A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote

Result #1

A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote when he started to move on his way to the cemetery . . . . It was late afternoon when I saw him . . . but the lights were on. Even as I read this line from John McCain: I am, I am, not a person, a leader, a state, a nation. True. We have a president who speaks these words. Yet there is a difference between a president who moves on his way to the cemetery and one who lives there.Even as an emotional text over four minutes and forty-five seconds ends with a snapping sound effect, the film is a thoughtful, if unresolved, meditation on the need to stand up and get to know someone who has had so many issues but who continues to be somewhat inchoate. For the past five years, Rees has worked with a special-effects camera to produce an animated video of a city setting the video backdrops for his menschs. In each scene, the text is replaced by a moving hand that moves in on the screen, but in each case, the image is projected onto a tape. A single voice, each word, each device that alters the words, the city setting and the hand are at once improvised elements. The playfulness of Rees somberly cryptic texts is tempered by the somberness of his drawings and copious drawings on the screen. Empathy and empathy are poles of emotional expression in Rees work, where the act of reading is facilitated by the process of feeling.Here, Rees drew on his previous work by making use of used manuscript pages, newspaper pages, and advertisements and applying them to the steel frame of the video. The resulting screen-printed images, carefully interspersed with lines, landscapes, and monochromes, recede and rebound against an assortment of background colors and white backgrounds that are sometimes jarringly dull, often with a faint tint of metallic blue.

Result #2

A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote لولاءلىشاءلدنى لمُخُدونتنسلحدخُونلدناً منصلاءقد، بلسلطقانة رسول الله لليسططة للاًلاً اللىختُدوندناً قللطاقوندياتند، بلسلطقانة رسول الله لللىختُدوندناً تفقدسطاناً، بلسلطقانة رسول الله للاًلاً اللىختُدوندناً لليسططة رسول الله لاًلاً اللىختُدوندناً تفقدسطاناً، بلسلطقانة رسول الله للىختُدوندناً لليسططة رسول الله لاًلاً اللىختُدوندناً للىختُدوندناً

Result #3

A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote  (Disembodied Man) from the depths of the lake. The poem reads: / Being on the water is but a momentary gain / Into the dark and unforgiving depths. / And yet / An ocean of misery never sleeps / And yet / No time for dreaming. True hope lies in the light, / On the water. Reflection is not a matter of being clear, / It is a matter of being complex, / But it is a matter of being clear, when it is wrong. Ours is a time when a change is inevitable / And where nothing is impossible to grasp / And where nothing can be grasped, and a wave can never be felt. Time slows to a crawl. Reflection does not depend on strength, / But strength depends on speed. In a strange way, Reflection does depend on accuracy, which makes life seem to have nothing to do with it. The earth is alive, a fire burns. But when this fire is extinguished, the earth stops. . . . Reflection is not an art of beauty, and no art is beautiful in itself, as Michael Fried wrote. It is an art of disaster.Bremner may be an obscure figure, but he is part of the history of the modern world. His work is both novel and powerful, a blend of classic and contemporary that even sets the modern world alight. It is a time when a change is inevitable, but where nothing is impossible to grasp, and where nothing can be grasped, and a wave can never be felt. Time slows to a crawl. Reflection does not depend on strength, but strength depends on speed. In a strange way, Reflection does depend on accuracy, which makes life seem to have nothing to do with it. The earth is alive, a fire burns. But when this fire is extinguished, the earth stops. . . . Reflection is not an art of beauty, and no art is beautiful in itself, as Michael Fried wrote.

Result #4

A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote ??????https://t.co/zS5EZOcWUW — Nancy Levin (@neallevins) May 30, 2016 <|startoftext|>The recent exhibition of Tunga Kadahis recent work was accompanied by a project for the Community of Contemporary Arts of Las Vegas (CALVVA), which is a multistate community organization dedicated to the advancement of art and design through strategic and innovative partnerships with cultural and civic leaders. While there were many works that would be appreciated by most members of the community, the majority were only for the benefit of the general public, an urban core that had been neglected by gentrification. This designation is a well-intentioned one, but has proved to be extremely restrictive in recent years. It strips the artist of any ability to respond to the needs of an underprivileged art community that does not have the resources to offer much in the way of programs or services that extend beyond its walls. In the days following the opening of the show, Kadahisi spent two weeks with the CALVVA in a community garden in Marina Del Rey, bringing together art and gardening in an engaged, uncluttered environment. He planted native plants that function as a reference point for the community to engage in ongoing discussions about local sustainability and how we can develop an understanding of how to maintain and sustain local culture.CALVVA decided to explore this idea through the construction of a new community garden in the western part of the city of Las Vegas. Two adjacent rows of similar growths are to be located at the site, each containing a series of landscape portraits. The closest to the CALVVA building in the northwest corner of the city were those that could be found in the art galleries and that the artist planted in the garden. In each, a small, shrubby vegetable garden has grown from some of the most common ingredients of life, including cabbage, onions, lettuce, and dandelions.

Result #5

A video of interpretive dance to a poem an angry ex wrote ???????? The recurring image in the series of documents of David Adjaye, 2007–2009, whose recent exhibition gave us a sense of the dual life he has maintained in this medium—the artist who created the series and who now completely retains his memory of the lost moment when he was dead—was an image of a grinning man who looks suspiciously like both the artist and the writer of the log, a portrait of a figure who is forever at odds with the work he is making. The artist is the author of a story; but at the same time, he is also the author of the image, and the works he makes are not intended to be read as discrete works of art, but rather as fragments of the same story.This menage à trois of Flemish printed on American-made paper, 2006–2007, seemed to be the first of a new series of documents that connected Adjayses various actions—a set of drawings, a video, a series of photographs, and more—to specific moments in his life, in which he worked in the kitchen of the Reina Sofía as a day laborer. Adjayses most recent work on display here was all five of them. Taking into consideration the influence of Flemish printmaking on his work, the artist painted large, expressive-looking rectangles on boards that he found at the Hacienda González. Within the confines of a single room, they were arranged in a dense web. Stacks of them were arranged on a single wall, perhaps as a kind of instruction for Adjayse, who originally drew on the boards and passed the white-board grids back and forth from room to room, like a sequence of symbols for life. The white-board grid, used to measure time and time at its most precious, is crucial to every story, from the biblical to the contemporary. But to incorporate the grid into his work is not a novel idea.