Michael Byron, 2003, Cosmic Tears 12. Mixed media on paper, courtesy of the artist.

Unless you have been to the Museum of Contemporary Religious Art at Saint Louis University, you might still hold to the popular misconception that religious art is treacly, sentimental and vapid. Really, I'd say that a lot of contemporary work suffers for its lack of spiritual perspective, a problem that MOCRA began to remedy when it opened its doors in 1994 as the the world's first interfaith contemporary art museum.

When I first moved to St. Louis, I went to MOCRA to cover "THE GREATER GOOD: An Artist's Contemporary View of the Tuskegee Syphilis Experiment" for STLToday, and was blown away. Since then, they've continued to curate superlative international shows, including the Junko Chodos solo exhibition in 2005, "Oskar Fischinger: Movement and Spirit," in 2007, and last year's "Miao Xiaochun: Last Judgement in Cyberspace." MOCRA is also supportive of local artists, sprinkling them into group shows, hanging Ed Boccia in the same gallery with Salvador Dali. This month, the galleries ared dedicated soley to the work of local artist Michael Byron, professor of painting at the Sam Fox School of Design and Visual Art at Wash. U. The show, titled "Cosmic Tears: Word and Image," explores "the relationship of the individual to the universal." From the artist's description:

"In the evocative paintings of the 'Cosmic Tears' series, Michael Byron explores the relationship of the individual to the universal. The works are based on a text by the artist that meditates on the inevitable mix of emotions that accompanies the act of creation; pain and joy together elicit a 'cosmic tear' that is the 'womb of our psyche.' Yet the paintings themselves attest to the potential of art to 'shape that tear into Meaning.' The abstract works simultaneously suggest both microcosmic and macrocosmic perspectives, and evince a quiet, reflective quality. In some of the works there are forms that suggest continents or constellations; in others, the artist introduces trompe l'oeil images of water droplets that bring to mind the opening lines of William Blake's 'Auguries of Innocence':

To see a World in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour."

Michael Byron's giving a gallery talk on his work this Sunday, November 15, at 2 p.m. MOCRA is located on the SLU Campus, 3700 West Pine; you can get more info by calling 314-977-7170, or visiting their website. The show hangs till December 13, and museum hours are 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., Tuesday through Sunday. Admission is free, though there's a suggested $5 donation, $1 for kids and students.

Leroy Johnson, 2009, One Foot Man, digital color print, 10.6 x 8 inches

A very different exhibit is taking place at the Public Policy Research Institute at the University of Missouri-St Louis. PPR has been doing a series of documentary projects where they go into communities and teach people how to operate photography equpiment, so that they can document their own lives, rather than being the passive subjects of a professional photographer's lens. This summer, they worked with St. Patrick's Center and City Seeds Urban Farm. St. Patrick's, as you know, provides services to homeless clients, many of them dealing with substance abuse or mental health issues. City Seeds provides St. Pat's clients with horticulture training through Gateway Greening, which provides not just job training, but a sort of therapy through digging, mulching and planting. The crops they raise are sold at the North City Farmer's Market, providing inner-city residents access to organic, fresh, healthy food.

In full disclosure, this photography project is really close to my heart because I live on the border of Old North and Hyde Park, and serve on the Old North St. Louis Restoration Group board. That puts me down at the market every odd Saturday, often next door to the City Seeds produce tent. I've gotten to be really fond of the folks who work in that booth, and have seen firsthand how quickly the greens and tomatoes and eggplants sell out.

Here is Chinyere E. Oteh, Photography Project Instructor, on the experience of working with City Seeds:

"As I got to know the City Seeds participants and saw the inner workings of the program that enriches their lives, my own life was made better by the opportunity to teach in a natural setting. It was a privilege to share the participants’ perspectives through the images they created and their unequivocal and eloquent poetry. In a superficial world, where we often judge each other on appearances, participant, Gerald Hooks’ poem, reminded me that we can all strive to live more harmoniously. He wrote, 'I am just an ordinary person like you / I am in good spirits / I accept everybody as they are / We are all equal / We live in this world together.'"

"City Seeds Urban Farm," A Photography Exhibit
PPRC Photography Project Gallery, November 17, 2009 thru January 10
(South hall, fourth floor, Social Science/Business Building at UMSL)
Info. 314-516-5273 • Website: http://pprc.umsl.edu
Gallery hours: daily 6 a.m. to 11 p.m.

Opening Reception: November 17, noon to 1 p.m.
Gallery talks with Photography Project director, Mel Watkin, Instructor, Chinyere Oteh, and Gateway Greening’s Annie Mayrose, and and Ariel Roads-Buback with City Seeds participants

--Stefene Russell

Red-letter week in the world of letters: Jonathan Lethem reads from his new book, Chronic City, tonight at Left Bank Books' Central West End store; tomorrow, Sherman Alexie's at Mad Art (2727 S. 12th Street) to read from his new book of stories, War Dances. Both of those events take place at 7pm. Another interesting literary event tomorrow night (again, at 7pm) at the Regional Arts Commission: Local French poet Marcel Toussaint, Argentine doctor/poet Dr. Carlos Papparlado, and Franco Giannotti will read their translations of Robert Frost into French, Spanish and Italian respectively, and Steve Fulbright will read Frost's work in the original English. --Stefene Russell

Thanks to Steve Schenkenberg for passing along this marvelous little profile of our own Maestro Robertson in the Wall Street Journal. SLSO performs tonight at Carnegie Hall as part of the "Ancient Paths, Modern Voices," festival of Chinese culture; St. Louisans got to hear that program last Friday (see Jordan Oakes' "Blogger's Night" recap below). We are awfully lucky to have such a visionary and generous artistic director leading SLSO. Robertson has worked really hard to get classical music out into the mainstream not just through community concerts, but by presenting pieces like "Blue Planet," and the Lord of the Rings Symphony that make people feel less intimidated when they enter the symphony hall -- all because he is in love with music, and wants to share it. Chris King, editor of the St. Louis American, has a lovely reflection on last Friday's concert, as well as on his younger self buying nosebleed season tickets and schooling himself on classical music. --Stefene Russell

Note: this week, our Wednesday blogger Jordan Oakes recaps "Blogger's Night" at the Saint Louis Symphony. The program was part of the "Ancient Paths, Modern Voices" festival at Carnegie Hall, which celebrates Chinese culture; this program debuted in St. Louis before traveling to New York. The program included Stravinsky's Song of the Nightingale, Bartok's The Miraculous Mandarin Suite as well as works by two contemporary Chinese composers, Tan Dun's Water Concerto, and Bright Sheng's Colors of Crimson. (You may know Dun's work; he received an Academy Award for his score to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.) Maestro David Robertson conducted, and, as you shall see, percussionist Colin Currie made a particularly spectacular appearance as guest artist.

The analogy that suggests reviewing music is like dancing about architecture takes on a particular resonance when it comes to Powell Hall. Long before a single note of symphony was uttered, the building’s patulous interior comprised in itself a sort of architectural crescendo. And as I looked around, I observed the kind of ticket-holders I’d always imagined: well-dressed – though not formally – and more often than not, gray-haired and professorial. I don’t want to give the impression that my attending Powell Hall entailed a sort of “Jethro Goes to the Symphony” – I’d been here before – but I felt a bit out of my element. You see, normally on Friday nights I’m one to kick it with a B-movie in the living room. So, how does one conduct himself at the Symphony? You could feel the audience warming up for excitement – this was the wine-and-eyeglass equivalent of a Van Halen concert. And on this so-designated “bloggers’ night,” the Symphony did pretty much everything but play it straight. It was comforting to find not only quirkiness but new aural thrills in what I feared could be music-by-numbers. And it came in the form of percussionist Colin Currie.

There’s a scene in a movie called Green Card when Gerard Depardieu is sitting at a piano and is put on the spot to tickle the ivories for a society gathering. Unfortunately, his character wasn’t a pianist. Cornered in a drawing room, Depardieu proceeded to bang out something tuneless and terrible. Thanks strictly to determination – make that desperation – his charade passed muster as a kind of harsh avant-garde. When the piece ended – which was as soon as he could pretend it was over – Depardieu waited nervously for a reaction. The room was quiet. The spectators eyed one other cluelessly, trying to reach an instant consensus. Did they love it or hate it? They applauded. Depardieu stood up and bowed. But now he had to play something else. Uneasily, he sat back down. He proceeded to bang out something beautiful and well-rehearsed – real music this time. In truth, he was a virtuoso, and the joke was not only on the room but the entire movie audience.

This is how I viewed Currie. He stood behind (and in-between) what resembled a couple of gigantic champagne glasses. Each had been filled with what appeared to be an equal amount of water. First, Currie kind of swished his fingers. Next, he lifted handfuls of the gently-miked aqua and tossed it strategically back into the bowls. What began like a goldfish grab evolved into an advanced percussive scheme, with patterns of swimming rhythms and the most artful use of water since Busby Berkeley. The line between dripping and riffing seemed to melt away; every sound was being literally measured in the hands of a master. And when Currie brought in other instruments, occasionally appearing more like a magician than a percussionist, the magic of his gift started to amaze. The orchestra contributed just enough to add support and favor Currie.  I’d attempt to describe more of what I saw – but when it comes to dancing about architecture, I have two left feet.

Jordan Oakes is a local journalist who has written for publications such as St. Louis Magazine and the Christian Science Monitor.  He has strong opinions that begin to atrophy if he doesn't exercise his right to express them. Tune in every Wednesday for another installment of Mediatribe - and if you missed last week's post, click here.

Simply put, what is it about Simons? The former movie critic for New York magazine, John Simon, had a gift of frankness that bordered on the personally hurtful. (Some say he was fired for just that reason.) And in recent years, American Idol’s Simon Cowell has become the gold standard for telling it like it is.

It’s fair to say that Cowell’s knack for muddying the waters between honesty and viciousness has driven American Idol more than any of its contestants have. It’s important, however, to point out that he’s done some impressive things off-screen; in that sense, he’s practically worthy of being a role model for other, more ethically adrift celebrities. His support of animal-rights charities alone renders his moral character practically judgment-proof.

But then there’s the program itself – a glorified Gong Show with a smug self-importance that far exceeds its grasp. Now that we’re between seasons, and life for American Idol’s hanging-on-every-lyric audience has found other ways to live vicariously, it seems safe to put the show on stage like one of its contestants and tell it like it is. The series is based on a conceit, of course; an impossibility – that stars can be made.  Nobody can predict who will become famous; much less can they make them that way. Fame is based on the sort of staying power that comes from a mystery generator. The source that powers the limelight is a secret kept somewhere else in the universe. At the very least, it’s like the stock market or the horse races. Supposedly, Cowell and his co-hosts have a special ability that allows them to discern a star-worthy performance from an unexceptional one. Really, the performances don’t vary that much. The appraisals, for all their presumed expertise, are never more than a matter of taste. But it’s the audience, of course, who has the ultimate say. I’m sure that if somebody did a study to determine how many people who voted for the winner actually bought his or her album months later, the results would show how quickly people lose interest; how fickle they are between the (cell-phone) buttons. A few stars have risen from the Idol murk, but most albums released by the others have tanked. And some of the runners-up, or even earlier eliminated contestants, have done much better than the winners. What’s more, even the fleeting idols-within-Idol – hair-centric flukes like Justin Guarini and Sanjaya – have shown a cultural permanence that barely exceeds that of Kato Kaelin.

What are Cowell’s and the other judges’ qualifications for knowing what makes a star? Well, first we must rule out their ostensible talent for ruling people out. Any person off the street has the ability to decide who should pass or fail the early auditions. Cowell has been involved with record labels, and he’s had some hits with a few of his bands -- but none of his protégés could be considered stars in any way. Randy Jackson is a talented musician who has played and recorded with some legendary combos – but ironically, though Jackson himself is the common link in a stunning roster of household names, he was never famous or even heard-of until American Idol. Paul Abdul – well, she’s gone, so I don’t have to talk about her. Let’s just say I’m firmly in the camp that says Ellen DeGeneres is exactly what the show needs – a sharp pin to pop the inflated egos. The worst performances have been at the judges’ table.

Jordan Oakes is a local journalist who has written for publications such as St. Louis Magazine and the Christian Science Monitor.  He has strong opinions that begin to atrophy if he doesn't exercise his right to express them. Tune in every Wednesday for another installment of Mediatribe - and if you missed last week's post, click here.