Arts in New York City: Baruch College, Fall 2008, Professor Roslyn Bernstein

Once we make a decision, it’s often too late to change. For Frances Richey, however, she was able to repair her relationship with her son, Ben. I chanced to meet her at the Macaulay Honors event, hosted on the Veterans Day. Though I did not know much about her background, prior to the event, her poems reflected her internal struggle with her son. In a divided family with separate views on politics, Richey struggled to compromise with Ben. After He was deployed to serve at Iraq, Richey began to realize how selfish she was. In her published book, The Warrior, Richey attempted to reconstruct her fractured relationship with her son. [Read more →]

Works of art such as this one by Giulio Romano, don’t make me think of that time after the dark ages, don’t make me think of knights or blossoming science.  It makes me think about beauty.  It makes me think about how beauty has changed with the passing years, how it’s different for each person, each continent each era. Especially with the female image. [Read more →]

When he walked into the room, Jeff Mermelstien exuded an air of nervousness.  He kept his head down and said little as he surveyed the small class and edged his tall body toward the back.  The few things he said were calm and bored sounding as he first opened his mouth to introduce himself and to ask for help setting up.  It was as though he had the distinct impression that we as a class were going to verbally attack him and his art at the first possible opening.  He set up his slides and steeled himself for a blank and humorless hour and a half.  He obviously did not realize the kind of class he was dealing with. [Read more →]

I’m always excited for dance performances.  They inspire me, send shivers down my spine and keep me stick straight in anticipation of what comes next.  That is unless they’re bad.  Then I get monumentally disappointed and feel ass though the life was drained out of me during the performance.  I went into the Bush Women performance kind of wary, trying not to get my hopes up too high and because of my fellow students doubt was permeating my usual enthusiasm.  [Read more →]

{slight technical difficulty. just turn your computers 90 degrees}

I like to make pretty things
Involving sharp teeth and butterfly wings
There is a scene of a lovely girl
Blowing balloons around the world
From the picture fantasy sings

Capa’s startling black and white photographs brought out the sympathy that usually resides deep in my being, back by the spine, slick with cynic oil.  I saw the solemn eyes peering between barbed wire and somehow felt chills of recognition down my spine.  [Read more →]

As soon as I saw the stage light up at BAM, my imagination was captivated. The music and light from the first scene created a serene atmosphere and I was reminded of the ocean, as if the dancers themselves were placed on the shores of Africa. When I watch dance performances, my mind usually lingers, and linger it did in a sense, but my eyes were still drawn to the stage. My favorite part of the performance, done by the Urban Bush Women and Compagnie Jant-Bi, was when a group of guys came on stage. This was partly because from afar, before that I could not entirely tell which of the performers were male or female. The men danced raucously but with graceful and synchronized movements. [Read more →]

Urban Bush women, the scales of Memory, is a very symbolic dance performance. The name can be a little confusing because “bush women” would imply an emphasis on nature, but urban gives us the mental image of city life. This confusion that I had when I read the title was the same level of confusion that I had during the performance. Throughout the entirety of the performance I had trouble understanding what, if anything, was going on. The dancing was very entertaining but it was hard to appreciate it when the symbolic meanings were completely lost on me. [Read more →]

At an instant, when Sam Freedman visited our classroom, one could tell he was dedicated and humble. Barely late at all, he was apologetic of running a bit behind, despite countless valid excuses. What a busy man! I believe a lot of his energy and drive contribute to his successes as a writer, teacher, and human being. When he began speaking about his novel, one could tell he was kind, despite what could be considered mean about his nature towards his mother in “Who She Was.” He spoke as an author should, with words full of color. One thing that struck me as odd was the repetition of the word obscure to describe his mother. It is such an honest word, but I would have used it to negatively describe someone whose character I find to be slightly off, yet he used the word without remorse, as if it was in full of meaning, but dead in the way I am used to. [Read more →]

A hero can be defined as “a man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.”  When I hear this definition I cannot help but pair it with my father.  Throughout my life there has always been one person I viewed higher than all the others.  This man lives his life for one reason: to support his family until the day he dies.  He hasn’t complained a day in his life and has made countless sacrifices to get this essential job done.  Dreams of professional sports were put on hold and eventually forgotten due to this immense responsibility of supporting a family.  When I asked him if he had any regrets for not pursuing these goals in the sports world, he simply responded, “Not at all, my family needed me.  If I had to do it all over, I would have made the same decision.” [Read more →]