I honestly can’t believe I did not think of it to begin with. When going through different culturally significant art forms, a synagogue just did not cross my mind.  Sometimes, the things you know the best, that are so ordinary to you, can in actuality be something extremely significant.

And boy do I know synagogues, or as I call it, “shul”.  Every holiday my family attends, and my father goes every single day of the week. It is a place where Jews congregate to pray. They date back all the way to around 70 CE when the 2^nd Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed and the Romans sent the Jews to Diaspora.  Jews everywhere began to set up synagogues to pray in.

It is not just the fact that Synagogues are a center for Jewish prayer, for thousands of years they have been a center for Jewish life. There are old synagogue still standing all over the world, each one containing its own rich history. Additionally, they have artistic accents and architectural designs; depending on what time period they were made.

I was thinking about why synagogues are so artistically significant. Then I realized, any country I have ever visited, I have gone to the old and new synagogues in that place. There is something beautiful about being able to connect to Jews from hundreds of years ago through a building and to bear witness to the thriving culture of that time.

This summer my friend Jacqueline and I went to Italy.  It was my first time so I was basically a slave to my maps and Frommer’s guidebook. Yet in every city, we made it our prerogative to visit the Synagogue there. The one in Rome was especially noteworthy. It was huge and towering. Inside there was a museum created, with artifacts from Jewish life in Rome throughout the years. It was crazy to see what other Jews had used to observe and how rich the Jewish life had been there before WWII. What was even crazier was the actual Synagogue, which had been redone in the early 1900s, was still there as well; people still prayed there. The guide told us stories about how during the war the Nazis did not bomb it because it was considered one of the beautiful pieces of architecture in the city of Rome.

Not only are Synagogues significant to the Jewish community all over the world for their architectural beauty and their artistry (many old synagogues have beautiful mosaics with symbols of astrology, as well beautiful decorative walls and windows), but also they sadly symbolize, in many places, a community that once was. A community that at a point was thriving and now has been completely decimated.

This past year, I took a gap year and studied in Israel.  At the beginning of the year, you have the option to go on a week trip to Poland and learn about the holocaust that took place there. I went on this trip in late October, as did many other people in my school. It was probably one of the most significant experiences in my life thus far. On the trip, not only did we visit concentration camps that the Nazis set up to annihilate the Jews of Europe, but we also visited many synagogues that were still standing from before the war. Seeing all these synagogues was bitter sweet. They were so beautiful and rich with history culture and art, but it also made me realize what no longer existed in all these cities in Poland, and really most of Eastern Europe. There was such a rich life, it thrived and encapsulated joy and exuberance. Now, the remnants are these beautiful, dainty artifacts. There was one synagogue we visited that was no longer recognizable. The government turned it into a library. As we entered the area with all the bookshelves, we were told to look at the wall that the shelves were thrust against. There, hidden, were beautiful paintings that were once where the Torah, the scroll with the Old Testament in it, was placed. Now, all that remains is a wall with paint and multiple bullet holes, for Nazis would take Jews there to murder them.

Writing this blog has brought back memories from my Poland trip and has really reminded me of the significance of synagogues to the Jewish community all over the world. Sometimes, the things you know best, the places that are most ordinary to you, can in actuality, be extremely extraordinary and significant.

The body is to the bodybuilder what stone is to the sculptor.

It is the canvas to the painter, the instrument to the musician, and even the blank table to the high school student. All things considered, the body is only a medium of expression, much like the materials used by artists.

In fact, I would even go so far as to argue that the bodybuilder is an artist.

Many of you might disagree with me, or maybe even mock me, but riddle me this, if art is distinct to every person, place, or religion, whose to say what art is, and what it isn’t? As far as I know, and as far as every gym rat I know, the body can and should be looked upon as art of the 21^st century.

Honestly, not everyone is a patron of the arts, nor does everyone appreciate art for what it is. Bodybuilding is perhaps the most understandable form of artistic expression out there. It is independent of ethnicity, social status, and genetics.

I say this because there has been a load of crap circulating the web on how genetics influence everything. People have even gone so far as to say it can determine what you are capable of. There have been articles written about geneticists deciphering a talent gene, but come on, what kind of BS is that? People to an extent, can control what they look like.  I mean really. No one has to be ugly. People can diet, exercise, use makeup or even get surgery.

Actually now that I think about it, if professional modeling is considered art, there is no reason for bodybuilding to be looked upon any differently. There are such things as fitness models after all.

Now that I’ve established the context in which this blog should be read, I guess I should get started.

I am a bodybuilder. I lift weights. I run. I diet. And like most bodybuilders we strive to attain a certain physique. If one were to ask for the most perfect physique ever attained, nobody would be capable of providing an accurate answer. Bodybuilding is very subjective (much like art), that is why there are always several judges at competitions. Now many people unaware of the sport, may immediately think of Arnold Schwarzenegger, but I assure you, that’s merely due to the media. In bodybuilding there is no such thing as perfection, but there exists ideals. Arnold had poorly developed calves, so many can argue, that he is not the best example of the most desirable body ever attained.

This really sucks because I don’t want to avoid the blog question, but I really can’t think of the most “sacred” or rather, the best bodybuilder in history. Maybe I can compensate by describing the ideals of the sport.

Much like the “Vitruvian Man” painted during the Renaissance period by Leonardo da Vinci, there are certain proportions that all bodybuilders should have. An ideal body should have good overall symmetry, good muscle development and large striated muscles. Many bodybuilders strive to attain tree trunk legs (thick legs), v-tapered back (wide back, narrow waist), bulging biceps (speaks for itself),  boulder shoulders (large deltoids), and diamond pecs (pecs harder than steel! LOL).

The bodybuilder is very much like a sculptor. It is not about endlessly lifting weights until the final result resembles a gorilla. It is about chiseling and carving desired features out of the body. It is about targeting specific areas that need to be strengthened and emphasized. It is about taking the raw materials you are provided and transforming them into a masterpiece.

I am a bodybuilder.

But I am also an artist.

I am your worst nightmare.

I am the hulk.

When I think about a community, there is so much that could fall under the topic.  There’s a community by religion, location, and even ethnicity in our society today. It makes me wonder exactly what am I attached to the most.  I know that statement does sound ridiculous but when you think about it is it really? It is possible to be in a community, but to not feel exactly attached or drawn to it. I have this feeling to this day, I lived in flushing all my life but I do not feel exactly important. I just fill my role and carry out my life day by day.  So when it comes to thinking about art that symbolizes my community I wonder where to begin and where to start. More importantly, I need to decide on which community to choose.

I was on my way  home from seeing Leon Levinstein’s photography exhibit on the 7 train.  The ride was dull and tiring, but I saw something that took art to another level.  I passed Court Square on the train and I saw something so striking and beautiful.  The train appears to slow down and I am exposed to this amazing graffiti exhibit in the Court Square.  Building to building was covered with words and drawings including a black and white portrait of Notorious B.I.G. that was so detailed and descriptive. This piece stretched across many pieces of buildings which was  crafted in an amazing fashion. Usually I do not even take the time to pay any attention to graffiti, but passing by this work made me notice graffiti as a symbol for artwork in the urban community.

Why choose graffiti? That is something I would ask myself years ago. When I mentioned before that I never paid attention to graffiti, it is not an understatement.  Yes we see graffiti everywhere we go but at first I never tried to wonder what the artist wanted to say. I thought that it had no purpose at all as some writers strongly believe. However, this time I decided to look and to see what exactly is the meaning behind the graffiti. I was going to analyze why the artist would go on buildings to express something  in that specific spot and area.

As I experience the city setting more, graffiti becomes more than just spray painting a random building or van.  Like any artist, graffiti is conveying and expressing their own individuality in a given society. They are also criticizing societies in their own way, showing its flaws as well.  Not only can the artist of graffiti become a social critic, he or she  is also one who curates the community. This is where I see the graffiti artist at work.  When someone curates something, they are in charge and oversee a work.  Now you wonder how does an artist can organize a community? That is something I thought about,  how can an artist criticize a society and then bring them together all at the same time?

I wondered about this question and something came to me as to why the graffiti artist can curate the community.  I believe that one part of the piece I saw and acknowledged  was the detail and beauty that it presented.  It ties members of a society together because as a community, we are enjoying and admiring a work of art together.  This allows us to work together as one community as we are coming together to appreciate one work of art. This is one way that I saw an artist curating the community. They organize and preserve an aspect of their culture for all viewers to see. Another was seeing and interpreting how the community acts and behaves in society.  That graffiti piece was powerful because it not only had a beauty to it but it allowed people to feel a communal setting.  Several people stared at the piece in wonder and in a way you feel like a community. We all look and admire this piece together as a community for its beauty.  This allows us to be more organized as a community more than other things.  That is what the graffiti piece represents, the artist does commemorate famous figures, but he or she did it in a way that brings the community together and does not criticize a society.  I will definitely take more interest to the graffiti art.

I often feel that I am detached from others, like an outsider. In my middle school people of the same race or religion would always stick together.Because of this, I was often alone. I am a mix of ethnicities, and as far as I do not have a religion. I was often isolated from those around me, and I have come to find comfort in that.

To be honest, I do not feel like I belong in any community, and the only strong bond I feel is towards my nuclear family: two older brothers and my father. In a way, we make up one entity. If something happens to one of us, we all strongly feel it. Lately especially, events have occurred that are tightening our bonds. We are like a rope: individual strands that make up one being. Even though our culture is a mess from many different countries, it is the one culture I most identify with.

Last summer I endeavored to create something that will capture the memory of my family and unite us in one work of art. I came up with this (this is just a very tiny fraction of it):

Making quilts is something common to my crafty aunt and grandmother. The two of them would make and sell wedding dresses, and they would compile scraps to form quilts. These masterpieces were given to each family member where they were very under appreciated. Many guests would beg to buy these pieces for up to $3000 (which is even more in Iran fifty years ago) but my grandmother would never allow it. Quilts were for the family and would stay in the family.

Inspired by my grandmother, I made this quilt out of old clothing that once belonged to my father, brothers, or myself. People often think of clothing as a representation of the person who wears it. Similarly, this quilt is a representation of us: our taste, style, and how it has changed over the years.  Each square holds a memory special to each of us, which an outsider may not understand. Certain squares come from clothing that once belonged to my mother, and though I was reluctant to add her into the family quilt I felt it would not be complete without someone that was once a big part of our lives.

It took me over two months to create this almost king-sized quilt. Once completed, I ceremoniously placed it over my bed only to find out: It was too big!! I sleep on a twin-sized bed, what was I thinking making something so large!?

But, deep down, I knew why I had done this. I wanted to surprise my father with it. One day while he was at work, I replaced his sheets with my humongous quilt. When he came home he was ecstatic, I had given him a gift that will live on in our family.

“Every time I come into the room, I become happy,” he tells me, “because the bright colors cheer me up, and each piece is special.”

I feel the same way when I see the quilt. Even though it is very mediocre compared to what my grandmother used to make, the fact that I attempted to and succeeded in such a big project always fills me with pride. I made something useful for someone, and I have made something that reflects my family and our values. We are as unique as each square, and together we make up something special.

Someday, I will pass it on to my daughter, who will pass it on to hers, and so on. I hope this piece will always represent my family, and it will always be sacred to them. Perhaps future generations will add representations of themselves to it. Or, perhaps they will not. Either way, I hope they appreciate it as much as my family does now.

Although I’ve lived in the same neighborhood my entire life I’ve never really been part of a community. My parents and I never socialized with the neighbors or went to church at the local parish. The only group with which I have been consistently involved is my family. While my house was in Floral Park, my home was in Glendale.

For the first eight years of my life, I practically lived with my grandparents. Everyday they would pick me up from school and take me home to their house on Woodhaven Boulevard. We ate lunch and dinner together everyday, played games, and watched television. When I was sick, they were the ones who took care of me. My Nonna and Nonno were my second set of parents and they had lots of help. My dad’s Aunt Josephine, Uncle Mike and twin cousins Lucy and Lisa only lived a few blocks away, as did my dad’s Aunt Rose and his sister Cathy. If I wasn’t at my Nonna and Nonno’s house I was at Aunt Jo’s.

Lucy and Lisa babysat me all the time. We had deep sea adventures on the floor of the living room, played pirate ship on the top shelf of their bunk beds, and hopped from couch to couch trying not to “step on the lava.” We sang songs like “Baby Beluga” and played dress up with their fantastic collection of hats and jewelry.

Holidays were completely insane! My dad’s Aunt Gina did Thanksgiving, Aunt Joe did Christmas, and Nonna did Easter. Each had a different way of accommodating the 40 people who would all need to be eating at the same time. Seated on folding chairs and on couches all over the house, with no elbowroom we would eat 7 course meals and talk. Each holiday had it’s own traditions. Thanksgiving we played charades, Christmas we sang carols and played cards, and Easter we had egg hunts in the backyard.

In this community, which I am extremely proud to be a part of, different forms of art are everywhere. Every meal for instance is a culinary masterpiece, delicious, savory, and aesthetically pleasing. For Italians food is sacred! Eating is what we do.

But, there is another more traditional form of artwork displayed in the homes of all of my family members. In every house, on every clear surface, there are hundreds of pictures. Mostly taken by Lucy, who is a professional photographer, these pictures are sacred. They document our family’s history and traditions and remind us of what is truly important. The one thing that is not exaggerated in the stereotypes about Sicilians is the loyalty we feel towards our families.  The “if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us” mentality is completely true.  My family is my life.

So these shrines, these thousands of pictures are more than just art because of the emotional resonance they have for our entire family. They aren’t just pretty pictures of scenery or interesting images of people. They are representations of who we are and where we come from. They are, in essence, an artistic depiction of our lives.