In the small-staff world of nonprofits, especially in the arts world, leadership is absolutely vital to function, much less ongoing success. In general, at SMoCA there are no more than two people in charge of a given area, and it is up to them to develop an entire program, from conception to execution, with minimal support or guidance from others in the organization. This is not to say that people do not work together, but in order for tasks to be completed, each person must be able to take on an entire array of tasks in order for that area of programming and execution to be effective.
As an intern, I often absorb tasks from a variety of these groups, as it is easier for me to bounce between jobs since I am present to learn and take on what others many times do not have time for. In my position, leadership takes a different form, and often I must simply be ready for anything at any given time. Leadership means being adaptable and flexible, and a quick learner. One second I am recommending publications to which we might submit our latest, innovative exhibition, and the next I am assembling a powerpoint presentation to be shown at the next exhibitions meeting by the show's curator. If I can anticipate or expand a task's reach when I execute it, all the better going forward.
An internship is most frequently about proving oneself, and learning a diverse array of tasks to prepare for an eventual career, ideally in the area in which you are interning. At SMoCA, I am learning to demonstrate leadership in a variety of often-unexpected ways, and am observing it in spades among my supervisors and co-workers.
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
Art--Its Many Disciplines
This past weekend, I experienced a truly transcendent, multi-faceted performance piece taking place in a most unlikely place: the ASU Deer Valley Rock Art Center. The performance was called Desierto Remix, and served to bring together the performance groups Nemcatacoa from Bogotá, Colombia, and Verbobala from Tucson, Arizona thanks to the organizational efforts of Mary Stephens and Casandra Hernandez under the purview of their series, Performance in the Borderlands. The former group had been on tour in the United States for six months, and works primarily in the medium of dance, with a focus on stiltwalking (yes, you read that correctly). The latter creates multimedia performances blending spoken word, postmodern dance, video, sound, and sculptural elements. And it all took place among an archaeological landmark.
The performance began just before sunset, with the near-silent emergence of two figures in dresses, entirely white, walking ever-so-slowly out of the desert, and the museum's entrance, respectively. Each held a small bell, tinkling lightly, and an umbrella, and each refused to acknowledge the surrounding audience, and moved unchallenged around the building's parking lot before standing stock still on either side of the aforementioned Stephens and Hernandez, who spoke to introduce the evening's program.
Then, the true evening began. Ten performers, each entirely white accentuated with black face makeup, emerged in a procession from the museum's entrance. Three played flutes, one bore a staff, and five walked on the group's trademark stilts. What followed was a procession through the museum and along a path into the desert. Over 200 attendees followed the performers wherever they led, occasionally stopping for a more set element of the show. At times the pace was a gallop, and others a crawl. But without question, the performance was an immersive one. This portion of the program culminated at a dry creek bed, covered in large rocks. While one member of the troupe stood on the railing of the bridge spanning the bed and another stood at the other side, the five stilt walkers stood stock-still at the edge of the creek. Suddenly, they collapsed, and crawled across the entire span of the creek, emerging at the other end and leading the stunned crowd directly into Verbobala's performance in the parking lot.
While the Verbobala set was equally thoughtful and dynamic in many ways, nothing could match the sheer disbelief with which the audience waited for the next move of Nemcatacoa. It is something I certainly will not see again soon.
The performance began just before sunset, with the near-silent emergence of two figures in dresses, entirely white, walking ever-so-slowly out of the desert, and the museum's entrance, respectively. Each held a small bell, tinkling lightly, and an umbrella, and each refused to acknowledge the surrounding audience, and moved unchallenged around the building's parking lot before standing stock still on either side of the aforementioned Stephens and Hernandez, who spoke to introduce the evening's program.
Then, the true evening began. Ten performers, each entirely white accentuated with black face makeup, emerged in a procession from the museum's entrance. Three played flutes, one bore a staff, and five walked on the group's trademark stilts. What followed was a procession through the museum and along a path into the desert. Over 200 attendees followed the performers wherever they led, occasionally stopping for a more set element of the show. At times the pace was a gallop, and others a crawl. But without question, the performance was an immersive one. This portion of the program culminated at a dry creek bed, covered in large rocks. While one member of the troupe stood on the railing of the bridge spanning the bed and another stood at the other side, the five stilt walkers stood stock-still at the edge of the creek. Suddenly, they collapsed, and crawled across the entire span of the creek, emerging at the other end and leading the stunned crowd directly into Verbobala's performance in the parking lot.
While the Verbobala set was equally thoughtful and dynamic in many ways, nothing could match the sheer disbelief with which the audience waited for the next move of Nemcatacoa. It is something I certainly will not see again soon.
Supervisor Spotlight
My most direct supervisor, Dana, is the Curatorial Coordinator for the Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art (SMoCA). On a day-to-day basis, she manages all the moving parts that make a museum exhibition happen. This includes everything from coordinating with lending institutions and artists, planning travel itineraries, and meeting with everyone from the development staff to installation staff to make certain that all deadlines are reached, the exhibition is promoted well, and everything stays within budget.
The thing which dominates her daily work is organization, which works well with her personality style and work needs. Since taking on her position, Dana has instituted a number of vital tweaks to the system by which exhibitions are organized, including a number of checklists, and much more constant communication at all levels of the museum to see that everyone's needs are being met.
Dana's education came from ASU in fine art photography, and during her time pursuing her undergraduate degree, she interned at SMoCA in the very same position where I currently am. Overall, this has given her a very unique perspective on how to manage my own internship and that of my fellow interns. I have felt over my time that this has led her to be much more deliberate in laying out tasks for me to complete, so that I may understand all of the facets of curatorial work in the museum world. In the interim though between her undergraduate studies and working at SMoCA, Dana spent time as a photography teacher at Metro Arts, an arts-focused charter school in central Phoenix. There, she exercised her more traditional photography skills, but here is more able to utilize her general skillset for coordination and management, while still working in the arts. This path speaks to me, as while I do have a particular interest in one area (public policy/urban planning), I can use those skills in another arena, even one related to the arts. As demonstrated by her career path, oftentimes it is not your specific education that leads you to your eventual career, but the contacts you make along the way, and the skills which you develop.
Seeing the many contacts Dana must maintain in order to fulfill her job description is, honestly, at times a bit frightening for me to observe. However, seeing her in action makes me feel that such a position is something I could definitely do in my future.
The thing which dominates her daily work is organization, which works well with her personality style and work needs. Since taking on her position, Dana has instituted a number of vital tweaks to the system by which exhibitions are organized, including a number of checklists, and much more constant communication at all levels of the museum to see that everyone's needs are being met.
Dana's education came from ASU in fine art photography, and during her time pursuing her undergraduate degree, she interned at SMoCA in the very same position where I currently am. Overall, this has given her a very unique perspective on how to manage my own internship and that of my fellow interns. I have felt over my time that this has led her to be much more deliberate in laying out tasks for me to complete, so that I may understand all of the facets of curatorial work in the museum world. In the interim though between her undergraduate studies and working at SMoCA, Dana spent time as a photography teacher at Metro Arts, an arts-focused charter school in central Phoenix. There, she exercised her more traditional photography skills, but here is more able to utilize her general skillset for coordination and management, while still working in the arts. This path speaks to me, as while I do have a particular interest in one area (public policy/urban planning), I can use those skills in another arena, even one related to the arts. As demonstrated by her career path, oftentimes it is not your specific education that leads you to your eventual career, but the contacts you make along the way, and the skills which you develop.
Seeing the many contacts Dana must maintain in order to fulfill her job description is, honestly, at times a bit frightening for me to observe. However, seeing her in action makes me feel that such a position is something I could definitely do in my future.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Incidental Art
I am truly fascinated by the world's quirks. A miscolored panel. A hole in the wall. A toppled sign. A left behind doll.
In observing the happy accidents around me, I find that the things least intended to be art are the most artistic. It's why I keep my window open year-round (except for summer), if only to catch a whisper of something profound ascending the nine floors up to my window. It's why I so love the sounds of musique concrete and tape manipulation, the seeming human calculation in the aural landscape of the world around us.
More and more lately, I have been attempting to take in things as they decay (by accident) and are deconstructed (on purpose). One such occasion recently came when I was taking down vinyl lettering from the walls of my internship. When scraping a wall for an hour on end, one must find little ways to entertain oneself. After observing a co-worker's half-finished wall, I was quick to note the poeticism in his deconstructed title wall and accompanying description. Then, when taking utility knife to my own wall, I decided to stretch my creativity. Deliberately choosing each word I removed, I was able to form incidental poetry, only existent for moments each, but allowing me the chance to indulge constantly in creative practice.
I hope to share that observance and effort with those around me. Take only a few more minutes to indulge in the tasks you create, and the streets you walk. You will be most overwhelmingly rewarded.
In observing the happy accidents around me, I find that the things least intended to be art are the most artistic. It's why I keep my window open year-round (except for summer), if only to catch a whisper of something profound ascending the nine floors up to my window. It's why I so love the sounds of musique concrete and tape manipulation, the seeming human calculation in the aural landscape of the world around us.
More and more lately, I have been attempting to take in things as they decay (by accident) and are deconstructed (on purpose). One such occasion recently came when I was taking down vinyl lettering from the walls of my internship. When scraping a wall for an hour on end, one must find little ways to entertain oneself. After observing a co-worker's half-finished wall, I was quick to note the poeticism in his deconstructed title wall and accompanying description. Then, when taking utility knife to my own wall, I decided to stretch my creativity. Deliberately choosing each word I removed, I was able to form incidental poetry, only existent for moments each, but allowing me the chance to indulge constantly in creative practice.
I hope to share that observance and effort with those around me. Take only a few more minutes to indulge in the tasks you create, and the streets you walk. You will be most overwhelmingly rewarded.
"Tree of Codes" by Jonathan Safran Foer
Photo by Flickr user Heather Quintal
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
A Whirlwind
Today was a bit of a confusing one. With the "government shutdown" taking place, I felt as though I hit a breaking point. While I am generally outspoken about my political, religious, and social views, I have always prided myself on striking a balance between what I believe and gratefully acknowledging that I very well may be wrong about everything I hold dear. In this case, however, I saw a broken system, and immediately knew who was to blame.
Based on the article's in the rest of the world's press, they knew it too. When one group didn't get its way in passing a law, it meant a push for anarchy, where we are currently headed. In the past, I had always thought there was no chance people would actually move to shut down the government over a political decision. But lo and behold, today it happened.
Regardless of particular "issues" one might have with the Affordable Care Act, when something has been upheld by the Supreme Court and its main supporter reelected, that should be a pretty clear sign of its permanence. Throwing a tantrum and refusing to work with others as a result, is no way to conduct yourself as a representative of the most powerful nation in the world.
Letting down thousands upon thousands of everyday workers, and hundreds of millions of fellow citizens is a tough pill to swallow.
Based on the article's in the rest of the world's press, they knew it too. When one group didn't get its way in passing a law, it meant a push for anarchy, where we are currently headed. In the past, I had always thought there was no chance people would actually move to shut down the government over a political decision. But lo and behold, today it happened.
Regardless of particular "issues" one might have with the Affordable Care Act, when something has been upheld by the Supreme Court and its main supporter reelected, that should be a pretty clear sign of its permanence. Throwing a tantrum and refusing to work with others as a result, is no way to conduct yourself as a representative of the most powerful nation in the world.
Letting down thousands upon thousands of everyday workers, and hundreds of millions of fellow citizens is a tough pill to swallow.
The ASU Tempe Career Fair
In my personal experience, the best connections and opportunities come from personal interactions, and showcasing your talents in an experiential way. By attending public meetings, organizing events, writing stories, hosting discussions, and volunteering far and wide, I have built a sizable network for myself in the greater Phoenix area in community development, entrepreneurship and local business, historic preservation, sustainability, art, music, and museums. These kinds of skills and connections are project-based, and come through lasting relationships with my peers and mentors in the community.
As you might imagine based on the above description, career fairs generally aren't the friendliest in my experience to those looking to work outside of traditional corporations. Few nonprofits work at them, and even fewer offer any stimulating opportunities for growth. While I have gained a lot from working with advisors and instructors to (again) directly connect me with leaders in my fields of interest, I have yet to find any opportunities in a building flooded with people all clamoring for the same brand of attention. And so I begrudgingly headed to Tempe for this semester's biggest career fair.
Upon arriving, I saw pretty much what I had anticipated: a lot of tech firms, a lot of engineers, a lot of health majors, and a lot of opportunities to work in "marketing" and "development." I took a few loops around the two ballrooms which contained the event, looking high and low for a nonprofit which might offer me a personally fulfilling opportunity. The first trip was lifeless, but upon a closer look at the guidebook I picked up, I found something different: City Year.
Earlier this year, my friend decided to take a year off from her studies to participate in City Year, a program designed to get young adults involved in schools through tutoring and other supplemental education efforts. She went to Seattle, where she currently resides, and is living the dream while engaging critically with marginalized students so that they may gain the skills they need for the future. So needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised to see them right in front of my nose.
I talked for about 15 minutes with the program's representative, and learned quite a bit about the application and selection processes, giving me great hope about my plans for after graduation. In particular, I was excited to learn of an option that didn't mean immediate long-term employment, nor immediate entrance into graduate school. Instead of the overwhelming instruction of Teach for America (to which City Year is a feeder program), I would be able to work with students on a more intimate level, and find the particular gaps in their educational experience to produce substantive change.
Walking away, I felt quite satisfied, and ultimately glad that I gave the career fair a chance. Sometimes good things hit you in unexpected places.
As you might imagine based on the above description, career fairs generally aren't the friendliest in my experience to those looking to work outside of traditional corporations. Few nonprofits work at them, and even fewer offer any stimulating opportunities for growth. While I have gained a lot from working with advisors and instructors to (again) directly connect me with leaders in my fields of interest, I have yet to find any opportunities in a building flooded with people all clamoring for the same brand of attention. And so I begrudgingly headed to Tempe for this semester's biggest career fair.
Upon arriving, I saw pretty much what I had anticipated: a lot of tech firms, a lot of engineers, a lot of health majors, and a lot of opportunities to work in "marketing" and "development." I took a few loops around the two ballrooms which contained the event, looking high and low for a nonprofit which might offer me a personally fulfilling opportunity. The first trip was lifeless, but upon a closer look at the guidebook I picked up, I found something different: City Year.
Earlier this year, my friend decided to take a year off from her studies to participate in City Year, a program designed to get young adults involved in schools through tutoring and other supplemental education efforts. She went to Seattle, where she currently resides, and is living the dream while engaging critically with marginalized students so that they may gain the skills they need for the future. So needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised to see them right in front of my nose.
I talked for about 15 minutes with the program's representative, and learned quite a bit about the application and selection processes, giving me great hope about my plans for after graduation. In particular, I was excited to learn of an option that didn't mean immediate long-term employment, nor immediate entrance into graduate school. Instead of the overwhelming instruction of Teach for America (to which City Year is a feeder program), I would be able to work with students on a more intimate level, and find the particular gaps in their educational experience to produce substantive change.
Walking away, I felt quite satisfied, and ultimately glad that I gave the career fair a chance. Sometimes good things hit you in unexpected places.
The City and Serendipity
This past Friday, I experienced yet again why I am called to be in Phoenix. Many people tend to feel directionless and uncertain of the particular location in which they dwell. As I've expressed in my past few blog entries, it's pretty clear that I do not feel that way.
Early in the evening, I headed to my friend's apartment, where we shared bowls of Indian food together, complete with naan, rice, beans, yellow curry, tofu, and a side of heirloom tomatoes topped with oil and some sprinkled cheese. It was delicious and filling, and we each had a glass of red wine to cap the variety of tastes in the meal. Everyone else was too tired to go out, but I had promised my friend JRC that I would head to his venue, The Trunk Space, to check out a benefit show featuring some local bands I enjoy.
As I biked over to the venue, I mused about how I was a little tired, and really only wanted to see one of the performers, the secretive Daryl Scherrer. Scherrer rarely plays out anymore in Phoenix, but I've managed to find copies of each of his cardboard-bound CDs hidden in the racks of the Trunk Space's music section. The singer-songwriter croaks out dark, dirty folk and country-tinged songs, speaking with experience of a hard life in the world.
Upon arriving at the venue, I came upon two unexpected sights for the venue I loved and attended so much: an early arriving crowd, and one mostly aged 65+. The show was a benefit for Gina's Team, "an all Volunteer organization dedicated to bringing community leaders, speakers and educators into prisons to teach Life Skills." I suppose the charity group itself helped explain the crowd?
As the first group took the stage, the vast majority of the audience remained in the back, their din lessening not in the slightest to accommodate the haphazard folk music of Wayward Horses, who meekly played roughly three songs (with several stops and starts along the way) before retiring to load in arguably the most-traveled group of the night, Trunk Space heroes Dogbreth.
Dogbreth drove out the elderly folks with its rollicking pop-punk sound, reeling the few younger attendees to the front to bounce around jovially through their set. A fun-filled set to be sure, and a needed reminder that there are just certain groups I can never see too many times.
Finally, it came time for Mr. Scherrer to take the stage. His large, tuneful black electric guitar perfectly accented his rough, rattled vocals as he tread through the first few songs of his set. Then, something quite unexpected happened.
The front door to the venue opened, and in stepped ten women, all carrying instruments, all in matching outfits: Mariachi Pasion, Arizona's premier female mariachi group, and the first such group to ever perform at the Trunk Space (a rare occurrence considering the myriad performances which take place at the venue). Following a rousing eight-song set, replete with gringo covers, the show came to a close, and my friend and I were gifted a pie from our friends Liam and Dana, who were selling on behalf of their shop, Bragg's Factory Diner, to help fundraise through the evening. We then proceeded to chat with Steph, the other owner of the venue and a handful of other "regulars," before walking home along Grand Avenue.
Along the way, we were called to from behind. It was our dear friend, Aaron from our favorite book shop, Lawn Gnome. As it turned out, he had been driving to the shop to write a poem for his mother-in-law's memorial service the next day. He had been out of town all week, tending to his wife and budding family. We offered him a piece of pie, which he gratefully ate.
And so we chatted. About the city. About the show. About the pie. Anything to get his mind off the past week. Along the way, another passing fellow took a slice from our tin.
All this along Phoenix's famed diagonal at 11pm on a Saturday night. Just the kind of strange connection this city breeds.
And for that, I couldn't be more grateful.
Early in the evening, I headed to my friend's apartment, where we shared bowls of Indian food together, complete with naan, rice, beans, yellow curry, tofu, and a side of heirloom tomatoes topped with oil and some sprinkled cheese. It was delicious and filling, and we each had a glass of red wine to cap the variety of tastes in the meal. Everyone else was too tired to go out, but I had promised my friend JRC that I would head to his venue, The Trunk Space, to check out a benefit show featuring some local bands I enjoy.
As I biked over to the venue, I mused about how I was a little tired, and really only wanted to see one of the performers, the secretive Daryl Scherrer. Scherrer rarely plays out anymore in Phoenix, but I've managed to find copies of each of his cardboard-bound CDs hidden in the racks of the Trunk Space's music section. The singer-songwriter croaks out dark, dirty folk and country-tinged songs, speaking with experience of a hard life in the world.
Upon arriving at the venue, I came upon two unexpected sights for the venue I loved and attended so much: an early arriving crowd, and one mostly aged 65+. The show was a benefit for Gina's Team, "an all Volunteer organization dedicated to bringing community leaders, speakers and educators into prisons to teach Life Skills." I suppose the charity group itself helped explain the crowd?
As the first group took the stage, the vast majority of the audience remained in the back, their din lessening not in the slightest to accommodate the haphazard folk music of Wayward Horses, who meekly played roughly three songs (with several stops and starts along the way) before retiring to load in arguably the most-traveled group of the night, Trunk Space heroes Dogbreth.
Dogbreth drove out the elderly folks with its rollicking pop-punk sound, reeling the few younger attendees to the front to bounce around jovially through their set. A fun-filled set to be sure, and a needed reminder that there are just certain groups I can never see too many times.
Finally, it came time for Mr. Scherrer to take the stage. His large, tuneful black electric guitar perfectly accented his rough, rattled vocals as he tread through the first few songs of his set. Then, something quite unexpected happened.
The front door to the venue opened, and in stepped ten women, all carrying instruments, all in matching outfits: Mariachi Pasion, Arizona's premier female mariachi group, and the first such group to ever perform at the Trunk Space (a rare occurrence considering the myriad performances which take place at the venue). Following a rousing eight-song set, replete with gringo covers, the show came to a close, and my friend and I were gifted a pie from our friends Liam and Dana, who were selling on behalf of their shop, Bragg's Factory Diner, to help fundraise through the evening. We then proceeded to chat with Steph, the other owner of the venue and a handful of other "regulars," before walking home along Grand Avenue.
Along the way, we were called to from behind. It was our dear friend, Aaron from our favorite book shop, Lawn Gnome. As it turned out, he had been driving to the shop to write a poem for his mother-in-law's memorial service the next day. He had been out of town all week, tending to his wife and budding family. We offered him a piece of pie, which he gratefully ate.
And so we chatted. About the city. About the show. About the pie. Anything to get his mind off the past week. Along the way, another passing fellow took a slice from our tin.
All this along Phoenix's famed diagonal at 11pm on a Saturday night. Just the kind of strange connection this city breeds.
And for that, I couldn't be more grateful.
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