Rubin Museum of Art

Access @ the Rubin Museum

Announcing the launch of a new video series entitled, Access @ the Rubin Museum. This series aims to offer engaging, accessible video content around our exhibitions, tours, and programs. The first episodes cover the Gateway to Himalayan Art exhibition, and can be seen on our website here: www.rmanyc.org/access. 

Below, Ashley Mask, Manager of Access Programs here at the museum, interviews Guthrie Nutter, one of our talented Deaf Guides, about his background and what it was like to collaborate on the launch of this new series! 

What is your background? (Not limited to museums) 

My childhood in Oregon has given me a great affinity for things great and small in nature.  Living in New York for the past 14 years is no exception.  I’m a freelancer working as an American Sign Language (ASL) educator, museum guide, and as a consultant within theatre and language.  I fill in the spaces between with opportunities to go on adventures; in May 2012, I will be tornado chasing in Oklahoma, followed by backpacking hundreds of miles by foot in California’s Sierra Nevadas.  (see www.guthrienutter.com for details!)  

How long have you been working with the Rubin Museum of Art?

Since 2009.  

What do you enjoy about your work with our collection?

When audiences see key Rubin Museum of Art concepts come to life through the visual imagery of ASL, it’s a beautiful moment.  The tours here become a living thing; the shared experience of ‘experiencing’ the works together sets it apart from a typical lecture-driven tour.

There are now several examples of museum access programs posting access videos online. What are your thoughts about this trend? 

Through this technological ingenuity, linguistic barriers are cast aside - putting both ASL-users and non-ASL-users on even parity with each other.  It’s a great social equalizer where wonderful dialogues between peoples of different backgrounds can share experiences mutually.  This is a wonderful thing that we’ve all been waiting for.  

What are the benefits of making this sort of video? For the museum or for the community of ASL users?

It opens up the museum to bring in newer audiences and opens the opportunity for a greater conversation with the museum’s patrons, and enriches RMA’s mission statement.  ASL users now have access to a greater range of cultural exchange and vocabulary.

What was it like to craft your tour experience for the camera? 

It was a blast!  It is a wonderful nexus where both passions for art and performance were merged together onto one platform.

Ten Questions with Howard Fishman

You’ve worked hard to get where you are today. Tell us a little bit about your beginnings?

Much of what I know about music I learned from my years in New Orleans — playing on the street, listening to and playing with a lot of the old timers down there, and eventually forming my first band. The things that stuck don’t have anything to do with the practical discipline of playing music. Instead, I internalized some real imperatives: authenticity of feeling; an open mind; being present with the audience; exuberance; humility.

What was it like for you to play in NYC subways?

Playing in the subways, or the streets, or anywhere where people are not necessarily there to hear you, is one of the greatest ways to learn about performing because it’s one of the most honest. It’s a trial by fire. Getting up in front of a crowd of strangers on a regular basis (for me, it was daily) is an entirely different experience from sitting in your apartment playing scales and practicing runs. If you can make a connection with people as a street musician, that’s a big deal. When I began playing on the subway platforms, with the guys who would become my first band, people would stop and listen and let a bunch of trains come and go before they got on their way. That’s when we know we were on to something.

Are there things you miss about being a street performer?

Connecting with little kids. As adults, we’re often in a hurry — especially in New York. We’re preoccupied. There’s noise in our heads. Small children don’t have that stuff to deal with yet — they’re in the moment, and the way they respond to live music is just magical. Their eyes light up, their jaws drop, they dance, or they just get hypnotized. It’s one of the things I miss most about playing in the streets — parents don’t bring their kids to the evening shows enough. I wish they would.

Your work is quite multi-faceted. How do you organize your influences and inspirations into a fluent composition?

None of that happens on a conscious level. I get a melody in my head, I play it on the piano or guitar, I add some nice sounding chords, and then I try to put some words to it. When the structure is there and the words are ready, I take it out for a spin with whomever I’m performing with, and it tends to morph and twist depending on who’s on the gig. One night it might have some country flavors, another night it might become a tango or a gritty rock waltz. I always say that a good song is like a well-made boat. You never know which way the wind is going to be blowing, or what the water is going to do that day or when and where you might run aground. If the boat is solid, it will hold up, and adapt accordingly.

You are often called an “experimental” musician/song writer. What does the term “experimental” mean to you?

I like that a lot, when people refer to me in an experimental context. To me, it means that I’m doing something right. I think that one of an artist’s most important jobs is to shake up expectations and ideas, both the audience’s and one’s own.

The Rubin Museum is a Himalayan art museum. What is your relationship to Himalayan art?

First of all, I love the Rubin Museum and its collection. Every time I visit, I experience feelings of great warmth and serenity. I’m intensely curious about most kinds of spiritual practices and disciplines — at least, the kinds that have at their core the desire to live a life of humility, dignity, respect, self-awareness, acceptance, forgiveness, gratitude and being of service.

How do you think contemporary artists can learn or gain inspiration from these ancient works?

Any time artists are exposed to work that is not self-serving, I think that’s a good thing. Also, it’s such a joy to experience art that was created without any sense of the marketplace, or commercial concerns. It’s life-affirming and soul-affirming.

Does music, for you, ever cross the line between religion and entertainment?

Yes, often. I may have a looser definition of religion than some. Or maybe it’s just more literal. The word religion comes from the Latin “religare” — to bind together again, which suggests that we were once together and have somehow drifted apart. Music does this — CAN do this. So, yes, I approach all of my performances with this in mind. It’s what I’m after, to connect with the people I’m performing with, with the audience, with myself, and — ideally — with the universe at large. It’s a tall order, I know, but it happens more often than not.

Your music is often described by critics as “rustic”, “ancient”, “anachronistic” and “timeless.” Who or what motivates this connection with non-contemporary music?

I’m interested in music — it doesn’t matter to me when it was made, who made it, where they lived, or what instruments they used to communicate it.

It’s true that I began as something of a purist — something I’m not too proud of, but at least now I can laugh at that younger, more serious version of myself. In terms of popular music, when I first started out I thought that all the good songs had already been written — that there was no need for anyone to write any more new songs. Then one day I woke up and realized I was being an idiot – that if you’re playing old music, the apogee of your expression is going to be recreating what someone else has already done just as well or better. You can’t improve on dead music. No one is going to write a better piano rag than Scott Joplin. No one is going to play gypsy-jazz guitar better than Django. No one is going to play Texas swing better than Bob Wills and The Texas Playboys. Sure, you can play in one of those styles, but the best you’re ever going to do is to approximate someone else’s brilliance.

When I realized this, I did a complete 180 and began listening to ONLY contemporary music, completely disregarding older styles. That was about ten years ago. Since that time, I’d like to think I’ve arrived at a more balanced, holistic approach, where I can listen to and be inspired by any music made at any time without discrimination. I have little patience for revivalists, however, and even less for nostalgia peddlers. Please, make your own music.

Do you intend for listeners to walk away from your concerts with visual images?

My only intention is to help facilitate an experience in which the veneer of the everyday minutia we all deal with is set aside for a moment, and room is made to instead consider and honor those things that run much deeper, that make us human. I want my concerts to transport us away from the mundane — to give us hope, to raise up our spirits, to plunge us down into our deepest emotions and lift us up again as a community, even if only for an hour or so. If listeners walk away with anything, I would hope that it’s that feeling of connection — with themselves and with the world. That’s what I’m after.

Naked Soul: Howard Fishman Performs this Friday!

Friday, March 23 at 7:00 p.m. | Buy Tickets

A pioneer of the Brooklyn music scene, Fishman “brings a feeling to a room that is reunion-like. Everyone there is part of a community…it can’t be helped.” (11211 Magazine)
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“Have Faith” Photo by Brennan Cavanaugh