Arts Paper
As the editorially independent arm of The Arts Council of Greater New Haven, the Arts Paper seeks to celebrate, explore, and investigate the fine, visual, performing and culinary arts in and around New Haven.
Dr. Eddie Henderson was flying through “Surrey With The Fringe On Top.” No sooner had Andrew Kosiba laid the foundation than he was answering with the short, ringing staccato of his trumpet, then longer, full-lunged notes that coasted over the audience. An upright bass, half cloaked in shadow, hummed to life. The most polite of percussion rose to meet it. Somewhere, Miles Davis and Rogers and Hammerstein were clinking cocktail glasses and tapping their toes.
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The artist during a recent interview. Lucy Gellman Photos.
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Warren Byrd leaned into the microphone, piano and upright bass slowing to a march around him. Horn and woodwind sounded somewhere in the near distance. A universe away, Impressionist Camille Pissarro was alive and losing his mind on the streets of Paris, vigilant as he trotted through the city’s grimy fifth arrondissement.
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Sculptures by Antonak comprising silk, corn husk, and plastic flowers. Erin Lee Antonak Photo. Healing hats that must be worn to events before they are finished. Installations that have the size and look of movie sets, with no rolling reel of film in site. “Glitch art,” with a spray of colors across the screen like a Nintendo has been kicked until it screams.
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<br /> Ned Lamont has already spoken about the role of arts and culture on eco nomic development. But could he also be the governor who sings? The Democratic hopeful and party-endorsed candidate raised that question inadvertently Wednesday, as he received endorsements from Yale unions UNITE HERE Locals 34 and 35 in New Haven’s Scantlebury Park. A
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Screenshot from Facebook. This is the third piece on the role of arts—rhetoric, photography, film, and media—on the gubernatorial campaign trail. For the previous pieces, click here, here and here. Joe Ganim is standing on a table or stage—you can't quite tell which—in the dusky yellow light of an old building. The ceiling above him is tile, studded with low lights. He’s looking up and out into a crowd, eyes fixed on some point in the distance. Symphonic strings build under him.
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