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Blog #8 Community
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 21st 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.
Artwork in the Community
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.
The Gates, 2005
Even though I just moved from Manhattan to Woodmere, Long Island, I still consider myself a Manhattanite. So, for this blog when I was thinking about what communities I belonged to, I immediately thought of Manhattan.
As a member of the Manhattanite community, I could’ve thought of a number of artworks from the Met, the MoMA, the Frick, the Guggenheim or any other of the museums here. But none of these single pieces of artwork stands out as sacred to the overall community. The Manhattan community is a strange community because it is not a close-knit, friendly, everyone-knows-everyone type of community. It is more of a “we all live together in the same space and share the same lifestyle even though out lives don’t really intersect.” So what artwork could be sacred to this type of disconnected community?
I immediately thought of The Gates by Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I’m sure you’ve all heard of the Gates- 7,500 orange gates with long billowing panels of cloth hanging down, blowing in the wind, placed along the walking paths of Central Park. “The Gates” was a piece of Site Art that was unique to Central Park, and it was only up for about a month.
Why do I think the Gates is the most sacred artwork to the Manhattanites? Well, first because of the obvious- The Gates was in Central Park, the heart of Manhattan. Besides for that, it was also open to everyone. People came from all over just to walk through Central Park and under these great orange gates so that they could be part of the action.
Like I said before, Manhattanites are all strangers even though they use the same stuff like space, stores, transportation, and experience. “The Gates” reflects Manhattan life because all the people who came to walk through the gates were strangers sharing a common experience. Crowds of people who did not know each other walked through the Gates together, participating and sharing the experience together to be a part of the artwork itself. That’s part of why I think it was relevant to the community- although we didn’t go through it together together, we went through it separately together. I guess what I mean is that we all experienced it individually and in our own way at different times, but overall I think it was a sacred artwork to us individually and therefore also as an overall community of individuals.
Also since the Gates was only up for about a month, it reflects the Manhattan culture of a fast-paced, rushed way of living because since the gates were up for such a short time, you had to rush to see them, or else you might miss out.
I remember I went a lot of times to Central Park to see The Gates. I went with my friends, and I went with my family. I remember how cold it was, and that there was snow on the ground. I even remember what I was wearing that day! It was a big touristy day; there were street vendors selling hats, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and other apparel with the picture of the Gates. Even though we weren’t tourists, I remember my mom bought a hat for herself and a sweatshirt for me, because she said it was “part of the experience”.
Besides for being a sacred artwork for the Manhattan community, I think the Gates also helped create a community. By the fact that we all came together to look at the gates, we became much closer. Without public places such as The Gates, it would be much harder to be a community because we would just be a bunch of people living our own lives side by side. However, by coming together, crossing paths and having shared experiences, we become connected people who make up a community, rather than people living alone side by side.
Artwork in My Community
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.
Ralph Lemon
I was pretty excited to go to a dance performance for the first time! “Brooklyn Academy of Music” This sounded familiar yet I had no idea what to expect. All the other classes were raving about their performance and I was expecting something big, modern, and live too.
The BAM was a nice theater and the atmosphere was very comfy too. I got settled in my seat and then the performance started. Lemon came out, even though I didn’t know it was him at the time, and a screen also came down. I thought, “Oh wow, just like Little Foxes.” This thought wasn’t particularly positive because I wasn’t that enthusiastic about the use of the screen in Little Foxes in the first place. Nevertheless, after this, an old guy came on the screen as Lemon was narrating and started rolling on the floor in a fake spaceship. I thought to myself, “Oh Boy.” This wasn’t a normal dance piece and definitely had its own unique aspect. I had NO idea what was going on for the remainder of the play. There were various stories about different people on the screen and it also showed a short piece of people dancing freely. I had no idea that these performers would actually come out and do that sort of dancing for what felt like forever.
I was shocked at first when the dancers came out and started performing. I thought, “Really, does Lemon actually expect us to watch this?” As I was thinking this, I saw a few people walk out of the theater. I wasn’t surprised, I felt like doing it too! I became angry, and annoyed at the dancers because I had to watch them dance so awkwardly. I didn’t know what to do, however, for a split second, I did feel their emotions, but this quickly went away and I ignored that I had ever felt that.
When Okwui was crying on stage, I felt an intense emotion. Like someone said in class, “It was like mother grieving over her deceased child.” At first, I was like whats going on and why is she crying. Yet, after a few minutes, I got into it and started thinking about the sad moments in my life or all the horrible possibilities that could occur in my life. Honestly, I felt like crying for a few seconds because her crying felt like something real. When the speaker came Monday, she told us that Okwui prepares for that scene by looking at her “book of sad things”. So her crying was genuine and I had felt all the emotion there.
Professor Profeta really helped me appreciate what Lemmon was trying to portray. When I left the theater, I felt like that time of my life was wasted and I was angry we had to watch it. However, I knew there was something about the piece I was just not getting. This is what the professor helped clear up. She told us about the emotions, the breakdown of them, and everything that was put into this piece. It really helped me appreciate this work of art so much more. I actually got the idea and thought to myself, “How would my viewing be different if I watch it again, knowing the messages behind it?” I think I would definitely appreciate it more and actually get into the roles of the performers.
I have learned from this experience that we shouldn’t be so superficial and always want what is commonly portrayed. I think a piece like what Lemon created is something that we may need more of and if you actually put in the effort to understand it, then it is definitely worth watching.
Photojournal 10/18-10/20
I have had problems uploading my photos for the past couple of days. I still can not upload so I have to use older photos to conclude the series.I was surprised over 5 weeks I took 202 photos for the journal.
I didn’t stay in the house, but…maybe I should have.
How would I even begin to describe what I saw on October 14th. Perhaps I was dreaming and a bunch of people were just going completely crazy right before my eyes. Or perhaps I was cursed by some evil spirit who forced me sit there and watch ninety minutes of what I would call…torture!
When I went into the theater, I was super excited because I’ve been to the Brooklyn Academy of Music a few times before to see ballet performances and I absolutely loved it there. However, when I heard about this dance performance I didn’t really expect a whimsical and pretty ballet, but I did expect something entertaining. As I sat in my seat, I couldn’t help but take pictures of the amazing theater, which I fall in love with every time I’m there, but I was quickly scolded for just trying to take a picture for my photo journal :[ I saw in my seat, got comfortable, took out my bottle of water, flipped through my BAMbill and I was ready for an awesome experience–flashy dancers, beautiful costumes, amazing choreography, hip music, a storyline–I just couldn’t wait. But instead I received the complete and total opposite.
When the lights dimmed, I saw a chair with a spotlight on it. I thought that the dancers would come and start spinning chairs and crazy acts but instead, out comes Ralph Lemon with a small set of papers, and the screen lowers. “A film?! Are you serious…where the heck is the dancing? I could’ve stayed home if it was just a movie!” I thought to myself. After thirty minutes of watching a video that made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever, but I do admit that Lemon had a very soothing voice, the lights dim once more and I’m ready for some action.
Then the dancers came out in really crappy, bright, stretchy, cheap-material costumes that look like they took about two seconds to put together and start dancing like the crazy people on the video that I had just seen. That moment set off a lightbulb in my head, Ralph Lemon said that he made his dancers dance like that for three minutes and he wondered what would happen if he made them do it for thirty minutes. Foreshadowing? I think so. Those thirty minutes felt like forever. I didn’t understand what they were doing at all and at times, it began to be funny watching them. I did notice that there were some structured dance moves for example Okwui (I might have gotten the spelling wrong, actually I’m pretty sure I did) was doing a broken down version of a pirouette in the corner of the stage while another man was flipping in the air (Ten times!!!). These dance moves all seemed very familiar, but it was like they were messing them up on purpose.
I waited for thirty minutes, or thirty hours, and then a woman started to cry backstage. I thought to myself then that the story Lemon was trying to convey was about his grief for his partner, but the crying wouldn’t stop. In fact, the crying went on for probably another thirty minutes to the point where it was driving me completely insane and I wanted to yell out to Okwui “Shut the **** up already!!!”
Luckily, just as I felt as if I had reached my breaking point, the crying stopped. When the crying stopped a few animals came out including an adorable dog, the bunny from the video in the first act, a cow, a walrus, and god knows what else. I felt like I was in a staring contest, but the silence was a plus for me after hearing minutes of wild, crazy crying. The animals were cute…and I don’t understand why they were even there in the first place, but the projections were incredible.
Ralph Lemon comes out once more but instead he is dancing with Okwui, a duet that I felt I understood a little more. I actually really enjoyed this part of the dance, believe it or not because I felt like it was a love story between the two of them, and to me that was beautiful.
I left the theater not knowing anything that had happened and I was just focused on going home. In the train, I decided to read the BAMbill once more to see if I’d understand what had happened the second time around, which actually made me even more confused than before. When I heard that a professor who was the dramaturge would be in to speak with us, I was super excited because I would finally understand what I saw.
When the professor walked in, she was actually really cool to talk to and I felt comfortable with telling her about how much I actually hated the performance even though she had worked on it for so long. After her discussion, I still didn’t completely understand the piece and I still don’t really understand it, but that’s the beauty of it…Ralph Lemon didn’t want us to understand it, he wanted to create something so mind-boggling that it’ll stay with us forever, and possibly haunt us.
I finally understood that it was the breakdown of the body’s normal everyday activities and movements and Lemon wanted something different. Perhaps he wanted to show his grief for his partner, or the connection of time periods, or That’s exactly what he gave us–something really different that probably only a few in the audience could actually relate to, but we all found one part, one thread of the entire “story” that we could relate to. After the class discussion, I learned to really appreciate this type of art because we had a chance to go behind the scenes and really dig deep into the artist’s mind which proved to be extremely helpful in understand the piece.
What seemed like a horrid experience for me, actually turned out to be an eye opener. Although I am a lover of spectacle, fancy costumes, and an amazing storyline, I’ve come to appreciate art that doesn’t have any of this, but yet still does in its very own way.
BAM performance
Confused, fascinated, and expectant are the best words I can think of for how I was feeling during the BAM performance. I was confused as to what was going on and what the artist was trying to say, fascinated by the newness of the experience of watching such an undefinable form of dance, and expectant of something to explain the piece, or at least tie it all together, at the end. One thing I did understand was that Ralph Lemmon was trying to defy form and put on something the audience had never seen and he couldn’t have done a better job of it. I am by no means familiar with dance, but I usually can recognize some moves or style within a performance I see. There was nothing recognizable on Wednesday night, except maybe a couple of motions that looked like things I would see in a wrestling or MMA match.
Because of my confusion I was fascinated. I couldn’t take my eyes of the stage in my attempts to figure out what was going on. I tried to catch every move, every word, and every subtle symbol in order to understand Ralph Lemmon’s message. The flailing, the crying, the animals, the sock and tambourine all caught my attention, but I couldn’t connect them. It seemed that the performance was a series of meaningless, disconnected pieces. I was hoping and searching for some sort of explanation.
In the end, I did not get what I expected and wanted. I’ve experience strange and confusing works of art before, but usually there has been something to make sense out of. There was nothing in Lemmon’s piece that I could figure out. However, I remained fascinated, I was sure there was something being said and couldn’t wait for an opportunity to find out. I had high hopes for the explanation I would receive in class.
Professor Profeta helped a lot. She didn’t provide concrete explanations- that would have limited the ability for the piece to provoke thought- but she did give some helpful opinions and background information. Going into the performance I did not know about Ralph Lemmon’s relationship with Asako or Walter, nor was I sure that he was talking about real people during the piece. Professor Profeta gave us more detail into Walter’s influence on Lemmon and Asako’s illness. Knowing that Lemmon was in a state of grief during the process of creating this piece helped me understand the crying and even the lack of structure. Death of a loved one can leave a person feeling as if there is nothing reliable, and a structureless dance is a great reflection of this feeling.
Professor Profeta also told us that Lemmon had been studying dance from other cultures. If the dance reminded me of anything, it would be of primal dancing. Although my lack of knowledge leaves me unable to be certain, I would not be surprised to find out that the piece was heavily influenced by some sort of tribal ritual. Also, studying other cultures can make a person more open to experimentation and less convinced that any conception of the right way of doing things is objectively true. Lemmon’s experience with foreign cultures may have left him contemptuous of the idea that a dance should have a particular style, or any style at all. Knowing that our ideas of formal dance would look ridiculous to other cultures, and vice-versa, may have left Lemmon feeling as if structure and style in dance is useless and even silly.
In the end, I cannot know what Lemmon was thinking when creating “How Can You Stay in the House All Day and Not Go Anywhere,” but I can think about potential implications. I can do my best to empathize, or at least sympathize, with the artist and think about the importance of structure.
Aria with Renga
Eccentric. Weird. Connected. Torturous. That’s how I would describe Ralph Lemon’s dance piece, “How Can You Stay in the House All Day and Not Go Anywhere?” It was a piece that was unprecedented. It was “out of the box.” It was alien. BUT there was a story, a message, a feeling, emotions that kept the piece together. What those things were, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Even with Professor Profeta’s help in trying to understand the piece, my preconceptions did not change they were only spurred on.
Other than that, I really don’t know where to begin. I don’t know where Ralph Lemon began in his piece. Was there a beginning and an end? Maybe it was a dream? Was it about fertility? Maybe it was exposing us to the metaphysical world? Or it is string theory? Personally, I’ve been using the concept of time a lot in my schoolwork, but it can’t be helped. Time affects everything. And maybe that is what Ralph Lemon is trying to say. Maybe he’s trying to talk about time. Or not.
When the dance piece began, I wasn’t expected a piece where a person talks in front of an audience, but maybe that was his way of expressing the dance. The dance of the words – bouncing, ricocheting, rolling, jumping, spinning – across the auditorium and, finally, into the audience’s ears. Then the screen filled with images that seemed to have no flow, no connection yet, it did. The images may not have held together by themselves, but the words, the narration did. I guess this can be seen as time holding the world together, just like those words. Whenever the silence came out, it made everything seem empty and unsecure. Time gives us structure.
During the readings there were a few things that Ralph Lemon read which struck me. One was “the question was in the form of the answer which answers all questions” or something to that manner and that reminded me of Epik High in my previous post where they say, “Genius is not the answer to all questions. It’s the question to all answers.” This started me thinking that we shouldn’t just accept life just the way it is. Instead, we have to be questioning our existence and the present. Why are we here? What is our purpose? “All for one, one for all.” That is the way life is. When we live everything is ours, but once we die our own bodies will be serving a purpose for other organisms. This slow breakdown of the body makes me think that we are all living contradictions and not of our own volition. What I mean is that once we are born, the mitochondria release these toxins that is one of the components which bring about the slow breakdown (I’m sorry, but I do not know where I can retrieve this fact because it was televised on the Science Channel several years ago, I believe). Is this what Ralph is trying to tell us? We should take advantage of our lives because once born, we are already set to die.
Another set of words were seemingly strung together delicately yet bluntly, “Asako, with the last of her strength, grasped my penis,” or something similar to that. When Ralph Lemon said these words, the myth of the Fisher King immediately flashed into my head. This myth showed how the arid, barren, and infertile land was tied to the Fisher King’s injured groin. The groin was the symbol of life and, because of the injury the kingdom was affected greatly. I feel that Ralph Lemon’s words here portrayed this because Asako was ill during the time and slowly withering away, but she still had the strength to grasp at life. In addition, Ralph Lemon may be using past myths to connect to the present because it is also seen in Ancient Greek Mythology that Dionysos was born from Zeus’ thigh/groin. The word for groin means life. This is another way in which Lemon is connecting everything with a thread, maybe the red thread of fate. Well, not really because that is meant for soul mates. But maybe everything is a marriage for one another because we cannot live without everything else.
Then there was the dance that, as Professor Profeta explained, was the breakdown of the body, was torturous to watch because it showed the dancers moving without “structure” and throwing themselves around. The fact that the dancers were so dedicated to this shows their concentration and state of mind of being in the present. Other than that, it was long and confusing.
After the dance, there was a woman, Okwui, who was crying loudly. Professor Profeta told us that this part was like the grieving of death. She was mourning for herself and her cries includes our own. During this part, I actually got tired of the crying, but if it was a child I would have been irritated. Maybe it’s the pitch of their cries which annoy me, but that’s besides the fact. Anyway, Professor Profeta mentioned professional mourners which reminded me of Japan because they hire professional mourners to cry for their dead ones because the mourners themselves cannot cry enough or cannot cry at all. The professional mourner can be so emotional so as to incite the mourners to cry. But honestly, I didn’t really know why she was crying, but at one point there was something in me that felt happy. I guess I felt that she was crying for me too, but it was a quick moment until it was hidden under layers of my annoyance.
Still, the entire piece can be confusing. You have to look at it as a whole and remember specific pieces which touch one another. It’s like a spider web: strong yet thin, fragile, and almost invisible.
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This is an addendum to my Ralph Lemon blog. I bring this up because Professor Profeta mentioned John Cage because the New York Times article mentioned Merce Cunningham. I bring John Cage into this blog because of his work “Aria with Renga.” Personally, I was captivated by the definition of Renga and therefore, I listened to the piece. Renga is a “type of group improvisatory work where John Cage tells the orchestra how to play and when to play it, but not what notes and instrument to play,” as Michael Tilson Thomas defines it. This piece reminded me of Ralph Lemon’s dance piece because they both have freedom, but this freedom is restricted within some boundaries.
