The Politics of Art & Authenticity

Early in the semester, I tagged along to 5 Pointz in Queens with a group of Macaulay kids and a couple of enthusiastic adults. I was pretty excited since we were about to see informal type of art. An art in which many attach a dirty and negative stigma yet here was a place in which that unwanted art is appreciated. I did not know what to expect. I was just pumped for any graffitti.

As soon as we got off the 7 train at Court Square, I couldn’t stop looking at the covered buildings. There was just so many to inspect, analyze, and admire. I couldn’t wait to keep walking around. There were scenes depicting darkness, some had more positive messages, some were brightly colored, others were lighter. There were patterns and  spray painted figures of every kind in every shade imaginable. All around me was excitement depicted in vibrant and colorful spray paint. And then… I walked past the woman. The grey woman.

She was on one of the side buildings, away from the “main attractions” of 5 Pointz, a.k.a. Biggie Smalls. You had to walk around a building, past the headquarters of the New York City Halal food carts and around another corner. There were lively pictures on either side of her but she, with only a few shades of grey, was the most striking. She looked solemn, enlarged, but very realistic. Her seemingly blank look actually communicated a sense of isolation and indifference. It was the one piece that spoke to me.

I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was spray painted. On top of that, it was only using black and white! It seemed like an authentic charcoal sketch. Just large and on a brick building. Seeing 5 Pointz has truly opened my eyes to the wonders of New York City and its talented urban culture. I wish to someday contribute to that. (Except not using a spray paint can).

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Feeling like I should take advantage of a certain Pell Grant, and a huge discount on behalf of a partnership between TDF and CUNY, I set out to make at least a holy pilgrimage to Broadway at least once a month. Now, the wonder of TDF is that if you check the listings at the right time, you could end up with under $50 tickets to the newest shows out there… like The Anarchist. That’s huge. I’m talking a brand new David Mamet play, and self-directed too. And it was Patti LuPone and Debra Winger. I was going to do it just for the chance to see Patti, but the whole show just seemed so perfect, so of course I had to go. (I should probably mention something else about TDF: Yes the tickets are cheap, but you’re not getting front-row seats. Try rear mezzanine. Or, in my case, the last row of the rear mezzanine all the way to the left. Whatever, that doesn’t bother me. It’s still Broadway!)

Don’t let her appearance fool you, if Patti catches you with your phone out she will snap your neck.

The show was an unusual Broadway experience for me to say the least, after all, I had gone in thinking this would be a fast-paced, explicative-ridden battle between Cathy, the prison inmate up for parole 35 years later (Patti LuPone), and an untitled superior who could set her free, (Debra Winger). It’s Mamet right? The same Mamet who wrote Glengarry Glen Ross – which was ironically starting previews just halfway down the block? Apparently not.

The Anarchist was more a discussion than a show. The action is confined to one room, and one conversation, but except for a few choice moments, I felt like I was watching two opposing philosophies argue with one another. Mamet wrote about everything from religion to politics to murder to family relationships to… it was too much for one show. Honestly, I was surprised when it ended, because it was just such a linear show that I felt it could go on indefinitely – there was nothing to make the show “a show”, which I think hurt it more than anything. Yes, the concepts brought up are interesting, and yes, the premise of the play is something I do feel would work on Broadway, but I don’t think this was it.

Luckily, I don’t have to say the fault lies on the actors’ behalf – partly because it really wasn’t, and mostly because I’d rather become an accountant than speak ill of the Lord LuPone – but instead I’d have to see fault with Mamet. In the end, he wrote (and directed) not a show, but a mind. It was intellectual, philosophical, conversational, but not a play.

I don’t regret going to see it in the slightest, but I don’t think my claims are unvalidated. The producers have already announced a closing date, and while I honestly don’t agree that the business behind closing the show so soon is the right way to run Broadway, I can kind of see why this is happening.

I guess there is a bright side in all of this: The chances of Patti landing a role in a huge musical just went up significantly now that she has the time.

Photo Credit

The first student’s names are announced over the PA system.  Whenever a student’s name was called that meant they were to go down to the main office because they were going home.  As a child, one could only think “they’re so lucky!” Five minutes later two more names are announced.  Ten minutes later over ten names have been announced.  Almost an hour later over 20 names have been announced.  Before noon we’re packing up to go home, the teacher says we’ve been granted a half day.  But why?

Were parents called?  There were over a hundred students in the school, it seemed almost impossible for all parents to have been contacted.  Yet, as our teachers lead us outside, it amazes us to see parents lining the sidewalk waiting to bring their children home.  Even the children whose parents make them take the bus because they can’t normally pick them are there.

My dad calls my name to leave with him.  On our walk home he won’t tell me anything and seems to be anxious to return.  As we walk back the only thing he says is “they fell.”  What was happening?  What were ‘they’?  What fell?  To my questions his only response is, “You’ll see.  It’s all over the news.”

When I arrive home the TV is still on and it is tuned into the news.  There are two buildings on the screen and one is falling.  “The second tower was just hit!” the man on TV announces from somewhere off screen.  It sounds as if he’s not reading the teleprompter, as if he blurted this out on his own.  His voice comes off as a yell softened by the noise of the first plane in the background, slamming nose first into the first tower.  What did it all mean?  My dad finally tells me that these two unrecognizable structures were the Twin Towers, the two buildings that I loved to point out every time we passed the Manhattan skyline, my two favorite buildings in Manhattan because of how unique they are…were.

I then remember my mom works somewhere in Manhattan.  Did she have a half-day too?  Would she come home early?  My dad’s on the phone so I quietly wait, thinking he’s busy.  He pulls it away and dials a number again but nothing.  Not a word is spoken and he seems even more anxious than before.  Where’s mom?  I question him but dad remains silent before answering he couldn’t get in touch with her.

We were not able to get in touch with her until much later.  Her call had finally gotten through.  She had walked to Queens via the 59^th Street Bridge and walked along Queens Boulevard until she reached Woodhaven.  She arrived home unscathed.  She was safe.  No one explained anything to me until years later when my mom finally felt comfortable speaking about it and when she thought I could finally understand.  “We heard them all…from the squawk box…until the very end.”  It’s a horrible memory, which continues to haunt her even today. Whenever she is forced to recall this, the life seems to drain from her, the air about her changes, she becomes serious and her voice becomes grim.

Years later she told me more.  “I knew quite a few people in those towers.  Do you remember my last boss, Marianne?  Her sister was in the second tower. It was right after the first plane hit that she thought something was going on.  She thought there was another plane coming and thought it would be safer to leave.  They threatened to fire her if she left.  She didn’t care and with a group of people ran down all those flights of stairs…”

Even now after a decade my mom still hasn’t visited the site.  She claims she’s busy and doesn’t have time but it is more than that.  She probably does not want to remember any of it.  Without a doubt she wants to maintain her strong appearance, knowing that even the strong fall apart here.

The entire time I was there, before I even set foot in the memorial, I was recalling.  Everything pieced together in my mind, everything my mom said, everything I saw that day on the news, everything I heard, and everything I learned in school.  It continued to replay over and over.

It was twice as meaningful because this past weekend a man named Albert Lutzkow passed.  It was only after his death that I found out he was not only a veteran but helped to build that wonderful hall which leads to the large auditorium in Baruch’s 23^rd Street building.  Among his many accomplishments one stood out.  He was one of the men who helped build the Twin Towers.  I’m sure he had taken a lot of pride in helping to build the two tallest buildings Manhattan has ever seen.

Overall the memorial site was beautiful.  The waterfalls that cascaded into oblivion could never be done justice by photograph.  One would have to see it for themselves.  What’s more, the trees were beginning to hibernate and had barely any leaves on them.  Though I know that was due to the zephyr winds of autumn it felt like they too were paying tribute to those lost.

Photo creds to Yamel!!!

I feel like sometimes we forget the bad stuff that has happened.

Yesterday, after some great Japanese food, Jen and I wondered off in search or what to do.  We ended up taking the E train to the World Trade Center.  I wasn’t sure what to expect or even what we were going to do once we got there. I guess it came down to getting tickets to go to the 9/11 Memorial. Getting the tickets was fairly easy. I think we left a three-dollar donation… now, getting to the actual memorial entrance was another story. But we made it… and we only got lost about three times on the way there.   Security was really tight. Almost like airport security, sans taking off the shoes. But once we were inside, I had mixed feelings about it.  The first things you see are trees. Lots of them. Then there is a structure in the shadows of where the twin towers stood. They are pools that drop the water into what seems the oblivion. Around these pools the names of those who perished during the attacks are engraved.

I was feeling very inspired by Mexicanism: The Documentary. So at the directory of the names engraved, I looked up people that had been born in Mexico. Only one name came up—a window cleaner. I guess it made me wonder if it had only been that one man in the WTC or if others hadn’t been accounted for.

On the way back to the train, Jen told me about how 9/11 had affected her family. I never expected the kind of consequences it had on people that hadn’t been directly affected by it.

Not many times do I go outside of Manhattan. Taking the 7 to the New York Hall of Science in Queens, was a refreshing experience. I always enjoyed science museums as a kid. It was the place where you can extend your imaginations and have a chance to verify the mere theories you learn in schools right in front of your eyes. Having visited Smithsonian Museum during my short visit to American during high school. I somehow imagined it to be as grand. When I got to the entrance, however, I could not help the disappointment.

Maybe it’s the difference between going to a science museum as a kid and as an adult. Still, to make my time worthwhile, I carefully tried out each experiments with childlike curiosity. Funny thing is, visiting a children’s science museum can be a great encouragement for a person who thinks s/he has come too far away from the natural sciences. Having attended a school right next to science school for the incredibly gifted,(these kids would place first and second in most of the world class international science olympiads) I’ve thought I was not apt for sciences for there was almost no way I could compete with them in sciences. Turns out I knew and understood almost all the experiments in the science museum.Maybe the curriculum was not so different from nations to nations after all. What really amazed me was the high correlation between the exhibits in the museum to the school curricula.

However memory evoking experience this was, I could not help but recognize the several broken tools and devices just staying around. In fact, a lot of them were outdated and needed repairing. In addition, the place seemed to lack staffs. There was only one person who went around explaining experiments to children. In conclusion, I think the place needs immediate staffing and repairing. Accuracy is imperative in science. The museum should not leave those inaccurate, broken tools for they will negatively impact the children’s museum experience. It needs innovation, to attract more people. I hope next time I visit, it will have fixed its problems.

There are times that I hate my short term memory, mainly when it lets me continue going to cultural events with Stevie. Every single event we’ve had thus far has resulted in me arriving late because of Stevie’s inability to manage her time. This may come as a shock to most of you but our journey the Museum of Natural History was no different. I suggested that we leave shortly after Freshman Seminar so that we had plenty of time before IDC. Stevie however had to complete an interview and we left at 12 instead. We then needed to stop by the Macaulay building so that she could pick up her video camera. I assume Stevie sensed my imminent angry rant and suggested that we stop for food…which was definitely a good choice for her sake. We then decided to walk to the museum through the rain and sleet until we reached the WRONG side of the building. Instead of simply strolling to the other side, Stevie thought we could get in through the planetarium. After stopping at multiple desks and standing in a few lines we encountered a man with a snide attitude for whom I almost had a few choice words. At long last we entered the museum from the correct entrance and I began to discover the dinosaurs all over again. Names, eating habits and habitats all came flooding back as I gazed at the skeletons of these million year old beasts.  It seemed strange to me that it had been so long that I had been to the Museum of Natural History since as a young child I knew nearly every dinosaur there was. This trip was a nice stroll down memory lane and although Stevie drives me crazy sometimes it was nice to have some company especially from someone that was a dinosaur nut like myself. Oh and Stevie Tyrannosaurus Rex is better than a triceratops…

I have always had an obsession with dinosaurs ever since I was a kid.  Every year my parents would take my brothers and me to the American Museum of Natural History to see the dinosaur exhibit.  After walking past the museum one day, I realized I had not been to the dinosaur exhibit in years and I felt it only right to go and see the magnificent creatures once again.

My good friend Brian (yes, Brian McIntyre who you all probably know sadly) decided to accompany me on this journey, because we both share a love of dinosaurs.  Now many of you might not know this, but whenever Brian accompanies me on cultural event trips something always seems to go wrong; whether it be lateness, going to the wrong place, or even losing people along the way.  So I was surprised that Brian would still have faith in me to go on a cultural outing and think that everything would go as planned.  Safe to say that didn’t happen.

After trekking in the sleet and rain crosstown and all the way uptown, we had finally made it to the museum.  I, thinking that it would be most convenient, decided to go through the nearest entrance to where we were walking.  This entrance was basically on the total opposite side of the area where we wanted to be.  Okay yes so I messed up a little bit, but I mean it’s one mistake right?

Well that one mistake turned into us waiting on a line for over ten minutes, to find out we were waiting on the wrong line.  And we later found out that the Museum of Natural History doesn’t accept our cultural passport (which was very upsetting).  So when Brian was about to give up and go back to class, I still had the determination to see the dinosaurs and convinced him to give me one last shot at getting the trip right.

We finally made it to the correct area to get our tickets and purchased them.  We were one step closer to seeing the dinosaurs! I was definitely more excited than Brian, and I looked like a five year old waiting in line to see Santa.  But when we arrived at the dinosaur exhibit I could see a smile slip across Brian’s face.  That was a good sign, because that meant he wasn’t going to kill me for messing up before.  I would be able to live another day!

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So the dinosaur exhibit was just as I remembered it as a kid, down to every single room and dinosaur bone.  My favorite is still the triceratops.  I know it might not be very artistic, but I think I learned a lot through the entire time at the museum.  I realized that it is not just the exhibit, but the experience and memories that make the museum a cultural event.  It made me think back to the first day of classes when we all went to the Brooklyn Museum, and Dean Ann Kirschner spoke about what the museums meant to her family.  Each place held a specific memory to her family, such as her daughter’s first steps, and I realized that this was similar to my own family.

Each year we would celebrate my brother’s birthday by going to the Museum of Natural History.  Every year held its own special memory that I still look back on, and when I went to the museum today all of those memories came back.  The adventure at the museum was, in itself, a memory that I will remember for a long time and will be reminded of whenever I go back to see the dinosaur exhibit.  I learned that you can’t just go to a museum or cultural place on your own and expect to gain something from it.  You need to share the experience with others to create memories that will make you appreciate the exhibit, artwork, or anything else that you are viewing.  That is when you know you are making the most of a cultural event; when you become part of the event and make it your own.

So I thank Brian for journeying with me to the museum, where we got lost and waited on tons of lines for absolutely no reason (all due to my misunderstanding), and I thank him for not strangling me from the frustration of my mishaps.  I know his experience was probably more stressful and annoying, but it was thanks to that experience that I realized the importance and meaning behind cultural events.  And I really liked seeing the dinosaurs!

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I love the holiday season and what a way to start the holidays off than by watching the Christmas Spectacular at Radio City Music Hall with your family. I had seen the performance when I was seven years-old and watching it again 11 years later was very different. Of course over the years, the musical changes to reflect the times, when I was young, the musical was more of a living homage to the great stories of Christmas. This year however was all about the new age of technology and the changing times, making the climax of the show an entire 3D musical number for the audience. This was strange for me since I remember the 3D being only a small part of the beginning of the show, not given its own musical number. There was the classic nativity scene with live animals and beautiful scenery, but the best part of the musical was simply the Rockette dance numbers. The march of the wooden soldiers was amazing to watch as well as all of the transitional dance numbers (like the one in the picture above). The iconic Christmas music and the wonderful lessons by Santa just filled the audience with happiness and holiday cheer. The only thing I like about winter is the holiday season and watching this musical just got me so excited for the upcoming holiday joy.

I always had the notion that the NY Hall of Science was just for kids. That could possibly be because I was brought there numerous times by each of my schools right up until fifth grade when we slept over at the museum.  Maybe it was because I only ever saw younger children there.  However because of such reasoning, after fifth grade I just stopped going.

Up until I got my Macaulay passport I had almost completely forgotten about the museum.  When I first say the NY Hall of Science listed on the back of the card I thought they were insane to put it there.  No college student would go there, it was for kids.  Yet my inner child screamed, “Choose that one!”  Somehow I wound up giving in.

Upon entering I remembered one important detail my memories had left out.  Yes, every exhibit was fun and seemed like a toy, however I didn’t understand most of them as a kid.  I either didn’t understand the exhibits or made no attempt to try to because I wasn’t interested in science at all.  The museum was completely new to me again, filled with information ready to be learned while playing with the devices set out to help children understand scientific concepts.

All explanations seemed to be dumbed down as much as possible.  I was amazed at how much I had learned in the seven years since I last visited.  Despite many differences in the layout of the museum and quite a few new displays, I was glad to see the same exhibits there that I remembered from the last time I had gone.  It felt like going home again after a long absence.

There were my favorites: the shadow room, the optical illusion room, the walls which cast your shadows in assorted colors, and the bubble wall.  I still cannot tell anyone the dynamics of these or why they’re even there besides to look interesting.  They seemed more like works of art or machines made to create art.

I hope they continue to add and improve upon new exhibits because going to a museum like this creates a memory that stays with a child for a lifetime.   The Hall of Science offers more than just a fun house or artistic designs meant to represent some sort of model.  It is also a place of learning where anyone and everyone is welcome.

Artist at work
Courtesy of Cassie Lui

Back in September, I went on a cultural event to see 5Pointz. I actually see 5Pointz every day on the 7 line as I take my long commute to school. I always happen to look at it, but I never seem to pay too much attention. The only thing that catches my attention from this building full of graffiti is the insane and beautifully detailed “painting” of the famous Notorious B.I.G. I’m always intrigued by it, but never took the time out to walk around the building and see the entire artwork that is on this building. Going to this place really opened to eyes about the artwork that NYC is surrounded by. NYC is full of graffiti, although it is not looked upon as art, 5Pointz makes people realize that graffiti is a form of art and it should be appreciated. The fact that artists take the time out from all over the world to come to this building to show their artwork, without having the chance of being penalized for destroying public property, is amazing. While my visit there, I saw a man who was actually working on a piece of art at the location. His work was so detailed and you can see the heart that the artist was putting into it. The amount of time, work, and effort that goes into the artwork that is shown on this typical Queens building is absolutely breathtaking and makes me actually appreciate the graffiti that surrounds NYC. The one thing that truly made me amazed was the fact that people want to destroy the building and take away this beautiful artwork away. The fact that this building’s purpose is to showcase graffiti (legally) to the public and for these “street artists” to portray their talent to the world, to the city, and to themselves. To take that away from an artist is truly unfair and truly destroys a form of art that is strongly practiced in NYC even though it is looked down upon. I love 5Pointz and what this building consists of and this building made me appreciate graffiti in a whole new way. Graffiti isn’t just “scrap on the walls”, it’s actually art that has meaning to it just like any other piece of artwork in the world.