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Why the mentor-musician bond is so important for classical pianist Yuja Wang

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Video produced by Abhi Singh and Joanne Jennings.

When Michael Tilson Thomas, music director of the San Francisco Symphony, works with precocious young musicians, they generally show up with an entourage of parents, teachers, coaches and publicists. But not Yuja Wang. “What was so different about her, she simply appeared,” the conductor says of the first time he met and started working with the world renowned pianist, who was then just 17. “She said, ‘Hi. I’m here! What do we do?’”

The resulting years have led to a fruitful artistic collaboration between Tilson Thomas and Wang. The conductor, who’s long been a mentor as well as close friend of Wang’s, sees his role as a supportive one. “It’s my responsibility to make the soloist comfortable because that will create a situation in which they can make the most brilliant and delightful contribution for the listeners,” Tilson Thomas says.

Besides being a one of the most in-demand soloists working in classical music today, Wang is a social media sensation who manages to appeal to young people who might not otherwise be drawn to classical music. She is also vivacious, attractive and known for her vibrant onstage outfits – including a dress decorated entirely with silver sequins which Wang says makes her look like a mermaid. She likes to wear it when playing Beethoven.

Once the pianist takes her seat at the keyboard though, it’s all about the music. As Wang puts it: “The music speaks, everything else goes away. The music itself speaks to the soul, it connects humanity.”

Some of the footage in the video comes from PBS Sound Tracks.

The post Why the mentor-musician bond is so important for classical pianist Yuja Wang appeared first on PBS NewsHour.


‘I love the adventure': How painter Alex Katz finds inspiration for his bold works

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At 88, painter Alex Katz is as productive as ever.

In September, Katz returned to his Soho studio in New York City to paint after his annual summer escape to Maine.

Working from small studies to produce large canvasses, watch in the video above as Katz turns a 15×11-feet blank canvass into a green, brown, and white depiction of trees, titled “Cross Light 3.”

“I like the bluntness and the bigness of them,” Katz said of his large-scale, bold paintings. “You have to really want it. And as far as I’m concerned, if you want it, you have to go for it.”

The post ‘I love the adventure': How painter Alex Katz finds inspiration for his bold works appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

How one Guatemalan family joined Alaska’s small Hispanic community

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For Kimberly Mejía Gúzman, her mother and her five siblings, moving from Guatemala to Anchorage brought the promise of new opportunities. But leaving Guatemala behind also meant learning a new language, community and way of life.

On her first day of school, Gúzman struggled to navigate her classes and communicate with her peers, she said. “When I first got to school, they showed me where my locker was but then they left me alone,” she said. “The problem was that all the classes were in English … it was kind of painful because I didn’t find anyone who could tell me, ‘We can help you.'”

Gúzman’s family are among more than 1.2 million Guatemalans living in the U.S., according to U.S. census data from 2011. Of that group, 38 percent live in Western states, with the most people of Guatemalan origin living in California. But the Hispanic community in Alaska is relatively small; approximately 6.8 percent of Alaska’s population is of Hispanic origin, as opposed to 17.4 percent of the U.S. population, according to the 2014 census.

In the past year, the family has worked to adjust to Anchorage with the help of their local church, who has helped them make Spanish-speaking contacts. Gúzman said she wants to return to her home country one day. “I’m proud of being from Guatemala. Every time I see the flag I want to raise it up in the sky because it is the place where my family comes from, the land that saw me being born,” she said.

Video produced by Noelia González. Local Beat is an ongoing series on Art Beat that features arts and culture stories from PBS member stations around the nation.

The post How one Guatemalan family joined Alaska’s small Hispanic community appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

Why appearing on ‘The Sartorialist’ is the ultimate street-style badge

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"There’s something deep and soulful about his eyes and about the calmness of his expression. When you add that to the writing on his face, which you can’t really tell at first if it’s a permanent tattoo or not. It’s the mystery of not knowing that draws you in." Photo by Scott Schuman

“There’s something deep and soulful about his eyes and about the calmness of his expression,” photographer Scott Schuman said. “When you add that to the writing on his face, which you can’t really tell at first if it’s a permanent tattoo or not. It’s the mystery of not knowing that draws you in.” Schuman’s new book, “The Sartorialist: X,” will be published in October. Photo by Scott Schuman

Mention that you were photographed by the “Sartorialist” to any young chic urbanite, and you’re bound to see their face light up with excitement.

For years now, appearing on photographer Scott Schuman’s blog The Sartorialist has been an elusive badge of honor for street fashionistas in fashion capitals like New York and Milan. The blog profiles the street style of everyday people around the world for whom clothing represents an important element of personal expression. Schuman captures both the extravagant and the quotidienne, always with an eye for the small details.

On Oct. 27, Schuman will publish his third book, “The Sartorialist: X,” a celebration of the many cultures, textures and patterns from fashion around the world. Photos of fashion editors, fabric salesmen and stylists appear on his blog alongside those of porters in a spice market in Mumbai or rural children in Peru. We caught up with Schuman and chatted about how his photos are never just about the clothes.

Schuman said what strikes him most about this shot is the "androgynous" look of the subject. "The hair is great, the way that she looks directly at you, and it’s not a judgmental way, it’s not. There’s something about the gaze in her eye that really connects, I think, with the viewer, but in a way that you’re able to look back at her." Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman said what strikes him most about this shot is the “androgynous” look of the subject. “The hair is great, the way that she looks directly at you, and it’s not in a judgmental way, it’s not. There’s something about the gaze in her eye that really connects, I think, with the viewer, but in a way that you’re able to look back at her.” Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman said the posture of this girl in Varanasi, India reminded him of a painting. "I never consider myself a photojournalist, I don’t consider myself a fashion photographer. It’s just clothes help me tell the story and help me kind of see the beginning of the photograph. And to me they play a role like how a costume designer would try and tell a story through the costume in a movie," he said. Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman said the posture of this girl in Varanasi, India reminded him of a painting. “I never consider myself a photojournalist; I don’t consider myself a fashion photographer. It’s just that clothes help me tell the story and help me kind of see the beginning of the photograph. And to me they play a role like how a costume designer would try and tell a story through the costume in a movie,” he said. Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman took this photo in Soweto, South Africa. This man's style connoted that he "was trying to figure out how to fit into that outside world while he still lived in his place," he said. "That’s something I like to try to capture, because it’s not ever just the clothes. None of the photographs are ever just about the clothes." Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman took this photo in Soweto, South Africa. This man’s style said that he “was trying to figure out how to fit into that outside world while he still lived in his place,” Schuman said. “That’s something I like to try to capture, because it’s not ever just the clothes. None of the photographs are ever just about the clothes.” Photo by Scott Schuman

"This guy was very conscious of the way he was dressed. He knew that he was dressed that way. And his friends all had kind of variation," he said. "There’s certain stylistic choices that he made that kind of set him apart from the crowd." Photo by Scott Schuman

Schuman took this photo in Mumbai, India. “This guy was very conscious of the way he was dressed. He knew that he was dressed that way. And his friends all had kind of variation,” he said. “There’s certain stylistic choices that he made that kind of set him apart from the crowd.” Photo by Scott Schuman

"When I turned that corner and I saw that guy there in the composition and the, the elements of color of all those shades of black and everything, and him in that place, to me it was an obvious photograph," he said. Schuman responded to the critique that his work was exploitative of impoverished subjects. "I understand the world through clothing and how people dress," he said. Photo by Scott Schuman

“When I turned that corner and I saw that guy there in the composition and the elements of color of all those shades of black and everything, and him in that place, to me it was an obvious photograph,” he said. Schuman responded to the critique that his portraits of low-income people were exploitative by saying that fashion is a subject that is relevant to everyone. “I understand the world through clothing and how people dress,” he said. Photo by Scott Schuman

"I was in the beautiful seaside town of Rimini visiting my friend Alessandro Squarzi and we had planned a day at the beach with his friends. Unfortunately we were rained out basically the whole day, but were able to take refuge in one of the beach cafes and enjoy a long slow, beautiful Italian lunch. The cafe had a sort of carnival theme to which we found different carnival props which of course, quickly wound up on our heads," Schuman said. Photo by Scott Schuman

“I was in the beautiful seaside town of Rimini visiting my friend Alessandro Squarzi and we had planned a day at the beach with his friends. Unfortunately we were rained out basically the whole day, but were able to take refuge in one of the beach cafes and enjoy a long slow, beautiful Italian lunch. The cafe had a sort of carnival theme to which we found different carnival props which of course, quickly wound up on our heads,” Schuman said. Photo by Scott Schuman

"I’ve known Delfina Delettrez for a few years. She’s a jewelry designer in her own right who also happens to belong to the Fendi family. She’s made a name for herself creatively but also as one of the next generation style stars. There’s not many people I’m curious to see what they’re wearing each time I see them, but she’s one of them. She doesn’t let the weight of generations of good taste that comes with her family name, stop her from taking chances. She literally caught my eye with this blue eyeliner that you can’t not notice." Photo by Scott Schuman

“I’ve known Delfina Delettrez for a few years. She’s a jewelry designer in her own right who also happens to belong to the Fendi family. She’s made a name for herself creatively but also as one of the next generation style stars. There’s not many people I’m curious to see what they’re wearing each time I see them, but she’s one of them. She doesn’t let the weight of generations of good taste that comes with her family name stop her from taking chances. She literally caught my eye with this blue eyeliner that you can’t not notice.” Photo by Scott Schuman

The post Why appearing on ‘The Sartorialist’ is the ultimate street-style badge appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

Don’t know what to cook? Ruth Reichl has the answer

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Ruth Reichl's Butternut Squash Soup. Photo courtesy of Random House

Ruth Reichl’s butternut squash soup. Photo by Mikkel Vang

Editor’s Note: Ruth Reichl, a former restaurant critic for the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times, author of three books and editor of Gourmet magazine until it was shuttered in 2009, recently published her new book, “My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life.” We asked Reichl, who NPR called a “a vital architect of today’s contemporary food culture,” what to cook in tricky everyday situations. Watch tonight’s broadcast of the NewsHour for more.


You’re invited to a Halloween-themed potluck

This is easy: Swiss Pumpkin. (It’s in one of my books – I think “Comfort Me With Apples.”) You hollow out a pumpkin, fill it with layers of bread and grated Gruyère cheese, pour in half and half, put the top back on the pumpkin and bake in a slow oven for about 3 hours, until you have a wonderful, rich, gooey fall pumpkin dish. Everybody loves it.

Ruth Reichl recommends vanilla ice cream and hot fudge for a sleepless night.

Ruth Reichl recommends vanilla ice cream and hot fudge for a sleepless night. Photo by Getty Images

It’s 4 a.m., and you can’t sleep

Nothing like climbing out of bed in a sleeping house and going into the kitchen to concoct a pot of hot fudge. Then you pour it over cold vanilla ice cream and eat it all by yourself as a personal little treat. Best antidote to insomnia that I know.

A date is coming over for the first time — and it’s last minute

I always keep the ingredients for spaghetti alla carbonara on hand: all you need is spaghetti, eggs, bacon and Parmesan cheese. It’s sexy and delicious — and can be made in the time it takes the pasta water to boil.

You’re having people over, and you don’t want them to stay too long

Ruth Reichl's Potatoes au Gratin. Photo courtesy of Random House

Ruth Reichl’s potatoes au gratin. Photo by Mikkel Vang

I can’t imagine why you’d invite people if you don’t want them to stay. But assuming you have done this foolish thing, feed them a rich, heavy meal that will make them so sleepy they simply can’t stay. Start with fried oysters. Go on to steak, potatoes au gratin, a salad with blue cheese dressing. They’ll probably flee before dessert, but if they don’t, give them cheesecake and they’ll be out the door the minute they’ve finished the last forkful.

You need to cook a meal for a big family, and only one of them is vegetarian

If it’s only one meal, I’d honor the vegetarian; so many wonderful options. (But if it’s an everyday affair, I don’t think they get to dictate the permanent menu.) Good vegetarian meal option: Butternut squash soup. Spinach gnocchi with tomato sauce. Homemade bread. A big salad. Lemon tart.

Ruth Reichl’s Potatoes au Gratin

Shopping list:
1½ cups cream
2½ pounds
Boiling potatoes (such as Yukon Gold)
½ pound Gruyère cheese (grated)

Staples:
2 cups milk
2 cloves garlic (smashed)
1 teaspoon salt
Pepper
Whole nutmeg
Butter

Serves 6-8

The secret to these potatoes is that they’re cooked twice. First you plunk them into a big bath of milk and cream that’s been infused with just a touch of garlic, and bring them gently to a boil. Then you dump them into a baking dish, grate a bit of fresh nutmeg over them, and sprinkle the entire top with Gruyère before putting them into the oven where they drink up all the liquid as the cheese turns into a crisp crust.

Pour cream and milk into a large pot. Peel the potatoes, and slice them as thinly as you can, putting them into the pot as they are ready. Add the garlic, the salt, and a few good grinds of pepper and bring it all slowly to a boil.

Meanwhile, butter a gratin dish or a rectangular baking pan. When the milk comes to a boil, remove it from the heat and pour the contents into the buttered gratin dish. Grate a bit of fresh nutmeg over the top and cover with grated Gruyère cheese.

The baking is pretty forgiving; you can bake at anywhere from 300 to 400 degrees, depending on what else you have in the oven. The timing’s forgiving, too; at the lower temperature it will take about an hour to absorb the liquid and turn the top golden, at 400 degrees it will take about 35 minutes.

Let it rest for at least 15 minutes—but this, too, is forgiving. If the potatoes have to wait an hour, they will be absolutely fine.

Excerpted from “My Kitchen Year: 136 Recipes That Saved My Life” by Ruth Reichl. Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Reichl. Excerpted by permission of Random House, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

The post Don’t know what to cook? Ruth Reichl has the answer appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

How an everyday encounter inspired me as a photographer

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Eddie, a Vietnam vet, shines shoes on Georgia Ave. in Washington, D.C. Photo by Tia Thompson

Eddie shines shoes on Georgia Ave. in Washington, D.C. Photo by Tia Thompson

Washington, D.C.-based portrait photographer Tia Thompson focuses her work on “black folks living their everyday lives,” she told the NewsHour. In this week’s edition of Parallax, she tell us the story behind the portrait above.

“You’re a king. Don’t let anyone tell you different,” Eddie told me as he shined my black boots. Eddie posted up on D.C.’s Georgia Avenue every Sunday, all summer, in front of a couple hipster bars, hoping people would get used to seeing him enough to let him stay and pay him to shine their boots.

Eddie is a U.S. Marine Corps Vietnam veteran, he said. He was living in transitional housing down the street. His business cards were old cards from other people with his information written on the back. The sincerity and openness in the way he engaged with folks walking by made me want to know more about him.

“I appreciate your business and you sitting here with me,” he said. “When people see you sitting here, they’ll know that I’m okay, and hopefully they’ll come up, too.”

The word “parallax” describes the camera error that occurs when an image looks different through a viewfinder than how it is recorded by a sensor; when one camera gives two perspectives. Parallax is a blog where photographers offer the unexpected sides and stories of their work. Tell us yours or share on Instagram at #PBSParallax.

The post How an everyday encounter inspired me as a photographer appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

Writing workshop empowers teens to defy stereotypes

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Every year, Sarah Rafael Garcia, founder of the Barrio Writers youth writing workshop, begins a class by asking students what words they think represent teenagers or youth in our society. The descriptions they provide in response are “always negative,” she said.

Garcia began the Barrio Writers program in 2009 with small workshops at El Centro Cultural de Mexico in Santa Ana, Ca., to give teenagers a chance to counter those stereotypes in writing. The program has created week-long, intensive programs on university campuses in several other states, including Arizona and Texas, as well as several published anthologies.

Student writers in the workshops write poetry and prose in whatever language they prefer on issues they normally would not address in a classroom, she said. The students collaborate to give each other feedback and improve their storytelling throughout the week.

The workshop is meant to empower young people to speak out about their experiences, bringing new voices into the world of literature, Garcia said. “Your voice is your weapon. This is how you have a voice in society, by communicating your ideas,” she said.

Video produced by Galia Farber, Joe Rocha and Eve Tarlo for KLRU’s Arts in Context. Local Beat is an ongoing series on Art Beat that features arts and culture stories from PBS member stations around the nation.

The post Writing workshop empowers teens to defy stereotypes appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

This is what happens when Native Powwow meets electronic dance music

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A Tribe Called Red is mixing Native Canadian Powwow with electronic dance music to create a unique sound. Photo by Falling Tree Photography

A Tribe Called Red is mixing Native Canadian Powwow with electronic dance music to create a unique sound. Photo by Falling Tree Photography

At first, Bear Witness, an Ottawa-based DJ, only meant to throw a party for his friends.

In 2007, Witness had been playing the Ottawa club scene for over a decade when he and his friend Ian Campeau, who spins records under the name “Deejay NDN,” decided to host “Electric Pow Wow,” a party night geared at the city’s indigenous community. They advertised around Native spaces like the local community center. That first night, they drew fans, Native and non-Native alike, from across the city.

A few years later came what Witness called the “eureka moment.” At that point, with the addition of Dan “DJ Shub” General, the group of indigenous Canadians was spinning under the name A Tribe Called Red. Experimenting with producing their own mashups, they were laying tracks using standard club fare — electronic, hip hop, reggae, dubstep — when someone dropped in a Powwow sample.


It fit perfectly.

Powwow music is typically played at intertribal gatherings to accompany dancers, so “you’re remixing dance music with dance music,” said Witness. “[Powwow] is really music that’s in the same vein, specifically made for dance parties. The two music [forms] just really clicked together because they have that same energy.”

Since then, A Tribe Called Red has produced two full-length albums of highly danceable, politically charged music that combines traditional Native singing and drumming with club music and hip-hop beats along with samples from pop culture and the news. The group toured North America in the spring of 2013, and then toured Europe after adding Tim “2oolman” Hill, who replaced DJ Shub after he left in the spring of 2014.

Their trademark “Powwow step” style defies easy categorization, but is attracting recognition. Last year they won a JUNO, Canada’s highest music award, for Breakthrough Group of the Year, the first Indigenous artists to win in a non-Indigenous category.

It’s a sign of “this amazing diffusion that’s happening,” said Anya Montiel, a Yale Ph.D. candidate who studies Native American art and culture and who has written about the group for the Smithsonian’s “American Indian” magazine.

“With A Tribe Called Red, they’re all from Canada, but they’ve really shown…how those borders are government-produced,” she said. “It’s so fantastic that they really are dissolving these borders. They are able to bring this contemporary Native experience to so many people.”


They accomplish this in part by “holding true to some of the core musical features of Powwow music,” Christopher Scales, an ethnomusicologist who specializes in Native American music and Powwow culture, said. The pulsing, unceasing dubstep beat the group uses mirrors the steady, central host drum that anchors Powwow music.

Scales also points to a particular rhythmic structure — a unique syncopation, where the melody or vocals are purposefully off-beat — that is sometimes lost when non-Native musicians sample Native music.

“People who have tried to incorporate Native singing into steady 2:4 or 4:4 rhythms, they don’t get that floating quality to the music,” Scales said. “That’s something that Powwow musicians and dancers understand, that off-the-beat singing. They understand that that’s an essential element of what makes cool Powwow songs.”

By using these same musical elements, Tribe is reclaiming the right to carry on their own heritage. In the song “General Generations,” the group samples from 80-year-old archival recordings of some Cayuga tribe rituals. In the 1930s, anthropologist Frank G. Speck worked with Cayuga chief Alexander J. General to observe and record the rituals. Those recordings were tucked away in the Archives of Traditional Music at Indiana University before Tribe sampled them.

“Some people might think, those recordings sit in that time,” said Montiel. “But [A Tribe Called Red] are able to pull it forward.”


Native culture “is very much a continuance,” Montiel said. “That culture is not static, there is this continuum that goes on.”

A Tribe Called Red engages in that continuum as a way of protesting forms of cultural appropriation that objectify, fetishize or mock Native tradition. This has long been an important issue to the group. Campeau fought to change the name and mascot of an Ottawa-based football team that was named after a Native racial slur. (Washington, D.C.’s football team bears the same name and mascot.)

And before he DJed full time with Tribe, Witness was an experimental video artist, crafting installations specifically “looking at misrepresentation of Indigenous people in media, recontextualizing it, taking it apart, finding ways to take the negativity away from images and focus on things that I find empowering,” he said.

Now Witness’ video work is central to the group’s live shows. He creates visual mashups of stereotypical, racially charged representations of Native people – think “Cowboy-and-Indian” scenes in Westerns, old Disney cartoons or that moment in “Back to the Future 3″ when Marty McFly gets chased by a whooping tribe on horseback. The group DJs in front of huge screens displaying this work, which they say is intentionally jarring in the context of a dance party.

“We’re forcing people to be confronted with this imagery in a non-confrontational environment,” said Witness. “At some point you’re having to encounter it on a personal level. Rather than us saying, ‘This is racist and you’re racist for not knowing that,’ we’re allowing people to interact with [these images] through their own experiences.”

The performances let the audience draw their own conclusions about how Native people are represented, Montiel said. “For the non-Native audience, they’re becoming inundated by these racist and troubling images, which causes them to say, ‘I grew up with this and thought it was OK, but now that I’m seeing this, one after the other, this isn’t a proper portrayal of a people,’” he said.

Sometimes the substance of Tribe’s music is expressly political. The song “Woodcarver” splices together news footage about John T. Williams, an unarmed Native man killed by Seattle police in 2010, which sparked protests against law enforcement’s interactions with indigenous communities.

In fact, the act of creating Powwow music is “itself a political act,” Scales said. Powwow was banned in North America for much of the 20th century in a wave of “assimilation” laws that outlawed many Native religious practices and the teaching of traditional languages.

For Witness, being Native is inherently political. “I come from a position where it’s not a choice to be political, it’s the nature of who I am and the environment that I was raised in,” he said. “[I]t would be irresponsible not to address indigenous issues and politics … We don’t have the luxury to ignore that.”


The group’s “Electric Pow Wow” club night is still going strong: it frequently sells out Ottawa’s Babylon Nightclub every second Saturday of the month. A rare instance of Native youth seeing themselves represented in broader pop culture, the club night is a powerful presence in the city, Witness said.

“When you’re an Indigenous person living in a colonized country, you find yourself underrepresented or misrepresented when growing up in that environment, and it’s difficult to find heroes,” said Witness. “When you’re from a group of people generally depicted fairly negatively, it becomes really hard to find those anchor points that most people have within pop culture.”

A Tribe Called Red tours reservations to engage with Native youth and just wrapped a tour this month. And the group frequently hosts workshops before its concerts, so attendees have an opportunity to speak explicitly about how they relate to the group’s work and the ideas that come up within their performances.

Witness pointed out that young Native kids do have role models and revered elders within their own communities. But it’s different when the figures that you relate to and admire are accepted, and respected, within a larger cultural realm, he said.

“We’ve always had those people in our community, but only in our communities,” Witness said. “It’s different when every community is looking at the things that we identify with.”

In this way, A Tribe Called Red connects Native and non-Native fans alike with a rich, diverse, living, dancing culture. That was apparent even at the first Electric Powwow club night. That party “was never specifically for Indigenous people,” Witness said. “It was geared toward them but everyone was invited and everyone showed up … We made the party to be inclusive of indigenous people, and everyone who feels unincluded at some point decided to show up and be part of it.”

“That’s one of the beautiful things about this project from the start,” he said. “Everyone felt included.”

Listen to more of A Tribe Called Red’s music below.

The post This is what happens when Native Powwow meets electronic dance music appeared first on PBS NewsHour.


Singer Azizaa Mystic renounces Ghana’s Christian past for its spiritual roots

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Photo by Ire Zireja

Azizaa Mystic has opened for artists such as Rick Ross, Fabulous, Beenie Man and Ghanian “Highlife” legend, Ebo Taylor. Photo by Ire Zireja

When Ghanian artist Azizaa Mystic started taking her music career seriously, she began to incorporate West African deities into her lyrics. “If I’m going to sing, I’m going to sing about what I’m passionate about,” Mystic said.

In her new music video “Black Magic Woman,” she contrasts spiritual practices from West Africa, including Vodun (which is sometimes called Voodoo), and Christianity. To her, Christianity marks a departure from Ghana’s spiritual traditions, and now that she has the mic, she’s reclaiming Ghana from Christianity through music one song at a time.

Ghana is one of the most religious countries in the world. Ninety-six percent of people call themselves religious, according to a recent International Gallup Poll. And most of them — 71.2 percent — follow Christianity, which was introduced as early as the 15th century through the early modern Atlantic slave trade. The number of people practicing traditional religions is only 5.2 percent of the population.

Mystic was raised Christian in Ghana, but left the country and moved to the U.S. at the age of ten. Now, having left the church, her music is influenced by indigenous spiritual practices from West Africa, including Vodun. “What I needed to do was go back to where I came from, or sankofa — return to my roots,” she said.

We spoke with Mystic about how her music marks a return to the traditions that she says are vital to understanding Ghana.

How has Ghana, your native country, influenced your music?

With the “Black Magic Woman” song — it has a lot to do with your traditional music. It’s derived from traditional music — like Ewe music or Agbadza. A lot of the sounds in the instruments and in the beat — it’s all Agbadza sound blended with Trap [music] and 808 [drums]. It has a little bit of Adowa, which is from the Ashanti tribe in Ghana. Everything is really inspired from the traditional sound.

For me Vodun is not a religion, it’s a way of life. … The ground you walk on is Vodun — there’s Vodun in it. The very air we breathe is Vodun.
How did you get your start in music?

I come from a family of musicians. They mostly perform traditional music — gospel. My mom sings, my dad sings. I use to wake up when I was a kid to my mom and dad singing. My dad training his voice. I tried to do what I can — listen and memorize. And then we would go to church and sing. I came from music.

Can you describe your relationship to Vodun?

Vodun is the African way of how Westerners would call God. It’s the spiritual system of the African people. The real term is not Voodoo — it’s Vodun. It’s been Westernized as Voodoo. It’s a spiritual connection to the universe, to our God.

For me Vodun is not a religion, it’s a way of life. It’s our core of everyday life. That reflects in the music because it is part of me. The ground you walk on is Vodun — there’s Vodun in it. The very air we breathe is Vodun.

Photo by Kwabena Danso

In Mystic’s song “Black Magic Woman,” she portrays the practice of juju, or agbala, and confronts Christian missionaries. Photo by Kwabena Danso

How have religion or spirituality influenced the way you create music?

I can’t really pinpoint how Christianity influenced me. It doesn’t pertain to me because I don’t believe in Christianity. For Vodun, I would say everything. For example, one instrument I play, the gong — it’s the talking drum. In Vodun, drums are known for calling spirits because of the vibrations. That was the reason why [slave masters] stopped African slaves from playing drums.

Why did you decide to make music about your separation from Christianity?

Colonialism has led Africans to think that this religion is for us, but really it is not. Since the days of colonization, we’ve been separated from our spiritual foundation.They basically came with the Bible, gave us the Bible, we closed our eyes to pray, and then they took our land for themselves and we were left in chains.

In the opening scene of your new music video for your song “Black Magic Woman,” two missionaries pressure a woman to convert to Christianity. How much of this is based on our own experience?

Missionaries always direct angry messages towards me. In Ghana, the normal look — the accepted look — is a weave or permed hair. You know, to have a straight face [is] the perfect image. I have piercings and my hair is colored. And when I walk down the street in Ghana, I get all kinds of names.

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This photo changed my perspective on an 11-year-old’s power

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Photo by Micha Paulateer and courtesy of Scholastic.

Photo by Micha Paulateer and courtesy of Scholastic Art & Writing Awards

Micha Paulateer, a photographer and freshman at the University of Antelope Valley, in in Lancaster, California, won the 2015 Gold Medal for Photography from the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards for this photo of her brother. In this week’s edition of Parallax, she tells us how a photo can change our perspective on who has power in our society.

Every time I ask my 11-year old brother Malachai what he wants to be when he grows up, he replies, “A police officer.”

But in the eyes of the world, he is a child. He has no control over anything, not even himself. Everyone else tells him what to do, and he just goes along doing what he’s told, sometimes. All he wants in the world is to be in charge, to be the boss.

In this picture, he is the boss. When I saw it for the first time, I thought, “I want you to be a police officer, too.” With this picture, I see him as a kid who has all doors open to him. He can walk through whichever one he chooses.

The word “parallax” describes the camera error that occurs when an image looks different through a viewfinder than how it is recorded by a sensor; when one camera gives two perspectives. Parallax is a blog where photographers offer the unexpected sides and stories of their work. Tell us yours or share on Instagram at #PBSParallax.

The post This photo changed my perspective on an 11-year-old’s power appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

Why designers in Havana, Seattle and Tehran are ‘more alike than different’

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Video produced by Stacey Jenkins and Laila Kazmi for KCTS.

When artists in Seattle, Havana and Tehran get together, there are “no politics [and] no prejudices.” That’s the premise for a new traveling exhibit displaying the work of graphic designers in all three cities, co-curated by artists from each city.

The idea began with a collaboration between Seattle-based designer Daniel Smith and Cuban designer Pepe Menéndez, who met when Smith was in Havana 10 years ago to participate in an exhibition there. Smith said the trip made him consider the similarities between artists in Seattle and Havana.

“I got to meet curators and designers and saw the work that was happening there,” Smith said. “It was very personal, very raw, and it sort of felt [similar to] what was happening in Seattle.”

Menéndez and Smith decided to co-curate a poster show featuring designers based in both cities. “I felt like it was important as a citizen to do something, to be engaged with people from other countries and to travel, and especially to places like Cuba,” Smith said. The Seattle-Havana show debuted at the 2007 Bumbershoot festival at Seattle Center.

At the time, the U.S. and Cuba did not have a diplomatic relationship, but Smith said collaboration across borders was still possible. “No one along the way ever said, ‘Why are you working with the Cubans?’” Smith said.

After Seattle, the duo displayed the poster show in Havana and donated the work to a museum. But Smith wanted to expand the project and began researching graphic designers working in Iran’s capital. He traveled to Tehran, where he met designer and eventual co-curator Iman Raad. They collaborated to produce a Seattle-Tehran poster show in 2008.

For the current exhibit, Smith, Menéndez and Raad joined forces to showcase the work of all three cities in a poster display. “When we see what the other is doing — and recognize ourselves — we arrive at the truth; we are more alike than different,” the group said in a statement on their website.

The show is educational for designers in each of the cities, Menéndez said.

“For me, and for my colleagues and friends in Havana, this show … allows us to learn more about Tehran, because it’s very far away; it’s a different culture, different language, different tradition,” Menéndez said. “What you are doing is learning more about yourself when you look at the other reality.”

The poster show premiered in Seattle in September and will travel to Tehran in January 2016 before finishing in Havana in April.

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The chilling, abstract blueprints of war from the mind of Syrian artist Waseem Marzouki

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"Platform-34.532298,69.153442" (2014). Mixed media on canvas. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Platform-34.532298,69.153442″ (2014). Mixed media on canvas. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

When I asked Syrian artist Waseem Marzouki to tell me about one of his recent projects, he immediately answered: “Getting my family out of Syria.”

Marzouki has lived in Doha, the capital of Qatar, for eight years, but he said until recently some members of his family were based in Dara’a, Syria — the city where a group of teenagers was arrested after spray-painting protests against Syrian President Bashar al-Assad in March 2011. The teens’ arrest and torture fanned the flames of anti-Assad sentiment at the beginning of the Syrian revolution.

Last week, Russia launched cruise missiles at targets in Syria, marking an escalation of its involvement in the four-year Syrian civil war. Russian President Vladimir Putin said that Russian airstrikes, which began in late September, were meant to help Syrian President Bashar al-Assad’s regime and to fight “militants and terrorists,” but its strikes have largely hit areas controlled by mainstream opposition groups including those trained by the CIA. The war appears to be “edging closer to an all-out proxy war between the United States and Russia,” The New York Times reported Monday.

These facts of war, Marzouki said, have become a disturbing routine for many Syrians. “It was very difficult, but now we [are] used to it, you know? It’s very normal for us now, for Syrians, to talk about this,” he said.

"Born 2 Die A" (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Born 2 Die A” (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

Art, politics and military images collide in Marzouki’s work as he explores the power systems at play in the war. His series “The Firm” (2014) is grounded in images of tanks and soldiers, both common sights in Syria as different forces fight for control of the land and its resources, he said.

Marzouki normally starts with a central image, then layers symbols and writing in various languages over that image. The convergence of these symbols — some of which come from Shi’a, Sunni, Christian or Jewish culture — reflects the cultural diversity of the region and the many voices present in the war, he said.

"Tank" (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Tank” (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

For Marzouki, the paintings are a road map for understanding the chain of events in Syria.

“When I see this painting after 10 years, if I’m still alive, I can understand what was happening there, I can remember everything that was happening and I can tell everything, without forgetting details,” he said. “When you find writing on the tree, like [from] you and your loved one, this is the same.”

Marzouki was born and grew up in al-Thawrah, an hour’s drive from Raqqa, which has been called the “capital” of the Islamic State’s territory in northern Syria.

Marzouki’s father moved there to work as an engineer on the building of three dams in the region — the Tabqa Dam, Tishrin Dam and Baath Dam. As the Soviet Union had provided funding and engineers for the Tabqa Dam, Soviet influence was strong throughout the city, and this cultural overlap appeared in Marzouki’s work at an early age, he said.

“I remember when I start[ed] drawing in school, my teachers used to tell me, ‘You are drawing something that looks different. It looks like — you know when Russians speak Arabic? The accent, your drawings look like this accent,’” he said.

"Platform" (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Platform” (2014). Mixed media on paper. Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

Marzouki earned a B.A. in fine art from Damascus University in 2007, and in 2012 he studied at the Global Cinematography Institute in Hollywood. He moved to Doha eight years ago to work with a television production company, but now works as a full-time artist.

As the war escalated, he began using less color and fewer ornamental details. “Now almost all of my color is black and white, only lines, the foundation of the idea only, that’s it,” he said. “I don’t want people to be impressed by the work … I care more about the idea and the foundation of the idea and the pre-production of the painting.”

"Untitled" (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Untitled” (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

At a time when Syrian art and antiquities are at risk of destruction, Syrian artists are playing a unique role in preserving their own history, he said. “When you see ‘Guernica’ from Picasso and then you read a story about it, then you understand this was the Spanish and Nazi’s war,” he said. “When you make a series of paintings, or a painting, and you link this painting to what’s happening now, this [becomes] history.”

See more of Marzouki’s work below.

"Untitled" (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Platform 1″ (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

"Untitled" (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Untitled” (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

"Untitled" (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Platform 2″ (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

"Untitled" (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

“Platform 3″ (2015). Image courtesy of Waseem Marzouki

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How a single photo captures the loneliness of a post-war Paris housing project

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Joseph, 88, Les Espaces d’Abraxas, Noisy-le-Grand, 2014. Photo by Laurent Kronental

Joseph, 88, Les Espaces d’Abraxas, Noisy-le-Grand, 2014. Photo by Laurent Kronental

Editor’s Note: After World War II, a number of “grands ensembles,” or housing projects, were constructed in the suburbs to meet an increased demand in housing needs by migrants. In this week’s edition of Parallax, Laurent Kronental describes the four years he spent photographing the elderly residents of the housing complexes, located in areas that have historically been economically and socially isolated from the rest of the Parisian metro area. This sense of isolation among residents is tangible in Kronental’s series “Souvenir d’un Futur” (“Memory of a Future”).

For four years, I have photographed the seniors living in the large estates of the Parisian suburbs with a 4×5 large format film camera. One area in particular profoundly fascinated me: the Espaces d’Abraxas, conceived by Ricardo Bofill, in Noisy-le-Grand, a suburb of Paris. I remember the first time I arrived at the foot of this concrete giant. I was captivated by its timeless architecture; this spectacular and mysterious estate, like an impregnable fortress, seemed to come from another time, at once dark and poetic, grand and rough. A future that did not come to pass has left its imprint on the landscape in the form of these towns, icons of French post-war modernism.

This district, built between 1978 and 1983, was one of the anchor points of my series. I came there many times before taking this photo. It shows an a 88-year-old man named Joseph who had lived in Noisy-le-Grand for many years. In the photo, he contemplates a monumental and strangely ghostly landscape where only some quiet signs of life appear. I imagined him as one of the last survivors in a post-apocalyptic universe, where the elderly live their lives in the titanic structures that have engulfed their humanity, their fears and their hopes.

In the foreground appears a massive building whose curvature recalls a theater. Joseph gazes into the distance, facing a world which ages slowly, taking with it the memory of a utopia. His presence raises the question, for us, about the place of these urban veterans in our society.

The word “parallax” describes the camera error that occurs when an image looks different through a viewfinder than how it is recorded by a sensor; when one camera gives two perspectives. Parallax is a blog where photographers offer the unexpected sides and stories of their work. Tell us yours or share on Instagram at #PBSParallax.

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WATCH: Yo-Yo Ma performs selection from new album for the NewsHour

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Video produced by Anne Davenport.

Yo-Yo Ma began dazzling audiences when he was five. Now, his new album “Songs from the Arc of Life,” which came out just before his 60th birthday, focuses on the ups and downs of the human experience.

Chief arts and culture correspondent Jeffrey Brown recently visited Ma at a recording studio in New York. The cellist told him the album, which he recorded with his longtime collaborator pianist Kathryn Stott, follows the way a person’s relationship to music changes with age.

“What do people remember from their childhood, music from their childhood, from first dance all the way through?” he said. “We went through a selection process to think [about], what do people go through when they are teenagers, or what do they go through when they’re in, you know, adolescence, or middle age, or late age.”

“Songs From The Arc Of Life” is full of familiar favorites like “Brahms’ Lullaby,” “The Swan” by Camille Saint-Saëns and the Franz Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” Ma performed “The Swan” for the NewsHour (above).

Messiaen wrote the piece as a prisoner-of-war during World War II, Ma said. “I included that piece particularly because I think the human spirit is incredible. It has the ability to transcend the worst moments,” he said.

The piece expresses “infinite love. The glories of the universe,” he said. “And that, to me, is something that we all need as humans. That ability to manufacture, to create hope in the depths of despair, because we all go through terrible moments in our lives, and those are the moments when we have to go deep in the reservoir, and find something that comes out, and can give us comfort.”

Ma — who is known for leaning back, closing his eyes and often smiling while playing — said for him, music is its own method of communication. “The sounds can actually be the gateway … into the hearts and mind of somebody else,” he said. “It could be a language. I love that language — it’s so beautiful.”

Watch the NewsHour tonight for the full report.

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Meet the two new members of San Francisco’s legendary dance crew

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 Video produced by Abhi Singh.

The Renegade Rockers are legendary in the Bay area, having perfected the art of hip hop dance since 1983. Now, they have two new members: Alex Flores and Marthy Galimba, also known by their dance names Prince Ali and Marthy McFlyy.

Galimba’s style focuses on break-dancing and turf dancing, a style that originated in Oakland as an alternative pastime to keep young people from joining gangs. Flores said his dancing features popping, a funk style in which dancers quickly flex their muscles in time to music.

The Renegades love to test themselves in what they call “battles,” where two dancers face off against each other and judges from the community decide who comes out on top. Galimba said the battles are a good test of a dancer’s speed and strength. “If I’m in a battle, I’m always thinking quick … you’ve got to make your next move the best move,” he said.

Both Flores and Galimba draw inspiration from Renegade Rocker legend Omar Delgado, whose dance name is Roxrite. Delgado is a local icon who has won more than 82 dance competitions and is also currently a member of Red Bull BC One All Stars, a crew of 10 internationally renowned hip hop dancers.

The post Meet the two new members of San Francisco’s legendary dance crew appeared first on PBS NewsHour.


Meet the woman who’s standing up to gentrification in her working class Bronx neighborhood

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Bronx Photo League/Bronx Documentary Center

Ramona, 54 years old, has worked on Jerome Avenue in the Bronx since 1990. She has been the owner of YC&L Auto Repair for nine years. Photo by Edwin Torres and courtesy of the Bronx Photo League/Bronx Documentary Center.

Editor’s Note: Jerome Avenue in the Bronx is a hub of working class families, but residents worry that their way of life could be at risk under a proposed idea to rezone 57 blocks along the street. In one study that surveyed Bronx residents, 80 percent of respondents said they fear the rezoning could displace them by introducing higher housing prices. In response, photographers working with the Bronx Photo League decided to document the images and stories of Jerome Avenue’s residents in the Jerome Avenue Workers Project. Below, photographer Edwin Torres discusses his role in the project and why he approached Ramona, a business owner on Jerome Avenue.

Edwin Torres, photographer (as told to Corinne Segal)

Me and another photographer were out shooting Jerome Avenue and we were walking past one of the stores, and we kept seeing this woman hanging outside of one of the shops, which is very different. The street feels dominated by men. Ramona was just there, talking to a lot of people — she looked like she was in charge.

At first she said, “I don’t know you, I don’t know what this is about, I don’t want to be photographed.” I completely thought it was never going work out from the first few tries.

It’s a sense of community and culture mixed with lots of hard work.
Finally, she took me to the office at her autorepair shop and we sat down for 20 minutes. It was an amazing interview … It’s not just a repair shop. It’s her life story. It’s where she spent most of her life. And a lot of the other shops along Jerome Avenue — these aren’t just people’s work. These are their livelihoods. They spend more time working and living on Jerome than actually at home. If they’re there working on Saturday and it’s 7 p.m., they’re going to pull out the domino table and start playing dominos and music. It’s a sense of community and culture mixed with lots of hard work.

I’m Puerto Rican. I was born and raised in the Bronx. I grew up always seeing that kind of scenario play out. My dad was an ad hoc mechanic, pretty much took up mechanic gigs whenever there was extra money to be made. We would always hang around those shops. So it’s something I can relate to and understand.

It’s very easy to label a set of repair shops and mechanic shops as something filthy and strictly commercial and strictly business. It’s very easy to label it as that. But it’s not so easy to see that these are people’s lives here. And the majority of these business owners are in the 50-year-old range. For them to relocate, when they have been working there for 20, 30 years — for them to relocate and try to build a new customer base is just not feasible.

Ramona, pictured (as told to Torres) 

I am the owner of the business. My ex-husband was the owner for 20 years and since 2006 I have worked here. We are Dominicans. I came here in 1981. I have been working here since 1990. First I was a manager for two different car washes. Manager at two different tire shops. He was always a mechanic, this was a parking lot. He had a booth where he did tune ups and car inspections. The he taught me and I applied for my own license. Eventually I enjoyed working with help and appreciated working independently, not answering to anyone.

If you move, you lose the customer service, you may not have anything. If we move, for us we would have to start all over again from scratch. We lose the customer base. I cannot relocate to another area. I am 54 years old. I am too tired. I am not strong enough to start again. I already have a method with my clients. I have plans on when I plan to retire and how I am going to leave. If they destroy the buildings then we have to look for where to go. It will change your entire life. It won’t be the same.

Interviews have been edited for length. The word “parallax” describes the camera error that occurs when an image looks different through a viewfinder than how it is recorded by a sensor; when one camera gives two perspectives. Parallax is a blog where photographers offer the unexpected sides and stories of their work. Tell us yours or share on Instagram at #PBSParallax.

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Photos: These are the faces of Syria, from around the world

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Nouralla took this photo at a school in Shatila, Lebanon. "As I was taking a group picture of kids at the kindergarden, this little girl came and said: 'Take a picture of me alone,'" she wrote. Photo by Nour Nouralla

Photographer Nour Nouralla took this photo at a school in Shatila, Lebanon. “As I was taking a group picture of kids at the kindergarten, this little girl came and said: ‘Take a picture of me alone,'” Nouralla wrote on the website for Syrian Eyes of the World, a photography project that documents Syrian lives in the diaspora. Photo by Nour Nouralla

Nour Nouralla grew up in Syria, but no one she knows lives there anymore.

She rattled off the destinations of friends and family, some of whom left as a four-year war ravaged the country: “Germany, France, England, the Gulf area, Dubai, Saudi Arabia, Abu Dhabi, Lebanon — there’s many people who fled to Lebanon in the early stages of the conflict — Amman, Jordan — there are Syrians in Malaysia because they don’t need a visa.”

More than 4 million people have now left Syria in the largest mass migration since World War II. Most of them now live in Jordan, Turkey, or Lebanon, which has seen its population swell by more than a quarter, an amount that Kim Ghattas at Foreign Policy pointed out would be the equivalent of 90 million refugees arriving in the U.S. Thousands of others have traveled by boat from Turkey to Greece, where they cross over to Macedonia and Serbia. And last week, as Hungary closed its borders to refugees, the flow of people toward western Europe swelled along the path from Serbia to Croatia, with more than 5,000 people crossing into Croatia daily, The Guardian has reported.

As these numbers make headlines, Nouralla is one of a group of photographers bringing focus to the individual faces and voices that share a Syrian identity — ones that they say can get lost in media coverage of the war — with the project “Syrian Eyes of the World.”

Entabi took this photo of Amjad Hashem, above, in Damascus in 2014. “I don’t know what I should say ... all I know is that all my paintings tell my story," Hashem told Entabi. Photo by Antoine Entabi

Photographer Antoine Entabi took this photo of artist Amjad Hashem in Damascus in 2014. “All I know is that all my paintings tell my story,” Hashem told Entabi. Photo by Antoine Entabi

Youssef Shoufan, the project’s founder, moved from Damascus to Montreal with his family at the age of seven. Growing up in Montreal, he said he felt disconnected from his origins. Two years ago, he traveled to Beirut, Lebanon, and connected with the growing community of Syrians there.

He said the people he met in Beirut inspired him to start the project and capture the shared culture between Syrians everywhere. “It’s important for us to include everyone who has Syrian origins, with no geography bounds. It’s not about if you’re inside or outside Syria,” he said.

“Before, we were scared. But it was nothing compared to what we saw later," Reem Al-Haswani, pictured in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2013, told Shoufan.  Photo by Youssef Shoufan

“Before, we were scared. But it was nothing compared to what we saw later,” Reem Al-Haswani told Shoufan in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2013. Photo by Youssef Shoufan

“Just meeting somebody who finally reached their destination from the hell that they’ve been through, back wherever they came from — just seeing the smile on their face and the relief on their face has been really inspiring.”
The project currently has 10 photographers, all of whom are Syrian. The photographers themselves are from a range of cities, including Beirut, New York City, Montreal, Aleppo, Syria, and other cities around the world.

Shoufan said he hopes the project can provide a more realistic portrait of Syrians at a time when many images of Syrians are associated only with war.

“The idea is to balance what is shown about Syria and Syrians and bring that image closer to reality,” Shoufan said.

"Identity is rather a journey, a trajectory which is constantly changing. I would add that for me identity lies even more so in the sum of your life experiences," film director Samer Najari, pictured here with his son Francesco in Montreal in 2014, told Shoufan. "As for my children, my hope is that I will be able to cultivate their curiosity about the world and that I will help them learn to be open to all differences." Photo by Youssef Shoufan

“Identity is rather a journey, a trajectory which is constantly changing. I would add that for me identity lies even more so in the sum of your life experiences,” film director Samer Najari, pictured here with his son Francesco in Montreal in 2014, told Youssef Shoufan. “As for my children, my hope is that I will be able to cultivate their curiosity about the world and that I will help them learn to be open to all differences.” Photo by Youssef Shoufan

Nouralla lived in Damascus and Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, before moving to New York City to study architecture at the Pratt Institute. She applied to join the project last year and recently spent three months in Berlin, where she met Syrians who had just arrived at the end of a long journey.

“I heard from people who literally just crossed the borders,” she said. “Some of them had no problems on the trip, [but] some of them have literally spent 25 days on the road, on feet. Just meeting somebody who finally reached their destination from the hell that they’ve been through, back wherever they came from — just seeing the smile on their face and the relief on their face has been really inspiring.”

Talking to her subjects has made her reconsider the meaning of “home” in her life and the lives of others, she said. “It always gives me a unique perspective on, what do we call home, really? That’s what I try to do in my portraits,” she said. “I always like to bring up issues like the issue of home or belonging, or places, and how people assimilate and adapt to these new places and cities.”

Photo by Nour Nouralla

Ebaa Hwijeh, pictured, has lived in Berlin for years. “What is home? What is exile? These are concepts that are not easy to define with a word or two,” Hwijeh told Nouralla this year. “‘Home’ is the synthesis of your experiences, in all places with all their details, good or bad. Everyplace you live in is a piece of you, like you are a piece of it.” Photo by Nour Nouralla

Antoine Entabi, a photographer for the project, met Shoufan in Beirut in 2013, shortly after moving there from Damascus. “I had to leave Syria,” he said. “I had to move to start a new beginning.”

Now, Entabi works in Shatila, Lebanon, for Basmeh & Zeitooneh, an NGO that provides Syrian refugees with direct services and community support. “Everyday, I [see] new refugees came to the camp, and live in miserable conditions. Most of them came and hold [their] dreams on [their] shoulders,” he wrote in a Facebook message.

“I care for one thing only: how I’ll let my children reach the highest ranks, study and succeed, even at the expense of my labor," Um Ibrahim, pictured, told Entabi in Shatila, Lebanon in 2014. "I haven’t seen a thing of my life, all my life is about work, and I try to be the father and the mother of my children.” Photo by Antoine Entabi

“I care for one thing only: how I’ll let my children reach the highest ranks, study and succeed, even at the expense of my labor,” Um Ibrahim, who works with Entabi at service organization Basmeh & Zeitooneh in Shatila, Lebanon, told photographer Antoine Entabi in 2014. “I haven’t seen a thing of my life, all my life is about work, and I try to be the father and the mother of my children.” Photo by Antoine Entabi

Entabi aims for the project to show the diversity of Syrian people and their strength under difficult circumstances, he said. “In Syria we have a lot of communities, different religion, culture, and accents,” he wrote. “We have more than 12,000 years of civilizations … I believe that the Syrian[s] will spread [their] thoughts and culture around the world.”

An exhibit featuring some of the photos will be on display in front of the town hall in Pessac, France, from Nov. 16-23 as part of the Festival International du Film d’Histoire de Pessac. Project photographers Youssef and Madonna Adib just signed on to direct a documentary with Montreal-based Parabola Films following several Syrians around the world as they grapple with the war’s impact on their lives.

See more photos from “Syrian Eyes of the World” below.

"Younger, we studied the literature of the diaspora that didn’t interest me so much at the time / Twenty years spent away from the country, I now understand why a stranger becomes a poet," Hala Al Romhein, pictured in Montreal this year, wrote in verse to Shoufan. Photo by Youssef Shoufan

“Younger, we studied the literature of the diaspora that didn’t interest me so much at the time / Twenty years spent away from the country, I now understand why a stranger becomes a poet,” Hala Al Romhein, pictured in Montreal this year, wrote to Shoufan. Photo by Youssef Shoufan

“It’s very hard to make a significant difference in the world, but I think that if I can make at least one person ‘feel’ again, then I can be one step closer to making that difference. So I dance,” Yara Arwad, pictured above, told Nouralla in New York in 2014. Photo by Nour Nouralla

“It’s very hard to make a significant difference in the world, but I think that if I can make at least one person ‘feel’ again, then I can be one step closer to making that difference. So I dance,” Yara Arwad, pictured above, told Nouralla in New York in 2014. Photo by Nour Nouralla

“I would like to post a tent in the 'No man’s land' which is the land between [Lebanon and Syria]. This is my dream," Caroline Kinj, pictured, told Entabi in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2014. "I’m not able to be here and there. At heart I am Syrian, with the appearances I am Lebanese. This is my confusion, but my greatest belonging is for Syria.” Photo by Antoine Entabi

“I would like to post a tent in the ‘No man’s land’ which is the land between [Lebanon and Syria]. This is my dream,” Caroline Kinj, pictured, told Entabi in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2014. “I’m not able to be here and there. At heart I am Syrian, with the appearances I am Lebanese. This is my confusion, but my greatest belonging is for Syria.” Photo by Antoine Entabi

Three women sew at Basmeh & Zeitooneh in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2014. Photo by Youssef Shoufan

Three women sew at Basmeh & Zeitooneh in Shatila, Lebanon, in 2014. Photo by Youssef Shoufan

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Photos: Inside the Florence lab saving priceless works of art

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This crucifix comes from the city of Modena and was smashed into 12 pieces during an earthquake in 2012, in the Emilia Romagna region of northern Italy. Restorers at the OPD have reconstructed it but decided to leave signs of the damage to help tell its history. Photo by Frank Carlson

This crucifix comes from the city of Modena and was smashed into 12 pieces during an earthquake in 2012 in the Emilia Romagna region of northern Italy. Restorers at the Opificio delle Pietre Dure have reconstructed it but decided to leave signs of the damage to help tell its history. Photo by Frank Carlson

In the 14th century, Florence was the center of the Italian Renaissance, but after a devastating flood in the 1960s, it became something else: one of the world’s foremost centers of art preservation and restoration.

The PBS NewsHour traveled to Florence in late September to visit the Opificio delle Pietre Dure (OPD), the Workshop of Semi-Precious Stones, where restorers are working on Giorgio Vasari’s “Last Supper,” a 21-foot wood panel painting completed in 1546.

During the 1960s that painting and many others hung in Florence’s Santa Croce Church and museum, which sits just a few blocks from the Arno River. But in November 1966, one of Florence’s worst-ever floods sent water, debris and oil into the city, damaging and destroying thousands of artworks and manuscripts. Water in the church reached nearly 20 feet high, submerging the Vasari for more than 48 hours.

For more than four decades it sat in storage as conservators and restorers debated how to save the work. And now, as the 50th anniversary of the flood approaches, restorers hope to finish their work on the painting and return it to the Santa Croce museum.

Photos below at the OPD and the Santa Croce Church show the lasting impact of the flood as well as the work that happens at the OPD. Watch the NewsHour tonight for a report on the OPD.

A conservator works on a panel of Giorgio Vasari’s “Last Supper,” which the Opificio delle Pietre Dure is now restoring, nearly 50 years after it was damaged by a flood. Photo by Frank Carlson

A conservator at the OPD works on restoring a panel of Vasari’s “Last Supper” nearly 50 years after it was damaged by a flood. The OPD began as a project of the Medici family to create the finest mosaic works, but following the flood, it made a turn towards conservation of works using the best available technology. Photo by Frank Carlson

Another restorer works on the central panel of Vasari’s “Last Supper.” The painting sat in storage for more than 40 years after the 1966 flood while experts developed the skills and confidence to restore it in one piece. Photo by Frank Carlson

Another restorer works on the central panel of Vasari’s “Last Supper.” The painting sat in storage for more than 40 years after the 1966 flood while experts developed the skills and confidence to restore it in one piece. Photo by Frank Carlson

The Crucifix by Cimabue hangs in the Santa Croce Church museum in Florence, Italy, just a few blocks from the Arno River. During the 1966 flood it was badly damaged, becoming a symbol of the flood. Another painting that hung in the Santa Croce was Giorgio Vasari’s “Last Supper,” now undergoing restoration. Photo by Frank Carlson

“Crucifix” by Cimabue hangs in the Santa Croce Church museum in Florence, Italy, just a few blocks from the Arno River. During the 1966 flood it was badly damaged, becoming a symbol of the flood. Another painting that hung in the Santa Croce was Vasari’s “Last Supper,” now undergoing restoration. Photo by Frank Carlson

A sign on the second floor of the Santa Croce museum shows how high the water rose during the 1966 flood. Signposts like these can be found around Florence today. Photo by Frank Carlson

A sign on the second floor of the Santa Croce museum shows how high the water rose during the 1966 flood. Signposts like these can be found around Florence today. Photo by Frank Carlson

This sign in the Santa Croce Church shows the relative height of three major floods in Florence. Photo by Frank Carlson

This sign in the Santa Croce Church shows the relative heights of three major floods in Florence. Photo by Frank Carlson

Caterina Toso cleans the “San Marco Altarpiece,” also known as “Madonna and the Saints,” a painting on wood typically found in the Museum of San Marco in Florence. Commissioned by Cosimo di Medici, it was completed by Fra Angelico in the mid-15th century. Photo by Frank Carlson

Caterina Toso cleans the “San Marco Altarpiece,” also known as “Madonna and the Saints,” a painting on wood usually found in the Museum of San Marco in Florence. Commissioned by Cosimo di Medici, it was completed by Fra Angelico in the mid-15th century. Photo by Frank Carlson

Cecilia Frosinini, deputy director of the Opificio delle Pietre Dure, explains the restoration work that’s been done on Leonardo da Vinci’s “Adoration of the Magi,” which arrived in November 2011 from the Uffizi Gallery in Florence and is now being cleaned. Photo by Frank Carlson

Cecilia Frosinini, deputy director of the OPD, explains the restoration work that’s been done on Leonardo da Vinci’s “Adoration of the Magi,” which arrived in Nov. 2011 from the Uffizi Gallery in Florence and is now being cleaned. Photo by Frank Carlson

Ciro Castelli was a young carpenter when the 1966 flood hit, and through the emergency response became involved in wood restoration. He’s now a master woodworker who came out retirement to work on Vasari’s “Last Supper,” as well as to teach a new generation of wood restorers his techniques. Photo by Frank Carlson

Ciro Castelli was a young carpenter when the 1966 flood hit, and through the emergency response he became involved in wood restoration. He’s now a master woodworker who came out of retirement to work on Vasari’s “Last Supper,” as well as to teach a new generation of wood restorers his techniques. Photo by Frank Carlson

A restorer works on Alessandro Allori’s “Crucifixion,” painted in the 16th century. It arrived at the OPD in 2011, suffering from cracks in its wood supports. Photo by Frank Carlson

A restorer works on Alessandro Allori’s “Crucifixion,” painted in the 16th century. It arrived at the OPD in 2011, suffering from cracks in its wood supports. Photo by Frank Carlson

A large x-ray shows one panel of Giorgio Vasari’s “Last Supper,” including where the splits in its wood planks occurred and where paint was lost. Photo by Frank Carlson

A large X-ray shows one panel of Vasari’s “Last Supper,” including places where its wood planks split and where paint was lost. Photo by Frank Carlson

At the museum workshop of the Opificio delle Pietre Dure stoneworkers still gather naturally occurring color samples found in nearby ore deposits. The OPD began as a project of the Medici family to create the finest mosaic works. Following the 1966 flood in Florence it made a great turn towards conservation of works using the best available technology. Photo by Frank Carlson

At the OPD’s museum workshop, stoneworkers still gather naturally-occurring color samples from nearby ore deposits. Photo by Frank Carlson

A sculpture awaits restoration in the museum workshop of the Opificio delle Pietre Dure in Florence, Italy. Photo by Frank Carlson

A sculpture awaits restoration in the OPD’s museum workshop. Photo by Frank Carlson

 

The post Photos: Inside the Florence lab saving priceless works of art appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

This artist turns mathematical concepts into intricate paintings

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Video produced by Maria Bartholdi.

Emily Lynch goes through life looking for patterns.

During the day, Lynch works for a math publishing company in Minneapolis, training teachers to use materials that are created for visually-oriented students. She also works as an artist, creating paintings based on number systems and her own calculations.

Her paintings are striking visual representations of math, drawing on mathematical concepts to create complex systems of patterns in her work. For one piece, Lynch painted a system of squares that represented the base-3 numeral system. She said she was struck by the beautiful pattern it created. “It looks very calming and peaceful and meditative,” she said.  She went even further, assigning each square a note on the piano to form a musical composition.

Lynch said she sees herself as more of a “problem-solver” than an artist. “It’s mainly about the math, and then the art is how I do that math,” she said.

Local Beat is an ongoing series on Art Beat that features arts and culture stories from PBS member stations around the nation.

The post This artist turns mathematical concepts into intricate paintings appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

Photos: Visit a crumbling medieval town that’s slowly falling off a cliff

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A quiet alley in Civita di Bagnoregio, a hilltop town with somewhere around seven year-round residents. Photo by Frank Carlson

Sunrise over Civita di Bagnoregio, a hilltop town with somewhere around seven year-round residents. Photo by Frank Carlson

There is something oddly attractive about a place slated to disappear, and at first glance, Civita di Bagnoregio is just that: a charming medieval town in central Italy that, thanks to its geology, has been slowly crumbling for thousands of years.

The Etruscans chose the site for its high ground in the 6th century B.C., but much of that ground has since fallen away. Civita di Bagnoregio is built on what’s known as “tuff,” volcanic rock over a bed of soft clay and sand. And in a region prone to earthquakes — including a massive one in 1695 that devastated the town — that combination, plus a healthy amount of rain, have accelerated the landslides that have now robbed Civita di Bagnoregio of 20 percent of its terrain since 1705. Today there are only around seven year-round residents and many of its buildings have been lost.

But in 2015 that’s an idea drawing tourists; since 2010, the number of people making the difficult hike up the footbridge has risen from 40,000 a year to 500,000. New restaurants, tourist shops and bed and breakfasts have opened, and locals have a reason to stick around, or in many cases, to return, giving them hope that the wonder and beauty of their town will be enough to sustain it many years into the future.

Coupled with some massive geo-engineering efforts, that may be true. See below for a collection of photos from what locals call “il paese che muore,” or “the dying town.”

Tourists and residents access Civita di Bagnoregio by way of a steep footbridge. But earlier this year there was a collapse near its base that now needs shoring up. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourists and residents access Civita di Bagnoregio by way of a steep footbridge. But earlier this year there was a collapse near its base that now needs shoring up. Photo by Frank Carlson

No cars are allowed in Civita di Bagnoregio due to the fragile nature of the landscape, so a man on a motorcycle must suffice for a garbage truck. Photo by Frank Carlson

No cars are allowed in Civita di Bagnoregio due to the fragile nature of the landscape, so a man on a motorcycle must suffice for a garbage truck. Photo by Frank Carlson

A pair of doors in Civita di Bagnoregio, a small town in Central Italy that dates back 2500 years. Photo by Frank Carlson

A pair of doors in Civita di Bagnoregio, a small town in central Italy that dates back 2,500 years. Photo by Frank Carlson

For hundreds and even thousands of years, the town of Civita di Bagnoregio has been gradually falling apart due to landslides. Here a gate prevents tourists from descending a staircase that leads off a cliff. Photo by Frank Carlson

For hundreds and even thousands of years, the town of Civita di Bagnoregio has been gradually falling apart due to landslides. Here, a gate prevents tourists from descending a staircase that leads off a cliff. Photo by Frank Carlson

Some 20 percent of Civita di Bagnoregio’s land has been lost since 1705, most of it gardens and agricultural lands. But buildings have also been lost, like this one, now a mere facade. Photo by Frank Carlson

Some 20 percent of Civita di Bagnoregio’s land has been lost since 1705, most of it gardens and agricultural lands. But buildings have also been lost, like this one, now a mere facade. Photo by Frank Carlson

Civita di Bagnoregio, known as the “dying town,” is a small hilltop community in the Lazio province of Central Italy. Photo by Frank Carlson

Civita di Bagnoregio, known as the “dying town,” is a small hilltop community in the Lazio province of central Italy. Photo by Frank Carlson

Civita di Bagnoregio is surrounded by agricultural lands, including olive groves, and for centuries this served as the principal means of employment. Photo by Frank Carlson

Civita di Bagnoregio is surrounded by agricultural lands, including olive groves, and for centuries this served as the principal means of employment. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourism is booming in the town of Civita di Bagnoregio, rising from 40,000 a year to 500,000 a year since 2010. This year the town of Bagnoregio began charging visitors about $1.70 to enter. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourism is booming in the town of Civita di Bagnoregio, rising from 40,000 a year to 500,000 a year since 2010. This year the town of Bagnoregio began charging visitors about $1.70 to enter. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourists arrive at the main square of Civita di Bagnoregio, where the San Donato church sits. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourists arrive at the main square of Civita di Bagnoregio, where the San Donato church sits. Photo by Frank Carlson

Chef Maurizio Rocchi shows off one his family recipes, featuring bacon, egg yolk and black truffle flakes. He is one of the few year-round residents here, and has opened a new restaurant, the Alma Civita, to capitalize on the growth in tourism. Photo by Frank Carlson

Chef Maurizio Rocchi shows off one his family recipes, featuring bacon, egg yolk and black truffle flakes. He is one of the few year-round residents here and has opened a new restaurant, the Alma Civita, to capitalize on the growth in tourism. Photo by Frank Carlson

A worker takes a cigarette break outside the Alma Civita restaurant. Photo by Frank Carlson

A worker takes a cigarette break outside the Alma Civita restaurant. Photo by Frank Carlson

American architect Tony Heywood first came to Civita di Bagnoregio with his wife, Astra Zarina, in the 1960s. Zarina was also an architect and University of Washington professor who brought American students here to study, helping to popularize and restore the town. Photo by Frank Carlson

American architect Tony Heywood first came to Civita di Bagnoregio with his wife, Astra Zarina, in the 1960s. Zarina was also an architect and University of Washington professor who brought American students here to study, helping to popularize and restore the town. Photo by Frank Carlson

A photo of Tony Heywood and his wife, Astra Zarina, in Heywood’s home in Civita di Bagnoregio. Photo by Frank Carlson

A photo of Tony Heywood and his wife, Astra Zarina, in Heywood’s home in Civita di Bagnoregio. Photo by Frank Carlson

A look at the southside of Civita di Bagnoregio from the path below reveals the encroachment of landslides on the town. Photo by Frank Carlson

A look at the southside of Civita di Bagnoregio from the path below reveals the encroachment of landslides on the town. Photo by Frank Carlson

A cave underneath Civita di Bagnoregio houses an old chapel and may have been used as a tomb during the Etruscan era. Photo by Frank Carlson

A cave underneath Civita di Bagnoregio houses an old chapel and may have been used as a tomb during the Etruscan era. Photo by Frank Carlson

Sunlight fades as a woman enters Civita di Bagnorio from the footbridge as others leave for the day. Photo by Frank Carlson

Sunlight fades as a woman enters Civita di Bagnorio from the footbridge as others leave for the day. Photo by Frank Carlson

In the evening Civita di Bagnoregio clears out, leaving it to a few tourists who stay at bed and breakfasts and the year-round residents. Photo by Frank Carlson

In the evening Civita di Bagnoregio clears out, leaving it to a few tourists who stay at bed and breakfasts and the year-round residents. Photo by Frank Carlson

A building on the north side has fallen apart as the land below fell away. This portion of the town has now been stabilized using massive steel shafts that hold the hilltop together. Photo by Frank Carlson

A building on the north side has fallen apart as the land below it fell away. This portion of the town has now been stabilized using massive steel shafts that hold the hilltop together. Photo by Frank Carlson

At dusk tourists leave the main square, passing the San Donato church on their way out. Photo by Frank Carlson

At dusk tourists leave the main square, passing the San Donato church on their way out. Photo by Frank Carlson

With tourists gone, Civita di Bagnoregio’s many cats reclaim the streets. Photo by Frank Carlson

With tourists gone, Civita di Bagnoregio’s many cats reclaim the streets. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourists linger in Civita di Bagnoregio as the sun goes down. Photo by Frank Carlson

Tourists linger in Civita di Bagnoregio as the sun goes down. Photo by Frank Carlson

The post Photos: Visit a crumbling medieval town that’s slowly falling off a cliff appeared first on PBS NewsHour.

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