This production is a tribute to Ronald's brother, Harvey Tavel, original director of these plays and "the power behind the throne" of the genius of Ronald Tavel and The Theatre of the Ridiculous.
"Kitchenette" is the story of two couples, who interact in psychosexual, abusive ways. Occasionally a filmmaker character takes part in the action, instructing the actors what to do, all of it going beyond the absurd into the thoroughly ridiculous. Performed by Kika Child, Richard Craven*, Eva Dorrepaal, Jorge Acosta* and Norman Glick.
"Kitchenette," second production, 1970. L-R: Fred Savage, Mary Woronov, Harvey Fierstein, Mary McCormick.
Between Entrance and Exit is a bizarre ramble through a labyrinth of memories, regret, guilt and longing. A man and a woman love, fight and cherish each other. In a constantly changing room, they try to give meaning to the time given...
Toch is de zogenoemde ‘triple Theo’-trilogie er gekomen, in Amerika nog wel. Het NFF eert de nagedachtenis aan Van Gogh met de vertoning van dit drietal: Interview, Blind Date en Somewhere Tonight (de bewerking van 06). In de Q&A’s na afloop halen vrienden en collega’s herinneringen op aan de bijzondere filmmaker en presentator.
Many people pretend they bathe daily in the Fountain of Youth. While the delusion may be soothing, the gap between self-image and reality can have serious consequences as it did for me on the McCloud River. A six mile stretch of this wild northern California river is owned by the Nature Conservancy. To keep the …
Jan Bergmans's insight:
pending upon a mind damaged by a stroke for dividing a restaurant check. It’s relying on walking sticks for weekly hikes rather than cursing the path’s elevation. It’s checking your Iphone frequently for appointments rather than assuming you remembered them. It’s limiting your driving to daylight hours as night vision diminishes. And an endless number of other embarrassments each of us can list.
For me, adaptation meant I stopped struggling and allowed my feet to slide off the rocks onto flat gravel beds. I remained erect when I did that. And that was the lesson, not only for the rest of my fishing trip, but also for aging. Stop struggling and adapt.
With age, we have a tendency to do activities as we did them when younger, even though our bodies and minds are screaming for something different. We often persist because of vanity, disbelief in the aging process, or the hope by trying a little harder, success is possible.
Vanity could have been disastrous for me. Disbelief I was aging placed me in an unrealistic position. Hoping if I just tried harder I could remain upright, was leading me to a possible drowning. It’s the middle ground—adaptation—that worked on the McCloud and it’s adaptation that’s one of the keys to successful aging.
The take-away? Many of the things we cherish may become difficult as we age. Struggling to maintain them as if we were twenty years younger can lead to failure or disaster. Refraining from doing them will produce unhappiness. But modifying how things are done as we age, results in neither having to give up what we love nor struggling to maintain it.
I’m not ready to fish with worms and talk about a glorified but improbable past. I just need to allow my feet and life to land on firm ground.
At its greatest extent, Villa Baviera was home to some three hundred German and Chilean residents and covered 137 square kilometers (53 sq mi). The main economic activity of the colony was agriculture, but it also contained a school, a free hospital, two airstrips, a restaurant, and even a power station.
At its greatest extent, Villa Baviera was home to some three hundred German and Chilean residents and covered 137 square kilometers (53 sq mi). The main economic activity of the colony was agriculture, but it also contained a school, a free hospital, two airstrips, a restaurant, and even a power station. The colony was secretive, surrounded by barbed wire fences, searchlights, and a watchtower, and contained secret weapon caches (including a tank). It was described alternately as a cult, or as a group of "harmless eccentrics". In recent decades, however, external investigations, including efforts by the Chilean government, uncovered a history of criminal activity in the enclave, include child sexual abuse.[3
He was born in a small town in Chile, and has been shooting since he was a young child. At 17, he moved to Santiago to begin his formal studies in film making. He attended the Chilean Film School (Escuela de Cine de Chile) in Santiago. After which he moved to Buenos Aires where he began his career as a filmmaker. While in Buenos Aires he was mentored by the finest in the Argentinean film industry in directing, screen-writing, editing and acting directing.
His award winning film, Acassis, -”Best Thriller Award” at the New York International Independent Film Festival 2007- has been shown worldwide. And it was his first approach to an international career. The New York press proclaimed him as one of “the upcoming Latin directors to watch”. In 2009, Francisco relocated to the United States to continue his career as a filmmaker. The Department of Homeland Security of the U.S. granted him the O-1 Visa, for extraordinary ability in Arts. Francisco has the recognition of his peers in the States and from important unions, such as WGA.
His award-winning film, “The Tracer” (Co-Writer/Editor & Director) was shown at the NAB 2011 as one of the top 8 short films from the 48 Hours Film Festival, winning Best Picture and Best Cinematography at that prestigious festival.
In 2011 He was also awarded with a Telly (TM) for one of his music videos.Among his accolades, Campos-Lopez was featured as “Director of the Month” (October 2010) on Sony’s site for film/video professionals, Videon, having his work also featured in the “Shot Like a Pro” Sony print campaign all over the United States of America. And, the cover story in October 2010 in ONTap Magazine, with the story “Frankie’s Factory”, about his success launching music videos and partnership between independent artists in Washigton, DC.2011 marks his break into an international career, shooting documentaries and spots overseas working in Europe, Israel, South America and China, where he was honored to teach a Master Class for the Masters Students at Shanghai University.In 2013 he came back for a season to his native Chile to spend time with his daughter and joy of his life and to prepare his upcoming projects. He also got the chance to work; getting involved in political marketing, enviromental documentaries, activism and showing the beauty of his native Chile with promotional pieces.Francisco, also known as “Franco”, considers himself an author, from the inception of the idea/concept/story until final delivery.
Art is imagined to exist in a realm of value that lies beyond mere economic considerations, but money is a key measure of artistic success.
Jan Bergmans's insight:
Art meets commerce: “Six Self Portraits” by Andy Warhol, to be featured in a Sotheby’s art auction; the price is estimated at $25 million to $35 million. Credit Sotheby’s
Continue reading the main storyContinue reading the main story Share This PageemailfacebooktwittersavemoreContinue reading the main storyContinue reading the main story
This story is included with an NYT Now subscription. Learn More »
There are few modern relationships as fraught as the one between art and money. Are they mortal enemies, secret lovers or perfect soul mates? Is the bond between them a source of pride or shame, a marriage of convenience or something tawdrier?
The way we habitually think and talk about these matters betrays a deep and venerable ambivalence. On one hand, art is imagined to exist in a realm of value that lies beyond and beneath mere economic considerations. The old phrase “starving artist” gestures toward an image that is both romantic and pathetic, of a person too pure, and also just too impractical, to make it in the world. When that person ceases to starve, he or she can always be labeled a sellout. You’re not supposed to be in it for the money.
On the other hand, money is now an important measure — maybe the supreme measure — of artistic accomplishment. Box office grosses have long since become part of the everyday language of cinephilia, as moviegoers absorb the conventional wisdom, once confined mainly to accountants and trade papers, about which movies are breaking out, breaking even or falling short. Multimillion-dollar sales of paintings by hot new or revered old artists are front-page news. To be a mainstream rapper is to have sold a lot of recordings on which you boast about how much money you have made selling your recordings.
Andrew Garfield in April at the premiere of “The Amazing Spider-Man 2.” Credit Gareth Cattermole/Getty Images for Sony
Everyone might be sure that sales are not the only criterion of success, but no one is quite certain what the others might be, or how, in our data-obsessed era, they might be measured.
In the popular imagination, artists tend to exist either at the pinnacle of fame and luxury or in the depths of penury and obscurity — rarely in the middle, where most of the rest of us toil and dream. They are subject to admiration, envy, resentment and contempt, but it is odd how seldom their efforts are understood as work. Yes, it’s taken for granted that creating is hard, but also that it’s somehow fundamentally unserious. Schoolchildren may be encouraged (at least rhetorically) to pursue their passions and cultivate their talents, but as they grow up, they are warned away from artistic careers. This attitude, always an annoyance, is becoming a danger to the health of creativity itself. It may seem strange to say so, since we live at a time of cultural abundance and flowering amateurism, when the tools of creativity seem to be available to anyone with a laptop. But the elevation of the amateur over the professional trivializes artistic accomplishment and helps to undermine the already precarious living standards that artists have been able to enjoy.
“Making a living is nothing,” the novelist and critic Elizabeth Hardwick wrote in an essay titled “Grub Street: New York,” first published more than 50 years ago in the inaugural issue of The New York Review of Books. “The great difficulty is making a point, making a difference — with words.” She might just as well have said with images, sounds or the movement of bodies; words just happened to be her chosen medium. And her words in this case still stand as a concise, slightly scolding credo for the creative class. Nobody cares how you pay your rent. Your job is to show us something we didn’t know we needed to see.
Continue reading the main story
But it is, nonetheless, a job. The risk in separating the labor of making points and differences from its worldly reward lies in losing sight of the fact that it is labor, and therefore has a value that is material as well as abstract. In March, the National Endowment for the Arts released a report estimating that more than two million American workers identified themselves as artists, and noted that they had, since 2008, undergone the same bumpy, piecemeal recovery as other workers. An earlier report, from 2011, calculated that “the production of arts and cultural goods and services contributed $504.4 billion to the U.S. economy,” or 3.25 percent of gross domestic product. It may be relevant to note that the single largest category of artistic endeavor was advertising — a sign, perhaps, that the distinction between art and commerce is finally moot — but the upshot is that what artists do represents a significant quantifiable share of the nation’s wealth.
The question of who profits and who gets paid has become a contentious one. The cultural economy has always been mixed — a volatile blend of bazaar, bureaucracy and medieval court. Some parts of it appear, at least at first glance, to function by the rules of the free market. In reality, of course, this activity — represented by quaint, in some cases obsolescent institutions like the bookshop, the record store and the movie theater — has been governed by a complex web of middlemen and corporate players: agents, producers, movie studios, publishing houses, record companies and so on.
The book “MFA vs. NYC,” edited by Chad Harbach. Credit Sonny Figueroa/The New York Times
That capitalist enterprise zone exists alongside, and in practice frequently overlaps with, a realm of patronage. Individual artists subsist on grants from foundations and the government, which along with corporations and wealthy donors support the institutions that bring those artists’ work to the public. When you buy your ticket and walk into a museum, a regional theater or a symphony hall, the experience you are purchasing has been subsidized by the philanthropists whose names are listed in the lobby.
And nearly every artist who makes a living (perhaps outside of advertising agencies) does so in this nexus of peddling and patronage. The recently published anthology “MFA vs. NYC” proposes, in its title, a dichotomy between the two dominant models of literary careerism: the subsidized route of graduate school and teaching, in which writers support themselves through paid activities other than writing; and the rough-and-tumble marketplace of New York City, where writers more or less do the same thing but with a different attitude. New York, as the headquarters of the publishing industry, the domestic art market and segments of the television and movies businesses, shines with the credentializing luster of capitalism. Of course, making it here is costly enough to require other forms of paying work, or parental subsidy. The academy offers a degree of security, along with time and space to work, but can also be, in the age of the adjunct instructor, a place of alienation and exploitation.
The argument that threads through many of the essays in “MFA vs NYC” is that both creative business models are, in the jargon of the moment, being disrupted, as technological and economic forces combine to exert downward pressure on writers’ incomes. The signs of this disruption are not hard to find. Magazines that once paid by the word and employed healthy rosters of staff writers are now recruiting readers to contribute articles, offering to compensate them with exposure and “prestige.” Digital music services like Pandora and Spotify pay minuscule royalties to artists whose songs they stream. Meanwhile, in the nondigital domain of musical performance, symphony orchestras and opera companies have undergone several seasons of labor trouble, as managers from Minnesota to the Metropolitan Opera cite sluggish ticket sales and stagnant endowments and try to wrest salary and benefit concessions from unionized rank-and-file musicians and singers.
“Everything is free now,” the folk singer Gillian Welch sang in 2001, reacting prophetically to the threat of Napster.
Everything I’ve ever done
Members of the union representing the Metropolitan Opera chorus wait to start recent contract talks. Credit Sara Krulwich/The New York Times
Gonna give it away
Someone hit the big score
They figured it out
We were gonna do it anyway
Even if it didn’t pay.
Money collected for the Minnesota Orchestra musicians, who were locked out. Credit Jenn Ackerman for The New York Times
Continue reading the main storyContinue reading the main storyAdvertisement
In the years since, the big score has been realized by technology and social media companies, which have enticed users to generate content for nothing. “If there’s something that you want to hear/You can sing it yourself,” Ms. Welch sang. The subsequent history of the Internet has turned this “Atlas Shrugged”-like idea on its head, enshrining democratic amateurism as a cultural norm and a Utopian possibility. We can all do it anyway — make our own videos and songs, write our own poetry and personal essays, exhibit our paintings and our selves — even if it doesn’t pay.
Digital amateurism also sells itself as an alternative route to professional riches. Competitive reality television, Kickstarter campaigns and cooperative self-publishing ventures offer the lure of fame and fortune accomplished without the usual middlemen. The idea that everyone can be an artist — making stuff that can be shared, traded or sold to a self-selecting audience of fellow creators — sits awkwardly alongside the self-contradictory dream that everyone can be a star.
The result is, or threatens to become, a stratification that mirrors the social and economic inequality undermining our civic life. A concentration of big stars, blockbusters and best sellers — Beyoncé, “The Avengers” and their ilk — will sit at the top of the ladder. An army of striving self-starters will swarm at the bottom rungs, hoping that their homemade videos go viral, their self-published memoir catches fire or their MFA thesis show catches the eye of a wealthy buyer. The middle ranks — home to modestly selling writers, semi-popular bands, working actors, local museums and orchestras — are being squeezed out of existence.
The middle — that place where professionals do their work in conditions that are neither lavish nor improvised, for a reasonable living wage — is especially vulnerable to collapse because its existence has rarely been recognized in the first place. Nobody would argue against the idea that art has a social value, and yet almost nobody will assert that society therefore has an obligation to protect that value by acknowledging, and compensating, the labor of the people who produce it.
And artists themselves, outside of unionized industries like television and movies, are unlikely to perceive defending the value of what they do as an interest they hold in common. But it is not necessarily in their nature to be any more individualistic or competitive than anybody else, and they may have a lot to teach the rest of us about the meaning of work. If the supposedly self-involved members of the creative class can organize to assert some control over what they make — the magical stuff now routinely referred to as “content” — then maybe other residents of the beleaguered middle might be inspired by their examples.
Inexpensive goods carry hidden costs, and those costs are frequently borne by exploited, underpaid workers. This is true of our clothes and our food, and it is no less true of those products we turn to for meaning, pleasure and diversion. We will no doubt continue to indulge all kinds of romantic conceits about artists: myths about the singularity of genius or the equal distribution of talent; clichés about flaky, privileged weirdos; inspiring tales of dreamers who persevered. But we also need to remember, with all the political consequences that this understanding entails, that they are just doing their jobs.
Step-by-step cooking videos tutored by some real Chinese Food chef masters. Chinese Food cooking skills training videos. How-to videos for classic Chinese Food dishes (over 1000 dishes).
For sure, this would be a real big project, so I closed the blog temporarily for the upgrading work, and since the human and fund resources are very limited (only me and my work incomes), so If you want to support this project, please donate below via Paypal, or contact me for further help. As for donation reward (all rewards will send to your mailbox when the project goes online):
$1-$10: a free eBook of Chinese Food recipes (blogged on this site before, now i’m working on it). $11-$100: 1 year free access to our future Pro videos, and the eBook. $100-$1000: unlimited access to all videos and anything else. Over $1000: anything I can do for you, just name it.
About Marianne North Although she had no formal training in illustration, and was rather unconventional in her methods, Marianne North had a natural artistic talent and was very prolific. She inherited her interest in travelling from her father, the MP Frederick North. Her political connections served her well, providing her with letters of introduction to ambassadors, viceroys, rajahs, governors and ministers all over the world.
Jan Bergmans's insight:
Marianne undertook her first journey, to the United States, Canada and Jamaica, in 1871. This was followed by an eight-month stay in Brazil, during which she completed more than 100 paintings. She tended to depict landscapes and natural habitats rather than individual plants. One picture, from Brazil, shows a colony of the black, red and yellow butterfly Heliconius erato phyllis roosting on a palm leaf. Another shows Mount Fujiyama, Japan, framed by the climbing shrub Wisteria sinensis.
Marianne travelled to Japan across the American continent in 1875, returning two years later via Sarawak, Java and Sri Lanka. Today her paintings from these places provide an important historical record. Some places are still recognisable from her paintings. For example, stands of the giant bamboo (Dendrocalamus giganteus) that she painted in 1877 at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Peradeniya, Sri Lanka, can still be seen thriving in the gardens today.
After exhibiting her paintings in a London gallery in 1879, Marianne had the idea of showing them at Kew. She wrote to Sir Joseph Hooker, offering to build a gallery if he would agree to display her life’s work in it. The gallery was duly built in a mix of classical and colonial styles. After a visit to Australia and New Zealand, Marianne spent a year arranging her paintings inside the building. It opened to the public in 1882.
Email surveillance violates our fundamental rights and makes free speech risky. This guide will teach you email self-defense in 30 minutes with GnuPG.
Jan Bergmans's insight:
Even if you have nothing to hide, using encryption helps protect the privacy of people you communicate with, and makes life difficult for bulk surveillance systems. If you do have something important to hide, you're in good company; these are the same tools that Edward Snowden used to share his famous secrets about the NSA.
In addition to using encryption, standing up to surveillance requires fighting politically for a reduction in the amount of data collected on us, but the essential first step is to protect yourself and make surveillance of your communication as difficult as possible. Let's get started!
Next Media Animation is one of the largest 3D computer animation studios in Asia, with more than 500 creators and animators based in Taipei, Taiwan. NMA additionally has offices in Hong Kong, Japan, and the United States. NMA is also the fastest 3D animation studio in the world. We are focused on creating, developing, and funding innovative and creative projects including high-quality entertainment contents across multiple media platforms and distribution channels all in a fraction of time it takes traditional studio to do.
Known around the world for its daily CG animated news stories with their millions of followers, NMA is one of the few fully digital content studios in Asia. The studio handles every step of the 3D animation content workflow: from storyboard to real-time 3D production to CG animation. Our vision is to provide more interactive entertainment content through key distribution channels in the fastest time. Next Media Animation opens a new world of rich entertainment experiences to a rapidly mobile worldwide community.
You may recall that this year I joined the production team of Earth Day. Well, don't be surprised if I end up an activist, living in Chile, working on nothing but environmental issues.
Since I started attending seminars on the Chilean economic boom and its foreign investment potential 20 years ago, I've been asking why isn't eco-tourism part of the economic growth equation? Is it an oversight? Or is it that eco-tourism requires environmental laws that target the industrial complex already set in motion and creating ecological havoc in Chile?
Dear leaders: may I introduce you to the most important word today in order to keep ourselves from self-extinction: sustainability. "Sustainability is based on a simple principle: Everything that we need for our survival and well-being depends, either directly or indirectly, on our natural environment. Sustainability creates and maintains the conditions under which humans and nature can exist in productive harmony, that permit fulfilling the social, economic and other requirements of present and future generations." EPA United States Environmental Protection Agency
Hotel Rey Don Felipe brings an architectural design inspired by the traditions and history of the province of Magallanes, with cozy and comfortable interior spaces, where guests will find in addition to charm, modern amenities and technology. Small details that make it an ideal place to host business men and women as well as families and groups with tourism interests in the southernmost city of the continent.
The Beagle Conflict Main: Beagle conflict The Beagle conflict was a border dispute between Chile and Argentina over the possession of Picton, Lennox and Nueva islands and the scope of the maritime jurisdiction associated with those islands that brought the countries to the brink of war in 1978.
The Beagle conflict is seen as the main reason for Chilean support to the United Kingdom during the Falklands War of 1982.
The conflict began in 1904 with the first official Argentine claims over the islands that have always been under Chilean control.:§164 The conflict passed through several phases: since 1881 Chilean islands, since 1904 disputed islands, direct negotiations, submitted to a binding international tribunal, direct negotiations again, brinkmanship and settlement.
The conflict was resolved through papal mediation and since 1984 Argentina recognizes the islands as Chilean territory. The 1984 treaty resolves also several collateral issues of great importance, including navigation rights, sovereignty over other islands in the Fuegian Archipelago, delimitation of the Straits of Magellan, and maritime boundaries south to Cape Horn and beyond.
About the Author: Betty Cornell is not the pensive blond on the book’s front cover—she is the white-gloved brunette on the inset photos and the back cover. In the 1940s, she was one of the country’s busiest models of juniors’ fashions, but she actually got her start modeling plus-size clothes. She tells her own story in this book’s introduction—the story of how she went from a “tubby teen” to the possessor of “one of the smallest waistlines of any model in New York.”
At age 16, she decided to “really go to work” on her weight problem. By 1947, according to this syndicated newspaper column, she stood 5’ 8.5” tall and weighed only 90 pounds! (The article claims that her waist measured 19.5 inches, and her hips and bust were both 30 inches.)
De film Solle is een romantisch liefdesdrama gebaseerd op Solle, een Jongensboek van de Zeeuwse schrijver Andreas Oosthoek, wat naar verwachting in de loop van dit jaar zal verschijnen. Solle, gebaseerd op waargebeurde feiten, vertelt de geschiedenis van twee jongens die aan het begin van een ontluikende adolescentie, op zoek zijn naar een eigen identiteit. Ze worden geconfronteerd met hun liefde voor elkaar in een tijd dat dit onbespreekbaar was. Die wetenschap werkt voor Solle eerst benauwend en beklemmend, later bevrijdend. Een hechte, intieme vriendschap ontluikt, die zich in de wereldstad Parijs verder ontwikkelt. Het verhaal speelt zich af in het naoorlogse, traditionele Zeeland en deels in het mondaine Parijs van de jaren zestig.