Hello all.
I have emailed Chris about permission to edit the projects page.
We will hopefully be able to edit the page soon.
EDIT: Read the most recent email from Chris. Join the page soon!
The categories for this project are as follows:
Let’s get this done!
It was great to be able to see what an artist’s life looks like and incredible how much of his work was done in order to bring in the money to support his family and his future ventures.
He also gave great tips on life and improvisation.
It was a lovely visit.
I can’t wait to be #jamminwithDanielKelly.
First, here’s a bit of history on the theater.
Joyce Theater was originally a movie theater, built in 1941 and at that time called Elgin Theater. The theater was a popular venue for moviegoers until 1978—by that time it had begun to show less-than-savory movies and was forced to close by the community.
There was a renovation period between ’78 and ’82 when the theater’s interior was gutted and redesigned as a space for dance.
Once this period was over, the theater reopened as Joyce Theater.
The dance program consisted of three dances and excerpts of two more:
I don’t presume to have much experience on the language of ballet, and perhaps I would have benefited from choosing another performance. However, I have learned much about the language through this experience.
In these dances, the performers wore leotards ranging from ample coverage to a very scant amount of material.
Head Space exhibited a confused man in a crowd of couples who were all intimately dancing together. This man took a while to find his way to a woman of similar sentiment. Much of the dance focused on confusion and hesitation, the man unsure of whom he could be intimate with in the midst of so many already-established couples. After he found his partner, the dance focused on their closeness, ignoring all of the other coupes.
Igual: I didn’t understand this one.
Testament was quite weird as it was performed to a seriously curtailed version of “Amazing Grace”, changing the hymn’s meaning by omitting many of the words. It emphasizes how the woman saved the confused man or vice versa. It was an interesting piece.
The text quoted below is the whole hymn as written by John Newton; highlighted in yellow is what was sung during the dance.
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev’d;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believ’d!
Thro’ many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.
John Newton, Olney Hymns, 1779
What Come, Thereafter: I didn’t understand this one.
The Groove is a view of the House music scene in Chicago of the 1980s. The dancers were more scantily clad here than in any other dance. One line of one of the songs caught my attention and stuck: “If only fools are satisfied, take my sanity away.” That conditional statement heavily underscores the human desire (and perhaps need) to be satisfied.
Group Joshua, Adrian, and Kevin
This poem speaks of the nature of God.
God tests the people’s laws and sees if they are fit. If they are not, he punishes them so they will correct their laws.
This is what the poet understands.
God is not like that.
This is what I understand.
Zings of beauty provide luster when luster is needed. Happiness when you are feeling a bit down. Intrigue when your job offers none.
These zings are fleeting so that they can be done again and still offer their impact.
One glows more than the rest and that is the soul? What of the rest? Have they no souls? Is the property of having a soul simply true for the brightest in the bunch? What of the rest? Maybe they have too dim of a soul to be considered by this poet…
This is an interesting poem, and one thing sticks hard in my mind: some things are fleeting so they don’t lose their effect.
Patti Smith paints her picture very descriptively. She paints her childhood of rote prayers taught to her by her mother, her experiences with Stephanie and her beautiful possessions, her experiences with being an outcast at school, Robert Mapplethorpe’s experiences, trying to find her way in New York City, and meeting Robert Mapplethorpe for the first time.
She had her first psychedelic experiences, it seems, when she was lying in bed with a fever, praying–she thought–to God. That’s interesting, because those first experiences seem to have shaped everything that came afterwards in her life.
Patti believes strongly in fate, or fatalism. That continues throughout her life, even until and after she meets Robert Mapplethorpe.
On the outside, the museum looks like a nondescript building–four walls of concrete surround the exhibit buildings. One wall has a set of glass doors set into it. These doors are welcoming and stretch from the floor to the ceiling — grand doors.
Inside, we obtained our tickets (which through Macaulay’s partnership were less $5 than the student price, i.e., $0) and walked through another set of doors that lead to a central open plaza.
There is a dome named after the German car brand Volkswagen. There are four dumpsters past that dome, labeled with stenciled words reading “THROW AWAY YOUR ART” — one of the current exhibitions in the museum. I wonder…
Behind those dumpsters is the main building. Once inside, we realize the largeness of the Zero Tolerance exhibit. It took up most of the first floor.
There were many interesting and unique videos and photographs in the museum. They ranged from Russian lesbian women kissing female police officers as protest to a Romanian music video made to show the corruption of the country. It made us aware of what change is going on in the world around us.
There were reenactments of famous battles, Islamic protests, and a video screening which seemed to be the centerpiece of the exhibit. This screening featured hoodlums, rapping to the camera over a rock soundtrack. It spoke of the misunderstandings between police/government and these people who live in a dismal state and became hoodlums.
This exhibit underscored the tension between government and its people; it emphasized the failure of government.
Group Joshua, Adrian, and Kevin
The Irish Hunger Memorial was created by architect Brian Tolle and landscape designer Gail Wittwer-Laird. They envisioned the hilly landscape of rural Ireland and transferred it to the flat NYC Financial District through the ingenious use of stone pillars and concrete overhangs.
Its main purpose is to remind viewers of the experiences of many Irish farmers in the Great Famine of Ireland, and that purpose is evident in the design of the structure. The viewer sees what the impoverished farmer sees.
The elevated concrete platform holds the cottage, grassy hill, path and stones present in that era. The pillars that hold up the platform are striped with backlit words that tell the tales of all the survivors of the Famine. The structure provides a view of the Statue of Liberty beyond the treetops–a symbol of an Irish potato farmer’s sight on freedom.
The words that wrap around the pillars tell powerful stories of the suffering that the Irish went through so they cannot forget: The viewer reads about the horrific events of the Famine and feels what the impoverished farmer feels.
Mr. William Gregory, MP rose to propose the following Clause: And be it further Enacted, That no person who shall be in the occupation, whether under lease or agreement, or as Tenant-at-will, or from year to year, or in any other matter whatsoever, of any land of greater extent than the quarter of a statute acre, shall be deemed and taken to be a destitute poor person under the provision of this Act, or of any former Act of Parliament; nor shall it be lawful for any board of guardians to grant any relief whatever in or out of the workhouse, to any such occupier, his wife, or children.
The Poor Relief Bill: The Gregory Clause. House of Commons. 29 March 1847
When paraphrased, this Act of Parliament says, ‘No one who has more than 0.25 acres of land can be considered a poor person and no one is permitted to help this person in any way whatsoever.’ That is both disgusting and memorable.
This memorial impales the viewer’s senses with sights and words that make him see if he hasn’t yet seen and makes him remember while he hasn’t completely forgotten the horrors of the Great Famine. It is art just as poems and memorials about 9/11 are art, maybe even more so because of the magnitude of the tragedy it describes.
It’s been a long time since I went to an orchestral performance at Carnegie Hall, and I’ve never been to a classical concert. Thursday was the first, and the best.
Purcell’s suite was great for falling asleep to…
Tchaikovsky’s piece on The Tempest impressed me in its depiction of the storm. I haven’t read The Tempest and therefore cannot go into details, but the magnitude of the storm and the calmness of its eye are great.
Dallapiccola’s piece made some sense as a depiction of a deserted summer night.
Mendelssohn’s Die erste Walpurgisnacht orchestrates a poem of a Christianized people who still follow parts of their old religion. It had this interesting stanza:
| Dieses dumpfen Pffafenchristen, Lasst uns keck sie überlisten! Mit dem Teufel, den sie fabeln, Wollen wir sie selbst erschrecken. |
These stupid Christians let us boldly outsmart them! With the very devil they invent We’ll terrify them. |
This helps uncover a major flaw in the “Christianizing” of the old days: the people were never changed in their hearts. Instead they were forced into a new mold in which they continue to do what they used to.
The best part of that concert was hearing the trombones.
The four columns of mire could be the bridges connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn, except that there are three bridges with at least three columns each.
Spikenards are costly perfumed oils of ancient times used primarily for their fragrance. So when I read “spikenards of drafted anguish” I understand “fragrant oils of anguish selected for a certain purpose”. What does this mean?
“furious swarming coins / penetrate like drills and devour abandoned children.” Hmmm…
I don’t understand.
This is a picture of the 125th St. A,B,C,D subway station. On the left, construction workers overhaul the A,D (express) line. On the right, an uptown C train accelerates out of the station.
I chose the subway for its availability to all NYC residents, for the oft-overlooked service it provides to the city. I chose it also as a reminder that life requires maintenance. The subway needs spot checks, spring cleanings, and periodic overhauling to function well. In the same way, living a good life requires preventing decay from taking over.
William Carlos William’s “The Great Figure”, compressed into one line, would read thusly:
Among the rain and lights I saw a figure 5 in gold on a red firetruck moving tense unheeded to gong clangs siren howls and wheels rumbling through the dark city.
The figure 5 doesn’t heed the clangs, howls, and rumbling nor the rain and lights. It’s going to go fight a fire—what does it care?
Denise Levertov’s “The Cabdriver’s Smile”…
The guy’s Jewish (Star of David and something in Hebrew). Someone greets him with much enthusiasm and with his first name; he doesn’t know him? He accepts the generous tip, I imagine, with a curt nod and a “Thank you.” He’s hiding longing and hope though—he smiled at the camera (what kind of camera?) as if hoping to please.
The poet is squinting to read his license plate number; she probably took a photo of his car after getting out, perhaps to give the man a recommendation…
Edward Hirsch’s “Man on a Fire Escape” captures a man who walks out onto his fire escape just in time to witness (a factory?) explode. Vivid descriptions abound for every part of that night, from the sunset coloring the sky to the flames warping the sky into many colors. I hope the people in and near the factories live. How why does this happen? Why did it happen today and not yesterday? Did someone bomb the place? Did the synthetic dye get adulterated with an acid? a sunset. (Tricky, tricky!) The key here was the phrase “almost unnaturally”—the day brightened; the factories burst into flame; the trees and shrubs, as well; the shadows of pedestrians, too; storefronts and cars and steel girders collapsing (disappearing) into the polluted waves—almost unnaturally.
Galway Kinnell’s “Room of Return” depicts someone returning from somewhere back to his home in West Manhattan. He describes his previous life, the view—both far and near, the sounds he hears, and his security surrounded by all these things. (“shelled by the dirty sea.”)
Professor Drabik, I apologize for my abrupt, extreme, unqualified statement that the music accompanying the first dance was horrible. I took the time to listen to a recording of a 1980 performance of Mr. Górecki’s concerto today. I admire the overwhelming volume of the orchestra and the ceaseless fugue on the harpsichord. There’s passion expressed in this music, and it is expressed well. I also discovered what I heartily, passionately disliked about how the dance group handled this passionate piece of music. It sounded like they took a snippet of it and choppily and glaringly looped it. Was it intentional, a workaround for an unexpected failure, or simply a lack of attention to the music? I suspect it was intentional, but then why?
Here’s a demonstration of the choppy looping they did:
I hope you now understand why I was disgusted with the music–not because of the musical content, but rather because of how it was arranged / excerpted.
I saw in this performance a progression from classical to modern dance. I can see the emphasis it placed on physical interaction by the sinuous movement of the first dancers.
This is the dance that I have no reservations about. Everything flowed naturally–the music was smooth and the pair of dancers were fluid. I haven’t seen many forms of dance before; all the performances I saw yesterday are new to me. This dance, however, caught my attention more than all of the others before it because of the complexity and the precise execution of the choreography. It was great.
“The illusion of beauty
The fine line between madness and sanity
The coexistence of fatigue and elegance”
Is the nonconformist insane or sane?
I noticed that as the anthem wore on and the nonconformist kept falling over, the music developed more and more of a minor chord in its undertones. I think that symbolizes some kind of degeneration. So, which group is mad, the conformists to a degenerating system or the nonconformist? Or, is this a false dichotomy–in which case both groups could be insane to different extents?
I’m really interested in delving into the political undertones of this performance. It was completely hidden from my eyes while I watched the scene unfold. How clever!
My father told me this story once, one one of the days when I realized that my father’s advice was very good, rooted in experience, and given with an intent to help me to go higher and farther in the world.
“In the morning of 9/11, I was planning to stop by the Border bookstore in 5 World Trade Center to get a few parenting books before going to work. I didn’t. I took the Holland Tunnel to work instead. At some point during my commute through New Jersey, the Twin Towers were hit, but I didn’t see any of it. I remember never looking in the rearview mirror that day–if I did, I might not be here today. If I stopped by that bookstore then, I might not be here today.”
As for me, my memories of that 9/11 were:
The Metropolitan Opera. Right near Lincoln Center, in the center of the city. A huge building with towering entryways. Floor-to-roof windows.
I enter and there is a sweeping staircase, front and center. It’s covered with red carpet and branches both to the left and to the right. The auditorium is a box, furnished with a extruded “U” of seating and a very tall stage. I am sitting in the family circle, and I realize that I am very high up; if I slip on the stairs, very bad things could happen. But we are still not yet in Siberia—that’s over to the left and right. I see the turntable move. This is going to be interesting.
I’ve heard the Overture to the Marriage of Figaro many times since I was in grade school; when the orchestra began playing, I marveled at the clarity of each of the instruments. I can see why surround sound systems and ultra-high-bitrate recordings are in such high demand—the sound coming from the pit orchestra can’t be replicated with a pair of speakers and an mp3 file.
The opera was confusing; I couldn’t keep one eye on the titles and the other on the stage, so I had to choose between understanding the dialogue and perceiving the movement of the actors. There was definitely a lot of humor in this opera, made clear through the liberally translated text and the shenanigans on stage.
Intermission: long lines at the bathroom for both genders, Lindt truffles (yes!), and sesame crunch (high-energy, “reinforcements” in the words of Prof. Drabik). The culture of opera-goers includes ordering food to be served during this 30-minute intermission. Hmm… what kind of occasions can be celebrated with this kind of extravagance? How would it make sense to spend that kind of money?
Back to the opera. A hiding of identities and a swapping of roles take place with the Countess and Susanna to make fools of their respective husbands (and if I may propose this, to elevate themselves over their spouses by requiring them to beg forgiveness for their infidelity).
And out. I can see myself coming back to experience Richard Wagner and Hector Berlioz.
It occurs to me that Phillipe really enjoys walking on cables.
He says it’s “illegal but not hurtful” but he was said to have done it because it was like a bank robbery.
Also, when he was taken down from Notre Dame he snatched an officer’s watch.
To me, the art here lies in his fine control of his body’s position down to the hands.
Hey all, Joshua here.
I’ve been loudly escorted out of the 1 train station by an MTA officer for holding the train doors, four hours ago.
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A group of Towers people were going food shopping, and I decided to tag along. When we got to the station, a few of us had to put money on their MetroCards. So, they did, and we waited.
The train arrives.
There is doubt, a split between waiting for those who were still transacting at the kiosk and getting on the train. I led the charge onto the train, and most of the group followed—except for two people still waiting at the kiosk. I held the doors for them; they were coming.
An MTA officer yells out. “Let go of that door!” I wait for those two, swiping through the turnstile now, one by one.
Again he yells, the very same thing. They are walking towards the door.
“Alright. You. You. Get out. Let’s go.” I walk away from the doors towards the turnstiles. The doors close.
I hesitate. “Get out!”. Through the turnstile. Again I pause. “OUT!”
And I go.
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http://transittrax.mta.info/audio/ttx_transcpts/ClosingDoors.htm
Hey guys! I’m Joshua. My last name is Chu.
Shout out to Tony, who’s in our seminar and has the same last name! Many people have concluded that we are brothers. We are not. It’s funny.
I love food. And physics. And math. And programming. Why?
Physics and math… I think they are useful things to know about.
With programming, I can do just about anything, given I know the right language. I like that I am in control of what the computer does, that I can make it do what I want it to do, that I can make it do the mundane work.
The process of taking a bite of food, feeling the textures of pizza crust or toothsome pasta or pea, and recognizing the flavor that hits my tongue makes food a great experience. Just kidding. I don’t know why food is so good: I like a good pizza, pasta dish, goat cheese, and many more tasty edibles. Like good chocolate. Mmm.
Chocolate… mmm. Credits to eHow Contributor Ingrid Hansen (http://www.ehow.com/way_6169024_good-chocolate-put-favor-boxes.html)
I enjoy cycling. Since middle school, I would ride around my neighborhood, reveling in the ease of movement, the speed, and maybe a little bit of the scenery. Mostly the speed.
I play know how to play the trombone.
Wycliffe Gordon holding a trombone!1! Credits to U Maryland Eastern Shore
I became interested in music in 5th grade–a sort of whimsical interest that kids have–and I could play! I picked up buzzing on the mouthpiece extremely quickly and the fingerings a little bit afterwards. This went on through middle school, where I learned to play the trombone. I didn’t practice though (lol) and I didn’t know that playing an instrument was a sport in its own right–embouchure toning and diaphragm exercises and finger weight training.
Now my trombone spends most of its time in the case.
I need to make some time for it. It’s lonely 🙁
Anyone else play an instrument here?
I like to look at things sometimes, and wonder how all the pieces attach together, how the whole is formed.
When I get very tired, a pseudo-Russian accent begins to slip into my speech. I watched a lot of FPSRussia in my high school years.
I hope to learn with you all about the culture in which I live–New York in all its glory.
