BY BEN WINTERS
In making their case for aid–under the current code red conditions for arts funding in the United States–advocates point out that art doesn’t just mean what hangs in the museum or what you see at the theatre. The arts surround us, from the printed design on your necktie to the mosaic pattern in your subway station. Or it’s the soaring new complex, now officially set to be built in downtown Manhattan, freighted with as much symbolic value as any architectural project in the US since the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. The winning design for the new World Trade Center was announced on Feb. 27. The architect behind the impressive project is the Berlin-based, Polish-born Daniel Libeskind.
Salient features include: "The tallest building in the world. A spiral of greenery in the sky. The bleak sunken space where most of the bodies of the dead were recovered," to quote Shelley Emling’s stark lead in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. And, in a feat of architectural eloquence (if it works), "a space designed to capture a wedge of sunlight each year on Sept. 11, from the moment the first plane hit until the time the last tower fell." (That’s from Karen Matthews, Associated Press.)
In the tumult of stories recapping New York’s long search for a design and the obstacles that still confront the plan, little was written about Libeskind himself and his history. A short piece in England’s Guardian, calling him "the architect of memory par excellence" gave an idea of his style and his most famous past work:
"He made his name with the sensational Jewish Museum in Berlin, a broken Star of David, a three-dimensional bolt of architectural lightning, part monument part gallery, realized in stunning modern materials. At the heart of the museum a concrete void evokes the loss of Berlin’s Jews."
Evoking loss is one of two of the great challenges of Libeskind’s new project–the other being providing enough retail and office space for the site to also be economically valuable, not just symbolically so. Finding the balance between those requirements has been the challenge through the long process of choosing a design, and (as evident in the coverage) it hardly ends now.
"[C]ommunity activists remain concerned that the leaseholders of the destroyed property…will seek to shoehorn in much more than the 7.6 million square feet of office space and 900,000 square feet of retail space that Libeskind’s program calls for," reports Anthony Flint, a national correspondent at the Boston Globe, "And, in so doing, change the look and feel of the design."
STRIKE OUT THE BAND
The relationship between theatrical producers and the unions they work with is increasingly contentious–on Broadway, regionally, and especially on the road–though largely unreported outside theatrical trade papers.
The major issue around the strike of Broadway’s Local 802 of the American Federation of Musicians is the use of minimums, wherein shows are forced by the union to employ a certain number of people on the orchestra, whether or not the show requires them creatively.
But when it was as reported at all, coverage of the strike centered on the Broadway shows rehearsing (as they all started doing in the week before a potential March 3 walkout) with what the Associated Press is calling "computer-generated virtual orchestras."
"The virtual orchestras consist of high tech equipment and computers that imitate the sound of live music," explains ArtsCanda.
If only the musicians could convince the actors to sympathy strike–"computer-generated virtual casts" would get some headlines.
FRED IS DEAD
On Feb. 28, every major daily in the United States had an obituary of Fred "Mister" Rogers, as did the Toronto Star, the online journal Slate, the Daily Times of Pakistan, and–if they have newspapers on the planet Venus–all the papers on the planet Venus.
Many papers had both obituaries and remembrances. USA Today’s lead editorial was titled "Mr. Rogers’ Safe House" and opined in part that "the best way to manage the news of Rogers’ death from stomach cancer Thursday is by talking about it."
Indeed, various papers directed their readers to www.misterrogers.org, where the "helpful hints for parents" section includes this warning: "You may be surprised to find that you’re more upset than your child."
And why not? Fred Rogers was a mainstay of children’s television for three decades, and a cornerstone of American culture–not to mention the rest of the English-speaking world. The aforementioned Toronto Star piece is titled "Mister Rogers remembered for Canadian impact."
Yes, Rogers made gentleness into an art, but he was a proper artist, too. He had a degree in musical composition from Rollins College; he had a lifelong passion for puppetry; he wrote darling lyrics for the show, like the one that begins "What do you do with the mad that you feel/When you feel so bad you could bite?" quoted at some length in the New York Times.
And he was, no doubt about it, kind of tripped out, too. In the obits we see him backstage, dashing around intently, providing the voices for characters like Henrietta Pussycat, King Friday the 13th, and X the Owl. The Times obit notes that one of the crazy little operas from Rogers’ show ended up onstage in New York as the musical Spoon Mountain.
Like Captain Kangaroo and whoever invented Snuffleupagus, Rogers understood that children love freaky-deaky shit–and he did, too.
Most of all, though, Rogers loved children–his two sons and the millions of kids around the world who grew up with his gentility and magic-time aesthetic. He was using art that he loved (music, puppets, and yes, TV) to teach them and take care of them.
Among the ink on him in passing, was this item from a timeline of Rogers’ life, in the Hartford Courant: "1991: During the Persian Gulf War, Rogers tells youngsters, 'All children shall be well taken care of in this neighborhood and beyond–in times of war and in times of peace,’ and asks parents to promise their children they will always be safe."