I used to be smart.

Maybe smart is the wrong word for it. Pretentious might be better – which I know is a shock to hear from your friendly neighborhood art reviewer. But it’s true. In my youth I obsessed over philosophy and snubbed most popular music and film franchises (Except for the mediocre, three-part Atlas Shrugged adaptation, which I went out of my way to see in theaters). I wanted so desperately to be seen as highbrow – so what changed?

Mental health probably had a lot to do with it. I either got worse or got better, but either way I changed significantly. I don’t read as much as I used to. I’ve developed a love for the music of Jimmy Buffett that was maybe once ironic but is now entirely genuine. And, in what is perhaps the most jarring development, I’ve now spent hours – seriously, hours – watching compilations of TikTok on Youtube. It was the type of impulse that seemed to defy explanation, a compulsion that was a mixture of nature documentary and thumb-sucking comfort. I’ve been thinking these past few months about what draws me to the platform, and recently I’ve developed a working theory. And, in the name of steadily pushing the limits of what ArtsEarth lets me post without problem, I’m going to talk about it.

So welcome to TikTok, and the rebirth of Vaudeville.

TikTok, for those not plugged into the zeitgeist, is a Chinese video-sharing app that gained massive popularity in the United States after merging with Musical.ly in August of 2018. In the vein of Vine and musical.ly, TikTok specializes in looped, five to sixty-second videos. In only a few short years it’s gathered over 800 million active users, far surpassing the growth of other sites like Instagram and even Facebook. It’s undeniable to see that what started as a musical lip-syncing app quickly blossomed into something incredible.

Compare this to the growth of vaudeville. It’s the late 1880s, and immigrants travelled en mass to the United States with dreams of a better life. What they got, however, were ghettos to live in and a country that refused to give them honest work. So they found their livelihood in vaudeville, performing in every – really, nearly every aspect. There were singers and dancers, sure, but there were also escape artists and impersonators, sketch artists and ventriloquists. Truly if there was something strange or unique about you that’s able to be harnessed, it could be done on the vaudeville stage.

Now this concept could apply to most video platforms, even to the internet as a whole, where you can find fame in everything from selling nudes to running a twitter for your cat. But the landscape of the internet has changed. Take Youtube, for instance, which hasn’t seen an independently produced video top the view charts since “Charlie Bit My Finger” in 2007. As the platform developed, the algorithm started to favor longer videos, causing many creators to spend less time creating content and more time padding to get at least ten minutes and allow for monetization. This is a sharp contrast to vaudeville philosophy, where going over ten minutes could cause a performer to lose their job. And this is taken even further on TikTok, where you have less then a minute to make yourself seen.

And what is there to see? There are carefully choreographed dances to popular songs, like in the work of Charli D’Amelio, the most followed creator on the app. Then there’s Zach King and his magic tricks and digital illusions. But don’t stop there! Scroll a little further and you’ll find original songs, strange animals, pranks and challenges, and rapid-fire comedy routines spanning across all cultures.

While vaudeville became a way for disillusioned minorities to survive in a new world, TikTok has become a place of refuge for the 16-24 year olds that make up just under half of their user base. This is Generation Z, where – like the early immigrants to the United States – we were promised an impossible future and given a world that is rapidly falling apart. In the face of this we’ve developed a rebirth of personal, absurdist humor that centers on finding connection in an increasingly chaotic world.

Does that make it smart? Probably not. Is it some profound work of art? Maybe. Did I use this an excuse to watch more TikToks in the name of research? Reader, you know me all too well.

But the world right now is, for lack of a better word, a complete garbage fire. There are protests and riots, along with the ongoing pandemic, a brewing economic depression along with two inch Murder Hornets. And there’s things you can do. Wash your hands, wear a mask, sign petitions and support black voices. But when you’ve done all that, when the weight of the world pushes towards the breaking point, there’s a near-infinite well of original and innovative content on TikTok. It’s not perfect, but, to quote playwright Edwin Milton Royle, “Vaudeville may be a kind of lunch counter art, but art is so vague and lunch is so real”.

Greetings from Miami!

A lot of my friends and colleagues have been hit hard by cancellations of concerts, festivals, tours all over the world because of the Coronavirus, myself included… so, I’m continuing with my call to support my work in this moment in time by purchasing my music. That said, if you are not in immediate danger of financial ruin please reach out and support us artists in general. Go to shows, if they haven’t been canceled, buy our music and art, commission new works, etc. This is quickly becoming a tangible disaster for the arts community at large for what is already an exceptionally difficult life. Most of us barely eek out a living with our work as it is. There’s basically no middle class for independent artists, and unfortunately, most money spent on music goes to the top .0001%. For me, I spent hundreds of hours setting up my upcoming tour, none of which I am paid for until I actually show up for the concerts and workshops, which means I won’t be paid for any of that work. And the organizations who were presenting me are also taking huge hits, many of whom may not be able to continue after this. I know many people are experiencing disruptions in their lives, and clearly the global economy is taking a big hit, so I am not petitioning you lightly, and frankly it’s uncomfortable for me as well as most artists to promote ourselves this way or to even talk about money at all. All of that said, Bandcamp is a great way to support me as well as so many other amazing musicians around the world. As artists we are in complete control of how much we charge and how we organize our platform on there. As opposed to all of the corporate distributors of music (I don’t need to mention their names). Bandcamp takes a small percentage from the top of sales and the rest goes directly and immediately to the artists. Today, I’m featuring my first Electric Confluence album which I published last year.

His omnivorous interest in styles and format is dizzying, but he maintains a steady focus on Electric Confluence Vol. 1, an album comprised simply of solo synth instrumentals. Thollem uses this formalist restriction to launch into a wide array of sounds, gliding all over the map in pursuit of whatever next idea interests him. What we’re left with is a record full of surprises that both engages and challenges the ears.
– Marc Masters, Bandcamp Best Experimental albums of January, 2019

There’s also tons of other music on my account with a myriad of great musicians (mostly compilation albums with tracks from all of my published albums). Please check them out and please give us extra love right now!

Love, Thollem

Thollem is a perpetually traveling pianist, keyboardist, composer, improviser, singer-songwriter, activist, author and teacher, he’s spent most of his life living on the road throughout North America and Europe. His work is ever-changing, evolving and responding to the times and his experiences, both as a soloist and in collaboration with hundreds of artists across idioms and disciplines. Thollem’s known internationally as an acoustic piano player in the free jazz and post-classical worlds, as the lead vocalist for the Italian agit-punk band Tsigoti and as an electronic keyboardist through a multitude of projects.

Article by Miranda Seaver

Venue: The Regency Ballroom

Featuring: The Edwardian World’s Faire 2020

I was a weird kid. If you know me, even tangentially, this probably doesn’t come as much of a surprise.

I spent a majority of my formative years dressed in ill-fitting thrift store suits, making campfires at the park and carving Pink Floyd lyrics into tree stumps with my brother’s switchblade. I’ve since grown up, and every so often I have been hit with a sense of un-direction. I mean, where do weird kids go when they aren’t kids anymore?

On January 24, I learned the answer to that question: they go to The Edwardian World’s Faire.

The Edwardian Ball is described on their website as “an elegant and whimsical celebration of art, music, theatre, fashion, technology, circus, and the beloved creations of the late, great author and illustrator Edward Gorey”. You may recognize Gorey from his grim black and white drawings depicting old-timey, high society-types. Or, if you’re like me, perhaps you have vague memories of The Gashlycrumb Tinies, an alphabet book consisting entirely of children dying terrible deaths. I’ll admit I don’t know much about his work aside from the feeling of indescribable dread it gave me when I was young, so I turned to a more knowledgable friend to ask what she believed attracted people to the Gorey’s work and aesthetic.

“His macabre subjects and the gallows humor,” she said, “accompanied by the lifework that can range from stark to densely-packed with lines… And a lot of it, though not necessarily macabre, just feels bizarre.”

So what type of people are drawn together in the same of such a bizarre man?

I arrived to The Regency Ballroom about an hour ahead of time, which worked in my favor as the line stacked up quickly. What really struck me first was how elaborate the costumes I saw were. There was a blend of fashion and technology that fit in well coming from the culture of Silicon Valley. I was lucky enough to be in line behind Greg and Lora Price from Steamy Tech in Santa Clara. Their ensemble was drawing in a lot of attention from passersby, especially Greg with his modified top hat containing four wooden walls of light and moving gears. This was built by hand, as was the pendent around Lora’s neck that lit up and acted as a sort of decibel meter.

Steamy Tech works with laser cutters, 3-D printers, and basic programming to create motorized trinkets and kits you can put together on your own. And Greg and Lora are regulars at the Edwardian Ball, coming each year with a new wooden pin to give out. I saw several guests donning this year’s pin of a scroll and quill, along with designs from previous years. It was clear to me that there was a tight-knit community surrounding the Ball, of which Greg and Lora were a vital part.

When the doors finally opened to the crowd I was one of the first inside. And god, there was a lot to look at. The Edwardian Ball takes up three floors of the Regency Ballroom. When you first enter there’s the Grand Ballroom, a vast space with people on stilts and posed on platforms. There were a lot of photo opportunities, from the flying alligator in the center of the room to the set pieces modeling different Edward Gorey stories from previous years. Below that is the Vendor Bazaar, where artisans sell their handcrafted goods, and two stories up is a more intimate space, with the Fireplace Stage and the Museum of Wonders.

Needless to say, I was lost in a heartbeat and overwhelmed almost immediately. Three floors, each packed with entertainment for the entirety of the night. There was a period of time while the line along the block was filing in (There was a metal detector at the door and almost everyone’s costumes had some amount of metal in them), and I used that period to take in the space while it was still relatively empty.

I enjoyed the Museum of Wonders, a hall of oddities reminiscent of a carnival funhouse with a cage containing the severed hands of the Baba Yaga, and a mermaid skeleton displayed in a case. Outside of that I got to see Belinda Blair’s Mechanical Doll, a performance piece where Blair posed as an animatronic doll that would come to life and play a song on her ukulele for anyone willing to toss her a few coins or trinkets.

The street performer energy was strong here, from the actual performers to the lavishly dressed patrons. There was a figure in a fox mask with an luminescent cape that glided through the ball on a pair of roller blades, and another one in a massive skeletal headpiece. The show was incredible, yes, with performances by the dancers of Le Cancan Bijou and the incredible acrobatics and contortionists of The Vau de Vire Society. But what really struck me about the Edwardian Ball were the people that were attending it.

I got the chance to speak with a few of them, and with the ghost of my younger self on my mind, I asked them all what they would say to the weird kids of the past and future.

There was a range of answers, but what I heard again and again was that things get better. One man advised that old clothes come in handy – which, as a lifelong Goodwill advocate, I can definitely agree with. And I spoke with a young woman in a mohawk and ballgown about her thoughts on the subject.

“Don’t stop being weird,” she said. “Other guys are going to some lame house party tonight, and I’m going to have a fabulous time watching people be themselves and be amazing and feel great about themselves. And what’s not great about that?”

This really struck me. Because, while Edward Gorey’s work is rather restrained, the Ball is anything but. These people are here to celebrate – celebrate themselves, each other, and the spark in Gorey’s work that pushed them to continue. And there’s something wonderful about that. There’s a magical quality in the spectacle of it all, the sense of joy without judgement.

When I left the party was still going on, and I left with with a sense of community that I’d never known before. After this weekend the patrons of the Ball will go back to their everyday lives, scattered all across the Bay Area. They’ll be working their jobs, going about their days, perhaps even passing you on the street. You might see them draped in regalia, or they might look so inconspicuous that you don’t notice them at all.

So take their advice, reader, and keep it weird. You might feel like you’re the only one, but that’s far from the truth.

They’re out there. We’re out there. You just have to know where to look.

Revelers at The 20th Annual Edwardian Ball and Edwardian World’s Faire | Photo by Neil Girling

Revelers at The 20th Annual Edwardian Ball and Edwardian World’s Faire | Photo by Leori Gill

Revelers at The 20th Annual Edwardian Ball and Edwardian World’s Faire | Photo by Leori Gill

Revelers at The 20th Annual Edwardian Ball and Edwardian World’s Faire | Photo by Neil Girling

Article by Miranda Seaver

Venue: San José Museum of Art

Featuring: Almost Human: Digital Art from the Permanent Collection

I love my robots.

There’s an Amazon Echo in my bedroom who fills my room with lo-fi hip-hop beats on nights when insomnia has the best of me. There’s a second Echo in the living room – we call her “Computer” to prevent any miscommunication between her and her sister – and a Google Home in my parent’s room. We talk to them several times a day, to ask questions when we’re stoned and curious or hungry to win an argument. It’s a strange relationship between us and our new artificial assistants. Yes, they’ve been proven to listen to their surroundings at all times, so we’ve essentially volunteered to bug our house in the name of Capitalism. But it’s 2019, and that’s just the type of thing people are willing to do now.

This is the world of Almost Human, from the permanent collection of the San José Museum of Art. Black Mirror, eat your heart out.

If you have your finger on the pulse of the SJ art scene, you might notice that some pieces from Almost Human were featured at the San Jose Institute of Contemporary Art a while back, but the exhibit has truly been given the chance to flourish in the new and larger space. They’ve also added some interactive elements, including Ian Cheng’s Emissary Forks for You, a self-described “neurological gym” starring a virtual dog (A Shiba, for those who want the full picture) who guides you through the gallery from the screen of a Google Tango tablet.

I’m always a fan of any art that pulls me from the muck of the everyday, and that’s exactly what happened as I circled the room, head down to the tablet in my hands, and watched in wonder as the environment shifted around me. Each reset of the simulation is a different route, and you could potentially play ad infinitum, following the occasional demands of your tiny pupper until you get bored, or dizzy, or until the tablet freezes like it did for me after ten minutes of wandering. Which doesn’t come as much of a surprise if you consider the limits of basic game design, and it certainly doesn’t take away from the experience as a whole.

What I believe to be the most outstanding, and most relevant theme of Almost Human is the overlap between technology and humanity. It’s seen in more literal ways, such as in Jim Campbell’s duo piece Photograph of My Mother and Portrait of My Father, where he presents two photos of his parents that blur and turn clear following the rhythm of the his body. You can stand in front of both of them and watch his life echo over their own, two generations phasing in and out over each other. It’s like watching life without life. Truly a surreal experience.

I found the most enjoyment, however, in the chance to watch what appears to be technology in the process of learning, and doing so in a way that’s almost childlike. I saw it in Diane Thater’s Untitled (Butterfly Videowall #2), five flat screen monitors arranged in a star-shape on the floor, each showing a single shot of a monarch butterfly. They’ve stretched the shot over all screens, giving the image a disjointed and hazy quality, similar to how it feels to try and recall a memory from infancy. It’s there, yes, but your brain holds it a different way, distorting the image slightly and bathing it in the faint glow of nostalgia.

My favorite work in the whole exhibit is Listening Post by Mark Hansen and Ben Rubin. It’s a massive wall of LED modules on support beams, along with speakers hanging strategically around a near-black room. The piece’s main feature is its algorithms and custom software that pulls data from online chatrooms and organizes them into “movements” that are then displayed on screen and narrated through the speakers, creating a soundscape that travels around the space.

I sat there for a long time, in the dark, watching this massive machine displaying statements from its massive cache of uncensored internet data. At one point it was just spelling, scrolling through letters to make words. I could’ve sat there for a lot longer, if nothing else then to see how much information this software had gathered.

Because, strange as it may seem, we’re rapidly approaching a time when that’s all we can do. We’re in an age where we’re no longer “surfing the web” with chunky desktop computers and cacophonous dial-up modems. Technology is creating a new form of art that feels entirely present to the now, an elusive, yet constantly-present moment that is born, aged, and dead all at the same time. It’s art that’s ageless and constantly evolving. And it’s only going to grow – but into what, I can’t say.

All in all, Almost Human is definitely an exhibit worth experiencing. Bring your Echo if you have one. I bet she’d like it.

Article by Jon Bauer | SAT, AUG 3, 2019, 10PM

Venue: Pier 70, San Francisco, California

Featuring: 2019 Gray Area Festival – Pierce Warnecke Live – ISM Hexadome

Endless Growth (Data Decay v3) is an audiovisual performance by Pierce Warnecke using data to illustrate dynamic ecosystems. Generated from data on population growth, pollution emissions, resource extraction, and global GDPs, this work questions how unbounded growth of humanity is incompatible with our finite planet—it may ultimately result in saturation and irreversible damage. Data Decay is an ongoing series of abstract sonification and visualization works, generated from datasets to convey interconnecting relationships through an audiovisual language.

Article by Jon Bauer | MON, JUL 29, 2019, 8:30PM

Venue: Pier 70, San Francisco, California

Featuring: 2019 Gray Area Festival – ISM Hexadome

From July 25 through August 3, the ISM Hexadome will be presented at Pier 70 in San Francisco in two parts. Each evening we will present the full Exhibition in two distinct Segments, featuring the exhibiting artists as listed.

Article by Jon Bauer | SAT, JUL 13, 2019, 8:00PM – 2:00AM

Venue: The Midway, San Francisco, California

Featuring: IllUM Art.Tech.Music (GAIKA vs. Madam X, The Flashbulb + More)

Article by Małgorzata Stanek

Still in the world, but not of the world
– Adam Mickiewicz from Dziady (“Forefather’s Eve”)

November is a month of solemn and important celebrations in Poland. November 11 is Polish Independence Day and early November is dedicated to honoring the departed. Specifically, November 2 is All Souls’ Day called Zaduszki in Polish. Zaduszki can be translated as “a day of prayer for the souls”. The eve of this holiday is known as All Saints’ Day. On these two days families visit the graves of the departed, lay flowers and light up candles. The cemeteries emanate otherworldly and solemn beauty as the sea of candles flickers as far as the eye can see. The words of Polish Romantic poet, Adam Mickiewicz from Dziady (“Forefather’s Eve”), aptly capture this atmosphere: “still in the world, but not of the world”. There are many folk traditions related to Zaduszki. It is said that on this day the spirits of our forefathers come to inhabit the world once more.

Thus, on November 2 in Lublin, an interesting annual event, now in its third year, is held. Translated roughly into English as “Souls ardently in tears”, it is an open gathering for singing traditional songs accompanying death.

The gathering is open to all, regardless of singing abilities. You are given a singing book – which you can pay for what you will – a token to help the organizers cover their costs. The songs come from traditional repertoire and speak about death and what comes after, they offer a moment to meditate on death and mortality. The lyrics are characterized by solemn beauty. There’s a distinctly poetic feel to them that sweeps you into their meditative mood.

The songs deal with a sense of paltriness of worldly things, show the departing soul saying farewell to their family, the village – they give voice to the dead. Some of the songs are prayers for them. However, the organizers say that while singing the songs, they also think about the living, to help them go through difficult moments. 

One of the organizers thus speaks about the songs: “They are very varied. Some talk about death in a literal way, reminding us about the decomposition which awaits us at the end; other use more delicate comparisons, focusing on the spiritual side of the process. It’s interesting that melodies which are used for these songs aren’t always as clam or sad as you might think. Frequently, we encounter dance tunes and only the lyrics remind us that it’s a song about a death. I think that this ambiguity and changeability of “moods” makes people want to get to know more songs. Every song brings in something new, even though it deals with a subject as old as death.

The group gathered in the cemetery filled with ancient graves – the resting places of people who came before us and are a part of the history of every day. The singing began right after dark. The voices carried above the lit-up graves, resonating with honesty and the sombre mood of the moment.

Even if your own individual singing isn’t particularly good, the group’s shared voice sweeps you away and your voice melts into the others. You distinctly feel a part of a community, it is a strongly shared experience. The organizers highlight that it is an important aspect. One of the initiators of the event recalls that he had to sing such songs alone on the occasion of one funeral he attended and that it’s really difficult because one singer focuses all the ritual tension on him or herself. For this reason, community is important. Moreover, the group of attendees increases every year and the sense that singing gathering rather than a concert becomes stronger every year – say the organizers. 

And even if your singing might not be the best, when it joins the others, what in the end comes through is one voice, singing as one, in honor of the dead. It’s a strongly reflective and moving experience.

Article by Miranda Caravalho

Movimiento de Arte y Cultura Latino Americana – MACLA is a squat building on the tail end of the SOFA District in San Jose that’s painted in shades of steel grey and fluorescent pink. In the first half of the building you’d find the headquarters for MACLA’s programs, from which over 30,000 children, families and young adult get indispensable experience in visual, performing and literary art. But if you go past the first set of doors and onto the second, you’ll find MACLA’s studio with their current solo exhibition: Carlos Rólon’s Classic Tracks: Migrating Rhythms.

Enter the room. It’s not big, but it’s very open, with white walls and vaulted ceilings. But most of the white has been covered up by a mosaic of vinyl record covers, affixed to the wall in lines of faces and names that tower up to make a barricade. They’re mostly Spanish artists. Perhaps you recognize some of these album.

The room can be easily experienced in about twenty minutes. You can circle slowly around the murals and the checkerboard walls of record covers, or maybe stand in strange reverence in front of the sculpture made from working speakers. Or maybe you stray to the back of the exhibit and discover the small party that awaits there.

It’s a traditional travel cart with a spinning disco ball hanging from the woven roof and casting moving fish scales of light across the walls. And below that, embedded into the wood of the cart, is a turntable. There are more covers in small shelves, Ray Barretto, Roberto Blades, and De Todo Un Poco. It’s a weird intimacy, as if you’ve broken into someone’s house for the sole purpose of leafing through their music collection. Eventually you find the record that’s already placed on the turntable – Prince’s Purple Rain.

Play it. Turn it to side B and put it on the blank space in between “When Dove’s Cry” and “I Would Die 4 You”. With such a small space the music fills the room in a massive wave of sound. Others might stop to look, and some might even twist their faces slightly at the sudden noise. Or maybe you’re alone, just you and Prince.

I hope thats the case. I hope you’re alone with the music as your eyes drift again across the towering walls of album covers. These are the songs and artists brought from the culture of migrating immigrants. Every album has countless memories stuck to them like ghosts. A record that may mean nothing to you may have been someone’s first dance at their wedding. It could’ve been what their mother sang to them as a child, or what they heard through a open window as they left their home for the very last time.

When you’re immigrating you’re leaving everything you’ve ever known behind. But the things you’re able to take with you – your music, your clothes, your food and your language – that becomes the type of home that lives in your blood.

My grandmother is a first generation immigrant that spent time as an infant in a Japanese internment camp. Her parents refused to teach her or her siblings Japanese, and when their radio was on it was almost always playing country-western music. With the politics of the time they thought it would be best to keep their heads down and make a new life for themselves.

But when I was a child, she used to take me to the annual Cherry Blossom Festival held in San Jose, where I’d eat shaved ice and pet the dogs under clouds of pink petals. And even now she still makes inari sushi better than any restaurant I’ve ever been to. It’s impossible to miss – she’s definitely held onto something.

And what about you? Do you remember the meals your family made, the ones you learned to make yourself and for your loved ones? Think about the words you spoke to each other, the ones of sorrow and joy, and the stories told to you at night when you couldn’t sleep. And maybe it was a rainy morning, or starry night, or a warm afternoon like the one it was right now – but there was music, wasn’t there. Whether it was a radio or the tinny headphones of an old walkman, it was there and it left a shadow on your heart.

That’s not what’s playing now, though. Right now the synth of Prince is fading, and before the next track starts you lift the needle and put it back in its place. And with nothing else to explore you walk back out into the day, the words that song in your head making your mouth shift into long-lost shapes.

Article by Małgorzata Stanek

Imagine spending a sunny August afternoon in the streets of a charming Old Town filled with colourful stalls, the hustle of bustle of various languages (Polish, Ukrainian, Belarusian, Hungarian, Lithuanian, Slovak) and traditional music. This is what happens in mid-August in Lublin, Poland.

Lublin is a charming city in eastern Poland that has much to offer. Beautiful sites, places of remembrance, pleasant, calm atmosphere, residents passionate about their heritage and many fascinating events that take place all year round when many of the residents as well as tourists gather together in celebration of culture, art and tradition and of a sense of age-old community.

Photo: Bartek Żurawski, Organizer’s materials. The Jagiellonian Fair, main square, Old Town, Lublin.

One beautiful annual event is the Jagiellonian Fair, now in its 12th year. The Jagiellonian Fair is, broadly speaking, a meeting with traditional culture of Central and East European countries in many forms: concerts, workshops, presentations but also direct meetings with another person. The event historically refers to 15th century fairs that took place in Lublin. Lublin, located on the crossroad of trade routes, attracted traders and merchants from various corners of Poland and Europe. The event aims at showcasing the most beautiful, authentic aspects of traditional culture of this area and how it inspires more contemporary forms of art, or how they can engage in a dialogue and draw inspiration from one another.

The event focuses around a craftsman’s fair – wooden stalls scattered around the Old Town erupt with colour. The organizers highlight that unlike in many other similar events, the stalls at the Jagiellonian Fair cannot be simply bought – the artists are hand-picked; the organizers strive to invite only those artists who represent genuine local or family traditions. We meet around 300 of them from various countries (Poland, Lithuania, Slovakia, Ukraine, Belarus, Hungary, this year even Sweden), always kind and eager to tell us about their craft, what drove them to begin, to show and explain the skills. They are happy to answer any questions, they are happy to demonstrate and explain their work, including at various workshops they run.

Photo: Jakub Bodys, Organizer’s materials.

You can learn from them – they are happy to teach us so that the tradition and awareness of it live on. Their stories are varied, interesting and usually do highlight one fact – they carry their crafts in their heart. This openness, honesty and authenticity strongly resonates. As I walk among the stalls, listening to their stories, observing the skills and admiring the meticulous work, work that is the result of absolutely pure passion and love, I feel moved to tears. It is pure delight to meet them and learn what it means to have a genuine passion and love of traditional handcraft, to be reminded of a certain lifestyle, values and to feel like a part of a warm-hearted community.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

The variety of items on display (and available for purchase) range from traditional pysanky eggs, lace and embroidery, through decorations (including pająki traditional, spider-like ornaments that used to be hung in households), toys, unique instruments, blacksmith’s wares – and many others. There is much to feast your eyes on – and the stories of the artisans fill the hearts too.

Photo: Gutezk Zegier, Organizer’s materials
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Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Photo: Gutek Zegier, Organizer’s materials.

Every year, the festival focuses on a different theme. This year, the main theme was lace.

There were several exhibitions dedicated to this delicate and meticulous craft. One, entitled “Her majesty Koniaków lace” featured lace from Koniaków, a village in southern Poland known for its lace-making traditions and even finding new applications for this meticulous art, including g-strings. There was a lace umbrella and lace wedding and cocktail dress on display, among other things. Another lace-focused exhibition was a presentation of the organizers’ field research trip and their interviews with lacemakers. Lace was also the inspiration for a mural that adorned one of the event’s locations – the building where the office of the organizers is located, a delightful, peaceful, green-filled patio where workshops were held during the event. Moreover, a pająk referring to this year’s theme was hung in the ancient entryway to the Old Town – the so called Cracow (Krakowska Gate), an architectural symbol of the city built as part of its fortifications during the reign of Casimir the Great in 14th century. The pająk hung at homes was the guardian of good fortune and providence of the household; hung in the Gate, it brings joy to the city.

This year’s pajak was made to reflect the theme of the Jagiellonian Fair – lace.

Photo: Bartek Żurawski, Organizer’s materials, Cracow Gate – entry way to the Old Town, with pająk.

The Jagiellonian Fair is also very much about celebrating traditional music. There is plenty of music! As we walk among the stalls, for instance, a traditional band may suddenly gallantly surprise you with a spontaneous mini-performance. One of the projects associated with the Jagiellonian Fair is the Jagiellonian Fair Orchestra – open to all enthusiasts of traditional music who also wish to hone their music skills. The Orchestra hold rehearsals throughout the year and perform at the dance parties during the event.

Photo: Bartek Żurawski, Organizer’s materials.

The dance parties are a fantastic opportunity to dance through the night to the tune of lively, fiery music. Sometimes, the band starts going so fast, it becomes hard to keep up! If you feel insecure about your dancing skills, you can always join dance workshops that teach the repertoire played at the parties, but it’s also fun to just hop spontaneously as you like. Trying to keep up with the rhythm can be a real challenge though! Aside from dancing, there are also presentations and workshops dedicated to traditional singing techniques and old song repertoires from various corners of eastern and central Europe.

Furthermore, the bands perform not just at dance parties or in the streets. There are also concerts. One of the concerts is called re:tradition, during which popular performers meet with traditional village musicians, practising authentic traditional music. They rehearse together and learn from one another. The result is an absolutely arresting dialogue between tradition and more modern sounds.

Photo: Bartek Żurawski, Organizer’s materials.

The village singers stand in the highlight, not quite used to stage performances, evident in how microphone-shy they can be at times. They present their musical skills, telling various tales through their art. This year, one of the ladies sang out the haunting, tragic story of the Ulma family – her own relatives. The Ulmas were a family living in south-eastern Poland during the Nazi occupation. They gave shelter to Jews, were denounced and subsequently murdered one early morning – first the Jews, then the Ulmas, including the pregnant mother of the family. Reportedly, she started giving birth at the moment of execution and the baby died too. The song, performed in a traditional singing technique, was a genuinely heart-rending experience.

Photo: Jakub Bodys, Organizer’s materials.

It’s worth noting that re:tradition was performed in the courtyard of the Lublin Castle that served as prison at various times, most infamously during the Nazi occupation. Just before the Nazi withdrew from Lublin in July 1944, the remaining prisoners (around 300) were murdered.

Photo: Jakub Bodys, Organizer’s materials. Raabygg’s concert during the Jagiellonian Fair.

There are also individual concerts featuring foreign bands playing their roots music, or mixing it up with personal ideas and arrangement. This year, the festival introduced the Norwegian Raabygg – a trio of delightful girls. The girls spun folk tales illustrated with their enchanting music. It was an intimate affair performed on a small stage in the Dominican Monastery, a quiet setting, slightly removed from the hustle and bustle of the main artery of the festival. The big stage in Lublin Castle courtyard also featured the Cypriot Monsieur Doumani whose simple but energetic, honest arrangements easily reached the heart and Violons Barbares consisting of musicians from Bulgaria, Mongolia and France who swept us along on a musical journey featuring a combination of music traditions from their countries. All concerts during the Jagiellonian Fair are unique experiences, an opportunity to take in an incredible richness of themes, techniques and approaches. Most of all, it’s always full of heart.

Photo: Marcin Pietrusza, Organizer’s materials. One of the games available at the Jagiellonian Fair Playground, a zone for families to spend quality time together, recalling traditional games.

Other than concerts, workshops, exhibitions and meetings with people and tradition, there is also a place for families to spend quality time together, playing traditional games. The Jagiellonian Fair Playground, located in a huge green area directly below the Lublin Castle, offers a variety of large-scale games, some more familiar than others. Among others, you can play tic tac toe using large wooden noughts and crosses, but there is a variety of other traditional games all families can enjoy – together.

Photo: Marcin Pietrusza, Organizer’s materials, the Jagiellonian Fair.