Anne McKim

Arts Council sets reopen date, announces summer programming changes

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Arts Council sets reopen date, announces summer programming changes

The Arts Council of Southwestern Indiana will reopen the Bower-Suhrheinrich Foundation Gallery on June 16, following state guidelines for cultural and entertainment venues.

There are several changes to the Arts Council’s summer programming, including the annual Arts Awards celebration, “On the Roof” music series, First Fridays and gallery exhibits.

“We’ve taken safety measures seriously and have worked remotely since March 15. I’m proud of the virtual content the staff has created, and the high numbers of arts engagement we’ve seen through our digital platforms,” said Anne McKim, Executive Director of the Arts Council. “Our continued caution is a reflection of our commitment to the health of the entire community, although we, like so many people, long for the return of in-person arts and culture.”

The annual Arts Awards celebration has been canceled. The fundraiser for the Arts Council celebrated artists and organizations in individual categories, including the prestigious Mayor’s Art Award. The event will return next year.

Gallery shows will resume on June 16 with an exhibition of art created during the stay at home order, “Unsheltered.” The exhibit will run through July 31. Information about a public reception for the show will be announced at a later date as the staff evaluates cleaning and safety policy.

The “On the Roof” outdoor music series that takes place on the gallery’s roof in Downtown Evansville will begin on June 20 with performances by Corduroy Orbison, Calabash and Nero Angelo. The Arts Council will follow appropriate social distancing practices, and the concert attendance will be limited to 50. Participants are encouraged to wear facemasks. The lineup for the rest of the “On the Roof” season will be announced soon.

Haynie’s Corner First Fridays, a collaboration of the Haynie’s Corner Art District Association and the Arts Council, scheduled for June 5 and July 3 are canceled due to state guidelines on gatherings or more than 250 people.

The Arts Council will continue to offer virtual content, including exhibits, videos and articles, on its website at artswin.org and on its social media accounts.

Published May 7, 2020

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Anne McKim: Sheltered in Place. Day 32.

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First: I miss you. 

We walk for an hour every day. “Taking a walk” is different: it’s a casual, unthinking thing that describes weekend morning trips to the coffee shop and evening strolls. Walking, now – for our quarantined family – is a necessity. I wear a backpack, as if we were hiking, stocked with hand sanitizer and face masks. My children know the drill: Sunscreen, bathroom, shoes with laces (we learned the hard way that sandals, full bladders, and fair skin aren’t ideal for urban exploration).

You can cover a lot of ground in an hour, and living downtown, we have.  Mansions on First Street quickly became boring, and the Greenway is reserved (for us) as “biking only.” We prefer to walk the streets named after presidents, and through the industrial remains of Evansville’s urban core. 

Everything is blooming. 

My husband jokes (only to the children, who already have plenty of fodder for teasing me, but who else can he joke with these days?) that I can’t walk half a block without saying “Oh! Guys! Look at those azaleas [insert any flower/shrub/tree]!” Everything is blooming and lovely, and everyday we leave the house at noon and walk and walk, and see it all. 

We don’t track distance, only time. We MUST walk at least that hour, an arbitrary benchmark that I cling to. It’s too easy, in our collective current state, to feel simultaneously disconnected from the rest of the world and beholden to it. Alienated but also far too intimate. Walking through Evansville connects us to something. Anchors us to something. 

I miss you. I love you.

This is how I try to end all conversations these days. It comes more naturally with some friends than others. (One notoriously unsentimental but very dear friend may stop speaking to me if I don’t stop reminding her that she’s loved.) I miss you and I love you. Saying it connects us, anchors us to a life before sheltering in place, when I didn’t have to miss you, when love was expressed in person. 

Stay well, friends. Read, create, wash your hands and wear a mask. I miss you and I love you. 

Anne McKim is the Executive Director of the Arts Council of Southwestern Indiana.

Published April 15, 2020.

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Anne McKim: Required reading

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Anne and the “Paycheck Protection Program” monster

I’ve been in the trenches this week with the “Paycheck Protection Program,” as well as local grant applications, leaving very little time (or mental energy) for creativity. So, this week instead of sharing something I’ve written, here are a few things that I think you absolutely must read.

April is National Poetry Month, and while there are so, so, so many poems I love, it’s essential that you all read “Shoulders” by Naomi Shihab Nye immediately. Right now. Before you finish reading this post. I was so moved by this poem when I first encountered it a few years ago that I wrote it in sharpie on a scrap piece of foam core and mounted it in my children’s bedroom, so they would have to stare at it every night and, subsequently, memorize it. (It worked!) In a time of global crisis, “Shoulders” should be required reading.

Please also read ‘”Just’ Children” by Adam Zagajewski. If you have a little time, read about the poet, Adam Zagajewski, or order his brilliant book of essays, “A Defense of Ardor.” 

Finally, for several months I’ve been telling everyone to read “The Great Believers” by Rebecca Makkai. Jumping back and forth between Chicago in 1985 and present day Paris, the book changed my understanding of the AIDS crisis, and draws brilliant connections between the idea of losing a generation to war, to AIDS, or to terrorism. Reading about a pandemic during a pandemic might seem mildly masochistic, but I promise you won’t be able to put “The Great Believers” down. (Plus, there’s also an art mystery!)

Read and stay well, friends.  

Anne

Anne McKim is the Executive Director of the Arts Council of Southwestern Indiana.

Published: April 8, 2020

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Anne McKim: First post and a poem

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Zach Evans, the Arts Council of Southwestern Indiana’s Director of Marketing and Community Projects, suggested that each staff member write a weekly blog post during this time of virtual programming and virtual connection. Great idea, and easy enough: This is a chance to share with Arts Council friends who we are, the art that excites us, or why we’re so committed to this organization. 

My posts will be published on Tuesday mornings. At 10:30 p.m. on Monday night, and after several rewrites, here’s what I have so far:

Anne Blog.
Angle Nob.
Non Bagel.
Long Bean.
Bon Angel.

As it turns out, writing blogs doesn’t come easily to me. (This is not good. No one wants to disappoint Zach.)

It’s been a long time — a very long time — since I last wrote for pleasure, which is, really, part of this project. Zach, Andrea Adams (our Gallery Director) and I aren’t just sharing our thoughts through these posts, we’re intentionally encouraging each other to flex our own dormant creative muscles — the muscles that we spend our professional (and often personal) time, energy, and resources celebrating in others. And, as I type it, that is why I love the Arts Council.

It’s incredibly hard to create, to communicate, to make something from nothing. It’s incredibly humbling to be as vulnerable as one is when sending a message out to the world. Every single day, the Arts Council displays work or provides a venue for performances by the people doing just that, Every. Single. Day.

So, in honor of all of the vulnerable and persistent and audacious artists that we work with, I’m doing something that I’ve never done before: sharing a piece of writing that I put myself into, that I care about. *takes deep breath* Here it goes:

Rory Poem:

My boy does not want your ladder.

No hard feelings- He doesn’t want mine.  

Safely secured, 
Belayer in place, 
My son freezes, hangs limp against the rock.

A wall, though, or a tree.  
The garden shed.  
Counter tops and bed frames and roofs of cars,

Vines and stop signs.

Perhaps a ladder – but only one left unattended.  

This child manipulates gravity 
to control bedtime and pizza toppings 
and every moment 
of standing and falling
in line 
every day
every day
every day.

Sinewy-young-boy-muscles propel him upward, ever upward,  

We’re left to follow him  
with eyes from below.  

_________

And now I’m off to begin the first of 12 to 15 rewrites of next week’s blog post.  Fortunately I have plenty of time on my hands these days… 🙂

Posted: Tuesday, March 31, 2020.

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