I traveled to Telluride, Colorado for the first time earlier this month for the town’s annual film festival. I journeyed there looking for inspiration, and my expectations were high. I was counting on cinematic artistry and natural wonder to come barreling toward me the moment my feet hit the dirt. I packed pads, pens, camera, digital video recorder- all in hopes of capturing something tangible- something that might ignite my own creative fire. Lucky for me, I found more than one something.

The Telluride Film Festival is one that stands apart from the others. Press was unnoticeable and the urgency around landing a distribution deal that exists elsewhere was nowhere to be found. By all appearances, it was merely (and impressively) a community of cinephiles assembling to celebrate and debate contemporary work. And by cinephiles, I don’t mean only those of us working in the industry. I met a librarian from San Francisco, local students, a Palo Alto tech-geek who has been a faithful attendee for a quarter century, an oil painter with a gallery on Colorado Avenue (Telluride’s Main Street), an extreme sports television producer, an advertising executive and her Wall Street fiancée both of whom began as volunteers years ago and now count themselves as paying festival goers. What struck me most was the sheer loyalty of so many of the attendees, who are a community in and of themselves. In fact, cinephile may be too broad a description for this group; a better one might be Telluridist. One local teacher presented me with a detailed account of a Brooklyn writer and three year veteran who gained a sort of fame by purchasing the least expensive pass yet finagled his way into some thirty screenings the year prior; a number most likely exaggerated as the festival only runs four days.

So what is it that keeps these Telluridists coming back? With two direct flights via prop plane from Denver daily, Telluride is no easy destination to reach. Yes, the Western style downtown nestled into the green mountainscape is idyllic beyond measure, but there’s something more…something dare I say magical about the place during this time year. Without a doubt, the beating heart of the festival lies in the artists themselves. I sat cross-legged on a grassy field a few feet from Colin Firth, Werner Herzog, Danny Boyle and Peter Weir listening intently as they discussed the value of a close up (a tool Mr. Herzog strongly believes to be overused), the rehearsal process (or lack thereof), and the neurological side effects of creating a character’s physical disability, such as a stammer, in the name of a great role. A question from the audience never went unanswered and most of the filmmakers loitered in lobbies following their screenings to speak directly with whomever wanted to pay them a compliment or present them with a late thought-up inquiry.

Following what turned out to be the unofficial US premiere of Black Swan, a petite young woman in her twenties shot her hand in the air to ask Darren Aronofsky the first question of the Q&A session. Her mouth opened, but instead of words a well of emotion burst forth shocking us all, her included. She just barely managed to get out, “thank you.” It was a surprising reaction to a psychological thriller, but Mr. Aronofsky, ever congenial with his easy Brooklyn manner (that may sound counterintuitive but I assure you it’s accurate) thanked her right back, acknowledging “this is why I do it” and added, “we’ll talk after.” He meant it too. Later, I discovered that she was a dancer and actress. Presumably, the film had struck a chord, perhaps gaining an emotional clarity that she hadn’t possessed before. Afterall, that is what the best art does, holds up a mirror and reveals a part of ourselves or our world that we have left unnoticed or worse ignored.

A Letter to Elia, a documentary by Martin Scorsese and co-director Kent Jones, was representative of the theme of artistic influence that ran throughout the weekend whether intentionally or not. The film serves as a message of thanks from one great filmmaker to another. It highlights the personal and artistic influence of controversial figure Elia Kazan and his films on a young Martin Scorsese, before the ambition to become a director was even a whisper in his great mind. Mr. Scorsese narrates the film with an uncharacteristically slow, effective pace and vulnerable demeanor. He talks about going to see Kazan’s films during the onset of adolescence, and how they articulated something about his own life that he could not yet name. He felt understood much in the same way, I would imagine, as the young lady in the Black Swan screening. East of Eden was a particularly important experience for Scorsese, who spends a great majority of A Letter to Elia discussing it. He admits, “I stalked it” and confesses to seeing it fourteen times in various theaters around New York City. The film is not a retrospective of Kazan but a grateful acknowledgement by Scorsese of the influence those films had on the direction of his life. It brought viewer, panelist, and filmmaker Bertrand Tavernier, who witnessed the tragic effects of Kazan’s testimony to the House Un-American Activities Committee first-hand, to tears. A Letter to Elia addresses the blacklisting that Kazan took part in, but only to examine the influence the events had on his body of work. Scorsese believes that Kazan’s best films came after this period of time. The issue of betrayal becomes paramount in his pictures following the testimony. Clearly influenced by the events of his own life, the director increasingly looks inward to tell stories with heavy personal meaning to him. It was then, Scorsese argues and most would agree, that Kazan transformed from director to artist.

The concept of artistic influence was touched on by directors responsible for two of the highest profile films in Telluride, Black Swan and The King’s Speech. After the sneak peak of Black Swan, Darren Aronofsky repeated the oft-mentioned notion that “nothing is original.” He went on to say that he, like most other artists, is influenced by various sources, in this case the most obvious being Tchaikovsky’s ballet Swan Lake, but also Dostoevsky’s The Double and Roman Polanski’s Repulsion. He explained how he “puts them into a blender and makes (his) own smoothie.” What comes out is unique- he’s made the story his own- but the underlying ideas at play have been contemplated by countless artists and thinkers before him, since the beginning of storytelling itself. In the case of Black Swan, because the original work Swan Lake plays such a prominent part in the story, the influence may work in reverse as well. Of course, Tchaikovsky is not alive to rewrite Swan Lake nor would we want him to, but Black Swan influences the audience’s experience of the ballet in two obvious ways. First, it informs the original by presenting a literal re-telling of the story at the center of both works. The audience witnesses a modern day translation of the symbolic ballet complete with evidence to support how and why the fragile yet driven woman at the center of both tales unravels before our eyes. One woman commented, “It made Swan Lake make more sense.” Second, while leaving the theater, I overheard a group of enthusiastic filmgoers discussing that they’d “love to see Swan Lake again.” It’s possible that the ballet will see increased interest quantified by either more productions being staged or more tickets, DVDs, and/or books being sold.

During the introduction for the final screening of The King’s Speech at Telluride and with a similar sentiment to that articulated by Mr. Scorsese, the first thing out of director Tom Hooper’s mouth was an expression of gratitude for iconic filmmaker Peter Weir’s attendance. Hooper went on to site Weir as the preeminent influence on all of his period pieces. Hooper specifically recounted how he used Weir’s Master and Commander as a “touchstone” for the John Adams miniseries he directed that aired in 2008 to much acclaim on HBO. He admitted that he was thrilled to meet Weir for the first time in Telluride because his films were viewed and discussed often in his home while growing up. Although raised in London, Hooper, like Weir, is of Australian descent. His mother, an Australian expat who moved to London before her son was born, encouraged Tom to watch Australian films and specifically Weir’s work. Hooper recalled her saying, “If you like film, you’ve gotta watch Australian cinema.” From a spectator’s point of view, there is nothing as influential and inspiring as watching an artist you admire come face to face with one of his or her own creative idols for the first time. But that’s par for the course at Telluride.

For me, it’s obvious why people come from across the world to the far-flung town of Telluride year after year. Not for the mountains or the rolling waterfall, although both of those help, they come for the promise of inspiration- or influence- even for those of us who don’t normally think of ourselves as artists. The creative force lies within each of us. But only some have the ability and curiosity needed to access it. In places like this, when we stumble upon inspiration, whether accidentally or after a long, sought out pilgrimage, we change- our perspective shifts and we understand something about ourselves that we didn’t before. We come one step closer to becoming artists ourselves.

Photo Slide Show By Nancy Accomando

Video By Linsey Levine

Story By Lisa Manson

Often mistakenly dubbed as the “Mexican Halloween,” Dia de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, holds a special significance to the descendants of the Meso-Americans. Part of a ritual that has been practiced for over 3,000 years, Dia de los Muertos honors death as a continuation of life. Celebrants wear skull masks, called calacas, or face paint to honor deceased relatives and build elaborate altars to fill with offerings for the dead. For all its mysticism, at its core, the celebration is about family and community.

This past October, the art community came together at the Carter Sexton gallery to enjoy the debut solo show of photographer and Forth contributor Nancy Accomando, who has been documenting the local celebration of Dia de los Muertos for years. Admittedly, I was no expert on the Dia de los Muertos celebrations, but I have long been awed by the intricate and colorful painted faces that seem to be ubiquitous around Halloween. So I came to the show not only to view some art, but also to learn.

Nancy’s photo-documentary was shot in October 2009, during the week long celebration on Olvera Street in Downtown Los Angeles. Olvera Street’s Dia de los Muertos is a rich and festive experience (and knowing what Olvera Street is like on a normal day, this came as no surprise). In addition to her photographs, Nancy also created a “shadow box,” which featured a paper mache skull with Day of the Dead-themed designs on it . If you looked through the eyes of the skulls, you could see a slide show of Nancy’s images that were shot during the first event she documented. Through these pieces, Nancy was able to capture the sense of community along with the sense of celebration. The focus of her photographs was the people, both those who have obviously been participants in the ceremony for years (and had their calacas down to a science) and those who were clearly new to the tradition. Nancy’s lens gave them equal significance, since both represent the diverse and dynamic community of Los Angeles. By doing this, she was able to show that the celebration is simply an “appreciation of a time we all share together in this world and beyond.”

The gallery itself also served as a host for a mini celebration, which truly drove home the theme of community. People broke bread (or taquitos), sipped sangria, and filled the cozy gallery with a happy clamor of conversation. The real treat (besides the delicious food) was when the crowd parted for a group of four elaborately-dressed women with full skull makeup. In the middle of the room, they improvised an eerily beautiful dance to three Mexican-influenced songs. The dance group, known as “The Nautch Conspiracy,” is composed of Leila Maitland, Cory Podielski, Hannah Trimbath, and Jennifer Knott. When that was over, and while you were waiting to get some face-time with the artist, you could wander outside and get some airbrush art from Mr. Hoodbrush. Fun and festive times abound. For someone who came in knowing Dia de los Muertos simply as “Mexican Halloween,” I left feeling like I knew a little something more about the Los Angeles community of which I am now a part.

Unfortunately, the exhibition ended on November 12th, but many of the pieces (and others) can still be seen on Nancy’s website:

nancyaccomando.weebly.com.

Quick View:
WHAT: “Dia de los Muertos: Olvera St., L.A.” at Carter Sexton Gallery
WHERE: 5308 Laurel Canyon Blvd., North Hollywood, CA
WHEN: October 8th, 2010, 6 pm – 12 am
WEBSITES: nancyaccomando.weebly.com
cartersexton.com/mrhoodbrush.com

I had come to check out the hotel’s collection of multi-media installations and projections by Los Angeles artists Jerico Woggon, Desirae Hepp, and Lustre. All the work had been on display for the preceding two days as a teaser to Curator Lilli Muller’s Autumn Lights LA ’09 show, which was premiering the same night just a hop, skip and a jump down the street at Pershing Square. What better medium than light to showcase the local talent pool in our sprawling city of lights? Exactly.

I have, as a native Angeleno, witnessed downtown’s art community grow over the years. During college, I lived on Bixel Street and 8th in one of the bland, fake Tuscany-styled buildings devoid of both character and architectural innovation. I wanted to live in one of the soon-to-be teardowns on Jefferson. Crackly painted-white porches on which I would sit drinking a glass of bourbon, watching those who pass by, feeling the heat from the seat still emanate from voyeurs past. But I was convinced that living at the Medici would be safer, cleaner, better. At that time, LA was going through a downtown renovation project, hoping to bring light to the fact that we do, actually, have a downtown. Going back years later, and after a year in NYC, I appreciate these dirty downtown streets and the united call for action by the artistic community.

Lustre Art Work

The Standard Downtown was already buzzing. The installations and electro-Indian music integrated seamlessly into the hotel whilst people chatted around me, vodka tonics confidently in hand. Without realizing it, I was already within the confines of the art show: a light projection on the wall in front of me by artist Desirae Hepp, another video light piece by the Lustre group to my right. Jerico Woggon’s black light installation, featured on 6th Street’s wall and the hotel lobby entrance, reminded me just how cool black lights make everything. Everything with the exception of teeth color and lint, that is. Photographer Rick Mendoza and LA-artist and curator Lilli Muller created rooftop-projected video footage. Hepp’s textile lit artwork aimed to play with our innate response to light, waves and bioluminescence, while creative group Lustre’s video projection montage sought to immerse the audience in a fuzzy bath of art, design and film, mesmerizing us all in the lobby with dancing images.

Lilli Muller Art Work

LA is reclaiming the arts as a priority, as a way to connect people and its interlaced communities. That community tie-in is exactly what The Standard wanted to do. “When I learned that Autumn Lights was coming back after being dark last year, especially as it was something happening just two blocks away, I thought it would be a fantastic fit. It’s great for the community and the arts, which is something that the Standard certainly is involved with,” Dennis told me. “When I met Lilli Muller, the curator, sitting in the lobby and talking about her vision, something snapped and I wanted to be a part of it. We are not only design-centric, but we are engaged with the local community.”

The live music in the lobby enriched the artwork on display, as intended by the hotel’s Culture Coordinator Dan Mancini. “We wanted a live act as opposed to a DJ that wouldn’t distract from the light display, because it’s about lighting and the fluidity of the light as opposed to a musical experience,” he explained. “To do that, we brought in a group called LEF, which stands for Liberate Elemental Forces, and is a mix of Indian and electronic music. There’s a lot of synthesizers and classical Indian instruments which adds to the overall experience.”

Desirae Hepp Art Work

After perusing the artwork, I walked down to Pershing Square, eager to check out the main area of light installations. Any free of charge, open to the public event in downtown LA draws some unusual characters-the one who talks to himself, the other who dances by herself- but the vibe was informal, welcoming and inspiring. Partnered with the City of Los Angeles Parks and Recreation and Art2, Autumn Lights LA ’09 provided an outdoor art show where LA musicians and artists exhibited their light-based work. A city is marked by its lights. An intangible barometer of our culture, our people, our city. In the middle of Pershing Square, I looked around at our downtown, one that now beamed with lights signaling to those landing in LAX airport that we too have a downtown worth reckoning with. One day, thanks to the efforts of these artists, we will fortify Los Angeles’ reputation as a world-class art and culture destination.

For more information on Autumn Lights LA, visit:
www.autumnlightsla.com
For more information on The Standard Downtown, go to:
http://www.standardhotels.com/los-angeles/

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares and go
Downtown, things’ll be great when you’re
Downtown, no finer place for sure,
Downtown, everything’s waiting for you
(Downtown) -Petula Clark

Although Petula Clark is right about the noise and the hurry, forgetting your troubles isn’t really what downtown is for, or at least downtown LA. Just because Skid Row is slowly edging away from the loft spaces and bars that have sprung up like mushrooms after a heavy rain does not mean anything has been forgotten here. The downtown art scene isn’t one of escapism; its craggy roots firmly cling to the foundation of the city, every canvas a mirror of one of the 4 million Angelenos reflected there.

The sidewalks are too grimy, and the incomprehensible babble of the old toothless man smoking something acrid in the doorway of a locked up taco joint is too loud to ignore. There are drunk college guys in Ed Hardy T-shirts here as well, but it is a testament to how much downtown has changed in the last decade that during their intoxicated stumble to the Range Rover at 2 am they will not get robbed.

Downtown is morphing and growing, the adaptive reuse ordinance passed earlier this year allowing for 14,561 new residential units. For artists, downtown is a place they can afford to live and have studio space. The area is still socioeconomically patchy, which keeps the rents reasonable, but it is bright with pockets of new businesses to cater to the influx of 10,000 new residents that have made downtown their home between 2006 and 2008.

Few places are as emblematic of the blossoming downtown art scene as the Hive Gallery, where FORTH set up shop for the duration of last Second Thursday. The Hive is aptly named, each one of its honeycomb partitions filled with teeming buzzing people and loads of art. If bees sweated, then I imagine the Hive would smell authentic too. Every tiny partitioned space contains a different world, put together and controlled by the artist, and stepping through each doorway is a tiny thrill each time. Our Promotions Coordinatior, Nancy and I squeeze past a clown with a red and black face who’s holding a doll’s body with a crazy bald head to find myself almost face-deep in Alex Schaefer’s work-in-progress. I catch myself before I crash into his pastels, and I fall in love with his line right there. Unhurried and rough, his strokes manage to capture more detail than they ought to, and he’s not even done –the way the man gropes the blond woman and she leans into him in the center of his piece is so real it feels like I’m watching a movie.

We push through to the bar, where we meet Tony and Laura. Laura is tending bar and is a resident artist at the Hive. I pester her about her art, which is upstairs in her space and not on view. Tony, an actor and an artist himself, kindly escorts us up. Nancy and I try to capture Laura’s work, especially her poi dancers, in the dim light, but the only captured impressions we get are mental until Nancy gets her shot. Despite the light conditions, the photo shows what is mesmerizing about the piece in person — the sensuous bend of the neck, the muscular lithe grace of the dancer, the unison between the girl and the fire, electric and palpably sexual.

Laura’s work contrasts sharply with what we find when we get downstairs. Walt Hall uses discarded wood panels to create his strangely touching “fenceposts for a better tomorrow,” urban fairy tale-like creations that are equal parts fun and gloomy. They are filled with sad-faced people in quirky animal costumes, stark trees, and stern birds, but the true subject seems to be the city. Its presence looms behind every bird and every tree, layers of newspaper looming oppressively like skyscrapers.

It becomes obvious very soon that despite the varied techniques, styles, and themes present, most artists here are thinking about Los Angeles. I step into the collage-covered world of Patrick Haemmerlein, and I’m staring at one man’s brain trying to process the entirety of LA. There are oil-rigs, trees, surfers, skyscrapers, cranes, musicians, and roots. Roots snake through his work like connecting threads, a whole city bound organically by Patrick’s thoughts.

Where Patrick uses color sparingly, to highlight something special in the two-tone city, Nick Wildermuth brings downtown to life in Technicolor. His panels contain whole buildings, a neighbor visible in each window. Their lives are open to dissection like so many TV shows, each window a different channel, each one a possible Rear Window situation. The dark LA sky glimmers with skyscrapers in the background, blanketing the building in a strange comfort, that city feeling – it’s better to be lonely here than anywhere else. Nick’s work, bright, evocative, and fun, is made even better by the world he’s created for it. Fake brick and cement walls, with brightly painted bottles and discarded cigarette packs littered under them, showcase Nick’s little islands of people perfectly – it is as close to downtown LA as you can get outside the real deal.

Outside is where we find Max Neutra, painting in the middle of the sidewalk while gathering a crowd. With a stellar reputation as a wild live painter, it is no wonder. His images, clearly influenced by comics but not static in the least, are graphic and cheeky and appear as the city itself – bright, flashy, brash, but always more than meets the eye.

If there was a vote for mascot of LA, the most cynical among us would choose the automobile, so seeing the Art on Wheels truck parked on Spring St is a vision realized. To elevate the value of an object that most Angelenos cannot live without from its most basic function to a moving art exhibit is a work of art in itself, and a credit to Carlos Ulloa and Eder Cetina. Climbing up the crude wooden steps, the excitement of seeing art outside the conventional set-up of a gallery or a studio is palpable among the viewers. It feels like a secret art party with an open guest list. The art itself also did not disappoint – Eder’s eye-catching pieces play with iconic images of ninjas and guns, while Carlos’s wicked sense of humor is evident in his masks, one descriptively titled “Black Sperms & Green Amoebas.” The truck is no gimmick; it is art for the people, four wheels for the world. It is the perfect last stop for our art walk, leaving us feeling excited, smiling, and free.

For more on the downtown art walk, visit http://downtownartwalk.com/.

Slideshow and photos by Nancy Accomando

At the risk of upsetting the dead Balthus, I have to say I’m glad that he was not part of the open studio event at the Santa Monica Fine Art Studios – he’d have certainly declined to talk to rubes like me about his work.

On June 13^th, he would have been in the minority as the Santa Monica Fine Art Studios opened its doors to the unwashed masses for a rare treat – a chance to grok art with its creators, over 30 of them to be exact, spanning a myriad of media from painting to mobiles to sculpture, and encompassing every style, from Impressionism to Superflat.

Being allowed into a working artist’s studio is a lot like going backstage at a concert – you get to geek out about your favorite artistic creations with the artists themselves while being exposed to the nuts and bolts of the usually intimate creative process. Plus, there are groupies. I think I saw one gentleman literally drooling at one of Ann Calfas’ masterful nudes, its powerful buttocks clearly triggering a Pavlovian response in the appreciative viewer.

SMFAS opened its doors in 1987, when 1834 Franklin St was one of several warehouse buildings that provided workspace to artists in the area. Tanja Rector, the SMFAS artistic director, primary lease holder, and an incredible artist in her own right, had a vision of a creative hub that provided artists with affordable studio space, accessible 24 hours a day. Today, SMFAS is home to over 30 artists, and while the rent has gone up since 1987 and the other artist warehouses have had to close their doors, Ms. Rector has managed to keep 1834 Franklin St an utterly accessible creative playground for her colleagues – a place where content is influenced not by curators or galleries, but by the creators themselves.

During the open house, visitors had an incredible opportunity not only to mingle with artists and talk about their work, but also bring home a little piece of their experience through the silent auction. The silent auction, another anomaly in the LA art world where breaking into art collecting seems daunting, not to mention pricey, features 8” x 8” pieces of wood which have been transformed by artists into mini-masterpieces that are representative of each artist’s work. With the bidding starting at $25, even unemployed Angelenos could forego a month without Starbucks in order to bring home an incredible original piece of art. The bidding was made even easier by the free wine and amazing music by Forth musicians – when you’re tipsy and grooving, money is suddenly revealed to be the silly paper that it is, far less important than the art you can trade it for.

Of course, Balthus is right to a degree – nothing beats looking at art, certainly not reading about it, so without further adieu, I present the slideshow of a small slice of real local talent as seen through this reporter’s eyes. May you grok in peace, and I hope to see you at the next SMFAS open house in the fall.