Portrait of Jean Matzke by Chris Felver

Early last Friday morning, fiber artist Jean Matzke went out for a stroll in downtown St. Paul with her boxer, Maya, just like she did every morning. As she crossed the street near her condo in Lowertown Artist Lofts, she was struck and killed by a passing garbage truck. The strange, sad nature of the tragic accident has grabbed a number of headlines; but not enough has been published, thus far, about the woman, herself.

Matzke was a fixture in the local art and fine craft scene — in addition to her distinguished career as an artist, she ran a gallery in St. Cloud for years and years before moving to the Twin Cities in the early 2000s. Her distinctive artwork was shown regularly at the Grand Hand Gallery and Textile Center; she was a stalwart of the seasonal St. Paul Art Crawl scene and a lifelong booster of her fellow artists’ work. In the wake of her sudden death, artists from all over the state are struggling to make sense of her loss.

One of Matzke’s friends and Lowertown Lofts neighbors, filmmaker Deborah Wallwork, offers her own tribute to Jean below.

*****

It’s our deepest fear — that your life could be over in an instant. One day you are talking and laughing with a friend in the elevator, about to take your dog for a walk; and then, the next minute, you are gone, kaput, finished.

Lowertown artist Jean Matzke was killed a week ago, struck by truck at the intersection of 5th and Sibley, close to Mears Park. There’s a memorial there, one of those ad hoc folk shrines — roses and sunflowers, photographs and news stories, all bound to a lamp post. That Jean died instantly is maybe a blessing; but it also left a hole in many lives. Here was someone who held many threads in her hands; an individual who gladly took on many roles and made many connections in the circles of her community.

Jean was, first of all, a bright smile you encountered at the Textile Center, the WARM meetings, the St. Paul Art Crawl. A can-do person, she was enthusiasm incarnate, someone who’d jump in to help out, who took up others’ ideas and ran with them. Never one to complain, she embraced life and its challenges with a little twinkle of humor, in way that was both admirable and charmingly self-deprecating.

Jean Matzke, "Tangled"

Being so warm, upbeat, engaging, she was, naturally, a light to others. A wonderful artist in her own right; she was also loved for being one who served. She ran a gallery in St. Cloud for many years, and she continued to be a resource for many artists and students from outstate who came to the Cities. After she moved to St. Paul, into Lowertown Lofts Artist Coop, in addition to showing her own work, during the Art Crawl, she organized a “theme wall,” where she curated and hung a show of other members’ work.

That was Jean, always looking around to see what she could do.

I loved her work the second I saw it. It’s deeply personal, and yet, intellectual. She was thinking, through her art, about the life she led–about being a woman, a mother, a passionate reader. Her art took the thread of her life and worked it intensely into the fabric of the world around her. Interested in the figure, in the combinations of text and image, she put her ideas in a medium that is rich with feminine history — is there a woman out there who doesn’t lust after fabric? And yet, somehow, hers is a medium that still hangs in the halls of art history under the rubric of “craft.” Jean made art: pieces that are serious, thoughtful, playful, and expressionistic.

Jean Matzke, "Fall at 5"

Stubbornly independent, full of energy and optimism and physical stamina — at 70, Jean was vital, as antsy and eager as a young teenager. At a gathering which friends recently held in her memory, there were many stories about Jean climbing up 14-foot ladders, hauling great boxes of exhibit materials to and fro in her capacious van, refusing all offers for help. She walked at least five miles a day; on the day of the accident, she was probably on her way back to Lowertown from her ritual route around the St. Paul Cathedral, arriving back home as the sun rose above the buildings at five in the morning.

We couldn’t keep up with her.

I’ve been thinking about Jean and thinking about threads–about how so many stitches, in embroidery, are circles. Each stitch is like a tiny brush stroke, in each one you have to travel into something and then find your way out.

I’m thinking now about how there’s always two sides to a cloth, the one you see, which is realized, an image created through meticulous and demanding labor; and then there’s other side, the one that is a tangle of knots and cut ends.

Paul Klee defined drawing as “taking a line for a walk”; it’s a phrase that fits if you think about embroidery as the complex elaborations of a thread.

One of Jean’s recent pieces is about tangles. Another one is about the fear of losing one’s memory–a different kind of tangling, so I’m told.

In Greek mythology, three ancient crones weave the threads of Destiny. Clotho spins the Thread of Life, Lachesis allots the length of the tether, and Atropos positions her scissors over the loom for the final snip. One by one the threads are cut in this life, almost unnoticeably. And sooner or later the garment or quilt or weaving is freed from that endless spool.

We in the arts community were all devastated by the suddenness of this loss. At the Lowertown Lofts, we held a remembrance ceremony. We all brought candles and lit them, one from another, told stories, and brought them together into a brilliant shrine of many points of light. Someone sang a Tibetan prayer, and another person did a releasing of the spirit. Improvisationally, as artists, we knew we needed to turn this tragedy, to tuck in the threads, tie up the loose ends.

Jean didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Her thread was precipitously cut. But the embroidery of her life, her work, goes on.

–Deb Wallwork

Kristin Makholm with British artist Graham Rawle and the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, Dorothy, Toto, and the Tinman in the field of poppies.

Last week, the Minnesota Museum of American Art (MMAA) announced that the St. Paul museum has hired a new director, Kristin Makholm. In addition to her duties as an adjunct professor in the Minneapolis College of Art and Design’s liberal arts department, Makholm has spent the last five years as MCAD’s director of gallery and exhibition programs, as well as being the administrator of two large artist fellowship programs, the McKnight Artist Fellowships for Visual Artists and the Jerome Foundation Fellowships for Emerging Artists. (You can see a list of the recently named 2009/10 McKnight Artist Fellows here.)

Frankly, the news that MMAA was hiring a new director at all came as something of a surprise to me–last I’d heard, the institution’s very future was in doubt. With all the misfortune hitting arts organizations in recent months, hearing about the MMAA’s plans for revival is heartening news, indeed. In spite of its recent troubles, the museum has been a valuable addition to the Twin Cities (and, in particular, St. Paul’s) contemporary art landscape, particularly for its impressive (albeit too rarely seen) permanent collection of artwork and an admirably enduring commitment to showcasing work from regional artists.

Kristin Makholm will assume her new post at the MMAA quickly, on June 22, so before she’s swamped with the tasks of settling in to her new job, we hit her up for some information and insight–about the MMAA’s new plans, her new role in and vision for the museum, and what we can expect from the institution as it regroups and moves forward.

*****

What prompted you to make this move from an influential position in a nationally known educational institution to take the helm at MMAA, by all recent accounts a struggling organization? And why now?

KM: My background is as a museum curator, and I always knew I’d want to return to the museum someday. I’ve been at MCAD almost five years, plenty of time to make my mark on a thriving college art community and to develop my knowledge of local and regional artists, especially through the McKnight and Jerome fellowship programs. Why now? Due to the MMAA’s leadership vacuum and loss of its building, it needed someone now to take the reins, not last year, not a year from now. The timing was basically dictated by these other circumstances, not necessarily my own timetable.

The MMAA has seen hard times in recent months–turmoil in the leadership, a need for space to house the museum, not to mention the loss of momentum from the MMAA’s closing several months ago. What do you see as the lingering obstacles for the museum going forward, and how do you plan to tackle them?

KM: Well, the biggest obstacle is clearly the lack of a building, so determining what will be the best space to house the next museum will be one of my first priorities. Hand in hand with that is raising support and money for the new museum and its programming. And this will mean reestablishing confidence that the museum can thrive–both fiscally and artistically–offering donors and supporters a program, a mission, a vision that is dynamic, distinctive, and doable.

Some logistical questions –

• About the location: will there be a permanent home for the MMAA, and will it remain in St. Paul?
• About the artwork: are there plans in the works for allowing the public more opportunities to view work in the MMAA collection (and how much of it will be on view on a regular basis)?
• About money: has a new revenue stream opened up, or has the museum found a new philanthropic benefactor that turned the tide and assured MMAA’s future viability?

KM: About the location: I think it is imperative that the museum stays in St. Paul. Minnesota’s capital city needs its own art museum, an art center that can be a real destination point for people across the region and beyond. A permanent home is the goal of both the board and myself. This is part of giving the museum an established identity that people can count on, year in and year out.

About the artwork: The MMAA’s permanent collection is a major asset to the city and the state and will be seen on a regular basis. Of course, how often and in what capacity this happens will depend to a large extent on space considerations in a new building. However, it is my goal to refresh the public’s knowledge and appreciation of the museum’s permanent collection as part of the overall programming of the museum.

About money: We have received an extremely positive sense from individuals, the city, local foundations, and corporations, that the continued vitality of the MMAA is important to the cultural life of the region. Many have committed funds to help us restart our operations and search for a new building. One of my big tasks will be to bring back supporters who may have committed themselves elsewhere and reignite the enthusiasm of new donors and philanthropists on both sides of the river.

Given the abundance of art galleries and museums in the area, what do you envision the MMAA, under your leadership, will add to the scene? Put another way: Do you see gaps in the area’s exhibition and arts programming where the new-and-improved MMAA can step in and offer something distinct?

KM: That was one big question I needed to answer before accepting the job, because why do something second best or as an also-ran to other established local museums? The Twin Cities are awash with great art museums, galleries, and art centers. What niche could the MMAA fill that would make it important, distinctive, and long lasting? One thing I saw missing was a museum dedicated to art of Minnesota and the region, both past and present. This is a focus that has actually marked the MMAA’s programming for a long time now. I want to ramp it up, provide more scholarly, in-depth exhibitions that focus on regional artists, consider the “state of the state” at regular intervals, offer more cross-disciplinary events and exhibitions, collaborate with other local arts organizations, coordinate with other museums from the region, that sort of thing. This doesn’t mean we will sideline the museum’s dedication to American art, which is a key component of the collection and the history of the institution. I think programming can include work of both regional and national artists; it’s all American, after all.

What is your five-year vision for the reopened MMAA? How will the revived museum’s programming and exhibition line-up differ from what the museum has focused on previously? Specifically, do you see the MMAA continuing on as a regionally-focused contemporary art museum, or do you see this as an institution with possibilities in larger national and international art circles?

KM: In five years, the plan is to have a thriving art museum in St. Paul, a center that people regularly visit to experience high quality, innovative exhibitions and events, educational opportunities, and even parties, openings, maybe even patio nights again, which were so successful at the last MMAA. My belief is that as long as you provide high quality programming, with vision, with integrity, with unique flair–whether that be more regionally centered or more broadly American–that the institution can be a model for museums and museum professionals anywhere in the world, museums that want to refocus their attentions on the talent and individuality in their own backyards. My main concern right now is reestablishing a museum that has this integrity, excellence, and commitment. At the moment, how that will be viewed nationally or internationally is not on the top of my list of priorities. I DO feel however that if you do things right, you can be a model for anyone, anywhere.

Finally, what about the 2-D and 3-D Biennial exhibitions of work by local artists the MMAA has hosted over the years–will they go on?

KM: I don’t know. I certainly feel the museum should engage recent trends and current work in the region, but perhaps there’s a better way to go about it. Nothing’s off the table at this point.

It’s easy to find writing workshops and how-to sorts of roundtable discussions about the knack of putting words together to construct an effective storyline or to explore the nuts and bolts of working within various and sundry poetic forms.

You can easily check the latest offerings at the Loft if you’re looking for practical tips on honing your craft or breaking into the publishing business.

But if you’re a mid-career writer or editor, interested in specialized conversation with your peers about a life in letters, or the more philosophical questions that arise in pursuit of the craft–well, such a forum is a little trickier to find outside industry-specific conferences.  Like many in the business of words, my day-to-day work is pretty solitary. I write for editors, of course, and we do the practical back-and-forth required to buff and polish the pieces I file for publication. I do the same dance, from the other side of the desk, with our own writers on mnartists.org. But outside the editing process, I–like many others in this profession, I suspect–don’t have many occasions for a more free-ranging exchange about the art of writing. And you know what? I’d like to.

This brings me to “The Works,” a brand-new writers’ salon, hosted and created by poet Lightsey Darst. (If her name rings a bell, there’s a good reason for that: you may be familiar with her dance criticism, which appears regularly on our own site, as well as in a number of other esteemed local publications.)

“The Works” is a monthly conversation series at the Bryant Lake Bowl where writers of all stripes are welcome, whether their work is playwriting, screenwriting, fiction, nonfiction, or poetry. But it isn’t a typical writer’s workshop; and it isn’t a live reading series, either. Instead, each evening’s conversation revolves around a small group of prepared topical presentations, created by writers for writers. Darst says, “There are a lot of readings series in the Twin Cities; and there are places you can go to talk about the craft of writing. But if writing is only a craft, I’m not interested in it. I’m interested in writing as an art form.” She describes “The Works” as an effort to engender “a lively, ongoing conversation about writing–its aesthetics, ethics, poetics, hermeneutics, erotics, and just plain tics.” She’s aiming for it to be like “the best AWP panel you’ve ever seen, but even better”–better, in part, because at the BLB you can have drinks with your writerly shop talk.

The inaugural meeting of “The Works,” held in early May, turned on three presentations: Charisse Gendron talked about the ego in contemporary poetry; Greg Watson raised the question of truth in poetry; and fiction writer Joseph Laizure deconstructed the peculiar details that breathe life and plausibility into a scene. Over the course of the evening, each panelist gives a prepared presentation, about 15-20 minutes long, and then the floor is opened for a broader exchange on the topic with the audience.

For the second installment of “The Works”–tomorrow evening, as it happens–Darst has invited three more writers to offer up conversation-starters: Will Alexander will talk about “prose piracy” and the cross-pollination between writing with other art forms; poet Cindra Halm will weigh in on the notion of “art for art’s sake;” and Tim Nolan will talk about the hidden work of writing, including the revisions upon revisions that constitute the life of any given poem.

Future salon topics will depend largely on the interest and suggestions Darst receives from other writers. So, my fellow writers and editors: What would you like to talk about? (Visit “The Works” website to submit your own ideas for future conversations.)

For my part, I’d love to hear a discussion on, say, the art and intimacy of reading well. Or, how about hearing from a personal essayist on the tangled psychology involved with both living a story and documenting its events?

At any rate, I know I’m planning to be at the BLB on Wednesday night–I can’t wait to see how the evening’s conversation unfolds. If you’re someone with a passion for words and a hunger for shop talk that extends beyond the practical concerns of craft–why don’t you come too?

• What: The Works: A Writers’ Salon
• Where: Bryant Lake Bowl, Minneapolis
• When: Wednesday, June 3 at 8 pm
• Tickets are $6-$10 (pay what you can). For ticket information go to the BLB website or call 612-825-8949

mnartists.org and the Walker’s Public Programs department are teaming up for a unique summer concert experience merging music and sculpture.  Five Minnesota bands will venture out of the clubs for performances inside and around artist James Turrell’s meditative Sky Pesher installation in the greenspace to  the west side of the Walker.   Beginning this Thursday evening, the concert series will feature a mix of music from circuit-bent sound collage to indie pop to bluegrass as part of the Target Free Thursday Night Summer Edition.    

All of the Sky Pesher concerts are free events, however there will be two different, but equally enjoyable ways to experience these exclusive, one-night-only sets from some of the area’s hottest music-makers.

• 1. A limited audience will be seated surrounding the band inside the Sky Pesher interior. The interior seating is very limited and available on a first come basis.  Tickets will be released at the Bazinet Lobby desk at 6pm the evening of the performance.  You must be present to receive a ticket (so if your friends want to get a ticket too…they need to be here). 
• 2. There is unlimited space on the exterior of the Sky Pesher on the Walker Greenspace. Tickets are not needed for experincing the concert outside the Sky Pesher.  There will be speakers to hear the performance while watching the sunset and enjoying your favorite beverage from the cash bar (note: drinks will not be allowed inside the Sky Pesher). Spread out, bring your blanket or lawn chairs and enjoy the beautiful summer evening to a live soundtrack.

After the approximately 45 minute performance in the Sky Pesher the band will emerge and gather near the Sky Pesher entrance for a short Q&A and perhaps a bonus performance. 

Event Schedule

5:00 Target Free Thursday Nights Begin – Free Gallery Admission
7:30 Bar opens
8:30 Sky Pesher Concert Begins
9:15 Campfire songs with Aviette

Again…the event is FREE, however seating in the Sky Pesher is limited on a first come basis available only in person at the Bazinet lobby desk the night of the performance  Seating outside the space is unlimited. A cash bar will be available in the outdoor seating area. Blankets and lawn chairs are allowed.

Here is the Lineup….

Note: Unfortunately Aviette is unable to perform due to unforseen circumstances.  Lookbook will be performing in their abscence.

June 4, 8:30: Lookbook  can be your best friend, or your worst excuse for an enemy. This Minneapolis duo consists of Grant Cutler on beats and Maggie Morrison on vocals. Imagine Stevie Nicks singing along to a well-produced mixed tape of Prince, Phil Collins, and Baby Dayliner. They are small, armed, and not that dangerous; but you may leave their show with a permanent mark.

You still should checkout Aviette:  Minneapolis-based indie popsters Holly Muñoz, Justin Hartke, and Kyle Larson as Aviette weave catchy hooks inspired by the likes of the Cure and Aimee Mann. Their debut record, Until We Hear from Dave was selected as one of the best records of 2006 by The Onion A.V. Club and was CMJ’s #18 ADD. Songs from UWHFD were featured on IndieFeed and charted at core radio stations such as KALX, WRSU and WTCC. Aviette recorded their second full-length album, The Way We Met with Minneapolis-based producer Darren Jackson (Kid Dakota, The Hopefuls, Alva Star) and are currently in the studio working on a new album.

MP3: Aviette “Ghost Town”

Gather round and we’ll sing a song…

In preparation for the first Sky Pesher concert we asked Holly, Justin and Kyle from Aviette to listen ten of their favorite campfire sing-a-along songs. 

Justin Hartke (Bass)

Andrew Bird “Sovay”
Maybe it isn’t the most sing-along-y song, but it’s exactly the sort of sound that would lure me over to a campfire.  Plus, how cool would it be to hang out with Andrew Bird?

Cake “The Distance”
Not only would it be awesome to have a bunch of people sing-shouting the choruses and messing up the lyrics of the verses, but I would love to hear the campfire arrangement of this song.

Red House Painters “Have You Forgotten”
This is how I would want to end the night.  Such a beautiful song.  I might cry in my s’more…

Kyle Larson (Drums)

The Replacements  ”Skyway”
Not my favorite Replacements song, but certainly well known and suited for singing around a campfire.

Neil Young  ”Sugar Mountain”
Probably not a more ‘camp-firey” song in Neil’s catalog.

Big Star “Give Me Another Chance”
This is just a beautiful song.

The Replacements “Androgynous”
Since we’re in the Twin Cities I’ll represent The Replacements twice.  Classic song and it would be impossible not to have a good time singing this song around the campfire.

Holly Munoz (Guitar/Vocals)

Poison “Every Rose Has It’s Thorn”
Um, how can you NOT sing along?

Radiohead “Fake Plastic Trees”
 It’s just so beautiful.

Greg Brown “Love Is A Chain”
Imagine sitting around a campfire with Greg playing this song?? I would pass out. Seriously.

Here is another nice list to checkout.  And a video of my personal favorite.

Upcoming Concerts Schedule:

June 18: Beatrix*JAR
Bianca Pettis (Beatrix) and Jacob Aaron Roske (JAR) create fuzzy sound collages with glitch beatboxes, rewired toys, circuit-bent keyboards, and other mutant sound machines.

Mandrágora Tango Orchestra (July 2)
Machinery Hill (July 23)
Solid Gold (August 27) in conjunction with mnartists.org’s Field Day

The Walker galleries are Free and open until 9pm, so make it a night of free, hip entertainment.  Grab a blanket, your friends and come watch the sunset over the city to a live soundtrack.

Target Free Thursday Nights sponsored by Target
Copresented by mnartists.org.

Mural by Andy Nelson at Midway Stadium

Spending an evening with the St. Paul Saints Baseball has become an essential part of a Minnesota summer or at times the middle of winter.  The Northern League team is known as much for its baseball hauling pigs, and creative and quirky promotions, as the team on the field.  The Saints are also the only place to see outdoor professional baseball in the metro area (at least until next year). Throughout the 2009 season mnartists.org is partnering with the St. Paul Saints for a very unique promotion, pairing art with baseball.  The project is in honor of local artist Andy Nelson who came to the Saints during the winter of 1993 and offered to do artwork for the team. Throughout the following years Andy painted murals throughout the stadium, produced artwork for promotional materials, and become a beloved part of the organization.  Andy sadly passed away during the this off-season.  In remembrance of Andy, of whom team president Mike Veeck calls “our muse”, the Saints are partnering with mnartists.org and the Minnesota Art community. Beginning with the May 19th opener the St. Paul Saints will feature one Minnesota artist for each home game.  The “artist of the game” will be introduced on the field as images of their work scroll on the scoreboard.  In addition, each featured artist is generously donating a piece to be displayed within the mnartists.org gallery located near the third base stands.  During the game a silent auction will be held for the donated piece with proceeds going to local art education non-profits.  The artist is also featured on a limited edition baseball card available at the game, which is sure to become a very desirable collectible in its own right.

I am personally an obsessive baseball fan and jumped at this opportunity to partner with the Saints on this project.  Let me qualify my obsession.  For example, I can name batting averages from the 1980’s, but often can’t remember my zip code (like on my recent drivers license application). I have taken numerous vacations centered on baseball activities including a surreal trip to the Field of Dreams movie site in Dyersville, Iowa a few years back.  As a child and young adult I  professionally collected baseball cards, and by professionally I mean I actually made good money. After undergrad I made a living for a couple several years buying and selling baseball cards on the Internet and I actually paid for part of my first car and grad school with funds from years of researching and speculating on rookie cards.  I worked as an usher for the Minnesota Twins while in graduate school at the University of Minnesota and once I hit got by foul ball so hard that it left bloody stitch marks on my ribs. I was planning to catch it, but thought better of it at the last minute…and it smacked me. The whole incident was then replayed several times in slow motion on the scoreboard (and supposedly Bert Blyleven was having fun with it on the TV broadcast).  I returned to the break room to the collective “slow clap” of my fellow ushers.  As a young player practiced constantly, but I had much more desire than talent.   I could hit the ball for power, unfortunately contact was a rare occurrence and as a fielder I could turn any routine ground ball into a triple and made most pop flies any unintentional adventure

Over the last few months, as I was asking artists to participate in this project, I was amazed at how many artists shared my passion for baseball.  I find it interesting to get artists to talk about subjects outside of their work and sharing a different side of their personalities.  In a somewhat related note, I also recently found out Jack Kerouac was an obsessive baseball fan and created elaborately detailed fantasy leagues as a teenager….who knew.  Anyway, I was thinking it would be fun to celebrate the start of mnartists/St. Paul Saints collaboration by collecting some baseball stories from the local art community.  So here we go…

Pete Driessen

Okay, so I think it was 1967 or 1968 and I was 6 or 7 years old.  That summer I played little league in the big southern Minnesota city of Waseca. My team had the brightest, ugly yellow uniforms the world had ever seen.  So bright, that we were nicknamed the Light Brites. I played outfield, and rarely played well with any consistency.  I had no sense of team sports at this age.  I told my mom I wanted to quit baseball.

More important to me was one of my first trips to the old Met Stadium to see the hot Twins.  I remember the hard board seats, the hot dogs, the popcorn and the Cracker Jack sellers.  Though I don’t remember who was on the Twinkies at the time, the names of Jim Kaat, Louis Tiant, Rod Carew, Tony Oliva, Harmon Killebrew, Bert Blyleven, and either Jim or Gaylord Perry all still ring in my mind.  I think our Johnson CB- radio was stolen out of our old wagon at one of the games.  A very joyful time, and very impressive memory on a young lad.  As an artist, I am still “bad at sports.”

Tim Roby

My favorite baseball memory was my first Cubs game when I was 4 years old. My grandparents took me to a Cubs  game at Wrigley field and I remember getting out of the car walking down the street under the ‘EL” tracks the park. I don’t remember too much about the game, but I know we sat in the first row of the upper deck on the 3rd base side in the middle of the outfield. I spent allot of the game leaning over the railing  and staring at the black, white and yellow “Torco” advertisement on top of one of the buildings on Sheffield Ave. The thing I always laugh about is apparently I didn’t really understand the game because at one point I remember turning to my grandparents and asking why they didn’t put the dirt part in the middle of the park so everyone could see better.

In 1989, when I was older and understood baseball better,  I  also quite fondly and vividly remember sitting in my parent’s basement and watching the Cubs clinch the Eastern Division against the Montreal Expos. Shortly after that the cubs were destroyed by the Giants and I began wildly crying because the season was over and the cubs didn’t go any further. My mom had to come down and tell me that there was “always next year” and things like that. That was the start of many disappointing seasons of being a Cubs fan. Twenty years later, it hasn’t gotten any easier. You would think I have learned by now.

And by the way, the only curse that exists, is that of being a cubs fan. no billy goats or black cats…us Cubs fans place the curse upon us – the curse that keeps on giving.

Robyn Stoller Awend

I will never forget the parade downtown Minneapolis in 1991 when the Twins won their second World Series. The entire city was there.  I skipped school to madly wave my homer hanky as Dan Galdden passed by.

Jeff Reardon by Ruben Nusz

It was the summer before eighth grade and I had never played baseball in my life, mainly because of lack of talent.  My mother signed me up on a team because we had just moved and thought it would be a great way to meet friends.  I was practicing with the team and playing right field as the coach hit balls to the players for a defensive drill.  He cracked a pop fly out to me and I lost the ball in the sun and then–very quickly–the ball knocked my two front teeth out onto the grass; at first I was in shock about what had happened and thought the two long pieces of enamel-coated cementum were parts of my brain.  But after putting my glasses on and feeling my mouth I realized what had happened.  It took what seemed like an eternity for the coach to have my mother pick me up because I couldn’t really talk to tell him my phone number.  Fortunately, when my mother arrived my little brother knew to put the teeth in milk, and after some emergency dental surgery, my Swedish dentist was able to salvage my smile.  Needless to say, I never played baseball again.

Suzy Greenberg

Growing up in New York City my sportiness was limited to gym class where we learned poplar “sports” like kickball & dodge ball.  My friend invited me to come to the park with her family to play a game of baseball.  They explained the rules to me…including that you could tag out a player.  So I got the ball and threw it at the runner…. dodge ball style… I hit him in the back and everyone laughed….. that’s how I learned the difference between baseball and kickball…..

Witt Siasoco

One of my most memorable baseball experiences involved the Iowa Cubs, Huey Lewis and the News, and a Swedish Foreign exchange student named Marie.  For a year I had wanted to ask Marie on a date, and as a shy teenager it took the last week of school for me to ask her out on a date.  Anyway, I wanted to make sure that she had the opportunity to experience America’s Pastime, so I bought two tickets to the Iowa Cubs game.  Little did I know that I would be awkwardly dancing to “I Want A New Drug.” I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t a big fan of Huey, but I’m sure that this is the story that gets relayed to her friends in Gothenburg

Michael Fallon

The first essay, and second piece of writing, I ever published was about baseball. (The first piece, oddly, was a short fictional tale about a beekeeper’s nephew, but that’s another story.) The essay was about Steve Garvey, the All Star First Baseman for the L.A. Dodgers during my childhood growing up in Southern California. This was a long time ago. Sports heroes in the 1970s, even in the wake of Jim Bouton’s Ball Four, were still not fully understood to be human beings, with flaws and warts and character defects and so on. As a nine-year-old member of the Steve Garvey Fan Club, I was ignorant of cocaine and barbiturates (the scourge of the 70s), and I had no idea that the scourge of the 90s and 00s would be a different kind of drug, and I most certainly did not know about out-of-wedlock children. Well, actually I did know about that last thing, having been one myself, but I never would have expected Steve Garvey, my hero, would be revealed, after his playing days, as a deadbeat-dad-slash-adulterer not just once over but twice simultaneously with two different women who were not his lovely and popular wife (and early Regis Philben co-host), Cyndy Garvey. (True story.) Even worse perhaps, the guy bolted from my beloved Dodgers in 1982, eventually leading the cross-state rival Padres to its only World Series (at the time) in 1984. Garvey left behind, as his hapless replacement, Greg You-Gotta-Be-Kidding-Me Brock , a guy I once saw make two errors on routine plays in a single inning!  And this was all because apparently Garvey wanted more money (probably to pay for all his future paternity suits, when it comes down to it).

As you can see, it was inevitable I’d turn the eye-opening truths about adulthood that I learned from my boyhood hero into a disheartening come-of-age welcome-to-the-real-world musing that would be published in a small literary journal called Mosaic. And if you’re wondering why a 23-year-old, nascent essayist on baseball ended up becoming, some years later, a writer on art (with several hundred publications to his credit; so many publications, in fact, that I couldn’t find a copy of my essay on Steve Garvey, buried as it is under too much muck and old newsprint I’ve saved), I think it all comes down to that flawed human thing. I wrote about baseball then, just as I write today about art, because it is the imperfection of our athletes and artists, and the struggle of both to rise above our own natures, that interests me. Or else it has something to do with the 19th-century yeoman roots of both, but that’s another story.

I invite you to share your own story in the comment section below and to join mnartists.org and Art Happy Hour at

“Stuck in Right Field” - a celebration of art and baseball and whatever intersections there may be between the two.

What: Minnesota Twins vs. Cleveland Indians

Where: The plastic confines of the Metrodome.

When: Wednesday, June 3. Game time, 7:10 pm.

How: Artsy sorts are asked meet up at the main Twins Ticket Office – near Gate G – no later than 6:20 pm. (!!!!!) (Be there on time, or miss your chance to sit with the gang!) Everyone will pitch in to buy general admission tickets for themselves (for cheap! – only $8), and we will all enjoy Hormel Dollar Dog night together. And out in the fabulous Right Field Nose Bleeds!

And for those of you eager to catch your favorite local artist out at the Saints game this summer….here is the full lineup of featured artists.  Play Ball!

Still from "Sugar," (2008) the festival's closing night film, directed by Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck (courtesy of Sony Pictures and BBFF)

If you’re a fan of indie film and global cinema, take heed: Beyond Borders Film Festival, sponsored by the Rime Foundation and hosted by the Parkway Theater in Minneapolis, begins tomorrow (March 25) and runs through Sunday, March 29.

I first ran across a mention of this ambitious little global film festival when I heard they’d be screening Nina Paley’s brilliant Sita Sings the Blues, a gorgeously animated, very personal reimagining of the Indian epic, Ramayana. And when I looked through the full line-up of films, well, I was a goner.

Twin Cities Daily Planet has a nice write-up on the festival today if you’d like a bit of background (“Beyond Borders Film Festival brings world cinema to Minneapolis”).

According to TCDP, festival organizers have snatched up some terrific festival circuit favorites from around the world, and will screen the world premiere of a new documentary chronicling a Tibetan monk’s search for the next incarnation of the Dalai Lama, Unmistaken Child.

See their whole, impressive line-up of films on the BBFF website.

Watch the trailer for Sita Sings the Blues that first grabbed my attention. (As an aside, the DIY effort behind the making of this film is a triumph of artistic perseverance, if ever there was one. It was mostly animated in Flash, on a home computer, if you can believe it.):

Seriously. You should go. I’ll see you there.

Related links:

Star Tribune “From Tibet and beyond far beyond” by Colin Covert

MPR’s own “Movie Natters” blogger, arts reporter Euan Kerr: “Going ‘Beyond Borders’”

KFAI’s coverage (one of the festival programmers, Jim Brunzell, is a host of the weekly show “Movie Talk” for KFAI)

Getafilm blog post on BBFF (and my source of a number of the links above)

Photo by Krista76 from Flickr, reproduced under a Creative Commons license

As I’ve scanned through my RSS feeds this week, I’ve been struck by the sheer number of  headlines having to do with changes in media. It’s natural, I suppose, that I’d be seeing lots of that kind of coverage in newspapers, TV, and radio, since those changes hit especially close to home for those of us who work in the industry. And we media types do like talking about ourselves, don’t we?

Even so, I’m surprised at depth of the melodrama and the fear: Twitter is destroying/saving journalism. (Please.) What in the world will replace print newspapers/TV/radio? (Digitally disseminated, multimedia content, of course.) But will there be a place for “real” journalism in this brave new world? (Sure there will, it’ll just be bundled into different sorts of content/money-making packages than we’re used to with the newspaper/magazine ads+eyeballs=content model.)

All the handwringing about the slow, steady demise of “old media” in recent years (some of which kvetching I’ve done myself, admittedly) seems to me to be missing the point a bit. Whether we’re talking about print publication or network TV, or commercial radio–the days of  hegemony for homogenized content delivered from the top down are numbered. Predetermined, neatly packaged content we all share and share alike just doesn’t have a monopoly on public attention anymore. I have a hard time getting upset about that. I like niche content; I enjoy the sort of obscure creations that thrive in the populist soup of new media but which wouldn’t have a prayer of getting off the ground in the winner-take-all, numbers-driven world of old media models of communication.

I have a feeling, once we who work in the field find our feet again and figure out how to swim in these new media waters, we’ll find our new horizons to be exhilarating, if different from the joys of writing for just the printed page–especially once we expand our skill sets to include some audio/visual editing competence, too. Some things will be lost, to be sure; but let’s not lose sight of what we stand to gain: greater autonomy, a fluid interplay between reader and writer; the tangible possibility for small but talented voices to triumph over their less agile big-media counterparts, simply by virtue of being better at what they do. The rules of new media may be different, but that doesn’t mean what we’re actually saying to each other, the message itself, is. Maybe it’s just that more messages are available now that you don’t have to have lots of money or designated authority to put it out there and see what sticks.

Such a cacophony of new voices is messy and noisy, for sure; but I find it terribly exciting, too. I run into unexpected delights and insights online every day, and I’m more engaged with colleagues and friends and the richness of what’s happening in my community–thanks to the advent of these new technologies.

I’m not denying that the pain caused by these media transitions is real, especially while those of us in the business of words struggle not to get lost in the gap between these historical chapters in media innovation, as we adapt to new media’s still-murky economies and the unfamiliar textures of its modes of communicating.

But the sky isn’t falling and storytelling isn’t going away. We’re just changing what tools we use to spread the word and shaking up the authority structure that gets to decide who gets to say what and to whom. And, of course, we’re still trying to figure out how much and whether we’re willing to pay for it all.

What’s your take? Do you think these changes in medium are altering the fundamentals of what we’re saying to each other? Are you embracing RSS feeds and social media networks and content on demand, or are you resistant to them, fearful of what’s being lost in the process of all these tectonic shifts in communication?

Bonus link: Christie’s (!) has a webcast of a panel discussion from 3/12 on “The Future of Arts Journalism”: includes Senior Director of Cultural Initiatives from the Pew Charitable Trust, the Cultural News Editor from The New York Times, and the prestigious Columbia School of Journalism’s director of the school’s M.A. program in arts and culture journalism. (Link courtesy of a fine industry blog, ARTicles, by the National Arts Journalism Program)

"Writer's Block" © Inger Klekacz, reproduced under a Creative Commons license

When I saw the headline on a recent article in the Guardian, “Writing for a Living: Joy or Chore?”, I thought I knew what I’d be reading about. The familiar complaints of working writers usually have to do with privation–the scarcity of gigs, the low pay for freelance articles, the shrinking number of places that will publish your work. It usually boils down to this: How in the hell can I get enough work and money to quit my day job and make a modest living doing this?

It’s less often that you hear successful writers talk candidly about the day-to-day joys and petty frustrations of their writerly work lives: what happens after one has gotten to the enviable position of living the dream, earning their keep as a full-time writer.

A.L. Kennedy responds: “The joy of writing for a living is that you get to do it all the time. The misery is that you have to, whether you’re in the mood or not.” Will Self, on the other hand, sees the task as anything but a chore: “I gain nothing but pleasure from writing fiction…. Frankly, if I didn’t enjoy writing novels I wouldn’t do it – the world hardly needs any more and I can think of numerous more useful things someone with my skills could be engaged in.”

A veritable constellation of other literary luminaries–established novelists like Amit Chaudhuri, Hari Kunzru, Julie Myerson, Geoff Dyer, Joyce Carol Oates–weigh in on the question. Their responses are as fascinating as they are varied. Here’s a spoiler: many of them find their success, specifically being in a position where they write creatively for a living, to be more arduous, more painful than they could have imagined. In fact, a number of them admit to regular fantasies of switching to a vocation far more mundane.

I’m struck by the idea that this question is an equally pertinent, intriguing one to pose to other sorts of artists. So, what about it? Do you who earn your livings by being an artist of some kind ever find that the necessities of the grind–the need to make money, to be unrelentingly creative, to hustle up recognition enough to maintain the status quo–suck the joy out of making the artwork? Or, do you find that earning your daily bread by using your artistic talents–whether it’s in performance, film, painting, sculpture, or putting words together on a page–to be an unmitigated pleasure?

To get the ball rolling, I’ll make my own confession: there’s nothing in the world I’d rather do to earn my keep than work with words and writers (and I’m keenly aware that I’m damn lucky to have the job I do in this economic and media climate). BUT some days I dread everything about it, too. The practical concerns of meeting deadlines and making sure everything rolls out on schedule, the interpersonal dramas, the necessarily cut corners and last-minute compromises–the job of it all–are no loftier or more rewarding, in many ways, than I found in any other work I’ve done. I love writing and editing, but I can’t say I always find it delightful.

What about all of you out there? Did any of you land your dream job in a creative field, or finally establish enough patronage to quit your day-job, or get a coveted staff job in performance only to become wistful for your carefree days as an amateur? Have you successfully married the unbridled creative flow of making art with the day-to-day grind?

Is making art, doing your creative thing for a living a joy or a chore?

Please leave a comment below, share a bit of your story.

(Thanks to The Rumpus & Kottke for the link)

Author Bill Holm (Photo: Einar Falur, reproduced courtesy of the McKnight Foundation)

Last Wednesday, the world of letters lost a treasure: beloved Minnesota essayist, poet and raconteur Bill Holm unexpectedly succumbed to complications of pneumonia in a South Dakota hospital.

I didn’t know Bill well, but I read him; and so he felt as fully-fleshed, as dear  to me a longtime family friend. Who could spend time inside his singular prose, and in so doing brush against his formidable intellect and wide-ranging passions, and feel otherwise? So, when I heard of his passing last week, I did what many did, I’m sure: I went straight to the bookshelf and took refuge in his glorious stories.

As I poked around the shelves and reacquainted myself with his work, I ran into an old favorite: an impassioned essay which hit themes that recurred again and again in his writing–the enduring joy to be found in great music and art, the perils of brutishness and political myopia. As I read, the paragraphs below, in particular, struck me. I can think of no more fitting tribute to Bill Holm’s life and literary legacy than to share those words with you here:

Great works of art ask more of us than elevator music, celebrity magazines, Survivor and internet games. Beethoven gives us everything inside him-all his brain and heart and genius and soul. And he demands that we give him the same. Like Rilke’s “Archaic Torso of Apollo,” he asks us to change our life-to think and feel with everything inside us. He gives us joy, wisdom, beauty at the highest level of human consciousness. He means more than to merely amuse us, though he is of course able to do that with elegance and humor too.

…

My friend Jonas Ingimundarsson, Iceland’s most beloved pianist, had a bout with cancer a few years ago, but after the usual terrors luckily survived. I went to see him at a little concert hall outside Reykjavík where he practiced on a Bösendorfer Imperial. I asked what he was working on. “Now,” he said, “I have time only for the most beautiful music.” He played a Chopin “Nocturne” and one of Schubert’s last “Klavierstucke” with great inward tenderness. I wept like an idiot listening to him. None of us has time for any but the most beautiful music, the greatest music, played and heard with everything inside us.

Related links:

Bill Holm’s website

An index of tributes, news stories, and remembrances of the author since his death last week

A remembrance of Bill Holm by Milkweed Editions, which published many of his memoirs

At the tail end of what has been a hard year all around for the vaunted Twin Cities alt-weekly, it’s been a particularly rough couple of weeks for arts & culture writers over at City Pages. First, the Assistant A-List Editor* and one of the two staff food writers were laid off; now, it looks like the publication’s well-respected theater critic, one of the few of the old-guard staffers to persevere through the upheavals of the last year, Quinton Skinner’s job is being reduced by half.

Photo of Quinton Skinner courtesy of MinnesotaPlaylist.com

Cutting 50% of Skinner’s sprawling, erudite-but-entertaining theater pieces isn’t just a hit for local arts criticism. It’s a substantial loss for the theater community as well. The alt-weekly covers a lot of area performances, and thoughtfully, on a weekly basis. Between CP’s frequency of publication and sheer word count devoted to the arts in every issue, I’m not sure what other local outlets truly have the wherewithal to step into the breach. To be fair, CP Editor Kevin Hoffman is quoted as emphasizing that they’ll be moving more of their arts coverage online, beefing up their blogs to fill the gap left by recent staff reductions.

Here’s what worries me about this trend and about this cut, in particular: to my mind, Skinner’s pieces are among the best examples of what looks to be a dwindling breed of arts criticism – the beautifully written, tightly crafted long-form critical essay.

I know, I know – these evolutions in taste, medium, and publication style are happening through all kinds of media, and these sorts of changes often prove to be a welcome shake-up of the complacencies of the status quo. It’s just that this kind of considered essay, the lavishly edited sort of piece tailor-made for the pages of magazines and dailies, is especially vulnerable to extinction as “content” migrates online. It’s expensive – in terms of both staff/writer time and money – and this kind of article doesn’t lend itself to the write it-and-post it-now demands of the new media environment.

All this isn’t to say there isn’t good arts journalism on the web. That would be a ridiculously myopic claim. The truth is, lots of fine writing is migrating to the short-form stuff new media craves: blog posts, aggregators, tweets, and other fast-paced, often cleverly structured, many-layered sorts of pieces. In spite of all the bad news of late, with the profusion of online and existing print journalism available, we’ve still got lots of good arts journalism being written in these parts. Hell, mnartists.org is home to alot of it.

But as I hear about round upon round of media cuts (across the board in radio, print, online, TV), it sure feels like the foundation for much of this carefully considered sort of arts criticism – along with those outlets who’ve been home to writers whose work we’ve come to love – is irrevocably crumbling. How can we do anything but mourn for the undeniable diminishing of the outlets who’ve been home to so much fine journalism?

I sure hope that the loss of this kind of rigorous discourse, thoughtfully eloquent critical expression on the arts – as it’s lived in print publication, anyway – is merely a brief (if uncomfortable) intermission in what will turn out to be a newly invigorated landscape for arts coverage. I’m holding tightly to the conviction that there will still be stable homes for worthwhile writing, perhaps with formats and structure that will better suit the new ways we’re all communicating with one another these days, but which find a way to do so without sacrificing too much substance. In the meantime, cross your fingers that these worthy print-veterans will find higher ground until web publishing settles on a viable business model which will allow them to pay their “content providers” enough to live on. I don’t think any of us who work in the field expect a career in arts journalism to be a particularly lucrative path (and we’d all be poorer if writers and editors didn’t offer their skills, often free of charge and against their economic self-interest, to shoestring publications). But it would be awfully nice if journalism could still offer a way for its practitioners to pay the mortgage after all the dust-ups settle.

For now, don’t start crying over the demise of the lavish, long-form theater feature quite yet. I’ve been consistently impressed by the caliber of the writing – the memorable essays, the cheeky writing on the business of theater, the craft of performance – and by the staggering array of voices represented on the new online performance hub, MinnesotaPlaylist.com. In fact, this week you’ll find a wonderfully nuanced, provocative essay on the “state of play” by Quinton Skinner among their offerings.

*Correction (1/7): my original post left the mistaken impression that the A-list editor was let go. To clarify: the person laid off was the Assistant A-List Editor, Ben Palosaari; the A-List editor, Jessica Armbruster, is still very much employed by the alt-weekly. Sorry for the confusion – the perils of blogging in haste, I suppose:)