Dissolver Magazine


YUNG MARS Yung Mars (Self-released, 2007) by Kathryn Vercillo \| 27 \| San Francisco The self-released, self-titled CD by Yung Mars reminds me of such an array of different musicians that I’d have to make a list that would take up the entire page to share them all. There are nostalgic moments when I can hear hints of the rappers that I loved in the '90s. There are cutting-edge instrumental explorations that highlight the corners of what's being explored musically in the Bay Area today. And there is a lot of a little bit of everything in between; moments when you find yourself swaying your hips to the smidgen of Latin rhythm that is flowing through a song, points when you almost laugh out loud because there's a bit of comedic flair in the artist's approach, times when you're on the edge of your seat as though you're sitting at a poetry slam waiting to see who is going to win the final round. Coming from another area at another time, this mixture of styles and sounds could be seen as schizophrenic. But coming right now out of the Bay Area where Yung Mars was born and began his career as a teenager, it makes perfect sense. The Bay Area has long been about diversity and Yung Mars captures the very essence of that diversity, turning it from an idea into a musical movement. His combination of freestyle rap, recorded tracks and live instrumentals melded together with guest appearances by local performers is attention-getting to say the least. You can't get the full effect of Yung Mars' music by listening to just a few songs. Luckily, there are sixteen tracks on the CD so you can explore all of the aspects that this artist has to offer. But if you’re only willing to give a listen to one or two, start with Track 9, "Tha Bay". And it also gives a nice sampling of the artist's work; an intro that'll make you smile, an insistent beat, a catchy chorus supporting poetic lyrics, and it’s got a range of vocal speeds and back-up vocals that emphasize some of the poet's diversity. Other favorite tracks are "Califunk" and "Dolores Park," but maybe I’m biased since I live in the Bay Area myself! Listen to "Sunspot" by Yung Mars.

CALEB SCATES Lo-Fi Audio Circle (Self-released, 2007) by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 19 \| Boston, MA Every once in a while throughout my lifetime, a few certain people have come along who have caused me to second guess my existence on this planet, as well as no small amount of self-loathing. As a hockey fan, I hate Sidney Crosby for being on track to smash most offensive-related NHL records, as well as being three months my junior. And although I am a huge fan of Charles Dickens, reading the descriptive prose and subtle genius of both Great Expectations and A Tale of Two Cities has resigned me to the fact that my work probably isn’t worth much more than honorable mention at most smaller short fiction contests. So when Caleb Scates’s bio information tells me that the first time he even touched a guitar was three years ago, I make plans to go to the store and buy some confetti for the pity party I’m going to throw myself. Scates started writing music a few months after getting a 25 year old Yamaha acoustic from his mother, and has just released Lo-Fi Audio Circle, his sophomore album after 2006’s Free Lunch. I took piano lessons for much of my early adolescence, and all it’s taught me is how to plunk out some waltz that I still happen to remember. Ask me how I feel. Lo-Fi Audio Circle, a post grunge record featuring Scates on lead guitar and drums, along with friend Chris McAfee on bass, is a tempting offering by an unabashed young musician who sounds confident in searching for his own sound, as well as having some fun in the process. Many of the tracks have the same type of dragging heavy guitar riffs that I first grew to love while listening to Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. A Nirvana vibe also permeates the album, Scates’s gritty-yet-slightly-nasal tones bearing a slight resemblance to Cobain. Or at least enough that I thought it was noteworthy. Scates, in what can only be deemed a major “Fuck you” to procrastinators everywhere, proved his musical passion in the creation of Lo-Fi Audio Circle, working two jobs from 4 AM to 3 PM, then recording tracks for the album from five to nine every night. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s: Caleb Scates - 11 hours workin’ for the man - 5 hours recording an album - 5 hours sleeping - 1 hour eating hard tack and gruel (or Ramen, which is actually probably cheaper) - 2 hours saving the world, one orphan at a time Steven Brachmann - 8 hours working (on the days I’m actually scheduled) - 8 hours sleeping - 6 hours intentionally making the world a bad place to live in (especially for orphans) - 2 hours putzing around in a drug-induced haze This man even found the time to graduate from Purdue with a degree in applied physics, and an astrophysics minor. Like, seriously? Astrophysics? What the fuck, dude? Track highlights on Lo-Fi Audio Circle include "Radio Fall Out", a song that, honestly, probably means jackshit, but makes me want to smash mailboxes with a 2x4 when I listen to it. Which is sorta cool, I guess. "Love Underground", a 90's alternative rock-inspired number that smacks of Spin Doctors, was also pretty entertaining for a kid who gets a nostalgia kick whenever he hears "Two Princes" on the radio. Any fans of good ol' fashioned grunge would do well to at least check out this album by Scates (clips of "Love Underground" and "Radio Fall Out" can be found on the Sounds section of www.calebscates.com, as well as full versions of songs off of Free Lunch). It would be interesting to own this album while Scates is still finding a sound that works for him, marking his artistic progression.

SIR SPLENDID Lords & Peacocks (Rabbit Fighter, 2006) by Jason Holloway \| Age: 29 \| Boston, MA Sir Splendid — which is to say, mostly Marcus Barron, with Paul Chandegra on drums — makes few false airs. Are they talented? Sure. Fun to listen to? Definitely. Refreshing? Well, no, not really. But that doesn't usually stop anyone, does it? "Automatic Sidewalk Action," the first track off Lords & Peacocks, introduces the listener to just about everything that lies ahead. From its jerky opening riffs, into the pleasantly distorted vocals and stop-and-start rhythms, right through to its funky, breakdown outro that wouldn't feel out of place in a Starsky & Hutch episode, the love of 70s-era British rock becomes apparent. The heavy hitters of the album are right where you'd expect them, in a baseball lineup anyway: tracks 3 and 4. "Sweet Sixteen" is a fun, weird, romp that makes the best of Barron's (quite evident) appreciation of David Bowie, without ever ripping him off. Even better is "Mr. Sickameantwisted," the catchy culmination of Sir Splendid's myriad influences. Drenched in classic rock riffs, freewheelin' like the Kings of Leon, and with a subtlely layered chorus, it's tough not to enjoy this tune. Things degenerate soon after however. Track 6, "Beer Shozen" is a creepy, carnival-esque interlude (and not the last), and the minute-long "True Love" is an unnecessary throw-in. While "Champagne Static (This Weekend)" is a nice, lush departure from the fuzzy-vocaled fodder, it doesn't save the album from getting a little tiresome. However, in small doses, it's easy to love Sir Splendid, and to marvel at Barron's creative scope. Listen to "Mr. Sickameantwisted" by Sir Splendid.

YARN Yarn (Self-released, 2007) by Jon Gorey \| Age: 31 \| Boston, MA After hearing the first song off Yarn — the beeeeaaauuuutiful, mellow, Americana love song "Listen Up Sweetheart" — I was already sold. Blake Christiana and his bandmates didn't have to prove anything else to me. And yet, for fifty-one straight minutes, they did. Christiana's voice has the rich warmth of Lyle Lovett's, and the band's easy backing is both understated and artful. The combination, added to strong songwriting, makes for some of the best old-time country available. Complementing the best chorus on the CD — which is saying something, because Christiana has a knack for the chorus — the stripped down drum kit, violin, mandolin, and harmonies of "Don't Break My Heart Again" make me swoon. (In the interest of full disclosure, let it be known that I eat this shit up. I wish my own music sounded like this.) Even songs that fall short of excellence, like "The Contender," are still immensely charming. I missed Yarn when they came to Boston last fall; that won't happen again. If you're within reach of the blown-up Brooklyn music scene, make sure to catch them live. Listen to "Don't Break My Heart Again" by Yarn

*POSSIBILITY* by Megan Harrington with illustrations by Barry Maloney Lettuce, cucumbers, ground beef. Carrots, mushrooms, canned soup. I scan one item after another until I get a total. Then I bag them. Cashiering helps put me through college, but I don’t find it very inspiring. I smile at Alex, my classmate and fellow cashier. When our shifts end, he approaches my register. "How was your day?" he asks. "How do you think it was? Exciting beyond words." He laughs. "I don’t think we've ever had a conversation outside of this place. Do you want to go for a walk?" I think about all of the work I have yet to finish before the semester begins in September. "I have to get back to my dorm," I say. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a sense of disappointment. My dormitory room is fairly spacious for one person, if that person is the size of a field mouse. In reality, I share it with a roommate. Sitting at my desk, I make a list of the textbooks I need and how much each will cost. My roommate enters, chatting noisily on her cell phone. I finish the list and lie down on my bed, staring at the gray ceiling above. People are moving back to school in full force, thus beginning the annual shopping pilgrimage. I ring up groceries, notebooks, storage containers, salad spinners (who knew these existed?), shoe racks, carpets, air freshener and an array of other items. Students and parents arrive with shopping lists (belonging to students) and credit cards (belonging to parents). I recognize Heather, who spent a semester seated to my left in British Poetry Course One. She is loading curtains and a sizable pink rug onto the counter before me. "Hello," I say. Heather looks at me blankly. I realize that she doesn't recognize me behind the cash register. I begin to scan her items, then carefully wrap them in oversized bags. As I hand her mother the receipt, Heather exclaims, "Oh, it's you! I didn’t recognize you in that uniform." "It’s required for my job," I say, and then realize that I have just stated the obvious. "Mom, this is Kate," Heather says. "She gave a really big honors presentation in our poetry class." "Well, that’s impressive," her mother says absently. Without looking at me, she takes the receipt and turns away. "Are you jealous?" Alex has convinced me to walk with him in the Fenway, a wooded area in Boston named for the marshy fens nearby. We are just a few blocks from both our school and the store, but we cannot see them through a picturesque screen of trees. I look at my reflection in one of the area’s murky ponds. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" I answer. "Well, one reason for envy is that you’re a cashier even though you're much smarter than all those girls in that store buying fluffy pink carpets." I continue to stare at my reflection. "Come on, that's not fair. How can I blame those people for having what I don't? They don't owe me anything." "No, but then again, they aren't more deserving than you, either." I look at Alex, seeing his face for the first time outside the store. "If you're such a philosopher, why are you bagging groceries?" He turns his face down toward the pond. "What makes you think my situation is any different than yours?" "So are you jealous?" "Have you ever loved something so much, wanted it so very much, that the desire is central to your life, distracting you from everything else?" My mind slips back to my poetry presentation. I remember my side of the dorm room slowly filling with books in preparation for the event. I had treasured each poem for the knowledge it contained and the love of life that it represented. "Yes," I answer. "Have you ever watched what you love slip away because someone else had the money, the family, the connections, that you don’t? Have you ever seen what you treasure cheapened by people who can't appreciate it because they have never earned it, while at the same time it's being ripped right out of your grasp?" "Of course," I say and look at my watch. "It’s time to get back to the store." At his register, Alex scans a soap dish, then a set of towels. He places them in already overstuffed plastic bags. "That will be $290.92," he says in a flat voice. The shopper, a middle-aged man, turns to his teenage son beside him. "I spend too much on you," he complains. "I need this stuff, Dad," the boy retorts. "How do you expect me to live in some little dorm room? What if I don’t like the cafeteria? How am I going to make my own food?" "When I was your age, I never had all this," the older man says, gesturing to the bags that Alex has hefted onto the counter. "We shared, we got by with what we had, we had fun with whatever was around." "I don't know what kind of lame school you went to, Dad, but that’s not going to cut it for me." The father winces as though hurt. Then with a look of resignation, he lifts the bags of his son’s belongings. Alex looks at me with raised eyebrows. "I’ve lived in Boston my whole life, but before today I’d never seen this," I tell Alex. He has convinced me to accompany him to Boston’s North End, where locals are celebrating the annual St. Anthony’s Feast. St. Anthony's statue presides over the festival, its sides festooned with ropes to which believers have pinned cash offerings. "You don’t look Italian," I say. "Neither do half the people here," Alex says. He is right. We are surrounded by a mix of hearty olive-skinned locals and well-manicured tourists. The local population is visible behind cash registers and hawking food, while visitors are looking at "I love Boston" t-shirts and other wares sold at booths. One woman argues with a vendor over the price of a poster. When the vendor refuses to bargain, she tosses her head and storms away. Behind the register, the middle-aged man rolls his eyes, then turns around to spit in the street. "That was disgusting," I say. "Yeah, I know." "I hate watching people spit." Alex laughs. "I thought you were talking about the woman." We wander out of the festival itself and notice a church behind a well-kept garden. White statues of the Virgin Mary and several saints are like smiling apparitions in the midst of summer greenery. "We should go into the church," Alex suggests. Inside, I catch my breath. Rows of colorful statues depict a multitude of saints. The altar is simple, highlighted by a painting of a tomb filled with flowers. The ceiling is a bright green dome. "This is beautiful," I say. A middle-aged man in a denim shirt and work boots drops a dollar into a donation box, then lights one of many red candles in rows near the altar. He kneels in a wooden pew, clasps his hands, and bows his head, closing his eyes. "I came to school to get away from all that," I say, gesturing to the kneeling man. "You came to school to get away from praying?" Alex asks. "To get away from begging. When I need something, I want to get it for myself." Now Alex looks at the praying man. "Why do you look down on what he's doing? You want to be like that woman sneering at the guy selling posters?" "No, but I don’t want to spit in the street." "I don’t think you have to choose between one and the other. You can give a presentation and bag groceries. You aren’t kneeling in this church, you’re standing in it." Under the gilded dome, his words echo with possibility.

ONLINE EXHIBITION "Primordial Essence" A Mixed-Media Series by Maggi Battalino Curated by Barry Maloney Primordial Essence Primordial: existing in or persisting from the beginning. Essence: the individual, real, or ultimate nature of a thing; that which exists; an entity. It’s what you make life from. New, but basic. Basic color, basic ingredients. Connections to beginning... fire, light, movement. This multi-media series, produced on 14" x 20" steel plates using a surprising variety of mixed-media ingredients and interactions, is a further evolution of technical and esthetic matters in the work of Texas artist Maggi Battalino. Organic, essential patterns reminiscent of the surface of a far-off planet; or of the inner life of stone; rivers of metal interact with matter and time; a caldron of primordial reality. Yet these images are not cold or lifeless void. Here, all is still played out in the spiritual realm. It is as though the artists' mind united with nature itself to produce these fantastic scenes, images that appear to have been "born" rather than "made." This exhibition of new work will be attended by a brief article on the "Primordial Essence" series and on the technique and career of Maggi Battalino, directly following the presentation of images (below). Maggi Battalino began her career exhibiting in Southeastern Pennsylvania, but relocated to Houston, Texas in 1989. There, her signature style of heightened color brilliance grew more pronounced, while her themes and approach evolved into a more pure form of abstraction. I am often struck, when looking at the early-to-mid career paintings of Maggi Battalino, by the realization of how tame are the palettes of most painters in comparison. Working in a heightened color key, contrasting bright on bright, or toying with optics, are all means the artist has used to engage the viewer's imagination. The "Primordial Essence" series, with its greater focus on materials and texture, has moved toward an uncharacteristic reduction in the role of vibrant color per se, the artist’s palette now comprised more often of blacks, whites, greys, tonal browns and metallic. Materials are used in place of the use of color, limiting the palette, reducing elements, and, at the same time heightening other responses. Now, allowing contrasting materials to dominate, the imagery is minimized and focused on shape, line and fields of values. These priorities vary from work to work, in terms of the interplay of foreground and background components, with surprising and sophisticated results. The artist describes a wide variety of materials, ingredients and chemical interactions used to create the range of desired effects: concrete - the use of a range of sizes of hand-made circular canvas stencils, from around ten years ago, went from dragging a paint-loaded wide brush across the surface of a stretched canvas (low relief, minimal texture) to dragging a concrete-loaded brush across the surface of a steel plate (higher relief, more texture). salt - a component used to create the white in the high end of the value scale and chemically interact with the steel and concrete at the same time. peroxide - misted in a way, to interact with the steel and salt, and create another value. pigment - used sometimes to deepen the concrete value, or create a tone to give depth to white. alcohol - also used to alter the surface and materials. View more of Maggi Battalino’s work at www.maggibattalino.com.

"MOONLIGHT" Watercolors by Gary Tucker Moon Calm Ocean Moon Over Grasses Stars Floating in Ice Bang "One winter's night I went ice skating with friends at a remote pond; it was bitter cold and very dark. Once we started skating I felt warmer and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized I could see stars twinkling in the ice. I have always wanted to paint from this and other nighttime experiences. This is the inspiration that started me painting for this show." We are pleased to present this selection of work from "Moonlight," an exhibition of recent watercolors by Boston artist Gary Tucker. To view more of Gary Tucker's work, please go to www.tuckersdoodle.com.


YUNG MARS Yung Mars (Self-released, 2007) by Kathryn Vercillo \| 27 \| San Francisco The self-released, self-titled CD by Yung Mars reminds me of such an array of different musicians that I’d have to make a list that would take up the entire page to share them all. There are nostalgic moments when I can hear hints of the rappers that I loved in the '90s. There are cutting-edge instrumental explorations that highlight the corners of what's being explored musically in the Bay Area today. And there is a lot of a little bit of everything in between; moments when you find yourself swaying your hips to the smidgen of Latin rhythm that is flowing through a song, points when you almost laugh out loud because there's a bit of comedic flair in the artist's approach, times when you're on the edge of your seat as though you're sitting at a poetry slam waiting to see who is going to win the final round. Coming from another area at another time, this mixture of styles and sounds could be seen as schizophrenic. But coming right now out of the Bay Area where Yung Mars was born and began his career as a teenager, it makes perfect sense. The Bay Area has long been about diversity and Yung Mars captures the very essence of that diversity, turning it from an idea into a musical movement. His combination of freestyle rap, recorded tracks and live instrumentals melded together with guest appearances by local performers is attention-getting to say the least. You can't get the full effect of Yung Mars' music by listening to just a few songs. Luckily, there are sixteen tracks on the CD so you can explore all of the aspects that this artist has to offer. But if you’re only willing to give a listen to one or two, start with Track 9, "Tha Bay". And it also gives a nice sampling of the artist's work; an intro that'll make you smile, an insistent beat, a catchy chorus supporting poetic lyrics, and it’s got a range of vocal speeds and back-up vocals that emphasize some of the poet's diversity. Other favorite tracks are "Califunk" and "Dolores Park," but maybe I’m biased since I live in the Bay Area myself! Listen to "Sunspot" by Yung Mars.

CALEB SCATES Lo-Fi Audio Circle (Self-released, 2007) by Steve Brachmann \| Age: 19 \| Boston, MA Every once in a while throughout my lifetime, a few certain people have come along who have caused me to second guess my existence on this planet, as well as no small amount of self-loathing. As a hockey fan, I hate Sidney Crosby for being on track to smash most offensive-related NHL records, as well as being three months my junior. And although I am a huge fan of Charles Dickens, reading the descriptive prose and subtle genius of both Great Expectations and A Tale of Two Cities has resigned me to the fact that my work probably isn’t worth much more than honorable mention at most smaller short fiction contests. So when Caleb Scates’s bio information tells me that the first time he even touched a guitar was three years ago, I make plans to go to the store and buy some confetti for the pity party I’m going to throw myself. Scates started writing music a few months after getting a 25 year old Yamaha acoustic from his mother, and has just released Lo-Fi Audio Circle, his sophomore album after 2006’s Free Lunch. I took piano lessons for much of my early adolescence, and all it’s taught me is how to plunk out some waltz that I still happen to remember. Ask me how I feel. Lo-Fi Audio Circle, a post grunge record featuring Scates on lead guitar and drums, along with friend Chris McAfee on bass, is a tempting offering by an unabashed young musician who sounds confident in searching for his own sound, as well as having some fun in the process. Many of the tracks have the same type of dragging heavy guitar riffs that I first grew to love while listening to Alice in Chains and Soundgarden. A Nirvana vibe also permeates the album, Scates’s gritty-yet-slightly-nasal tones bearing a slight resemblance to Cobain. Or at least enough that I thought it was noteworthy. Scates, in what can only be deemed a major “Fuck you” to procrastinators everywhere, proved his musical passion in the creation of Lo-Fi Audio Circle, working two jobs from 4 AM to 3 PM, then recording tracks for the album from five to nine every night. For those of you keeping score at home, that’s: Caleb Scates - 11 hours workin’ for the man - 5 hours recording an album - 5 hours sleeping - 1 hour eating hard tack and gruel (or Ramen, which is actually probably cheaper) - 2 hours saving the world, one orphan at a time Steven Brachmann - 8 hours working (on the days I’m actually scheduled) - 8 hours sleeping - 6 hours intentionally making the world a bad place to live in (especially for orphans) - 2 hours putzing around in a drug-induced haze This man even found the time to graduate from Purdue with a degree in applied physics, and an astrophysics minor. Like, seriously? Astrophysics? What the fuck, dude? Track highlights on Lo-Fi Audio Circle include "Radio Fall Out", a song that, honestly, probably means jackshit, but makes me want to smash mailboxes with a 2x4 when I listen to it. Which is sorta cool, I guess. "Love Underground", a 90's alternative rock-inspired number that smacks of Spin Doctors, was also pretty entertaining for a kid who gets a nostalgia kick whenever he hears "Two Princes" on the radio. Any fans of good ol' fashioned grunge would do well to at least check out this album by Scates (clips of "Love Underground" and "Radio Fall Out" can be found on the Sounds section of www.calebscates.com, as well as full versions of songs off of Free Lunch). It would be interesting to own this album while Scates is still finding a sound that works for him, marking his artistic progression.

SIR SPLENDID Lords & Peacocks (Rabbit Fighter, 2006) by Jason Holloway \| Age: 29 \| Boston, MA Sir Splendid — which is to say, mostly Marcus Barron, with Paul Chandegra on drums — makes few false airs. Are they talented? Sure. Fun to listen to? Definitely. Refreshing? Well, no, not really. But that doesn't usually stop anyone, does it? "Automatic Sidewalk Action," the first track off Lords & Peacocks, introduces the listener to just about everything that lies ahead. From its jerky opening riffs, into the pleasantly distorted vocals and stop-and-start rhythms, right through to its funky, breakdown outro that wouldn't feel out of place in a Starsky & Hutch episode, the love of 70s-era British rock becomes apparent. The heavy hitters of the album are right where you'd expect them, in a baseball lineup anyway: tracks 3 and 4. "Sweet Sixteen" is a fun, weird, romp that makes the best of Barron's (quite evident) appreciation of David Bowie, without ever ripping him off. Even better is "Mr. Sickameantwisted," the catchy culmination of Sir Splendid's myriad influences. Drenched in classic rock riffs, freewheelin' like the Kings of Leon, and with a subtlely layered chorus, it's tough not to enjoy this tune. Things degenerate soon after however. Track 6, "Beer Shozen" is a creepy, carnival-esque interlude (and not the last), and the minute-long "True Love" is an unnecessary throw-in. While "Champagne Static (This Weekend)" is a nice, lush departure from the fuzzy-vocaled fodder, it doesn't save the album from getting a little tiresome. However, in small doses, it's easy to love Sir Splendid, and to marvel at Barron's creative scope. Listen to "Mr. Sickameantwisted" by Sir Splendid.

YARN Yarn (Self-released, 2007) by Jon Gorey \| Age: 31 \| Boston, MA After hearing the first song off Yarn — the beeeeaaauuuutiful, mellow, Americana love song "Listen Up Sweetheart" — I was already sold. Blake Christiana and his bandmates didn't have to prove anything else to me. And yet, for fifty-one straight minutes, they did. Christiana's voice has the rich warmth of Lyle Lovett's, and the band's easy backing is both understated and artful. The combination, added to strong songwriting, makes for some of the best old-time country available. Complementing the best chorus on the CD — which is saying something, because Christiana has a knack for the chorus — the stripped down drum kit, violin, mandolin, and harmonies of "Don't Break My Heart Again" make me swoon. (In the interest of full disclosure, let it be known that I eat this shit up. I wish my own music sounded like this.) Even songs that fall short of excellence, like "The Contender," are still immensely charming. I missed Yarn when they came to Boston last fall; that won't happen again. If you're within reach of the blown-up Brooklyn music scene, make sure to catch them live. Listen to "Don't Break My Heart Again" by Yarn

*POSSIBILITY* by Megan Harrington with illustrations by Barry Maloney Lettuce, cucumbers, ground beef. Carrots, mushrooms, canned soup. I scan one item after another until I get a total. Then I bag them. Cashiering helps put me through college, but I don’t find it very inspiring. I smile at Alex, my classmate and fellow cashier. When our shifts end, he approaches my register. "How was your day?" he asks. "How do you think it was? Exciting beyond words." He laughs. "I don’t think we've ever had a conversation outside of this place. Do you want to go for a walk?" I think about all of the work I have yet to finish before the semester begins in September. "I have to get back to my dorm," I say. Somewhere in the back of my mind is a sense of disappointment. My dormitory room is fairly spacious for one person, if that person is the size of a field mouse. In reality, I share it with a roommate. Sitting at my desk, I make a list of the textbooks I need and how much each will cost. My roommate enters, chatting noisily on her cell phone. I finish the list and lie down on my bed, staring at the gray ceiling above. People are moving back to school in full force, thus beginning the annual shopping pilgrimage. I ring up groceries, notebooks, storage containers, salad spinners (who knew these existed?), shoe racks, carpets, air freshener and an array of other items. Students and parents arrive with shopping lists (belonging to students) and credit cards (belonging to parents). I recognize Heather, who spent a semester seated to my left in British Poetry Course One. She is loading curtains and a sizable pink rug onto the counter before me. "Hello," I say. Heather looks at me blankly. I realize that she doesn't recognize me behind the cash register. I begin to scan her items, then carefully wrap them in oversized bags. As I hand her mother the receipt, Heather exclaims, "Oh, it's you! I didn’t recognize you in that uniform." "It’s required for my job," I say, and then realize that I have just stated the obvious. "Mom, this is Kate," Heather says. "She gave a really big honors presentation in our poetry class." "Well, that’s impressive," her mother says absently. Without looking at me, she takes the receipt and turns away. "Are you jealous?" Alex has convinced me to walk with him in the Fenway, a wooded area in Boston named for the marshy fens nearby. We are just a few blocks from both our school and the store, but we cannot see them through a picturesque screen of trees. I look at my reflection in one of the area’s murky ponds. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous?" I answer. "Well, one reason for envy is that you’re a cashier even though you're much smarter than all those girls in that store buying fluffy pink carpets." I continue to stare at my reflection. "Come on, that's not fair. How can I blame those people for having what I don't? They don't owe me anything." "No, but then again, they aren't more deserving than you, either." I look at Alex, seeing his face for the first time outside the store. "If you're such a philosopher, why are you bagging groceries?" He turns his face down toward the pond. "What makes you think my situation is any different than yours?" "So are you jealous?" "Have you ever loved something so much, wanted it so very much, that the desire is central to your life, distracting you from everything else?" My mind slips back to my poetry presentation. I remember my side of the dorm room slowly filling with books in preparation for the event. I had treasured each poem for the knowledge it contained and the love of life that it represented. "Yes," I answer. "Have you ever watched what you love slip away because someone else had the money, the family, the connections, that you don’t? Have you ever seen what you treasure cheapened by people who can't appreciate it because they have never earned it, while at the same time it's being ripped right out of your grasp?" "Of course," I say and look at my watch. "It’s time to get back to the store." At his register, Alex scans a soap dish, then a set of towels. He places them in already overstuffed plastic bags. "That will be $290.92," he says in a flat voice. The shopper, a middle-aged man, turns to his teenage son beside him. "I spend too much on you," he complains. "I need this stuff, Dad," the boy retorts. "How do you expect me to live in some little dorm room? What if I don’t like the cafeteria? How am I going to make my own food?" "When I was your age, I never had all this," the older man says, gesturing to the bags that Alex has hefted onto the counter. "We shared, we got by with what we had, we had fun with whatever was around." "I don't know what kind of lame school you went to, Dad, but that’s not going to cut it for me." The father winces as though hurt. Then with a look of resignation, he lifts the bags of his son’s belongings. Alex looks at me with raised eyebrows. "I’ve lived in Boston my whole life, but before today I’d never seen this," I tell Alex. He has convinced me to accompany him to Boston’s North End, where locals are celebrating the annual St. Anthony’s Feast. St. Anthony's statue presides over the festival, its sides festooned with ropes to which believers have pinned cash offerings. "You don’t look Italian," I say. "Neither do half the people here," Alex says. He is right. We are surrounded by a mix of hearty olive-skinned locals and well-manicured tourists. The local population is visible behind cash registers and hawking food, while visitors are looking at "I love Boston" t-shirts and other wares sold at booths. One woman argues with a vendor over the price of a poster. When the vendor refuses to bargain, she tosses her head and storms away. Behind the register, the middle-aged man rolls his eyes, then turns around to spit in the street. "That was disgusting," I say. "Yeah, I know." "I hate watching people spit." Alex laughs. "I thought you were talking about the woman." We wander out of the festival itself and notice a church behind a well-kept garden. White statues of the Virgin Mary and several saints are like smiling apparitions in the midst of summer greenery. "We should go into the church," Alex suggests. Inside, I catch my breath. Rows of colorful statues depict a multitude of saints. The altar is simple, highlighted by a painting of a tomb filled with flowers. The ceiling is a bright green dome. "This is beautiful," I say. A middle-aged man in a denim shirt and work boots drops a dollar into a donation box, then lights one of many red candles in rows near the altar. He kneels in a wooden pew, clasps his hands, and bows his head, closing his eyes. "I came to school to get away from all that," I say, gesturing to the kneeling man. "You came to school to get away from praying?" Alex asks. "To get away from begging. When I need something, I want to get it for myself." Now Alex looks at the praying man. "Why do you look down on what he's doing? You want to be like that woman sneering at the guy selling posters?" "No, but I don’t want to spit in the street." "I don’t think you have to choose between one and the other. You can give a presentation and bag groceries. You aren’t kneeling in this church, you’re standing in it." Under the gilded dome, his words echo with possibility.

ONLINE EXHIBITION "Primordial Essence" A Mixed-Media Series by Maggi Battalino Curated by Barry Maloney Primordial Essence Primordial: existing in or persisting from the beginning. Essence: the individual, real, or ultimate nature of a thing; that which exists; an entity. It’s what you make life from. New, but basic. Basic color, basic ingredients. Connections to beginning... fire, light, movement. This multi-media series, produced on 14" x 20" steel plates using a surprising variety of mixed-media ingredients and interactions, is a further evolution of technical and esthetic matters in the work of Texas artist Maggi Battalino. Organic, essential patterns reminiscent of the surface of a far-off planet; or of the inner life of stone; rivers of metal interact with matter and time; a caldron of primordial reality. Yet these images are not cold or lifeless void. Here, all is still played out in the spiritual realm. It is as though the artists' mind united with nature itself to produce these fantastic scenes, images that appear to have been "born" rather than "made." This exhibition of new work will be attended by a brief article on the "Primordial Essence" series and on the technique and career of Maggi Battalino, directly following the presentation of images (below). Maggi Battalino began her career exhibiting in Southeastern Pennsylvania, but relocated to Houston, Texas in 1989. There, her signature style of heightened color brilliance grew more pronounced, while her themes and approach evolved into a more pure form of abstraction. I am often struck, when looking at the early-to-mid career paintings of Maggi Battalino, by the realization of how tame are the palettes of most painters in comparison. Working in a heightened color key, contrasting bright on bright, or toying with optics, are all means the artist has used to engage the viewer's imagination. The "Primordial Essence" series, with its greater focus on materials and texture, has moved toward an uncharacteristic reduction in the role of vibrant color per se, the artist’s palette now comprised more often of blacks, whites, greys, tonal browns and metallic. Materials are used in place of the use of color, limiting the palette, reducing elements, and, at the same time heightening other responses. Now, allowing contrasting materials to dominate, the imagery is minimized and focused on shape, line and fields of values. These priorities vary from work to work, in terms of the interplay of foreground and background components, with surprising and sophisticated results. The artist describes a wide variety of materials, ingredients and chemical interactions used to create the range of desired effects: concrete - the use of a range of sizes of hand-made circular canvas stencils, from around ten years ago, went from dragging a paint-loaded wide brush across the surface of a stretched canvas (low relief, minimal texture) to dragging a concrete-loaded brush across the surface of a steel plate (higher relief, more texture). salt - a component used to create the white in the high end of the value scale and chemically interact with the steel and concrete at the same time. peroxide - misted in a way, to interact with the steel and salt, and create another value. pigment - used sometimes to deepen the concrete value, or create a tone to give depth to white. alcohol - also used to alter the surface and materials. View more of Maggi Battalino’s work at www.maggibattalino.com.

"MOONLIGHT" Watercolors by Gary Tucker Moon Calm Ocean Moon Over Grasses Stars Floating in Ice Bang "One winter's night I went ice skating with friends at a remote pond; it was bitter cold and very dark. Once we started skating I felt warmer and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized I could see stars twinkling in the ice. I have always wanted to paint from this and other nighttime experiences. This is the inspiration that started me painting for this show." We are pleased to present this selection of work from "Moonlight," an exhibition of recent watercolors by Boston artist Gary Tucker. To view more of Gary Tucker's work, please go to www.tuckersdoodle.com.

Primordial Essence