Category — Site Authors

As I made my way through the busy Manhattan street, and entered the International Center of Photography, I was captivated by the simplicity and the modernity of the museum.  These characteristics of the museum helped set all of the focus on the exhibit on display (The Mexican Suitcase). The lighting throughout the exhibit was also simplistic, as it didn’t create too dramatic of an effect, and thus, didn’t interfere with the viewing experience. The one problem I had with the simplicity of the exhibit was the presence of a lot of emptiness on the walls, as the photographs covered only an infinitesimal fraction of the walls.  In many areas, writing such as the explanation of the exhibit and the Spanish Civil War, and dates could be seen covering up some empty spaces, and although it helped cover more of the walls, overall, it still wasn’t very effective.  As for the exhibit itself, the Mexican Suitcase consisted of the works (and techniques) of Robert Capa, Gerda Taro, and David Seymour, and captured all aspects of the Spanish Civil War, from the politics behind it, the actual warfare, the damage inflicted by it, and its societal impact.  Their extensive work on the Spanish Civil War allows viewers of the exhibit to revisit and learn about a major historical event.

Some of the best photography from the exhibit was that which displayed warfare.  Robert Capa’s work especially (who was my favorite photographer out of the three), gives us the sensation that we are actually in the trenches and the battlefields witnessing the war take place.  He creates this feeling through his emphasis on the backgrounds in his photos. One such photograph in which he does this is from the Battle of Teruel, in which two soldiers are looking out through a destroyed building. The focus on the gorgeous backdrop and its sense of proximity really allow viewers to get a scope of the setting, and feel as if they are a part of the photo.  Throughout his photographs, not only do we see bleak images of death and destruction, but also of camaraderie and hope.  One photograph that really caught my attention was an inspiring photo he took from the Battle of Rio Segre; it was a photo of two soldiers helping one of their wounded companions through uplifted dust.  Due to the dust, the photograph appears blurry, and although the three soldiers appear to be the focus of the photo, it’s their emergence from the background that makes them the focus.  Robert Capa’s style of photography, in which the environment is emphasized, is one that I really enjoy.

The photography of Gerda Taro and David Seymour seemed to focus more on people rather than backgrounds.  Gerda Taro’s photography, which focuses primarily on the people in it, results in some depressing images.  In her photography, particularly from her photos of the battle from the Navacerrada Pass, we witness death, injuries, and get a grasp of how formidable the war was.  Many of David Seymour’s photographs display and emphasize larger groups of people and their movements.  For example, in one of his galleries, which shows a parade in Barcelona commemorating the 19^th anniversary of the Russian Revolution, many of his photos focus solely on the large group of people in attendance.  The most interesting photo taken by David Seymour that was on display was of a woman nursing her child at a land reform meeting. In this photograph the woman is amongst a large group of people, but is clearly the focus of the photograph.  Taro’s and Seymour’s attention on the citizens and soldiers of the Spanish Civil War portrays the societal impact of the war.(http://museum.icp.org/museum/collections/special/chim/pics/b-38.jpg)

Through the combination of the photography styles of Taro, Capa, and Seymour, we really get to see a diverse collection of images from this major historical event.  The International Center of Photography does a great job in displaying these photographs for the public to see.  The Mexican Suitcase is a tremendous exhibit for fans of photography, and those who want to learn about the Spanish Civil War.

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This summer my friend asked me if I wanted to come to a music festival with her. I immediately agreed, not really knowing what she meant by a festival but expecting something akin to a concert. The morning of the festival was cold and rainy, a typical summer day in Sweden. My friend’s dad picked me up and we drove for over an hour until we reached a town consisting of nothing more than a bar and a gas station. “We’re almost there,” my friend told me and I wondered where this “town” could possibly be hiding a concert hall. We turned onto a thin dirt road and continued for about fifteen minutes, going deeper and deeper into the forest. When my friend’s dad stopped the car, I stepped out to the sight of more trees and a few other cars parked along the path. We walked up the road for several minutes and by the time we finally reached a tiny ticket booth I was shivering and damp. I was given a hot pink band to put around my arm and directed even further up the road. We finally came to a clearing with a little farmhouse and three big red barns. I heard faint music playing from one of the barns and peeked through the door to see people spread out on the dirt floor listening to a tiny woman with thick blonde dreadlocks wailing into a microphone. I shot a look at my friend but she was busy talking to a group of women that looked exactly like the one up on stage, all wearing similar flowing tunics and chunky beaded bracelets. I felt like I was at a festival straight out of the movie “Taking Woodstock.” My friend soon returned to my side and ushered me into one of the barns to hear a band called New Tango Orquesta. As the musicians stepped out on stage carrying classical instruments I had to suppress a groan. According to the schedule this performance was going to last over two hours and I did not have the patience to listen to boring music for that long. However I slumped down next to my friend without complaint, making sure to be seated by the wall so I could lean against it if I felt myself growing sleepy.

The next two hours flew by like they were fifteen minutes. From the moment the band started playing, the music captivated me. I downloaded several of their songs once I got home and I still play them often. This was the first time I had ever really listened to classical music and it has led me to a whole new world of musical possibilities. My friend and I have already vowed to return to this festival next summer and I hope I will be pleasantly surprised once again.

I swear, it had to be four degrees. My hands shook like a volcano, my nose as red as molten lava – but I didn’t care. I sat on the steps of Central Park on the cusp of a wide open space around the famous fountain. All types of people passed, or stayed, or skated, or ran by. What caught some of our attention on this brisk day (to say the least) was a man and his bucket.

Standing between me and the fountain was a man in his mid thirties, equipped with two sticks, some rope attached, and buckets of soap. He routinely dipped the sticks, which he held like wands, at arms length and dipped them into the buckets. As he lifted and separated the sticks, he brought with him the most entrancing things – bubbles. Huge bubbles. Bubbles bigger than you and I put together.

Watching the bubbles form and float seamlessly in the wind, only to pop and dissolve, was beautiful. The bitter air was no longer fearful as long as I watched those bubbles. They seemed to have every color of the rainbow trapped inside, swirling and twirling and molding into each other.

I wasn’t the only one who noticed. People started to gather to watch this man make his bubbles. He gently lifted his sticks, and almost genuflected to the wind as he gracefully swept his arms in his magical bubble-making motions. Children started running around, chasing these huge mystical things. They would scream, and giggle, and skip, and just enjoy. And they weren’t alone: passersby would be pleasantly surprised to turn around to find an abnormally sized bubble ready to pop in their faces.

Soon, the fountain started to become more crowded. Children joined in with extra sticks, dipping them in and trying for themselves. Parents watched, laughed, took pictures. Friends smiled and pointed, waiting for their turn. Dogs chased and barked at them. Skaters slid around them, and some unfortunate runners ran right into them.

It was just so funny to see something so mundane bring so much joy to so many different sets of people. For a moment, we were all together. All us fountain-goers shared something once-in-a-lifetime, and I think some of us knew it. The beauty of the bubbles (that’s right, just bubbles), brought together people that never would have even look at the other in the street. I shared smiles and knowing glances with grandmothers, preteen Justin Bieber wannabes and even toddlers.

For a moment there was no sorrow in the world. Just beauty. There was no war, or sadness, but just social togetherness. Maybe Obama should send some bubbles in to the Middle East, and not soldiers. The world might be a better place.

Violence is inevitable. I know that. Especially living in New York, there isn’t going to be universal peace in all areas and neighborhoods. People argue. And unfortunately, people fight. But somehow, when you aren’t really exposed to that violence, you seem to forget that it exists.

In my life, although I’ve heard about crimes including mugging and murdering in my neighborhood, I never knew anyone that it happened to. And since I never had any first hand experience with it or knew anyone with these experiences, I never really thought about it. However, in the last four months, I’ve had one friend nearly stabbed to death a block away from my house in Sunset Park and another friend nearly shot to death in Flatbush. The stabbing occured in July while I was on vacation and when I heard about it, I couldn’t believe it. The victim was a life long family friend and a good kid. He was apparently jumped by four “thugs” and stabbed twice in the stomach. He was rushed to a nearby hospital and luckily was in stable condition, able to make a full recovery. There was no motive behind this attack. They simply did it just to do it as far as I know. Hearing about an act like this really makes you think about some people and what could possibly be going through their minds? What causes them to do these things? I will never understand it.

My friend that got shot is a little older than me. He played on my school’s football team but graduated a year before I got there. I saw him recently and he talked about how a few months ago, he got shot three times by a person who he’s known since he was a kid. They’ve lived on the same block they’re whole lives and they had gotten into an argument over something and the guy shot him. My friend spent a week in the hospital recovering and is okay now. But he said while he was in the hospital, he realized that an experience like this really puts things into perspective. One day you can be living care free but tomorrow is never a guarantee. He says he appreciates life so much more now and each day is a blessing.

I am writing this blog post for two reasons. The first is to show the different types people and lives’ in this world and just because we may not experience these situations, that doesn’t mean it’s not there. These things exist and happen everyday. The second reason I am writing this is to show how we should never take life for granted. Count your blessings and be grateful for them because things can always be worse. You never know what tomorrow will bring so be thankful for today.

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This past Sunday there was a mixture of different dance cultures. At approximately 10 P.M people were being let in for the last big jam of the year known as Kings of New York. People come from all over the city to show off their different dance styles and to compete for the number one place as a King of New York. There was break dancing, popping, house dance, and rocking. The dances are all part of New York City urban culture and learn through teaching one another. Although, each dance has come to adapt its own style the origin is the same. When you walk into the event you are met with different faces and different colors. Japanese, Hispanic, Chinese, European, Korean, or African American, any nationality you could think of was probably in this one large room. Each dance style was not exclusive to a certain nationality. There were proportionate amounts of people participating in each dance competition; the only thing that mattered was the way you could show off your moves. The dance floor was full of moving bodies and waving arms as the music was turned on full blast. Everyone danced together, whether you were a break-dancer or a popper, they all belonged to one giant dance floor that united everyone.

The International Center of Photography’s exhibit, Cuba in Revolution provided an incredibly fresh look at familiar faces. What was so impressive about the collection was the immense variety within what was a surprisingly logical sequence of photos. Visitors catch startling glimpses of peasantry, politicians, soldiers, wives and children living through the Cuban Revolution. One is left with a feeling analogous to that of completing a well-rounded book.

What stuck with me the most was ability of so many of the snapshots to suggest a story for your mind to wander upon. They are pieces of art. Some look more like paintings, others like movie screen shots but each has the ability to make you ponder the context.

My favorite pieces were those documenting the faces of Che Guevara. I am not a Che groupie, hat on head, t-shirt on chest, nor do I particularly admire the man but whether you despise or adore him, one must acknowledge that he is fascinating. The exhibit displayed a multitude of Che portraits, among them his most famous print. This famous face was geographically close to a small room where virgin images of the corpse of Guevara were on display- a haunting but slightly beautiful array of images. The sub collection was an impeccably developed reminder of how far anyone can fall.

Cuba in Revolution is the epitome photography exhibit. It captures, documents, and impeccably expresses an entire time period. However for as much as it is documentation, it is also art. The display design brought out the best parts of truly the best photographs and arranged them simply, tastefully and artistically. While The Mexican Suitcase exhibit has the potential to be as classically artsy, because the majority of the photos remain small and are displayed in clusters, individual images are more difficult to fully appreciate.

This was my first trip to the International Center of Photography and I was impressed. The compact premises offered a lot and nothing felt overcrowded. Each exhibit was tactful and fresh; I look forward to returning in the future.

The photos in International Center of Photography’s “Cuba in Revolution” exhibition were undeniably beautiful. They managed to capture several different aspects of the Cuban culture from before, during, and after the revolution. The photographs and their subjects were extremely diverse, ranging from funny to somber to celebratory. There was a photo of a grinning Cuban man wearing nothing but tight underwear and an oversized sombrero proudly holding up bottles of liquor, just inches away from a dark photo depicting two grim soldiers.

One especially striking part of the exhibit was the pictures of Che Guevara after his death. As I initially passed these photos I just glanced over them, assuming them to be uninteresting pictures of Guevara sleeping. However I was later drawn back to these photos by a friend who told me that they were pictures of Guevara’s corpse. These photos were perhaps even more disturbing than more graphic photos I have seen of deceased people because the expression on Che’s face was so peaceful. The photos were close-ups on his face and his eyes were open and bright, his mouth shaped into a slight smile. He did not look like a dead man.

Another photo that caught my attention was one called La Caballeria. It was one of the first photos you saw when you walked into the exhibition, depicting Cuban soldiers on horseback holding up revolutionary flags. This photo shows the intense passion of the soldiers and is an uplifting representation of the revolution. The contrast between light and dark in the photo is particularly noticeable. There is a white horse at the front of the group who contrasts sharply with the darker horses surrounding it. Its head is held high and its ears are alert and forward. The other horses seem small and weak by comparison. This white horse is a beacon of light, guiding the soldiers and their horses down the road to independence.

The last photo I saw as I left the exhibition was one of a young man and woman embracing. This photo contrasted with the images of Che Guevara’s corpse that I had just seen. This picture was very positive and hopeful. It hinted at a bright future for Cuba and its youth.

As I was coming off the rainy sidewalks and into the International Center for Photography (ICP), my eyes were met with an unusual sight. It was a large suitcase gleaming on the wall with what appeared to be rolls in the suitcase. I never for once believed that this gleaming picture on the wall was of any significance until the history behind it was explained. The Mexican Suitcase as it was known, was a compilation of photos of a civil war to photos of families. The over 126 rolls of films in the suitcase were taken by several photographers: Capa, Chim, Taro, Stein, and Seymour. Yet, this was still not the most interesting part about this suitcase, the over two thousand negatives were recently discovered in Mexico City, even though many people thought they were lost.

After the introduction to the giant suitcase I began walking around the exhibit and noticed a certain photograph of a woman nursing a baby with airplanes flying on top of her. Chim was the photographer of the woman nursing the baby; however, the pictures of the airplanes flying on top of her were edited in. For a long time this photograph created a great amount of controversy because there was some question as to whether the airplanes flying over the woman was edited or not. However, since the recovery of the Mexican Suitcase, the original negative revealed that the airplanes in fact were edited in. This already shows the significance of uncovering the lost negatives because it would help in clearing up many questions.

The lower level of the exhibit featured photographs of the Cuban Revolution. Many of the pictures depicted young soldiers fighting a war that they were dragged into. The photographs often were of civilians or innocent bystanders traveling. One photograph that remains etched in my mind is one of an old woman traveling with her family. She was carrying a large amount of supplies and appeared to be escaping from a war torn area. The photograph was very effective at creating a sense of disparity and evoking emotions of pity.

As I traveled back up the stairs I noticed something that I missed before. I was presented with the actual suitcase itself. Contrary to my beliefs, it was not actually one suitcase but three suitcases, each of which held many negatives. The suitcase itself was nothing extraordinary, but it is obvious that the old brown boxes are of great value.

The exhibit was a revealing experience. It opened up my eyes to different types of angles and photography. As a photographer you are not limited to just one or two different themes, you can choose to focus on different subject matters and shoot just certain type of people.

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In the summer of 2009, Conan O’Brien took over The Tonight Show.  I’ve never thought Leno was funny and was glad to see Conan move from late night.  This also meant I could watch Craig Ferguson at late night instead; a great lineup of late night talk shows all around.

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Most people I know don’t care for late night talk show hosts, but once I watched The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, I couldn’t stop watching.  Perhaps his humor isn’t meant for a larger demographic such as Letterman or Leno, as his joke are a little dirtier and of the moment (although he doesn’t have the technology prowess of Fallon).  With his Scottish accent, witty humor, yet intellectual musings, Ferguson makes for funny, sometimes laugh out loud moments that Leno and Letterman can barely solicit.  Ferguson doesn’t always get the most popular stars and sometimes they’re relatively little known or just an unknown author or comedian.  His guests are not always the most well known, but he knows how to get a laugh out of them and make the show entertaining.  There’s also his regular use of puppets, the letters from viewers he responds to, the way he throws his speaking cards or rips them up after he’s done reading them, funny facial expressions, and the censorship of curses with various flags covering his mouth and an expression from that country’s language (for example: it’ll be a Spanish flag and the viewer will hear “ay caramba.”

Talk show hosts like these will never be of the same tone as Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert but nonetheless, Conan, with his gingery floppy hair and gangly awkwardness will finally be bringing back his brand of self-deprecating humor.  TBS may not be the best platform for Conan, but it’ll be great to have him back on television.  Perhaps on cable he’ll be able to bring what Ferguson brings to late night: little humorous actions and the ability to make a regular interview and experience more interesting.  I feel like Conan is more modern and basic cable will serve him better any way.  On a bit of a side note, hopefully there will be more “wars” between Colbert, Stewart, and O’Brien which sometimes is left to dance-offs and brawls.

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As I type this, the season premiere is starting, Conan still has his facial hair, and has done his trademark jig.

The words going through my head right now are the ones Craig Ferguson always starts his show with: “It’s a great day for America, everybody!”

The exhibit on the Cuban Revolution of 1959 at ICP was an interesting one because it covered all the ground you could never get out of a history textbook. Through the photographic lens, we got to see the leaders of the revolution being regular people; Che Guevara and Fidel Castro were photographed skiing, playing baseball, drinking mate, smoking, etc. They seemed pretty similar to the regular people of Cuba, though we are reminded that they are not when shown certain photos such as Comandante Camillo Cienfuegos and Captain Rafael Ochoa at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington, DC,.

It was exciting to me to see the iconic picture of Che Guevara, the one all the hipsters don on their T-shirts just because he looks cool, in many different publications. I learned that he is cropped out of the original photo where he poses with someone else. We also got a taste of the culture in Cuba during the time of revolution through photographs; we saw dancing, kissing, several family portraits, and a growing love for The Beatles.

Though this exhibit was more the contemporary and interesting one to me of the two, there was one part of the Mexican suitcase that was interestingly unique which the Cuban Revolution exhibit could not make up for. Only here did we get to see a photo in various stages of its’ printing: the negatives, the original prints, and the way they were edited and published. There we also were able to see the negatives that were lost and never published anywhere. Still, the Cuban exhibit was more enjoyable to me. And it too, gave us the privilege if viewing never before seen photos – it was actually quite strange to me that they had an entire room dedicated to photos of Che Guevara’s dead corpse from his death in Bolivia in 1967. These are the true war photos to me, the ones that the textbooks leave out. This gave me an appreciation for photography and the way that it captures themes which words sometimes fall short in describing.

The one photo that I was stunned by was “La Caballeria,” taken by Raul Corrales. This is the photo that my mind kept coming back to after seeing the exhibit. The photo demonstrates an aspect of photography that I think we have lost. I feel as though photographers of today take fewer risks. This photo is real, raw, and dangerous.

Photos from: http://www.icp.org/museum/exhibitions/cuba