I had just been in airplanes and airports for 30+ hours, coming back from my vacation. I was groggy, sleepy, and needed a shower. Needless to say, I was not in the mood to look around and notice art around me. But then, standing in the line in the International Arrivals hall at JFK Airport, I looked up and saw what looked like a gigantic sketch across the top of the wall. I was stunned. It was so intricate. I immediately recognized it as a drawing of Manhattan. After all, how can I not, having been born and bred in this city?
Then I read the information besides the “sketch.” (It seems so silly to call it that because “sketch” makes it seem like it was done in a hurry. But I know this sketch took WORK. The grueling kind.) A man named Stephen Wiltshire drew it after a 20-minute ride on a helicopter. That’s it. After just TWENTY minutes on a helicopter, he was able to draw this entire sketch. No kidding, I immediately pointed this out to my family—who gave me the look of death because they were as tired as I was. It was just amazing to me. Twenty minute ride and the result was THIS?
I have done some research on Wiltshire and he is actually famous because he can draw from memory! (No kidding, right?). Wiltshire was born in London, England and had autism. He didn’t learn how to speak fully until the age of nine, but rather communicated by way of art. (Sounds pretty amazing, I know.) After he developed his skills and graduated from City and Guilds London Art School in 1998, he began to draw more and more. His “from memory” drawings include the NYC one (which, by the way, is a nineteen-foot-long drawing of 305 square miles of New York City) and a detailed drawing of four square miles of London after a single helicopter ride above that city. He has also drawn Rome, Hong Kong, Frankfurt, Madrid, Dubai, and Jerusalem.
His longest ever drawing? A drawing of Tokyo on a 32.8-foot-long (10.0 m) canvas within seven days following a helicopter ride over the city.
Show me someone who thinks this isn’t amazing, and I’ll…you know.
These drawings—because they’re so long—are very small and I don’t want you to strain your eyes, so here you can find a gallery of Wiltshire’s works.
I remember a trip I went to when I was in elementary when we went to a museum. I was so tired of going to museums and the same one every year too. I mean, come on, the same thing every year? Uh-uh. No, thank you.
But then one year, instead of going to a normal exhibition where we couldn’t touch anything and had to had at least 2 feet away, we went to a different show. This show was about the Big Bang Theory. We all sat down in seats, with no screen in front of us. I was thinking, “What in the world is going on?” and then something magical happened. Above us, in what seemed like the ceiling, the show started. I was in 3D too so I felt like I was a small meteor observing all the action. It was breathtaking. It was the first museum visit where I wasn’t sleepy on the ride home because everyone was talking about that show. I was so excited I remember wanting to become an astronaut for the next month!
I don’t remember what museum I went to for that show or even exactly what grade I was in, but it’s definitely an experience I never plan on forgetting. (I’m also still looking out to see if museums will do anything like this again because I want to watch it again!)
A similar exhibition was a past exhibition in the American Museum of Natural History, which you can read about here.
Some people think art is only what sells for a million dollars at an exclusive white-collar auction. Because this art is valued for a higher material price, no one really notices the art that is around them everyday.
I was probably one of those people. But now I’ve come to a new reckoning and that is that art is everywhere if only one looks.
Something that any person can see no matter what is the art that fills cities and towns. Art made up of objects that are already there—art made up ON objects that are already there. For some, this art will be on a trashcan, for others, on a wall, on a sidewalk, on stairs, on a random pipe poking out; the list really goes on and on. Who’s to say that street art is any less valuable than art in an auction? To the artists, their creations are masterpieces because everywhere around them, there are people that will see, that will love—that will be inspired! Who’s to say that street art has no meaning, no message? To the artists, everything they create is a little part of them—a little part of their message.
And for those who can’t afford expensive tools and canvases for their paintings, the world IS their canvas.
The Guggenheim Museum was definitely a very new and unique experience. The building itself was astonishing because it really allows one to get insights into many prospectives all at the same time. Standing in one spot and being able to see many things from that one position really is an eye-opener.
I imagine Wang Jianwei had a similar experience in the museum. He said himself how the structure of the Guggenheim inspired much of his exhibition. The set of four paintings that depicted different “stills” as time went on is one way I feel Jianwei used the Guggenheim. Just like the Guggenheim, the paintings were all part of one another. As our tour guide astutely pointed out, in order to get the whole picture, one would have had to walk back and forth to take all four paintings in. Plus, each painting depended on the ones that came before or after. Just like this, the Guggenheim also requires people to walk back and forth, up the ramps, in order to get the whole picture of the museum. All of the “floors” are connected and provide unique views for the individual.
Another interesting fact about the exhibition was the fact that Wang Jianwei testifies that each piece can be taken for themselves and still “make sense”. For me, that held very true; so much so that I actually felt like I “understood”—however little or much I actually did—the pieces more separate rather than all together. Each piece separately meant more to me than the whole exhibition.
The video installation inspired by Kafka’s Metamorphosis was very…ambiguous. All of the events were relatively easy to understand, but I didn’t really understand the reason of making it 50 minutes long when it could have easily been explained in a lot less. The theme of time did poke through, though, so I do think this video installation was very much a part of the whole exhibition.
All in all, I’m glad to have experienced yet another “adventure” of sorts, getting to know the city I live in. The Guggenheim Museum is definitely a place to go as a tourist attraction and for a casual, yet enriching visit.
After an hour of trains and then walking the wrong way, I finally got to Joyce Theater. When I saw Professor Eversley, she said we hadn’t gotten the best seats. Just our luck, right? But then we went inside and it was kind of a shock for me. After seeing the performance of Carmen in the Metropolitan Opera, it was disconcerting to realize how intimate this theater was. But it was also a lot less formal, which I personally liked.
Moving on to the show. WOW. There were definitely some parts where I was like, “HUH?” because usually there’s a story for everything we watch. But I realized that when dancers perform, their movements tell the story. The audience is touched not by the words coming out of their mouths—because frankly, there are none—but by the way their bodies become the story.
In my opinion, as the show progressed it became more interesting. In the beginning, I was watching the performance but not really into it. The whole Company was dancing, there were so many people on stage that I didn’t know where to look, and the music wasn’t really that exciting. But after the first intermission, things started getting more interesting. The performance of Testament was very interesting because it was probably supposed to have religious implications and Andrew Brader, the male dancer, had a tattoo of a cross. Now I don’t know if this was done on purpose, but it was something that caught my eye and got me thinking.
Throughout the whole show, there were couples dancing together and I realized that dancers really need the support and trust of their fellow dancers because otherwise no one would move! But then again in What Come, Thereafter, the dancer danced alone and that took guts and stamina I was very awed to see.
My favorite performance of the night was definitely The Groove. It was very exciting and I feel it left everyone with a lot of energy. The music, dances, and chemistry on stage just lit it on fire. It was a beautiful thing to watch.
I definitely learned a lot watching these dancers and aspire to be as strong as they’ve become!
Whenever I am asked if I read poems, I never know what to say. I always think, “Does it count if all I did was read the words?” The reason for this is that I hardly ever successfully interpret poems. I know it’s supposed to be all up to the readers mostly to interpret things the way they see fit, but it’s still a confusing question for me.
When I read Laurie Ann Guerrero’s poems before class, I didn’t really feel confident that I understood them. But, when she spoke in class about her background and her drive when she was writing the poems, I suddenly understood. Or at least my efforts were doubled so that this time I was determined to understand.
I came to the conclusion that sometimes a little background knowledge is important to fully understand a work of art. For me, putting the pieces together throughout the class was the fun part. In the intense and emotional time that Laurie Ann was in our class, I felt inspired because poetry really can express the essence of a person.
What I found really interesting was her “crown of sonnets”- mainly because I was in awe that she actually wanted to put herself through that grueling process! I remember in my junior year of high school, I had to write a normal sonnet and it was SO DIFFICULT. I mean getting the iambic pentameter right, then the rhyme scheme, all the while making sure the poem makes some kind of sense…it just goes on and on. The point is, one sonnet consumed so much of my time. But then in class I heard from Laurie Ann a couple of poems from her crown of sonnets and suddenly I was inspired to try my hand in poetry again.
Laurie Ann said that she attempted the crown of sonnets when she needed something to distract her and I’m thinking now that that sounds like a good idea. Who knows? I might try one!
Having never gone to the opera before, it was definitely an experience I’ll remember hopefully for the rest of my life. The day we spent preparing for it kind of made me sure I was going to fall asleep because I just don’t like what I used to term as the “ahhh singing”. (I still don’t, not really). But while we were watching it, the story of Carmen really gripped me. It wasn’t just people singing for no reason, but there was an intricacy in the songs themselves that added to the depth of the story.
The plot of Carmen made me very ambivalent. I liked some characters and not so much for others. Carmen herself was a little meh. I felt like throughout the whole story, she was too selfish for words to describe. Of course, she did warn Don Jose and he did spoil her by giving into whatever she wanted, but it was still annoying to watch her make unreasonable demands of which she was the main focus even when it wasn’t her decision to make. For example, when Don Jose wanted to go back to work after getting out of jail, thereby showing that he wanted to somehow reform his life, she demanded that he become a robber to fit in with her life. I was mind-boggled when he gave in because she ruined his life!
Let’s not forget how the amazing Michaela performed in the opera. That was a bone-chilling, hair-rising aria! It was definitely very powerful and heartfelt, and it gave her more of a purpose that she previously didn’t have.
The best part of the opera, for me, was the conductor and orchestra. I’m usually not a music person, but without the conductor and orchestra, the play would not have been as exciting. When the music became loud and fast, the audience knew this was a tense scene. When it was serene and slow, the audience knew it was a calm scene. The conductor himself would get into the music and half the time I would be compelled by his movements. It was a truly beautiful thing to see him bring all forms of instruments together and create masterpieces. I guess that’s credit to Bizet, who composed all the music for the play hundred of years ago, though.
All in all, the opera was a new experience that is not easy to forget. What I thought would be a snooze-fest kept me awake and interested the whole time. Three hours seemed like a lot but by the end it didn’t even seem like that much time had passed. The story of Carmen was definitely a worthwhile watch in The Metropolitan Opera.
Trial and Error
A glass is half full
is half empty
is hope to be filled
is joy to be felt is
a better future
is a college education is a life that is full
is people saying “You’re amazing!”
A glass is empty – of hope
is empty of joy is uncertainty is doubt
is failure is fear is people saying “It’s not good enough.”
A glass is growing up, is failing then succeeding
is life is me and you, is the beginning.
A glass
is trying.
I probably have seen a Picasso before, in one of my many museum trips in grade school and since. But ever since our first IDC class, when Professor Eversley stressed that we will get up close with Picasso paintings in our adventures, I’d been thinking about art more and more. So when we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one thing I really looked forward to (more than the Amie Siegal exhibition, in fact) was getting up close with a Picasso.
Picasso’s La Coiffure (1906) caught my eye for one particular reason. I read on the little museum label that this painting was the result of four different paintings, layered on top of one another. When I looked further into this, I found out that Picasso had painted three finished paintings in one canvas and then rotated the canvas 180 degrees to get this final look. Frankly, this amazed me because at first glance, one would have no idea that this was the case. I feel like this painting was a reflection of Picasso’s determination to display only the best of his work.
You can read a more in-depth explanation of this painting here.
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