"Life of Pi" is one of those lyrical, internalized novels that should have no business working on the screen. Quite possibly, it wouldn't have worked if anyone but Ang Lee had adapted it.
The filmmaker who turned martial arts into a poetic blockbuster for Western audiences with "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and made gay cowboys mainstream fare with "Brokeback Mountain" has crafted one of the finest entries in his eclectic resume in "Life of Pi," a gorgeous, ruminative film that is soulfully, provocatively entertaining.
Lee combines a lifetime of storytelling finesse with arguably the most artful use of digital 3-D technology yet seen to bring to life Yann Martel's saga of an Indian youth lost at sea with a ravenous Bengal tiger aboard his small lifeboat. It's a delicate narrative with visceral impact, told with an innovative style that's beguiling to watch and a philosophical voice that compassionately explores how and why we tell stories.
Our playful, not-always-reliable narrator here is Pi Patel, played by newcomer Suraj Sharma as a teen and as a grown man reflecting back on his adventure by Irrfan Khan. As a youth, Pi, his parents and brother set out from India, where the family runs a zoo in a botanical garden, to Canada. Pi's father brings along some of his menagerie on their voyage, including a tiger named Richard Parker with which Pi had a terrifying encounter as a boy.
Their ship sinks in a storm, with Pi the only human survivor aboard a lifeboat with an orangutan, a hyena, a zebra with a broken leg and Richard Parker. Survival of the fittest thins their numbers into a life-and-death duel, and eventually an uneasy truce of companionship, between Richard Parker and Pi.
This could be a one-note story — please Mister Tiger, don't eat me. Yet Lee and screenwriter David Magee find rich and clever ways to translate even Pi's stillest moments, the film unfolding through intricate flashbacks, whimsical voice-overs, harrowing sea hazards and exquisite flashes of fantasy and hallucination.
Lee used real tigers for a handful of scenes, but Richard Parker mostly is a digital creation, a remarkably realistic piece of computer animation seamlessly blended into the live action. The digital detail may be responsible for most of Richard Parker's fearful presence, though no small part of the tiger's impact is due to the nimble engagement of Sharma with a predator that wasn't actually there during production, a task hard enough for experienced performers, let alone a youth with no acting experience.
Digital 3-D usually is an unnecessary distraction not worth the extra admission price. In "Life of Pi," like Martin Scorsese's "Hugo," the 3-D images are tantalizing and immersive, pulling viewers deeper into Pi's world so that the illusion of depth becomes essential to the story.
Not all of the images live up to Lee's digital tiger or 3-D wizardry. Water is notoriously hard to simulate through computer animation, and the waves crashing down around the sinking ship or tossing Pi's lifeboat about have an unfinished, cartoony look. Still, Lee more than compensates with a world of visual wonders, from the simple image of a swimmer framed from below as though he's stroking his way across the sky to a mysterious island populated by a seemingly infinite number of meerkats.
The rest of the cast is mostly inconsequential, including Gerard Depardieu in a fleeting role as a cruel ship's cook. The other people in Pi's life are filtered through this unusual youth's eyes, each of them catalysts in the development of his deep spirituality, which blends Hinduism, Christianity, Islam and other contradictory influences into a weirdly cohesive form of humanism.
Like Martel's novel, the film disdains our inclination to anthropomorphize wild animals by ascribing human traits to them, and then turns around and subtly does just that. Friendship cannot possibly exist between a hungry tiger and a scrawny kid alone on the open water, yet for that boy, if not the cat, the need for togetherness, some commune of spirits, is almost as strong as the need for food and water. The ways in which Lee examines the strange bond between Pi and Richard Parker are wondrous, hilarious, unnerving, sometimes joyous, often melancholy.
Pi's story may not, as one character states, make you believe in God. But you may leave the theater more open to the possibilities of higher things in the life of Pi, and in your own.
"Life of Pi," a 20th Century Fox release, is rated PG for emotional thematic content throughout, and some scary action sequences and peril. Running time: 126 minutes. Three and a half stars out of four.
___
Motion Picture Association of America rating definitions for PG: Parental guidance suggested. Some material may not be suitable for children.
Copyright (2012) Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Read more: http://india.nydailynews.com/newsarticle/7c44e00f440774ad04850e29c256a450/review-lees-life-of-pi-is-inspiring-3-d-art#ixzz2DmJhyi2L
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Artist's life affirms Mission
Four months ago, artist Ray Daub started living on his own again.
He’d spent three years at the Sunday Breakfast Mission in Wilmington, conquering addiction and rediscovering his craft. He’d recently taken on two new art projects. He also had hopes of raising money to create a sculpture outside the mission that would speak to the second chance it gives men like him.
Daub, who died at age 61 on Saturday, never reached that goal, but people close to him said the challenges he faced spoke more to the purpose of the Breakfast Mission than any statue ever could.
“I wish someone had supplied those funds,” said the Rev. Tom Laymon, president and CEO of the Breakfast Mission. “But folks, even if he created that sculpture, would that have served as a greater testament to him than what his life was? No.”
Family and friends gathered Thursday in the sanctuary of the Breakfast Mission – which provides food, shelter, counseling and training to homeless people – to mourn and celebrate Daub and remember his often difficult journey through life.
Years before he arrived at the Breakfast Mission, Daub was a successful artist with the help of his then-wife and fellow sculptor, Mary Wimberly.
With a studio in Newport, Daub and Wimberly worked as a team from 1985-2000. Their talents complemented each other – Wimberly excelled at creating a sculpture’s basic structure and form. Daub enjoyed adding texture and detail.
Daub’s most successful projects included a statue of baseball star Mickey Vernon in Marcus Hook, Pa., a depiction of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” in a window of the Macy’s in Philadelphia and an exhibit at the National Christmas Center in Lancaster County, Pa.
In addition to his artistic talent, friends and family described Daub as a likeable, “mischievous prankster” who brought joy to people around him.
But all of that masked a sadness that Daub couldn’t shake.
“It was a battleground underneath in his heart,” Wimberly said. “I don’t think he knew how much people loved him. He didn’t always know how to accept love.”
He’d spent three years at the Sunday Breakfast Mission in Wilmington, conquering addiction and rediscovering his craft. He’d recently taken on two new art projects. He also had hopes of raising money to create a sculpture outside the mission that would speak to the second chance it gives men like him.
Daub, who died at age 61 on Saturday, never reached that goal, but people close to him said the challenges he faced spoke more to the purpose of the Breakfast Mission than any statue ever could.
“I wish someone had supplied those funds,” said the Rev. Tom Laymon, president and CEO of the Breakfast Mission. “But folks, even if he created that sculpture, would that have served as a greater testament to him than what his life was? No.”
Family and friends gathered Thursday in the sanctuary of the Breakfast Mission – which provides food, shelter, counseling and training to homeless people – to mourn and celebrate Daub and remember his often difficult journey through life.
Years before he arrived at the Breakfast Mission, Daub was a successful artist with the help of his then-wife and fellow sculptor, Mary Wimberly.
With a studio in Newport, Daub and Wimberly worked as a team from 1985-2000. Their talents complemented each other – Wimberly excelled at creating a sculpture’s basic structure and form. Daub enjoyed adding texture and detail.
Daub’s most successful projects included a statue of baseball star Mickey Vernon in Marcus Hook, Pa., a depiction of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol” in a window of the Macy’s in Philadelphia and an exhibit at the National Christmas Center in Lancaster County, Pa.
In addition to his artistic talent, friends and family described Daub as a likeable, “mischievous prankster” who brought joy to people around him.
But all of that masked a sadness that Daub couldn’t shake.
“It was a battleground underneath in his heart,” Wimberly said. “I don’t think he knew how much people loved him. He didn’t always know how to accept love.”
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
In Santa Cruz, balloon artist goes for smiles
The long and narrow balloons, appearing in every color of the rainbow, squeak as they are twisted, stretched and tied into the shape of a turtle, bear or swan.
Suspense hangs in the air as students in the Cabrillo Stroke and Disability Learning Center watch Addi Somekh, an artist in residence at UC Santa Cruz's Cowell College, and seven of his quick-learning pupils create a room full of flowers, animals and fanciful hats made of air and latex. Will the final product look like the audience requested, or will the balloons pop before they fulfill their destiny?
"We see so few things made in front of us," Somekh said Wednesday of his 21-year love affair with balloon art. "And if all is done well, it's transformative."
At first, Somekh's philosophy sounds as silly as balloon-making itself: "I've always just known the most important thing to do is to make sad people happy," he said.
But the simple power of that notion becomes clear watching the UCSC students smile as they pull limp pieces of latex from their aprons and create an orange dog, pink monkey or multicolored ring. Their joy is matched only by the recipients'.
"They did a fantastic job," said Janalee Middleton, a four-year student of the stroke center, who coveted her green, pink and gold flower. "I thought, 'A balloon is not going to make me happy,' but it puts a smile on your face. They make you want to pass it on."
Somekh, who graduated from UCSC in 1994 and now lives in Los Angeles,
entertains and performs team-building exercises for companies. Last year, he was featured in a six-episode reality TV show called "The Unpoppables" on TLC.
But since the fall quarter started at UCSC in September, the 40-year-old artist has been teaching students the skill and ethos of balloon-making as part of an activity not eligible for class credit. Somekh was invited by Cowell College Provost Faye Crosby, whom he thanked for taking a risk on hiring a balloon maker.
Somekh, once a hopeful jazz musician, was just 19 when a carpenter friend showed him how to make balloon art. He never intended to make a career of it, but found comfort in how it relieved anxiety and enabled procrastination.
"This was easy for me," he said. "Everything else was really hard."
After college, Somekh traveled for four years to 34 countries with photographer Charles Eckert making balloon hats to build cultural bridges. The two produced a book from their journeys called "The Inflatable Crown."
"They are like food and music," Somekh said of balloons. "They transcend language barriers."
His two-month training of the UCSC students culminated this week in visits to the Boys and Girls Club, Stroke and Disability Learning Center and, on Saturday, a nursing home.
Victoria Martinez, 21, a Cowell College senior majoring in language studies and education, said she was impressed with Somekh's passion and skill. She admits getting a "an adrenaline rush" when she makes balloon objects to order.
"What I could do in 30 seconds made them so happy, and they'll take it home and talk about it," she said Wednesday, adding that the balloons don't make her nervous. "I'm not afraid to squeeze them and show them who's boss. I got over the fear of these popping quickly."
Kaitlyn Anderson, 21, a programs assistant at Cowell College, said recruiting fellow students to join the balloon brigade wasn't easy.
"I think a lot of people are intrigued by it," she said. "It's hard to get them to come for the first time, but then they stay."
Debora Bone, director of the Cabrillo center, said her students — who are learning through classes, counseling and fitness how to live with disabilities — benefit from interacting with the UCSC crew and watching balloons come to life.
"Having something entertaining is great," Bone said. "Anytime people use language skills and hand skills, they really regain a sense of community and belonging."
Suspense hangs in the air as students in the Cabrillo Stroke and Disability Learning Center watch Addi Somekh, an artist in residence at UC Santa Cruz's Cowell College, and seven of his quick-learning pupils create a room full of flowers, animals and fanciful hats made of air and latex. Will the final product look like the audience requested, or will the balloons pop before they fulfill their destiny?
"We see so few things made in front of us," Somekh said Wednesday of his 21-year love affair with balloon art. "And if all is done well, it's transformative."
At first, Somekh's philosophy sounds as silly as balloon-making itself: "I've always just known the most important thing to do is to make sad people happy," he said.
But the simple power of that notion becomes clear watching the UCSC students smile as they pull limp pieces of latex from their aprons and create an orange dog, pink monkey or multicolored ring. Their joy is matched only by the recipients'.
"They did a fantastic job," said Janalee Middleton, a four-year student of the stroke center, who coveted her green, pink and gold flower. "I thought, 'A balloon is not going to make me happy,' but it puts a smile on your face. They make you want to pass it on."
Somekh, who graduated from UCSC in 1994 and now lives in Los Angeles,
entertains and performs team-building exercises for companies. Last year, he was featured in a six-episode reality TV show called "The Unpoppables" on TLC.
But since the fall quarter started at UCSC in September, the 40-year-old artist has been teaching students the skill and ethos of balloon-making as part of an activity not eligible for class credit. Somekh was invited by Cowell College Provost Faye Crosby, whom he thanked for taking a risk on hiring a balloon maker.
Somekh, once a hopeful jazz musician, was just 19 when a carpenter friend showed him how to make balloon art. He never intended to make a career of it, but found comfort in how it relieved anxiety and enabled procrastination.
"This was easy for me," he said. "Everything else was really hard."
After college, Somekh traveled for four years to 34 countries with photographer Charles Eckert making balloon hats to build cultural bridges. The two produced a book from their journeys called "The Inflatable Crown."
"They are like food and music," Somekh said of balloons. "They transcend language barriers."
His two-month training of the UCSC students culminated this week in visits to the Boys and Girls Club, Stroke and Disability Learning Center and, on Saturday, a nursing home.
Victoria Martinez, 21, a Cowell College senior majoring in language studies and education, said she was impressed with Somekh's passion and skill. She admits getting a "an adrenaline rush" when she makes balloon objects to order.
"What I could do in 30 seconds made them so happy, and they'll take it home and talk about it," she said Wednesday, adding that the balloons don't make her nervous. "I'm not afraid to squeeze them and show them who's boss. I got over the fear of these popping quickly."
Kaitlyn Anderson, 21, a programs assistant at Cowell College, said recruiting fellow students to join the balloon brigade wasn't easy.
"I think a lot of people are intrigued by it," she said. "It's hard to get them to come for the first time, but then they stay."
Debora Bone, director of the Cabrillo center, said her students — who are learning through classes, counseling and fitness how to live with disabilities — benefit from interacting with the UCSC crew and watching balloons come to life.
"Having something entertaining is great," Bone said. "Anytime people use language skills and hand skills, they really regain a sense of community and belonging."
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Intro: Kay Hartmann, graphic designer, teacher and social activist
Seven years ago at age 53, graphic artist Kay Hartmann battled breast cancer and won—but her research about the disease has left her with troubling questions. Now the associate professor in art and design at Chicago’s Columbia College has poured her frustration into a collection of graphic designs that are a call to action.
The collection, titled What’s Wrong with this Picture? was recently on exhibit at the Blink Contemporary Art Gallery in Michigan City, Indiana.
Last summer Blink Gallery owners and artists Suzanne Cohan-Lange and Richard Lange invited Hartmann to create an exhibit expressing her concerns about the focus and future of breast cancer fundraising. Hartmann created large digital prints of a portion of a woman’s body with superimposed printed information, quotes and questions, each intended to provoke thinking about fighting breast cancer in a different way.
One of the quotes: “What has more than 60 years of study, and more than $50 billion spent on breast cancer research in the U.S. alone accomplished? The survival rate is now about 75 percent.” —from “Beating the Odds,” U.S. News and World Report, June 15, 2005
Hartmann wants to know what is causing the number of women in the U.S. diagnosed and treated with breast cancer to go from one in thirty to forty women in the 1940s, to one in eight women today. “A lot of money has been spent on breast cancer, yet little is known about what causes it,” she says.
Hartmann says much more attention, time and money have been spent on treatment options than on looking at possible environmental causes, like toxins in air, water and food. “Having gone through this disease, my conclusion is that we need to illuminate what the priorities are in funding and research, and how we can change those priorities.
“That’s what I hope people take away from this exhibit.”
Hartmann, who lives in New Buffalo, says she hopes her artwork will become a traveling exhibit.
The collection, titled What’s Wrong with this Picture? was recently on exhibit at the Blink Contemporary Art Gallery in Michigan City, Indiana.
Last summer Blink Gallery owners and artists Suzanne Cohan-Lange and Richard Lange invited Hartmann to create an exhibit expressing her concerns about the focus and future of breast cancer fundraising. Hartmann created large digital prints of a portion of a woman’s body with superimposed printed information, quotes and questions, each intended to provoke thinking about fighting breast cancer in a different way.
One of the quotes: “What has more than 60 years of study, and more than $50 billion spent on breast cancer research in the U.S. alone accomplished? The survival rate is now about 75 percent.” —from “Beating the Odds,” U.S. News and World Report, June 15, 2005
Hartmann wants to know what is causing the number of women in the U.S. diagnosed and treated with breast cancer to go from one in thirty to forty women in the 1940s, to one in eight women today. “A lot of money has been spent on breast cancer, yet little is known about what causes it,” she says.
Hartmann says much more attention, time and money have been spent on treatment options than on looking at possible environmental causes, like toxins in air, water and food. “Having gone through this disease, my conclusion is that we need to illuminate what the priorities are in funding and research, and how we can change those priorities.
“That’s what I hope people take away from this exhibit.”
Hartmann, who lives in New Buffalo, says she hopes her artwork will become a traveling exhibit.
Monday, November 26, 2012
Ghanian artist who transforms bottle tops into masterpieces
It was a shimmering metal wall hanging fashioned from thousands of bottle tops that won El Anatsui international acclaim.
During the Venice Biennale in 2007 the Ghanaian sculptor transformed the facade of a museum by draping one of his exquisite metal tapestries over the top of it, causing a sensation in the art world.
Today, he is hot property, collected by the world's major museums and selling his rippling metal installations that nod to indigenous art for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
His latest work goes on display this week at New York's High Line, an elevated park built on an old freight rail line in Manhattan.
"Broken Bridge II" will be his largest installation yet -- a 37-foot-high sculpture made of recycled pressed tin and mirrors woven together with copper wire.
"The idea of the mirrors is to bring in the landmarks of New York ... to celebrate the achievements of where the work is," he said. The Empire State Building is one building reflected in the sculpture.
Read related: America's black cowboys fight for their place in history
El Anatsui is known for his interest in indigenous art and use of materials that he finds locally -- like the whiskey bottle caps that he uses for his tapestries -- and he puts it down to his upbringing which was cut off from traditional Ghanian culture.
He was born in the small town of Anyako in the Volta region of Ghana during British rule. The youngest of 32 children (on his father's side), his mother died when he was a baby and he was brought up in a Presbyterian Mission House by his uncle, a Presbyterian Minister.
"When you're living in a Mission House, you have everything there, you don't need to go out and therefore you don't know too much about indigenous society ... I was kind of isolated from it," he said.
Even as a boy, he knew he wanted to be an artist: "I had a kind of calling." He went on to study Fine Arts at the University of Science and Technology in Kumasi, then an "unimaginable" thing to do.
At that time, only a few years after Ghana achieved independence from the UK in 1957, the post-colonial hangover meant El Anatsui studied a British-style curriculum, only covering European art.
Read related: Chinese sculptor Xiang Jing's painful search for truth
He felt strongly that he wanted to know something about his own indigenous culture.
"Having been estranged from it and exposed to art being produced in Europe and Asia, I was wondering why we didn't have art as well," he said.
He remembers coming across a national cultural center in Kumasi and there began to discover Ghana's "very interesting art forms." They included "adrinka," a series of ideograms or graphic symbols that represent aphorisms.
It reminded El Anatsui of the European quest in science during the Renaissance to use symbols to represent abstract concepts.
The similarity gave him "quite a shock," and was the catalyst for his exploration of his native culture -- and his attempts to, as he puts it, "indigenize my consciousness."
He started using materials from his local environment, recyclables like the bottle caps. "A lot of people call them waste, but to me they are not waste ...There are people who collect these things, smash them and make them into utensils like big cooking pots," he said.
Read related: South African rugby legend: Sport can unify a nation
The bottle tops in his flowing, shimmering installations also have a deeper meaning.
He says they are meant to act as a reminder that African slaves were exchanged for European liquor during the transatlantic slave trade. While the fluidity of the sculptures are meant to reflect the unsteady relationship between Europe, Africa and America.
Despite the deep affinity El Anatsui has for homegrown African culture, he resists being called an African artist.
"I don't know any (artist) who wants to be geographically categorized only. Artists want to be known only as artists," he says.
He says that when the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York first acquired his art, it was for their African Galleries and only later for their Modern and Contemporary Art Galleries.
This "raises so many questions as to what precisely I am -- am I an African artist or an artist?" he asks, adding it is high time museums "revisited their categorizations." He adds: "An artist in India is the same as an artist in Africa, Ghana, Japan or America."
Another thing he doesn't want to be prescriptive about is how his work is hung in galleries.
He sends his work out with no instructions leaving it up to the curators to decide how to install it. At first they are confused but eventually they discover "they themselves are also artists," he says.
"It's a versatile form. I think an art form should be a replica of life itself -- life is not something which is cut and fixed -- it is constantly changing."
During the Venice Biennale in 2007 the Ghanaian sculptor transformed the facade of a museum by draping one of his exquisite metal tapestries over the top of it, causing a sensation in the art world.
Today, he is hot property, collected by the world's major museums and selling his rippling metal installations that nod to indigenous art for hundreds of thousands of dollars.
His latest work goes on display this week at New York's High Line, an elevated park built on an old freight rail line in Manhattan.
"Broken Bridge II" will be his largest installation yet -- a 37-foot-high sculpture made of recycled pressed tin and mirrors woven together with copper wire.
"The idea of the mirrors is to bring in the landmarks of New York ... to celebrate the achievements of where the work is," he said. The Empire State Building is one building reflected in the sculpture.
Read related: America's black cowboys fight for their place in history
El Anatsui is known for his interest in indigenous art and use of materials that he finds locally -- like the whiskey bottle caps that he uses for his tapestries -- and he puts it down to his upbringing which was cut off from traditional Ghanian culture.
He was born in the small town of Anyako in the Volta region of Ghana during British rule. The youngest of 32 children (on his father's side), his mother died when he was a baby and he was brought up in a Presbyterian Mission House by his uncle, a Presbyterian Minister.
"When you're living in a Mission House, you have everything there, you don't need to go out and therefore you don't know too much about indigenous society ... I was kind of isolated from it," he said.
Even as a boy, he knew he wanted to be an artist: "I had a kind of calling." He went on to study Fine Arts at the University of Science and Technology in Kumasi, then an "unimaginable" thing to do.
At that time, only a few years after Ghana achieved independence from the UK in 1957, the post-colonial hangover meant El Anatsui studied a British-style curriculum, only covering European art.
Read related: Chinese sculptor Xiang Jing's painful search for truth
He felt strongly that he wanted to know something about his own indigenous culture.
"Having been estranged from it and exposed to art being produced in Europe and Asia, I was wondering why we didn't have art as well," he said.
He remembers coming across a national cultural center in Kumasi and there began to discover Ghana's "very interesting art forms." They included "adrinka," a series of ideograms or graphic symbols that represent aphorisms.
It reminded El Anatsui of the European quest in science during the Renaissance to use symbols to represent abstract concepts.
The similarity gave him "quite a shock," and was the catalyst for his exploration of his native culture -- and his attempts to, as he puts it, "indigenize my consciousness."
He started using materials from his local environment, recyclables like the bottle caps. "A lot of people call them waste, but to me they are not waste ...There are people who collect these things, smash them and make them into utensils like big cooking pots," he said.
Read related: South African rugby legend: Sport can unify a nation
The bottle tops in his flowing, shimmering installations also have a deeper meaning.
He says they are meant to act as a reminder that African slaves were exchanged for European liquor during the transatlantic slave trade. While the fluidity of the sculptures are meant to reflect the unsteady relationship between Europe, Africa and America.
Despite the deep affinity El Anatsui has for homegrown African culture, he resists being called an African artist.
"I don't know any (artist) who wants to be geographically categorized only. Artists want to be known only as artists," he says.
He says that when the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York first acquired his art, it was for their African Galleries and only later for their Modern and Contemporary Art Galleries.
This "raises so many questions as to what precisely I am -- am I an African artist or an artist?" he asks, adding it is high time museums "revisited their categorizations." He adds: "An artist in India is the same as an artist in Africa, Ghana, Japan or America."
Another thing he doesn't want to be prescriptive about is how his work is hung in galleries.
He sends his work out with no instructions leaving it up to the curators to decide how to install it. At first they are confused but eventually they discover "they themselves are also artists," he says.
"It's a versatile form. I think an art form should be a replica of life itself -- life is not something which is cut and fixed -- it is constantly changing."
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Jerry Earl Johnston: 'Designer faith' trend here to stay
The trappings of American individualism can be seen everywhere. At restaurants, diners show up wearing everything from tennis shorts to tuxedos. Thanks to technology, nobody listens to a lick of music they don't choose to hear. We live in our own little worlds.
And in religion, more and more young people are opting for "designer faith" — a personalized, individual approach to believing.
In fact, a corps of authors has sprung up that this new crop of freethinkers embraces. The name Marianne Williamson comes to mind. So does Annie Dillard.
But the writer most cherished by these free-seekers may be Anne Lamott, a 58-year-old San Franciscan who recently became a grandmother.
Lamott's most influential book is probably "Traveling Mercies," a self-effacing, brutally honest memoir that tells of the author's quest for spiritual meaning in a turbulent world. It is a pilgrim's journal written for fellow pilgrims.
Other books soon followed — including "Plan B," and "Grace (Eventually)."
Now comes Lamott's handbook of prayer, which she has titled "Help, Thanks, Wow." It's a slim book that can be read in one sitting. I picked up a copy last week and did just that.
A feel for what Lamott is up to can be found in this swath from her introduction:
You may in fact be wondering what I even mean when I use the word "prayer."… It is communication from the heart to that which surpasses understanding. Let's say it is communication from one's heart to God … what the Greeks called the Really Real, what lies within us, beyond the scrim of our values, positions, convictions, and wounds. Or let's say it is a cry from deep within to Life or Love, with capital L's.
Welcome to the world of Anne Lamott. I've heard traditional believers describe her type of writing as "wind chime religion." It has a floating, unanchored feel. To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, there seems to be "no there, there."
But to a budding generation of Americans who've grown suspicious of organized religion — kids who see no way to separate religious history from folklore or drain theology of superstition, the Anne Lamotts of the world are a safe harbor. They offer a way to keep the baby (i.e. faith and spirituality) while chucking the bath water (stodgy institutions).
Of course, these new "wind chime" believers are easy to dismiss and even ridicule, but I think that would be a mistake. Each new poll shows their numbers are growing. Personally, I wonder if they aren't New Transcendentalists — that spiritual movement put in motion 200 years ago by another band of American religious renegades. They weren't named Lamott or Dillard, however. They were named Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Louisa Mae Alcott and Margaret Fuller. And they changed the face of American faith.
And in religion, more and more young people are opting for "designer faith" — a personalized, individual approach to believing.
In fact, a corps of authors has sprung up that this new crop of freethinkers embraces. The name Marianne Williamson comes to mind. So does Annie Dillard.
But the writer most cherished by these free-seekers may be Anne Lamott, a 58-year-old San Franciscan who recently became a grandmother.
Lamott's most influential book is probably "Traveling Mercies," a self-effacing, brutally honest memoir that tells of the author's quest for spiritual meaning in a turbulent world. It is a pilgrim's journal written for fellow pilgrims.
Other books soon followed — including "Plan B," and "Grace (Eventually)."
Now comes Lamott's handbook of prayer, which she has titled "Help, Thanks, Wow." It's a slim book that can be read in one sitting. I picked up a copy last week and did just that.
A feel for what Lamott is up to can be found in this swath from her introduction:
You may in fact be wondering what I even mean when I use the word "prayer."… It is communication from the heart to that which surpasses understanding. Let's say it is communication from one's heart to God … what the Greeks called the Really Real, what lies within us, beyond the scrim of our values, positions, convictions, and wounds. Or let's say it is a cry from deep within to Life or Love, with capital L's.
Welcome to the world of Anne Lamott. I've heard traditional believers describe her type of writing as "wind chime religion." It has a floating, unanchored feel. To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, there seems to be "no there, there."
But to a budding generation of Americans who've grown suspicious of organized religion — kids who see no way to separate religious history from folklore or drain theology of superstition, the Anne Lamotts of the world are a safe harbor. They offer a way to keep the baby (i.e. faith and spirituality) while chucking the bath water (stodgy institutions).
Of course, these new "wind chime" believers are easy to dismiss and even ridicule, but I think that would be a mistake. Each new poll shows their numbers are growing. Personally, I wonder if they aren't New Transcendentalists — that spiritual movement put in motion 200 years ago by another band of American religious renegades. They weren't named Lamott or Dillard, however. They were named Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, Louisa Mae Alcott and Margaret Fuller. And they changed the face of American faith.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Musician hears the stories of his audience
As songwriter and musician, Joseph Vogels has toured and played music all over the world, and he has encouraged people in the audience to talk about their lives.
“We tell people, ‘We are here to listen to your story,’” the Mooresville-based musician said in a recent interview. “‘And we don’t care if it takes until three o’clock in the morning. We get people crying their eyes out.
“We find many Christians who are devastated for all sorts of reasons.”
Vogels said that he and his wife, Victoria, have heard stories from people who are angry, shut down and disappointed about something that has happened in their lives. They encourage people to “go and fulfill this gift inside you.”
Their message is encapsulated in the song “Ring the Bell” on Vogels’ new album, “Cymbal Minded.” The album is Vogels’ fourth; he wrote his first 15 years ago, and his song “The Victory Chant” is one of the most recorded worship songs in the last 25 years.
Vogels said that “Ring the Bell,” a gentle rock song, has had a “stunning impact” on listeners. He tells stories about meeting middle-aged artists who have started pursuing their talents for the first time and others who have found personal freedom by talking about their lives and stories for the first time.
Born and raised in New Zealand, Vogels began writing songs when he was in college and recorded solo albums in the late 1990s. He lived in Australia for 12 years and founded a company called The Australian Songwriters Kompany to help others develop their musical talents.
Vogels moved to North Carolina in 2004 to work with producer Elijah Mosely, now of Threshingfloor Audio in Lincolnton. Within months, he had met and married his wife Victoria.
They settled in Mooresville and were long involved with RiverLife Fellowship. Vogels will play a concert there featuring songs from his new album in the coming months.
“Cymbal Minded” is produced by independent record label Tate Music Group. It contains 13 tracks, which range from an African chant to Celtic-inspired music.
Vogels has been working on songs for the album for several years. He co-wrote “I Believe” with a friend from his church who wrote several verses in response to doctors recommending that his wife abort their first child because she had a heart condition and could die in pregnancy.
“She said, ‘No way,’” Vogels said. “She was on bed rest for four months. Their son is 7 and healthy.”
Her husband wrote the song after getting up early to pray and asking that his wife and child wouldn’t die, Vogels said. Vogels added the chorus, which repeats variations of, “I believe.”
He also worked with an African-American choir in Maryland on “Hallelujah Chant,” “There’s Only You,” “My Father Loves Me” and “Amazing Always.”
“They practiced for two months,” Vogels said. “When they sang, it was stunning.”
Vogels may promote his album with a tour in Australia and New Zealand in 2013, and he also plans to continue working with musicians to help them produce outstanding albums.
He has written songs for almost 40 years, and Vogels uses his experience to help songwriters craft strong lyrics and songs.
He said that people still tell him they listen to his first album all of the time.
“We just love it,” Vogels said. “It’s selling as well as my new albums, (even though) you’d think it would be out of date.
“I want to hand whatever I have learned to other Christian musicians.”
Marty Minchin is a freelance writer who covers faith and ministry for The Observer. Email her with story ideas at martyminchin@gmail.com.
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