a time. Wood shavings catch in his beard, fly over his shoulder and pile on the studio floor as he masterfully turns and scoops a dense maple burl until its form is as light and hollow as an eggshell. He invented this technique some 50 years ago and has taught it ever since.

Ellsworth is an artist, teacher and community builder. His work is found in the permanent collections of 44 museums and numerous private collections worldwide. He is a fellow and former trustee of the American Craft Council and has received awards from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Pew Fellowship for the Arts. This year, he received perhaps the ultimate distinction: the Smithsonian Institution’s Visionary Award.

To Ellsworth, the honor was more than just an award.

“Recognitions can come in many forms, from a simple smile to a museum acquisition,” said Ellsworth. “It is an acknowledgment that the intrinsic value of an art object is not the price, but the process. Recognitions acknowledge a maker’s motivations. While the object supports the ego, the process supports the soul.”

Colorado’s wilderness has long fed Ellsworth’s soul. It gave him the freedom to challenge and make changes as he created his art.

“The blood was in me,” he said. “In the mountains. Swinging in the trees in the Chinook wind.”

"The intrinsic value of an art object is not the price, but the process."

Ellsworth encountered the rotating lathe machine in 1958 in a high school woodshop class in Boulder while his father served as director of CU libraries. Before finding his true calling as a “wooden potter,” as he describes himself, he studied drawing, architecture and ceramics. By the mid-70s, he was a working artist, having invented a series of bent turning tools that allowed him to make thin-walled bowls and vessels inspired by the Native American pottery his parents collected.

In 1974, he was invited to start the woodworking program at the respected visual arts program Anderson Ranch Arts Center in Snowmass Village, Colo., and then the woodturning program in 1981. In 1985, he became a founding member of the American Association of Woodturners. In addition to numerous articles, he published Ellsworth on Woodturning: How a Master Creates Bowls, Pots and Vessels in 2008.

Today, Ellsworth runs the Ellsworth School of Woodturning from his 34-acre mountain property near Weaverville, North Carolina. He returns to Anderson Ranch each summer to teach.

Ellsworth said he offers his students a combination of behaviorist and constructivist processes.

“The primary reason for the behaviorist part is that you really have to stand at the lathe and repeat and repeat until you hammer it down — which is the same as memorizing formulae in order to pass a test. In the constructivist style, you give an individual a bunch of things to play with and you watch what they do with those things. When making art, you’re constantly involved in the process of change.”

Ellsworth’s expertise as an artist and teacher helps him stand out. Upon receiving the Smithsonian’s 2021 Visionary Award — awarded to American artists deemed to have achieved the pinnacle of sculptural arts and design in their medium — museum secretary Lonnie Bunch cited Ellsworth for being a “generous and inspiring teacher,” while recognizing his “innovative and transformative career in wood art” and “commitment to the entire community of wood artists.”

Ellsworth’s materials and designs have evolved over five decades. At first, he worked with dried plank lumber. He later moved to fresh-cut, or “green,” material.

“As I grew in my work, I suddenly realized that parts of my personality were starting to soften up as more recognition and confidence came.”

Ellsworth’s wife, Wendy Neel (Hist’70), is an acclaimed seed bead artist. They sometimes collaborate on projects: Five of their pieces were included in Ellsworth’s show at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Whether it’s charcoal, clay or the seven-foot-tall wood structures in his 2009 “Emergence” series, Ellsworth said all his art has movement in common.

“I tell students to take a class in life drawing and another in tai chi,” he said, “because to make any kind of art one really has to understand how to move — from your toes on up to the tips of your fingers. And movement is what makes us free.”

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Photo by Roshni Gorur, courtesy of Anderson Ranch

The artist’s work is found in the permanent collections of 44 museums.

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Fall 2022

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A Walk in Two Worlds

Anonymous — Thu, 18 Mar 2021 06:00:00 +0000

A Walk in Two Worlds Anonymous (not verified) Thu, 03/18/2021 - 00:00

Daniel Strain

American Indians and archaeologists have had a long and often fractious history. Carlton Shield Chief Gover is trying to change that.

Just after World War II, Carlton Shield Chief Gover’s (PhDAnth’22) grandfather was facing an uncertain future in Oklahoma. Philip Gover was a member of the Pawnee Nation of Oklahoma, an American Indian nation outside Tulsa. He had lost his arm fighting in Italy and was struggling to complete his undergraduate degree.

That’s when one of his professors pulled him aside and delivered the blunt assessment: “What is a one-armed Indian going to do without an education in this country?”

Philip Gover doubled down on his studies. He finished his degree in elementary education, then went on to teach English to Navajo children — carving a path between the worlds of the Pawnee, or Chaticks-si-Chaticks (which translates to “Men of Men”), and the Chaticks-Taka (“white man”).

“My grandfather was born in a tent in 1906, wasn’t even a U.S. citizen until the 1920s,” Shield Chief Gover said. “My family has always strived to be worthy of his sacrifices.”

It’s a tightrope act that Shield Chief Gover continues to walk two generations later. He’s a PhD student in the ��񱦵� anthropology department. The researcher is among the first Pawnee citizens to ever pursue graduate training in archaeology.

The road hasn’t always been easy. As Shield Chief Gover explained: “Archaeology is an inherently colonial practice.” But the young researcher joins a growing number of Indigenous archaeologists who are working to change that — embracing knowledge from both Indigenous communities and the halls of American academia.

Archaeology has also given Shield Chief Gover a way to connect with the past, present and future of his people. Since coming to ��񱦵�, for example, he’s worked at the Lynch Site, a 13th-14th century town in eastern Nebraska that was once home to the ancestors of today’s Pawnee.

“I get to walk on the same surfaces that my people walked on and pick up their things,” Shield Chief Gover said.

Stories of the Past

Born in New Mexico, Shield Chief Gover moved to the suburbs of Washington, D.C., when he was in second grade.

“As a young kid, I was always doing Indian stuff like going to powwows,” Shield Chief Gover said. “I never saw myself as different until I moved to Northern Virginia.”

Today, he sees that difference as an asset. As a graduate student in Wyoming and now at CU, he’s made the case that archaeologists need to do a better job of incorporating Indigenous oral traditions into their research.

He touched on the Pawnee story of Closed-Man — a leader who, according to tradition, gathered communities of American Indians in what is today Nebraska to found the Skidi Federation, one of the four tribes that comprise the modern-day Pawnee Nation.

Archaeologists have unearthed evidence of the cultural shift that followed roughly 600 years ago at places like the Lynch Site. It’s marked by a transition from communities living in small, squareshaped homes to much larger earth lodge towns. But spoken stories fill in details that are beyond the scope of those chronological records: the names of people like Closed-Man, why the groups came together to form a federation and, even more broadly, what these early Americans thought and what motivated them.

“Archaeology is really about trying to figure out human behavior,” Shield Chief Gover said. “But people’s thoughts and beliefs, their dreams, don’t preserve in the archaeological record. If we talk to the descendants of these communities, we can find a modern analogue for those questions.”

Two Worlds

Roger Echo-Hawk (Hist’90; MA’94), a Pawnee citizen and historian living in Boulder, agreed. He’s collaborated with Shield Chief Gover, and they both argue that taking oral traditions seriously can make archaeological research better.

“The more we know about history, the more ways we have to be ourselves,” EchoHawk said. “If we just have the archaeology or oral traditions, those are interesting insights. But together they tell a richer story.”

As Shield Chief Gover has pursued his graduate training, he’s also tried to spend more time in Oklahoma visiting his relatives. He sits on the board of directors for the Museum of the Pawnee Nation in Pawnee, Oklahoma. And his family, motivated by the life of his grandfather, has been supportive of his choices.

On one such visit, Shield Chief Gover’s uncle gave him a piece of advice that the young researcher has taken to heart.

“You come from two worlds,” his uncle told him. “Archaeology has taught you the Chaticks-Taka way, the white man way. You need to come back home to Pawnee to learn about the Chaticks-si-Chaticks way, the Pawnee way.”

Photos by Matt Tyrie

American Indians and archaeologists have had a long and often fractious history. Carlton Shield Chief Gover is trying to change that.

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Spring 2021

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Full of Soul

Anonymous — Mon, 22 Feb 2021 19:38:04 +0000

Full of Soul Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 02/22/2021 - 12:38

Barbara Brooks

From Beyonce to Pixar, Tia Fuller shines her light on jazz.

Soon after Tia Fuller (MMus’00) vamped the red carpet at the Grammy Awards in March 2019, she got a call from a casting agent representing the animated Pixar film Soul.

“They were looking for a saxophone player to play the music for a character (Dorothea Williams) who is a ‘badass’ and has her own band in New York that every musician wants to be a part of — which was ironic,” said Fuller, because her own quartet got its start in New York, and she, too, has a strong presence in the jazz community.

Without missing a beat, Fuller jumped at the chance. For her ensemble role in Soul, Fuller flew to Los Angeles. “We received the music, rehearsed for a moment and then recorded it on the spot,” she said. “I thought, ‘Oh man, this is major! This is where all the work and the sacrifice, hustle — all of the tools we’ve developed over the years — come together. It is a blessing that I have this opportunity.’”

While the Soul story was powerful for Fuller, she also celebrates Pixar’s commitment to cultural authenticity.

[video:https://youtu.be/m83fP4FD2P8]

“The story is deep,” she said. “It challenges us to look at our purpose and our spark. It really tapped into the essence of my life, and many of our lives as artists — especially now.”

Fuller has known since she was 23 years old that her purpose is to “be light for others.”

As a rising-star performer and educator, she illuminates the jazz world. Back in 2006, she cut a very long audition line to earn a coveted spot in Beyonce’s all-female touring band. With her fifth LP, Diamond Cut, she became the second-ever female artist to be nominated for Best Jazz Instrumental Album. Today, she holds a full-time professorship at the esteemed Berklee College of Music, while continuing to record and tour.

But to live her truth, Fuller can’t improvise. “With every decision, I ask myself, ‘Who am I helping? How am I tapping into my purpose? Is this in alignment with my crystallized vision for myself?’” Most of the time, the answer is “Yes.”

“With every decision, I ask myself, ‘Who am I helping? How am I tapping into my purpose? Is this in alignment with my crystallized vision for myself?’”

Like Joe, the main character in Soul (played by Jamie Foxx), Fuller’s parents were public school teachers. They rehearsed in the basement and played gigs on weekends, while both becoming assistant principals with Denver Public Schools.

“I’m from a spiritual and praying family,” she said. “There’s a saying that’s been etched into my psyche since I was 3. It’s on a poster that’s still on my bedroom door: ‘If you can imagine it, you can achieve it. If you can dream it, you can become it.’ When I asked my mother later, she said that she was positively brainwashing us!”

After high school in Aurora, Fuller earned her BA in music magna cum laude at Spelman College and her master’s in jazz pedagogy and performance summa cum laude at ��񱦵�. At CU, she began directing jazz ensembles and hosting master classes and clinics as a teaching assistant. She learned to teach theoretically, visually and analytically.

“In honoring that each student learns differently, it is always my goal to present material at least three different ways,” she said.

About the relationship between performing and teaching, Fuller said, “I think one complements the other. In performance, we are in a state of transcendence of communication, spirit and creativity. Teaching is a mirror; it allows for us to truly reflect on our process, and then articulate it to others.”

Fuller tells her students, “Music teaches life skills. It’s an aural art form that activates seamless communication and interaction. When we go beyond playing the notes and melodies and tap into the self, we become vulnerable and transparent. We are able to inspire and empower each other in a metaphysical way.”

Now, that’s Soul!

Listen to an interview with Tia Fuller on Colorado Public Radio.

Photo courtesy Tia Fuller.

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Closing the Generation Gap

Anonymous — Sat, 01 Feb 2020 07:00:00 +0000

Closing the Generation Gap Anonymous (not verified) Sat, 02/01/2020 - 00:00

Inquiry: Eric Klinger

Eric Klinger, senior writing instructor and associate faculty director of the ��񱦵� Writing Center, teaches “Intergenerational Writing,” a course that pairs juniors and seniors with community members over the age of 60 for research and writing projects. For many students, the class is the most memorable of their college careers.

Where’d you learn to write?

My father is a retired newspaper publisher and editor and my mother is a voracious reader, so they inspired a love of the written word in me from my earliest memories. I’ve been teaching collegiate writing courses since 2001. Writing has always been my intellectual home and I strive to foster that feeling for as many students, friends and colleagues as possible. When we write, we think better. When we think, we write better. Surely, that has to help make things a bit better for everyone.

How’d you come to teach this particular class?

A former student took me to brunch in 2018 and pitched the idea of me taking over this class that he was a volunteer in. I’ve always loved having conversations with people who have taken more trips around the sun and seen more of the world than I have. This class was the perfect opportunity to do that.

Why invite community members to a student class?

The concept of inviting community members from previous generations to share this class with students is the brainchild of Jack Williamson, who wondered, ‘Wouldn’t it be neat if we could find a way to connect local elders with undergraduates? Imagine how much they would have to talk and write about.’

Intergenerational understanding is one of the most important human resources we have in society, yet we tend to squander it in the U.S. George Norlin challenges us to know one another with his words above the west entrance to Norlin Library: ‘Who knows only his own generation remains always a child.’ Community members talk about how getting to know younger generations in this class inspires new hope and faith in the future, and students talk about all that they discover in common with those who have come before them. It also prepares students for collaborating with older generations in the workplace.

What are the initial expectations of the students?

The first day of class is quite amusing. Although the class is described in the course catalog, most students arrive on the first day quite confused about the gray-haired folks sitting in every other seat around the room. Most stop, look around, take out their phones to verify that they’re in the right place and then cautiously take a seat. After I’ve finished describing the class syllabus, expectations and policies, I ask everyone to participate in a simple icebreaker. The pin-drop silence rushes out of the room as everyone circulates and learns something about one another, such as a hometown, a college major, a life passion, etc. By the end of the first class, there’s a self-charging electricity to the room.

How does the class work?

As an educator, I’ve long attempted to foster an environment of unconditional positive regard, something I learned about when I encountered the writings of Carl Rogers. I’ve discovered over the years that too much hierarchy is not productive to an enriching and intrinsically motivating classroom.

Both students and community members write papers for the class. The ‘magic sauce’ of the class is the profile essay, where community members and students pair up to write a biographical narrative about their partner. The experience is profoundly affecting for many, if not most, in the room. To authentically know and be known by another adult is a unique experience. I’m proud to be part of providing that rare opportunity for CU students.

This past semester, your students explored the concept of the American dream. Why that topic?

Every single person in the room has a connection to the American dream, whether we’re conscious of it or not. It evokes stories of immigration, work, families, geography, language, food, news, history, music, art and so much more. This topic bridges the past, present and future. It enables conversations that weave aspirations, frustrations and shared experiences into a tapestry no one can foresee.

What were some positive results of the class?

People share class conversations with neighbors, friends, family and even people at the grocery store. I’ve also heard how the class has rescued holiday dinner conversations from domination by cranky uncles.

How do you plan to expand the class in the future?

The community organizers and I share the goal of promoting this class far and wide. Currently, we do not know of any other intergenerational university writing classes being offered at other U.S. universities and colleges. We believe our core model of co-mentorship across generations has exciting promise in multiple learning environments including nursing, counseling, ethnic studies, management and other academic fields. We plan to continue offering the class each fall semester and look forward to seeing new iterations spring up around the country.

Condensed and edited by Christie Sounart (Jour'12)

More information on the course can be found here.

Photos courtesy Eric Klinger; Jack Williamson

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The Hardest Day

Anonymous — Wed, 22 Jan 2020 20:33:46 +0000

The Hardest Day Anonymous (not verified) Wed, 01/22/2020 - 13:33

Sarah Kuta

Photojournalist Ross Taylor captured the final moments between pet owners and their companions. The work has gone viral.

The photographs are heartbreaking.

As they watch their beloved pets take a final breath, the families photographed by Ross Taylor cover their mouths in despair, wipe tears on the backs of their arms and wail in agony. They cradle their companions in their arms and kiss them goodbye.

With his “Last Moments” photo series and forthcoming documentary, The Hardest Day, Taylor captured the visceral emotions of dog and cat owners as they euthanized their pets at home. His work resonated with people worldwide — millions have viewed his photos online.

For Taylor, assistant professor of journalism at ��񱦵�, the project was a chance to highlight the connection between humans and animals. He also hopes to comfort grieving pet owners by showing they’re not alone.

“We should not minimize the intensity of the human-animal bond,” said Taylor, whose other work has earned numerous awards, including a 2012 Pulitzer Prize nomination. “If somebody is going through a difficult moment with the loss of a pet, we should stop and move with greater care toward each other.”

Taylor was inspired for the project by a friend who opted for a home euthanasia procedure for her dog in 2016. After researching the practice, he spent several weeks in Tampa, Florida, the next summer shadowing staff members at Lap of Love, a national network of veterinarians who offer hospice and in-home euthanasia services. He also followed veterinarians with the organization Caring Pathways in Denver.

My dogs are there for me no matter what — on my darkest days, on my best days.”

He photographed the final moments of pet owners like Wendy Lehr, whose dog, Mimosa, was euthanized in August 2017 after the nine-year-old South African Boerboel was diagnosed with liver cancer.

Though the photographs of Mimosa were painful to view, Lehr said they helped soothe and validate her grief.

“A lot of people look down on pet owners as if we’re being ridiculous — ‘It’s just a dog,’ or ‘I can’t believe you’re acting this way,’” said Lehr, who lives in Odessa, Florida. “They don’t understand the kind of bond that a human can form with a dog. My dogs are there for me no matter what — on my darkest days, on my best days.”

Taylor and co-filmmaker Luke Rafferty are entering the 53-minute Hardest Day documentary into festivals and plan to make it available in late 2020. The film offers a window into the challenging work veterinarians perform on a daily basis — caring for pets, but also offering compassion and support to their humans.

“It’s not enough to love animals,” said Dr. Dani McVety, Lap of Love’s founder. “Everybody loves animals, but you have to love the people who love the animals. And that’s what we do. When they’re crying, you just look at them and you say, ‘I know.’”

“Last Moments” offers teaching moments for Taylor’s CU classes. For instance, the project exemplifies a modern digital phenomenon: going viral. His work was seen in The Washington Post, Daily Mail and People. When posted on Buzzfeed, the photos were viewed more than 1.5 million times in one week alone.

“Whenever you do any type of journalism, it’s really crucial to make sure your motives are sound,” Taylor said.

Taylor learned photography in his father’s darkroom in Mint Hill, North Carolina, before studying journalism at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and Syracuse University, where he earned a master’s degree. Though Taylor’s seen a lot during his career — he’s photographed conflict zones, trauma hospitals and the aftermath of natural disasters — he was moved by the pain he witnessed as families said goodbye to their pets.

“You don’t show emotion in the moment, but you absolutely feel it and your heart breaks for people every single time,” said Taylor. “I definitely get emotional talking about it, and when I edited the film, I cried a thousand times.”

Photos by Ross Taylor

Hardest Day Collection

Photojournalist Ross Taylor captured the final moments between pet owners and their companions. The work has gone viral.

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The Fine-Tuned Musician

Anonymous — Tue, 01 Oct 2019 16:00:00 +0000

The Fine-Tuned Musician Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 10/01/2019 - 10:00

Christie Sounart

Brittany Bonner (MMus’20) exhales. She glances in a mirror to observe signs of tension in her body. She inhales deeply, picks up her oboe and plays again.

The oboist from Mansfield, Texas, is practicing her vibrato — a gentle-but-regular variation in pitch — to add natural-sounding depth to her tone. A convincing vibrato requires controlled breathing, and muscular tension can interfere or cause it to disappear.

Fortunately, Bonner’s got James Brody to help sort things out.

“Musicians move athletically,” said Brody, the ��񱦵� music professor who founded CU’s Musician’s Wellness Program, which helps students avoid or recover from injuries caused by repetitive motions and quirks of technique, setting themselves up for longer periods of peak performance.

Brody, also an oboist and the program’s primary faculty instructor, sees more than 100 CU students annually. Some have injuries such as tendonitis or vocal cord dysfunction, which, if unaddressed, can compromise a musician’s future and sense of identity.

“Music students lead complicated lives,” said Brody, who also refers them to a network of on-campus physicians, physical therapists and counselors, as necessary. “What they do is tied very closely with their vision of themselves.”

Established in 2003, the wellness program offers students individualconsultations and academic credit courses, all of which involve the Alexander Technique. It’s a method of releasing tension through adjustments to posture and movement based on body awareness.

Students use yoga balls, mats and mirrors in Brody’s office, where he keeps, as an instructional aid, a full-size model human skeleton. The program will move to bigger quarters in 2020, once the music school’s $57 million, 64,000 squarefoot addition opens.

CU was among the first universities to offer a music wellness program, according to Brody, who convinced administrators the Alexander Technique and other wellness approaches could equip music students for success. He adopted it himself in his early twenties, as he recovered from a devastating car accident.

The program helped draw Bonner, 25, to CU.

“I’ve had to take a few steps back to try to go a few steps forward in my playing,” said Bonner, who’s played oboe since sixth grade, performs in CU’s graduate woodwind quintet and plays about six hours daily in ensembles and alone.

Brody helped Bonner realize she was bringing her hands too far forward while playing. She’s since adjusted her arm stance, leading to a more efficient posture and sound.

James Brody of the CU Music Wellness Program

“When [injury] occurs,” Brody said, “often the musician will try harder instead of observing habitual behavior and altering maladaptive patterns. Brittany may have averted a damaging situation.”

Sometimes, a performer’s challenges are psychological. Bonner said she experiences performance anxiety daily, and is working to diffuse it when it arises.

“I understand the life of a music student,” said Matthew Tomatz of CU’s Counseling and Psychiatric Services, a psychotherapist and former trumpet player who works with music students. “You’re competing fiercely with your friends. … Underneath all of that is a huge uncertainty about career and what it will yield.”

Bonner, whose favorite composers include Dvorak and Beethoven, aspires to join a professional orchestra.

In the wellness program, she’s in good company: Edward Dusinberre, first violinist in the world-renowned, CU-based Takács Quartet, has worked with Brody for 15 years.

“His guidance has enabled me to be much more mindful of the way I play,” said Dusinberre, who’s seen students become more efficient and healthier performers.

“When someone learns to play with less effort and strain,” he said, “suddenly a greater range of volume and types of sound are possible.”

Illustration by David Plunkert

Making music is a physical pursuit. The CU Music Wellness Program helps performers stay fit.

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The Sound of Silent Film

Anonymous — Tue, 01 Oct 2019 06:00:00 +0000

The Sound of Silent Film Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 10/01/2019 - 00:00

Eric Gershon

Rodney Sauer bought a cultural treasure sight unseen -- a vast trove of silent film-era musical scores. Then he gave it all away.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=foCSmkh3X04&feature=youtu.be]

Rodney Sauer knew it would be a heavy lift: He’d signed up to haul 5,000 pounds of vintage sheet music in 60 large boxes from Los Angeles to his Colorado home, driving the distance alone and loading and unloading on each end.

The pianist and sometime-accordionist had looked into shipping the whole lot, but the boxes weighed more than UPS would handle. So, in September 2013, Sauer (MChem’89), bought a one-way plane ticket to L.A., rented a U-Haul and recruited five people he’d never met to convene at a storage facility between Interstate 5 and the Los Angeles River, just north of Dodger Stadium. There, in unit B749, he beheld the treasure he had purchased sight unseen and come a thousand miles to collect: Nearly 4,000 musical scores from silent film era L.A. movie theaters.

“The music is really hard to find,” said Sauer, founder of Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra, one of the nation’s top performers of music for silent film. “When it becomes available, you buy it.”

The first successful feature-length sound film, The Jazz Singer, hit theaters in 1927. By 1929, silent film was passé. Most of the films are lost, as is most of the music.

Sauer and his helpers, enlisted through an internet chat room for silent film fans, formed a fire brigade of sorts, relaying the music from its third-floor redoubt to the U-Haul.

Resisting the temptation to tear into the sealed 80-pound boxes “looking for the good stuff,” Sauer kept to task, bought his companions dinner and hit the road, arriving in Colorado on Sept. 11, 2013. He pulled up to his Louisville home amid heavy rain deluging the Boulder area. It would lead to historic flooding, evacuations, destroyed homes and more than a half-dozen deaths. A day later, a bridge into Louisville collapsed.

Sauer left the music in the U-Haul until the rain stopped, checking periodically to make sure the truck wasn’t leaking. Afterward, he and friends moved the boxes inside.

Over the next five years, Sauer pored over the scores, most of them from the early 20th-century Grauman theater chain, which included the Metropolitan and Grauman’s Chinese Theater (now called the TCL Chinese Theatre), the Hollywood Boulevard site of generations of glamorous awards ceremonies. Sauer digitally scanned many pieces, cataloged most and began performing some of his favorite finds.

Earlier this year, he gave it all away. “I want to use this music,” Sauer said. “I don’t necessarily want to own it.”

The lucky winner was ��񱦵�, where Sauer developed an interest in silent film music after discovering the American Music Research Center’s collections, jointly held by the College of Music and University Libraries. That led to his career as a silent film music performer. He’s felt grateful ever since.

The vast trove of Grauman scores dramatically augments CU’s existing collections and transforms the university into a premier center for the study of the live music that was a hallmark of early 20th-century movie going.

The scores, most of which date from 1900 to 1929, provide a window into a vivid and stylish corner of American popular culture, and represent a major new resource for music and film scholars, students and performers alike.

With the Grauman scores now on campus, said Susan Thomas, CU music scholar and director of the American Music Research Center, ��񱦵� now has “one of the most important collections anywhere.”

Joy of Feeling

As film soundtracks do today, music for silent films prompted and intensified viewers’ emotional response to the screen action. But in the early 20th century, the music was performed live by flesh-and-blood musicians — typically a lone pianist in small-town theaters, small groups in mid-size cities and, in some of the most lavish big-city movie palaces, 80-member orchestras. For patrons, the live music was as important as the films.

“It was like going to the opera, but cheaper,” said Sauer.

The Grauman scores, some of which are adaptations for film of orchestral compositions and some of which were composed for silent film use, bear descriptive names: “Storm Music,” “The Furious Mob,” “A Simple Love Episode.”

Many pieces also bear the marks and cues of long-gone musicians who worked in those early 20th-century movie houses. “Father of Zaida attacks officer,” reads one. “Dog carrying stake down path,” says another. “Fade to Mr. Martin,” says a third.

Sauer and Mont Alto have already incorporated many Grauman pieces into the group’s repertoire, which it performs at film festivals around the country and which it records for new releases of old films. (The group plans to perform for free at 2 p.m. at ��񱦵�’s Muenzinger Auditorium Nov. 17, drawing on Grauman scores to accompany the 1921 silent film The Phantom Carriage, an early fantasy/horror film.)

Ragtime

Sauer, who grew up in Berkeley, Calif., came to ��񱦵� in the 1980s as a graduate student in chemistry. He discovered silent film music almost by accident.

A lifelong pianist with an early interest in ragtime jazz, he had founded Mont Alto in 1989 to perform early 20th-century dance music — waltzes, tangoes, the Charleston, the half-and-half, the one-step. As one gig led to another, Sauer found himself searching for fresh period music to play. Someone tipped him off to a cache at CU. It was the Al Layton collection of silent film scores.

Sauer liked the music and realized he’d stumbled into a new niche for Mont Alto. In time, the five-member group would establish a national reputation, playing at film festivals in San Francisco, Hollywood, New York, Washington and Telluride.

In mid-2013, when Sauer heard that fellow silent film music performer Robert Israel was moving to Europe and had a large collection of scores to sell, he acted fast — and without much information.

“A couple people I trusted were telling me it was a good collection,” Sauer said.

He bought it.

Israel, then living in Los Angeles, had acquired the scores in the 1990s from California Lutheran University. Earlier, in the 1970s, an unknown person heard one or more old L.A. movie houses were throwing away sheet music, tossing bundles to the curb, Israel told Sauer. The person drove to the scene and scooped them up.

California Lutheran eventually acquired the scores but found little use for them, and offered them to Israel. He kept the collection in his apartment for nearly 20 years. Tracing the scores to Grauman was easy: Many are marked “Property of Grauman’s Theatre, 3rd St. House” or “Metropolitan,” which had opened in 1923 as “Grauman’s Metropolitan.”

As excited as Sauer was to acquire them, he knew a university would be a better caretaker. CU topped his list, given his relationship with the American Music Research Center.

CU was also an ideal repository because it’s only 10 miles from Sauer’s house.

“It’ll be nearby,” he said of the collection.

A deal came to fruition early this year, and in June Sauer and helpers delivered the scores to Norlin Library, where they are already accessible for review in the University Archives.

Through digitization, Sauer hopes to make selections of the music available to musicians worldwide. He’ll work with CU to create “starter kits” of silent film music, enabling performers everywhere to obtain it — and perform it — easily.

“I would like this repertoire to be known in the same way the repertoires of operas and plays are known,” he said.

In the Fall 2019 print edition, this story appears under the title "Soundtrack" Comment? Email editor@colorado.edu.

Photos by Matt Tyrie (scores); Courtesy Mont Alto Motion Picture Orchestra

Rodney Sauer bought a cultural treasure sight unseen — a vast trove of silent film-era musical scores. Then he gave it all away.

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Life as a Chalk Artist

Anonymous — Tue, 01 Oct 2019 06:00:00 +0000

Life as a Chalk Artist Anonymous (not verified) Tue, 10/01/2019 - 00:00

Sarah Kuta

People love to stand, sit, stomp and jump all over Chris Carlson’s work.

He encourages it.

Watch a time-lapse video of Chris drawing Ralphie for the Coloradan cover.

A full-time professional artist based in Denver, Carlson (Bus’08) travels the world painting and drawing directly on sidewalks, plazas and pavement. His artworks are pelted by rain and hail, walked all over and, eventually, washed or rubbed away.

You won’t find them in climatecontrolled museums and galleries (“Don’t touch the art!”) — but they’ll stop you in your tracks as long as they last.

Carlson specializes in 3D, or anamorphic, chalk art, a genre that makes you feel as if you’re falling into a pit or staring face-to-face with, say, a larger-than-life cartoon character. Now six years into his career, he’s emerged as a premier practitioner of the form, creating original pieces at art festivals and conventions as far away as the Netherlands and Paris and working with the likes of Nintendo, Nickelodeon, Hershey and Disney.

It’s a line of work that traces its roots to the 16th century, when itinerant artists called “Madonnari” traveled Italy painting on the ground, primarily religious figures.

Today, the subject matter is broader. Carlson draws heavily on pop culture, including video games and cartoons, to great effect.

“Chris is an artist who really understands how to bring joy to people,” said fellow chalk artist Nate Baranowski, who calls Carlson’s work “whimsical and playful.”

Chalk art combines elements of fine art and performance art: Spectators watch the creative process unfold and chat with the artists as they work. Anamorphic chalk art is specifically designed for people to jump into the scene and pose for photos.

It’s not how Carlson, now 33, expected to make a living. For most of his childhood in Lakewood, Colo., he wanted to be a stockbroker; he bought his first stock shares in fifth grade. That’s what led him to ��񱦵�’s Leeds School of Business.

Supply list for a professional chalk artist:

Tempura paint, to make a base layer on the pavement that can be washed away later, or acrylic paint, for permanent installations.
Soft pastel chalks.
Photoshop.
A tablet and pen for digital drawing.
Sunscreen — lots of it.
Knee pads, elbow pads, padded gloves and a gardening pad (to sit or lean on).
Water, for drinking during blazing hot days.
Inspiration, wherever you can find it.

But as he got deeper into his finance courses, Carlson realized he didn’t have the stomach for playing with other people’s money. After graduation, he and his sister opened a hookah bar in Lakewood.

That’s when, out of necessity, he discovered his artistic spirit and aptitude: They couldn’t afford decorations.

During long, late nights checking IDs, Carlson worked through instructional drawing books and tried to sketch photos he saw in Time magazine. Eventually, he painted a backroom floor black and began experimenting with 3D art.

Carlson can thank his CU marketing professors for what happened next: He made a time-lapse video of himself drawing the video-game character Mario. It went viral on YouTube, and before long, he was getting chalk art gigs from companies, festivals, trade shows and conventions.

Carlson had never considered that chalk art might become his career. He didn’t imagine there was a market for the work, and he doubted his abilities as an artist. He still gets nervous before he starts drawing in public.

It’s a long performance: Each project takes between 18 and 55 hours, depending on size and complexity. On average, he completes about 20 large drawings per year. Some of his favorite projects depict a mash-up of a dog (inspired by his English bulldog, Banksy, who’s named after the world-famous street artist) and a purple dinosaur. Another combines Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam” with a Darth Vader mask.

“His style is very fine-tuned,” said Naomi Haverland, a professional chalk artist in Seattle who met Carlson at the Denver Chalk Art Festival. “He’s a perfectionist. He makes sure the blending is perfect and the colors are just right. He doesn’t rush anything. But, then, his concepts are super creative, too. He’s got a well-rounded artist’s arsenal.”

A Marie Kondo-esque attitude has also served Carlson well, in work and in life. He describes it this way: “Just be open to what really brings you pleasure and joy or contentment and satisfaction."

In the Fall 2019 print edition, this story appears under the title "The Everywhere Canvas." Comment? Email editor@colorado.edu.

Photos courtesy Chris Carlson

Chris Carlson's art will rise up and grab you. Chalk it up to an open mind.

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Woodstock Happened 50 Years Ago. Were You There?

Anonymous — Mon, 03 Jun 2019 18:13:51 +0000

Woodstock Happened 50 Years Ago. Were You There? Anonymous (not verified) Mon, 06/03/2019 - 12:13

This summer marks the 50th anniversary of the Woodstock Music and Arts Festival, aka Woodstock, the four-day rock concert that drew an estimated 400,000 people to an upstate New York farm and became a symbol of America in the late 1960s. Were you there? Email us your story at editor@colorado.edu

This summer marks the 50th anniversary of the Woodstock Music and Arts Festival.

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