Upcycling: Harford House Design by Carina Harford Carina Harford on the “luxury of immediacy” Words by Michael Zarathus-Cook ISSUE 13 | MATERIALS For those of us living paycheck-to-paycheck─about 50% of Canadians and 65% of Americans─the concept of a financial “doom loop” is an intimate one. We buy cheap things because that’s what we can afford, and the short lifespans of these things mean we have to spend more money replacing them at a higher frequency. In short, it costs more money to be poor than otherwise. One of the subtle but significant areas where this vicious cycle is evident is the issue of sustainability. In the aftermath of our high-frequency purchases, where do these cheap gadgets and appliances go? Most likely to the Great Pacific garbage patch, an oceanic trash vortex stretching approximately 1.6 million square kilometres wide. One can feel helpless not just because of the difficulty of escaping this loop but also how much our individual efforts pale in comparison to the carbon footprints of your friendly neighbourhood mega-corporations and top one-percenters. However small the influence of our actions, it does feel good to repair, reuse, and repurpose that piece of furniture you bought 10 years ago instead of tossing it to the curb and heading to Ikea. It’s this therapeutic practise of upcycling that informs the interior design practice of London’s Carina Harford. Operating under the moniker of Harford House , she engages sustainability not as an inconvenient hurdle but as a design opportunity to make spaces feel more lived in. She’s gathered an enthusiastic following online, partly thanks to her humourous apartment reviews where she assigns attachment types to her followers based on what their living setup suggests about their emotional availability. Most of her clients hail from London’s sprawling boroughs and, as she admits in conversation with Cannopy , are of the well-to-do sort who can afford to shell out a few extra pounds for more durable materials. Instead of cowering to the challenge that her clientele doesn’t reflect where most people are financially, she posits an interesting retort: that our overindulgence in the “luxury of immediacy” is a significant contributor to our fast-furniture culture. Whether you agree or disagree with this take, the ineluctible solution to this problem is also the most elusive: more time . That’s the real vicious cycle we’re stuck in, our intentions for more sustainable urban living rarely correspond to the time we have to make like-minded decisions and purchases. Time and city form a Venn diagram of two circles that don’t touch. For Harford, it’s not all doom, and there’s no gloom in her philosophy of making the best of the vintage cards that you’re dealt. From eschewing “virgin materials” to extending the shelf life of that shelf you’re thinking of tossing, Harford House believes you can have your style cake and eat your sustainability one too. Carina Harford CANNOPY x Harford House Sustainability vs. Longevity CAN — Is there a worthwhile distinction between these two words? Or is the fact of longevity and quality in design the best way to contribute to sustainability? CH — I would say that there is a distinction, but both terms are poorly defined in the world of interior design. “Sustainability” tends to be applied to current production processes to suggest that strategies are in place to minimise emissions and or waste materials. Producing almost anything emits carbon, so mitigating this is preferable to not mitigating it. The degree and quality of that mitigation is, however, relatively unregulated. “Longevity” is also a loose term. I consider Furniture, Fixtures, and Equipment (FFE) items with over 60-year lifespan to be an item with longevity. Poor-quality, “fast furniture” pieces do not last that long (they often barely last 2 years), and trend-led pieces are also unlikely to last from a design-appeal perspective. When recommending vintage and antique pieces to clients, I like to think that the embodied carbon of the item’s production has already been “paid off” by its length of use. In general, I would say that reuse, followed by minimising the production of new items made of virgin materials, is the most sustainable approach we can take in the field of interiors. Class Divide CAN — It almost goes without saying that people who can hire your services are likely in a higher household income bracket. How can sustainable interior design still be relevant to populations of varying incomes? CH — While interior design services are absolutely a luxury, a DIY sustainability approach is accessible across income brackets. I started in interior design when I moved to my first flat and had a very small budget to decorate it. I bought the majority of my furniture at auctions for low prices, collected decorative pieces from charity shops (UK equivalent of thrift stores), and found quite a few of my favourite items in the street. It was an inexpensive approach but it was time-consuming. Within the “unattainable triangle” concept of low price, quality, and convenience (in which you can only have two of the three)—my process usually rules out convenience immediately! The difficulty is that lots of people don’t have the time to dedicate to hunting around for vintage and antique pieces, meaning that fast-furniture becomes the next most accessible option. Letting go of the luxury of immediacy and choosing to dedicate time to the process is how sustainable interiors become more affordable than fast furniture. Looking at local auctions or resale sites, considering what can be reused or updated, asking friends and family what they have in their attics or garages—all of these things are accessible across price brackets. My second point is that I don’t think this issue is divided along wealth lines. Renters are significant contributors to furniture being sent to landfills (currently about 22 million pieces are sent per year in the UK; most of this is fast-furniture). The often transient nature of renting, combined with the prevalence of flimsy flat-pack (chipboard wrapped in plastic) furniture, means that a huge amount of material is wasted by this demographic, and the common materials of flat-pack are un-recyclable. This is not to blame renters but to point out that this issue isn’t easily attributed to one socio-economic group rather than another. Instead, I think an overarching short-term attitude towards furniture and interiors is the problem across most income brackets. Client Psychoanalysis CAN — While the attachment-style videos you do on Instagram are slightly tongue-in-cheek, do you have to do a version of that when you're meeting a client for the first time? CH — I make no efforts to discern a client’s attachment style, that was just an internet joke that has gotten out of hand! I’d guess I’ve had clients with the full spectrum of attachment styles. There is a line of friend–therapist–designer that gets blurry, especially early in consultations when we start discussing big feelings quite quickly: What does home feel like? How do you relax? Who’s important in this space? What significant pieces might you have from your family? Clients often tell me that they’ve never felt listened to about their hopes and fears for their spaces until they hired me, or they tell me things that they haven’t felt comfortable telling anyone else. “Home” is so emotive and I think part of what people are drawn to when they choose to work with me is that I am genuinely emotionally engaged with them as individuals. I won’t, for example, let them dedicate a space that’s for them 98% of the time to the 2% of the year their in-laws come to stay. I try to hold space for the client and their needs and push back a little if I feel they aren’t prioritising their own day-to-day needs and wants.

Is the studio a public place? Still from "Self-Portrait as a Coffee Pot" INTERVIEW — William Kentridge, the eminent South African painter and star of Self-Portrait as a Coffee Pot, weighs in ISSUE 14 | STUDIO SESSIONS CAN | Is the studio a public place? WK — The working of the studio is not a public space. I mean, I don’t have a balcony for people to come watch the work in progress. But the processes of the studio, the things which are natural to the studio—collage, dichotomy, doubt, uncertainty, stupidity—give us insights into how the world outside the studio constructs itself. The things that are normally invisible outside the studio become very clear and visible inside. And I’m happy to share that process. But when one’s doing a lot of very stupid things, which are the activities of the studio: your gestures, drawing on the floor, behaving the way a five year old would—those I would not be able to do if there’s kind of audience watching. So it’s both a public and private place. Sometimes it’s me alone making drawings, but sometimes there are many collaborators, dancers, musicians, filmmakers, and editors that are involved in the realization of something that starts as a solitary activity, but develops into something much more collaborative. CAN | Is a degree of chaos necessary for a studio to function? WK — There’s some painters whose studios don't get touched for years and years and it slowly accumulates this thick layer of drying oil paint all around. My studio breathes in the sense that there are a lot of different projects that happen in it and, when it reaches a certain point, it’s very good to have a clearing of the table, and then gradually you breathe out and a whole lot of new objects appear and come in. There are certain pictures that stay on the wall for ages and they’re there as a kind of a touchstone. A riddle which you can’t quite solve. And so the next works are connected to them, not identical, but come out of them and shift. And so that movement around the studio is a bit like the movement of the different thoughts in your head, trying to make sense of something, an impulse, but it’s not clear. So there’s a lack of clarity, which is sometimes chaotic. There’s sometimes a sense of throwing all possibilities up into the air, like a cloud of paper, in the hope that when they land you’ll suddenly see a connection and pull those two pieces together. So, it’s not the same as chaos and chance, but it’s not the same as careful programming. It floats somewhere in between.

Bernadett Timko Art by Bernadett Timko Oil, Wood, and Linens by the Countryside WORDS BY EMILY TRACE | SAN FRANCISCO | STUDIO SESSIONS NOV 29, 2022 | LIGHTHOUSE IMMERSIVE Born in Hungary and now based in a small town in northeast Wales, Bernadett Timko’s work is often inspired by the sceneries of her everyday surroundings. Working primarily with oil paints on wood or linen, Timko gracefully captures a wide range of objects and a variety of subjects with an eclectic but muted colour palette. She joins smART Magazine to discuss how she arrives at choosing her subjects, how the mood of her surroundings are reflected in her pieces, and a piece of insightful advice for emerging artists looking to disseminate their work to a larger audience.

Hilary Hahn’s Eclipse Hilary Hahn by OJ Slaughter “Music like this resonates with the dissonance that you might be experiencing” WORDS BY ARLAN VRIENS | FRANKFURT | MUSIC MAR 13, 2023 | ISSUE 10 With a massive social media following, a trio of Grammys, and dozens of new works dedicated in her name, Hilary Hahn is the epitome of a classical celebrity. Yet in 2019, the star violinist embarked on a one-year sabbatical, looking for a fresh perspective on herself and her artistry. Extended by the intrusion of the pandemic, this sabbatical led to months of deep thought, the rebuilding of the very foundations of her career ideals, and eventually the recording and release of Eclipse , her newest album on the Deutsche Grammophon label. “Historically, eclipses are times of great power, with strong cultural beliefs about transformation and emergence,” muses Hahn. “I felt like that very much aligned with the experience that musicians went through in the course of the lockdowns: a shifting of the light, and a different feeling on the other side of it.” Speaking to smART Magazine from Frankfurt, Hahn shares thoughts on the emotional dissonance of the Ginastera Violin Concerto, bringing Carmen to life on a violin, and her own efforts to address the ongoing upheaval of the past few years.

Showing is Telling: How Myth of Man reimagines interactive cinema (L-R) Kiowa and Jamin Winans, by Dane Thibeault for Cannopy INTERVIEW ─ Where other filmmakers worry you may take something away from their work that they did not intend, the Winans’ are asking you to do so. Words by Katarina Zeni | Illustration by Dane Thibeault | Interview by Michael Zarathus-Cook ISSUE 15 | KENTUCKY | IN FOCUS CANNOPY x Double Edge Films The struggle to balance time and artistic creation can get the best of us, filmmaking partners Jamin and Kiowa Winans continue their all-encompassing (and all-draining) independent filmmaking journey in their latest cinematic work, an epic silent-film entitled Myth of Man. Coming up on the 15-year anniversary of their 2009 film Ink – which garnered them something of a “cult” following – under their production company Double Edge Films, the Winans’ are sharing their newest labour of love after spending the last decade crafting it. From selling their house to fund the project, to hand-crafting each prop, costume, sound, and over 3,500 VFX shots, the Winans’ have pushed the boundaries of independent and – what critics previously called Ink – “DIY” cinema. Having dedicated years of their lives to the project, the Winans’ are a standout duo in an economy normally driven by the need to pump out movies for the masses. This work ethic, and the creative process surrounding Myth of Man’s production, are paralleled in the film's narrative arc itself. Watch Myth of Man today at www.doubleedgefilms.com Laura Rauch as Ella Ella (Laura Rauch), the main character in Myth of Man , is an artist who makes and shares stories; both the stories the general public want to see and ones she believes they need to see. When her work seemingly takes on a life of its own, Ella takes it as a call to share her view of the world with everyone she comes across. She tells it as it is, in her own way, no matter how long it takes or how much it exhausts her. The Winans’ are doing nothing short of the same. Myth of Man approaches the importance of art and creation through demonstrating what happens when self-expression and creativity aren’t supported, and in this particular universe, outlawed by the totalitarian state the characters exist in. One specific scene of a character named Seeg (Anthony Nuccio) making street art, yet doing so in a way that parallels a soldier entering a battlefield – barrel rolls, big (paint) guns, running from the law and all – comes to mind here. Although many parts of the film work to enforce this messaging, some scenes are quick to the draw and left me wondering what significance they had to the rest of the piece. However, their versatile effectiveness does not go unnoticed. In a world where our attention spans are only captured by manipulated algorithms, fast-paced media, and emotionally-provoking dialogue, these scenes are a much-needed practice in the simple joy of observation. Like the characters in their film, if at all the Winans’ thought their art would be outlawed in the real world, they clearly were not deterred by this realization. Making the unconventional choice of producing a nearly two-hour-long silent film centered around a disabled main character for our social milieu that seems to be slowly taking steps backwards on the topic of diversity, this film seemed destined to be all Winan and no winning —at the box office that is . A refreshing, albeit daring move in an industry zeroing in on deep data and remakes of the same tired tropes. The Winans’ are reaching for something beyond simply keeping in step with the statistically-derived conventions of commercially viable cinema. They seem to be starting a cinematic conversation that we’re forgetting how to have: one of intimate and urgent whispers between filmmaker and audience. A leap of creative faith, a blind trust that there is still an appetite for awe and wonder beyond the paltry offerings of the almighty algorithm. Even without the asset of spoken dialogue – a sure-fire plot carrier – the Winans’ have more than enough material to deliver their story. Having a deaf-mute protagonist in Ella, who not only sees the world differently than those around her, but benefits from this perception speaks to the concept of “Deaf gain.” Through Ella and her counterparts, Deafness – and disability – is portrayed not as a lack of , but rather an enhanced way of understanding one’s surroundings. In so doing, the audience is invited into this vastly enhanced space of discovery. What do you see? What do you want to see? What do you feel?— Myth is merely a fodder for feeding these sorts of interactive questions and visual cues. A sprawling and precious triumph in the simple and earnest belief that showing is telling. On the whole, Myth of Man has no fail-safe hollywood-esque selling point. The film’s selling point is its uniquely interactive quality. Where other filmmakers worry you may take something away from their work that they did not intend, the Winans’ are asking you to do so.

A Close-Up On Costumes "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" Costumes on display at Showstoppers - Photo by Rebecca J Michelson Enter the "Showstoppers!" exhibit, and meet the costumiers of New York City WORDS BY TASH COWLEY | PHOTOGRAPHY BY REBECCA J MICHELSON ISSUE 8 | NEW YORK | FOURTH WALL The shop windows of New York City’s Garment District are a sumptuous feast for the imagination. Beyond the glass, a dense jungle of color buzzes in the high-ceilinged canopies that flank narrow walkways, overflowing with texture; thread, ribbons, feathers, buttons, paints, trims, rhinestones, crystals, and towering rolls of sensuous fabrics stretch into oblivion. Dotted sporadically between 34th and 41st Street, these quirky stores burst with possibility; however, a new style of shop front is casting dark shadows across this historic district’s aesthetic. Wooden boards, dark blinds, and worn silver shutters have replaced many vibrant displays, serving as a relentless reminder that in many instances, these bright and brilliant businesses are gone for good. COVID-19 ravaged New York’s costume industry. The ecosystem is built on small businesses, and when Broadway closed abruptly in March 2020, this cottage industry lost $26.6 million in gross revenue that year. Workers could rarely adapt their roles to fit a work from home model, and numerous shops closed permanently, removing familiar suppliers from the map. Experts with years of experience have said goodbye to their vocations, taking precious practical knowledge with them. Without those face-to-face interactions in the work room, demonstrating techniques and passing intelligence along, we may be losing more than we realize. However, some businesses have managed to stay afloat, due in large part to the tireless efforts of the Costume Industry Coalition (CIC). The CIC was established in response to the pandemic and is composed of 55 NYC-based businesses and artisans who create, supply, and care for costumes on stage and screen. Their aim is to protect and uplift businesses that became vulnerable during the pandemic by purchasing materials from local vendors, employing skilled professionals, and boosting the city’s economy. The CIC is also responsible for NYC’s unmissable new pop-up on West 42 nd street. “Showstoppers! Spectacular Costumes From Stage and Screen” allows visitors a rare, in-depth look at the expertise of New York’s finest costumiers, a place to admire every stitch, strand, and sequin up close. It is a celebration and acknowledgement of the debt that onstage majesty owes to offstage expertise, and all proceeds from the exhibition raise money for the CIC Recovery Fund, which supports and advocates for small businesses in need. In collaboration with Thinc design and the Artisans Guild of America, the CIC created an immersive labyrinth of art; jaw-dropping costumes are interwoven with truly enlightening educational content, bringing this intricate and often underappreciated work to our attention. Inside, we learn about the process from design to build, and the delicate marriage between individual labor and consistent, communicative teamwork. The lifeblood of a “look” appears to flow through a show’s costume bible; this binder is an essential meeting point for the team, and is filled over time with performer’s measurements, sketches, fabric samples (alongside source locations & pricing), fitting photographs, and more. Working from sketches, the makers spend hours selecting materials, establishing the correct cut for performers, deciding on appropriate embellishments, and developing a flawless fit that is comfortable, durable, and well-suited to the story. It truly does take a village to perfect these looks. Milliners, seamstresses, cobblers, bead experts, cleaners, pattern makers, pleaters, tailors, painters, and many more are involved. Not to mention that, for most shows on Broadway, every actor in the company will change outfits at least twice before the final curtain drops. Nestled amongst the exhibition’s magnificent displays, a handful of talented craftspeople are busy creating masterpieces, allowing us a front row seat to their working day. While there, I stumbled upon Camilla Chuvarsky, a milliner at the Lynne Mackey Studio, who was constructing a bridal veil for Hamilton’s Eliza. She explained that the matrimonial headpiece takes around 40 hours to complete and that, while the item may not be worn for long, it adds integral texture to our visual storyboard. Every little detail is a piece of the puzzle; in this case, a sweet, subtle bouquet of flowers (some vintage, some hand-made) in shades of pink, blue and cream cover the “band” of her veil, pairing perfectly with her dress and adding contextual layers to her story without distracting the eye. Some of the most time-consuming tasks lie in the tiniest of flourishes. Closely following designer Gabriella Slade’s sketches, the makers at John Kristiansen hand-placed over 18,810 studs onto costumes for the queens of Six The Musical , allowing the regal 16 th century shapes to take on a sharp, contemporary edge. Polly Kinney, the Theatrical Beader for Aladdin , worked 10 hours a day for five months to complete the beading on Aladdin’s pieces. The beads themselves travelled many miles to reach Broadway, hailing from Austria, India, China, Japan, and the Czech Republic. The devil appears to be in the details, and not only with smaller items of clothing. Large scale pieces must be afforded the same level of attention, and are often more easily seen and scrutinized.. In The Lion King , large animal masks are worn above the face so as not to obscure the actors, but they must also be intensely expressive on their own to make an impression on the back row of the mezzanine. Up close, the mask for Scar is a fascinating study in contours. The makers chisel the lightweight material into a sly, cold expression, with hollows and cuts that give him a gaunt and menacing air. The features are deliberately asymmetrical, making him seem unbalanced, and his angular eyebrows steadily mock us. These subtle touches of personality tell the audience in no uncertain terms that this feline is not to be trusted, and all before he has even warned us to “Be Prepared.” Another major consideration for both maker and designer is the physical demands of a show. The garments may need to be danced in, handled roughly, lit up, used as props, or stripped off for rapid quick-changes backstage. In Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton , the female ensemble is almost in perpetual movement; therefore, their corsets were constructed using spandex panels to allow for flexibility while retaining the period aesthetic. When designing costumes for TV and Film, duplicates of many outfits must be made for the actors’ stunt double, and may require extra room or alternative tailoring to accommodate protective gear and padding. These costumes must stand up against deterioration and weathering, not to mention having to survive the actors themselves. We frequently credit writers, directors, musicians, and performers for the way that theatre makes us feel , but I believe equal kudos is owed to the artists that clothe our beloved characters. Any actor will tell you that those first rehearsals in costume are extraordinary; clothes have immense power and presence, and can elevate a performance from moving to mesmeric. To the audience, they are the first impression we have of a person. For an actor, it can mean the donning of armor, or stripping away of inhibition. Clothes lead our perspective in more ways than we realize and when handled expertly, they not only embellish the exterior shell, they inform the interior life.

Rimini Protokoll’s Remote X Remote Belgrade - Photo by Sonja Žugić A uniquely interactive theatre experience reveals the unholy alliance of tech and social engineering WORDS BY SOPHIA KATZELL | BERLIN | PERFORMING ARTS FEB 28, 2023 | ISSUE 11 “Welcome to Remote Berlin . My name is Rachel. I sound a bit artificial, sorry. I am not human, but I will try to be your friend. I’m programmed for you. I’m programmed so that you will always find your way.” So begins Remote Berlin , the first installment of German theatre group Rimini Protokoll’s Remote X. The robotic voice — played through the headphones distributed — begins issuing commands and, without thinking, the audience follows. This opening statement sets the tone for the entire production, where audience members eventually become servants to the artificial intelligence initially built to aid us. The production explores this dependence on technology, and its impact on our interactions with each other. Rimini Protokoll posits that this reliance on technology is a learned dependence, borne out of a desire for guidance. Yet it is one that ultimately results in the depersonalization of the individual in favour of the “us versus them” mentality prevalent on the Internet today...

Ashley Wheater Ashley Wheater by Kalya Ramu INTERVIEW — Artistic Director of the Joffrey Ballet WORDS BY EMILY TRACE | Illustration by Kalya Ramu ISSUE 3 | CHICAGO | IN MOTION Ashley Wheater may be the only member of the Order of the British Empire to also be named Chicagoan of the Year. Popularity like that stems from creating fully-funded access to dance education for children across Chicago through the historically diverse Joffrey Ballet —known for daring original works that resonate with contemporary audiences. CANNOPY x Ashley Wheater What do you find unique about Chicago as an artistic destination? AW — The thing I love about Chicago is that it’s a big city, yet there’s a very tight community here. There is so much happening in Chicago on so many different levels–theatre, music, opera, dance. You can bring everyone together and the collaborative spirit is really quite unique. We all want to work together to make this city the best possible place to live, and I think we know that art and culture plays such a huge role. So there’s a mission, and many of the arts leaders here are very mission-focused about enriching their city. I’m an American citizen now, so it was really wonderful to be honoured as Chicagoan of the Year [in 2013]. I guess it’s because of my commitment to not only The Joffrey but to Chicago. Of all the places that I’ve lived in the world—New York, San Francisco, Melbourne, London—Chicago for me has a soul that is gentle, and it’s a place where we can all come together and have a conversation. I think that’s quite unique, actually. What is Joffrey Ballet’s mission with community engagements, and how has this mission been changed by the Black Lives Matter movement in 2020? AW — I’m going to backtrack a little here; when the company moved to Chicago in ’95, there were no Academy or Community Engagement programs. I didn’t want to build a school based on what you might see at the National Ballet of Canada or the San Francisco Ballet; I wanted a school that had many, many avenues. So if you wanted to be a pre-professional trainee, you could go into that program. But if you didn’t want to be a ballet dancer, or loved other forms of dance, then go to the Youth Program. We have a program that engages kids in the community, seven to eight years old, where they all get to dance, and after three years they figure out where they want to go. It’s fully funded for them—whether they’re in Pre-Professional or Open Youth, Open Adult—until they go to university. There’s a social, emotional development there that kids really need. And we felt so committed to continuing those programs during this pandemic because people need them more than ever. I think that as we move forward in the future, we need to build a financial model that’s going to independently cover that access and opportunity. What ways do you see the ballet as a proponent of racial diversity and equity going forward? AW — I believe that you build pipelines, and those pipelines are a feeder for everything. I don’t think it’s about filling a quota, but that pipeline that’ll benefit everybody. We started Winning Work, a platform for BIPOC choreographers that’s been going for ten years. We’ve also partnered with Enrich Chicago, focused on undoing racism and white supremacy, and we’ve all done the training. During this pandemic, we mandated that every single person in the organization had to do the training. It gives you a space to come to which is thoughtful, safe, where you can have conversation. Because it is collectively: “What are we all doing together?” You can’t just look at one person and say, “you’re not doing it.” We all have a role to play as we move forward. Robert Joffrey was Muslim whose parents came from Afghanistan and moved to Seattle. He grew up in a very different way and he was a passionate man that wanted to dance. And so the company doesn’t have the stringent blueprint of a European model—we’re very democratic; we have no rankings. We’re a company of 43 and there is opportunity all through. And when he started the company, it was pretty diverse from the get-go, with Black and brown dancers all throughout the history of the Joffrey Ballet. What we consider to be traditional classical ballet comes with a lot of stigma. If we’re going to tell stories, then what are those stories? We can still do Swan Lake , but I don’t think we want the hierarchy and the privilege associated with it. There are ways to tell a story in a different way that has a relative impact for an audience today. When we did Christopher Wheeldon’s Swan Lake , it was about a young boy learning a role in a ballet studio. So you bring it down to a level that we relate to. And we’ve seen our audience grow over the years—very young people, because we have many programs to give them access. Why is Chicago’s arts scene so robust in terms of the capabilities of its arts organizations? I think it’s a bit of both but, predominantly, the driving force is the cultural community. There is wealth in Chicago at different levels, but people feel a responsibility to reinvest in their city. People that subscribe to The Joffrey are probably also members of the Museum of Mexican Art—everybody’s involved in everything. There is a pioneering spirit in the cultural arts in Chicago; we’re not looking for a Broadway blockbuster every single time. If you take the 200 theatre companies that are here, and the many art organizations, and the many different kinds of music—there’s a huge amount of jazz here—there is an appreciation for asking “Can we do more here? Absolutely.” We feel a responsibility to make sure that there’s equity in our city. There have been so many conversations, especially over the last year, about the programs that we want to present, giving free access to everybody, making sure the performances happen on the South Side and the western suburbs; not only downtown or on the North Shore. I think it’s really about pulling apart your city, looking at it and saying “Why haven’t we ever done that? We need to make an effort to do that.”

COMPOSER: Fazil Say Fazil Say by Fethi Karaduman On returning back to Bach WORDS BY EMMA SCHMIEDECKE | ISTANBUL | PERFORMING ARTS FEB 27, 2023 | ISSUE 11 Pianist and composer Fazil Say is no stranger to the concert stage or the composition page. Having taken to both at a very young age, he honed his craft through an international circuit of tutors, and undertook work that has flourished into a career spanning nearly thirty years. Born in Turkey in 1970, Say wrote his first sonata at the age of 14 and studied with David Levine at the Musikhochschule “Robert Schumann” in Düsseldorf. He went on to win one of the most prestigious prizes in the United States, the Young Concert Artists Auditions in 1994. He’s since enjoyed an active concertizing career with regular appearances on five continents and with every period and style of music─from Bach to his own compositions. In December 2016, Say was awarded the International Beethoven Prize for Human Rights, Peace, Freedom, Poverty Reduction and Inclusion in Bonn, Germany, and in the autumn of 2017, he was awarded the Music Prize of the City of Duisburg in Germany. His latest recording of Bach’s Goldberg Variations — a titanic piece of the piano repertoire — is the topic of his conversation with smART Magazine . Contemplating the legacy of Bach’s masterpiece, and how his role as a...

Between Pheasants Contemporary Between Pheasants Contemporary Courtesy of the Gallery Fowl play is encouraged in this unique gallery experience WORDS BY EMILY PITTMAN | KERNS | VISUAL ARTS FEB 26, 2023 | ISSUE 11 Beginning as a passion project for Alexander Rondeau, Between Pheasants Contemporary (BPC) is a thriving one-of-a-kind display space for artists and curators across all stages of their careers. BPC’s function is exactly as its name presents: art installed in a pheasant coop, with or without the pheasants present. Many artists choose to take advantage of this unique opportunity to share their exhibit with the coop’s feathered residents, allowing the curious hens to live among (and possibly interact with) their work. The building has a charmingly unassuming appearance, with its symmetrical window boxes and board and batten siding that provide only a little hint of the arts programming within. Nestled on a farm in rural Northern Ontario, BPC offers contemporary art discourse amid a practical, functional farm. Artworks are fastened to chicken wire and hung from wooden beams, each show is accompanied by well-considered statements, and the small exhibition space feels as polished as any urban white cube. With a curatorial mission of championing the emerging and underrepresented, the work displayed in this unorthodox space is selected for its thoughtfulness...

The Kahlo Family Foundation How Frida Kahlo’s Family is Keeping her Legacy Alive Mexico City BY KÁTIA MATIQUITE | April 27, 2022 Mara De Anda (R) and Mara Kahlo (L) at Immersive Frida Kahlo. - Photo by Kristina Vicario “There are many companies that want the licence to Frida, but they just want to put her face on cookies.” Immersive Frida Toronto The Kahlo Family Foundation (or Fundacion Familia Kahlo ) is an organisation created by some of the surviving relatives of Frida Kahlo to honour and continue her legacy. The foundation executes this mission primarily by building and implementing projects meant to assist communities through social work, including building food cisterns that provide basic food products and other community-based initiatives. Mara de Anda, Frida Kahlo’s great-niece and Vice-President of the foundation, joined smART Magazine to talk about the foundation and its current and prospective impact in Mexico City. LATEST FROM ISSUE NO.8 A Very Fine Art Anthony Barfield Hayao Miyazaki Fridamania Emily D'Angelo Letitle The work de Anda does now exceeds the mere conceptual aspects of maintaining Frida’s legacy. According to de Anda, the origin of the foundation predates her initiative and vision for it. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about this,” de Anda says, sitting in her sunny courtyard in Mexico City, “but the foundation started with Frida and Christina when they were alive. It wasn’t really official, but they had something similar to a foundation, where they gave provisions to more than 500 women at a time, right through that door,” she says, pointing to a metal gate behind her that was visible on the Zoom call. The “door” in question was the entrance to the headquarters of their unofficial foundation, where women could reach out for “canastas básicas ,” which were essentially food baskets with essentials that included rice, beans, and oil. smART Magazine is presented by Lighthouse Immersive Issue No.9! Issue No.8! Order Issue No.7 Subscribe to our Newsletter Submit to smART Magazine Highlights Boston's All-Female Mariachi Band at Immersive Frida Kahlo Boston Commenting on the foundation’s organic and community-based origins, de Anda recalls how “that door was open every Saturday. So we continued that tradition, you know? We want to continue the tradition that started with Frida and Cristina, and then my grandmother joined. Nowadays, we can’t [literally] open doors because of the security in Mexico, but when we started the Kahlo Family Foundation, which licences the name and brand of Frida Kahlo, we were able to create these support programs.” In addition to this literal extension of Kahlo’s social work, the Kahlo Family Foundation is predisposed and committed to assisting Mexican artists. “My sister, whose name is [also] Frida, is developing a support program for Mexican artists here.” de Anda’s enthusiasm and hope in the forthcoming branch that her sister, Frida Hentschel Romeo, is building within the foundation, was palpable. Continue reading in Issue 9

Matthew & the Atlas: Many Times & Other Rivers Matthew Hegarty Frontman Matthew Hegarty returns to the thin place that launched his indie-folk project Words By Michael Zarathus-Cook ISSUE 13 | HAMPSHIRE | ALT.ITUDE The music of Matthew Hegarty is something of a palimpsest: at its surface, its energetically urban, yet rustic layers of the British countryside and rolling fields of folk idioms radiate gloomily through this cosmopolitan sheen. In short, his lyrics are “folk” but the music around it is of the electronic alt-pop variety. After the rapid-fire release of two acoustically-themed EPs in 2010— To the North and Kingdom of Your Own— Hegarty took four years to return with his first full-length album, Other Rivers . The album landed with an irresistible thud against willing eardrums on both sides of the Atlantic. For fans who had slowly gathered around the previous EPs, eager to hear more of the high-and-lonesome delivery that carried Hegarty’s voice gently alongside his solo guitar, Other Rivers felt like stadium lights descending on a garage act. For those discovering Mathew and the Atlas (MATA) through Other Rivers , it stood out against the crowded backdrop of the alt-folk milieu of the early 2010s: not quite the cabin fever of Bon Iver and not exactly the synth-pop drum-machinery of alt-J. Something was happening with this album, with MATA, that felt both singular and webbed into the broader brocade of the U.K.’s indie scene. In the ten years since Other Rivers , Hegarty has explored more complex terrains with 2016’s Temple , 2019’s Morning Dancer , and 2023’s This Place We Live —each outlet wading further into the autumnal hues prescribed by his first outing. Perhaps it’s the creative energy supercoiled by the pandemic that’s still being unwound as Hegarty opted for a quick follow-up to This Place with the late-spring release of Many Times . Long-time listeners to MATA might find themselves in the same boat as they were in 2014, unexpectedly caught off-guard by a decidedly different direction from the atmosphere of previous releases. Many Times seemingly picks up from where To the North left off, with an acoustic guitar in hand and a long sojourn through the woods afoot. As if to accentuate the contrast between this album and the four preceding it, Hegarty reached back across the decade for a vinyl re-release of Other Rivers in tandem with Many Times . This return to roots is apparent across this album, from its sound to production and promotional ethos. The album’s sound seems to ring with an invitation: come with me—but not too close—to rediscover ruined cottages of the north, or just to walk for the sake of walking. The roots in question, however, aren’t exactly as rustic as those first EPs make out. Though Hegarty hails from the sleepy grassy knolls of Aldershot, Hampshire, a district in the southwest shoulder of England, MATA gained traction through the usual route of London’s pubs and art clubs. To achieve the soundscape of early MATA, though this time with a brighter spotlight on the unique timbre of Hegarty’s strained tenor, he teamed up with producer Kev Jones who was at the mixing board for Other Rivers and To the North . What they aimed to return to—through the analog route of recording to tape—is that thin place that has birthed so many indie projects of this sort but, of course, this destination is a phantom flame that can’t be captured twice. Where they landed instead is on a deck of songs that have a vegetable feel to them, still very raw, like demos for a fuller album to come. But sifting through the promotional platter on which Many Times is being delivered, it’s apparent that this album isn’t intended as a setup for something to come. Its pared-back aesthetic is intentional and Hegarty is often pictured walking along slim trails cutting through the forestry of his native backwoods. It’s a view of a man looking without searching, and it brings to mind words by Wordsworth who, “stepping westward” through similar terrain a century and a half ago, rattled with the wonder “of traveling through the world that lay before me in my endless way.”

Shawnee Kish’s Top 10 Shawnee Kish Our DECA series invites artists to curate a list of their top-10 influences Photography by Keri Lynne ISSUE 14 | HOMEGROWN With a powerful and soulful voice, Mohawk singer-songwriter Shawnee Kish has drawn from personal experiences to create heartfelt ballads of identity, resilience, and connection. Her work draws from the deep ties to her Indigenous culture and personal experiences. Growing up in Welland, Ontario, Shawnee found love for music at an early age. Shawnee’s work has been recognised by a multitude of Canadian arts organisations, the breakthroughs she’s made in the Canadian arts scene are wide and unmistakable. Her soulful sound honours tradition while defying genre limitations. She pairs her expressive voice with unreserved advocacy for Indigenous and LGBTQ2+ communities. Shawnee Kish joined us to discuss the influences that have inspired her stylistically, as well as those who illustrate the commitment she carries while fostering open dialogue and advocacy in every corner. Latest Release CANNOPY x Shawnee Kish Shawnee Kish 1) Max Richter Max Richter’s remake of Dinah Washington’s timeless "This Bitter Earth" speaks to the soul. Washington's rich and velvety voice exudes an authenticity I aspire to capture in my work. The integration of "On the Nature of Daylight" with lush orchestral arrangements seasons the emotional weight of the original with longing. Richter’s genre-defying approach blends orchestral arrangements and vocal storytelling, motivating me to forge a uniquely authentic path of my own. Read: "The Mundane Minimalism of Max Richter’s In A Landscape" 2) Celine Dion Celine’s discography showcases music’s power to connect and inspire. Her artistry resonates with me now more than ever, reflecting strength and resilience. She stands as a powerhouse female artist whose music has left an indelible mark on countless lives through universal themes of love, loss, and triumph. Celine's journey is a reminder of harnessing one's gifts to uplift others, and inspires my own path with passion and dedication. 3) Ludovico Einaudi Over the past year, I’ve discovered the works of Ludovico Einaudi, whose compositions carry profound emotional weight. His minimalist interplay of piano and strings creates intricate soundscapes, showcasing the timeless impact of classical music. Inspired by his artistry, I aim to incorporate classical instrumentation into my creations in a fusion that honours tradition and transcends genres. The comfort I’ve found in Einaudi’s work inspired me to captivate listeners. 4) Whitney Houston Whitney’s extraordinary vocal delivery and ability to convey emotion inspires aspiration in my work. With powerful range and dynamic control she connects with listeners like myself on a deeply personal level, transforming songs into rich narratives of love, heartbreak, and resilience. I find myself drawing inspiration from her legacy and influence—challenging myself to reach new heights within my craft and carve out a unique sound in an evolving industry. 5) Etta James Etta James was more than just a singer; she was a force of nature whose presence could transform a room. Seeing her live as a teenager at a local casino remains an unforgettable experience that left me mesmerised. As she poured her soul into each note, each sound was a raw expression of the human experience. That performance ignited the exploration of my own musical creativity. Watching her documentary and witnessing her live recording process inspires me to embrace spontaneity and authenticity in my craft. I strive to create music that evokes the joy, heartache, and inspiration that Etta created. 6) Sleeping at Last Discovering Sleeping At Last has been transformative. The ethereal quality of their sound weaves together delicate melodies with profound lyrics to create a warm and introspective atmosphere. Their music often draws on themes of hope, love, and self-discovery that inspire listeners to embrace the full scope of the human experience. I’m inspired by their storytelling and the beauty they bring to their craft. 7) Hozier Hozier’s unapologetic music, especially the anthem “Take Me to Church”, fearlessly approaches complex themes and offers solace to those who have felt marginalized or misunderstood. His work inspires me to transform the seemingly insurmountable obstacles I’ve encountered into art — a cathartic expression of vulnerability that can be overwhelming at times. Hearing his raw, creative expression is a comfort as I work through my own struggles with societal norms. His music is a reminder of the power in this process. 8) Melissa Etheridge Melissa Etheridge has been an inspiration of mine since childhood. Her fearless journey of challenging the status quo through music is deeply admirable. Etheridge’s unapologetic creativity reminds me that art is more than an act of self expression, but is a tool for awareness and compassion. Her courage inspires the navigation of my own authenticity as I strive to make a meaningful impact through my work. 9) Nancy Sinatra A profound reminder of the power of minimalist arrangements, “Bang Bang” is a haunting melody in a world of elaborate arrangements. Sinatra’s evocative vocals showcase the beauty of simplicity and reinforces the importance of authenticity and connection where musical trends prioritize flashiness. This track is my reminder to create music that spreads directly to the heart and stays true to my creative vision. 10) Adele Adele’s ability to turn listeners into champions of her artistry is only part of why she inspires. She’s broken molds with power ballads worldwide without conforming. Navigating identity artistry is challenging, but Adele’s songs provide comfort and strength along with talent and charm, reminding me to embrace my journey with authenticity.

Indigenous Theatre at the National Arts Centre Turns 5 Dancers of the Damelahamid, Raven Mother 01 - Photo Chris Randle INTERVIEW — Artistic Director Kevin Loring weighs in on performative land acknowledgements Words by Cassandra Henry | Photography courtesy of the NAC ISSUE 14 | OTTAWA | FOURTH WALL The ideal intersection of theatre and social justice is a question that has dogged artists and divided audience members for decades now. Performance art, in particular, if often tasked as the chief investigator of this question. From the subject matter of plays and films, to acceptance speeches for the awards they bring in—the current zeitgeist of the soundstage is leaning into using art as a stark spotlight on the issues that matter most. A frequent rebuttal: Why do we have to be reminded about politics? Can’t I just watch a nice play that makes me feel good and happy? And a frequent counter-rebuttal: the stage is a laboratory that permits us to play gracefully with even the most consequential issues. One of those consequential issues that makes a frequent appearance on Canadian stages—even if only as a brief acknowledgment before curtains up—is the plight of Indigenous communities across Canada. By virtue of its location at the nation’s capital, the National Art Centre (NAC) is a high-profile intersection of art and social issues. Conversations that go on to reverberate through the Canadian artistic ecosystem often begin on the NAC’s stage, not least being its mission to help the progression of reconciliation with Indigenous nations through the vectors of storytelling. This mission found a new leg with the creation of their Indigenous Theatre programming five years ago, and has been advanced via their post-pandemic “Journey Ahead” initiative. Described as a resurgence in commitment to the arts sector after the effects of COVID 19, this initiative aims to “build a performing arts sector that is more creative, adaptive, and relevant to communities. One that is equitable, diverse, accessible, and welcoming to all.” But as Indigenous communities have always maintained regarding reconciliation: saying and doing are in fact two different things. Else Charlem Danielsen in "The Breathing Hole" - Photo byFred Cattroll Giving lip service to land acknowledgements is one way of saying much and doing little, for example. Whereas walking the walk means putting resources behind a production stream for Indigenous stories on one of the country’s largest stages. One more step in the right direction is appointing Indigenous leaders to steer their own storytelling locomotive in a way that’s culturally competent and comprehensive. As the inaugural Artistic Director of Indigenous Theatre, Kevin Loring marks five years of storytelling with an eye for parsing real action from performative acting. Bryce Morin and Melody McArthur in "Bear Grease" - Photo by Rémi Thériault CANNOPY x Kevin Loring Kevin Loring by Rémi Thériault Our Stories are Medicine CAN | “Our stories are medicine” seems to be the mantra of your 2024/25 season; what aspects of Indigenous storytelling practices do you feel uniquely stimulate pathways of healing for the audience? KL ─ “Our Stories are Medicine” is a call back to the Indigenous concept of medicine. “Good medicine” can come from anything that makes us feel better, live better, and move through the world in a good way. In many Indigenous cultures stories have real consequences when invoked. They can motivate the seasons and call forth the spirit of something into our existence. Indigenous theatre is good medicine because it can make us laugh, cry, and illuminate and celebrate our cultures and languages, which are in desperate need of invigoration. These stories can also help us all heal from the traumas of colonialism and to grow together as a society with understanding and empathy. Craig Lauzon in "Little Red Warrior and His Lawyer" - Photo by Curtis Perry Performative Land Acknowledgements CAN | Since the inception of Indigenous Theatre at the National Arts Centre, what have you appreciated most about the proliferation of Land Acknowledgements in the arts? What’s frustrated you most about how they're presented? KL — Acknowledging the traditional territories of the host Indigenous nations is important because it allows us an opportunity to reflect on our shared histories, our present lived realities, and our collective futures. Knowing where you are is essential to knowing where we are going. If nothing else, it is just polite to be conscious and grateful for the stewardship of the lands that we are on. However, Land Acknowledgements can get performative when they are not connected or rooted to real intention. They don’t need to be a production in and of themselves. If the person giving the land acknowledgement means what they are saying you can’t really go wrong.