The Politics of Art & Authenticity

For my birthday, my mother took me, my little sister, and my older brother to see My Name is Asher Lev in the Westside Theater.

It was incredible.

The story is about a young Jewish boy who cannot suppress his need to draw. Despite his strictly religious and over-bearing father, Asher Lev paints. His family and community cannot understand him, but the head of the Hassidic community to which he belongs, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, sends Asher to study by an artist, a Mr. Kahn, whose only religion is art.

Here, Asher is exposed to nude women, crucifixions, and bounds of religious confliction. He remains religious at heart, but his mind is smashed open by his new studies.

Only when he paints his mother on a crucifix, and himself reaching for her, is Asher ostracized from his community and sent to live in Paris.

The play was so emotional, it was almost uncomfortably personal. The whole thing took place in one room, and there were only three actors. I never saw so much depth in such a tiny breadth.

I loved My Name is Asher Lev. It is a story of confliction.

What can you do when being true to yourself means turning your back on where you came from?

Where can you turn when you turned your back on everyone who cares about you?

Who can you cry to when you have made everyone else cry?

What should you do if you need to do the wrong thing??

Asher Lev cannot be a “whore to his work.” He cannot stifle the image in his art because it is who he is, and “a true artist must be faithful only to his art.”

The questions that this play challenges are real and prevalent issues, even more so now than they were in the 1920s when the story was written.

There is just so much to say about it, Everyone should see this masterful interpretation of Chaim Potok’s finest work of art.

I think it’s so interesting how the Museum of Jewish Heritage, which obviously is supposed to speak about Jewish Heritage, is a Holocaust museum. How Jewish history and heritage is so marked by the Holocaust. I decided to go to this museum because I had to fulfill one of my cutltural passport requirements, and I haven’t been to this museum in a few years, so I thought it would be a meaningful place to go to. The museum is comprised of 3 levels: Jewish life in Europe before the Holocaust, The Holocaust, and Jewish life post-Holocaust. I’ve always liked history, and the Holocaust is one era that particularly haunts me and that I have examined time and time again. I have taken many classes about the Holocaust, read many books, memoirs, and stories about the Holocaust, visited many Holocaust museums in New York, Washington D.C., and Israel, and I even went to Poland to visit the concentration camps. Each time, I always try to imagine myself as one of those Jews dragged off by the Nazis, and as much as I’ve come close, it still doesn’t feel real – it still just seems like a movie. When I visited the museum, I looked at all the artifacts that hold the traces of the vibrant, thriving Jewish life in Europe. I saw pictures of all kinds of Jews – religious, rabbis, secular, completely assimilated Jews, Jews that didn’t even know they were Jewish. All of them were living their normal lives until suddenly their lives would be changed, never to be the same, as the Nazis came and began to impose laws that would eventually lead to the downfall of European Jewry. There are pictures and documentaries showing the Nazis destroying all kinds of Jewish institutions, burning Jewish books, deporting Jews to ghettos and concentration camps, and of course, Jews being burned in the ovens. This is all hard to handle, and it cannot be processed fully, definitely not by someone that has grown up in New York in the twenty-first century, someone who cannot even begin to imagine the perils of war, someone like myself. On the third floor, my favorite floor, there are pictures of the liberations and the new State of Israel, a home for the Jewish people, a place where Jews are guaranteed a place to live and be safe and be surrounded by friends and family. A promise that the Holocaust will never happen again.

As I looked at all the remnants, the artifacts, the facts and figures, and see the few things that survived, that outlived all the people who perished in war, it’s hard to have faith that the Jewish people live on. But as I walk around the museum and see other Jews there who are mourning the destruction and working hard to make a life for themselves here, I know there are Jews today who are flourishing and contributing members to society. And I know that something lives on. Overall I had a great, thought-provoking and meaningful experience at the Museum of Jewish Heritage. Anyone who loves culture, religion, and themes of hope can appreciate this museum.

Credit to: http://www.lasvegastourism.com/shows/phantom.jpg

Singing, dancing, props, NO SUBTITLES!!! I have been wanting to see the Phantom of the Opera for years now and I have finally seen it. It surpassed all of my expectations and more. From the beginning I was astounded by the prop work as the chandelier went up from the stage to the ceiling above the theater. The singing and acting was great, especially since it was in English and I could understand everything going on. There were lots of different stage works going on from scene to scene, a change in the curtains or balcony seats of a theater moving on to stage, even a boat that moved across the stage through a foggy underground cave. The actor who played the Phantom wasn’t even the main actor who regularly plays him but his voice and acting was amazing. All of the singing and acting was perfect in every way. My mother loved the show so much she brought the CD of all of the main songs. I’m happy that I was able to watch the show and enjoy it in all of its glory.

On Sunday December 2^nd, I attended the Columbia University Big Apple Dancesport Challenge. My best friend is on the Stony Brook University Ballroom Dance Team and she invited me to see her perform, so I took her up on the offer. I made my way cross-town around 2 PM thinking I’d see her perform and possibly stay for a little longer to see some of the professionals dance it out. 2 or 3 hours very quickly turned into 7. Now, usually this is where I start complaining about things. BUT, I actually found this fascinating. I was a little nervous to experience dance after the Barnard Fall Project but it didn’t take long to figure out that this was something completely different. My friend’s mom and I cheered my friend on as she Cha-Cha-ed and Rumba-ed across the dance floor. She went on to compete in the finals for her division and won a ribbon! She explained to me the different levels of competition: The Pre-Bronze, Bronze, Silver, Gold, and the professionals. The higher up in rank the couple was, the more elaborate the costumes became. This applies more for the women than the men. The men essentially wore all black outfits (except the professionals, their costumes got pretty crazy). The women’s costumes however were a completely different story. They ranged in color, design, and rhinestone usage. The higher up they moved, the more sparkly their dresses became. Aside from the breath taking talent they possess, it was very literally hard to look away from the costumes. Don’t get me wrong, my friend is an amazing dancer but seeing the professionals dance almost seemed like a completely different experience. The gracefulness, precision, and seemingly natural moves made me wonder how such a think was possible. 7 hours seems like much, but I was amazed by what I was seeing. The songs were repeated but every single dance was different, even within the same category. Every couple had a different rendition of the dance and I think that’s why I was so interested. There was always something different and more amazing to watch. This was the first time I had ever watched ballroom dancing and I’m glad I went out to Columbia to support my friend. Ballroom dancing is a beautiful art form to say the least. I’m glad I loved it as much as I did, especially after all that modern dance shenanigans we watched…

I’m not really sure why I didn’t write about this immediately after I went but better late than never? Sometime in early October, I went the American Museum of Natural History. I must disclose however, I cheated a little bit. My anthropology class required us to visit the Human Origins exhibit as a part of a larger, semester long project. The assignment consisted of visiting the exhibit and creating a test that conveyed to our professor that we visited and learned something. My initial reaction was to groan and complain because well… I’m good at that. The somewhat, almost cultured member of society inside me was a little excited as soon as I walked inside of the museum. There’s something mystical about the immense amount of information that lurks around every corner of the place. Even though I was assigned to go to one exhibit, and I didn’t have too much time, some part of me wanted to explore and get lost in as many other exhibits as possible. Another disclaimer: I am a history junkie so I actually didn’t mind the exhibit of Human Origins in the least. In the midst of searching for little bits of information that, in my opinion, would make good test questions, I found myself engaged and enveloped in the things I was reading. It was incredible to learn that archaeologists could determine the time period that our ancestors lived in simply by studying the kinds of plants and bacteria that existed then. There was a whole wall dedicated to displaying the percentages of genetic similarity that we share with various apes. There were dozens of life-size replicas of what our ancestors looked like as they evolved throughout human history. Not only was I getting an assignment done, but I was also learning about something that I find fascinating. Even after I was done making up impossible test questions, I found myself reading, observing, and analyzing all the different exhibits. It’s safe to say that I enjoyed my visit to the American Museum of Natural History. Hopefully over Christmas Break when I’m no longer drowning in schoolwork, I’ll be able to go back on my own time and explore some more exhibits.

You know when a great time to go to the Museum of Natural History is? Swing by at 4:45pm on a weekday. This is a magical time at the museum. Most people have gone. And by most people I mean the security guards. At 4:45pm the museum is empty and free. I walked around that place like I owned it, and it was serene.

Some might say that a map of such an extensive museum would be helpful. Not for me. Perhaps the coolest thing I have ever done was roam the empty halls of that place without a map. I was totally immersed in everything I was seeing, unlike any other time I had visited the museum. There were no children being load and obnoxious. There was no idiot tourist walking directly in-front of me to take a picture of the stuffed turkey behind the glass with his flash on, only to continue to stand in-front of me while trying to figure out how to turn his flash off (rather unsuccessfully). There was none of that.

I scooted through the Hall of Asian Mammals and North American birds. I wandered through the foreign chimes of the Asian Peoples exhibit. I wound up cutting back again through the Hall of Asian Mammals. I wound up one floor above the Hall of Asian Mammals. I wound up back again on the other side of the Hall of Asian Mammals, and then somehow I stumbled upon the dinosaur exhibit.

I love the dinosaur exhibit, almost as much as Brian does. Did I mention there were no kids there? Have you ever been to that exhibit in the absence of children. It is truly fantastic.

Never have I ever experienced such peace, excitement, and confusion as I did wandering the halls of the Museum of Natural history at 4:45 pm on a weeknight… Holy crap, did I break into The Museum of Natural History?

courtesy of http://ucrpaleo.wordpress.com

courtesy of http://www.themorgan.org/img/eastroom.jpg

I have always had an adverse reaction to the words “library” and “museum.” This isn’t to say I don’t enjoy learning or reading, but that my experiences at both these places have usually been horrendous. The reason is because I would always go to these places with my parents. They aren’t bad people; they just would go through things painfully slow. At a museum, my sister and I would always be sitting on the bench at the end of the exhibit waiting for them to finish reading every damn line printed. And at a library? With thousands of lines of things to read? Forget it. To think that one day I would go to a museum of books would have been outlandish. Well, that’s exactly what I did.

Honestly, The Morgan Museum and Library was fantastic. It contained the literary collections of J.P Morgan’s father, Piermont Morgan. The man’s collection was fantastic. He had original copies of The Night Before Christmas and handwriting samples from Charles Dickens. His library was expansive, it was two stories high filled with old bindings mixed in with some very ornate first editions. His study had a vault filled with– you guessed it– books.

Out of all the things I have owned, books have always been the hardest for me to throw away. Even with my avoidance of libraries, I have always loved books. I’ll pick up an old copy of “Nate The Great” and remember reading about the boy detective who solved crimes after eating a plate of pancakes, and how funny I thought that was when I was younger. Books are great. And Piermont Morgan clearly couldn’t throw out a book either.

I’m going to go off on a little rant here first, so just deal with it. How many people were aware that there was a professional theatre company putting on a show at Baruch this semester? How about if there were more than one? No, probably not, because the only way you’d really know is if you read the “Weekly Baruch e-mail” nonsense that buries this stuff at the end. Come on! This is professional theatre, why isn’t it known campus-wide? (Long story short: PROMOTE THE ARTS.)

So. Last night. BPAC. 8 PM. A cold and rainy evening. The Acting Company. Of Mice And Men. Wow.

The Acting Company is this amazing theatre company that was first formed by the members of Julliard’s Drama Class, including members like… Patti LuPone. (I can’t escape her, but I can’t really say I’m trying.) This season, they’ve been traveling across the country performing the stage-adaptation of John Steinback’s novel Of Mice And Men. The play was housed in the Nagelberg Theatre, so it wasn’t your typical Proscenium Stage show. Instead, a wooden platform right in front of the seats housed several compartments that could be lifted up to create the illusions of a doorway, beds, and a hayloft. The actors would move props around onstage between scenes, which I felt only added to the imagery of the play being set on a busy farm.

It was performances like this that make me reaffirm one of the many reasons why I love the theatre: it brings stories to life in a way your imagination can only dream of. Of Mice And Men is known by practically everybody, but the way Lenny was just so innocent and childish throughout, or those glimpses where you’d see that George really does care about Lenny–despite his attitude towards him on occasion–and you have a piece of work that takes a book and turns it into a 3D-masterpiece.

I just really, really, really liked this show???

Lenny broke my heart, and I can only imagine the hours and energy that Christopher Michael McFarland put into the lovable oaf who’s entire character can be summed up with: “He ain’t bright, but he’s a hard worker.” George, embodied by Joseph Midyett, made me rethink my earlier notions of the character, because he’s more than a guy down on his luck and stuck with Lenny because that’s just life. The two of them have been together for so long, and Lenny’s right, they’ve got each other and that’s all that matters.

Casting wise, everything was perfect, and I was surprised to see how believable a younger actor could be in the role of Curly (Michael McDonald), considering I always believed him to be at least in his 30s.

Like I said before, the staging and set design was atypical to most performances, but it all just added to the intimacy of the play. If you were to look up at the right moments, you’d see a man in the catwalks above letting leaves fall down during the clearing scenes – it all worked wonderfully. The lighting–especially during that last scene–worked to show the dwindling sunlight out in the fields, and the small stars shining through the backdrop gave only the faintest glow to Lenny’s happy face moments before George, well, you know what happens. It was powerful stuff, and I loved every second of it.

Photo Credit

On September 8th, 2012, I was lucky enough to join EHS group on a tour to the 9/11 memorial.
I thought it would be a good opportunity to offer condolences to the victims who died of the attack and their families.

When I was studying for AP psychology, I came across a line that stated, many Americans remember exactly what they were doing on the day of the 9/11 incident. I tried to remember what I was doing at that moment but I couldn’t remember anything specifically besides the fact that I was staring at the television, not able to believe the video footages in front of my eyes. Maybe it was because 9/11 occurred a week after my family and I had came back to Korea. But all I could think of was that I was at that very place , the world trade center, a month before it was attacked. In one sense, I was glad at least I was able to experience the place before the collapse. On the other hand, I could not help the thought that if it had occurred a month earlier, I would have been one of the innocent victims buried on the cold ground.

After a few minutes of train ride, our group arrived at the memorial. The security was very strict. After a long wait in the line and some walking, I saw the whole view of ground zero.

Unlike the day of the accident, the place was so quiet and peaceful. Maybe too serene. The only thing that reminded me of the day were the names that were engraved round the fountains and the tree that survived.

Maybe it’s best to provide a peaceful place where the innocent victims would rest in peace. Maybe. But somehow I could not shake off the thought that unless our generation puts effort to preserve the meaning of this place and annually pay a visit; this may become no more than a pretty park, obscuring our future generations from seeing what truly happened and understanding the terrifying experience we will never be able to forget in our lives.

http://eportfolios.macaulay.cuny.edu/drabik10website/iconic-immigration-sites/museum-of-chinese-in-america/

In the middle of the hustle and bustle of Chinatown, amongst vendors wanting to bargain with you left and right and the Chinese take-out stores on every corner, an institution that represents real Chinese culture and history in America stands. Its name? The Museum of Chinese in America, MOCA for short.

I stumbled upon this place once looking for a bubble tea house. It was one of the most rewarding impulse plans I have ever experienced. I mean, I knew that the Chinese liked the color red and that they had dragons everywhere, were one of the first Asian immigrants, ate rice all the time… I knew basic things. But walking into MOCA explained a lot more than I could tell you.

I thought that this visit was important and shows the genuine diversty in existence in New York City. Even United States in general. We are a country made up of immigrants and so I found it neat to have a place that shows not only about a certain culture, but its immigrant aspect and how the original culture evolved into the Chinese-American culture present today.

The exhibits feature Chinese comic artists, the evolution of Chinese restaurants, the origins of Chinese ghettos, the history of Chinese businesses in America such as laundromats and nail salons, the way America is seen through Chinese eyes, films and photographs by Chinese and of Chinese people and many more. Visiting the MOCA was educational but interesting at the same time. Even though I only have a very slight fraction of Chinese blood in me, I was able to engage in the exhibits and really get into it. I recommend that everyone visit MOCA in the near future.