Splendid E-zine

Another beautiful review I had (with my pseudonym Vanethian) is this one at Splendid E-zine:

If you’ve ever caught yourself getting into the soundtracks that play in the background of sci-fi fantasy games, you might enjoy Futures Past. Unassuming synthesizers create a circumambient musical flow, taking you first to the distant and icy plains of Pluto, then back in time, where you’ll mingle with the shoguns of Japan and explore England’s age of chivalry. Born in Palermo, Manuel Marino, the man behind the music, started out playing solfeggio-style fingerpicking and jazz guitar. Marino’s heavy interest in role-playing games is evident on Futures Past; he takes his own personal enjoyment and translates it sonically through MIDI sequencing into breathtaking soundscapes that take the listener left of heaven into the World of Dreams. Taking Korgs, Rolands and Moogs to the next level, Marino remains modestly mindful of old masters Rick Wakeman and Alan Parsons when evoking his own brand of medieval methodology. From intergalactic battles to dystopian visions of society, infinite space is the only limit for Marino and his music.

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The story of carpet making

Here’s a very interesting article on the Art of carpet making, written by Alhan Keser. Alhan is in in charge of communications for Tip Top Design, a company that specializes in interior design with oriental rugs. He has lived in Turkey and France, working as a freelance journalist and documentary maker.

The story of carpet making

The story of carpet-making starts with nomadic Asian tribes and their traditions. These were – many still are – self-sufficient nomads who lived off of raising animals such as sheep. They would travel hundreds of kilometers in search of pasture lands for these animals, who would become the nomads’ food, clothing, shelter, bedding, and fuel. Some of their needs such as spices and luxuries like gold were bought thanks to the sale of animals and skins to city dwellers. And at some point in their history, they began selling their tribal rugs.
For the nomads, rugs have always served both a very utilitarian and symbolic purpose. Flat woven saddlebags on the backs of donkeys carry grains while other decorative pile woven carpets can serve as dowry for brides. Young girls are passed on the knowledge of carpet-making from their older sisters and relatives. Their small hands are best at making the thousands of small knots that make up the entire carpet, similar to the pixels of a digital photo. The carpets are woven with help of a small guide aiding them to count out the number of knots of each color to tie per row of weft. These guides are made by carpet designers looking to sell the works. The really special carpets are made by brides themselves for their future homes. On the carpet a bride will lay out the history of the tribe, her thoughts, and wishes for the future of her family. Though men were the ones who created the history of a tribe by fighting or trading, the women are the ones who record the history of a tribe through weaving. These are the truly unique works of art that are most precious.
Selective breeding of the sheep has gives the tribes people with higher quality fibers (today wool from New Zealand and high-altitude areas is regarded as the best quality wool for carpets in the world, not counting Alpaca wool, too rare to use for carpets). The wool is hand spooled, then dyed using vegetables found nearby (today superior azo-dyes are used to complement these natural dyes) before being handed over for weaving purposes. Russian philosopher P. D. Ouspensky wrote the following after his mentor G. I. Gurdjieff told him of his travels in Asia: He spoke of the ancient customs connected with carpet making in certain parts of Asia; of a whole village working together at one carpet; of winter evenings when all the villagers, young and old, gather together in one large building and, dividing into groups, sit or stand on the floor in an order previously known and determined by tradition. Each group then begins tits own work. Some pick stones and splinters out of the wool. Others beat out the wool with sticks. A third group combs the wool. The fourth spins. The fifth dyes the wool. The sixth or maybe the twenty-sixth weaves the actual carpet. Men, women, and children, old men and old women, all have their own traditional work. And all the work is done to the accompaniment of music and singing. The women spinners with spindles in their hands dance a special dance as they work, and all the movements of all the people engaged in different work are like one movement in one and the same rhythm. Moreover each locality has its own special tune, its own special songs and dances, connected with carpet making from time immemorial.

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A musician story

Musician Matti Mattila wrote his story for us! Please read also his Finnish blog and check his page at LinkedIn.

My first experience with music started as early as four or five years old. Since then I have carefully listened to music and tried to imitate player’s role. Until my twelve years birthday I only loved music by hearing it on the radio. Then I found two tin cans I covered with thick piece of plastic and tightened the film with wires. Grabbing two wooden sticks and starting to beat the cans was a start of my career as a drummer. The rhythm was inspiring and stunning. It kept me beating and changing the speed from slow to quick and back. A new star was born.
We started to play in a rock group with my dear friend Age. He was a guitarist. Our band wasn’t complete until we got base player and lead singer. The year was late 1970’s. Before this we were playing in a group for more than five years having some minor concerts and other happenings. We had a lot of fun, and my first tin cans were changed to real a drum set. Rock music was not so common in Finland those days. Of course there were lot of artist and groups, but the real invasion of popular music bands was in late 1980’s. Our band had quited playing that time, but the members of the group still love music.
Our rock band Shakedown was formed in late 1970’s. The best time was 1982 when we released our first album. It wasn’t a big success, but very important milestone to us. The climate for young rock music wasn’t very friendly in Finland until 1990’s and after. I assume the nation wasn’t ready for limitless free lifestyle and some authorities tried to control what happened in teenagers’ world. Today everything is different. Finland now has many world-famous rock groups like Nightwish, HIM and Lordi. The long waited winning in European Song Contest a few years ago finally nailed our country as a serious music source.
I haven’t retired from playing drums, yet. Although I haven’t played for years it doesn’t mean that rock’n'roll is dead. In fact, I have dreamed of getting a new set of drums and starting to play again. I still love listening to rhythmic beat whenever I hear it on the radio or CD. Many other artistic hobbies have stolen my time. Theater and all kinds of appearance have kept me busy lately. Photography is one of my dearest hobbies. And of course, designing things among others. After all, music is still number one in my heart.

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An Artist: Frank V. Cahoj (Part Two)

This is the Part Two (and final part) of the true life story as artist written by Frank V. Cahoj for our Weblog. (Part One)

Part Two

I give an unbelievable amount of credence to these two early periods in my life: one of everlasting creation, one of analysis and disillusionment. The reason is simple—these are both traits that an artist must possess in order to fully utilize their natural talents. We must be willing to create at all costs, no matter the outcome. We must hunger for the process of creating, and not focus entirely on the results. If you do not enjoy the process of creating, how can you stand behind your creation? Yet, simultaneously we must be perfectionists, and run a fine-toothed comb through our ideas and inspirations. We must develop our ideas scientifically. We must understand our concept, our message, and our reason. If we fail to understand why we are creating, we will lose our focus, and quickly gold becomes dirt.

I had some help returning to my creative roots; my cousin was an artist who possessed more talent in his eyelid than I did in my whole body. When we would get together to play, I would spend most of the time watching him draw. He was older than me, and much more progressive, and his outlook towards his art seemed so nonchalant, so natural. He would just sit down and begin to draw. I remember him drawing a dragon with such impeccable detail, such precision. I wondered why I struggled so hard with it. Was I even an artist? Maybe I was an imposter. What made me more of an artist than the neighborhood kid down the block who ate crayons and bugs and still wet his bed and created nothing but trouble for his mother? I couldn’t answer any of those questions. I decided, then, that the only way to find an answer was to try to be an artist and see what happened. That’s it! I would try to be an artist again! I would draw, and paint, and create. I would create without consideration for the outcome, yet I would clearly define my premises, my point of view, my focus. I would use the lessons learned from my two early experiences to create art that was significant and relevant. So that’s what I did. I started to really create things.

Throughout High School, I was the “art kid”. I took every art class my High School offered. I failed Algebra 2, yet amassed enough math credits to graduate. I failed Physics, but excelled in most other sciences. Besides art, the only classes I willingly added to my schedule were Literature and English—I loved to write—and Music. My senior year, I had gym (required), a study hall (basically another art class without a teacher), an Advanced Placement Creative Writing course, and six art classes. I literally sat in the same classroom for more than half the school day, working on six different art projects simultaneously. I overloaded myself. My art consumed me. I became so enchanted by it and everything it stood for and the way it made me feel. I pounded out art like I was an assembly line in a factory. I sold art to my teachers; I sold art to my family and friends. I gave a lot of art away. I was successful because I was passionate. The pieces themselves had no real value to me; what proved valuable to me was what my art meant to others. I learned my final lesson in being an artist at that period in High School: there is no artist, living or deceased, that created art for themselves and themselves alone. An artist creates for others. If we, as artists, are indifferent to the public’s perception of our work, our success will loom in the darkness of our own selfishness, and never fully be realized. High School was my own tiny renaissance. I will never forget those days.

I took the next step in my desire to be an artist by attending the American Academy of Art in Chicago, IL. The Academy, as we called it, was a wonderful place. The school was just two floors of a high rise in the heart of the city (known as the Loop), sitting on Michigan Avenue, The Magnificent Mile, one of the most famous avenues in the world. There were only about 300 students. The faculty was representative of the greatest Chicago had to offer in the world of art. The school focused on curriculum for artists, not arbitrary curriculum for the general student; our science credit was an anatomy class, in which we drew from a live nude model and were asked to see through their skin and study their bones and muscles, drawing our observations on paper. Our math credit was titled Quantitative Literacy, where we focused on geometrics and design and how math related to the Renaissance and Leonardo DaVinci. It was an artist’s Mecca. There is no better place in the world to practice art. The architectural brilliance of the City, coupled with the diversity of its people, access to one of the best art museums in the country (The Illinois Institute of Art Museum), a fantastic art district where galleries and art stores abound, and a park system as peaceful as that of rural America in the middle of a bustling metropolis, made it easy to be an artist.

Attending an art school like The Academy is like living in a hostel with 300 other individuals who share your exact passion and who, in essence, know everything about you, because you are them. You perform all of your tasks and ventures together. There is no privacy or even the expectation of privacy. You are draped with inspiration at all times. If you slack off, it is not your teachers who pull you back to earth; it is your peers. You learn to succeed as a unit, and realize that the community is much larger and more important than yourself. When 9/11 took place, we were all just beginning our first class for the day. Students began getting taken to the administrative office one by one to receive phone calls from their families who were worried sick about them. They were worried about their sons and daughters being in the heart of a major American City when we were under attack. We looked out the window of our classroom onto Michigan Avenue and witnessed a mass exodus of people heading away from the city, towards every subway station and train station and bus depot, trying to escape the city limits and the looming shadow of the tallest building in America, the Sears Tower. Cars couldn’t move because the roads were flooded with people fleeing the city on foot. No one knew what was going to happen, or if our city would be next. Yet in that moment of complete chaos and disaster, there was a warming comfort flowing through us, knowing that we, the students of The Academy, were together and had each other to rely on. It was a community in every sense of the word. And it bred the best artists I have ever associated with. I spent three and a half years at The Academy, before economic reasons prevented me from returning. Education isn’t free, or cheap, or affordable, especially for an overly ambitious kid from divorced parents with no money.

I left The Academy to pursue a career in Human Resources and make some money for my family and I. I learned a great deal about community and people and relationships during my college career, aside from all I learned about art. I felt I could take that knowledge and apply it to a career in Human Resources and Recruiting, and I have experienced success thus far. I chose this career because I feel that the Human Resources function requires a creative mind. Dynamics change all the time when people are involved—there are no constants. Companies must create new ways to attract, retain, train and develop quality talent. The black and white has turned decidedly gray, and with the advent of the internet, open job boards, the loss of anonymity in our world and Web 2.0, new, creative ways to recruit must be considered. I would like to believe that my transition has gone over without a hitch.

I still paint and draw and write and play music. I will never stop doing those things. Making money in art was never my goal. I pursued art because I had a passion that I couldn’t ignore. If money is your motivation for creating art, you will find yourself in constant search of inspiration. Money does not inspire, it empowers. Artists do not need to be empowered – we were born with that.

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The mistery of being Artists

Here’s an interesting exclusive article Roland d’Humières, 56 years old psycho-analyst from Aix en Provence (France) has written for our Weblog.

The mistery of being Artists

Whatever is his/her Art, painting, music, dance, writing, or any other, whatever he or she chooses, this way is for an Artist, the most difficult activity he/she may choose in the life. Lot of people imagine that it’s an easy way to live…What a wrong perception of things!
Art is an unlimited way to express unlimited feelings of ours. Quite simple definition? Ok, let us see further on…
We are born in a civilization that strictly forbid emotions and feelings, since the birth:
Forbidden for a baby to cry, forbidden for preteens to feel, forbidden for teen to express themselves, then, forbidden again for adults to cry, to show feelings , endly forbidden for us to be sincerely what we are, deeply in our soul…
People learn to live without true, sincere, real emotions and feelings….
So, an Artist firstly have to find this famous inspiration. That means he must be able to find, to identify the most deepest feelings in his/her own singular beings, despite that was forbidden in his/her childhood, and remains forbidden already for the rest of the world… Easy? Try it!
Then, secondly, the Artist have to find his/her own way of expression. Here is the biggest difficulty:
As in this country of south-america where it is allowed to be “loco” but inside a real cultural codification, an artist have to find the best way to express himself, inside allowed codifications of the Art. As rules exist for everything, rules do exist for an artist in his /her discipline, as soon as society agree with it. So, to express unlimited feelings, the Artist is forced to use imposed standards! Great!!! Easy, did you say?
Here is the reason why the artist’s life is so painful. Allowed to express feelings, but with limited academic standards! Such circumstances do have a name in Psychiatry: schizophrenic situation. As well, everyone can understand why such genius lifes were so painful. Schizophrenia seems to be a professional illness, then…
When the Artist is rebel to those standards, the last wall to destroy is the misunderstanding of the other. He or she has to confront the other’s look. This “other”, you, me, everyone never learn to accept his own feelings. As well, never learn to express it… And those very others will judge if an artwork is or not a masterpiece? Unbelievable stupidity!
In fact, the art piece will, or will not, wake up our feelings, whether they enter or nor in echo with Author’s one. It fits or not, like a hazard game…. Like chemistry…
Then, the only way for us to understand art pieces, to appreciate it; the only way to help artists get possible through a patient singular work:
To be in a frequent contact with it, to tame our own feelings, and to open our mind to the other.
This has a name too: LOVE

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