The image is at once comically absurd and sobering. Three young men sit on plastic patio chairs at a table in a rowboat, drinking through straws from fruit-colored cups. A mango tree grows out of one side of the boat as a packaged loaf of Sunbeam bread floats by. In the distance, other Sunbeam loaves bob on the water’s surface, and two figures also appear semi-submerged. One of them holds a rope tied to the boat, suggesting it won’t go very far.
“Andy was more interested in becoming a celebrity than the next Picasso,” explained Quaishawn Whitlock, an artist, and guide at the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. He was leading half of the roughly 45 participants in the mid-June UMUC annual Arts Program trip and he explained that Pittsburgh-native Warhol (Andrew Warhola) grew up in an immigrant family, which had come from present-day Slovakia. The family was working class, but Warhol would go on to epitomize the American dream, Whitlock explained.
Seated alongside about a dozen other Baltimore artists at a UMUC Art Gallery exhibit opening in May, Donna Rose imagined an alternative reality as only an artist might. “I think that part of the insanity of our species is that we are divorced from nature,” she said. “Maybe we need to bring bears and puma and whatever back into our cities.”
Then, when you leave the house in the morning, she imagined, you might check an “LPS app” on your phone to see which threats registered on the “large predator scan.” It would be, she said, “a kind of rebalancing.”
Think of the word “Maya” and free associate. Does Mel Gibson’s 2006 film “Apocalypto” spring to mind? Unless you’re a Mayanist, you’re likely to think of ancient Peoples who had a taste for blood and writing skills that were ahead of their time.
A new book edited by a UMUC faculty member tells a very different story. First, Maya people exist today. And more than 6 million people speak Mayan languages, primarily in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, and Honduras said Bethany Beyyette, assistant professor of anthropology and sociology at UMUC.
Between his doctoral studies, college teaching, his day job as director of the intelligence training department at the Defense Intelligence Agency’s (DIA) Academy for Defense Intelligence, and spending time with his family, Jim Backus does a great deal of juggling.
“It’s one of my quirks. I’ve always been an exceptional time manager as far back as I can remember,” said Backus, an adjunct associate professor in UMUC’s Undergraduate School since 2008.
If you search online for John DeRosa you’ll likely get three primary sets of results. You’ll find links to a convicted killer; a New York Giants beat reporter; and a conflict analysis and resolution expert and doctoral candidate, who teaches at UMUC and is more than half way through a highly-selective and prestigious one-year program at the National War College.
When James Phillips saw his acrylic painting on canvas “Sankofa II” (1997-8) installed at the new Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture (NMAAHC), the Baltimore artist and associate art professor at Howard University crossed his arms and carefully inspected it.
Melanee Harvey, an art history Ph.D. candidate who accompanied Phillips on his NMAAHC visit, said she wondered what he was looking for. And Phillips told her, “I’m just making sure I got my lines right.”
When those passing by or browsing the web first set eyes on the National Museum of African American History and Culture, the newest Smithsonian museum that opened Sept. 24, 2016, on the National Mall mere steps from the Washington Monument, they often see echoes of a slave ship in the building’s architecture.
But visitors to the museum learn the real architectural inspiration behind the bronze-colored and tiered layering of the building when they tour its top floor galleries.
“The Colossus,” an 1818-25 work in the collection of the Museo del Prado, is one of the scariest paintings attributed to the Spanish artist Francisco Goya. In it, mayhem has broken out on the ground and people and animals disperse in all directions as fighting seems to dominate the landscape. But the figures appear as mere ants compared to the giant—his nudity obscured by clouds—that towers above the scene. Fists raised, the giant is reminiscent of the war-god Mars.
Lesa Cook’s terra cotta sculpture “Bacchus as Uninvited Houseguest” (2015) comes as advertised. Naked per custom, the Roman god of wine lies on a couch. A laurel wreath and grapes adorn his head. He holds a cup in his hand; his gut is appropriately proportioned for the patron saint of gluttony. The mustachioed figure resembles a familiar uncle, not a denizen of Olympus.