by Julie Rodriguez

Nina Paley’s critically acclaimed feature-length animated film, Sita Sings the Blues, is finally available for the world to see. Perhaps more interesting than any of the points the film raises about the human condition and human relationships across cultures and time, are the questions implicit in the circumstances regarding its creation.

The film weaves together the story of an Indian epic,Ramayana, with the music of 1920s singer Annette Hanshaw. Though it had received rave reviews on the film festival circuit and from Roger Ebert, for the past year it has been unable to find a distributor due to the use of copyrighted material in the film’s soundtrack. Paley finally found a solution in early March by broadcasting the piece on PBS, which is legally exempt from paying royalties for the use of music. Paley simultaneously managed to obtain the right to distribute the film herself following its public television debut, negotiating from the previous figure of $200,000 to a mere $50,000, which she paid out of her own pocket.

The issue of intellectual property here is far from being cut and dry. The recordings Paley used in her film are no longer protected by copyright but the musical compositions are. The licensing fees do not go to the singer’s heirs, but to large corporations, benefiting none of the actual creative minds behind the music. The usual arguments for intellectual property rights, contingent upon the protection of an artist’s ability to receive monetary compensation for his or her work, are not particularly applicable. While many would say that Paley made an amateur’s mistake by creating the film without first asking permission for the rights to use the music (and using the threat of choosing an alternative score as a negotiating tactic), Paley has argued on her blog and in interviews that this is an issue that stifles creativity and innovation.

The Hanshaw songs are central to the plot and development of the story of Sita. The project grew organically from the combination of Paley’s own failed marriage, her identification on a personal level with the figure of Sita, and the emotional connection forged during her divorce with the lyrics and melodies of Hanshaw’s songs.

“Telling me not to use the songs,” she says, “was like telling me not to make the movie at all.” It’s easy to see how Paley could come to that conclusion; the words of the songs meld perfectly with the action on the screen and the themes explored in each scene. The message of the film is deeper than merely a recounting of a tragic Hindu myth or a self-indulgent comparison between Paley’s life and a work of literature. The Hanshaw lyrics remind the viewer that women have been abandoned and mistreated by their partners throughout time, that no matter how awful things might seem, someone else, somewhere, whether in prohibition-era America or Ancient India, has experienced the same situation.

The message of the film is one of synchronicity and fellowship. The project is both deeply personal and universal, and carries an ability to deeply affect the viewer in a way that a more calculated, less intuitively-made piece couldn’t. Certainly, if Paley had altered the film to use different songs rather than fight to use the original score, the film would be a radically different piece.

The most significant question raised by this controversy is if attempts to protect intellectual property rights stifle creative development. Should a creator who has been inspired to create a heartfelt piece of art be required to delay production or abandon a project entirely in order to negotiate potentially unaffordable licensing fees first? And is the situation different if the original artist has passed away, versus work created by currently living artists who could still stand to profit from royalties? The law on the matter is fairly clear: Paley was in the wrong and paid the $50,000 price. But from an artistic and ethical standpoint, is it detrimental to our culture to make it so difficult to engage in creative dialogue with pre-existing works?

There are no simple solutions to this problem. It’s a difficult balancing act between protecting artists from theft and allowing other artists to create derivative works. The answers are certainly not found in the film itself, and are difficult to parse from the controversy surrounding it. The only definite message that can be taken from Paley’s struggle in distributing her film is that something about the current system is broken and needs to be examined closely. Paley, however, remains optimistic about alterative methods of distribution. The movie can be watched online at www.sitasingstheblues.com at no cost. Paley expects that those who appreciate the film will donate money through the site to pay off the debt incurred releasing the film. She writes, “My personal experience confirms audiences are generous and want to support artists. Surely there’s a way for this to happen without centrally controlling every transaction. The old business model of coercion and extortion is failing. New models are emerging, and I’m happy to be part of that.”

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by Julie Rodriguez

As part of a team of talented political cartoonists at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, readers of F Newsmagazine will instantly recognize Eric J. Garcia’s work. His signature style and sharp critiques of American politics have earned him recognition and awards. Garcia’s recent mixed media installation at LG Space, “Cultural Conflicts,” showed that his satirical caricatures lend themselves not only to cartoons, but to fine art as well.

The installation seamlessly wove together images of Aztec ritual sacrifice, Spanish conquest, the rise of the Mexican state, and American imperialism in the Middle East and Latin America. “This show,” Garcia explained at a SUGs discussion panel in Late February, “is the culmination of about a year and a half of work. I was trying to organize them all into some kind of cohesive body. I was trying to figure out how to connect them all into the network of one show. So I came up with the idea of a timeline, this ribbon that runs around the gallery space.”

Bands of different colors ran between the displayed images, representing different political eras in Mexican and American history. The timeline took viewers on a journey between three different empires and occupations: the Aztecs and their subjugation of the other natives, the Spanish conquistadors, and America’s war with Mexico and the current conflict in Iraq. “[The pieces are] also placed as some kind of historical reference.  Mexico went on to conquer the Native Americans, and it goes all the way to the United States in the present day. It almost comes full circle in the idea of colonization and conquest. They all have to do with some kind of military aspect. Even the indigenous people were conquering other indigenous groups.” He described the theme of the work as “an unbroken chain of conquest and colonization.”

The work itself communicated Garcia’s intent well, using bold colors and his signature style of illustration in a variety of media to depict Aztec sacrifice, the horrors committed during Spanish colonization, the massacre that occurred at the Alamo and the current atrocities in Iraq. In a particularly powerful image that seemed to tie together the different periods and themes of the installation, we see depicted the Mexican-American “G.I. Jose: always treated like an foreigner, until we need you to kill other foreigners.”

“[One] of the challenges I’ve been dealing with is that I want to tell a story,” Garcia said. “I want people to come in here and be able to understand it. But I also want to make it interesting for an art critic to look at. It’s a balancing act.” Garcia’s art might just be the perfect vehicle for the story he wants to tell. The art is reminiscent of graphic novels or comic strips, even when using media and approaches more traditionally associated with the “fine art” world, which has often had a difficult time accepting cartoons and comics as legitimate art forms. It lends a distinctive aura to the installation, making it seem less of an impersonal exhibit and more of an narrative, a story inviting the viewer to explore and participate.

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Creator of “Ren and Stimpy” and founder of Spumco

Brandon Kosters: The acting in your animated films clearly references iconic film actors from older Hollywood films. I am wondering if you can tell me about some of the exercises you’ve had Spumco artists do to replicate facial and gestural actions of famous actors?

John Kricfalusi: Well, first of all cartoon characters have much simpler faces than real people. Most animation uses very simplified expressions of broad general emotions. Happy, sad, mad, surprised, etc. But real humans and good actors are capable of much more intricate and layered emotions that they portray with their facial expressions and gestures.

One exercise we did was to draw Elmer Fudd making actual human expressions. We would freeze frame Kirk Douglas, Robert Ryan, Jackie Gleason and others and try to capture their expressions and wrap them around Elmer’s head shape. This is not an easy task!

I think of every character as a totally different being; each with his or her own ways of expressing themselves visually. I don’t analyze any of my characters, I just feel them as I draw them. George Liquor doesn’t make the same sorts of expressions as Ren, and Ren doesn’t behave like Stimpy.

They each have an infinite amount of individual expressions and poses that are dictated by the story, mood and scene. This is a very different approach than most cartoons where a handful of preset expressions are drawn on the model sheets and you can never vary them.

I draw some expressions that are sort of “realistic” – very specific, but also some that are purely cartoony or impossible, and many that are in between the 2 extremes. I believe in using a wide palette.

BK: Disney’s “The Frog Princess” will be the studios first film with an African-American protagonist since “Song of the South.” This will also be the first hand drawn animation from Disney in some time.

JK:Except the characters don’t look remotely black. I’m sure they won’t act it either. They are just stock Disney characters painted slightly darker, but no different in design than Belle or the Little Mermaid.

BK: My mind goes straight to a film like Bob Clampett’s “Coal Black and de Sebben Dwarfs”, a sophisticated film artistically, however offensive it’s content may be to a contemporary audience.

It seems that ultimately animated films serve as fascinating historical documents. Is there any value in preventing works like this from being seen today?

JK: I can’t see any value in not showing one of the best cartoons ever made. They show Gone With The Wind and many other classic live action films that have what are now assumed to be “offensive” stereotypes, but won’t show the cartoons from the same period. We are too politically correct.

BK: How long after your work with Ralph Bakshi did you form Spumco?

JK: I guess 2 years.

BK: How do you feel about computer driven animation?

JK: I think it has potential. It’s been mostly pretty boring and robotic so far. It doesn’t seem worth the cost and effort, when it is so much faster and easier to just draw what you can imagine, but maybe someday it will get more artist-friendly.

BK: One of the things that made the first two seasons of “Ren and Stimpy” so great was the fact that you pushed it as far as anyone conceivably could on a major children’s network. How did you feel about working on the “Adult Party Cartoons”, where you were basically given license to be as crass as you wanted?

JK: I wasn’t “given license”, I was kind of forced to. I just wanted to make it the way I always did. The stories even came from the first 2 seasons of the show, but we added stuff hat the executives thought would be more like South Park. There are a few scenes that I would take out if I had my own way. And I never try to be merely “crass” – certainly no where near as crass as modern prime time cartoons.

BK: How do you think the animation industry today differs from the industry when you first entered into it? What advice do you have for students and novices entering into the business?

JK: It differs on the surface. The styles are more flat today, less “realistic” than the 80s. It’s still not run creatively by artists, although there was a short period in the early 90s where we had a lot more creative say in the cartoons we made. Now they are mostly executive-driven and formulaic.

My advice to everyone is to learn to draw as well as you can and don’t get caught up in “style”. The more skill you have, the more creative choices you can make. Everyone thinks they have a magical unique style, but in reality, most artists don’t. There is a lot of cloning in our business.

BK: Do you remember the moment when you realized that, stylistically, you were being emulated by many other studios?

JK: Yeah, the very next cartoons that came out after Ren and Stimpy- even at the studios who had turned down Ren and Stimpy when I pitched it to them. Actually even before that, some studios were copying what we did on Bakshi’s Mighty mouse.

BK: Is the “Mighty Mouse” series you directed under Ralph Bakshi going to be available for DVD any time soon?

JK: Yes.

BK: What projects are you currently working on?

JK: George Liquor and some cartoons for my own Youtube Network.

BK: Going to a fine art school, there are still some people who insist on making the distinction between “high art” and “low art”. Similarly, in animation, it seems like there are many who wish to make the distinction between studio animators and independent animators. Is this decision necessary, and wouldn’t an artist be putting themselves in a disadvantaged position if they didn’t embrace both sensibilities?

JK: Well I admire high skill and creativity no matter what the medium. Does “fine art” even mean anything anymore? And I never heard of “high art”. Tell me what it is so I can make fun of it. If fine art means diving into a vat of elephant dung and rolling around on a canvas then you can have it. I’ll take [Bob Clampett’s] “The Great Piggy Bank Robbery”.

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Julie Rodriguez

Following a 4-year hiatus from the world of television, Joss Whedon, creator of Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, has returned with a new series. Dollhouse follows the story of Echo (Eliza Dushku), a woman who has had her memories wiped by a criminal organization and is given new personalities in order to fulfill “engagements” for high-paying clients. At the end of each engagement, the false persona and all memories of the event are erased. However, as Echo completes her engagements, the process begins to fail and she begins retaining fragmented memories of her experiences and becoming self-aware.

The show has garnered curiosity and criticism for it’s unorthodox subject matter. While science fiction, it touches on some controversial real-world issues. The childlike “dolls” of the series are practically slaves; in the first episode we see the woman who is to become Echo signing a contract to join the Dollhouse, but it’s clear the decision has been made under some kind of extreme duress. The parallels to human trafficking are impossible to miss. It’s a concept that in the wrong (even well-intentioned) hands could be disastrous. But, if the episodes so far are any indication, Dollhouse may just be able to walk the thin line of catering to fantasy and depicting slavery without patronizing the issues and demeaning the characters.

Echo’s first on-screen engagement involves fulfilling a man’s fantasy for the perfect romantic weekend. She leaves, gushing about how he might just be “the one” and debating whether or not to call him, and upon her return to the Dollhouse instantly forgets everything that just transpired. This is obviously a form of sexual slavery, and her innocence and complete lack of awareness about the fact that she is being used makes it all the more painful for the viewer to watch. The disconnect between Echo’s earnest desires (and even those are placed inside her head without her knowledge) and the willingness of the men who engage her to use her, knowing full well exactly what they are doing, is troubling.

Problematic depictions of sexual violence against women and girls also emerge early on. Echo’s personalities are not created from scratch; she is implanted with the composite memories and experiences of multiple people who fit the profile necessary for each “engagement.” In the first episode, Echo comes face-to-face with the man who abused a woman her persona was based on as a child and has to deal with the trauma of the false memories while attempting to thwart a kidnapping ring. This mostly comes across as lazy and cliché writing – using past sexual trauma in lieu of substantive character development is dismissive of the very real impact of sexual violence on its victims, and it’s unfortunately endemic in television and movies.

The second episode is incredibly disturbing. Echo is hired for an engagement with an outdoorsman looking for the perfect woman. After a day of elk hunting and rock-climbing, he pulls out a bow and tells Echo to start running and prove that she “deserves to live.” So she runs, while her handlers desperately attempt to rescue her from the engagement gone wrong. However, as horrifying as this is to watch for the next 45 minutes, it is handled more artfully than the pilot. Echo starts to show signs of autonomy and rejects some key aspects of her programming when, instead of weakly submitting, she takes initiative and saves both her bodyguard (assigned to follow at a discrete distance unless it is necessary to intervene) and herself. By the end of the episode, Echo appears to be more human and less plot device, a refreshing departure from the course the show appeared to be taking up to that point.

The third and most recent episode is where the direction Whedon has taken with Dollhouse begins to become clearer. Another doll who lives with Echo, Sierra, has become her friend in their mind-erased, childlike state between engagements. Both are assigned to protect a pop singer from murder attempts by an obsessed fan, unaware of their relationship prior to the engagement. Even though they have met as strangers and Echo is hardwired to protect her client, when their plans backfire and Sierra is taken hostage, Echo does everything in her power to protect Sierra, at the expense of her mission. She knocks the client out cold and offers to trade her as ransom for the release of Sierra, saying, “friends help each other.” In the end, the threat is creatively eliminated and everyone escapes more or less unscathed (minus the kidnapper). The head of Dollhouse explains the incident away as Echo’s programming manifesting itself in an unexpected, yet effective manner, unwilling to accept the possibility that her programming is faulty. As for Echo, even after all memories of the incident have been erased, she seems aware of the ramifications, purposely avoiding Sierra to subdue suspicion.

Though initially difficult to judge and unsettling in its treatment of Echo, Dollhouse seems to be finding its bearings. The struggles of characters trapped in high-tech slavery is compelling, but only once they begin to become aware of it and search for an escape. Assuming the characters continue to grow and develop (and that the show doesn’t meet the gruesome fate of its canceled cousin, Firefly), it’s safe to say that Dollhouse will be a fascinating and worthwhile journey.

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By Emily Bauman

It is no secret that the arts in this country have been on the defensive for years. Across the board, the arts have been the first line on government spending budgets to be slashed. From arts education programs at elementary and high schools to its pathetic give-and-take policy of endowing then-unendowing the NEA, government policy has shown that it (dis)regards the Arts as expendable.

The devaluation of the arts in the U.S. has forced arts professionals and organizations to rely on ingenuity and argument to survive, forcing the art world to develop into the commodified system that artists constantly bemoan (cultural Darwinism, can we say?). But now, as we find ourselves firmly entrenched in a financial crisis, the arts have found themselves under targeted, brutal and often stealthy attack.

On February 6, the U.S. Senate approved by overwhelming majority (73-24 votes) the Coburn Amendment to the economic recovery bill under its consideration, which states: “None of the amounts appropriated or otherwise made available by this Act may be used for any casino or other gambling establishment, aquarium, zoo, golf course, swimming pool, stadium, community park, museum, theater, art center, and highway beautification project.”

Besides the egregious correlation made in this amendment between gambling, highway beautification, golfing, art, theater, and animal refuges—i.e. the collapse of luxury entertainment and culture into one—this amendment assumes that bolstering the arts would do nothing to bolster the economy. It also displays an utter disregard for the well-being of these foundational institutions, myopically marking the arts with the stereotypical, regressive and ignorant stigma that they are superfluous and self-indulgent.

This amendment has since been amended, and the final version of the economic-stimulus bill approved by Congress on February 13 removed the arts organizations from the clause. However, the argument made to rescue the arts organizations from the grouping by Representative David R. Obey (Dem., Wisconsin): “There are five million people who work in the arts industry. And right now they have 12.5 percent unemployment—or are you suggesting that somehow if you work in that field, it isn’t real when you lose your job, your mortgage or your health insurance?” implies that the arts have no intrinsic value and does not explain why the poor zookeeper still doesn’t seem to matter.

 

 

In a separate but ideologically parallel move, during the last week of January Brandeis University—whose reputation is based on its expansive liberal arts offerings—betrayed its legacy, when its board of trustees voted unanimously to close the school’s Rose Art Museum and sell off the 6,000 works of art in its collection.

Treating its priceless and historic collection of art as disposable assets, Brandeis made a stark statement about its priorities and an astonishing value judgment about the place and worth of art.

There is a lot more to be said about this decision, the reactions of and effects on the students and museum employees, the legal issues regarding by-laws and the subsequent backpedaling of the administration, as well as the dire financial situation in which the university has found itself (due to the fallout of the Bernie Madoff scandal). However, the statement  their actions made is clear, and it has forever changed the perception of Brandeis’s commitment to the arts. But more so, it reflects and supports the widely held, but rarely explicitly stated, belief that the arts are dispensable.

Now, I realize that to argue for the pure value of the arts, as an Art Historian for whom they are a life blood—inspirational, motivating, and, most of all, essential—I will never convince anyone of their merit who believes that they are superfluous and self-indulgent. That is just their loss, though. However, if we are entrenched in a battle that prizes money and economic stimulation as its holy grail, then I am more than happy to argue that arts organization are among the most important, immediate and mutable agents for kick starting our economy.

Public art projects, museum exhibitions, non-profits and many other arts institutions create jobs across all industries: they demand catering for events, various forms of fabrication (steel, paper, electronic, etc.), the assistance of technicians, designers, lawyers, printers, accountants and brokers, and provide steady employment and income for numerous individuals and families. Their needs are flexible and the events they generate are either cyclical or singular ones that can be quickly put into production.

Need historic proof that the arts can bolster the economy? Look no further than the WPA. In addition to creating numerous jobs during the Great Depression, the artists employed by the WPA shaped an ideology and imagery that gave voice to a disenfranchised and downtrodden generation. The iconography they created has become integral to our understanding of what it is to be American; a historical imagery that we cannot imagine ourselves without.

If the majority of Americans want to send culture to the waste basket, I say they are just quickening our clip towards an idiocracy. But, if we want a strong, intelligent, moral, critical and well-informed populace—a true land of the free and the brave—then we must defend the arts with all our strength,
because they are our backbone, our foundation. As Dana Gioia, the chairman of the NEA, recently said, “The purpose of arts education is not to produce more artists, though that is a byproduct. The real purpose of arts education is to create complete human beings capable of leading successful and productive lives in a free society.”

When all else is taken away from you, all you have left is your education. Math and science just are not enough: who pursues happiness through them alone? What kind of heritage do we have without art? If burning books would give us some extra cash to throw around for the next couple of years, would you be willing light the bonfire? So why would you be willing to prevent their production—especially when the publishing companies increase circulation in the economy?

Illustration by

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By Julie Rodriguez

If you have looked closely at a course syllabus this year, you have probably noticed the fine print regarding learning disabilities, sandwiched between the attendance policy and the plagiarism statement. In an effort to encourage students to come forward who may be reluctant, or who simply may not be aware, the Disability and Learning Resource Center (DLRC) now requires that teachers inform students at the beginning of the semester that they may seek reasonable accommodations for disabilities that may impede their ability to fulfill the requirements of the course.

This is important, says Terri Thrower, Director of the DLRC, because “often we’ll have students come in at the end of the semester trying to avoid failing a course. They may not have been aware we were here, or they might have been too embarrassed to come in. Some of them intend to, but never get around to it.” By that point, there is little the DLRC can do. “These are students who really struggle with academics who don’t realize that the school is required to accommodate them.”

“We can’t ask teachers to alter the requirements of the course for a student who can’t meet them,” explains Valerie St. Germain, the DLRC’s Assistant Director. “What we can do is provide reasonable accommodations. If someone is dyslexic, we can provide audio books as MP3s. Students with reading or writing difficulties or anxiety disorders can request extra time for tests. We can help provide accommodations without unfairly altering the expectations for an individual student.”

Those accommodation efforts extend beyond the classroom. The DLRC has negotiated with the Financial Aid office to ensure that students taking reduced course loads due to disability are not penalized and denied grants, and has collaborated with the U-Pass office to help those students keep their transportation benefits. For students with physical disabilities, they have coordinated with Residence Life, Counseling Services and Health Services to provide accessible dorm rooms, and have worked with security staff to plan effective emergency assistance for students with disabilities. Even International Affairs has worked with the DLRC to find accessible accommodations for study abroad trips.

“We’ve definitely seen more new people come in since we started putting information in class syllabi,” reports Thrower. “This is important because we don’t go out into the classrooms to recruit. Students have to learn we’re here, and come to us.”

The vast majority of students served by the DLRC—about 90%—have learning or psychological disabilities rather than physical impairments. It can be difficult for students with invisible disabilities to be comfortable advocating for their needs or speaking directly to teachers. They may be ashamed of their difficulties in the classroom, or afraid that others will accuse them of making up their symptoms or of not trying hard enough to overcome them. “There is still very much a stigma against students with LDs [learning disabilities]. I don’t think it’s changed much in the last 20 years,” says St. Germain. “It wasn’t until 1975 that schools were legally required to accommodate students with special needs at all. It wasn’t very long ago. Before that, you weren’t put in a special ed class—you were just kicked out.”

“There’s a lot of shame associated with having these problems. Some students come into college convinced it will be different from high school; that they will suddenly be better and won’t need any help. They don’t want to come to us because they want to think they’ve moved beyond their LD. But you don’t just grow out of having an LD, and these students still struggle. Going through the education system feeling like you are different leaves a lasting impact—I’ve seen a grown man burst into tears because he was ‘the dumb kid’ in first grade who couldn’t read.”

Between 2004 and 2008, the number of students with disabilities registered with the DLRC increased by 66% (from 149 to 225), and this year, the numbers are even higher. Students with LDs make up approximately 10% of the student population at SAIC and, St. Germain notes, “It’s important to remember that as many students self-report LDs as those who don’t. We have no way of knowing the exact number. Some students don’t want to ask for accommodations because they see it as special treatment rather than a legal right they are entitled to, and some of them have figured out how to get by on their own, and for them ‘just getting by’ is good enough.”

Thrower believes that an art education offers a unique alternative for students who struggle in more traditional academic environments. “It’s not the studio classes these students have problems with. Art classes really accommodate different learning styles very well—they’re very tactile, they help students focus.”

And it is not just the students which benefit from an art education. Thrower believes that they have a unique perspective to offer: “Students with LDs have a different way of seeing the world. They have a different way of thinking. An arts education allows them to express that.”

The DLRC is located at 116 S. Michigan Ave, on the 13th flr. Hours: Mon.–Fri. 9a.m.–5p.m (312)499-4278.

illustrations by Aaron Hoffman

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University Museums and Galleries

By Caitlin Schriner

Chicago, as we all know, comes in like a lion and will, unfortunately, end like a lion as well. Cruel March will leave us as cold and pillaged as late February. Our excuses to stay inside grow exceedingly exhausted (really, how many times can you watch the YouTube video of that drugged-out kid after his dentist trip?). Luckily, for you “photophiles” out there, photography-fever has consumed the university museums and galleries around town. Five Chicago schools tackle photography in a spectrum of ways this month, ranging from solo shows focusing on early and unrefined works of renowned photographers, to exhibitions that use photography to contemplate space and location.

Aaron Siskind, Chicago, 1949, Gelatin silver print, mounted. Smart Museum of Art, University of Chicago, Gift of the Illinois Art Council

Aaron Siskind: The Thing Itself  Smart Museum of Art (University of Chicago)

One of the most renowned photographers of the past century, Aaron Siskind defined American photography in his 60-plus years behind the lens. The man who turned street cracks into ribbon dances is best known for his abstract work, although he began his career in social documentation. His interest manifested in his work that removes objects from their literal settings and re-frames them, opening the viewer to alternative interpretation. “The Thing Itself” presents Siskind’s early attempts at this approach, as well as writings from the artist that demonstrate the tension of representation.  On view through May 10 in the Joel and Carole Bernstein Gallery for Works on Paper. 5550 S. Greenwood Ave. (smartmuseum.uchicago.edu). Hours: Tues., Wed., & Fri. 10a.m.–4p.m., Thurs. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sat.–Sun. 11a.m.–5p.m. Admission Free.

Mario Algaze, Two Girls Kneeling, Barva, Costa Rica, 1987/1996, Silver gelatin print. Collection of DePaul University, Art Aquisition Endowment and the religious Art Fund.

Realism and Magic: Latin American Photography from the Collection of DePaul  DePaul University Museum

Taken from DePaul’s own photography collection, “Realism and Magic” presents photographs from Mexico, Guatemala, Brazil, Peru and the Caribbean. The exhibit features work spanning from nineteenth-century German photographer Hugo Brehme through the contemporary Cuban artist Sebastião Salgado. The photographs on display chart the artistic trajectory of photography in Latin America, as well as common socio-economic issues apparent in the artists’ works.  On view through May 4 in the Main and North Galleries. 2350 N. Kenmore Avenue. Hours: Mon.–Thurs. 11a.m.–5p.m., Fri. 11a.m.–7p.m., Sat.–Sun. 12–5p.m.

Polaroids: Mapplethorpe  Mary and Leigh Block Museum of Art (Northwestern University)

Before launching into his famous images of still-lifes, sexual deviance and celebrity, Robert Mapplethorpe was an artist with a vision and an instant camera. “Polaroids: Mapplethorpe” is a collection of over 90 images taken between 1970 and 1975. These rough Polaroids, taken before he developed his iconic photographic style and techniques, explore the themes that will appear in Mapplethorpe’s later, mature work. On view through April 5 in the Alsdorf Gallery. 40 Arts Circle Drive, Evanston. Hours: Tues. 10a.m.–5p.m., Wed.–Fri. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sat.–Sun. 12–5p.m.  For a full review of this exhibition, please visit fnewsmagazine.com

Florian Slotawa, Hotel Europoa, Prague, Room 402, Night of June 8,1998, Silver gelatin print. Countesy of Sies+hoke, Dusseldorf.

PhotoDimensional  Museum of Contemporary Photography (Columbia College)

An unfortunate quality of the photograph is that it removes a certain essential element of life: dimensionality. Though photographers play with perspective and space, true phenomenology is essentially impossible to recreate. “PhotoDimensional” explores the reinstatement of dimension in photography in the work of thirteen diverse artists, including John Coplans, Leslie Hewitt, Vik Muniz and Lorna Simpson. Works range from drawings of minimalist sculptures created from the dust in the gallery they sit in, to sculptures made of photographic materials, to the sagging stomach of an artist mimicking the pose of an ancient Greek sculpture, challenging viewers to push the boundaries of representation and opening dialogues concerning definitions of space.  On view through April 19. 600 S. Michigan. Hours: Mon.–Wed. & Sat. 10a.m.–5p.m., Thurs. 10a.m.–8p.m., Sun. 12–5p.m.

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