CUNY Macaulay Honors College at Baruch College/Professor Bernstein

Leanna Bornkamp, "E. Houston Store Front"

“With downcast eyes, there’s more to living than being alive…”–Stephen Christian, Anberlin

More often than not, I find myself looking at what people leave behind in the city—graffiti, posters, litter, signs. But it’s another thing entirely to truly look at the faces around us.

Most people make eye contact fleetingly in this city. Too long of a glance is awkward–women cross their arms, men look inquisitively—but why is it this way? Why is it that eye contact is so taboo? I was with a friend just yesterday who curiously asked me why I made eye contact with the man across the street, gauging if it was safe to cross. In my small hometown, if you don’t make eye contact with people on the street, it’s considered offensive—yet here, going about an average day involves a total disregard for the countless strangers in our lives.

I feel, like many, that a face can tells stories, that eyes often are the key to the soul. How many opportunities to connect with others, no matter how transiently, do I miss in my walk from the dorm to class? I must pass thousands of people in that half-hour—thousands of stories rendered meaningless through my indifference. If we are all meant to learn from each other, why is it so hard for us to even make eye contact?

Sadly, I know that tomorrow, as I walk to my first class, nothing will change: I will not go out of my way, no matter the potential benefit, to learn what I can from the people around me. Because it’s always Point A to Point B—it’s always the destination, not the journey, a concept so dissonant to the philosophical thoughts we hungrily consume.

But I know for sure, though, that tomorrow I will not react to the faces of New York City furtively—each glance I will end with a smile.

I wonder if others will appreciate that the way that I would.

In the prison world a tattoo of a spider web on one’s elbow used to mean that the wearer had killed a member of an enemy minority. Eventually the meaning expanded to someone who killed anyone and eventually just someone who did time in a correctional facility.

Meanings of symbols constantly change; the most common example of this is the swastika, once a symbol of peace, now one of hate. While change is expected and can be good, the shift in the meaning behind the web tattoo has inspired a generation of people who see it as solely artistic. In the last week I’ve seen five individuals adorning that tattoo, while I couldn’t be certain that two scrawny hipster types with black elbow webs didn’t fall under the traditional prisoner stereotype, I’m pretty sure they did not.

I’m not saying people shouldn’t get a tattoo like that, only that there continues to grow generations of people who are completely unaware of the vast array of symbolism around them. Anything from the color red to the number eighty-eight can represent something hostile. My fascination for symbolism has made me aware of what’s around me, and has occasionally proved invaluable. Almost everything around us means something significant to someone else.

When I was young my grandpa used to pick me up from school and drive me home from school until my parents got off from work. My grandpa’s car used to always smell strongly of eucalyptus, which caused me to become nauseous, and to make matters worse, during the ride home my grandpa would play this terrible music that only amplified my nausea. I vividly remember trying to stick my head out the window of the car while covering my ears in an attempt to prevent myself from throwing up.  These were my first memories of the genre they call opera. Thankfully, these events have not influenced my feelings about opera today. For all intensive purposes, my viewing of Rigoletto, last Thursday evening, was my second intense experience with the genre, one that was a much more positive and fulfilling experience than the music that I heard in my grandpa’s car.

The production of Verdi’s Rigoletto revolves around three main characters, a hunchback named Rigoletto, Rigoletto’s daughter, and the Duke. The Duke is your typical ladies man, he proclaims his love to different women every time we see him. Rigoletto is the Duke’s jester, but Rigoletto also has a secret, a daughter who he has hidden from the rest of the world. His daughter, Gilda, who is your typical naive damsel, falls in love with the Duke after they catch eyes in one day in the church. In the opening act we see the Duke courting a married woman while Rigoletto mocks her husband. Her husband, before being dragged away to prison, curses the Duke and Rigoletto. Only Rigoletto takes the curse seriously. After Rigoletto’s daughter is captured and violated by the Duke, Rigoletto seeks revenge by hiring an assassin to kill the Duke and avenge his daughter’s honor. This act of revenge, as well as the curse drives the plot for the rest of the opera. In the end it is clear that Verdi takes a cynical view when it comes down to what kind of person ultimately suffers the worse fate in life.  The plot is contrived and outdated, but that’s okay, because everything else about the opera, the most important parts, is done beautifully.

The singing was like nothing I had ever heard before. The richness of the voices, the fact that the entire opera was sung, and the beautiful melodies were beyond anything I had ever encountered. It did not matter that it was in Italian, because the emotions were so obvious that just by listening you can feel what feeling the singer is trying to convey. Even though the singer, who played Rigoletto, George Gagnidze, had a cold, there was only one word that could sum up the performances given that night, “Bravo!”

Honestly I wasn’t very surprised by the singers amazing voices, I had been expecting some of the best singing I had ever heard in my life, what I was genuinely surprised about was the elaborateness of the sets and the costumes. Every time the curtain opened there was a different set, which was interacted with throughout each Act in different ways. One minute there could be dozens of people walking around on stage, moving up and down stairs and through doors, the next minute a singer is on stage, behind him is the elaborate set, but all he does is stand in front of it and sing. These shifts from the elaborate use of sets to a more minimalist approach was shocking, something I had never seen before. What was even more impressive was that every time the curtain came up it revealed an even more elaborate and unbelievable set than the last one.  Not only were the sets great, but also the lighting was constantly changing from once scene to the next. In the third Act alone there was a sunset, a moon moving across the sky, and lightning signaling an incoming storm. This wasn’t just for looks though, the lighting and set design amplified the mood which was trying to be conveyed by the opera singers, the plot and the orchestra.

It was a pitch perfect production. At first I thought it might be boring, or too long, but I quickly learned that operas have a right to be long because they are epic. They throw everything that can be done live on stage and jam it into one production, making sure that each individual part is the highest quality on all levels.  When it fires on all cylinders, like Rigoletto did, the only outcome is an overwhelming sense of spectacle. The songs, the costumes, the music, the final curtain falling on the defeated husk of a former man, the opera is like magic.

My family is really big on traveling. Not to make this sound like a laundry list or anything but I have been to Russia, Spain, France, Egypt, Armenia, Canada, Mexico, and the Dominican Republic. Traveling to different countries offers the ultimate cultural encounter, and I will not forget many of the customs specific to each region from around the world.

I have already written an entire separate post about my trip to Armenia, but here, I want to focus on traveling in general. My parents have always been very cultural and have tried to keep up the traditions of our heritage. They value the importance of culture, and that’s why they tried to diversify me as much as possible when growing up – by immigrating to America instead of Australia, by sending me to all these countries to get a glimpse of how others live their lives, and by constantly reminding me of my own heritage.

Each country that I visited offered something unique that I never saw before in my life. Even the countries that I visited for pure leisure like the Dominican Republic and Mexico had a ton of traditions flowing around in the atmosphere. Things as simple as the dances that the performers performed during shows, the accents they spoke with, and even their average facial expressions all gave hints as to who they are ethnically. In Russia, people look like they are the most miserable people on earth – no one ever smiles in public. In Spain, they seemed very proud of their history and it definitely showed in the ancient cities like Toledo. In Egypt, the merchants spoke every language you could throw at them. In France, people were really nice – until you turned around and were out of earshot. Canada… well it was actually pretty similar to America to be honest.

I definitely think that my cultural encounters around the world have benefited me in one way or another. Although I wasn’t a fan of spending my summers touring the Hermitage and Louvre because I was too young to appreciate any of the art, I now realize that my parents wanted the best for me in having an education that was not only intellectually stimulating, but also diverse.

A few weeks ago, I decided (for no particular reason) that rather than take the subway, I would walk through the downtown Financial District. At some point, every so many steps that I took, a plaque appeared on the sidewalk bearing a date and a particular person or event. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was walking down the “Canyon of Heroes,” a walk that I had certainly done before at a much younger age but since forgotten.

Anyway, as I progressed down the street, I passed such placards noting past parades celebrating world leaders such as Winston Churchill, or Dwight Eisenhower, and events such as ‘V-J Day,’ (the day World War II ended). It dawned on me however that the most notable use in recent years of the ‘Canyon’ was by the Yankees and the Giants, both sports teams celebrating their respective championship efforts. Certainly, sports teams have been lauded in the past, but never were they the main focus of the parade route. In August of 1945, at the conclusion of the Second World War, in the masses all different kinds of Americans centered on the Canyon to celebrate, ultimately dumping some 5000 tons of ticker-tape (compared to avg. 50 tons for sports teams) down onto the streets. Of course it is great to celebrate when the Yankees (or Mets for that matter) win, but it is also great to think of the time, when such parades were reserved for more important things.

There were several points during Thursday night’s production of Rigoletto that I lost track of what exactly was going on. It wasn’t a miscast character in the ensemble, an unentertaining script, or the fact that the words were spoken in archaic Italian that caused my lapse in attentiveness; rather it was the set behind the performers that for the better part of the play kept me in awe, and pure amazement. Naturally there are more aspects to an opera than just the set design, but once the chandeliers and the curtains rose, the grandeur of the Duke’s palace enveloped the stage, and with no coincidence, the splendor of the rest of the performance followed suit.

While certainly I am no opera critic, I’d like to think that I have somewhat of a discerning taste when it comes to various art forms; yet when I entered the New York Metropolitan Opera for the first time last week, it dawned on me that rather than treat the experience as an assignment to be reviewed, my primary purpose should be to enjoy it first…and what a difference the change in mindset made. Being its some one-hundred and fifty years since the opera’s transition from Victor Hugo’s forbidden French play to a world renowned opera, it is difficult to criticize the overall storyline, which proved to be not only humorous at times, but an observation of the society at the time of its initial production.

The opera, first performed in 1851, consists of three acts and is widely held to be one of composer Giuseppe Verdi’s greatest works. Having never seen a previous rendition of ‘Rigoletto,’ naturally it is impractical to try and compare it to anything else. While having little outside knowledge of what to expect may be considered a negative to some, it allowed for me to enjoy the performance for what it was, not what it could have been. That being said, I felt the opera was particularly well cast. Playing the title character, Georgian-born baritone George Gagnidze (in his debut role at the Metropolitan Opera) adopted the role of the hunchback Rigoletto as well as one could hope, bringing with him not only his singing ability, but an emotional portrayal of a man mocked, jeered and beaten down by life, only to later on lose the single thing most important to him. Playing his daughter Gilda, was German-born Christine Schäfer, a soprano not many years Gagnidze younger (if any at all), Schäfer skillfully interacted with her costars onstage, all the while maintaining the innocence and naïveté that her secluded (and not yet mature) character possessed. Having not enough time to devote to the other singers, it should be mentioned that considering that the entire opera was done in Italian, each of the stars should be commended for their ability to inflect the emotional significance of their words in their voices.

An opera, while very much similar to a play, relies heavily on its orchestra and conductor; while I may not have the ‘ear’ to have heard possible errors, I was able to appreciate the integration of the music into the action as well as the great dramatic effect that the orchestra had on what was going on. It has always been said that the soundtrack makes or breaks a Hollywood movie, the same holds true even more so with opera productions. Whether it was supplying the background to the now well-regarded “La donna è mobile” or completely setting the scene with a dramatic open, the orchestra only deserves praise for what they accomplished.

Undoubtedly there were points of the production that I could not fit into this limited review, yet the important thing remains: I, a sports-loving, comedy-watching, teenage male, not only went to the opera, but it enjoyed it.

From the curtains opening up to introduce the first scene and to the last applause the audience gave, Rigoletto was a feast for our senses. Although, the play may not have appealed to everyone in the audience it most certainly did not fail in bringing joy to our ears. The singing was eloquent and the actors projected their voices strongly. On top of the incredible singing were the fluid movements of the body that accompanied the singing. If none of these aspects of the play were appealing, then the plot itself was rich enough to send tremors down our body as we watched Rigoletto fall in the final scene.

Rigoletto is a tragedy about a hunchback jester who mocks the misery of others. He eventually has a taste of his own medicine when a curse is laid upon him. The jester, Rigoletto, has a beautiful daughter who he hides away from the world. We cannot help but to feel that tragedy shall befall the two in regards to his curse and in the way Rigoletto had so perfectly kept his daughter hidden away. The lasting stability of Rigoletto’s life brought about a sense of eeriness as we began to suspect that his life was too good to be true. The plot was an enriching experience that leaves the audience wondering what exactly was Verdi’s agenda and what message he was trying to send us.

The acting and singing brought the theater to life. Every actor hit their notes with powerful voices that brought chills through out the body. What was even more amazing was the way the actors moved so well as they projected their voices. It was not opera without someone hitting soprano notes and Rigoletto does not fail us in that aspect either. Rigoletto’s daughter sings many of her parts in the highest pitch. Her voice was awe-inspiring and her voice travels along the walls of the theater eventually reaching our ears.

The costumes and the stage was one of the first things that I noticed. Each scene was made so well that it seemed as if they imported an actual castle into the theater. No detail was left unnoticed. The lighting and the backdrop were positioned so the eyes would not be strained, instead our eyes gobbled up all the visual food that we were presented with. If the scenery were already not enough for our senses, then the costumes would take our senses to another level. Every costume was unique to each actor and was designed so we could immediately tell each person on the stage from one another.

Although, almost every part of this play was flawless, the experience would have been better enjoyed if we could have seen the facial expressions of each actor. There were issues with simply seeing the actors, but paying extra for better seats could easily solve this problem.

Every dollar is worth the investment in watching Rigoletto. The mix of singing, music, acting, and scenery creates an unforgettable experience that everyone should enjoy at least once in their lifetime. Even if it was another play it was the actors, musicians, and scenery that brought this play to life.

Image from: http://www.theufochronicles.com/2009/03/return-to-foggy-bottom.html

Last weekend, I took a trip down to Washington D.C. to visit my best friend from High School, Olivia. She’s attending the George Washington University as a freshman, a school that I had an interest in but was turned off by the stereotype of the elite snobby students. I was curious about how true the stereotype was, and this weekend would be the opportunity for me to get a feel for the GW culture. After a long and uncomfortable bus ride and a sleepless night preceding my arrival, I immediately crashed and had to take a nap. When I woke up, Olivia rushed me to get ready for a tour that we were going to take. The Black Student Union had organized a tour of the black history of Foggy Bottom. We met somewhere along F street and as the group congregated, I couldn’t help but notice that I was the only white person among them. I was made very much aware of this by the strange looks I was receiving, a kind of “Why are you here?” being asked.

Interestingly enough, when the tour guide arrived to start our evening off, he was a middle aged white man. One of the first things he addressed was just that: “You may ask yourself why a white guy is giving this tour. I’m not an African-American but i’m an African-Americanist..” and then went on to describe his studies and his role in the Civil Rights movement. He spoke about how this predominantly white rich neighborhood used to be a black neighborhood, a part of history often completely ignored. On this tour we would uncover the hidden gems of black history that GW has, and be in the “presence of the absent.” He opened it up for questions before beginning the tour:

“As we go along, can we pick up black people to join on the tour?”

“Actually, wait, there’s a white person here too. Can we just acknowledge that for a second and give a round of applause!?”

The big elephant wandered out of the room when I was commended, not shunned, for participating in the tour of the spirit of black foggy bottom.

From: http://picsdigger.com/keyword/rigoletto%20the%20movie/

Last Thursday evening, Rigoletto gave me a taste of an art form different from all of the types our Arts in NYC class has exposed us to. The opera combines song, dance,   acting, scenery, costumes, etc. to provide a rich experience, foreshadowed by an air of excitement one felt upon entering the crowded and wonderfully decorated theatre. Looking around, I noticed that my age group was the minority. The older audience was noticeably well dressed, with middle-aged wives ready to “Shhh” noisy teens, and a proud opera singer behind me preparing to shout his “Bravo!” as soon as he got the chance.

This was my first experience at an Opera, and at first I had trouble keeping up with the performance while reading the translation on the chair in front of me, and appreciating the orchestra. It was helpful that I had read the Libretto and discussed the plot in class because otherwise I would’ve become too engrossed in one of those to get the whole picture. As the story unfolded though, the feeling of having to pick something to pay attention to dissolved and I began to absorb it all at once.

The story of Rigoletto is a timeless one. The passion of intertwining love affairs, several betrayals, and murder are all themes that are relatable to todays society. They make for a captivating plot when accented with moments of humor and solo pieces such as La donna è mobile. My favorite parts of the opera were when Rigoletto and his daughter had the stage alone, and the subtitles were suspended for just a few moments. Only when the words were taken away was my full attention on just them; I didn’t understand the words being exchanged but I could feel the raw emotion between them, the love between father and daughter.

I don’t know the norms for the Opera but I found it peculiar that an announcement would play during an intermission to inform the audience that Rigoletto was sick. I hadn’t noticed him delivering a sub-par performance, actually I thought he was doing an excellent job with the singing and projection. Even after being made aware of his illness, I didn’t notice the coughing that those around me said they did. It made me appreciate it more to know that the actor was putting in such an effort to put on a seemingly effortless performance; when he was being blindfolded and tricked, I felt personally hurt and sad that he was unknowingly helping in kidnapping his daughter.

I believe that Rigoletto was a great introduction to the opera because although i’m not running to Lincoln Center to see another one, I have an ignited sense of interest for the Opera and want to return. If this piece from 1851 is still appealing to the youth of today, i’m curious and interested about what more modern operas will be like.

“La donna è mobile, Qual piuma al vento…”

As soon as the Duke of Mantua started to sing the first line of one of the most famous arias of all times, my heart began to flutter. I usually can’t stand narcissists, but Rigoletto forced me to make this time an exception. When the Duke’s deep, charismatic voice merged into Giuseppe Verdi’s dynamic melody, I gradually became a capricious woman like “a feather in the wind.” This was my first time watching an opera, and I was glad that it was Rigoletto. Verdi inspired every character from Rigoletto to come to life with his magical touch. The ensemble of the unique voices of the singers and the instruments of the orchestra revived Verdi’s spirit on the stage, and further enhanced the dramatic progression of Rigoletto.

Rigoletto is a tragic opera named after the hunchback protagonist who tried to escape from the curse on him. Revenge and curse have long been a trivial theme in theater. I had seen a lot of performances deriving from the same origin, yet ended up losing its originality and dampened with dullness. However, Verdi was not only an excellent composer, but a playwright as well. The three acts were carefully divided according to the progression of the story.  Verdi did not lose his focus on the storyline while portraying Rigoletto’s destructive cycle of escaping from the curse and seeking for revenge. At the same time, he maintained a sharp intricacy for tracing and depicting each and every character’s slight emotional change and cleverly weaved it to the lyrics and melody. Verdi successfully fulfilled his role as a storyteller by carefully juxtaposing the emphasis on the emotional climax immediately followed by the witty moment.

Since this was my first time watching an opera, I didn’t have a solid guideline for evaluating the quality of the performance. Nonetheless, the one thing I noticed was that the opera was a composite art. It was a derivative of the sum of every aspect of theatrical art.  The singers had to sing along with the orchestra, the orchestra had to play accordingly to the conductor, and the conductor had to interpret the composer’s intuition.  If anything got disconnected in this chain, the entire performance might automatically have become a composite failure. In Rigoletto, every component was intertwined with each other while preserving its uniqueness. When Christine Schafer, who played Gilda, sang with her soft voice, the entire stage transformed into a pure watercolor painting. Few minutes later, Rigoletto’s outcry immediately recoated that tranquil painting with thick blobs of oil paints. These changes in mood didn’t feel abrupt at all because every component blended in harmony.

I am a firm believer in happy endings. Therefore, the only thing I disliked about this opera was the conclusion. Verdi’s magic lost its effect soon after it set up the atmosphere of the opera. I appreciated that Verdi was trying to avoid conveying the repetitive notion of “the good triumphing over the evil.” However, this was only valid when he could effectively convince the audience of why the evil won over the good. Rigoletto, who was conscious of his wrongdoings, could never escape from the curse on him. On the other hand, the duke who was lacking both consciousness and regret saved himself from being punished. If we looked into the scope of life–or I should say reality–this situation could make sense. However, I had a hard time figuring out Verdi’s intention.

Overall, my impression on Rigoletto was like going on a walk in the forest. As soon as I stepped outside of my door, I could open my senses to perceive the beauty of each element through an unexpected encounter on the street. It could be an encounter with a wild flower or a funny looking tree. Like collecting the scattered wild flowers on the side of the street, Rigoletto taught me the joy of exploring each element of opera.  In the end, all of these little components were combined into beautiful scenery. If other operas are as delightful as this, then I definitely would like to go again.

The image was taken from <http://www.nashvilleopera.org/Rigoletto_files/droppedImage_1.jpg>