Category Archives: Informal Chat

A place where we can informally chat with one another about art, New York, our first year, or ice cream. Note: Do not cross-post assignments here.

A Girl on the Subway

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This is written from CCNY library, Monday morning, about an hour before the start of the class. The computer has stuck space bar, which makes it extremely difficult to type. Nonetheless, the fact that I miscalculated my time this morning and the fact that I arrived here an hour earlier than I intended do not change. Therefore, I must scribble something before I die of boredom.

I ride the 7 train to the “city.”

On the Queensboro Plaza, two come into train, a father and a daughter, to whom I gladly gave up my seat so that they could sit together. The father must remain a father, not a man, because he seemed to not be anything else without the relationship with his daughter, or at least, it appeared so for the duration of my travel. The daughter, however, was self-existent and therefore, I was able to conclude that she was not only a daughter, but also could be a girl.

“Next stop, Court Square”

This is the part of the travel in which the fast becomes slow and slow remains slow. Express train no longer leaps across the insignificant stations that are outside the “city.” If the Queensboro Plaza is the beginning of this revolution, Court Square is the one that fully lives up to her rights, and do herself justice by not being ignored. How fair.

“Why is it Quart Sqware?”

The girl asks her father. Is she asking the ontological question about the existence of “Quart Sqware”? The father kindly seats his daughter on his lap and tells her that it is “Court Square.” The girl insists on “Quart Sqware.”

“Oh…. then Times Square is next…..”

On what world is Times Square after Court? She should be the head of MTA. Many people will appreciate, especially when the universe revolves around moi.

“…and then it’s Vernon Jackson Avenue…”

I take it back. Her world must have trains leaping and jumping wildly across the air, back and forth around the globe. Not bad. Afterall, it is her world, and she has the right to think whatever–there is no limit, and if she is able to will it and able to imagine it, it exists.

“It’s Vernon Jackson Boulevard.”

The father kindly replied. Great revelation. Shocking truth. Undeniable reality.

“Well, it’s also an Avenue.”

The girl says. Super human analysis. Epitome of human wisdom. Highest philosophy.

“I die! I die!”

The girl is dying of boredom. There is nothing more relatable and nothing more genuine and nothing more philosophical and nothing more universal than the horror of death by boredom. I die I die. Death. Eloi Eloi- death? Langston Hughes’ weary blues death? Nicolas Guillen’s grandfathers singing ballads of me canso me canso, me muero me muero-death? I die I die I die.

And the two left on Vernon Jackson—without having to go through the tunnel of Sheol between Vernon-Jackson and Grand Central.

An epiphany to me in Church

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While I was at Mass in Church yesterday, I was thinking about why God is so important in are lives, while the choir sung “Lord, I need you.” Then all the pieces came together. I realized that a person needs other people, like teachers, farmers, manufacturers, and parents to live. (A person won’t survive alone in the world.) Also, God is in all people, so we need God to live. This is why God and other people should be so important to each of us.

The D(ance) Train

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On the way back from what was an unfortunate failed trip to Smorgasburg at Central Park, (we arrived, but police wouldn’t let us in due to “too many people” at the event) me and several friends took the D train back to the towers at around 9:30 pm or so and I witnessed something out of the ordinary to me for the first time on the subway.

Between the long 59th Street/Columbus Circle and the 125th street station stop, a group of 8 or so guys provided entertainment during the ride that otherwise would have been a normal NYC train ride. In the middle of the train car, they blasted music and one by one, each of them break danced with their own particular style as well as humor. They cheered one another on and brought the train car to life, eliciting quite an applause and earning what seemed to be a decent amount of money.

I was extremely impressed and they for sure earned my respect as well as a couple dollars for their performance. As a group they had such energy and synergy together and I admired their talent and courage to perform publicly without fear of failure or being judged especially on a moving train car. I’m glad I was able to see this group do what they were passionate about, and I hope and look forward to seeing more things like this and what else this city has to offer.

~Pun

Books of Q88

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Over the past few weeks, I feel as if I’m more aware of the diversity around me when I commute.

1.5 hour of daily commuting to class has tamed me to bring a book–any book, to spare myself from mental torture. Usually, I finish my homework between classes (4 hours. more than enough time), so I am almost always in dire need of brain stimulation. I carry around 2~3 books at a time, not because I enjoy reading, but because subway rides can become unbearable for someone like me.

When 7 train closed down on Saturday of the Macaulay museum meeting, I was forced to take Q88 to Woodhaven for the first time in my life. As soon as I claimed my seat on the back of the bus, I found my self sitting in front (because the seats of the bus allowed 4 people to face each other) of a hispanic man holding red “Sacra Biblia.” He had quite a tranquil look on him, as if he was going for a church meeting, or as if he is a deacon or an acolyte, giving a heavy impression of piety, not according to the definition of Euthyphro and Socrates, but by the definition engraved in our natural human-ness, in that one can imagine that the man is having a relationship with God on his ride to wherever he was going.

Next to him set an elderly lady, murmuring at a volume inaudible, holding a small crimson book. As she mouthed each word, I became curious to see the contents of the book, as the title written on the spine of the book was too faded out to be legible. Luckily, I was able to see the chapter title of the page, which read: “Sanctuary Spell.” That was a great brain stimulant. I started to think: is the “spell” the “spell” that I know? Like… Witchcraft? Sorcery? Magic? I hate to be rude, and if anyone is offended by this post, I will gladly apologize, but I just have to say: I loved the irony that the lady had to sit next to the man.

When I and Sam went to Book Culture to buy the required reading, I noticed that there were several sellers of books around the block.

How much longer would such things exist?

What if books become like scrolls; what if archaeologists in the years to come take my journals and notebooks and infer that humans of 21st century actually wrote things on a bundle of bound papers with ink and graphite?

 

Books are cool. We should love them.

Macaulay Media Arts Workshop

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So today was the Monet Workshop at the Macaulay Center and I was told to take a part in it.

What we did, in a nutshell, was to get back together with our groups when we were at the Brooklyn Museum and make a video with the audio file and pictures that we acquired.

What my group did was to split the work. Three of us would work on the slides and pictures and set them up beforehand while the other three would work on the audio file. I was working on the audio file as I did not have high quality pictures to use.

My experience today was stressful. On the day of recording, I thought that my group recorded everything flawlessly. Now when I was editing the audio, I realized that certain ideas and thoughts about the painting were unfinished. All of those issues made me edit the audio for about an hour, which was obviously not fun.

When the video was finished and played back, I recognized how one should analyze artwork more often. This is because in the video, there were many assumptions about John Singer Sargent’s An Out of Doors Study. For example, there was an assumption that the line behind the man was a fishing pole. Later in the video one person stated that the line may just be an umbrella instead.
Although today was somewhat stressful for me, all in all, it was fun.

Broadway Boogie Woogie

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We seem to talk a lot about New York City poetry and writing. I would like to focus my attention on art for a moment.

“Broadway Boogie Woogie” (1942), Piet Mondrian 

Mondrian_Broadway_Boogie_Woogie

Piet Modrian, Broadway Boogie Woogie. (1942)

What does this painting seem to depict? (Think about this question before reading any further.)

I visited the MOMA in the late spring and discovered “Broadway Boogie Woogie” by Piet Mondrian. This painting displays NYC in a very distinct way. Mondrian created abstract art, yet this particular painting is based on a real world example. This painting represents the city grid of Manhattan. The artist illuminates the streets with a bright yellow grid of intersecting lines. The intersections between the lines are blocks of different colors as well. In fact, “Broadway Boogie Woogie” depicts NYC streets and traffic lights. Mondrian demonstrates the movement and dynamics of the city through the use of this particular palette of colors. The city seems to immediately illuminate and it becomes alive. NYC is just like the Boogie Woogie, it is filled with energy and shining lights.

My friends and I initially through that “Broadway Boogie Woogie” is displaying the NYC subway system. The subway, however, is an essential component in the dynamics of the city. Therefore, we weren’t far off in understanding Piet Mondrian’s idea for the painting.

What do you think about this painting? Does it depict New York City accurately? Were you able to immediately realize that the painting is depicting NYC? 

My experience at the Macaulay Workshop

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I have been at the Macaulay Rembrant workshop at Macaulay central yesterday.

I worked together with students that I met at the Brooklyn Museum on Sept. 3. We had made recordings on that day about pieces of art we liked in the museum. During the workshop, we worked with one of these recordings to make a video. We were provided instructions on how to make these videos. Someone in my group worked on editing the recording, while another person worked on gathering the right photographs for the video. I was just motivating my peers to get the job done well, and trying to get familiar with the software we were supposed to use to make the video.

In the end, my group and I were happy that we completed the video.

An encounter with New York City Transit

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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

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“The edge of the world here,” (McCann 37)

I was thinking about this quotation, and it inspired me in a way that this can be looked as a intercultural pun. I’m sure most of you heard about the fairy tale regarding Tir na Nog (or some variation of it) which is from Ireland (*cough Corrigans).

A quick refresher, according to what I remember: it’s a story about an old man who sailed westward from Erinn (Ireland) and reached a land of the youth (Tir na Nog), in which no one aged (practically a paradise). After years, he misses his hometown and pleads the tir-na-nog-ians to help him go back, but many advised against it, since returning to Erinn meant instant aging and death for the man. As a solution, they prepared the soil (tir = land) from the land of the youth, and asked of the man to never set his foot off the soil on his journey; that once he sets his foot off, he will most certainly die. Some version tells of his safe arrival back to tir na nog, while others end with the man violating the promise and becoming ashes and dust. Look up the actual story for more information, because my memory may have betrayed me on several details.

In a way, America does resemble the “edge” of the world, especially New York. There is a layer of eternal youth with the inevitability of death (both terms used figuratively, not in a literal sense).

I do not know if the author intended this or if he meant something totally different. However, I do think it is interesting how the stories intertwine in this city like the way the snakes wrap around the caduceus, facing the opposite direction but stemming from one root; our root is the humanity and new york is the top of the caduceus.