Kid's Korner at CCA

We always encourage teachers and educators to bring in their classes of any age to the gallery to experience each exhibit throughout the year. We saw a surplus of kids and teenagers in our space during the Youth Art Exhibition of last month, but it's nice to be revisited.

This morning we had a group of eager early-grade schoolers pour in through the double doors promptly at 11 am. Using their inside voices they expanded into the main gallery. Their collective calm maintained surprisingly well, until they entered the Jewel Gallery which is exclusively recycled art made by local youth. Inside voices quickly erupted into excitement as the kids recognized and critiqued other schools' work. It was quirky to see them become art critics once they entered a familiar subject matter. I didn't mind one bit overhearing their chatter, although their teacher did swoop in and reminded them of their fine-art manners. Commentary went from a loud chatter to an exasperated whisper. It was endearing, to say the least.

With this post, I'd like to remind everyone that an outing to an art gallery, museum or discovery venue kids, whether their your own or not, can be a very rewarding experience. Speaking from my experience at the front desk over the last year and a half, it seems the ratio between moments of satisfaction and awe and temper tantrums or meltdowns is easily a thousand to one, suggesting CCA has a calming and inspiring effect on young minds. But don't just take it from me! Bring the household with you next time.

I didn't have a chance to find the camera and snap a shot of this morning's crowd, but these shots of youngsters discussing and discovering during the Recycled Art Opening Reception will hopefully suffice. -Ren

Gone Fishing, Be Back In Three Days

It seems our staff is about to embark on a live music-inspired hiatus. Since there are only six of us, and for better or worse we tend to like similar music, group decision making quickly gained momentum at one point in the middle of a work day a few weeks back and the end result was 2/3 of the staff buying concerts tickets for two shows in Phoenix this week.

If you'd like to take a minute, sample the band's we're going to go see live. I'm sure the indie and alternative music-types are well aware of the following, but explorative new-music-seekers will hopefully have found a new band to 'like' on facebook.


Local Natives (who are opening for) Arcade Fire (the multi-member symphonic wonder pictured above)

Cage the Elephant (who are opening for) The Black Keys (whom Ryan Heinsus of Flag Live considered not once, but twice during the short month of February in his column and is pictured below.)


With this blog post, I ceremoniously flip the 'open for business' sign over (referring specifically to me...at my desk - NOT to the Center itself, mind you) to reveal the message that I've 'gone fishing' for the incredible live music experience.

-Ren (And Joe [formerly of FCP], JT, and Robin)

PS - The Center for the Arts WILL (in fact) BE OPEN Thursday, Friday and Saturday and usual. We applaud Marja for running the show here herself. (Thanks Marja!)

Because of Joe Sorren

When I was a senior at Flagstaff High School, I took a poetry class. One of our assignments was to cut clumps of words from magazines and fashion them into a cut-and-pasted poem or story, using a bare minimum of "filler" words or phrases to make each sentence cohesive.

Joe Sorren's paintings are without a doubt thought provoking, but reading the identifying titles of his paintings provoked poetic thoughts too (for me, at least). Tapped out below is a short, curious story using all the titles of Sorren's paintings, currently housed in our gallery. (Can you spot all 24 titles?)

I Had A Dream Last Night That I Punched You In The Face. We were in Dialog about a Tryst. We were to meet at The Dance Of All Hollow’s Eve, but I didn’t find you until In The Morning, In The Tide. There you were with Astraea, chatting about When She Was Camera and her Portrait of Isabell Romée. Roar, My Own Little Self for I was jealous (which is when I punched you in the face). In Exile, I ran into The Luthier with a Bump. Distraught, I inquired “Given The Difference Between No. 1…and Given The difference Between No. 2…” but with a wave came an Interruption and he said, “It’s All Because Of Toast” as he left to join Pinkmu On the Wind, M’am.

Later, The Overture was In Bloom While The Trucks On The Highway All Howl. I was At Tea with Roeishi and The Mushroom Hunter. We were Filling Little Thoughts With Little Ears when I awoke.

By Day I Dream of Night from now on.

El Fin.

-Ren

Hot Dog Frank Rosaly!

I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I did not have a soundtrack for my memories and daily activities. My soundtrack consists of recorded music, trains, bird songs and passing cars. I am compelled to tap glass and metal, to create a rhythm of distraction and amusement. Last week I built a fire in the wood stove. I grabbed the spray bottle and sprayed the hot stove a few times. The water hit the stove on the top, at the sides, the door and the pipe, each spot producing a different kind of sound. I started creating a rhythm and soon the pattern I had created mimicked the sounds of an approaching locomotive. This brought me a great deal of afternoon entertainment.

I don’t often share these sorts of things with anyone. I suppose I think I will be judged as silly or strange for being obsessed with the sounds of a wood stove but after seeing the Frank Rosaly concert I feel justified in my strange past times.

Frank Rosaly performed at the Coconino Center for the Arts last Thursday night. From the moment he entered the building with the manic energy of a grasshopper bouncing from place to place, setting up and asking questions, I had the feeling I would not be disappointed despite my high expectations of the show.

He sat alone on the stage surrounded by a drum set and an open case containing a piece of sound equipment that he would later use to manipulate sounds and play recorded samples. His performance was never predictable. He removed a cymbal from the high hat and raked it across the snare drum, creating a sound that had me feeling simultaneously uncomfortable and intrigued. He did this for what seemed like 2 or 3 minutes until he moved onto something else. He pushed the sound to the limits of my tolerance and yet my ears weren’t ready to let go of the eerie tone resembling the playing of a poorly tuned cello. He did similar things with a fork on various drumheads and cymbals between skilled and energetic drum playing. The tempo would increase and drop off into awkward moments of silence. Frank would hesitate, making jerky, frantic movements toward different objects, before finding just the right tool for the sound he was searching for. A spotlight illuminated the space surrounding him and at one particularly captivating part of his performance, a moth fluttered up and down toward the drum set in time with his playing nearly landing on the high hat.

I leaned forward on the edge of my seat throughout the performance. I couldn’t sit still. I felt a connection to his intense preoccupation with sound and his need to explore the instrumental possibilities of his surroundings.

Between sets, Frank spoke for a few minutes expressing gratitude to the people of Flagstaff who had supported him at different points of his life before and after he moved to Chicago. He was full of humility and kindness and it was easy to approach him and thank for his performance. I bought his latest project: Milkwork, on vinyl which includes a free MP3 download of the album and headed home talking about the show for most of the ride.

Arriving home, I stood the album up on the dresser before going to bed. I fell asleep feeling inspired. I have added another soundtrack to my life, one that makes me feel okay about dragging the pots and pans out on a Sunday afternoon for an improvisational jam session in the kitchen.