A Sign of Things to Come: Public ASL-Interpreted Tours at the Walker

By Jia-Li Tan

Hi everyone! Just to give you some tidbits about this newcomer: I’m Tan Jia-Li, a permanently disheveled Education and Community Programs intern from Carleton College who’s working extensively with tours and accessibility this summer. I’m currently majoring in art and like to talk about food far too much. Don’t worry – I’m not going [...]

Don’t worry – I’m not going to spend this post extolling the virtues of a good steak. Instead, let me just tell you about two fantastic things that the Walker Art Center has planned. First of all, the English and Spanish scripts to the Art-On-Call audio tours will be made available for the Guillermo Kuitca: Everything exhibition! If you would like one, just head over to the Bazinet lobby desk and ask. Secondly, we will be offering at least one ASL-interpreted public tour per month.

Why these endeavors? Because the world of the Walker is brimming with priceless learning opportunities, and they should be accessible to all.

But good intentions executed ignorantly can seriously backfire. Something hits the fan – it’s usually not a fly. Since the Walker has every intention of making sure this doesn’t happen, we held a workshop recently teaching our tour guides how to work with ASL interpreters and Deaf or hard-of-hearing patrons on the 16th of June. The invited speakers were Teika Pakalns, an art lover who is Deaf and also serves on the Walker’s Accessibility Advisory group, and Darlene Snelson, a professional ASL interpreter who has work experience with numerous art museums. Interpreting for Teika was Cori Giles.

As I silently swore at my malfunctioning laptop just a few minutes before 6 p.m., I realized I wasn’t too sure of what to expect of the event. Would the presentation strike a good compromise between illustrating the needs of Deaf patrons and addressing the concerns of the tour guides themselves? Would the speakers provide insights on Deaf culture in ways that summarize without overly homogenizing? And most importantly, would the Twins’ game create enough traffic problems to completely decimate our attendance?

What ensued was truly impressive. For one thing, many people showed up (and in surprisingly good moods). Better still; the speakers allayed all my initial doubts. The concerns of the interpreter, tour guide and patrons were each given sufficient attention, and questions from the floor were both welcomed and answered clearly. Teika’s overview of Deaf culture was concise but extremely pertinent. She dispelled commonly-held assumptions about ASL, stating that it is native to the United States and possesses its own grammatical structure and vocabulary that is unique from those belonging to English. Additionally, there are many different kinds of sign language and some Deaf people prefer to use their voices instead. Not forgetting to emphasize the sheer diversity of the Deaf and hard-of-hearing communities, Teika took care to discourage guides from changing the content and presentation of the tour based on preconceived notions of their abilities.

“Don’t infantilize. Talk to them as you would to those possessing normal hearing abilities. There are deaf people who’re very knowledgeable about art.” Teika said, stressing that being Deaf has nothing to do with one’s capability of appreciating art in a sophisticated manner. She added that guides should address Deaf patrons directly instead of asking the interpreter to pass on information, since the interpreter serves more as a verbal conduit than an active messenger.

Shifting attention to more specific details of the tours’ execution, Darlene talked about the ways guides should cater to Deaf patrons’ heavy reliance on visual information while keeping the interpreter’s personal constraints in mind. Maintaining clear sight lines is highly recommended; walking while talking is not so. The workshop also explored the idea of introducing interpreted lectures, discussions and art lab sessions, heavily aided by Teika’s outline of group interaction etiquette. Darlene underlined the importance of cooperation between tour guide and interpreter, suggesting that the two meet for a brief discussion prior to each tour.

In one of the Q&A sessions, a guide mentioned that some of the Walker exhibits contain musical elements. How would an interpreter translate any related information? Should they even be included in the tour? Teika’s response was thought-provoking and beautiful. Unfortunately I wasn’t quick enough to note it down verbatim, but hopefully my paraphrase does justice to what she said:

Some Deaf people will participate in music in unique ways and there are Deaf people who can still appreciate music. In fact, sign language is quite well-suited to describing music in certain ways. You have the combination of the visual and the audio, which makes for an entirely new art form. So yes, go ahead and include them.

Now, a confession: my attention span isn’t too good with evenings. At around 6:30 pm, it resignedly throws its hands in the air and goes out for a drink. But everything about this event gripped me to the core. During the workshop I recalled how most of my home city Kuala Lumpur’s museum and gallery tours aren’t ASL-interpreted, leaving the Deaf or hard-of-hearing to rely on what little information the brochures and gallery label descriptions have to offer. It is a sad and frustrating thought: this particular audience has been and still is being excluded from a world that should rightfully be open to all. So you can probably imagine why this workshop not only gives me a better idea of the Walker’s accessibility-related efforts but also valuable inspiration which, in more ways than one, hits rather close to home.

Ruminations on The Public Intellectual, Part 1

By Charisse

Hello, all, Charisse here. I want to thank those who attended Part 1 of The Public Intellectual last Thursday evening. The weather was perfect, the conversation lively, and the gathering an appropriately mixed bag of dancers, writers, educators, a publisher, a nurse, a builder, visual artists, polymaths—have I forgotten anyone?—whose ages spanned close to forty [...]

Hello, all,

Charisse here. I want to thank those who attended Part 1 of The Public Intellectual last Thursday evening. The weather was perfect, the conversation lively, and the gathering an appropriately mixed bag of dancers, writers, educators, a publisher, a nurse, a builder, visual artists, polymaths—have I forgotten anyone?—whose ages spanned close to forty years, allowing for multiple perspectives on then and now.

In the interest of on-goingness, I offer a little recap of what I heard, in hopes that others will hop on to add, contest, or amen.

As Sarah P. mentioned in her morning-after Facebook comment, one thread of the conversation was the cultural legacy of the ‘60s. Several participants posited that it wasn’t so much the individual brilliance of the public intellectuals themselves but a more centralized system of communication that allowed certain names to loom large in the ‘60s, to the point that we still recognize them today, even if we don’t know exactly what they said. Within our tiny cross-section gathered at the picnic table, people across generations seemed to agree that our current consumption and production of art and ideas takes place within small affinity groups, pods or cells, that exchange their goods below the radar of the mainstream media, via websites, collectives and co-ops, book groups, publications, ad hoc projects (such as Open Field!), or favored venues—clubs, galleries, coffee houses. These groups of people may or may not share the traditional aspects of community—think small town—of geographical proximity, a history of problem-solving together, and homogeneous values. Rather, they comingle in an ever-shifting pattern of sharing based on their evolving tastes, interests, and commitments.

In short, maybe it’s not the quality of the public intellectuals that has changed, but the concept itself of the public, which has atomized into more publics than we can count. In this situation, ideas spread virally, yet at the same time no corpus of information is common to all. For this reason, perhaps, our group hesitated when challenged to name influential thinkers of today. Was this perhaps a failure of imagination, as Sarah asked, or did we need more time, or is fishing up names that everyone will recognize really hard? As a group, we talked about making a list of resources—texts, people, organizations, projects, objects, touchstones, inspirations—to share at the end of the three sessions. No reason not to start that here, right? If everybody threw down a few suggestions, we’d all have some fun take-away. So here goes:

Manohla Dargis, film critic for The New York Times
Jen Bekman, curator of online art market 20×200 (http://www.20×200.com/)
Jane Champion, filmmaker
Lydia Davis, writer
Lightsey Darst, local impresario
Rain Taxi Review of Books
Walker Art Center

Now, the jury is still out about this thesis of it’s not the people it’s the media. As Douglas pointed out, the ‘60s public intellectuals tended indeed to be cultural gunrunners, subversives—Leary, Sontag, and Davis were all arrested at one time or another, and Baldwin, as a gay man, certainly could have been if he hadn’t moved to Europe (consider also Martin Luther King, Jr.). Is the case still that the people thinking outside the box are serious threats to the status quo? Or, as Nick suggested, is there no oppressive dogma left to dismantle in our permissive society? Something to mull and revisit in two weeks.

By the way, when I was researching this project, before I decided to focus on the ‘60s, I found that a lot of people that came up in lists of public intellectuals (Noam Chomsky, Richard Posner, Paul Krugman, Martha Nussbaum, Al Gore) worked in the areas of public policy, law, and economics rather than culture and the humanities; this shift seems to be generally acknowledged. If you are interested, check out http://www.infoplease.com/spot/topintellectuals.html or http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Top_100_Public_Intellectuals_Poll. How many do you know?

And so, mes amis, I look forward to July 8, when we will enter the mosh pit with Betty Friedan and Angela Davis. Before then I’ll put up some optional talking points. Again, the readings for part 2 are available on my website https://sites.google.com/site/charisseopenfield/home (click on part 2) or from me by request to Charisse.gendron@gmail.com.

The Listening Tent debut

By Pht

Since December I have been fortunate to be an artist in residence with the Walker Art Center Teen Arts Council (WACTAC). The final result of our time together is called The Listening Tent, a 4’ wide by 7’ long tent. The tent is constructed from thrift store blankets (washed!) and a wood frame. It was [...]

Since December I have been fortunate to be an artist in residence with the Walker Art Center Teen Arts Council (WACTAC). The final result of our time together is called The Listening Tent, a 4’ wide by 7’ long tent. The tent is constructed from thrift store blankets (washed!) and a wood frame. It was inspired by our visit to the world’s quietest place (located here in South Minneapolis!).

the tent finished!

It also came as a response to Open Exposure, the music event WACTAC is presenting currently with a culmination on July 11. We were thinking about what we could do that would be using the basic element of music; sound. Although a concert is all about listening, it is a rather proscribed activity–look at the band and listen. I was curious to see how muffling and disconnecting sound from visual cues would work in the environment of a music performance. One also enters the tent alone, something else that is a seeming contradiction at a music show. The Listening Tent is a dark, quiet space to enter with this prompt,

Use this tent for a moment of solitude while listening to what is around you and what is in your head.

We set it up at The Beat Coffee Shop on Thursday evening for its public debut at the first of the music showcases.

Outside The Beat

Four bands were in the line-up, Diving for Illusions ,Cat & Fox, Wolf Mountain and Howler. I was mostly hanging out in front of the coffee shop where we had the tent set up and guarding the burritos. We had some visitors to the tent however, teen and otherwise. One coffee shop patron said something about how “people are always telling me I have to listen more” and tried out the tent for 5 or so minutes, one of our longer visitors. Some other comments related to the feeling of motion while in the tent, like a boat, something I also experienced. Sound is heard through the tent but one user described it eloquently this way,

“Things were brought down to a loud murmur. The roughness of the street was softened and idle chatter was akin to your neighbors in an apartment with thin walls”

There was also a sense that time was differently experienced, “I forgot where I was for a minute. I felt like I could walk out of it and end up in Narnia. Also, I kept thinking about disasters (I’m claustrophobic).”

Finally, unless you can make a true, portable anechoic chamber, “Motorcycles are loud. Even when you’re in a tent.”

Looking forward to The Listening Tent being used tonight at the Depot and on Sunday at Eclipse Records.

A satisfied customer

Cliff Notes for Public Intellectuals Part I

By Charisse

Greetings! I’m looking forward to our first conversation on Thursday, June 24 at 7 p. m. at the Walker’s new picnic table plaza. We will be talking about Timothy Leary and Norman O. Brown. If you need the readings, email me at Charisse.gendron@gmail.com or download them from http://sites.google.com/site/charisseopenfield/the-public-intellectual-part-1. I imagine our conversation will undulate between [...]

I imagine our conversation will undulate between layers of discourse involving the argument or agenda of the writer we are discussing; the strategies the writer uses to engage a public audience—people who are good readers and probably have some post-secondary education, but who are not specialists in the fields of psychology (Leary) or classics (Brown); how the two sets of readings complement each other—for the first session, how each writer posits a more perfect state of existence, unshackled by egotistical concerns or Freudian meta-narratives; and the historical context of the readings, as put forth by anyone in the group who has lived through, studied, heard about, or intuited the zeitgeist of the American 1960s.

If you are looking for some points of entry into the readings, here are a few things to think about—but please, feel free to posit your own impressions and connections.

Leary: While cautioning against mind-body dualisms, Leary himself posits some binaries. For example, empty mind and game existence; reality and illusion; death (good) and rebirth (bad).

Leary proposes that we use psychedelic drugs to achieve transcendental insights, but often describes states of enlightenment in material terms, in the language of biology, physics, and technology (TV, oscillograph, computer).

In The Peaceful Visions: Vision 2, Leary discusses an experience of universal Eros and the dissolution of emotional boundaries. Here he seems very in tune with Brown’s project.

Can we validate Leary’s ideas through our own experiences of meditation, with or without the aid of psychedelics?

Brown: Whereas Leary is (still) a household name, Brown is the least well-known of our six case studies. Back in the day he was a big influence on young, left-leaning intellectuals, important enough for the philosopher Herbert Marcuse to dispute the argument of Love’s Body in print (see the attached document). Brown’s students called him Nobby, affectionately, so we shouldn’t feel intimidated by his erudition (Marx, Freud, Roman and Greek literature) or his nonlinear style. (Unlike Leary’s outline structure, Love’s Body takes the form of prose-poemish philosophical musings.)

The ego is an obstacle to a full knowledge and experience of human existence in the writings of both Leary and Brown. They agree that the boundaries of the self are artificial in the sense that we make them; they are psychic rather than “real,” and both talk about the impact of these self-created limitations on our bodies and minds.

In the critique of the ego as the first example of “private property” and the source of “alienation,” “Freud and Marx meet.”

Brown loves paradox: “The nucleus of one’s own self is the incorporated other”; “To have a self is to have enemies”; “Our identity is always a case of mistaken identity”; Schizophrenics are suffering from the truth.” Paradox abolishes contradiction.

“The defense of personal liberty is identical with the defense of property”—think about this in the context of the current conservative mood of the American people, especially since 9/11. Back then it was the communists, now it’s the terrorists.

Not we are all one (Leary), but each one of us is everybody (Brown).

It’s a little scary to think that everything we reject causes another division between conscious and unconscious (repressed) parts of ourselves, causes “private parts,” shame.

Here’s what Marcuse (with his progressive social agenda) could not tolerate: that the reality principle is “a false boundary.” “It is only as long as a distinction is made between real and imaginary murders that real murders are worth committing.” (Nobby’s heroes include the poet William Blake and novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky; comment if you are familiar with these writers.)

The alternative to dualism is love. The personal body and the social body are organized by “libidinal cathexes”; Nobby sees the body as a magnetic field and not an inert object with one erogenous zone.

Family Reads in the Open Field, Week 4

By Ashley Duffalo

As part of our blog series Family Reads in the Open Field we’ll be rolling out reading lists for families to enjoy all summer long, as provided by local artists, artist-parents, and creative kids. Books selected from the reading lists, as well as radios, backyard games, and other fun stuff is available for check-out at [...]

As part of our blog series Family Reads in the Open Field we’ll be rolling out reading lists for families to enjoy all summer long, as provided by local artists, artist-parents, and creative kids. Books selected from the reading lists, as well as radios, backyard games, and other fun stuff is available for check-out at the Open Field Tool Shed.

This week’s list comes from Heather Shirey and her daughter Naomi, age 5. Heather is an assistant professor of Art History at the University of St. Thomas, and Naomi is a student at J. J. Hill Montessori in St. Paul. Heather is always delighted when Naomi pulls these books off the shelf to read over and over. Some of these are Heather’s favorites from childhood, and others are new to both of them.

Naomi with her baby brother, Oliver.

Check out these great reads!

The Hatseller and the Monkeys by Baba Wagué Diakité

The Monster Show: Everything you Never Knew about Monsters by Charise Mericle Harper

From the Mixed Up Files of Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg

The Three Pigs by David Wiesner

A Cricket in Times Square by George Selden Drawings by Garth Williams

Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIHM by Robert C. O’Brien

Louise, the Adventures of a Chicken by Kate Dicamillo Illustrated by Harry Bliss

My Chinatown, a Year in Poems by Kam Mak

Really, Really Big Questions by Steve Law

Socks by Beverly Cleary

The Tool Shed Awaits

By Chloe Nelson

What is the story behind our large wooden Tool Shed? In January the Walker hosted a charrette, a communal design brainstorm, to re-imagine the Walker’s backyard. One popular idea from that charrette was the notion of providing a set of “tools” for visitors to create their own experience in the field. Out of that was [...]

Open Field Tool Shed

The Open Field Tool Shed represents a microcosm of the cultural commons. It is a space to check out and engage with shared goods, games and books for free. From Shel Silverstein to local reads from Graywolf, Coffee House and University of Minnesota Presses, your summer reading is all here. You can check out a croquet set or an iPad (take advantage of the field’s new Wi-Fi), play bean bag toss or a card game, watercolor or listen to the radio. And when the weather is as warm as it is today, you can even use the sun shelters and blankets for picnicking.

A sampling of kids books in the Tool Shed

There is also a chalkboard and bulletin board where you can post your own flyers, and find information on upcoming events and artist residency projects. The Tool Shed is a common space to share, communicate, and tap into.

One young lady enjoying an iPad offered, “This is the first time I’ve used an iPad, so it is pretty awesome.” Another onlooker found that “suction cup catch is a big hit with the kids.” There is something for everyone, no matter how small.

Games in the Tool Shed

A special thanks to Target for supplying many of the items in the Tool Shed.

Pioneering Participation

By Sarah Schultz

This week I’m heading to the Museum of Modern Art to participate in a program called Mining Museum Education. The discussion will focus on the early history of museum education, an often overlooked subject in written histories about the evolution of the modern art museum. A large part of the MoMA event will focus on the work of four individuals that could be considered progenitors of contemporary museum education: Katherine Kuh (Art Institute of Chicago), Victor D’Amico (Museum of Modern Art), Hilla Rebay (Guggenheim Museum) and Arthur Lismer (Art Gallery of Ontario).

Daniel Defenbacher and Walker Art Center staff, 1951

I’ve been invited to speak during a colleagues-only session about the pioneering use of media to engage the public with modern art. Specifically, I will be talking about The Inquisition, an arts quiz show that the Walker began hosting in 1940 and a project we revived this past winter. Since I will have the stage for while, I’ve decided to place Daniel Defenbacher, the Walker’s first Director, in context as one of the early pioneers of audience engagement. (Defenbacher is the charmer in a light-colored suit sitting on the lower right hand side of the photograph).

With roots in the private collection of industrialist T.B. Walker, many people are surprised to learn that the Walker Art Center, was established as a community art center under the auspices of the federal Works Progress Administration in January 1940. Directing the new Walker was Daniel Defenbacher, the WPA official who had headed up the government’s whirlwind efforts to establish more than 70 such centers across the United States. An architect and industrial designer by training and a self-proclaimed natural born salesman, Defenbacher was abundantly energetic and passionate about “creating a museum of the present for the people of today”. His directorship was an opportunity to put his ideas about art and its role in society to the test and during his decade-long tenure he created an impressive roster of exhibitions and educational programs. Ironically, his populist drive wound up producing some of the more forward-looking and radical programming for museums at the time including The Everyday Art Gallery, The Idea House, a mass-produced toy set called Magnet Master, and the little known “stunt” called The Inquisition. The timing of the talk coincides nicely with Open Field, our current experiment in participation. Throughout the summer, I’ll continue mining the Walker’s history of audience participation and share some of the treasures discovered in the archives while researching this talk, including this charming flyer welcoming visitors to the museum.

Walker Art Center flyer, 1940

Susan Sontag, Timothy Leary, Angela Davis and Betty Friedan (among others) at Open Field

By Sarah Peters

Susan Sontag Being Arrested at Whitehall Induction Station Demonstration, December 5, 1967 photo by Fred W. McDarrah

Open Field is a place for all kinds of ideas, including the exploration of how knowledge is created and disseminated in contemporary intellectual life. A series of seminar-like conversations that starts this week does just this. The Public Intellectual: Guru, Gadfly & Cultural Gunrunner will look at six critically influential thinkers from the 1960s over the course of three meetings to investigate the role of the public intellectual and the transmission of ideas outside of the academy. It will take place outside, under an umbrella, with a beer (certainly an intellectual tradition).

I invited the instigator of the series, local poet Charisse Gendron, to be a guest blogger over the course of the summer to share her thoughts on the project and her impressions of Open Field as a space for these kind of discussions. As a way of introduction, here is a brief Q & A.

You’ve been attending Walker programs for years, ranging from the defunct Artist’s Bookshelf book club to film screenings and Performing Arts events. What draws you to this place? What interests of yours do you see reflected here?

The Walker was one of the reasons I chose Minneapolis when I was looking for a new city. I had been teaching literature and film in Tennessee, and the possibility of strolling over to the Walker to see screenings of Derek Jarman’s Blue or Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman thrilled me. The Walker represents opportunity—to see, hear, talk with Sadie Benning, Todd Haynes, Kelly Reichardt, Lorna Simpson, Haegue Yang. To witness the cross currents between artists I love; to discover that Lorna Simpson was influenced by Chantal Akerman!

What inspired you to organize this series of discussions?

In a previous incarnation I was an academic. At a university, people are trained to think, but their research is so specialized that they lose the ability to talk with people outside their discipline. Few can afford to be polymaths, culture vultures, running out to encounter the next new thing.

Once I was free of my career, I had the energy and flexibility to write poetry, to look at art, to read for pleasure, and to find others who shared these passions. The problem is, outside of universities, people often don’t share the theoretical ground for conversations to develop efficiently.

I’m always hunting for that overlap between making culture and theorizing it, and the people who negotiate that overlap, the “public intellectuals”—the curious ones, the critical ones, the ones with something to say and the ambition and preparation to say it. When I find some of these folks, I make the sign of the cross.

Certain questions, though, I haven’t found in circulation locally: about the role of public intellectuals, the conditions that foster them, the media they have used historically and use today. So I needed to pose these questions and to root out others who might care about them, might even identify as public intellectuals in a producing or a consuming capacity, as thinkers, not necessarily professional scholars, who are blogging, publishing, attending salons, in reality or just in their heads.

Having such a conversation takes a little structure and a little preparation, some shared readings, a meeting space, an intention, an interstice where people need to exercise some mental rigor but not a special vocabulary. This is the space that I love to be in, so I have some responsibility to make it happen.

One more thing—why the 1960s? Public intellectuals flourished then because thinking wasn’t so specialized and because readers and writers (from T. S. Eliot and George Orwell to Clement Greenberg and Susan Sontag) used journals such as The New York Review of Books and The Partisan Review to engage in sustained conversations. Minds were aflame with social and artistic movements—the French New Wave, the emergence of photography as an art form alongside painting and sculpture, the student revolts, the sexual revolution. I was a teenager and that cultural climate set the bar. We are living in a similar time now in terms of media and visual culture and I hope people who come to the sessions will educate me more about it. The point is, yes, to give serious consideration to the writing of Angela Davis and Timothy Leary, but also to use ‘60s case studies as a launch for talking about how we transmit ideas now.

Why conduct these conversations at Open Field? What connections do you see between the public intellectual and the commons, if any?

The public intellectual is someone who wants to be part of the current cultural conversation in a more integrated way than is often possible in academia; someone who wants to make connections not only with scholars but with artists, journalists, activists—thinkers throughout the community. The Open Field, both the concept and the physical space, is an attempt to democratize resources, relocate a measure of authority from institutions to individuals, and provide a context for new affiliations and syntheses. My little project fits snugly within the Walker’s big project in an almost fractal way.

You were part of Haegue Yang’s artist-in-residence project this past year which involved a series of seminars with a small group of learners. Does that experience have any relationship to your series on public intellectuals?

Participating in that residency was an incredible privilege—to be thrown into Haegue’s synthesis of French philosophy, the work of Marguerite Duras, the example of people who have resisted political oppression, the theory and practice of abstraction as a visual means to refract received ideas. To be exposed to her unique personhood, work ethic, changeableness. I don’t know how useful the residency was to her—I hope somewhat. If nothing else, it demonstrated the arduousness/ardor of building community, of a group of people finding their own stake in being together, both voluntarily and somewhat arbitrarily, making the effort to communicate by folding paper, knitting, playing “statues,” watching videos, talking in a range of registers—with the option at any time of disengaging.

After the last seminar, we sprang apart. This is as it should be for a communion not to become a burden, a search for consensus, an obligation to compromise. Haegue’s residency helped me to understand the serial nature of cultural participation. The whole process must happen over and over to maintain a local balance of tolerance and conviction, the climate for art and ideas that builds public support for libraries and museums. Open Field presents a huge opportunity for dozens of exchanges such as Haegue’s residency to occur—they won’t be as intense, but there will be more of them. Each transmission brings us closer to a cultural economy in which we don’t need to reinvent the language in order to converse. For it is no longer true that language, “a” symbolic order, precedes us.

The discussion series The Public Intellectual: Guru, Gadfly & Cultural Gunrunner starts this Thursday, June 24 at 7 pm in the Open Lounge.

Citizen Architect: Samuel Mockbee and the Spirit of the Rural Studio

By Ashley Duffalo

In 1993 the late architect and MacArthur Genius Samuel Mockbee started the Rural Studio at Auburn University, a design/build education program, in which students create striking architecture for impoverished communities in rural Alabama. Guided by frank, passionate interviews with Mockbee, the documentary Citizen Architect: Samuel Mockbee and the Spirit of the Rural Studio shows how a group of students use their creativity, ingenuity and compassion to craft a home for their charismatic, destitute client, Jimmie Lee Matthews, known to locals as Music Man because of his zeal for R&B and Soul records. The film reveals that the Rural Studio is about more than architecture and building.

Mockbee’s program provides students with an experience that forever inspires them to consider how they can use their skills to better their communities. Interviews with Mockbee’s peers and scenes with those he’s influenced infuse the film with a larger discussion of architecture’s role in issues of poverty, class, race, education, citizenship and social change.

Citizen Architect makes its’ Minneapolis premiere at the Walker Cinema on Thursday, July 1 at 7 pm. A discussion follows the screening, featuring panelists Maureen Colburn, cofounder of the Minneapolis-St. Paul chapter of Architecture for Humanity and architect with LHB in Minneapolis; Paul Neseth, cofounder of Locus Architecture in Minneapolis and founder of the RAW design/build program; and James Wheeler, intern architect at Gulf Coast Community Design Studio in Biloxi, Mississippi.

Below are snippets taken from a Q & A with Citizen Architect director, Sam Wainwright Douglas. To read the full interview click here.

You are Samuel Mockbee’s son-in-law. Aside from the family connection and access to the subject, what drove you and your wife, Sarah Ann, to work on and complete this film?

SAM: I was always struck by the beauty and power of Sambo’s architecture and drawings. They had a lot of life and energy in them. But, more than that, I was inspired by the simple fact that he tried to make the world a better place with his talent, creativity and compassion. I think every artist wants to touch people the way Sambo was able to.

My father and Sambo were friends and did several jobs together in the 80′s and 90′s, starting with the Mississippi Pavilion at the World’s Fair in New Orleans in 1984. As a kid growing up in Houston, I was quite taken by this big Mississippian with a huge beard who liked to draw as much as I did. And, then later on I was blown away when I saw that he was making architecture not only for the usual crowd, but for everyone else and also engaging students to use their skills for something more fulfilling than just a paycheck. When I was a student at NYU, I would often drive through Mississippi on my way to school. Sambo always welcomed me into his home. We’d drink Heinekens and talk about art. He always had time to talk art.

You’re in a grocery store checkout line, and you’re explaining to someone the legacy of Samuel Mockbee … GO:

SAM: Samuel Mockbee was an architect who tried to make the world a better place through his creativity and compassion. He co-founded a program called the Rural Studio that invites architecture students to design and build striking, functional, respectful architecture for very impoverished communities in the rural South. He created an educational model that not only provides badly needed homes and facilities but also provides students with a seminal experience that leaves them bitten by the bug of incorporating a social responsibility into everything they do.

When taking on a big personality like Mockbee’s – especially someone you were close to – what did you consider when making this film? What did you want to accomplish?

SAM: We wanted to produce a film that followed a project from start to finish, so you could see the impact the experience was having on students, while also allowing Mockbee to explain the Rural Studio and his motivations, allowing you to get to know this amiable, thoughtful person. We also tried to show his impact on the profession beyond the borders of Alabama and have a larger discussion about architecture’s role in our lives, education, citizenship and social priorities. And, we wanted to do it in an entertaining, thoughtful way that engages audiences beyond the architecture community.

One of the funnier moments of the movie is when Peanut Robinson, a Hale County resident, tells Rural Studio’s Jay Sanders in no uncertain terms that architects don’t work for poor people and haven’t done anything for him or his community. Can you tell us how that scene came about and why you included it?

SAM: Peanut sets up one of the main questions explored in the movie. Can architects have real impact? Is architecture just for the wealthy or can it benefit everybody? Peanut was very accommodating as far as filming went. He has a masters degree in education from Tuskegee and he loves to pontificate. So if you catch him in downtown Newbern, which you usually can, then he’ll be happy to strike a conversation with anyone who’s going to be respectful.

One of film’s biggest strengths – you have never-before-seen interviews with Samuel Mockbee, speaking eloquently about his teaching philosophy and the effect of Rural Studio on students and the community. How did you get access to this? When were these interviews done?

SAM: These interviews with Sambo were conducted at his home in Canton, MS in 1999. I’d been out of film school for a year. They were supposed to be a preliminary interview for a film on Sambo that I knew I wanted to do some day, which is why the production quality is a bit lackingI thought we might just use them to get a grant or something. Sadly, Sambo passed away and these interviews ended up becoming the only candid, in-depth footage that exist of him on camera. It’s very fortunate that we have them for future generations.

You offer an alternative perspective to Samuel Mockbee’s thinking by interviewing Peter Eisenman, Yale professor and noted architect. Why did you choose to add this element? Was it difficult to get him to open up?

SAM: We interviewed Mr. Eisenman so the audience can hear from someone who is on the other side of the architectural spectrum from Sambo. He is very sure of his opinions and was very forthcoming, which we really appreciated and respect. All we had to do was ask the question. He liked Sambo, but he approaches his work from a different point of view. It’s important to have multiple perspectives—it’s not about who’s right or who’s wrong—that’s the great thing about dialogues like this.

It took a while to put this film together. What drove you to complete it?

SAM: The year before Sambo passed away, he charged me and Jack Sanders with making a film that got to the heart of the Rural Studio. We had to honor that, and it’s a story we really cared about, so we never doubted we would get it done somehow. It has been 10 years since the initial interviews with Sambo, but I’m glad that the film has had the opportunity to explore his ongoing impact several years removed from that first footage. It’s a testament to his lasting impact and relevance.

What kind of feedback have you gotten from architects and designers who have seen the film?

SAM: Simply put, EVERYONE we’ve screened the film for leaves inspired and entertained… and they want more, which is why I’m grateful for this website. We hope to continue the conversation and engage those who want more.

: Yancy (Tire) Chapel, a Rural Studio Project

: Hale County Animal Shelter, a Rural Studio Project

: Patrick House, a Rural Studio Project

: Samuel Mockbee

: Jay Sanders and Music Man

: Mason’s Bend Community Center, a Rural Studio Project

: Antioch Baptist Church, a Rural Studio Project

: Akron Boys and Girls Club, a Rural Studio Project

Family Reads in the Open Field, Week 3

By Ashley Duffalo

This week’s list is provided by sisters Amelia (age 5) and Vivien (age 3) Bras. Amelia attended the first Arty Pants in 2006, and she and Vivien have been inspired by the Walker ever since!

Thanks Amelia and Vivien for these wonderful suggestions!