Ross Jam

Ross Jam from michael scully on Vimeo.

Planet Forward meeting

BRISTOL, RI __ At 5 p.m., Thursday, I'm hosting a Planet Forward recruitment night for students who may be interested in the project.

Here's the promotional video from the last cycle:

Planet Forward Redux!

MIDDLETOWN, RI __ Planet Forward 2.0 is about to launch again and I'm writing now to build the buzz. In a few days, we will likely host a recruitment night just to see who's interested in helping with the next cycle of Planet Forward.

Now, if you missed it, Planet Forward is about sustainability. The idea is to produce a series of videos about the environment, which will be presented to PBS. Ideally, PBS will choose the best video and include them in a national program by the same name which is set to air in April. As before, Frank Sesno is leading the charge.

Here at Roger Williams, the plan is to try and recreate the energy that inspired the last team to be so productive. We were given the task of producing four videos; instead, we produced 18. Yeah, we overachieved a little. Clearly, the success here was borne from the fact that we captured the students' imaginations and inspired them to grow.  The work was wonderful.

In this cycle, I do have some things working in my favor. First, one of my teammates is returning: Stephen DePasquale says he's ready for another round; and my partner in crime, Judi Johnson, says she's up for more. From that foundation, we'll add more talent to the pool.

We need artists, musicians, dancers, singers, poets, painters, scientists, computer wizards, thinkers. The idea is to gather a multi-disciplined team of thinkers and to get them working together. Something akin to fusion jazz. Just throw all the instruments in the mix and watch what comes of it.

So there you go. Stay tuned.

[where: 02842]

Campus Traffic

BRISTOL, RI __ Shot some video from my office window and then laid some Garage Band music underneath it.

Neutral Tones

By Thomas Hardy

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro--
On which lost the more by our love.

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing....

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.

The Warwick Valley Diaspora

MIDDLETOWN, RI __ In June 1983, it broke down this way.
         They asked us to line up and, marching in pairs of two, they pressed us through the commencement process. I don't remember who the valedictorian was, and I haven't a clue who delivered the keynote address.
         When it was over, I moved through the crowd of blue and white gowns towards the cafeteria to surrender my rented nylon dress. It was here that I ran into Danny Sweetman and his cohorts, graduates all, now sipping liberally from a mason jar. Sure, we lived close enough to have neighbors who carved along the ridges of the southern Catskills into New York City, but still, there were many farmers among us.
         Danny Sweetman was one of them and his hobby, when he could get to it, was loading a homemade-still with apple puree that, after reaching a critical boiling point, would clarify into this crystal white elixer he called "Apple Jack." I called it "Sweetman Swill."
         Now, here we were, newly graduated, standing in the parking lot pinned between tired pickup trucks and rusty American-made sedans taking turns slurping from this mason jar. I can still see their faces, flush from the nearly-pure alcohol content, as Danny smiled, proud of his home brew.
         When the jar made its way around the circle to me, I took my turn, taking a healthy swallow of the homemade communion wine. And then I handed it along.
         I'm sure I thanked Danny, and the boys for the moment, before evaporating into the day. It wasn't until I had surrendered my gown, and said goodbye to a handful of friends that I realized that maybe I should have lingered just long enough for another turn at the drinking circle.
         Instead, I wandered off into the day.
         Here I am, 25 years later, in Rhode Island recalling these moments, longing for another gulp of Danny Sweetman's sweet elixer, and for the union we shared very briefly in the opening moments of our diaspora.
         Of course, the circle is long broken, the miles long and hard, and the scars on my hands, deep and soulful. And yet, I wonder, why were we in such a hurry to break away? Why were we in such a hurry to press off into the afternoon sun? And will there ever be another moment to simply stand and take in the sweet moments of innocence and hope?

[where: 02842]