CUNY Macaulay Honors College at Baruch College/Professor Bernstein

It’s not too often that I have the chance to hear a photographer speak, so when Sara Krulwich visited our class, I must say that I was particularly interested in listening to her describe her experience photographing relatively high profile events. At mere glance, what her job entails seems pretty simple: photograph what’s going on. However, accomplishing such a goal (especially during live events) couldn’t possibly be as easy as one might think, and with her visit, Krulwich confirmed just that.

Take sports, a very large component of Krulwich’s early professional photography days; most would venture to say that shooting a sporting event wouldn’t be that difficult, yet after considering the importance of the millisecond, one would realize that getting the perfect shot isn’t so easy. And Ms. Krulwich wasn’t particularly afraid to admit that she struggled in the beginning to get it right. Citing missed boxing punches and missed swings in baseball, she didn’t hide from her mistakes, rather she worked and improved them ultimately working in some of the most high profile sporting events in the world.

Everyone thinks that they can take the ideal shot, in reality though, most cannot get one right let alone hundreds or thousands during a particular event. They are called professional photographers for a reason, and it is for that same reason that none of Joe Schmo’s photos are printed in the NY Times. While others may take different thoughts away from her presentation, Sara Krulwich’s talk eventually taught me one thing: I’d much rather be watching and enjoying the game/play/event, than photographing every other second of it.

<Still Listens, Acrylic Painting over Plastic Board and Cloth>

“What is the most powerful thing in life?” When asked to answer this question in an art and politics class at the Museum of Modern Art, I started to sketch a brain passionately. I believed intelligence is having the ability to wield power. Through this class, I observed how artists transmit their political views, thoughts, and inspirations by using their art as a medium. Studying political art exposed me to a broader view of the world. My initial thoughts of political art were that it must convey incomprehensible themes and controversial issues like racism. As the class progressed, I developed a sophisticated way of reasoning through my final project. I was able to obtain my third eye on examining a social issue free from establishing a fixation.

I chose to portray the theme of miscommunication between the people for my final project. Overexposed to the streams of excessive, unnecessary information from the internet and other sources, I suddenly realized my sensation has been dulled. After perceiving my dilemma, I started to examine our society in a different aspect. Surprisingly, I could see people raising their voices over insignificant things without even trying to understand each other every day.  Since communication is the fundamental tool for creating relationships among people and the building blocks of our society, I realized its profound impact was even beyond our cultural boundaries. The absence of sincerity, not the language itself, was the real bane causing social discord.

After I got the gist of the sketch, I decided to weave Korean culture into my work. My challenge was finding one focal point within two different cultures. I interpreted a Korean proverb, “reading a Buddhist bible to a cow,” which has the same meaning as “talking to a wall” in Western culture. I drew a cow wearing a mask, glasses, and headset to symbolize all sensors has been blocked. Then I cut the edges of the board as if they’re flowing into the headset. There was nothing particularly standing out as “Korean,” or “American,” but a newly intertwined culture of my own.

On the opening day of our exhibition, the diversity and richness of the viewers’ thoughtful approaches amazed me. When I was first asked what the most powerful thing is, I simply restated the well- known maxim: “Knowledge is power.” After ten weeks, I became aware that real power can be solely obtained by examining things in life in a creative and new aspect, and interpreting, feeling the world as it is.  Political art wasn’t obscure; it was simply a window that’s portraying us, reflecting our society, and showing the future. When I started to explain my final project, I felt more like an artists than just a high school student. I found a new sensation of happiness in the process of creating a work of art work and observing things in life in a different perspective.

To be Frank, I was not expecting much when I was told that a New York Times reporter would be coming in. I thought it would just be another boring person giving us a lecture about how to take photographs or how to interview people, that was something I was unwilling to sit down for. It was only until she revealed that she was an arts photographer, was when she my interest escalated.

I go through the arts section of the New York Times several times a week and I admire many of the pictures that are taken. I believe that it takes great skill to capture a moment of dance or movement into a still frame. Because I also perform I was particularly interested in how other people convey the powerful movements that dancers do. As she explained how she used different techniques to take pictures involving shutter speeds and begging for access to specific shows, I became intrigued by the history behind reporting. However, luckily enough she went on to explain that as well.

She told the class how she became a very controversial photographer at the University of Michigan for being the first woman reporter to walk onto the field during the 60s. It was no surprise that the crowd was in an uproar because sexism was very prevalent during the 60s. Sara told the class that she had to be escorted out of the stadium. She said the stadium did not allow woman or dogs to walk onto the field, noting that women during the 60s were compared to be as low as dogs. Ever since then, Krulwich challenged the cultural norms, even getting a job at New York Times, when it was considered having women reporters was scandalous.

As the class was coming to an end, she noted another very important detail; she was the mother of one of my classmates. At this point my fondness towards her grew with no bounds. It was hard to take in that one of my friends in High School who had a mother who contributed in her own way to women’s rights.

If I had a chance to depict my life with a photo, which image would I choose? Even though my facebook profile album is overflowing with funny, yet meaningless photos of myself as a moderately reckless college kid, I could not come up with a definite moment in my life that would describe my personality, philosophy and dreams as a whole. However, Sara Kruwich is different; in my last IDC class, she opened up her speech about her career and life with a photo of herself.

In the photo that changed her life, 18-year-old Sara Krulwich was smiling in a giant Mexican hat in the middle of the football field at the University of Michigan. As if she had no idea that she was about to be dragged out by gigantic football players from the field for illegally invading the men’s field, her smile was perfectly calm and comfortable. Growing up as a teenager and a young woman in the 1960s, sexism wasn’t a phenomenon, but reality to Sara Krulwich. No women and dogs were allowed to enter the football field at the University of  Michigan. However, the University soon accepted a dog as its mascot. While women were still uninvited, the dogs joined the crowd on the football field.  “Why can’t I?” Krulwich asked herself, “If dogs can enter the field, I thought, why can’t I?” This was the question that reinforced her to be the front-runner for changing the history, generation, and culture.

From that moment on, Sara Krulwich became“the first” and “only” in her career path as a woman photographer. She was one of the first women photographers working at the New York Times. She was the only woman photographer who worked on the sports field among the hundreds of men. For decades, she saw the world through a different perspective. She was able to develop a sharp focus and found reality in drama through her photos.  With a smile, she asked us to be courageous and be ourselves.

Now it’s finally the time for me to face the previous question again. I do not know how long it would take for me to find the “right” moment, but I am going to continue to move on with the courage that Sara Krulwich gave me today.

One person lived a life which he would recall as “the Bitter Sea.” If we compare our lives as a voyage on the sea that would define ourselves of who we are and where we are heading toward, Charles N. Li’s voyage is made through consecutive strikes of Hurricanes. However, those hardships are hard to be compared with a natural disaster. Despite the situation that Li has to deal with, he is able to make decisions over his life. Both the environment and his own decision paves a way for him to achieve maturity as an adult.

Once growing up as a son of the wealthy Chinese government official, Li becomes a street kid in the slum unexpectedly. After spending a year at the foreigner’s camp in the Communist China, Li realizes he has been used by his ambitious father who aims to regain his political strength through his son. Bitter yet sweet, his life is a restless ride on a roller-coaster that does not have an apparent destination. This quaky departure is solely based on the rigid and disfigured relationship between his father and him. Filial piety’s influence in China is beyond its meaning of philosophy. In this father and son relationship, there are no exchanges of affectionate words or eye-contacts. As if they have made a contract, Li and his father simply acting out their own roles. Li takes a role as an obedient, diligent and smart student, and his father as a provider of food and shelter.

Throughout his life, all Li wants to earn from his father is freedom. Li recalls that his years spending in the slum are the most delightful and unforgettable memory of all times.

Later on, Li’s encounter to Communist China’s restrictive atmosphere of controlling ideas elevates his inner conflict of raising his self-consciousness. At the end, he is able to step out of his father’s shadow and face the world by himself.

The pivotal moment for Li turning into adulthood is when he comes back from the Communist China and decides to be independent from his father. He financially, physically and mentally detaches himself from his father’s influence. As he prepares himself for another enormous transition in life of studying abroad in the United States, Li is able to understand his father for the first time and finally forgives him. He even embraces his father’s never-ending political ambition. Li decides to mend his disrupted relationship with his father at the beginning of his new life.

I do not believe Li’s present self is drastically influenced by either Chinese culture or Communism. Every person bears his or her own burden of life. Through challenges, a person is simply learning how to move from the past or flow with it. Nonetheless, I greatly appreciate Li’s story because he is volunteering to be a role model who assiduously and audaciously steps forward to face destiny and eventually, finds himself.

A dim orange light directly projected the hidden heroes of the Broadway musical The Scottsboro Boys in the dark Lyceum Theatre. Several metallic chairs were bunched up on the empty stage as if they were implying the musical’s complicated dilemma of maintaining balance between depicting the gravity of a historical event and presenting entertainment to the audience. The illumination of the legs got dimmer as the light gradually faded away. Soon the entire stage was filled with all the miscellaneous noises of the city. When the light was finally restored, the audience was introduced to a crucial, but mysterious heroine of the musical. One African American lady in an ivory dress and heavy trench coat sat on one of the chairs. With this anonymous woman’s blank gaze at the audience, the Scottsboro boys finally drew their heavy curtains.

The Scottsboro Boys is a musical based on a historical incident that was taken place in 1931. Nine African American teenagers, who were traveling the northeast part of Alabama, were wrongly accused of raping two white women. Just like most of the audience there, I initially misread the synopsis and presumed that this musical’s potential was locked in the heavy atmosphere of depicting racism and clashes between different social classes in the 1930s. As the storyline progressed, however, I found that my initial assumption was wrong. The musical’s potential was not limited. The musical did stop at simply narrating the historical context on behalf of the innocent victims of the social prejudices. Similar to what the Scottsboro boys sang their song “Shout,” this musical was an astonishing debut of all the muted, forgotten, and ignored neighbors of our society.

The musical was able to project the voice clearly by minimizing the number of stage devices and allowed the audience to focus on the characters and the storyline from other visual factors. By doing so, it was able to make the audience to perceive the metaphorical meaning of the scenes better. The several metallic chairs and three giant frames were the only stage devices that were used in the musical. The scene after another, the chairs were bunched up and became a train, a prison cell, and often simply served their original role, chairs. The cell created by chair legs implied unfair treatment of the society toward the innocent boys behind the iron bars. Meanwhile, the huge frames on the back of the stage indicated the society’s paradox for its careless judgment of individuals according to its own biased standard. Also, it served as a metaphor for our cognitive rulers that we use everyday to measure others’ worth.

Even though the songs were encoded in lively beats and sung by performers with energetic choreography, the musical successfully maintained its sharp satire on the social prejudices against the African Americans. The best moment of this performance came at last when all the boys sang “The Scottsboro Boys” together in unison. Their faces were entirely colored in black except for their mouths. Everyone, whether they were freed from the wrong accusation or got executed, came together in one voice. In the middle of the song, the freed boys came up to the front and explained what happened to their lives afterward. Even though they could run away from the instant accusation of a false crime, most of them could not successfully merged back into the society.  In this scene, I was able to redefine my own definition of freedom: the society itself was the actual life-long imprisonment for the boys.

The Scottsboro Boys examined the significance of spirit of civil disobedience in our society. History is written in favor of who play by the rules. In that perspective, Haywood was the loser: he was the only person who refused to admit his false charge and chose death rather than pleading for life. However, the real irony in the musical is that the concept of power was interpreted differently. This time, or at least this musical was in favor of the losers and strived to retrieve their lost voices. Haywood himself became a resonating evidence of injustice by refusing to obey a false order.

Besides portraying the serious consequences of racism in the 30s, the musical also depicted discrimination against other social groups. The lady who first appeared on the stage did not speak any word throughout the musical. She either sat or stood in the corner of the stage as if she did not belong to anywhere. No one noticed her presence. When she knelt down to check if Haywood was okay after being forcefully pushed away by the prosecutor, Haywood waved her off. In the last scene, she sat on a chair in the dark all by herself again. A white driver demanded her to give up her sit.  “No,” she spoke for the first time, “No, I don’t want to move.” Setting up the “speechless woman” as Rosa Park was slightly too dramatic and easily predictable to some extent. Nonetheless, this predictable ending was powerful enough to recap and collect all the ambivalent emotions toward the incident.

Through the upbeat flow of rich jazz melody in “Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey!” and Haywood’s deep voice in his solo “You Can’t Do Me,” the Scottsboro Boys presented a full package of different performance arts. Each character’s voice was unique, yet blended perfectly into unison.  After the curtain fell back again, I found myself remaining in my seat asking myself different questions. What freedom really means to me? Am I free in my world? What is justice? I couldn’t answer any of the questions out of my head. However, I suddenly realized how heavy the weight of freedom is that I carry all the time.

Image was taken from <http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://yle.fi/d-projekti/arkisto/2003/kuvat/scottsboro.jpg&imgrefurl=http://yle.fi/d-projekti/arkisto/2004/english/march04.html&usg=__v2RmLQE-rLO9dYLB3YkdRSrej9g=&h=167&w=220&sz=8&hl=en&start=0&sig2=bRaxV59X_34wKK7YwR5DaA&zoom=1&tbnid=H-qQPJtmhUiQ-M:&tbnh=105&tbnw=136&ei=y-8CTb2_IIL48AaD6OXpAg&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dscottsboro%2Bboys%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26biw%3D1276%26bih%3D624%26tbs%3Disch:10%2C2&um=1&itbs=1&iact=hc&vpx=693&vpy=246&dur=756&hovh=133&hovw=176&tx=58&ty=104&oei=y-8CTb2_IIL48AaD6OXpAg&esq=1&page=1&ndsp=24&ved=1t:429,r:4,s:0&biw=1276&bih=624>

(this post was in my drafts, I had never published it. oops!)

Since moving to the Lower East Side around three months ago, part of me has come to think of the area as my own. The mismatched graffiti, musty vintage clothing stores, and quaint cafes are a part of my everyday. I was wary, then, to hear someone else speak of the area as if it was theirs.

When Richard Price first stepped onto the podium and began speaking, I must admit that I judged him immediately. His yellow polo shirt and thick New York accent made me think he was a stereotypical rich Jewish New Yorker, the kind who thinks he or she knows lower Manhattan because they go to Chinatown to bargain for scarves, or transfer trains at Delancey and Essex without actually leaving the station.

I am pleased to say that I was wrong. Although Richard Price may dress the part of a yuppie, he certainly does not play it. He grew up in a housing project. He knows cops. He knows criminals. Richard Price is real. He cut to the chase with everything he said. He has strong opinions, and evidence to back them up. He knows what he is talking about. He knows the Lower East Side. His ability to observe is almost eerie. It is almost too good. He soaks up everything, every little detail, and is able to morph these tiny visions into words, both out loud and on paper, that truly capture an audience’s attention.

IDC Who He Was

My first encounter with Chulho started with an interview in Korea. About 10 years ago, I first entered his broadcasting company’s building with a light heart. We shook hands in a dark room filled with hundreds of TV monitors. In the middle of muted CNN, BBC, Chinese, Korean, Japanese and some European news, I asked him my first question with a shaky voice. I don’t remember exactly what the question was, but it was probably something very awkward and trite like “How are you?” I was so nervous about my first “official” task in journalism. I had an assignment for school to interview an adult who inspired me. At the time, I was a 9-year-old girl who wanted to become an anchorwoman. Ten years have passed, and that 9-year-old girl is attending college and that anchor from Korea is now an international civil servant working with UNICEF. With nostalgia of our first encounter, this time, I started our second interview with a smile.

My first question was “What kind of college student were you?” Chulho leaned back in his chair and smiled. As if asking me why was I so curious about his old, glorious days, he smiled again and again. After catching the sincere curiosity in my eyes, he answered at last: “Studious, for the most of part.” As he progressed into higher grades, he was able to distinguish different types of intelligence: “book-smart,” which was basically thinking and explaining things in life in an academic perspective and “life-smart,” gaining insight outside the classroom. I couldn’t help myself but to ask “Which one do you think would describe you better?” His answer, just like always, was very journalistic and moderate. “Well, somewhere in the middle, I guess?” We both laughed. I remembered that during the first interview, his mischievous humor and sharp talking points were the traits that I admired the most about him as a journalist. He hasn’t changed over the years at all.

Throughout our conversation about his exciting college experiences, such as traveling around the nation for the concerts of his Acappella group, I asked him why he chose journalism as his major. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “You are really making me think back to the younger days.” Since he was in junior high school, Chulho was always interested in languages, literature, and current events. He joined school newspapers and radio projects. Growing up as a son of a former career diplomat, he always enjoyed cultural immersion and encounters with people from different parts of the world. He called his decision, “a natural confirmation of both academic affinities and personal upbringings.” “Wow!” I exclaimed, “what a combination of words.” With playful nodding, he agreed with me. After finishing his undergraduate studies at Stanford, Chulho attended the Columbia Graduate School of Journalism to broaden his knowledge in Journalism.

I suddenly wondered, “Was there any shortcomings that he felt about journalism or media industry?” Chulho’s answer was simple, yet convincing. Media and objectivity were no longer on the same line anymore. Political influence, commercialism and all the hidden power relations behind the media created a slant and eradicated true objectivity. He added, “The emergence of first-person reporting (I saw this, I saw that) and how some media organizations spend too much time congratulating themselves on the jobs that they are supposed to be doing in the first place, can be a real hindrance to objectivity.” I told him that maybe the emergence of new, digital communication tools, such as Facebook, blogs, and Tweeter, are solidifying the trend of the first person reporting. “Certainly,” Chulho nodded, “you may argue that true objectivity does not exist in the first place, but I think it is crucial to keep it as a goal, no matter how elusive, whether it’s the traditional media or the emerging role of civic journalism.”

When I asked him when was the pivotal moment that changed his life, he recalled 9/11. It was a little bit of surprise for me. I thought he was going to share some heartbreaking episodes about the suffering children in Africa or (no surprise!) his decision to get married to my cousin. To my knowledge, Chulho himself wasn’t directly affected by 9/11. The only thing that I could recall was that my cousin followed him on his business trip and stayed in New York City that week. After a few seconds of pause, he began to share his story. He said “I was actually in New York City at the time having been sent on mission from UNICEF Afghanistan to provide support during what was supposed to have been that year’s UN General Assembly Special Session on Children.” By that time, he had been working for UNICEF for only about 4 months. This incident forced him to face the biggest dilemma both in his career and his life. As tensions rose and being quickly focused on Afghanistan, where his office was located, he was not so sure whether he should continue his career at UNICEF in this dangerous atmosphere. It was extremely hard to make a decision regarding “heading to Islamabad, Pakistan, where the main office was based, and eventually Kabul.” He continued, “It was a decision made on the basis that I would approach my work like a journalist, and with full support of the family.” Even though I wasn’t forcing myself to comprehend, I could sense how difficult it was for him to make a decision. However, he made a decision to stay on his career path.

After traveling and living all over the world, from Pakistan to Afghanistan and then to Uganda, this is Chulho’s first year working at the UN headquarters in New York City. To my question of his overall experience at the UN, he replied that it has been “truly fantastic.” He feels excessively privileged to have this kind of opportunity. As the interview was drawing to an end, I realized it was finally the time to throw some cliché questions to him. “Do you feel any regrets?” He almost instantly answered, “No.”

I finally asked him about our first interview. Even before I could finish my question, I laughed out loud out of embarrassment. He walked to the shelves and brought out an old photo album without saying anything further. Surprisingly, he organized all the photos that I’ve taken with him AND the old copy of my article that I wrote 10 years ago on the interview. Now it was really the time for me to run away. I desperately started looking for a hole –any hole that I could hide my terribly embarrassed self in. However, I decided to maintain my professionalism and asked him if he felt any different now and then about himself. He softly chuckled and said, “As someone with a little more experience professionally, and now of course a father, I do feel like I am that much older. But I am essentially the same person.”

As his niece, I finished my interview with a personal request of life advice.  His last words were very helpful: “You are doing great. Bon Courage!” I teased him sarcastically saying “that’s so helpful!” In fact, I wasn’t being sarcastic at all. It was the best advice for me. I always wonder if I am going in the right direction in life. Chulho is one of the people who guide me to see what I want to do in my life. He is the front-runner and I am his follower. For that reason, it was such a relief hearing that I am still “doing a great job” from him. He still remains as one of my best mentors in life and definitely will be for a long time.

I had been to the MoMa once before, I remember, vaguely. I must have been young because I could hardly recognize it. When I walked through the exhibits, it all seemed so enchanting. Granted, some were a little too abstract for my taste. But others seemed so inventive and thought provoking, so I wrote a few down.

One specific artist written on the top of my list was Barnett Newman. Newman’s work stirred up conversations. Most around me were unappreciative, and just saw a line. At first, I did too. But lines are not just lines when they are exhibited at the MoMa, so I decided to take a look. Apparently, the idea behind Mr. Newman’s collection was to convey a sense of separateness, while being completely connected. It is a message of the human race, and how disconnected we all feel but in reality, we are all together. After reading that, it was much more than just a straight line. Modern art, I believe, is really just the manifestation of a concept. Instead of creating an aesthetic, it focuses more on an idea than the final product. A line isn’t exactly a work of art, unless the line represents an idea.

I see where some people may lose appreciation here. But there is something to say about the concepts behind some of the pieces I saw at the museum.

http://nsm.uh.edu/~dgraur/images/newman.bei.jpg

Robert Frank’s exhibit interested me as well. Frank was a photographer in the 1930s whose work in black and white film “stood out” to say the least. I shuffled through a book of his prints, some of which were enlarged on the adjacent wall. They were beautiful, and caught real people doing mundane things. One that struck me hard, and pained me to see, was Dead Horse.

http://lh5.ggpht.com/_hBqdPD_7M_Y/SoedMrNL97I/AAAAAAAAF7E/gtikTfiGsHE/robert-frank-dead-horse%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800

I have seen war photography, and I have seen pictures of crime and death, but never of a horse. Maybe I have a soft spot for the animals, but this was something I never wanted to see. But maybe that is art – bringing to light what no one would intend on showing you. It evoked emotions, alright.

But the one piece that struck me the most, was Big Red by Sam Francis. I do not really know why, but I must have stood by myself staring for a good five minutes. The intricate layerings and the colors just brought about a lot in me. It must be the pure size of it – it’s huge – and the solemness of the painting. I almost wanted to cry.

http://farm1.static.flickr.com/63/207519788_c3c5fa59a7.jpg

So, I went home and made it my laptop background. It’s the most I can do to pay personal homage.

Sara Krulwich walked into that classroom with an almost majestic presence. Her face is warm and familiar, and her eyes seemed to earnestly seek out everyone in the room. As she introduced herself, I was excited.

I did not know much about her, but had seen some of her work in the New York Times unknowingly. I read the Theater section for my weekly fix. After she came in, I’ve been noticing her name in a lot of the articles I read – and now I appreciate them so much more.

Her story was inspiring, to say the least; she took a hit for all the female photographers before her (all few of them). She had no reason to believe that she could make it as a photographer, as she wasn’t even allowed on her college football field. Sara’s do-it-yourself attitude led her to do great things, and be the first to do them.

Hearing her story come from her mouth so matter-of-factly and with a slight undertone of pride was so very impressive. She could have easily puffed out her chest and said, “Yeah, I am great.” But she did not. Instead, she left me with hope. Hope that I could do the same, but I would not have to. I would not have to because she paved the way for other women to follow in her difficult footsteps.

When she explained her first interactions with her camera, I could imagine her in a room fiddling around with a DIY film developing kit – because I’ve been through the same thing. For hours on end I would dabble with buttons and settings, experimenting. When I started with film I would sit in a dark room with no experience and just go for it.

She gives me hope that if I keep up with it, maybe my photography could blossom into more than just experiments. Sara did not go out on crazy trips around the world to follow poverty and crime in third world countries, and she did not spend her time taking avant-garde pictures of malnourished models. She takes pictures of what she knows and loves, and provides another medium for fellow theater-lovers to appreciate it more. And on top of that, she did it FIRST.