Love is hard.

Here in Zion, we recently went through another gay debate as Boyd K. Packer reminded homosexuals where they fall in God's plan and the gays responded with indignation and more than one cheap shot. All this while gay teens are killing themselves at an alarming rate and everyone from Tim Gunn to a Texas City Councilman try to convince them that it gets better.

Against this backdrop, Salt Lake Acting Company (SLAC) offers its new production of Tony Kushner's Angels in America.   And it's a reminder how much things have changed in the last 15 years, and how much they've stayed the same.  Certainly AIDS is no longer the absolute death sentence it once was.  And I don't think any of us ever imagined 15 years ago that gay marriage would be legal in six states.  Yet the disdain, even disgust that many feel for homosexuals is alive and well.

SLAC can sure do a lot with not a lot of theater. Without the capabilities of many of Salt Lake City's larger theaters, SLAC has to be more ingenious in staging plays.  Keven Myhre's set is a brilliant, travel-induced dream of lost luggage that helps fuel the story's crazed, globe-spanning hallucinations.  Myhre also directs this production with an almost Shakespearean sense of tragicomedy.

But the real reasons the show works are good actors delivering Kushner's brilliant dialogue.  Alexis Baigue crackles as Louis Ironson, the neurotic gay Jew who can't deal with a dying lover. Charles Lynn Frost makes you hate Roy Cohn, and at the same time somehow understand this complex character.  Alexander Bala is perfectly conflicted as the struggling, married Mormon trying to balance his sexuality with the rest of his life.  And I loved Colleen Baum as the mother, who convincingly communicates the difficulties of unconditional love.

In the end, this is a play that remembers, as Kushner's characters remind us, that "Love is hard."  It's hard if you're straight.  It's hard if you're a mother who learns her son is gay.  It's hard if you discover that your husband is gay.  And it's really hard if you're a man who falls in love with another man.  But Angels in America makes me want to stand on the side of love, no matter how hard it is.  And if we all do that, maybe the world will be a different place 15 years from now, when SLAC hopefully revisits this powerful play.

Angels in America runs through November 7, 2010.

Book twenty-nine: Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.

SPOILER ALERT.  There are comments in this post that give away elements of the ending.

When Jonathan Franzen's new book Freedom hit stores, it seemed like the book world could talk about nothing else. The reviewers raved endlessly about Franzen's amazing talent and modern story-telling ability.  So how could I not read the book.  But I downloaded it with a good deal of skepticism; I mean really, there's no way this book could be that good.  Mr. Franzen seems happy to prove my skepticism wrong.  This book is brilliant.

Franzen's writing is effortless.  So effortless that you sometimes forget how beautifully descriptive and observant it is.  It's hard to believe that Franzen is single with no children because he writes about family relationships with such precision that it infiltrates your mind and forces you to confront your own personal relationships.  I consider myself a pretty stable, well-adjusted person who's lived his life through strong family ties and no "psychological" issues. But this book called my stability into question, asking me to think about many of my relationships and how I've been unable to maintain some of them.

I loved the symmetrical structure of the book; the gossipy neighbors that inform the opening and closing; the dual third-person journals that fit just inside the opening and the closing (by the way my dislike of first-person writing seems justified in this book as Franzen chooses to have a character write her journals in third person); and the central sections that make you both love and hate key characters.

Freedom is long, clocking in at more than 12,500 Kindle units (beep boop bop bop beep). But it never reads long.  I never felt like the writing needed editing. And Freedom is often so engaging that I would re-read passages not to make sure I understood the meaning, but to just enjoy the writing.

For a book that loves depression and mental issues, Freedom offers a wonderful, happy ending, giving me hope that even if I've screwed up some my personal relationships, they might turn out alright after all.

Book twenty-eight: Comedy in a Minor Key by Hans Keilson.

First published in 1947, Hans Keilson's novella Comedy in a Minor Key is a delight.  Maybe delight is the wrong word to use to describe a book about World War II.  But somehow, this story about a couple who decides to hide a Jewish man from the Nazi's is rewarding in an unexpected way.

I don't want to give too much away about the plot because I hope you'll read the book.  Wim and Marie are a loving couple who make significant sacrifices to help save the life of a complete stranger.  The result is a tale about people doing what's right, even when they're nervous about their decision.  It's a story that reminds us that doing what's right is a reward in itself.  But it's also a reminder that doing what's right, doesn't guarantee the rewards that so many stories would have us believe.  This novel makes me want to be a better, kinder person, even if being that person creates problems.

Short enough to be read in an afternoon, Comedy in a Minor Key is written in a simple, straightforward style.  But that doesn't mean it's simplistic.  The structure of the story is intricate and engaging. I'm definitely going to read Keilson's other book that was recently re-released in English.

The city that gives a DAM.

The last time I was in Denver, I paid a visit to the Denver Art Museum (DAM) and it made me realize that the mile high city is a lot more sophisticated that Salt Lake City. I was pissed.  This trip to DAM did nothing to make me feel any different.

I skipped the blockbuster King Tut exhibit (saw it in San Francisco and it was just OK) and headed straight for the contemporary galleries.  And DAM didn't disappoint.  A lot has changed since the last time I was there.  If MCA Denver is all about ignoring the permanent collection, DAM is about creating an unbelievable permanent collection, much of it modern.  And the museum delivers some mighty fine new art.

Much of the contemporary galleries are currently filled with works that explore the human form.  It was great to see so many surprising takes on the body, many by some of my favorite artists.  Take Marc Quinn's 1999 marble titled Jamie Gillespie.  By reminding us of ancient Roman and Greek sculptures missing appendages and yet revered for their physical perfection, Quinn asks us to question our attitudes about those with disabilities.

Tom Friedman wants us to keep our egos in check.  His diminutive form crafted from Styrofoam beads  reminds us of our insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe.

Exploring our dreams and nightmares are several works by Pia Stadtbaumer including this work, Max, Raven and Scissors (1999, Zellan, scissors and stuffed animal).

Fred Wilson offers his take on the Greek god atlas.  Instead of holding up the planet, this version of the god  holds up the classic books that define the world's greatest art even though they ignore almost everything outside of Europe and America.  To add insult to injury, Atlas stomps on a book about African art.  This is Untitled (Atlas), (1992, plaster and books).

It's not just sculpture that explores humanity at the Denver Art Museum.  There are some lovely paintings.  Take Wes Hempel's Fatherhood (1996, oil on canvas), which is mind blowing for its stunning beauty and art-historical references.

While most of the art is displayed beautifully, there are some questionable decisions.  I've been visiting museums for years hoping to see a Marylin Minter painting up close and personal.  And for the first time, I encountered one of Minter's strange, realist paintings, Tough Guy (1999, enamel on metal).  But it was hung so high on the wall it was impossible to get a good look at Minter's technique.  And that's what I've always wanted to get a better look at.

But the contemporary galleries at DAM weren't just about humanity.  There was plenty more to explore.  I loved Richard Patterson's massive painting Minotaur with Brush Strokes (1998, oil on canvas).

And Sandy Skoglund stops the show with her installation, Fox Games (1989, mixed media).  This takes fairy tales and turns them on their heads. It seems the foxes have won.  I couldn't help thinking that this says something about our current world; that we've somehow lost control and the foxes and wolves have taken over.  Little Red Riding Hood is in big trouble.

At most museums, I hit the contemporary galleries and head to my next adventure.  But Felix suggested we visit the photography galleries. Who knew, there's a lot of stuff to see in art museums outside of the contemporary galleries.  There's a brilliant photography show currently up at DAM called Exposure: Photos from the Vault. There are some amazing photographs including a brilliant self portrait of Chuck Close.  But my pick of the show was Berenice Abbott's strange and dreamy Designer's Window, Bleeker Street (1947, gelatin silver print).

And in the galleries devoted to Mexican art we ran across this stunning bit of old-world painting designed to help define the classes.  Franisco Clapera's Castas Paintings (about 1775, oil on canvas) were part of a supposedly common practice.  These types of painting attempted to showcase and categorize the various racial mixes occurring at the time.  Artists usually made these paintings in sets that showed fourteen to sixteen possible combinations, helping to define social distinctions. 

An art marathon at the Salt Lake Art Center.

For 48 hours this weekend you can view and even participate in a performance art piece created by Salt Lake City style maven and artist, Gary Vlasic.  The work is called Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows and is an homage to the dance marathons that were popular in the early part of the 20th Century.

Art marathons are all the rage these days.  In fact, this performance reminded me of recent performances in New York City.  The idea of keeping a museum space open for 24 hours a day was reminiscent of Michael Asher's proposal for the recent Whitney Biennial which called for the museum to remain open 24 hours a day for seven days.  (Budget restrictions meant they were only able to do it for three).  And Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows is very reminiscent of Marina Abromovic's The Artist is Present, recently on view at MoMA.  The set ups for both are striking for their similarity, each with a defined square space lit with four large light stands, one in each corner.  There was also similarity in the desire of the artists to encourage interaction with the audience; Abromovic asking visitors to sit and stare at her every day for over two months; Vlasic inviting the audience to join the dance, even inviting them to dance with him. 

I spent about two hours at Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows. The first hour was a more formal performance which was to take place Friday and Saturday nights at about 8:45.  The second hour was part of the marathon in which the professional dancers and museum goers are set loose to perform hour after hour.  There was a lot to like.  The choreography is ingenious with a mix of light, balletic movements that defy the demands of a 48-hour performance mixed with more angry and stern movements.  During the unstructured performance, the professional dancers could take individual choreographic lines and perform them at will, sometimes joined by another dancer, which gave the performance a dreamy air of reoccurring memory.  

Adding to the dream-like quality was a line of metronome's set at different tempos and allowed to wind down at their own pace.  The constant tic of the time keepers created an iconic image that will be hard to forget. Plus, it was just cool.

The dancers were good.  It was particularly fun to see Todd Allen who was responsible for the choreography and also performed as a dancer.  Allen was one Repertory Dance Theatre's best dancers but abandoned his Salt Lake City fans to dance in New York City.  For this performance he brought the physical dichotomies for which I remember him; a surprising ability to balance opposites like power and softness or ego and vulnerability.

Performance art is an unpleasant affair, at least if you judge from the facial expressions of its practitioners.  And Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows is no different.  You won't find any smiles in this performance.  It's all stern, somber faces that look pissed at the thought of having to carry on with these shenanigans for an endless 48 hours.  But why all the gloom.  There were moments that were charming, amusing, even silly.  And I wish that expression had shown itself in the performance.

In the program Vlasic notes, "I have always dreamed of the [Salt Lake Art Center] Main Gallery as a performing arena for my visual world and dreamscapes."  This prompted a wonderful memory.  Working nearly two decades ago for the Utah Symphony, we were planning a 50th anniversary celebration, one party of which was to be held at the Salt Lake Art Center.  We asked Vlasic to give us a proposal for the party.  And if my memory serves, Mr. Vlasic suggested an entire chorus line of tap dancers descending the Salt Lake Art Center's wooden staircase carrying flaming desserts.  Ultimately, the idea was deemed a little too flashy for the symphony crowd.  That wooden stair case is now gone, replaced with a cheap metal affair.  And there were no tap dancers.  But somehow, I felt like Gary Vlasic may have just achieved a dream, a grand spectacle that momentarily invades a beautiful space and our minds. 

You can still experience Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows this weekend.  It ends Sunday, September 26 at 6:00 p.m.  Doors are open all day and all night.  Here are a few more photos:

DJ Jesse Walker and Gary Vlasic

The program drew a large, hip crowd.

One of the Dark Horse/Fallen Shadows performers

DJ Jesse Walker

Books twenty-six and twenty seven: Catching Fire and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

I've decided to write about Suzanne Collins last two books in the Hunger Games series (Catching Fire and Mockingjay) in a single post.  I read them back-to-back and it seems easier to talk about them together.  I also need to start this post with a giant SPOILER ALERT!  In this post, I will talk about plot points that will spoil not just the endings but much of the books if you haven't read them and you intend to.

I wasn't sure I wanted to read these two books because I had some misgivings about the first novel in the series.  But my book club decided to read the entire series, which gave me ample encouragement.  And I'm glad I read the full series.

From a pure reading enjoyment experience, I think the first book is the best with its thrilling action sequences and hyper-fast pace.  But the second book offered a more nuanced story with some genuine plot surprises and more insight into characters.  My least favorite of the three is the last book which loses it's focus and offers a plot that sometimes feels haphazard. However all these books are delightfully readable and I can see why they are so popular.

That said, I do have issues with the books.  While I liked the plot of Catching Fire better than the others, there is one twist so obvious and forced that I can't help but call it out.  In this book, we learn that the rules of the game (once a child has survived the games, she never has to compete again) can easily change.  The changing of the rules felt like little more than a ploy to put Katniss Everdean back into the arena to fight it out to the death with other kids.  A more interesting plot would have made Katniss the mentor to another child forced to fight for his or her life. Although, I'll admit that this forced plot point sets up the second half of the book which is filled with fantastic plot twists and turns and some damn fine character development.  So maybe I should leave the storyline to Collins.

I've also complained that I don't like the first person voice of these books.  But now I'm not so sure.  I think what I may not like is teenage-girl angst.  There's an endless attitude of "woe is me" and "I'm such a terrible person" and "how can I ever live up to the goodness of Peeta" and "why do I have to constantly be such a disappointment to family" and " . . . "  This constant drone starts in book two and carries right on through book three.  For me, it's like Chinese water torture; a constant drip, drip, drip of negativity and self loathing that belies the powerful girl that is Katniss Everdean.

These books also treat some pretty serious stuff with surprising frivolity:

On teenage pregnancy: Let's tell everyone that Katniss is pregnant with Peeta's baby. Isn't that romantic?

On underage drinking: Yes you've had a really bad day.  Go knock back a few with Haymitch.

On prescription drug abuse:  Life is better when shrouded in a drug-y haze

On suicide: Yes, your teen life sucks.  Why not consider ending it all?

On revenge killing: What a great idea!

It's this last point, that made me ultimately not like Katniss Everdean as a literary character.  In book three, Katniss is obsessed with executing President Snow.  In the end, she doesn't directly kill him.  Instead, with no thought or moral conflict and in front of a blood thirsty crowd, Katniss coldly shoots District 13's President Coin through the heart because she may or may not have been responsible for the death of Katniss's sister. Yes, a lot of people would call me a weak, spineless liberal.  But I think execution demands a more careful consideration.

This post risks coming off as too negative.  So let me end with a bit a praise for Suzanne Collins.  I heard an interview with her on the New York Times Book Review podcast and she was brilliant.  I particularly liked how much credit she gives her audience of young readers.  She talked about how my generation is creating massive social and ecological problems that I won't have to deal with in my life.  Instead, it's the kids reading her books that will have to face some monumental problems. And that's why her books ask kids to face some pretty serious issues and ideas.  She confronts these issues in her books brilliantly.  Issues like the morality of reality TV. Or ecological degradation. War. Poverty. Economic disparity.  Tackling tough issues like these with honesty (yet written with such excitement) is what makes these books so powerful.

A look at what's new.

Here's a great idea.  Let's create a museum dedicated to contemporary art.  In fact let's be so dedicated to contemporary art, that we're not going to have a permanent collection.  Once a year, we'll change out everything in the museum with completely new stuff that we don't own.

The egos of most museums would prevent them from taking such a position.  But that's exactly the idea behind Denver's Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA).  In fact, if you talk to the gallery attendants or the super-friendly woman at the gift shop, they can tell you by name the entire permanent collection of the museum which includes a total of three works. (OK, there are technically more than three since the work in the cafe includes a number of ceramic sculptures by the same artist.)

One of the works in the permanent collection is brilliant and by a duo of my favorite artists.  Tim Noble and Sue Webster are most notorious for their chaotic sculptures that create simplified silhouettes when lit with a spotlight. A perfect example is the penis sculpture I recently saw at the New Museum.  In Denver, they've created a spectacular lighted bleeding heart called Toxic Schizophrenia (Hyper Version) that resides outside the museum.  I'll definitely be visiting this sculpture at night on my next visit to Denver. I love it. Can I please get a giant, lighted bleeding heart in front of my house.

But we're not here to talk about the permanent collection because that's not what this museum is about.  Before I get to the exhibit, I have to make a quick comment about the entrance to the museum.  I seriously couldn't figure out how to get in.  There isn't a door.  Fortunately, I walked far enough into the walkway that I triggered the motion sensors.  And suddenly a massive metal wall glided open to let me in.  That alone made me love MCA Denver.

The exhibit that was on display (unfortunately it closed shortly after my visit so you can't see it) was Energy Effects: Art and Artifacts from the Landscape of Glorious Excess.  This was a great show that tries to tackle our endless appetite for energy and power, and how that desire has led to an orgy of excess. 

I loved Jeff Shore and Jon Fisher's Cliff Hanger (2009; 5 mins. 20 secs.; wood, wire, plastic aluminum, cameras, motors, guitar strings, drawer glide, light bulbs, custom electronics, computer, monitor, speakers and button).  You press a button and set in motion a unique movie that is created from the strange, Rube-Golbergian contraption that reminds us how complex our lives have become.

On the other side of complex, there's Viviane le Courtois's Chaussures (1991 - present; fiber).  Viviane hand makes her own flip-flops from natural fibers.  She wears them until they begin to disintegrate.  The whole time she writes about what happened while wearing her rustic sandals.  At MCA, hundreds of her worn-out footwear are on display. It's a reminder that energy and power are fueled by real people, not by oil or gas or wind. 

One of the surprises of this show was it's willingness to embrace objects some wouldn't call art.  Take the B61 Thermonuclear Bomb (1968 - present; two of an estimated 3,155 original models) from the Los Alamos National Laboratory.  Seriously, anytime I can go to an art museum and confront real, live nuclear bombs, I'm thrilled.  This is scary stuff.  Shouldn't we be taking this more seriously.  It was a perfect reminder that we're intent on wiping out our own species.

If the whole idea behind this museum wasn't intoxicating enough, they have one other surprise.  In the library, many of the artists who have shown works at the museum have left a souvenir behind; a reminder of their time at the museum.  It's a wonderful bit of contemporary art-world love.  Tiny, strange items that say more about the experience of art than the commercialism of art. It's a wonderful idea. 

Here's Felix wandering the library:

 

And here are two doll-like self portraits left behind by Tim Noble and Sue Webster. This makes me want to invite artist friends over in hopes that they'll leave a little something behind in my home.