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Review by Jessica Walther

The girl’s nickname is “Trashcan” because she is considered worthless, something she talks of causually. He does everything he can to show her this is not true even if that means risking his meaningless life time and time again. She calls him “Ahjussi,” the Korean title for the film. The term “ahjussi” is used in Korea to address an older man who is not quite a stranger but not quite family.  It can be a term applied to someone that you do not know at all or someone that you have known for along time.

Things are not what they seem in this film. The bumbling police are often confused with the gangsters that they are staking out.  They arrive at crime scenes too late and stand around in confusion in the aftermath of Tae-sik’s killing sprees . The girl’s lipstick-wearing grandmother invokes an Asian Cruella de Ville who herds children instead of Dalmantions. ( not her grandmother, just the grandmother figure in the film)

Always seen in her red sweatshirt, So -mi is kidnapped into a world of drugs, gangsters, and organ trafficking. The mafia uses unwanted children to manufacture and smuggle drugs in the harshest conditions. As the film unravels the mafia’s dirty deeds become more apparent and the viewer starts imagining the horrible deaths they themselves would inflict on each villain.

And Tae-sik is just the man to fulfill these brutal wishes of vengeance. So-mi’s quiet voice rings through Tae-sik’s conscience as he moves through the action scenes of the film that wash everything in blue-toned images and high speed cinematography. Every brutal sequence is played like out like a swift dance and revert back and forth from third person point of view to first person POV as if you were the one being punched and stabbed.  After a near fatal injury while battling the mafia, he comes back tand  cut his unkempt hair into a stylized faux-hawk and transforms into a pretty boy with killer instincts – Korea’s favored archetype for a male protagonist.  His bull-eye shooting and slash and kill knife style shows his past training. .

Won Bin is no newcomer to action movies but in this role he seems to have seasoned himself into a brooding beauty that protects and attacks with style and grace. His stoicism is only broken when necessary, and when he speaks, his deep voice resonates with meaning and heavy threats. . The soundtrack is lilting at times and other times driven by pop beats that push the action forward. Silence is heavily utilized for dramatic pause and for the clean white flash backs to a past that was pristine before everything was lost.

Korean thrillers are typically characterized by intense blood splattering violence and themes saturated with vengeance; this film is no exception. But this flick seems bigger than life in the symbolism and dynamics of the lone killer and young girl. Here, in the world that Director Lee has created, an outcast with his knife and semi-automatic can become a child’s savior and hero.

“The Man From Nowhere” 2010
Written and directed by Lee Jeong-beom
Watch trailer here
Available on Netflix Instant and select video stores

The girl’s nickname is “Trashcan” because she is considered worthless, something she talks of causually. He does everything he can to show her this is not true even if that means risking his meaningless life time and time again. She calls him “Ahjussi,” the Korean title for the film. The term “ahjussi” is used in Korea to address an older man who is not quite a stranger but not quite family.  It can be a term applied to someone that you do not know at all or someone that you have known for along time.

Things are not what they seem in this film. The bumbling police are often confused with the gangsters that they are staking out.  They arrive at crime scenes too late and stand around in confusion in the aftermath of Tae-sik’s killing sprees . The girl’s lipstick-wearing grandmother invokes an Asian Cruella de Ville who herds children instead of Dalmantions. ( not her grandmother, just the grandmother figure in the film)

Always seen in her red sweatshirt, So -mi is kidnapped into a world of drugs, gangsters, and organ trafficking. The mafia uses unwanted children to manufacture and smuggle drugs in the harshest conditions. As the film unravels the mafia’s dirty deeds become more apparent and the viewer starts imagining the horrible deaths they themselves would inflict on each villain.

And Tae-sik is just the man to fulfill these brutal wishes of vengeance. So-mi’s quiet voice rings through Tae-sik’s conscience as he moves through the action scenes of the film that wash everything in blue-toned images and high speed cinematography. Every brutal sequence is played like out like a swift dance and revert back and forth from third person point of view to first person POV as if you were the one being punched and stabbed.  After a near fatal injury while battling the mafia, he comes back tand  cut his unkempt hair into a stylized faux-hawk and transforms into a pretty boy with killer instincts – Korea’s favored archetype for a male protagonist.  His bull-eye shooting and slash and kill knife style shows his past training. .

Won Bin is no newcomer to action movies but in this role he seems to have seasoned himself into a brooding beauty that protects and attacks with style and grace. His stoicism is only broken when necessary, and when he speaks, his deep voice resonates with meaning and heavy threats. . The soundtrack is lilting at times and other times driven by pop beats that push the action forward. Silence is heavily utilized for dramatic pause and for the clean white flash backs to a past that was pristine before everything was lost.

Korean thrillers are typically characterized by intense blood splattering violence and themes saturated with vengeance; this film is no exception. But this flick seems bigger than life in the symbolism and dynamics of the lone killer and young girl. Here, in the world that Director Lee has created, an outcast with his knife and semi-automatic can become a child’s savior and hero.

“The Man From Nowhere” 2010
Written and directed by Lee Jeong-beom
Watch trailer here
Available on Netflix Instant and select video stores

Tam says semiautobiographical because she paints about issues that are not just important to her, but relevant in the larger scheme of things. The artist has been exploring issues of being Asian, such as inter-Asian racism, political relations between the East and West, and stereotypes of Asians.  She feels that these issues are becoming increasingly relevant with all the attention directed at East Asia with the rapid rise of China as an economic power, the issues with Korea, and the strange but fascinating pop culture of Japan.

Tam is a prolific artists, but one of her paintings titled Dumped has a profound meaning. This painting relays the short story from the Ming era about a wealthy woman whose family has a history of low social standing. She marries a poor but reputable scholar, who then tries to murder her by tossing her overboard one night into a lake. In order to remarry into a family, that is just as wealthy but with greater social status. The woman survives somehow and is adopted into such a family who plays match maker between her and her former husband. She makes her former husband feel sorry for this action and eventually they make up. This painting basically conveys a story about murder, revenge, and ultimately reconciliation. Tam says that she is subconsciously drawn to this story because she had just undergone a similar ordeal in her personal life, but without revenge or reconciliation, although she definitely desires both of these to happen.

Tam painted two other paintings about this woman’s rebirth or the transformation. One painting takes place in a sort of overcast setting while the second one takes place in daytime. “Dumped” was painted as a night scene because for Tam night symbolized death, the death of her old identity. The second painting is about how she is being rescued or reborn, and in the last one, she has completely risen again. The artist says that these paintings were featured at Galerie Myrtis in a show called Emergence. Tam’s second painting which is called “The Lady Who Was A Beggar” was also on the cover of Baltimore’s City Paper.

Jennifer Tam, Hounds of Hell, 2010,

Tam has always been drawn to work that is equal parts craft and concept. By that she means she is attracted to work that has a high degree or just the right amount of craftsmanship and technical finesse, but which is informed by a strong conceptual idea. She says work that is too heavy on either end just does not speak to her. The artists who have been influencing her most lately are James Jean, Easo Andrews, Taskashi Murakami, Hokusai, and Rimpa school of Japanese art. There are countless other artists who she look at and admires, but nothing to do with her work.

More often, she comes away with a feeling of inspiration for her own work or drives to make art, rather than an emotional reaction. She likes to think this because she is more guided in her day to day life by logic than emotion and that is why she is not particularly drawn to things like Abstract Expressionism and German Expressionism.  She always finds herself evaluating the craft of the works and being drawn to the emotion they convey, so the ideas she come away with have to do with craft. For example, the Rimpa School influenced the use of gold leaf in the most recent of her painting.

Tam loves James Jean’s work. In our interview she said that seven years ago, she spent hours and hours going through every single thing Jean had done. It was the first time Tam had seen Jean’s work online. Unfortunately  Jean’s work and is not widely exhibited. However, Tam is completely enraptured and inspired by Jean, and he had such a strong effect on her that Jean fueled her to create more work.

Review by Sabbu Sunar

1. Flashback— a week earlier.  pre·view [pree-vyoo]: anything that gives an advance idea or impression of something to come.

It is early morning. Groggy from little sleep, I’m heading into the Baltimore Museum of Art upon invitation. The staff is prepared—we are offered coffee and cookies (I decline due to a distaste for sugar and caffeine) and then we are ushered upstairs to the main gallery. There is a brief introduction by BMA director Doreen Bolger, followed by a word by Helene Grawbow, the director of installation. I’m not really listening. In we go to rooms full of art, guards languid, doing time. Each artist stands in their section, where there is an expanse of their work. They are eager—ready and willing to answer questions. We are all getting our first glimpse of the 2011 Sondheim Prize exhibition.

This is typical press preview protocol. These are always strange sometimes-artificial affairs. We see the usual suspects from local publications, all with either camera or old school with notepad and pen in hand. I too snap a few reference photos, but I don’t take notes—I don’t really look much at the work either, unless an artist guides me to something. I don’t read anything written, none of the carefully prepared wall text, titles, explanations. I stuff handouts into my back pockets, save for later if needed. To me, I am here for one thing, to connect with the artists. How have they came to this place in life, who they are, what is their personal narrative. This takes time. Artists have a standard pitch. We all have our shtick. The trick is to cut through that and attempt a more authentic conversation. I am searching less for explanations or stated meaning, than a light bulb moment, an illumination. Some unknown, something new, something to say that isn’t a cliché. This is work. I know I will visit the exhibition again in the future after it opens and make a quiet stroll on my own as an authentic audience member, to look at the work in detail, to see what I feel, not what I am told to feel.

Turning visual work into words is always a troublesome yet important affair.

2. Standing on Ceremony

It is summer,  the heat is kicking in—The Sondheim Prize is Baltimore’s version of the Academy Awards. A glamorous event, something one does not often associate with Mobtown and its plethora of dressed-down scallywags, vying for each other’s attention. No, this is professional, baby. Big time. And the long awaited finalist exhibition is given much buzz. Early word is this year’s show is strong, though some feel the show is a bit conservative. Regardless, the viewer won’t be disappointed.  The big gossipy question is the same as always: who will win the coveted BIG prize along with its jackpot of twenty-five grand. The winner will be announced Saturday June 10, coming right up.

The annual Sondheim Prize is now in its sixth year and well established. Organized by the tireless Baltimore Office of Promotion & the Arts, the awards involve an extensive process that includes decisions made by established out of town jurors. The first round consists of a selection of a wide variety of artists chosen as potential contenders, then the judges, artist Polly Apfelbaum and curators Tina Kukielski and Isolde Brielmaier, pare it down to the small group of finalists— this year five. The finalists’ work is exhibited at the BMA in a large show that kicks off Artscape.  The Semi-Finalists are exhibited in a large well-done show smack dab in the center of Artscape at MICA’s Fox and Bunting buildings.

The diverse Baltimore and DC art scene, often segregated by group affiliation and an hour drive, all turn out for this night together, dressed in their finery (Lets face it D.C. art scene always dresses much better—why this is I am not sure. Most artists are not from the working class, so why that tradition of the non-dandy lives on I don’t know.). Moving through the galleries they whisper praise, argue and gossip. During this celebration the artists go through what must be a harrowing last-minute interview with the judges.  The judges then huddle alone in some back room of the BMA and hash out who gets the award. Then the dramatic announcement. It is one big hot dogging wham bam fun event.

And Baltimore is the better for it. BOPA deserves big credit for pulling this off for the past six years. Alongside the newer Baker Artist Awards it invigorates the city’s art scene. The potential for twenty-five grand with no strings attached—well damn, that’s near unprecedented these days! That this occurs in Baltimore gets folks’ attention across the country and shows what a strong art scene currently thrives in the city. For the winners the exhibition can be a game changer career wise.

3. Can You See the Real Me? — the Finalists and Their Work

The showboating awards ceremony and sideshow hoopla aside it is what is in the galleries that counts– that and who made it and what their intent is. Then there is the viewer reaction, which is often at odds with the artist’s stated intent. The distillation of artists from a field of so many talents is always of interest, too. This years winners are a diverse lot, and true, rather more conservative than in the past— but more mature might be a better way of perceiving it all and thus of better quality.

Rachel Rotenberg

One enters the space and is immediately confronted by a roomful of large sculptures deftly carved from wood, some with light touches of paint, others entirely raw. The work while somewhat traditional is visceral, its power derived from the seamless melding of the formal with the emotional. It is biomorphic and somewhat psychosexual. It lends itself to Jungian analysis if one wished. I found it similar to work from Eastern Texas and Houston— where there is an expanse of The Great Piney Woods. In particular James Surls comes to mind. My guess was the artist lived in some such surrounding; Chesapeake Bay in origin and the work was a result of the exaltation of the surrounding nature they experienced and something we tend to forget.

I was totally mistaken. Ms Rotenberg in fact grew up in Toronto, and the work has none of the romantic “back into the mystic” nature I had projected on it. The artist starts with small drawings on paper, which derive from some personal emotional content or thought, then become transformed in the process of making them three dimensional—working with chunks of wood cobbled together, hacking into them, smoothing them out, a bit of color here and there. She tells me she is led by the material and lets whatever is meant to happen happen. Improvising until the work reaches a point where it is something new, something fresh that stands alone and radiates its own sense of mystery. She says she does not know what they are about in the end. At that point they are finished. There is something both contemporary and ancient here. This experience the artist describes so honestly is actually the way most artists I know work, but they are afraid to admit it. With the demand for artist statements and resumes, art school crits and the like, this fact of mystery gets lost, handed over to unnecessary and unreliable verbiage.  This body of work stands up and reveals itself as one spends more time with it. On my return visit I found it utterly compelling and warmly human. A sort of shamanistic artifact.

When I ask about the origins of her creativity she says simply she comes from a family that always makes things. She grew up doing this, she and her husband raised five kids (kudos to that project) and now she is really focused on her work. She states she’s very grateful that she gets to lead her current life—this may be part of the key to understanding this work. It is clearly mature and operates on many levels. It is not out to please and has none of the trappings of the local art scene.

Mark Paraascendola

Next room is the work of a photographer who hails from Aimeria, Spain but lives here. Paraascendola’s parents fled to the States during Franco’s occupation. His vibrant wide-screen photos of ghost towns ricochet between several ideas. The photos are beautiful but their merit lies in the way the subject matter addresses the artist’s sense of desire and disconnection. The act of photographing itself brings Paraascendola back to his homeland (where he still has family). But even though the process of documentation brings Paraascendola home in a literal sense, his photos speak about the universal displacement of a world moving at hyper-speed.

The most arresting consist of ghost towns that appear to be from the western United Sates— they are old movie sets created for the “spaghetti westerns” of the sixties that were actually filmed in Spain, including the iconic film of the genre The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly. They make me long for home and remind me I am but a tourist here on the East coast, as I grew up in Colorado and am always hoping to see the mountains when I glace to the west.  But of course the old west these films portray is a mythic and unreal echo of history, and Paraascendola’s photographs speak about this layered seductive fiction that stands in for our past.

Other bigger and more intricate images are of small, vibrant industrial cities built during a recent economic boom. But upon closer inspection they too have been abandoned. The economy went belly up with the financial crisis, and these simply were left behind.  The idea that whole industrial cities are constructed so quickly and abandoned even quicker is astonishing but very timely. Here may be the real seed of anxiety, fear and discontent the artist is seeking to portray. Everything is ephemeral, you can be prosperous one minute and on the streets the next. And no amount of pie in the sky religiosity is going to protect you. This a gut wrenching angst portrayed in all its ironic beauty

 through these digitally enhanced prints stitched together seamlessly to provide Panavision view. All are striking and quite beautiful in their melancholy, fiction-piled-on fact way—left standing as a contemporary archeological record of one time human occupation. Though these we experience the immigrants existential displacement. These are dream like chimera akin to cinema, in that they transport us back into a dreamland of the “directors” making—where all things are controlled, scripted

 and while quickly left abandoned and adrift, they are, like the artist, awaiting new occupation and another go at new reality.

Louie Paulu

Next room—medium scale photos, entirely different content.  These deal directly with the current war being waged in Afghanistan. And after walking through you will, if you have any sense of humanity, reassess the cost, the carnage, the human suffering inflicted by man on his fellow beings through war. They are a far more powerful testament to what the war really is than any news story I have read or heard. Set out in a liner narrative fashion, from right to left, they draw the viewer in, then slowly take them down a path— a horrific journey into the Heart of Darkness. This is war journalism elevated to high art, no easy feat. Paulu felt that current war photography tends to keep a distance and portray its subjects with as much realism as possible. It is reporting. He set out to create stronger images that employed his training as a visual artist (he was a painter before becoming a photographer) that really capture and document the essence of war in a deeper, more profound way. He states he embarked on this to better inform audiences, especially future audiences.

Paulu trained as any soldier (he still stands in a straight muscular style as he speaks, like a member of the military) he marched with all the same gear, went on the same rounds. He was embedded in a unit, as all journalists are, He has spent the past five years on and off going to the most troublesome intense war zones and come back unscathed physically.  (The psychological effects of such an experience are another matter….) He spoke of the near misses he repeatedly experienced and knows he is lucky to have made it out unharmed. The soldiers of his unit started to think of him as some sort of lucky charm, and began to put him at the back of the processions (blasts so often had often gone off behind him, he explained). When asked if he is going to return, he says emphatically he is done. A final experience let him know it was time; he could not handle it anymore. One’s heart goes out to the soldiers who must feel that way often but have no choice but continue.

I asked Paulu a total of two questions and got a half hour of some of the most powerful commentary I have heard about what this war (maybe any war) is like. He went into great detail about his experience in the field.  His vivid and informed personal descriptions elevated the exhibition, and now when I walk in there I can’t help but consider his harrowing narrative.  When asked, he takes no political side. To do so would be dishonorable he says— a disservice to those he has photographed, some in the throes of death.

Photos range in content but all have a humanity that far exceeds the usual photojournalist war reportage. They speak volumes, and I felt upon leaving that every person in this country should take a good look at these before uttering another opinion on the war. Paulu hopes to create a book of this work, and to potentially travel around by car with the images run through a projector that could be shown easily anywhere to a large audience. While his time in the war zone is over, he says, his work has just begun here.

Stephanie Barber

Barber’s space is a somewhat standard video artist studio format—an array of computers, recording equipment, musical instruments, a green screen backdrop. The artist has set up camp to create the work as it’s exhibited. But before I can ask about this or anything at all, she gently requests that I stand in front of a professional grade video camera, my back to the green screen wall and croon “I love you” three times—“Convincingly,” she prods. Immediately considering myself the method actor type, I simply thought of my young son and stated what I tell him everyday. While a bit disconcerting at first, I found it pleasurable and indeed wanted more camera time. (What does that say about me? That is another story.) I quickly surmised Barber was using this for a longer film where everyone mummers their love for the viewer, one after another, which she will most likely present at the end of her ambitious project Title. She promises to create one video each day throughout the duration of the show.

Barber’s practice defies categorization, she says. She dislikes talking about all the various works she produces, such as books, or simple everyday actions because she feels people will not take her seriously. But the truth is many artists now pursue several disciplines at once and have for many years. She simply works in a broad conceptual range that has strong ties to the Fluxus movement and its recent updates that take the entire life of the artist as a sort of work in and of itself. She agrees tentatively and notes how people don’t take Yoko Ono seriously or know nothing of Wallace Berman. This said, for this show her work is fairly traditional, it is created and shown in video. This work is by turns humorous, odd, and poignant, and seems it can go in any direction on any given day. She allows herself this freedom, a very admirable trait. Other critics have labeled her “process based” but that is not accurate, too simplistic. Here she is pulling back the curtain on the process all artists use, placed the working arena on display and let the audience in on the act. The result accumulates on the video screen set off to the right of her work area. The short films are mostly ciphers, juxtapositions that create a kind of video poem, full of trap doors and unexpected mash-ups. Some might say this is a gimmick, and it could be in less deft hands, but Barber knows what she is doing and is hard at work at all times. I went back to witness this for myself and to see her in action. I witnessed two older woman get placed in front of a microphone to read from a script that sounded like an cut-up out-take from I Love Lucy. The women gleefully participated and were wonderful in their roles. Here is the heart of Barber’s work. Everyone is an artist, everyone can participate, everyone can enjoy this work. And it isn’t dumbed down in any way. In fact it is elevated and very clever video work. There is an echo of Laurie Anderson in many of them.  Hopefully Barber’s work from the show will be collected on DVD and made available after the exhibition. My conversation with her was fun; she is outgoing and clearly very dedicated to her art form. In pulling back the curtain she adds a level of collaboration and surprise to the conservative aspects of the exhibition

Mat Porterfield

Let me preface this portion by asserting that Porterfild is the premier filmmaker of the Baltimore region at this time. His two feature films, Hamilton and in particular Putty Hill, are the best works about Baltimore I have ever seen. There are no other young directors around that are nearly as good.  Matt’s films wash the “Waters” away. Meaning we continually suffer a John Waters hangover here in Baltimore. His portrait of the city is etched in the world’s idea of Baltimore. But while Waters remains a strong cultural figure to be admired and while he has grown in his own portrayal of the city, his general satiric view is dated and rather troubling, especially to a younger group of artists and filmmakers out to make their mark.

Along with Water’s, there is director David Simon’s vision as manifested through the groundbreaking series The Wire. Though one cannot argue with the truths encased in Simon’s narratives, The Wire did not impact the way the world perceives Baltimore in a positive way. Simon is not a Baltimore native, but a long time newspaper reporter who chronicled Baltimore for years when The Baltimore Sun was still a newspaper to be reckoned with. His portrayal of the city in The Wire is an ongoing purgatory of a culture in decline, where the powerful jockey for position through hellish skirmishes while the powerless are used up and hung out to dry.  His view of the blight of corruption and poverty offer a profound analysis of current urban America. But while Simon was speaking in broad terms– a sort of updated version of a Sam Peckinpah film– his work left viewers with a vision that was Baltimore specific. Suddenly people the world over were frightened to even come here. Porterfield instead portrays the Baltimore most of us know as fact. A city of struggling but proud individuals.

Topping both Waters and Simon, Porterfield created last years Putty Hill with a group of friends on a shoestring budget. It is a quiet film that most of all honors its working class characters with a much-deserved and realistic humanity, and its kids with a more accurate portrayal than I have seen in a long long time. This is realistic poetry with Raymond Carver bluntness and efficiency of frame. I enjoyed Putty Hill immensely; probably because it portrays the Baltimore I see every day. This is the essence of Matt’s work and it is masterful.

Does it deserve to be in the same show as these others? It is a conundrum. Film is a big collaborative work and it is almost outside what one thinks constitutes fine art in a museum. Maybe it should have been shown in the auditorium once a week during the show. Last year, when up for the same prize, he put up his film Hamilton in the gallery and let it run. He also was not awarded the Prize. Who was going to sit through an entire film in a gallery?

So, this year he put together an installation that echoes his films. But this portion of the exhibition feels subpar to most of the other work in the museum setting and somewhat forced. It is a cell phone-driven psychedelic mash-up of phone images on a video screen against a back wall of artifacts. The footage and the objects echo his film in a general way. At the same time the photos seem to attempt mild transgression, some happy spot between Gus Van Sant and Larry Clark, but they simply don’t work beyond giving us a sense of the director’s fine eye for detail and thoughtful composition. The exhibition gives the impression that his work is interested in portraying a slice-of-life cultural trangressiveness, but the great thing about his films is they are put in context and not sensationalized. Here in the Sondheim exhibit his work seems unfocused. It seems like he simply knew he needed a museum representation so put this together. But in terms of being a visual artist as opposed to a filmmaker, it feels he may not yet have the chops.

Maybe I am being a bit harsh. Truth is I enjoyed it, but maybe due to the power of his films, which are etched in my mind, it seemed diminished by comparison. Also, Porterfield was out of town so I had no chance to talk to him. Maybe a conversation would have made me more aware of his intent. But I doubt it. This just isn’t his finest work. It is like a sketch. And the flashing screen of images massed and repeating amid a psychedelic haze seem more like Jimmy Joe Roche’s work than Porterfield’s (turns out Roche had a some kind of hand in the production).  Notwithstanding, the judges most likely had DVDs of his films in hand and thus his work was judged in full with the films taking the lead.

Fast forward back to the present:

The mayor has paused a little too long, the artists are nervous… she announces this year’s winner—Matt Porterfield. 

You can feel the excitement as the crowd erupts in cheers– Matt is the much-admired Baltimore hometown boy.  He leaps to the stage, his arm bandaged from a recent fall (for which he told me he owes a lot of money, as he doesn’t have personal health insurance). He is in shock and beaming. I see a couple of his family members in tears. Of course if you chose based on the exhibition in the galleries this win would make no sense at all. And I state that as a fact. But Matt has two high quality poetic feature films made with next to no money. He is the hope of Baltimore cinema. So clearly the judges take into account each artist’s entire oeuvre. For his Putty Hill alone he deserves this award. So he gives his humble speech and thanks everyone and we quickly retire to the back gallery for some food and small talk, another year passed and all in all the correct choice made.

Exhibition award winner announcement by the Mayor.

Slideshow of the exhibition and opening.

My first stop was the Arsenale. I cannot say that there were many pieces that particularly caught my eye in the central exhibition, though I did spend over half an hour watching this year’s Gold Lion winner, Christian Marclay’s The Clock. The Clock is a 24-hour long film made up of clips from many different films that include a reference to time. The time referenced in each clip reflects the actual time in which it is played. I was a bit wary of the piece – I felt there was enough media hype around it already. However, I must admit that it lives up to all the attention. The video is shown in a large, cavernous space of its own, with multiple couches positioned for large audiences. Most people, including myself, were deeply absorbed in the surprisingly suspenseful film. I experienced several layers of tension: the anticipation embedded within the clip itself (some action hero hanging off the clock face of Big Ben, for example); the playful excitement of being the first at correctly guessing which movie the clip was pulled from; and the suspense from the heightened awareness of time passing while watching the video, as it corresponded with real time. I would have gladly stayed longer with the film, perhaps even seeing the full day of it, if it weren’t for the rest of the Biennial that I wanted to see.

I then headed over to another section of the Arsenale, where the Chinese and Italian Pavilions were. I felt obligated to take a look at both pavilions, being Chinese and being in Italy and all. Unfortunately, they were both fairly disappointing. The theme of the Chinese pavilion was ‘Pervasion’, featuring five artists with works that deal with the five elements or senses. Unfortunately, the pieces were entirely overwhelmed by the architecture and dusty smell of the venue in which they were placed, which I believe is the old Arsenale cistern. One piece that I felt had some potential was Scented Air by Yuan Gong. It was located on a patch of green outside the pavilion. At regular intervals, water vapor with the smell of Chinese incense is released from tubes hidden in the grass, highlighting the show’s theme of ‘senses’. However, the sharply delineated shape of roped-off grass undermined the nearly mystical effect created by the fog, to the extent that it seemed comical and forced. As for the Italian Pavilion, I felt that it resembled a trade show – disparate works by many, many artists tightly jammed into the space. There seemed to be a lack of curatorial direction, and I can’t imagine a worse way of showcasing art (note the curvy ‘monkey bars’ on which the paintings were hung).

Having seen enough of the Arsenale, I then headed over to the Giardini. The two pavilions that interested me most were the American and Danish Pavilions. In previous years, the American pavilion housed works by renowned and somewhat ‘safe’ American artists (it was Bruce Nauman in 2009). This year, the pavilion hosted fresh talent and its first artist couple, Jennifer Allora and Guillermo Calzadilla. Not only that, but they are also the first to be based outside America, in Puerto Rico (Allora was born in Philadelphia, Calzadilla in Cuba). More significantly, the two artists create works that are intensely political, and their irony is oftentimes directed towards the US – their exhibition at the Biennial, Gloria, is no exception. I felt that the highlight of the show was “Track and Field”, an aptly titled piece consisting of an overturned military tank outside the pavilion, same as those used in the Korean War, with a treadmill on top. Satirical when static, the piece comes alive when an Olympic gold medalist, donned in signature red and blue with ‘USA’ emblazoned over his chest, starts running on the treadmill. Photo documentation doesn’t do the performance justice – a large part of the piece is the obnoxiously loud sounds made by the tracks of the moving tank, resembling an overturned cockroach struggling to flip over.

While Gloria involves American Olympic athletes and a blockbuster million-dollar budget, in strong contrast, the Danish pavilion is extremely effective in its own way. Much more discreet in its setup, the strong curatorial direction of Speech Matters is what sets it apart from all the other national pavilions. The Venice Biennial is like the FIFA World Cup of the art world with all the attendant nationalism, so I thought it was very progressive and clever of the Danes to actively ‘rethink national representation in a globalised art world’ by putting together an international group show. Organized by Greek curator Katarina Gregos, 17 artists from around the world, including Robert Crumb, Zhang Dali and Jan Švankmajer, put in work that dealt with the theme of ‘free speech’. The controversial Danish cartoons of Mohammed have led to much debate over freedom of expression in Denmark, but it is also an issue that ‘is being contested in the light of transformations taking place globally’ (page 8 of Speech Matters exhibition catalogue). The pieces in the show demand patience, unlike the sensational American pavilion. For example, selections from Taryn Simon’s series of photographs, American Index of the Hidden and Unfamiliar, 2007, require some reading before comprehension. At times, the overriding curatorial theme verges on the pedantic; an interview with political philosopher Antonio Negri is included in the exhibition catalogue. However, I thought it was the most engaging pavilion of all, standing out against the other pavilions in the Biennial.

Other noteworthy pavilions include Japan’s, which features multi-panel animations by Tabaimo. Her weird and creepy illustrations are projected onto curved panels and extended with mirrors throughout the venue. France showcased Christian Boltanski, a solid choice, and his giant installation dealt with the usual themes of chance, luck and misfortune that pervade his oeuvre. The German pavilion, which won the Gold Lion for Best Pavilion award, was breathtaking albeit fairly morbid and stifling. It focuses on the theatrical productions and films by Christoph Schlingensief, who died of lung cancer last year. The pavilion was set up like the inside of a church, dimly lit, with an alter-like video projection, pews and distressing sounds. It was a multi-sensory installation, and I felt a little overwhelmed by the intensity of it.

As I was shuttling from one venue to the next, I stumbled upon the Iraqi pavilion, which is actually not within the Arsenale or the Giardini. This is the first year Iraq participated in the Biennial in 35 years. The theme of the exhibition is Acqua Ferita, which translates as ‘wounded water’, and the artists involved interpret the theme of water in their works. I didn’t really know what to expect from the show, but I was pleasantly surprised by a piece called Consumption of War by Adel Abidin. It is a video set in a corporate office in which two men engage in a Star Wars-esque battle involving fluorescent light tubing as light sabers. The video is well shot and paced, and really amusing. When I saw it, I wasn’t sure how it related to the theme of water, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

My Biennial tour ended at the Hong Kong pavilion, which has been transformed by artist Kwok Mang-ho (aka Frog King) into Frogtopia, an intense mixed-media wonderland of toilet rolls, ink drawings and dress-up. Here, visitors can put on costumes made by Kwok, choosing from an array of ‘froggy glasses’ and clothing decorated with his signature frog logo. According to my friend working there, grown-ups and children alike spend hours playing with the various items found in the pavilion. Many of the visitors end up returning for some more froggy dress-up, and the pavilion has become a place where people mingle. Intentional or not, I felt that the space, crammed with objects and people, was a welcoming and somewhat accurate representation of Hong Kong itself. It was a satisfying conclusion to my whirlwind tour of the Biennial.

Gallery visits are a great way to see through the world through the the eyes of differing artists. Often there is one piece within a gallery exhibition that sticks out in your mind—from this you may walk away with a memorable experience. “Roughly around 1992 in Tokyo while attending the opening of the National Museum of Art, a Salvador Dali painting I saw moved me,” Monroe reflects on a work that emotionally grabbed his attention. He continues, “I do not remember the exact name of the piece but it was of the back of a lady wearing a scarf. It gathered my complete attention and I felt as though I understood where Dali was, mentally. Dali had a way of twisting reality in a dreamlike manner.”

Upon leaving an exhibition you feel inspired, as if your creative energy has been re-charged. Art that Monroe finds most inspiring are “intricate small pieces such as mosaic tile and unusual objects that make up a large piece. You can see the image as a whole or look into the detail and find other forms.”

“Space in work brings life and movement. It can make you forget where you are.”

Photography, according to Monroe is the most influential medium within art. As the viewer, you are placed in a moment through another’s prospective. The old saying “a picture is worth a thousand words” is true; an image can tell an entire story  by the creator who has captured a particular moment.

“I love all art but I find that computer graphics take away from physically reaching out and manipulating a piece,” Monroe explains. “I like to use my fingers in almost all of my work. Keep my fingers messy with what I’m using. You are more connected with the tradition of yesterday using non-computer oriented mediums especially working with paint.” Monroe continued to express his enthusiasm through watercolor by explaining the many ways in which it can be applied: wet, dry, dripped, sloppy, neat and tight. Each has its own emotion using a dry or wet brush. Mixing different paints together changes the characteristics of the color.

Art has and will continue to evolve. “Futuristic Architecture is the medium that I find to be most intriguing. It makes me feel as if I am getting a sneak peak into another century.”

Works of great artists have inspired Monroe to become the artist he is today; Juan Gris for his emotion in Cubism, Salvador Dali’s surrealism and Amedeo Modigliani for his rich color palette.

“I don’t want to be categorized as a particular artist, therefore I stay away from submitting my work to so called “black galleries.”’ Yes, I am African American but I don’t want my work to be based around cultural recognition. I am originally from Washington D.C., I am an American. Art is more than the artists’ roots. People should embrace and appreciate the work of an artist and not care so much about who they are but the work they create.”

I truly appreciated the time I spent with Monroe, his enthusiasm inspired me to stand by my own sense of artistic being. This interview has taught me that there is no right or wrong in the art world. I was also able to relate with Monroe through his career decisions. In the beginning of my college career I was a business management major. After the first few semesters I came to realize that it was not for me I decided to switch majors and further my education in what I admire most, Fine Arts. It was relieving to learn that in a similar situation Monroe stared a career in an office, and later backtracking to his artistic nature.

Review written by Jeffrey Ratner

Similar to myself, Ms. Frazier has many to look to for inspiration. Mary Mcleod Bethune, Gustav Klimt, fashion illustrator Antonio Lopez and many others are  one reason why her work is as it is.  The Black Artist Guild, where members redefine negative stereotypes of Black people in life and art,  defined who she is today as well. In my conversation with Ms. Frazier, she spoke to me about how many images were shown to demoralize and make fun of black people.  She stated “This Guild was very important in informing me on how to be the best and not be a afraid to make a statement about my experience as an Artist and Human being.” Mcleod, was her favorite writer  because she believed in the importance of quality education for women of color. Her belief was that everyone (black or white, female or male) should have an education— that this needs to be a primary focus.

There’s a book by Andrea D Barnell ( The David C. Driskell series of African American Art : volume 1 ) on line. If you’d like more insight into Ms. Frazier’s inspirations.

I asked Ms. Frazier some advice for tackling the outside world, advise that would help me achieve my dream… this is what she said:

• You must have a strong portfolio of work.
• Your work should show  your mastery of  pencil, pen and ink, water color, etc.
• Know how to draw all races of people.
• Draw as much as you can from observation.
• Study different graphic designers work, find out who’s the best in yearly publications of award winning artist.
• Take courses to develop new skills.
• Learn what you can about the company so you can make art they may use in their publications. Be on time dress like an Artist but don’t go in like your going to a concert.
• Look the person in the eye when speaking.
• Talk about your ability with confidence.
• Seek opportunities to work on a job for free to learn skills it could lead to contacts, and maybe a job.

Doing this interview gave me insight on becoming an artist as well as the necessary steps needed to accomplish my life goal, of becoming a graphic designer.

If you’d like to contact Ms. Frazier or learn more about her work please visit http://www.espi4artdevhubcom.com or email Ms. Frazier at espifrrazier@hotmail.com

Review by Latrice Jackson

In the twentieth century with the advent of industrial society, craft was segregated and recognized as an art form of the people and given a new name— “Folk Art.” This rather odd moniker meant work created by artisans, who generally learned their craft under the tutelage of older masters of the genre. This invested the work with a strong sense of tradition. The sublime simplicity of Shaker furniture, beautiful weaving demarking differing cultural identity, hand carved duck decoys, and intricate community generated quilts are but a few examples. Those craft artists continue to hone their style of work generation by generation and are rightfully honored for their work.

But amid the rise of abstract expressionism in nineteen fifties New York and the rocketing of the United States as the planet’s dominant cultural force, folk art was relegated to second-class status, often exhibited at county fairs, amid the pies, jams, farm equipment and between the Future Farmers of America’s prized animals. Increasingly, folk art has become isolated as a mostly rural undertaking, full of nostalgia for a disappearing past. This work is the one art form that continues to receive government recognition and provides financial support for individual artists, both federal and state (folk artists it seems have been deemed non-subversive by the National Endowment for the Arts, who in nineteen ninety four stopped all contemporary artist individual grants, due to what the conservative faction of the government felt was offensive in content.)

But with the break down and blending of differing forms of art practice in this “postmodern” world that awards equal merit to  all creative action and accepts it all as art,— maybe this separation and categorization of “folk art” deserves some rethinking. A new generation of highly talented young artists are willfully blurring this division, borrowing from older craft forms, often altering it, making it fresh, but maintaining a respect for the various forms they derive from.

This neo-craft movement has reclaimed and liberated many of these old forms of traditional craft, and joined artists together in like-minded “community” groups that aim to make it on their terms. This creative liberation takes many forms (printmaking, ceramics, weaving, furniture, musical instruments, clothing, —the list goes on), and it is revitalizing the idea that quality hand-made art can be created for the masses, art that is affordable, functional, and challenging. The artists present their work through a combination of self-planned festivals and the use of online stores via Etsy. Thus they have no need to be carried in a retail store, or bear the cost of owning one—much like other DIY movements with which they are aligned, they forge ahead and cut out the middleman.

This wave of neo-crafters has emerged due to the convergence of two important factors. First, many consumers are increasingly rejecting the mass-marketed products proffered up and sold to them by all the conventional outlets. This breeds conformity and feels spiritually hollow.  These consumers have a growing desire for products that are one of a kind, or produced in limited editions, are hand made and purchased for a reasonable fee from the artist who created the work. This is actually an embrace of an age-old tradition of the bazarr, fueled by rejection of the box-store mentality.

Secondly, this group contains an abundance of open minded art school graduates, many who come from colleges and universities that now fully embrace and teach forms of craft as highly creative fine art, and push their students to expand on the form.  And this is a generation of artists who are unabashedly entrepreneurial. These artists, who face an increasing impenetrable and elitist fine art world, have scaled back their expectations, leaving behind the notion of the artist as an anointed  “star”. Instead they wish to make a living, to work for themselves, creating art they find satisfying to produce, build a community audience. Many are socially conscience and into the “green” movement, using reclaimed or recycled materials, non-toxic inks, and non-sweatshop created clothing. On a recent warm and sunny Saturday, one of the biggest and best craft fairs, Pile of Craft, gathered together at the expansive Saint Johns Church on 2640 St. Paul. The artists who make up Pile of Craft are emblematic of this sea change of the craft movement, and just one of a few similar vital organizations in the Baltimore region.  Amid a large crowd of happy customers, kids, refreshments and a raffle, the artists hawked their wares, chatted happily with each other. The event was festive and a successful commercial endeavor. Venders were continually busy.  One artist, Casey Staford of Found Studio, baby in hand, to the joys of this type of one on one commerce, the flexibility she enjoys doing her work, and almost weekly regional shows to choose from.

At the center of the buzzing Baltimore neo-craft scene is the much-heralded Charm City Craft Mafia—a group of young like-minded artists—mostly woman— who, as a group and as individuals are doing much to further the quickly growing cause. One of the highlights of the day was at the table of Mafia member, weaver Carly Goss. There among her display of intricate and lovely work her intern demonstrated weaving on an old loom. The crowd watched as the painstaking repetitive process produced a wonderful product.

The attendance and excitement of Pile of Craft generated proves they are on the right path. How all this may change the view of crafts in general waits to be seen. It isn’t an issue the neo-crafters seem particularly interested in, though they speak of the living traditions with reverence. It may take a generation or two, but one can’t help but consider the potential if the two strains of crafts old and new joined forces.

Charm City Craft Mafia
http://www.charmcitycraftmafia.com/

It’s hard to say which of Kid Cudi’s identities is more authentic. A friend who saw him perform two years ago told me that his live performance persona had been awkward, and he seemed unsettled by the limelight. But in the show I went to last month, I was exposed to a different side of Cudi, an unrestrained, high-energy artist who seemed to feed off the crowd’s enthusiasm. Perhaps, as Justin Bieber famously did, Cudi hired someone to help him with his stage presence. More likely, spending a few years hanging out with kings of confidence Kanye West and Jay Z helped him get a better handle on his swagger. Throughout his set, he bragged about his new music, the TV show he is currently starring in (HBO’s “How to Make it in America”), and how generally incredible his life is. In his song “Cudi Zone,” he raps about the comfort he feels when he’s performing: “when I’m zoned, I’m feeling all right, I forget all about it.” From the performance I experienced, and swagger exhibited, Cudi seems pretty content with his life. The best part of the concert, undoubtedly, was in the last half hour, when he performed three high-energy songs in a row, getting the entire crowd dancing and going nuts. He certainly didn’t seem like a “lonely stoner” that night (“Day N Night”), didn’t seem like the type of boy who, as he raps about in “Soundtrack to my Life,” spent a lot of his childhood in his room, playing by himself.

Indeed, in an interview he gave with the Huffington Post when his first album, Man on the Moon: the End of the Day, was released in 2009 (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/cara-parks/kid-cudi-the-lonely-stone_b_295982.html), Cudi had insisted that he’s not as malcontent as he seems in his music, promising that though his first album was dark, his second would be a stronger mix between darkness and lightheartedness, and that his third would “definitely be light. It will be the arrival. It will be all those uplifting songs that everyone’s been waiting for, the epitome of inner peace.”

A couple months after giving that interview, however, he decided to take a different turn on the upcoming album. Although Kid Cudi originally titled his second album Cudder & the Revolution of Evolution, he announced on his blog (http://www.kidcudi.com/news/lend-me-your-eyesssss-1561.html) in April 2010 that he was changing the title to Man on the Moon II: the Legend of Mr. Rager. He explained that at first he planned the album to be “filled with fun and upbeat records that for the most part left you with [expletive] when you were finished listening.” However, upon reflection, Cudi decided that “every time i read a comment from someone saying ive touched their lives in some way is what made me want to… continue pouring my life into my music.  MOTM2 is dark by nature.”

To be sure, the second album was excellent. Man on the Moon II: the Legend of Mr. Rager was released in November 2010, and while most critics agreed that while his depression and darkness make for excellent music, the “light” wasn’t there. Cudi split the album into five acts in which he explored the evolution of a newly famous rapper who was lost in the luxuries of partying, drugs and women. Entertainment Weekly (http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20439023,00.html) gave the album an A-, noting that “No other major-label rapper in 2010 is pushing boundaries in quite the same way.” Spin’s review (http://www.spin.com/reviews/kid-cudi-man-moon-ii-legend-mr-rager-gooduniversal-motown) (8 out of 10) reminded Cudi to heed the advice given by Mary J. Blige, who sings, “don’t you worry” throughout the album’s outro.  But Cudi still couldn’t overcome his existential worries, singing his distress about his own mortality.

Not all of Cudi’s music is depressing. There seem to be two sides to Kid Cudi: one in which he consistently cries out for help (“I am happy, thats just the saddest lie”- Soundtrack to my Life), and one where he’s cocky, energetic and excited for the future (“all the crazy shit I did tonight, those will be the best memories”- Memories, David Guetta ft. Kid Cudi). But at the show, I expected to encounter the “stoned loner” of “Day N Night,” the melancholy and reflective artist represented in most of his songs. The packed crowd was filled with people who looked so authentically hipster-ish, it seemed like they were attempting irony. The icing on the cake was the weed; although security was everywhere, both outside, on line, and inside the arena, everyone seemed to be smoking and sharing joints. Considering how tightly packed we were, I had a double frustration of being immobile and almost getting high off the fumes all around me. It’s always a difficult experience to be one of the few sober stalwarts in a stoned crowd, but even in that environment, I had to laugh at Cudi’s giddiness when he opened the show with a bellowed approval of his audience: “What’s the difference between 4/20 and 4/21?” “NOTHING!” he screamed.  And as the crowd roared, he went straight into his first set.

On the one hand, Cudi’s question and answer were completely in character. Cudi is a champion of weed culture. He’s been rapping about weed for his entire career, starting with “Day N Night.” Cudi will soon release the video for “Marijuana,” a slow, sweet song dedicated to the “pretty green bud.” And beyond making explicit marijuana references in many of his songs, Cudi’s tumblr also includes artistic pictures of himself smoking and rolling joints. (A girl I met at the show told me that in a show she had attended a few months earlier, he had gone as far as bringing a bong onstage.)

On the other hand, Cudi has publicly disavowed his pot usage, posting on his tumblr on April 1, “I dont smoke weed anymore.” At the time, fans assumed that they were being fooled, that the announcement was nothing but an April Fool’s Day joke.  But Cudi set them straight when he followed up, “This is not a joke. I know most of you wanna see me all drugged out and fucked up and i know misery loves company, but im sorry those days are over. I had a good run, Amsterdam and all. Im happy being sober. Im happy being a new me.” At the Rites of Spring music festival in Nashville two weeks later, Cudi explained to fans that he needed to stop smoking to have a better handle on the more important things, “like my daughter for one, my family, my business.” But just a few short weeks later, he was onstage at my concert, encouraging the crowd to smoke up a storm.

Cudi’s relationship with marijuana and other drugs is complicated. He writes freely about using drugs to mask his depression and melancholy – a far cry from the standard attitude of most hip-hop stars towards drugs. He calls himself the lonely stoner for a reason: we almost imagine him sitting in the corner of a darkened room, smoking a joint and writing in his journal. Singing about his childhood in “The Pursuit of Happiness,” Cudi raps, “On Christmas time, my mom’s Christmas grind/ Got me most of what I wanted how’d you do it mom?/ Huh, she copped the toys I would play with in my room by myself, why he by himself?/ He got two older brothers one hood one good, an independent older sister kept me fly when she could/ But they all didn’t see, the little bit of sadness in me.” In the chorus, Cudi proclaims “I’m on the pursuit of happiness, I’ll be fine once I get it,” but listeners get the sense that he doesn’t believe he’ll ever get there. In a Complex magazine article that appeared before the release of his first album, Cudi confessed, “The day that I can say I’m truly happy will be my day of peace, like for real.” On “Do It Alone,” he makes it clear that weed has helped him escape his issues: “Struggle is the enemy but weed is the remedy.” The darkness exhibited in Kid Cudi’s music seems to come from an intense personal pain, and the lyrics in which he details his marijuana use seem to come from a place of attempting to avoid that pain.

Aside from weed, Kid Cudi made headlines recently when he was arrested for possession of a controlled substance, and since then, he’s come out about his cocaine use. He admitted that he began to use cocaine to get through difficult interviews. Even his admission of cocaine use reflects Cudi’s unique style; his awkwardness and discomfort with personal questions in interviews fits perfectly in character. While other artists loudly brag about hard-partying ways that include strippers, nightclubs and cocaine, Cudi uses the drug as a way to escape from the stress that comes with his depression, much, like his weed use.

Another crucial difference between Kid Cudi’s lyrics and his peers in the rap and hip hop world can be seen through a lens of the definition of legitimate rap culture many have imposed upon it. Representing the hood, no matter where the singer or producer actually grew up, is often seen as crucial for one to be taken seriously in the rap world, and being proud of violence, misogyny and dealing drugs are viewed as de rigueur topics for hip-hop artists, regardless of whether they had grown up in gangs, were in stable relationships, or been involved with the drug trade. Rappers like Public Enemy and Biz Markie grew up in upper middle class households on Long Island, and Sean Combs attended private schools, but the image projected by these men was of drug dealers and gang members. But Kid Cudi – along with Kanye and Drake – is part of a new breed of rappers, who neither come from dangerous urban areas nor claim to. When Cudi talks about his difficulties with cocaine, he isn’t boasting; he talks about using cocaine to deal with painful issues and the maturing process (at only 25!) that resulted in his quitting the drug.

Of course, Kid Cudi isn’t the only major rapper to dwell on his pain and loneliness and to tend not to focus on the drug trade and shootouts. Kanye West, Drake, Lupe Fiasco and others have rapped about their issues (with Kanye West having paved the way for accepted rappers to come from middle-class suburban backgrounds), leading many to talk about a new wave of hip-hop. But Cudi takes it to a new level, changing the sound of hip hop. Working with diverse artists and including a wide array of sounds and genres, he might be the strongest candidate to bridge the gap between the unlikely pairing of emo and rap. At the New York show, not only was there a DJ on stage, there were a drummer, a guitarist and a pianist; not many rappers can claim a musical entourage like that. Though he’s best known as a rapper, his sound can touch on heavy metal, psychedelic rock (“The Mood” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHZTNo9hysw), and even reggae (“REVOFEV” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=23J8ldem_Hs). The first song off Man on the Moon II, titled “Scott Mescudi Vs. The World,” even featured violins in the background.

The most similar artist to Kid Cudi is his musical mentor, Kanye West. They’re both known for their killer hooks, switching off rapping and singing, mixing genres, and melancholy lyrics. Before releasing his first album, Kid Cudi wrote four tracks for West’s 2008 album 808s & Heartbreak. Not only was Cudi influenced by West’s style, it seems that West was influenced by Cudi as well. Cudi can be heard mixing music and breaking genre barriers in music he produced well before meeting Kanye, and in Complex, Kanye said that they worked together to come up with the unique musical hybrids that Kanye is known for. “Me and Cudi are the originators of the style,” he said, “kinda like what Alexander McQueen is to fashion; everything else is just Zara and H&M.” While West had always had a creative sound, his turn to a melody-heavy style, with a stronger emphasis on singing in addition to rapping, may have even come from Cudi’s influence, an incredible feat for a then-24-year-old rapper who hadn’t yet released a single record.

Although Cudi promises a lighter sound on his third album, given his track record, I doubt he will deliver. And to tell you the truth, I prefer the heavier stuff. Cudi’s current music is what draws his fans to him. It will only endear him to his fans if he continues to focus on his personal anguish and less on the hard-partying lifestyle.