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A state away: a photographer’s view of the nature and wildlife of Colorado

A state away: a photographer’s view of the nature and wildlife of Colorado

Colorado is a beautiful place to view the Rocky Mountains and wildlife. Being able to capture the little details in Colorado is gorgeous, from the beautiful birds that stand on the rocks to the ladybugs that crawl on the plants. Going on a walk at different parks around Colorado is an adventure each time.

Clement Park has different trails, fields and open play areas. Walking around might include seeing little insects crawling around on flowers and groundhogs peeking outside their homes, seeing who’s stopping by.

Capturing different insects along a walk at Westlands Park was challenging due to the insects blending in with their surroundings and crawling away.

Colorado is a beautiful place for capturing wildlife. Though it took multiple hours to capture these little creatures, it made the overall image better than I could ever imagine.

Mackenzie Schwartz is a staff photographer at the Daily Lobo. She can be reached at photoeditor@dailylobo.com or on Twitter @dailylobo.

Environmental photographer of the year 2023

Environmental photographer of the year 2023
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A helicopter from the San Xoán forest fire reinforcement brigade drops water in the town of Moreiras in Ourense province, July 2022. Forest fires destroy natural heritage and endanger people in Galicia every year, especially the province of Ourense. In 2022 more than 51,000 hectares (126,024 acres) were burned in Galicia, representing 19% of the total hectares burned in Spain, according to government data

Kehler Liddell Gallery presents CLAY and HEDGE

Kehler Liddell Gallery presents CLAY and HEDGE

Courtesy of Amanda Duchen and Marjorie Wolfe

Kehler Liddell Gallery honored the end of its most recent exhibition with a public closing reception on Nov. 12. 

KLG is an art collective located in the Westville neighborhood at 873 Whalley Ave. The gallery represents 22 of New Haven’s notable and emerging artists. The latest exhibitions that closed earlier this month were “HEDGE,” by photographer Marjorie Wolfe, and “CLAY,” by ceramic artist Amanda Duchen.

“This gallery has been great for women,” Wolfe told the News. “We’ve had all kinds of wonderful people represented here who no longer show their work here but have done amazing things — Emilia Dubicki, Susan Clinard. I mean, these are big names in New Haven art.” 

Wolfe grew up in Beaver Hills, the neighborhood just beside Westville, where KLG is located.

Wolfe’s idea for HEDGE began two years ago when she was visiting Martha’s Vineyard. There, she photographed a hedge on the island. She later returned to it in the following months to find that, after the season change and a huge snowstorm, the hedge looked drastically different.

In this way, Wolfe’s work is reminiscent of Monet’s “Rouen Cathedral” series. The intentions of both artists are the same: to photograph a static object as the world around it changes.

For Wolfe, this exhibition is also nostalgic and personal. 

“I first had an experience with hedges when I was about four years old. I lived on a street exactly one mile from [KLG] and to get to my best friend’s house I would [go through]  a hedge with an opening in it just big enough for a little girl to crawl through,” Wolfe said. “So [with this exhibition] I was kind of coming back to something that was in my mind all along. It struck me this morning [that] this little girl, my best friend who I would crawl through the hedge to visit, it would be her birthday. She’d be 75 today.”

As a child, art was always a part of Wolfe’s life. At an early age, her parents encouraged her to take art lessons outside of school.

It was this love for art that led Wolfe to the Rhode Island School of Design, where she received her bachelor’s in painting and took her first photography class.

“Junior year I had one class in photography as an elective,” Wolfe told the News. “It was that slap upside the head moment, aha, too late.” 

While it was have been too late for her to switch majors, that did not stop Wolfe from pursuing photography. She said that many of the art techniques that she learned from painting were directly transferable to this new medium. 

Studying painting allowed Wolfe to learn composition, which could then be applied to her photography, to determine “what belongs in the frame,” as she put it.

Wolfe has gone to great lengths to capture the perfect composition. Once, when photographing a sports car in front of a gigantic hedge in California, she laid down on the road to get the shot.

She recounted another time when she ran — camera bag and all — to chase a composition for her photograph “Ocean Park Hedge.

“[And so I’m] running up the hill thinking ‘get this picture before that cloud goes away’ because the cloud makes it. So that was a lucky photograph,” Wolfe recalled.

The photo, “Ocean Park Hedge,” demonstrates repetition of shape. In the foreground, there is a group of round hedges off to the left. In the background, the clouds in the sky mirror the shape of the hedges.

Repetition is pervasive in Wolfe’s photographs. In “Wainscoting” the sharp edges and repeating vertical lines of a staircase create a compelling composition. Similarly, in “The Road to San Galgano” the perspective provides the viewer with a diverging path lined with trees, which creates a linear structure and a repeating pattern of the trees on either side.

Wolfe taught photography to high school students for 37 years. She said that finding perspective was something she always instilled in her students. 

“I would teach my kids if you find something that you think is going to make a good image, before you release the shutter, just step to the right or left or just kneel down a little bit and see how it changes through the viewfinder,” Wolfe said. “Stand on your toes. Just make sure you have the best composition.” 

The second exhibition on display was the work of Amanda Duchen. Duchen is a trained architect from South Africa. In addition to architecture, she also creates works of art using clay.

A common technique that Duchen utilizes is raku. Raku is a Japanese firing technique for pottery where it is first fired at a lower temperature and then moved while hot. Transferring the pottery from the kiln while it is still hot causes a shock to the clay. As a result, the glaze crackles. The next step is putting the pottery in a container filled with combustible material which causes a reaction within the pottery that creates unique colors and patterns.

“What’s so lovely about raku [is that] it’s so unpredictable,” Duchen said.

Though Wolfe and Duchen are working with different materials and subject matter, there is some overlap with the nature motifs present in their works.

Duchen’s exhibition consists of several of her wheel-thrown ceramic bowls and other vessels, many of which use the raku technique or a variation of the technique, called naked raku. This variation creates a different effect due to the second porcelain slip that is added to serve as a barrier glaze. The slip eventually peels away to reveal a smoke-like design as the combustible material is able to permeate through.

Another technique Duchen uses in her work is inscription. Carving into the clay while it is still malleable allows Duchen to write quotes and phrases on the inside of the bowls.

In one instance, she inscribed the words of Rudyard Kipling, “I am by calling a dealer in words and words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.”

Beside the bowls were a set of seed-shaped vases. Within them were South African protea flowers.

When asked about the influence of South African culture on her work, Duchen said, “There’s definitely a strong connection with Africa. The gourds, or seed-like vessels, are very African.” 

She also mentioned that the smoke-firing technique is a common practice among South African potters.

Another feature of Duchen’s exhibition, aside from the ceramic bowls, was a series of hand-molded figures. The figures were animalistic, resembling goats and canines. 

The animal figures incorporated used objects and little trinkets that Duchen had collected, such as miniature light bulbs and sugar tongs.

The News spoke with another KLG artist Eddie Hall, who was helping manage the closing reception for Wolfe and Duchen’s exhibits, about his time at the gallery. 

“It’s been a great experience,” Hall said, “It’s a lot of artists working together. We share the responsibilities. It’s a great combination of artists and brings a lot of diversity of art.” 

KLG exhibited their annual Deck the Walls event starting Nov. 16 and will remain up until Dec. 24.


CHLOE EDWARDS




Chloe Edwards is a Photography Editor, as well as a Beat Reporter covering Arts in New Haven at the University. Originally from North Carolina, she is currently a sophomore in Branford College majoring in English.

To understand Indian art, BN Goswamy often turned to Indian music

To understand Indian art, BN Goswamy often turned to Indian music

There is a painting by Mughal miniaturist Abu’l Hasan of an old, fragile ascetic bent with age facing a fresh pink blossom. The flowers sit cheerfully near the fakir’s feet as life ebbs away from his body.

To most of us, the painting would be a reminder of both the grimness of mortality and the promise of another day. But to art historian BN Goswamy, it held the music of Kumar Gandharva’s timeless rendition of nirgun poetry set to Bhairavi: Bhola Man Jaane Amar Meri Kaya (my foolish mind believes that my body is immortal). Goswamy points out how the achingly beautiful composition speaks of the fragility of life, like “balu ki bheet, pawan ka khamba (walls of sand held up by pillars of wind)”.

“When, being an art historian concerned mostly with paintings as I am, I come upon a group of Virakta Sadhus, suddenly I hear, ‘Yugan Yugan hum jogi (forever I am a yogi)’,” he writes in a tribute to Kumar Gandharva in Kaljayee, a compendium of essays on the great master. This Gandharva, for him, was like the gandharvas in the miniatures he had been researching for decades: a celestial being because he sang of maya and myths.

Goswamy, who passed away mid-November, was an exceptional art historian who could bring traditional Indian art alive, with great erudition but also with ease, humour and empathy. He was what you would call an art sleuth, a discoverer who peeled back layer after layer of meaning in miniatures to understand what the image meant, how the artist lived and created, and how wondrous it all was.

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The scholar’s wide-eyed engagement with miniature was not insular, it found fascinating links with many things around him – dance, music, classical theatre, textiles, armoury, the life of curio dealers and a hundred things that seemed to belong to disparate worlds. The Barahmasas, a poetic form relating to seasons, for instance, meant many things to him – it was the depiction of monsoons miniatures, it was poetry and folk music, and also the dance of a bereft nayika.

“He was a true, modern-day heir to the lost Indian tradition of an integrated thinking on arts, wherein visual arts, poetry, music and dance were in constant dialogue with each other,” said arts scholar Ashok Vajpayee. “Strikingly for our times, he took to poetry, music and dance to explain the subtleties of paintings. It reminded the moderns that a great art that from a few centuries ago could be equally complex and multifaceted.”

Realm of ideas

It was a sunny spring day with bright blue skies when Bharatanatyam dancer Malavika Sarukkai met Goswamy at the Rietberg Museum in Zurich. He was there working with his long-time collaborator, the German art historian Eberhard Fischer, and Sarukkai was there to perform.

“I was amazed by his scholarship because it was profound and, at the same time, accessible,” recalled Sarukkai. “We would spend evenings having long conversations about the arts, sculpture, dance and music and then stumble on a painting that could have links with dance.”

BN Goswamy with Bharatanatyam dancer Malavika Sarukkai. Courtesy: Malavika Sarukkai.

Thus began an unusual creative collaboration between a classical dancer and an art historian that was to span more than two decades. They went on to stage 10 presentations where Goswamy would speak of miniatures and Sarukkai would follow with a dance performance that illustrated the talk. These works centred on eclectic themes – Ramayana, Bhagavata Purana, Chola bronzes, gods, demons, lotuses, Sufis, love and detachment. Urdu and Persian poetry that the historian was passionate about would often make their way in.

Next year, in March, the two were to present another of these conceptual works.

“He knew dance conceptually, if not technically,” said Sarukkai. “After the performance, we would sit and talk and his comments came from a very truthful perspective, they were informed and they had great honesty and integrity.”

It was at the Experimental Theatre of the National Centre for Performing Arts in Mumbai that this unusual series took wing under the aegis of Sahachari Foundation headed by Nilima Kilachand. These were not literal collaborations but more in the realm of ideas.

“He would share a miniature with me and ask, ‘What do you think?’” Sarukkai recalled. “It would trigger something in me, something like an epiphany. The greatest joy of working with him was that nothing was linear for him. He delighted in finding connections between things that were seemingly unconnected and found it rewarding to be taken on a route of imagination. In dance too, we constantly see unseen things. We both wandered a lot and sometimes our paths crossed. There were fine capillaries of connection and he delighted in these.”

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Goswamy never missed the intermingling of philosophies in traditional Indian arts. A favourite anecdote of his was about his first close encounter with Koodiyattam, the ancient Sanskrit theatre tradition of Kerala. Watching the painstakingly long hours of the troupe’s make-up regimen that preceded the performance, he asked the guru: Why wouldn’t the artistes use modern, faster tools of makeup? “Because that is how long it takes us to go from the world of mortals to the land of the gods,” the artist replied.

This answer for him held the seeds of how time or kaala is treated in Indian arts, demanding patience and mindfulness.

In 2005, Goswamy recommended to the then Unesco-supported Parzor Foundation that the endangered tappa, an electrifyingly complex Hindustani classical form, be recorded in the voice of its exponent, the great vocalist Shanno Khurana. He wrote an inlay card for the CD, An Act Of Shoring Up, punning on the name of tappa’s best-known 18th century composer, Shori Mian. “He felt that the form had to be documented before it was too late,” said Naman Ahuja, art historian, curator and grandson of Khurana. “He had the capacity to think interdisciplinary. He also changed the whole way of presenting Indian art in a narrative structure with his path-breaking 1985 exhibition, Rasa, where he went beyond the obvious to show emotions that are rarely explored otherwise in the presentation of navarasas.”

Goswamy was dedicated to the arts but he was also fascinated by the hands, feet, minds and faces of those that imagined and created it. Among his most famous discoveries was Manaku, the 18th-century Pahari miniaturist, overshadowed by his better-known brother Nainsukh. What sort of a man was he, how did he create such works of beauty of minutiae? Did he have a still, clear mind “like a flickerless lamp in a windless room”? Was he arrogant? Humble? These bothered him as much, he said, as the analysis of Manaku’s bewilderingly beautfiul works.

In an essay in his book Conversations, Goswamy talks of the concept of Vishwaroopam – Vishnu as the magnificent and fearsome creator and destroyer of worlds – depicted by Rajasthani, Pahari, Kashmiri, Maratha and southern artists. “Each artist must have discovered something of himself, gained some glimpse of the mysterium magnum that life is and the universe consists of,” he wrote.

It was this Vishwaroopam he nudged Sarukkai to create in her dance. “He knew of this magical world and he was generous with it,” she said. “He would nudge me to do what I thought I could not because it was in the realm of philosophy. He said why not look at the idea of Devi and send me a painting. And I would work and create a new movement vocabulary. The same happened with Varaha avatara (Vishnu as a boar). The images would bring the myth alive.”

Though not with the frequency as he did with Sarukkai, Goswamy also collaborated with other artistes such as Bharatanatyam dancer Rama Vaidyanathan and Odissi danseuse Sujata Mohapatra.

As a speaker, Goswamy was nothing short of a performer himself, delivering short dramatic pauses, making gasp-worthy revelations and raising rhetorical questions to keep the audience enraptured even when he was doing something academic like establishing a miniaturists oeuvre.

“He was a fabulous performer and that appealed to the artist in me,” said Sarukkai.

Malini Nair is a culture writer and senior editor based in New Delhi. She can be reached at writermalini@gmail.com.

Sharing a list of precautions to guard against thieves

Sharing a list of precautions to guard against thieves

Dear Heloise: My wife and I live in a very safe community where home invasions and porch pirates don’t seem to be a problem. So, you probably can imagine my shock to find out that four of my neighbors were robbed a short while ago.

I called a home security company to install monitoring equipment and they gave me a list of things to do to keep my home safe from thieves. I thought I’d pass it along to you in the hopes that it might help your readers stay safe during this holiday season:

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Corrina Greenberg Named Chief Revenue and Development Officer at the Ad Council

Corrina Greenberg Named Chief Revenue and Development Officer at the Ad Council

NEW YORK, Nov. 27, 2023 /PRNewswire/ — The Ad Council announced today that Corrina Greenberg has joined the organization as Chief Revenue and Development Officer. She succeeds Barbara Leshinsky, who will be retiring in December after leading the Development team for 19 years. Prior to joining the Ad Council, Greenberg was Vice President of Development at New York Public Radio, leading the organization’s philanthropic fundraising efforts.

In her new role, Greenberg will oversee the Ad Council’s Development team and its fundraising efforts. Additionally, Greenberg will manage the Ad Council’s Board of Directors, comprised of a prestigious group of senior marketing, media and business executives who provide expertise, insights and financial support to ensure the Ad Council’s social impact campaigns are effective and drive measurable change.

“I am thrilled to welcome Corrina to the team. She has a proven track record of success in securing major gifts and transforming donor relationships into meaningful partnerships,” said Lisa Sherman, President and CEO of the Ad Council. “Corrina is a strategic, forward-thinking and inclusive leader, and her expertise and passion for social impact exemplify our mission and values.”

Greenberg has over 20 years of experience as a fundraising leader. As Vice President of Development at New York Public Radio, she led sustainable revenue streams, cultivating a culture of stewardship across departments, and deepening engagement with the donor community. She worked closely with the Board of Trustees, overseeing major gifts, institutional giving, planned gifts, special events and campaign functions.

“I am deeply inspired by the powerful work of the Ad Council to unite and inform our country,” said Greenberg. “It is a sincere honor to have the opportunity to collaborate with Lisa and join the incredible team helping to shape the current and future growth of the organization.”

Greenberg joined New York Public Radio in 2015. Throughout her career, she held positions at Albert Einstein College of Medicine, The Museum of Modern Art, Park Avenue Armory, and The Rockefeller University. She holds a BS in Communications from Boston University and has previously served on the boards of Housing Works Bookstore and Voices in Contemporary Art.

The Ad Council
The Ad Council convenes creative storytellers to educate, unite and uplift audiences by opening hearts, inspiring action and accelerating change around the most pressing issues in America. Since the non-profit’s founding, the organization and its partners in advertising, media, marketing and tech have been behind some of the country’s most iconic social impact campaigns – Smokey Bear, A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Waste, Love Has No Labels, Tear the Paper Ceiling and many more. With a current focus on mental health, gun safety, the opioid epidemic, skill-based hiring and other critical issues, the Ad Council’s national campaigns encompass advertising and media content, ground game and community efforts, trusted messenger and influencer engagement, and employer programs, among other innovative strategies to move the needle on the most important issues of the day. 

To learn more or get involved, visit AdCouncil.org, join the Ad Council’s communities on Facebook, Instagram, LinkedIn and X, and view campaign creative on YouTube.

SOURCE The Ad Council

Southeast Asian and Latin American artists united in tropical storm at National Gallery Singapore

Southeast Asian and Latin American artists united in tropical storm at National Gallery Singapore

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The Mexican revolution was finally over. The civil wars and agrarian uprisings that overthrew a dictator and established a constitutional republic ushered in a new era of Mexican nationalism. In Frida Kahlo’s “Self-Portrait with Monkey” (1945), the artist, dressed in a robe from the indigenous Tehuana people of Mexico, trusty spider monkey at her shoulder, throws us a haughty glance from under her unibrow. Celebrating pre-colonial cultures and female empowerment, this self-portrait captures a mood of defiance and confidence.

Contrast this with “Self-Portrait” (1958) by Patrick Ng, rendered a year after the Federation of Malaya, formerly British Malaya, became independent. The artist, a Chinese man, has depicted himself as a Malay woman. The queering (from man to woman, Chinese to Malay) makes this a slippery painting. On one level, it seems to be expressing ambivalence about “Malayanisation”, a national development programme to build a homogenous identity in a multiracial state. But it could also be read as a vision of a future society of radical fluidity, where typical markers of identity can be transcended.

Two self-portraits made during periods of national transformation; two very different moods. They are placed side by side in Tropical: Stories from Southeast Asia and Latin America at National Gallery Singapore, billed as the first major comparative survey of art from the two regions. One of its propositions is that self-portraiture was a strategy that artists from both sides of the globe used to comment on societal change and to imagine new worlds.

A woman with long dark hair and a brown caftan with yellow details looks knowingly at the viewer
Patrick Ng Kah Onn’s self-portrait twists both his gender and his ethnicity

But is this a strategy exclusive to these regions? Self-portraits have everywhere and always offered commentary and vision. Beyond this, the show connects the art from diverse territories under a grand narrative of anti-imperialist resistance and sundry other rebellions. Besides self-portraiture, other threads in the show include the incorporation of local traditions, such as in the stacked totems of Rubem Valentim that reference Afro-Brazilian customs, as well as the innovative use of crafts, as seen in Barbara Sansoni’s geometric handwoven textile works suspended from the ceiling.

To unite all this, the curators propose a concept called “Tropical”, described as a “defiant attitude” that “allowed for the most imaginative possibilities to emerge even from the most trying of circumstances”. While not very illuminating (even verging on reductive, as it suggests that equatorial types are governed by their passions), it does generate an atmosphere of solidarity: the tropical as a hothouse space of restless ferment and unruly fecundity.

Is this convincing? Only if you take “tropicality” as a poetic mood or a speculative proposition, which allows for some fudging of timescales and the fusing of diverse liberatory struggles. The sweeping concept takes some serious creative licence and does not properly account for global conditions. The curators propose that although independence in both regions happened at different periods — most of Latin America between 1808 and 1826, south-east Asia between 1945 and 1957 — their art histories followed similar trajectories and can be mapped on to each other. But as this is mostly a 20th-century painting show, the Latin American artists are mischaracterised by this line of reasoning; by that time, some of them were fighting local dictators rather than colonial overlords.

Oil painting of a woman with extremely prominent brows and a monkey on her shoulder
‘Self-Portrait with Monkey’ (1945) by Frida Kahlo was painted at a moment of nationalist fervour © Bank of Mexico Diego Rivera & Frida Kahlo Museums Trust. Photo: National Gallery Singapore

But this is an ambitious and meaningful project. As interest in the art from the Global South grows, there is particular focus on south-to-south exchanges. Here, two regions occupying peripheral roles within a “global” history of Eurocentric modernism have placed themselves centrestage. White people are not invited, with the exception of Paul Gauguin, who opens the exhibition as a common enemy. His “Poor Fisherman” (1896), showing a naked native from French Polynesia drinking from a coconut shell, exemplifies lingering stereotypes of the tropics as idle, primitive and backward.

Over the course of the show, this trope gets soundly rebutted by more than 200 artworks showing labour, resistance and futuristic visions of Global South solidarity (even before the term was coined). The argument is borne out in three sections, roughly chronological in order. The Myth of the Lazy Native explores how artists resisted European representations of colonial subjects in a series of figurative paintings that celebrate local life, industry and cultures. Here, we have a Brazilian fruit-seller on a boat with a wonderful expression of bored disdain (Tarsila do Amaral, “The Fruit Seller”, 1925), a Mexican woman making tortillas (Diego Rivera, “Woman Grinding Maize”, 1924) and a street-theatre performance in Jakarta (Hendra Gunawan, “Monkey Dance”).

Oil painting of a man in a straw hat sitting in a boat filled with oranges and a pineapple, a parrot perched nearby, on the sea
‘O vendedor de frutas’ (‘The Fruit Seller’, 1925) by Tarsila do Amaral © National Gallery Singapore

The second section, This Earth of Mankind, roughly maps on to the post-independence period, in which artists grappled with national identities and melded traditions with experimentation. As part of the exhibition’s populist manoeuvres, a mirror has been put between two Indonesian modern masters for visitors to take selfies. On the left, we have Chinese-born Lee Man Fong’s careful self-portrait dressed in a tropics-appropriate white T-shirt and surrounded by Greek statues, signalling his parity with European traditions; on the right, the Indonesian artist Affandi’s visage composed of chaotic squiggles, achieved by squeezing tubes of paint directly on to the canvas and smudging them around with his fingers. Following them is a pageant of self-portraits that eventually culminates in an exploration of how artists elevated craft traditions to art.

Finally, The Subversive brings us to the present day. This is where the exhibition becomes the most multidisciplinary, with installations, videos and sculpture. Curatorially, it’s a bit of a free-for-all: so long as the artist is challenging something, she’s in. But it ends up being the strongest section. Liberated from a linear narrative, the works speak a language of defiance, fierceness, sensuality and mystery. Bali’s I Gusti Ayu Kadek Murniasih’s sinuous figures with explicit genitalia upend sexual conservatism with joyous lasciviousness.

Imagine lots of loosely painted trumpets poking up and winding around each other
‘Tumbuhan Tropika’ (‘Tropical Growth’, 1968) by Latiff Mohidin © Latiff Mohidin

It is also here that the western category of “art” gets destabilised by Singaporean Malay artist Mohammad Din Mohammad’s talismanic paintings. As a Sufi mystic and healer, his works are packed with pieces of wood, animal bone and shells in crowded compositions which are believed to be therapeutic to the viewer. One wonders whether “tropical” could involve a fusion of different paradigms, such as art, spirituality and medicine, which make up singular practices in the Global South that cannot be easily assimilated into western aesthetic categories? In any case, this exhibition is a starting point for imagining how we can broaden the ways we narrate creative processes from around the world.

To March 24, nationalgallery.sg