Josh Setton

Walking into the room that the play Ivanov was being shown, I couldn’t help but automatically draw comparisons to the other performing arts centers we were at. It seemed like this was a lot more similar to Spellbeamed’s setting, and not very much at all like Lincoln Center or Carnegie Hall. And, just to clarify, being like Spellbeamed isn’t a good thing. Thankfully, the comparisons to Spellbeamed ended there.

As I approached my seat, I noticed that it was on the stage. Not next to. On. Sitting down and waiting for the show to start, I started to feel almost as if I was part of the production. Ethan Hawke was rolling around on the bed, close enough for me to see (and feel?) his spit. If that doesn’t get you to feel like part of the production, I don’t know what does.

This feeling of being part of the play continued throughout the night. Whether it was tables being moved in front of my feet, actors passing by inches in front of me, or some more spit, it created an atmosphere that made it impossible to to get absorbed into the play. I got excited at the intense moments and felt the emotions flowing through the production. Laughing along with the actors only helped to make me feel as if I was sitting in a live parlor with real people gossiping. I experienced the odd feeling of wanting to get up and intervene in the production unfolding before me.

Though the plot by itself might not have been enough to hold my interest, by drawing the viewer into the play itself, the production creates a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

I rushed into Carnegie Hall at 7:27, not taking time to enjoy the beautiful structure I was entering. After all, Betthoven’s famous Missa Solemnis was set to begin at 7:30, and there was no late seating. I went up to the usher and fumbled in my pockets for my ticket. Only one problem: it wasn’t there. I quickly ran to the ticket booth and begged for a replacement ticket. After hassling for long enough, I was given an unsold ticket. I glanced at my watch – 7:31. I was directed and cheered on by the ushers as I ran up dozens of steps, finally reaching the hall as the doors were closing. Attracting some dirty looks as I walked in- the production had already begun- I went over to my new seat, apart form the rest of the class. Though it may just sound like a cute story, entering the orchestra in such a fashion had a huge impact in my experience.

Firstly, being around real orchestra goers,as opposed to my classmates, was a completely different experience. These people knew what they were doing. They ooh-ed and aah-ed at the right moments. They mutterres and looked at all the right things. Sitting there, alone, in an island of people who were at the orchestra because they actually chose to, was an experience.

Secondly, I entered the hall when it was already dark. Not having a complete picture of my surroundings made it all the more interesting to listen to. It added a kind of mysterious feel to the event.

So, although I entered in a rush, my orchestra experience was wholly unique and allowed me to appreciate the event in a different way that all the others.

Bizarre. Odd. Confusing.

Those are some of the words that were used to describe the Spellbeamed production on September eleventh. The avant-garde production featured an ensemble alternating between more traditional styles of music and….not so traditional styles of music. To go along with music, there were intermittent projections of seemingly random objects such as shoes and boxes as well as computer generated graphics. Yep, it’s bizarre.

However, I think I was able to take the production and interpet it to mean something meaningful to me. Thinking about the show, I tried to find something I could take out of the “music” and a common theme to string the objects shown. If one analyzes the patterns of music, it seems to be that the sections of normal music always follow the sections of the avant-garde style music. Additionally, the avant garde sections themselves seem to emerge from sounds of worldly things, such as wars. Perhaps, then, the continuum of sound from everyday noises to music is meant to show that everything can be taken as music- its just where one decides to draw the line.

The same can be said for the pictures that were flashed onscreen. Perhaps they were meant to show that art, as well, can be seen from anything. It just depends on where one decides to draw te line between picture and art. After all, abstract art and the computer graphics shown are not that far off form each other.

Spellbeamed, then, is more than just a production thats “bizarre”. It’s a production that’s meant to show that music and art don’t have to be defined in their boxy classical definitions. It is a production that is meant to expand our narrow view of art and music and enable to see the beauty in everything.

Throughout the ages, humans’ creations have reflected the era they live in. The High Line Park and Empire State Building are two such creations that reflect the very different nature of their time. The Empire State Building is a 20th century marvel of architecture, while High Line Park is a simple walkway with some greenery through the West Side of Manhattan.

The Empire State Building is, to put it simply, imposing. Looking a it from afar, ones sees a massive “thing” of steel jutting into the sky. 

The rest of the lower east side of Manhattan is similar in its steely, huge grey qualities. However, The Empire State Building takes it to a new lever. It builds on its surroundings, and is similar in from and function- but still manages to conspicuously stand out from afar. As Koolhaas put it, “The Empire State Building is to be a skyscraper surpassing in height anything ever constructed by man (Koolhaas 138)”. While the statement is clearly not true today, the concept remains- a building more massive than anything around it.

When one walks around The Empire State Building, one can’t help but feel lost in a sea of artificiality. There is nothing green in sight. Walking through the lobby, one is impressed by the cold, magnificent marble, but at the same time feels disconnected from nature.

It recalls the “Tower of Babel” of Auster- a building which only contained things man built “with his own two hands (Auster 75)”.

The building is clearly representative of ideas of the time of art and accomplishment. Making something powerful with the force of labor was a goal that many at the time strived for. Making such a gargantuan building was a monumental ask, and one which the people at the time would’ve approached with awe and amazement.

High Line park, on the other had, is a representative of a completely different era and very different values. From the very moment one lays his eyes upon the former train tracks, it’s evident that the path is long and stretches for quite some while. In stark comparison to The Empire State Building, it is a simple, one level walkway lined with bushes, grasses and shrubbery.

Above the floor of the city, yet so far below the top of the mighty skyscrapers, one truly feels what it’s like to get lost in the middle of everything. The most noticeable thing about the modern park is the way it combines modern construction, architecture and materials with natural and simple devices.

This enlightening feature is a direct result of modern ideas of beauty being not only manade, but natural and pristine. The park attempts to combine functionality  it is a walkway, after all- with beauty and emerges as a bold statement of the era. Nature is art, and art is functionality.

The two locations are both results and products of the time. The Emire State Building is a call to the era of human creation, where nothing more than steel, wood and concrete are thought of. Is is the era of Manhattan, of doing, of building. The High Line is the result of a modern thought of combining both art and functionality into one being- something which other eras might have thought of as absurd.

In my recent visit to the Queens Museum of Art’s Caribbean exhibit, two pieces of art stuck out to me.

The first of those pieces, Abate Antonio Jose de Cavanilles, was made my the columbian artist Salvador Rizo (1768- 1816) in 1801.

This oil on canvas displays the abbot examining a botanical specimen while taking down notes- perhaps of a scientific nature. The portrait as a darker tone, and is pretty average in most respects, giving the work a feeling of solemnity.

The painting is based on true occurrences. The abbot pictured was, in fact, the namer of countess plants and substantially contributed to early floral understanding of the Americas. Fascinatingly, the abbot later named the specimen he is examing Rizoa- after the artist himself.

What stood out to me about the seemingly ordinary piece was the scientific nature of it. The piece provides an insight into the start of discoveries in new lands and how important these discoveries were. The artist also managed to beautifully capture the thoughtfulness of the abbot.

The second piece I chose is The Goat With Two Heads by Georges Liautaud, a Haitian artist who lived from 1889- 1991. The piece is a wrought iron created in 1961.

This interesting piece depicts a two-headed goat standing on its two legs, much like a human being. What attracting me to the piece is the plain iron which leaves so much open to interpretation. The goat can be taken as being festive, mournful, angry- almost every emotion can be seen within the piece. The piece also hints to a conflict of sorts, as the heads face in opposing directions.

One possible interpretation of the piece brings back Dionysian themes. The piece causes one to recall a Satyr- the Greek representative of the wild nature of man. The two heads can be taken to be a rendering of man’s struggle with his very own mind- the fight to control ones wilder side. Man is in constant struggle to control his will, emotions and actions and become an educated, refined being. This two headed goat can be see as a depiction of the nature of such struggles- man is, in essence, fighting against himself.