I never imagined myself being interested in horse racing beyond the odd Seabiscuit-esque, tear-jerking biopic though I’m happy to report that our first trip to Preakness was one of the best times I’d had in recent memory. Maybe it was the fact that Brooke and I won more than we lost or that we picked Oxbow to win the Preakness stakes. Maybe it was striking the right balance between libation and adrenaline while placing exotic bets – hitting the trifecta while my girl picked the winner on our first try. What’s undeniable is that last Saturday was a magical day over in Park Heights and I can’t wait to go and do it again.

In the past, tales of hordes of people dragging copious amounts of alcohol into the infield, only to bake helplessly in the sun for hours on end until their mental capacity decayed precipitously kept me away from the track on Preakness day. I had visions of any semblance of civilization evaporating in direct inverse proportion to the rising average blood alcohol level amongst attendees. Thankfully, the organizers of the event had the good sense to curtail the unfettered debauchery in the infield by banning outside beverages. I’m happy to announce to others who may have avoided Preakness for similar reasons that not only was Preakness wholly civilized, it was a phenomenal time. I might even go so far as to say the experience made me an instant fan of horse racing and an emerging advocate of Pimlico. The truth is that Preakness is one the greatest days of the year to be a Marylander.

I can understand that wherever gambling and the welfare of animals are concerned, there are ethical questions that need to be addressed. I am also aware of some of the missteps that racing industry has taken in the past. That being said, I’m certain that smart people can find solutions to whatever issues arise and preserving this tradition is important enough to work through any problems. What’s important is that there are many positive things to embrace. Here’s a few:

- The Preakness is an 138 year old tradition that brings the attention of the entire world to Baltimore
- Pimlico is a historic 143 year old Baltimore institution that has the power to bring people together
- Horse racing makes slot machines feel like gambling for three year olds and I can’t even believe that folks would bother crossing state lines to go into alpha-state in front of machines designed to take your money when there’s horse racing, an undeniably superior mode of gambling, right here in Maryland

;

All of this leaves me with these questions and maybe you can help answer them:

What’s being done to restore Pimlico to it’s rightful place as a lynchpin in our city’s culture and how can we help?

How can we better activate Pimlico for events besides horse racing?

How can we do a better job of marketing Pimlico to new generations who will support this great Maryland tradition into the future?

The reality of life is that it’s not all cupcakes and rainbows. Even if it were, cupcakes aren’t good for you and rainbows mean there’s rain.

The reality of life is that, along with the potential for diabetes and monsoons, there are people that are trying to survive and barely scraping by, there are children with neither homes or suitable parents. A few blocks away from you and your cupcake is a disengaged community of people emotionally detached from the world around them resulting in crime and ultimately a culture of low expectations.

You can complain about all of this. You can shake your head in disbelief and you can tell yourself the world is a horrible place. All of this will get you nowhere. At the end of the day you are faced with more crime and an empty cupcake wrapper.

If you truly want change, you need to get to the root cause of the problem. You need to ask yourself why. What motivates people to give in to this culture of low expectations? Was there a virus going around infecting people and making them more prone to crime? As you continue to ask questions, you start to develop an understanding and the answers begin to reveal themselves. This is when change happens.

David Warnock, founder of The Warnock Family Foundation, has done exactly that. David, along with founding executive director Olga Maltseva, ask these tough questions, get to the root and make the necessary changes to move forward.

David did not grow up here. He is from Michigan. I ask him if he was hesitant to move here because Baltimore has “kind of a bad reputation.” I quickly realize that I may be contributing to the problem more than I know.

“That sort of gets at why I started this foundation in the first place – you said it has kind of a bad reputation. People lead with ‘it has a bad reputation,’ and it does have a bad reputation, but the reality is that we have two of the greatest hospital systems in the world, University of Maryland and Hopkins, right here in our city. In terms of Nobel Prize winners per capita I think we are in the top ten…It’s amazing – the talent we have in this city. And the Foundation, to some extent, is all about trying to change that culture of low expectations.”

“One of the biggest problems with a culture of low expectations is that people feel disconnected. They don’t have a place to go to ask the simplest questions like how to buy a car or open a bank account,” says David. He is currently addressing this problem by serving as chair of board of directors at The Center for Urban Families. The Center for Urban Families was founded in 1999 by Joseph T. Jones Jr. and has since become one of the nations top responsible fatherhood programs helping fathers emotionally and financially support their families. The program’s importance was affirmed on May 17 when President Obama paid a visit to CFUF during a tour of Baltimore.

CFUF maintains that one of the key components to responsible fatherhood is the ability to get a job. How can you provide for a family if you don’t have the basic skills to get a job? You may understand why you aren’t getting by, but once you understand that your basic skills aren’t up to par, that information has the power to change you.

Upon entering The Center for Urban Families men are given a basic test of skills. If basic skills aren’t what they need to be, it’s hard to get ahead. Here men can come in with a 2nd grade reading level and ‘get tuned up’ to and 8th or 9th grade reading level. Once their basic skills improve, their range of job opportunities improve. Once their job opportunities improve, the more likely it is that they will be able to provide for their families and, in turn, a sense of optimism and stability can be restored.

The CFUF also looks at the problems these families face and advocates for change in our policies. For instance, you may ask yourself, why would a young man with kids and a family who went to jail for a non violent crime like selling drugs continue to sell drugs after his release? It was actually found that our Child Support System is the root cause of this chain of events.

As this young man sits in jail, the child support debt begins to collect. Once he gets out he can get a real job to support his family, but the state is going to garnish 65% of that money. If he is even able to make ten dollars an hour he has to live on $3.50 an hour. Additionally, he can’t have a driver’s license and the state seizes his bank assets. How will he survive?

By doing the very thing that got him to jail in the first place.

Thus, The Child Support Incentive Program, the brainchild of the staff of CFUF, allows for past-owed debt to be eliminated to parents that have made two consecutive years of child support payments. Child support is treated like bad mortgage debt. By reducing its value and writing it off, these men finally have a chance to get ahead. Here, David talks in more detail about the issue at Ignite Baltimore:

David’s work at CFUF helped him to realize another problem in a culture of low expectations – the future generation. So how exactly do you challenge the culture of low expectations within a cohort of middle school and high school kids? How do you help them see a bigger, brighter future? You make them excited about learning. You make it mean something to them. If you are David, you might even create a school with a henhouse, tilapia farm, and a greenhouse in West Baltimore.

Green Street Academy, the creation of David and Lawrence M. Rivitz, is a public middle and high school that addresses the need for better schooling in Baltimore. By incorporating project-based learning into everyday subjects such as language arts and science, kids can work to address real-life needs like solving hunger in Baltimore. By connecting the school to the green economy through giving students 21st Century skills and workplace experience, the school ensures success in every student. “It’s viral when kids talk, they start believing in themselves. It’s not just the athletes that succeed,” explains David.

David’s work at CFUF has also inspired him to be involved as strategic advisor at Green JobWorks, a construction staffing company that connects men and women in workforce development programs with jobs at environmental firms. Green JobWorks has employed hundreds of men in green jobs such as asbestos and abatement. Green JobWorks places an emphasis on safety measures and as a result won the Association of Builders and Contractors award for missing zero days of work due to workplace injuries.

Not only does Green JobWorks serve to put men and women to work, but they do it while benefiting their employees. Workers get paid time off, paid certification and clients are encouraged to permanently hire employees.

The Warnock Foundation is also invested in restructuring philanthropy. Personally, I like to give but when I don’t know where my money is going, I am hesitant to do so. GiveCorps addresses this dilemma by creating an online platform where people can donate to specific causes.

Instead of donating to general programs, I can donate to causes within the programs, which makes it more meaningful to me. At this very moment I can donate towards planting oysters in the bay, helping Baltimore City girls play lacrosse, or educating city residents how to keep trash out of our waterways.

GiveCorps’ motto is that “you don’t have to be rich to be a Philanthropist.” It’s hard to find the money to give to charity when you are just starting out and I like the idea that I can donate $5 or $500. If supporting a worthy cause isn’t enough to motivate you, you get discounts from local merchants as a reward.

So at the end of the day, we might have a bad reputation, but if we all work together, if we find the reasons for this, we can reverse this culture of low expectations and change will happen. There are great things happening in our city every day.

Go ahead eat your cupcake, I know I will, and enjoy the rainbows life has to offer. When you’re done, check out the Warnock Family Foundation website. You will see a platform for people that are challenging a culture of low expectations and transforming our community into just the opposite.

All photos courtesy of Warnock Family Foundation. 

Call For Entry: Regional Juried Exhibition

Maryland Art Place (MAP) is seeking artists working in a diverse range of media for a Regional Juried Exhibition, opening September 19, 2013. The exhibition is intended to explore the contemporary, cultural climate of Maryland, Delaware and Pennsylvania. Submissions will initially be vetted by MAP’s Program Advisory Committee and juried by Kristen Hileman, the Curator of Contemporary Art and Department Head at the Baltimore Museum of Art.

More information and submission details on MAP’s website. (Please scroll down to 2013 Regional Juried Exhibition within Maportunities page.)
SUBMISSION DEADLINE: Friday, July 5, 2013 by 5pm

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Request For Proposals:IMPACT 2013

SITE: The Jewish Community Center of Greater Baltimore

MAP is now accepting applications for it’s 2^nd IMPACT project of 2013. IMPACT is a new, public art program developed to extend Maryland Art Place’s programming to broader audiences. Each IMPACT project is unique and developed based on the partnering site.

This summer MAP is partnering with the Jewish Community Center of Greater Baltimore (JCC). The JCC is offering their courtyard for an artist or team of artists to create an original outdoor installation. (see image)

The JCC promotes and strengthens Jewish life and values through communal programs and activities for individuals and families.

PROPOSAL DEADLINE: Saturday, June 15, 2013 by 5pm.

For more information about the JCC, submission guidelines (pdf.) and calls for entries please visit the MAP website.

            They made their way out of the parking deck into the frigid air. Henry dawdled at the rear behind the other half-dozen or so of his coworkers so he could watch some of the women in the group as their legs moved in their skirts.

            “I never used to pay for parking,” Kevin, one of the other members of the group, said.

            “The way I figure it,” Henry said, “I’m old enough, now, that I don’t mind paying for

convenience.”

            “Besides, we don’t want to be late,” one of the women said.

            “God forbid we’re late to the keynote speaker. They might not let us in the conference! We might have to spend the day at Miss Shirley’s!” Henry said, mock-seriously. “Or maybe go do something worthwhile,” he added.

            No one responded. Henry sighed as they all trudged along the street. His eyes moved from one of his female coworkers to the other. Soon, he grew bored and glanced along the streets as they passed. They were near the inner harbor. The air was choppy and frigid; he smelled snow. They’d gotten a couple inches the previous weekend. He could see his breath. There were a few other people walking briskly beside the heavily trafficked road. He heard a murmur from one of his coworkers and glanced to the front. Ahead, past the next streetlight, he saw several tents huddled in a bit of green.

            “What’s that?” he asked, but the light changed, and no one answered as they all rushed to cross.

            There were hand-lettered signs with political slogans in a pile near the tents. Through the thin nylon of some of the tents, they could see people moving. Some tents were sporty, professional-looking; others were ramshackle assemblages of wood and tarpaulin. There was a booth with a sign that read “Information” and others that offered goods and jewelry. One claimed to be a lending library. A couple people stood aimlessly in the makeshift community; they looked as though they’d just woken up. Henry was surprised that one of them was an older man with a thick, graying beard. Another was a young African American. There were a couple women.

            “I didn’t expect to see so many of them,” Mary, one of the older women in the group, said.

            “It’s a shame, because the movement is doomed,” Kevin said.

            “At least they’re doing something,” one of the younger women said.

            They continued chattering as they walked, but Henry quickly tuned them out. He kept glancing over his shoulder as the protestors woke and began to assemble. And then his group turned a corner and the tent-city was gone.

*          *          *

            They barely made the keynote speaker, but it didn’t matter, because he gave the same talk they’d seen on the video back at the office. After that, they broke into separate groups to attend the various workshops their manager had signed them up for. Henry sat in the back of his group for both of the ones before lunch, his eyes shifting from the back of one head to the next, his thoughts going back to the tent city.

            They gathered for lunch at a bar a little down and across the street. Henry’s coworkers talked about their workshops, complaints about work.

            “You know it snowed last weekend,” Henry said, apropos of nothing.

            “Yeah?” Kevin said.

            “So those Occupy guys; they were out there in the snow.”

            Everyone was quiet; several wore bemused expressions.

            “Yeah?” Kevin repeated.

            Henry shrugged. “Just must’ve been cold.”

            Kevin caught the eye of one of the younger women and both laughed.

            “Well then maybe they should go home,” Kevin said.

            Henry turned back to stare out the window.

            After lunch, they headed back to the convention center to start their next round of workshops. Henry begged out and went to the restroom. He walked in, but didn’t need to go. Instead, he stood in front of the sink, washing his hands until the other occupants finished and left. He took his time drying his hands, and when he emerged, the hallway was empty. He wandered into the open area and found one or two people sitting and typing on laptops or checking messages on their phones. None of them even looked up. He didn’t see anyone he recognized from the office. Ahead of him, the walls were glass. He could see the sidewalk and the street with traffic lurching past. He strolled over to the stairs and then down and to the doors they’d entered that morning.

            Outside, a breeze had picked up. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, he had to quickly abandon the ambling pace his distracted mind preferred and join the rush of pedestrian traffic. Without intending to, he soon found himself back at the tent city.

            The protestors were awake, now. Henry didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. Some of them manned the booths he’d seen before. A few stood talking to passersby, not aggressively at all. He heard laughter from one pair. Several were carrying signs and circling the perimeter of the camp, but they weren’t chanting, and they didn’t seem as angry as he’d expected. He left the sidewalk and went up to the nearest booth, which is the one that promised “Information.” It was occupied by an older lady who could’ve easily been a history teacher. She watched him and didn’t speak.

            “Cold,” Henry said.

            “Yes it is,” the woman said, still watching him.

            “I saw a cop at the light over there.” He pointed.

            The woman nodded. “That’s officer Dillis.”

            Henry looked at the woman. “I thought cops were attacking you guys and trying to drive you     out.”

            She smiled. “They haven’t done that here.”

            He nodded slowly. “How long have you been here?”

            The woman looked off to the side while she considered. “Oh, about three months, give or take.”

            “Really? I just heard about you guys the other day.” She started to reply, but he cut her off. “Don’t you have a job or a family?”

            “I was laid off.”

            He nodded. “Sorry,” he mustered.

            “That’s why I’m here.”

            “Huh.” His face settled into a sneer.

            The woman said, simply, “I just want a better world for my grandkids.”

            “Right,” Henry said. “Thanks,” he added and made his way over to the “Lending Library.” The older man with the thick, gray beard Henry had seen earlier greeted him. “You got a copy of the Communist Manifesto?” Henry asked with a smile.

            The man shook his head. “Doubt it.” He motioned towards a couple boxes full of books. “Mostly mysteries and best-sellers. You’re welcome to look, though.”

            Henry nodded at the man and moved on. He looked around and noticed the young African American from earlier was watching him. The man nodded at Henry. Henry wandered over to a table where a couple of young hippi-types were selling jewelry, but the man kept staring at him. Finally, he went over.

            “Here to join up?” the man said.

            “This looks more like a flea market than a protest,” Henry said, trying to smile

            “Folks’ve got to eat.”

            Henry studied the man. “I guess.” He looked around. The protestors he could see were all dressed conservatively, if not shabbily.

            “Skipping work?” the man said.

            Henry turned to him with a grin. “That obvious?”

            The man nodded. “Yeah.”

            “What about you?”

            “Unemployed.” He didn’t smile.

            “So why are you guys here?” Henry said. It felt like a faux pas, but he didn’t know what else to say.

            “Why do you think we’re here?” the man countered.

            Henry cocked his head to the side. “Honestly?”

            “Yes, please be honest.”

            Henry looked around again. “Nothing better to do. Maybe you’re trying to get a handout from the government or get famous or something.” He caught the man’s eye and hurriedly corrected himself. “Listen, I get it. I’d quit my job and hang out if I could.”

            “I was laid off,” the man said.

            Henry nodded. “Right. No, I get that. If I got laid off, I mean…who wants to find another job, right? When you can hang out on unemployment.”

            Color rose in the man’s cheeks. “I put in seventy-three applications after I was laid off. I went door-to-door. Everyone here did. We’re not ‘hanging out.’ And my unemployment ran out months ago.”

            Henry raised his hands. “Right, no, sorry. I didn’t mean—“

            The man cut him off. “I have a wife and daughter at home, and all of our savings go to diapers and formula. And they’re just about gone.”

            “Yeah, yeah. It’s hard, man. It’s hard.” Henry backed away. 

            The man took a step after him but then let him go. Henry hurried back past the booths and back into the flow of pedestrians. He let them carry him back to the conference center.

            He arrived just in time to join the last workshop. He tried to focus, and actually took notes for some of it. Afterwards, he rejoined his coworkers as they left to return to their cars. Henry felt his heart race as they passed the tent-city. He looked for the black man, but didn’t see him.

            “What exactly do they want to accomplish?” Kevin asked no one in particular.

            “Something different,” Henry said. “Change.”

            “Change?” Kevin scoffed. “Let’s just sit back and watch how well that goes.”

            “I think that’s the point,” Henry said, carefully. “I think they’re tired of sitting back and watching.”

            Kevin didn’t respond. No one else spoke as they made their way back to their cars.

Bill Shore is the founder and chief executive officer of Share Our Strength, a national nonprofit that is working to end childhood hunger in America. Shore founded Share Our Strength in 1984 with his sister Debbie and a $2,000 cash advance on a credit card. Since then, Share Our Strength has raised and invested more than $315 million in the fight against hunger, and has won the support of national leaders in many fields ranging from governors, including Maryland’s Martin O’Malley, to Oscar winning actor Jeff Bridges.

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)

A school of oysters shuffled over my head. Fifteen stories above ground, I was surrounded by an array of gears and metal rods that stood silhouetted against twenty-four foot clock faces. The crackle of a circuit breaker interrupted the sonorous music echoing around the room as I watched the audience members’ eyes rise to the spinning image of an orange projected high up on the wall. At a one-night-only event at the Bromo Seltzer Arts Tower (BSAT), a combination of improvisatory music and video projection created an otherworldly space in the Tower’s clock chamber. The rain outside was coming down hard.

Time is a Milk Bowl resulted from a collaboration between visual artist Zoe Friedman and Baltimore music group Peals. Friedman’s past work has involved intricate cut-paper objects and Mandela-like composites of natural forms. The ethereal romance in her work is also a focus of Baltimore music duo Peals–William Cashion and Bruce Willen–who create atmospheric instrumental music with a variety of instruments. At Milk Bowl, Cashion and Willen controlled an array of effects pedals, alongside instruments like a toy piano and tambourine. Towards the end of a year-long studio residency at the BSAT, Friedman invited Peals to collaborate in the building’s most iconic space, the interior of the hundred-year-old tower’s clock chamber.

All images and video courtesy of Zoe Friedman, 2013

With a brief reign as Baltimore’s tallest building from 1911 to 1923, the Bromo-Seltzer clock tower adorned the manufacturing center for Bromo-Seltzer antacids. Its four clock faces radiated above downtown Baltimore, illuminated by a series of mercury-vapor lamps. The tower was once topped with a fifty-one foot rotating Bromo-Seltzer bottle whose twenty ton glowing blue shape could been seen for twenty miles. According to the BSAT website, it was removed in 1963 due to structural concerns.

The clocktower shone a new light this April, as the fleeting performance of Milk Bowl pointed toward the possibility of more interdisciplinary and site-specific arts programming in Baltimore. Occurring towards the end of Friedman’s year long residency at the BSAT, Milk Bowl felt like a love letter to a place.

All attendees at the performances on April 19 (one early evening, one late night) signed a waiver at the ground floor entrance assuming responsibility for any injuries sustained in the lofty clock chamber. A cramped antique elevator and a flight of near vertical stairs heightened the drama of the nighttime climb up to the tower. Fifteen stories up, the slow moving clockwork didn’t seem particularly dangerous, but then again, given the weather, a dramatic lightening strike didn’t seem entirely out of the question.

The performance lasted about half an hour with Peals keeping the audience adrift in a sea of sustained guitar textures and ambient synthesizers. The clock chamber was inky black, and people crowded together along the narrow walkway beside one of the stone walls. Above the heads of the audience, nestled between the tower’s four clock faces, a medley of videos created by Friedman played from seven projectors mounted throughout the room on narrow beams and metal staircases.

Each of the videos in Time is a Milk Bowl alternated between graphic animated patterns and intimate actions performed with natural objects like oranges and oyster shells. Glimpsed through the patchwork of clock machinery, oranges spun like globes as they shed their rinds and oyster shells wobbled across tables. Friedman gave life to the objects in her videos by animating a series of still photographs, giving a stuttering wobble to the mundane actions and impossible feats.

Anonymous hands occasionally manipulated these objects, often stirring a bowl of milk and ink. The white and black liquids swirling around the bowl were the most prominent vignette in the videos, creating Rorschach spirals that echoed the circular shapes of the enormous clock faces. Views of the bowl echoed the circular shapes of the enormous clock faces, and other videos of rotating moons and oranges that eventually revealed themselves to be full of pearls. Everywhere, it seemed, were circles.

Compared to the abstract bombast of most concert projections, Friedman’s animations were startlingly representational, even hinting at a narrative as the anonymous hands went through their strange rituals. These scenes and movements had a determined care about them that mirrored the handcrafted nature of the stop motion animation. Even when the hands were not in frame, their presence was still felt through the stuttering movement of the oranges, oysters, and other natural forms.

Peals underpinned these videos with continuous droning and carefully selected aural textures, until the show’s finale, when recognizable melodies finally peaked out from under the waves of ambient sound. Cashion and Willen sat in the center of the room, surrounded by clockwork and moving images, their minimal tones letting the audience focus their eyes on the optical feast of projected images and clockwork.

A surprising highlight of the performance was the periodic sparking of a large circuit breaker, or some such machinery. I was later told that these sparks had something to do with the elevator–which makes me wonder if all elevators have boxes of sparking electricity somewhere above them. The flashes of electrical current from this refrigerator-sized device punctuated the traditional instruments’ tones with audible crackling and served as a reminder that we were visitors inside a machine.

The music’s twinkling toy pianos and reverb-soaked guitars were familiar sounds that didn’t do much more than establish a mood, but it seemed that Peals and Friedman were both trying to conjure a transcendent atmosphere amid the building’s aged mechanics. The revolving milk bowls and moons of Friedman’s videos directed my attention to the Tower’s clock faces, focusing on the notion of time while Peals’ music suspended me in a wordless limbo. As ink dripped into the titular milk bowl, the performance’s swirling audio/visual menagerie posed a question: Could this transcendent atmosphere overcome the architectural confines of the clock chamber? Can something as impenetrable as time be suspended by a creative act? The minutes ticked away as the music whorled on.

I wondered if it was really possible for a contemporary audience to be transported into this kind of mystic headspace. The dancing objects in Friedman’s videos were animated by an otherworldly energy, but one that felt familiar, replete with the beautiful angelic music expected to accompany the sublime. Despite these traditional strategies, idyllic theatrics brought a sense of life into a space often seen and understood only from the outside.

The clock chamber was actually one of the more magical elements of the night. It’s astoundingly complex machinery served as a reminder of hidden mechanisms supporting the ordinary world, just as Friedman’s videos revealed an enchantment behind mundane objects. Milk Bowl drew attention to the aged beauty of the clock chamber, proving that the material could be just as transcendent as ethereal.

The BSAT clock chamber is a fantastic venue for installations and performances. I hope the Baltimore art community can continue to use similar sites to explore its relationship to the city’s architectural and industrial history. Milk Bowl represented a unique crossing of artistic fields, and Friedman’s art benefited from its separation from a gallery context just as much as Peals’ music did from taking a supporting role in an interdisciplinary event. Whether or not Friedman and Peals continue to collaborate, I hope Baltimore’s historic buildings can play host to similar events in the future.

—-

Benjamin Andrew is graduating this month with an 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 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. For more information, please contact marcus@whatweekly.com.

footage 07 from Zoe Friedman on Vimeo.

Belle Air from Zoe Friedman on Vimeo.