Darell Hammond is the Founder and CEO of KaBOOM!, a not-for-profit based in Washington, DC dedicated to saving play by making sure there is a great place to play within walking distance of every child in America. KaBOOM! works with communities and corporations to build playgrounds in North America where there are none. To help start the conversation and educate Americans about the importance of play in children’s lives, Hammond wrote KABOOM!: A Movement to Save Play. Founded out of Hammond’s apartment in 1996, KaBOOM! has raised $200 million, rallied a million volunteers, led the hands-on construction of 2,000 playgrounds, and inspired a movement for the child’s right to play. Hammond was the 2011 recipient of the Schwab Foundation Social Entrepreneur of the Year Award presented in Dalian, China and recently named to the Forbes Magazine list of the world’s Top 30 Social Entrepreneurs. Hammond lives in Washington, DC, with his wife Kate Becker.

In the spirit of ideas worth spreading, TEDx is a program of local, self-organized events that bring people together to share a TED-like experience. At a TEDx event, TEDTalks video and live speakers combine to spark deep discussion and connection in a small group. These local, self-organized events are branded TEDx, where x = independently organized TED event. The TED Conference provides general guidance for the TEDx program, but individual TEDx events are self-organized.* (*Subject to certain rules and regulations)

Erica began performing on professional stages at the age of 12. Her circus career began by accident when she was spotted on stage at the Academy of Music in 2007 by the Give and Take Jugglers. Erica still performs with the Give and Take from time to time as a wire walker, aerialist, obscure puppeteer, and juggler. She has been a tightwire instructor at the Philadelphia School of Circus Arts since its inception, and is the founder and director of Charm City Movement Arts in Baltimore. Erica graduated cum laude from SUNY Brockport with a BS in Dance and Political Science, and received the Political Science Outstanding Student Award as well as the All American Scholar Award.

In the spirit of ideas worth spreading, TEDx is a program of local, self-organized events that bring people together to share a TED-like experience. At a TEDx event, TEDTalks video and live speakers combine to spark deep discussion and connection in a small group. These local, self-organized events are branded TEDx, where x = independently organized TED event. The TED Conference provides general guidance for the TEDx program, but individual TEDx events are self-organized.* (*Subject to certain rules and regulations)

Last weekend, Stillpointe Theatre Initiative took their affinity for acting and alcohol to the next level with their latest production “Four Over Three” A collection of eight completely new and original compositions  as well as eight tailor-made cocktail/shots for each member in the crowd as accompaniment.

Below are the eight works; each with it’s own special flavor and presentation.

The Streetcar is one of these elements of nostalgia. A slower steadier pace through the streets of Baltimore, the romanticized memory of the trolley bell instead of car horns and exhaust. It seems like such a simple and practical solution to congestion, to the point that several groups across Baltimore have started to explore the possibility of bringing back the Baltimore Streetcar.

While the Baltimore Streetcar system began operating in 1885, 1929 was its peak year – with over 400 miles of track traveling in all directions. The Streetcar ran north on Maryland Avenue and Charles Streets, East and West on North Avenue, Northwest on Pennsylvania and Madison Avenue, and through Locust Point on Fort Avenue. With circulation every 1-15 minutes, almost anywhere in the city could be reached within a half hour. What began as a cable car system was replaced with a standardized unit of electric streetcars in 1899, enabling workers to live farther from the center of the city, thereby facilitating city growth. You can still see waiting stations on Bedford Square and Overhill, the Park Terminal near Druid Hill Park, and on Charles Street the old Streetcar Barn sits north of Penn Station. Segments of the tracks are still breathing beneath the asphalt and cobblestones on Key Highway and in Fells Point, and the massive coal burning power plant on Pratt street – 190 feet high with four smokestacks – pay homage to the transit that was.

In 1914, the streetcar system began to decline. The depression, suburbs, rise in car use, and reported illegal purchase of street car properties by GMT, Firestone, and other car-focused companies was known as The Great American Streetcar Scandal. Baltimore’s last streetcar ran in November of 1963.

Decades later, the interest has returned to the city. Sparked by overcrowded streets, hours lost in traffic and rising gas prices, new groups are exploring transit options – one of which is the Baltimore Streetcar Campaign. Nearly a decade ago, The Charles Street Development Corporation studied the potential of a fixed rail streetcar in the Charles Street district. Aiming to complete a 7.5 mile route, this study was complimented in 2008 by a specialized focus group: the Charles Street Trolley Corporation (CSTC). CSTC was formed to delve more deeply into the feasibility of a streetcar, and aimed to oversee the finance, operation, and governance of the project, with the intent to develop the best possible transit system for the Charles Street Corridor. Founded on the belief that a trolley system would boost business and development activity through connection of important cultural, historical, and educational destination, the outcome was presumed to enhance urban livability and bolster connection between city and suburb. Two Years ago, Jimmy Rouse, fueled by his passion for streetcar resurgence, hired Robin Budish as the director of the Baltimore Streetcar Campaign. Together the two began outreach and shared information on the benefits of returning this type of transit to Baltimore. As the crowd grew and information was passed from change-maker to change-maker, it became evident that people were more willing to listen and consider transit options when they were presented with a comprehensive view of a complete transit system. Local representatives including Adam Gross of Ayers Saint Gross Inc. and Bill Struever of Cross Street Partners were early advocates for the contextual transit integration, and thus the Baltimore Streetcar Campaign put together a group called Transit Choices. Transit Choices has about 40 participants and works to find a unified vision of transit, believing that the presentation of systems working together, rather than in isolation, would garner more momentum publically and politically. In essence, Transit Choices seeks to support the development of a transportation system which attracts and serves residents, students, businesses and visitors to grow Baltimore.

The question of practicality, of course, remains. If accepted, would the Streetcar run often enough to make it worthwhile? Do people really want streetcars, or are we just hungry for an alternative to the bus? While I’m not a transportation planner, I do recall that building more lanes does little to alleviate traffic. More lanes isn’t an alternative to traffic, it is a facilitator of congestion. Baltimore’s DOT Strategic Transportation Safety Plan wants to improve safety in our streets for pedestrians and cyclists, and members of the city government including Nate Evans, Bill Hwang, and Barry Robinson are active members of the Transit Choices group – speaking highly to the widespread communication that Robin and Jimmy are facilitating.

Nationwide, streetcars are returning. Cincinnati, Dallas, Kansas City, Salt Lake City, San Antonio Atlanta, DC, and Charlotte are all bringing back streetcar systems under the premise of enhanced mobility, increased tourism, and urban development. Many of Baltimore’s current bus lines are on our streetcar lines, following the same routes. While the implementation of a streetcar isn’t a blanket solution to our city transit woes, the future of public transportation might just be a flashback towards the past.

Baltimore Streetcar from NC3D.com on Vimeo.

References:

http://monumentcity.net/2012/02/15/a-brief-history-of-baltimores-electric-streetcars/

http://carfreebaltimore.com/?p=661

http://teachingamericanhistorymd.net/000001/000000/000170/html/t170.html\

http://www.btco.net/Bulletins/bullidx.html

http://www.theatlanticcities.com/commute/2013/05/case-caution-when-it-comes-building-street-cars/5699/

http://www.baltimoresun.com/news/opinion/oped/bs-ed-city-transportation-20130604,0,2218058.story

permanent residence [7]

Once the flood was the most fearsome end

I could imagine—my favorite toy—

a plush Noah’s ark with a pocket for each couple

of hand-sewn animals:

my mother would woo me to sleep—

if it’s missing then it should be:

under the bed somewhere—buried at the bottom

of the clothes hamper—

it was the slow ones I kept track of:

to control the river TVA flooded

the valley—over-ripe with tar paper houses—

family graves no one had time to excavate:

grab only what you can: the cat—the lone tin cup—

a pack of cigarettes:

if it’s missing—forget the picture book:

I pulled Noah & his wife apart

to see what they were made of—by then

I knew how to swim: I was a catfish as fat

as a Volkswagen steeped in mud—

gorging by the locks—I built my own village:

the color wispy for the clapboards—

the reedy shades—the feed & seed calendar—

loosened the dead float into their rooms: remember

when they say—remember when.

permanent residence [8] 

Give us a fortnight dear—then the wampas cat:

with the others my father took to the forest—

their over-unders unloaded—their doctrine fatigues—

a full jug of hill william slop—best mash for miles:

the wampas: an upright beast—its eyes—

all wrong—a crayola wax candle

through spit watered forty-fives—the flicker

on the shanty walls:

some secrets the men left carelessly bare:

in a Chattanooga laundromat a drunk veteran

shows me the S.O.P. for folding my shirts—shows me

a tattooed rooster down his thigh—

my cock hangs past my knee—

we played quarters—drank the beast:

in the end I hoped to never see him again:

when he returned my father—unshaven—the smell

of long miles—hundreds of them—on his coveralls:

with nothing to speak of:

except to say—the woods were quiet dear

not for you—the rifle back in its place

above the threshold—still oiled & clean:

they say the thing—a thieving witch—a nosy squaw—

a spirit that can break a man—

hides in the forgotten parts of our city:

the unused aqueducts—the reclaimed quarry—

beneath the abandoned L&N station—

at night the cry of a mountain cat

tearing at her insides—just the thought is enough

to start you fretting all over:

when I was rough jawed I learned the wampas tongue—

a stench rhythm (skunk—dog—wet pelt)

hidden in the sweat lodge of my throat: I spoke

my name—whose fault is this?

Balitmore City’s most vulnerable citizens have been the hardest hit in this recession.

Throughout our city, there are men and women fighting against the tide of economic recession to work and provide for their families. The Center for Urban Families (CFUF) strengthens urban communities by helping fathers and families achieve stability and economic success, even in tough financial climates.

Central to CFUF’s mission is the belief that men—the most disconnected and underserved citizens in urban communities—who connect with women, their children, and the workplace are key to the restoration of stability and optimism.

With Father’s Day approaching, CFUF and GiveCorps are working together to ensure more men receive job readiness skills, financial literacy counseling, and career advancement services.  These programs, along with emergency funding for families in crisis, can push back the tide of the recession leading to successful families and a stronger Baltimore.

By donating now, you will help CFUF provide men, woman, and their families with the social and economic tools needed to become strong and thrive.

Your gift to CFUF can change the lives of your fellow Baltimoreans and put them on the path to dignity through work and self-sufficiency. Let’s make it happen.

Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, lived from 1623 to 1673; today she survives in a storefront gallery in downtown Baltimore. Well, not exactly, but printed copies of her poem Of the Attraction of the Sun are stacked on a small pedestal in French artist Rodolphe Delaunay’s exhibition of the same name at Current through June 16th, and her work is key to deciphering Delaunay’s intellectually labyrinthine exhibition. The poem provides a fascinating perspective on the artwork scattered throughout the gallery.

First, a historical introduction: by all accounts, Cavendish should have lived a placid life as Maid of Honor to an English Queen, but after the First English Civil War, Cavendish grew restless. As an expat in France, she was prolific; she wrote prose, poetry, philosophy, plays, and scientific research papers. The critical literature on Cavendish suggests that she was continually fascinated with the workings of the physical world, but that her scientific pursuits offered no clear answers, often exploring scientific ideas through philosophy, poetry, and creative writing. This mix of aesthetic and scientific writing was dismissed by many of her (male) peers, who occasionally accused her of madness. A similarly subjective interpretation of science is at the core of Delaunay’s exhibition; the artist echoes Cavendish’s legacy by subtly manipulating found objects to explore hidden universes within the mundane.

Rodolphe Delaunay, photograph by Benjamin Andrew, all other photographs by Matthew Fishel

Immediately within the gallery’s doors, a pedestal offers the stack of copies of Cavendish’s poem. Set in an antique font on letter-sized cardstock, the poem is a heartfelt description of light’s passage from the sun to an earthbound reflective surface—arcane scientific terms rhymed in old english.

On the reverse side of the poem, there is a checklist of Delaunay’s artwork. Without this checklist, I would have been utterly lost examining Delaunay’s exhibition. The checklist corresponds to a map of the gallery, but one without walls. The map’s numbered dots float on an empty sheet of paper akin to the blankness of the gallery’s walls.

The exhibition includes a mix of small objects, but the space is largely empty. I was surprised by how stark Current’s gallery had become; a temporary wall placed in front of the storefront window contributed to making the room feel a bit more like a sterile white-cube gallery than the usual homey artist-den.

With the map as my guide, I found Delay – a few candles leaning low against the wall – and the checklist informed me that the candles had once been lit for eight minutes and nineteen seconds, or “approximately the time for the sunlight to reach the Earth.” As I imagined Delaunay burning the candles with stopwatch in hand, the candles struck me as a rather poetic meditation on time and celestial distance, but the gesture was only completed with the accompanying explanatory text. Without it, the candles are just candles.

The precise burning of Delay seemed like an intensely personal action within the void of a mostly empty gallery. Returning to the star chart map on the back of Cavendish’s poem, I transcribed the white expanse of the paper map onto the walls of the gallery, turning the room’s modest artworks into planets among a creative vacuum. The idea of the white cube as a cosmic void is a terrific spin on the geography of the art gallery, and one that allows the viewer to don the exciting role of astronomer, examining Delaunay’s art as points of celestial interest within an expanse of white walls.

Central to the gallery’s solar system are The Poles, two circles of ground-up pain relievers on the gallery’s hard floor. The powder is ephemeral and delicate. For Delaunay, round pills seem to echo the spherical shapes that make up the universe. Pills also seem to allude to altered states and drug-induced dreams. But these hints at narrative are quiet.

On Gravity is a reproduction of a painting of a woman throwing a ball up into the air, but Delaunay hangs the painting upside down so that the ball’s movement follows the inescapable pull of gravity. The attentive visitor to the Baltimore Museum of Art might recognize the painting as Jean-Baptiste-Siméon Chardin’s Knucklebones (1734), but it is presented here without credit, like some unknown treasure from a vault. On Gravity fits well alongside the glistening wine glasses; jocularly titled Seismometer, the wine glasses wait patiently for an earthquake or planetary disturbance to fulfill their purpose. Both pieces are cheap copies of valuable treasures that still manage to bring to mind the delicate instruments of astronomy.

Dominating the space of the gallery is a grainy video, Event Horizon, which shows a pair of hands turning and fidgeting with an empty coffee cup, muddy grounds stuck to its bottom. This footage is of a professional ‘coffee reading’ and it is periodically overlaid with long strings of numbers at the bottom of the frame. The numbers are apparently the coordinates of known black holes, their precision contrasted with the vague joojoo of fortune telling. Like most of the work here, Event Horizon seems bland and unimpressive by itself, but fits into Delaunay’s larger project of building a mental playground within the gallery.

With gallery map still firm in hand, I found myself unable to locate the first work on the list: Of the Attraction of the Sun (Sundial). It is easy enough to miss. High above the entrance to the gallery, it elegantly protrudes from the building’s façade. A ball-tipped cane that would usually be used by a blind person to navigate is here fixed horizontally to cast a shadow across the grime of the building. Below the cane, an array of pockmarks, screw holes and other urban damage seem like an astral chart.

This sundial sculpture has a kind of humor reminiscent of Maurizo Cattelan, but subtler and more demure. Cattlan’s cartoonish interventions frequently protrude from architecture, such as Untitled (2007), in which Cattelan displayed a taxidermied horse protruding from a gallery wall. Cattelan’s more understated installation of stuffed pigeons at the Venice Biennale, Turisti (1997), could be a precedent to Delaunay’s own appropriation of an item from the urban landscape. These examples challenge viewers with the unusual placement of a familiar object, hoping to disrupt the oblivious march of the average pedestrian.

Why a blind cane placed just so? By creating a sundial, Delaunay ascribes an invisible notation to the random marks and decay on the wall, but the result could be interpreted as little more than an odd flagpole—if the passing pedestrian even happens to look up and spot it.

Of the Attraction to the Sun is undoubtedly tied together by Delaunay’s own system of understanding, but the work is so dry and conceptually focused that I find myself wondering if many people would take the time to unpack Delaunay’s puzzles. Is the work meant for the denizens of Howard street walking by, or for visitors from the city’s colleges and universities?

At its best, the style Delaunay works in can offer sublime recontextualizations of everyday objects. Recall Felix Gonzalez-Torres’ synchronized clocks in Untitled (Perfect Lovers) (1991). But even the best of this kind of work can stir anger in viewers who feel alienated by artwork that is produced simply. I can sympathize with confused visitors to Martin Creed’s Work No. 227: The Lights Going on and Off (2000), in which the lights go on and off again in an empty white room. Thankfully Delaunay not only offers viewers the access point of Cavendish’s heartfelt poem, but has symbolically gestured towards the neighborhood and the people surrounding the gallery with his makeshift sundial. The inanimate salute is enough to make me consider the urban sprawl of the city in relation to the work inside.

If one thing can be gleaned from Delaunay’s peculiar science and conceptual whimsy, it is that the smallest of details can contain the cosmos. The constellation of Delaunay’s mental puzzles are connected by systems alternately scientific and random. A complete exploration of these puzzles may require a better navigator than myself. The manipulated objects in Of the Attraction of the Sun feel to me like pious offerings to a lonely science. Like Cavendish’s science, Delaunay’s is an attempt to explore the complex interactions of the material world through aesthetic means. Every navigator will find their own readings of Delaunay’s quizzical conflations of the banal and the cosmic. The question is whether or not Delaunay’s ordinary found objects can accrue enough poetic power to move us.

____

Benjamin Andrew earned his MFA from the Mount Royal School of Art at Maryland Institute College of Art. His thesis project, The Chronoecology Corps, addresses ecological crisis through participation, humor, and journalistic research. Art Criticism in What Weekly (whatweekly.com/artcrit) is made possible with the generous support of the William G. Baker, Jr. Memorial Fund, creator of the Baker Artist Awards, www.BakerArtistAwards.org. Marcus Civin edits these art criticism articles for What Weekly. Civin teaches at MICA and is an advisor for The Institute of Contemporary Art Baltimore. For more information, please contact marcus@whatweekly.com.