I started out creating sound experiments while in high school, circa 1980 with circuit bent hardware and a cheap Casio keyboard.
I then entered the working world and forgot all about making music. Fast forward 30+ years, and the itch to make experimental music overtook me again, but now technology had changed drastically. I no longer needed hardware. I discovered apps on my iPhone, and music platforms like SoundCloud and Bandcamp were all that I needed. I was immediately obsessed.
Within a couple years, I had filled over seven free SoundCloud accounts, and two Bandcamp albums as well as an artist page with experimental music, and having a great time doing it. But, I started to grow tired of using the same software.

I yearned to use hardware/instruments again, but not being able to play an instrument is a definite hindrance 🙂 I searched for cheap keyboards on the net. I soon discovered the “Stylophone” and ordered one ‘sight unseen’. It was unique, inexpensive and fun, but quite limited in sound variety. I started mixing the Stylophone with app produced sounds/music, as well as other “found sounds”. (I really appreciate the functionality of software based mixing apps, which are almost essential to my creations these days). I then stumbled upon a couple of user videos of the Hyve synthesizer, and knew I had to have it. It was clearly non-musician friendly (and looked so different, cool and fun).
Then came the disappointment …
You can’t buy one! (BUT I HAD TO HAVE ONE!!!) Turns out, the engineer/designer guru behind this awesome device (Skot Wiedmann), had (Hard to believe but it’s been almost a decade since I made this trip!) work shops in the Chicago area, and you can go build your own, ( very inexpensively ). I knew what I had to do. I looked at a map, saw that Chicago was about 8 hours away from me here in Ontario, Canada and realized that I had to go build it. I started to plan the trip. I knew that a fellow SoundCloud musician and Facebook friend (Leslie Rollins) lived in Berrien Springs, Michigan, about 2 hours outside of Chicago.

This presented a twofold opportunity. I could hopefully, meet Leslie face to face, and hopefully have a place to spend the night. I contacted Les and everything was A-OK! I purchased a ticket to build my Hyve, and started to plan my road trip. The workshop was going to be from Noon to 3pm, on a Saturday in late September in a cool space called Lost Arts in Chicago.
I had the whole week off from work, because I was overseeing a contractor doing extensive yard work at my house all week, and I was hoping to leave Friday so as to arrive at Leslie’s place in the late afternoon or early evening, spend the night, and leave for the workshop Saturday morning. Alas, plans rarely work as hoped.
The contractor wasn’t finished until Friday afternoon, and Les wasn’t getting home from a business trip until late Friday night.
New plan! Early to bed Friday. Early to rise Saturday (2:30 am), and depart for Leslie’s place in Michigan. It was an easy drive, and I got to Berrien Springs (a beautiful sleepy little university village) around 8:30 am. Met Leslie, and got to trade stories over a great breakfast in a local cafe. Then, I quickly admired Leslie’s impressive modular synth racks at his home studio “Convolution Atelier” and then left for “Lost Arts” in Chicago.
Lost Arts is located in a cool old industrial complex.
The workshop provided everyone with a surface mount board with the touchpad on one side, and components layout on the back. A sheet listing components and placement was also handed out, along with tiny plastic tweezers. Everyone then had their component side “pasted” with a solder paste applied through a pierced template, in a process similar to silk screening. Everyone then started to receive their very tiny components from the parts list. Following the placement locations, the components (chips, capacitors, resistors, etc) were set into their pasted areas with the tweezers (magnification and extra lighting was a must). Once all the components were placed, they were carefully “soldered” into place by simply holding a heat gun over each component until the solder on the board had adhered it. Once this was done, everyone had their 9v battery and line-out jacks hand soldered into place by Skot , and then … the moment of truth, Skot tested each one for proper operation.
It was a fascinating process and great experience.
I met a lot of cool people at the workshop, both builders and staff/helpers! I can’t say enough what a fantastic experience this was, and what an awesome, diverse and versatile device the Hyve is. I doubted my sanity when planning this trip, but it turned out to be very rewarding!
Leslie and I then went back to Michigan, stopped at a local brewery in Berrien Springs (Cultivate) and sampled a few of their excellent brews, and then proceeded to Convolution Atelier to play with Leslie’s modular system. (I’m a newbie to all things modular, and I received a great crash course from Leslie on his very cool array!) Then it was out to dinner with Leslie and his wonderful wife Lisa, and finally back to their house where I stayed for the night, and finally hit the road towards home the next morning. It truly was a great adventure! For the Silo, Mike Fuchs.

Ben Miller/ Gary Snyder Fine ArtMiller will bring his artistic vision to life during the art fair. His team will travel to CRIT’s Ahakhav Tribal Preserve to photograph and video the portion of the river that runs through the Preserve. On March 19 as Scottsdale Art Week begins, Miller will be on site at Scottsdale Art Week to begin Fly Cast Painting on a six foot by eight foot by one inch block of plexiglass weighing 300 pounds that will be on a special easel. Those attending will see Miller create the artwork as the painting emerges on the other side of the plexiglass. On Friday March 20th the finished work will be on display. A portion of sales will go to CRIT. Recently, CRIT has taken the bold step to acknowledge personhood status for the Colorado River which protects it under Tribal Law.







As an artist you will be the recipient of rejection letters and emails.

































































This concern, of course, is not unique and strikes at the heart of something that all those in creative professions fear and must face. The ownership of ideas is difficult to prove. If you tell someone your plan in confidence and they, in turn, use it for their own purposes, there is very little you can do to show that you are the originator. Spreading this rumor is likely to make you look like the bad guy. It’s no wonder that this sort of generosity is cause for concern.
But what about sharing your networks or some trade secrets that helped you get to where you are today? While you may have worked tooth and nail for everything you’ve gained, there were surely people along the way who said yes at the right moment and assisted your progress. No one can ask more than this, and as an artist of a certain standing, there is nothing wrong with offering this sort of help.
No one exists in a vacuum. Even you, who may have scraped and fought your way to where you are today, benefited from the acceptance and help of others. Sure, you may have pounded the pavement endlessly in order to secure your position but that is no reason not to pay forward the success you have achieved. It is too easy to forget, once you have achieved a certain status, the myriad small moments that led you there. While it may seem as though hardly anyone was out to help you in the early days, surely there were some, otherwise you could not be where you are today. Even if it was just a few gallerists who were finally willing to take a chance, there are always rungs of assistance in the ladder to every success, no matter how small.
For these reasons, there is a lot to be said for good old-fashioned face-to-face interaction. Being the sort of artist who is willing to mentor in the real world sets you apart. Establishing this sort of reputation, for being the one who will gladly share the bounty you have created, seldom reverses one’s own success and frequently opens new doors you may never have considered.
Arguably, there is no such thing as original art. Even some of the most contemporary artists’ work is derivative of past creations. Marina Abramovic, in her unique style, has absolutely drawn from (and occasionally been accused of copying) works by other artists. Pablo Picasso (and perhaps more famously, Steve Jobs who quoted him) said, “good artists copy, great artists steal.” This doesn’t mean that you should open yourself up to idea theft, but it does mean that perhaps being stingy with your concepts, your network, your position as an established artist, doesn’t count for as much security as you might think. Be smart about things, but in general, it is always a good idea to reach down the ladder and help those coming up behind you find the next rung. For the Silo, Brainard Carey.




If you could choose just one photo exhibit to see all year, it would have to be 


Over 15,000 photos later, Hurban Vortex sees the light of day. The ensemble of artistic, esthetic and human adventure are at the core of the triptych that represents his works: Origins corresponds to 2009 (present), the period of an oblivious, profligate, consumerism-driven world. Collapse takes us into 2011 (future)…Fukushima, with its worldwide impact. The glasses and gas masks worn by the humans represent the man-made destruction of a world as we had known it before and which will never be the same. And in Post we find ourselves in an urban landscape filled with waste and shattered ruins. But people are no longer wearing their blinders… Maybe there is hope after all that cities may disappear but humans are still around? Or does the urban jungle always win in the end? You decide, because it is your personal interpretation, after an intense dialogue with the image… exactly what Boris Wilensky wants.
What the viewer sees, is how this artist sees the world – not in the literal but figurative sense. But he does not dictate, he suggests. He considers himself a storytelling portraitist first and foremost, and an urban photographer second. As you look at his large-size pictures (180 x 120 cm), the image in front of you transforms from a flat canvas to a three-dimensional scenography. You are drawn in, pulled onto a stage, you become part of the performance, an actor engaged in a dialogue. You are the person across from the man in the photo, but you also become him, turning outward to the viewer.
The continuous movement – the vortex – pushes and pulls you as the borders between Human and Urban blur and become Hurban. There are violently cold and anonymous city landscapes, consisting of monochromatic and starkly geometric patterns, entirely unlike anything you find in nature. But the human element, superimposed, invariably bestows them with a strangely appealing aesthetic. For the Silo, 



