Author: Dominique

And so for the rest of my evening walk, my thoughts bounced back and forth between my deepest reflections and dealing with the metallic sting in my mouth. I spit my gum out at the nearest trash can, and walked down 75th street in Jackson Heights, Queens: my new home as of 2016. For a neighborhood that is constantly bustling with noise and people, it’s awfully quiet and solemn tonight (aside from the occasional clatter from the 7 train and the hum of running cars).

I took a left onto Broadway and caught glimpse of a homeless man sleeping in a multi-colored, floral blanket. I forced my eyes to look elsewhere, as I tucked my head down and continued my walk; you’d think I’d be used to the sight by now but I catch myself from time to time. That feeling of sympathy and helplessness, the curiosity for their story, the guilt for unconsciously assuming their fault for such a dire situation; some days I feel the mix of emotions more than others. I later assure myself that we are all just victims of circumstance, and I continue my walk down Broadway, crossing over into Elmhurst.

As I cut through the cold crisp air in the middle of the night, I managed to pull my eyes from my feet and take a glance around the neighborhood I grew up in. Though I live only a train stop away now, a different and more nostalgic set of memories are displaced all across this childhood home of mine, making it unlike any other. Despite being so close to each other, Elmhurst is different than Jackson Heights in ever which way, I’ve watched it grow and change through the years, and the walk I’m on now, I’ve done a million times before.

I glance over at the latest bubble tea spot across the street from me. That specific location is perpetually changing, one store going out of business after another: a café, a deli, a dollar store, a pharmacy, and now a bubble tea spot. And right next to it, the Chinese bakery of more than 18 years remains. I was in the middle of asking myself why, when my thoughts were interrupted by an intense buzz in my pocket. I promised myself I wouldn’t spend my walk on my phone, but I couldn’t help but to answer it. A close friend calling, telling me about a piece of metal on the highway he almost drove into; the rest of his story faded as I realized how comforting having a companion could be on walks like these. I’m not always used to walking alone for the sake of walking, I’ve always spent them in good company and conversation. But I hang up the phone walk past Baxter Avenue alone once again.

With my hands stuffed in my pockets and my eyes trailing the different cars on the road, I notice a couple in a parked car having a conversation; the yellow light overhead illuminating both of their faces. I quickly look away, feeling as if I’m intruding a personal space, a personal conversation. It’s a feeling I don’t usually get in a situation I often find myself in.

I often make the drive back to Queens from Manhattan on the Ed Koch Queensboro bridge. One of my favorite things to do while I’m still on the Manhattan side is quickly peer into the different apartments of the skyscrapers neighboring the bridge. Each observation for each window lasts for only a split second, but for that split second I get a peek into someone else’s life. The life of someone I probably will never meet or get to know, a life that is spent never crossing paths with mine. Sometimes I’ll see a piece of artwork, or a TV with a football game on. I always wonder why they never close their shades. I never saw any people whenever I peeked, so I never felt that pang of guilt. Seeing the faces of the couple in the car, made awareness of the intrusion all the more real.

At Whitney Avenue, I decided to cut my trip short and head home. I hopped on the Q53 and kept my head down the rest of the way.

Provoke No. 2, 1969; gelatin silver print; 14 x 17 in. (35.56 x 43.18 cm.)

Daido Moriyama is a prominent Japanese photographer, who has illuminated the dark underside of Japanese urban life and the breakdown of strict, traditional values in the post-war period. Before starting his career as a freelance photographer, Moriyama became fascinated with the world of photography as he studied under Takeji Iwamiya, and later moved to Tokyo in order to join the photographer’s group VIVO: all of which jumpstarted his career as a prolific artist.

Daido Moriyama’s series of works, whether it be from his Aesthetics of Punk or his Farewell photography, has animated me in a way that causes me to crave and see more. The punctum of this picture, Provoke No. 2, is the odd and bent posture of the subject in the photo, as well as the fact that the subject is turned away from the camera. The curve of her back and its almost skinny and bony appearance has produced a sense of discomfort and curiosity for me; it causes me to wonder about the meaning and the “noise” of the picture. Just as Barthes’ elaborated,  “society, as it seems mistrusts pure meaning: It wants meaning but at the same time it wants this meaning to be surrounded by noise.” The feelings induced by these personally piercing details, makes me question the purpose in Moriyama’s decision to photograph the subject in such a way: Why is she facing away from the camera?; Why is her back bent in such a disturbing way?; Has she eaten recently? If you look closely, you can almost see the bones and details of her spine, all of which add to my feeling of discomfort originally induced by the punctum. I crave to know and understand more, yet I can’t.

What captures me most about this photo, is its simplicity, and the feelings I get out of it despite that. The studium of this photo is a woman sitting naked on a bed, slouching, and turned away from the camera. There is a general and vague interest I get out of the studium, which is deepened by my discomfort of the punctum, which is her hidden face and odd posture. There is nothing particularly crazy or busy going on in this photo, as there was in previous works I’ve observed, but I could not stop thinking about it as I beheld other works by Daido Moriyama, and I don’t seem to understand why. Here, within this frustration, I walk a mile in Roland Barthes’ shoes. I understand now, as it did for him, some photos animate me, while others do not.

Sato Sakura Gallery

Wandering around the streets of Chelsea, I stopped to take a quick breath when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a gallery of paintings to my right. I decided to take a chance and enter the unusual space. Initially, I expected to see the standard exhibit of four white walls, but to my surprise this was a very different take on such a traditional display.

Playful Carps; Reiji Hiramatsu; Mineral Pigments, Gelatine, Japanese Paper

As I strolled through the gallery, the Playful Carps lay against the set of white walls and caught my eye with its vivid conglomeration of pinks and purples. The plain white environment surrounding the busy and saturated art piece, indefinitely augments the colors and the bloom of the Playful Carps; it enhances the bold features of the two. Initially, it was hard for me to digest all of the spots of color and white on the canvas. It’s a lot on the eyes as the petal-like spots take up 90% of the canvas, and it took my attention away from the two carps placed at the bottom. The two carps of white, orange, and spots of black seem to be swimming in a pool of purple water, as well as pink, white, and purple petals. That’s when I noticed the entire painting was of cool tones except for the carps. The warm orange on the two fish make them stand out against the busy canvas of pinks and purples. It was hard for me to make them out at first, but after taking a closer look, I was able to identify their tiny eyes and whiskers.

Ben Angotti; Mural

Knowing the artistic culture within the streets of New York, I knew it wouldn’t be difficult to find a piece of public art that blew me away. The public art displayed at the World Trade Center is powerful and massive, especially through the mural painted by Ben Angotti.

Looking at it closely, there are waves and ribbons of color, including various shades of blue, red, pink, green, orange, and more. Additionally, there is a youthful and vibrant sun behind the subject, with softer rays of color surrounding it; all of which are laid upon a surface of black throughout. Despite this, the mural is anything but dark and depressing: adjectives in which are associated with the shade of black. The mural is especially lively and energetic because of how exalted the subject is made out to be. Her head is held high with her hair, mixed with shades of black and purple, is flowing free and high behind her head. Shades of white highlight the high points of her face and body, including her chest, neck and the center of her face.

The city scape surrounding the mural really add to it in that the Oculus is an art piece within itself supporting its opposite: the mural. The progressive mural of black and ranges of color, is set in front of a stark white minimalistic structure. Both highlight very different aspects of New York City and its art. This ultimately goes to show how an environment has just as much as an impact on the artwork, whether it be Oculus or the mural, as the artwork does on the city.

Henri Rousseau (le Douanier) (French, Laval 1844–1910 Paris); ca. 1907; Oil on canvas

Upon entering the vastness of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and navigating through the winding maze of paintings and people, I stumbled upon an animal’s feast. Henry Rousseau’s The Repast of the Lion was painted in 1907, and is a large 3′ 9″ x 5′ 3″ oil on canvas painting.

What initially struck me about the painting was the vastness of the jungle and how nature had taken up most of the canvas, depicting: a seemingly endless jungle; a noticeably enlarged forest; a brightly illuminated sun. The jungle had taken up so much of my attention, I had nearly missed the lion, though it stared me down, hiding within the tall grass. The lifelike illustration of this lion contains a much more muted yellow compared to the bright yellow of the enlarged flowers; it’s face contains hints of green and almost blends in with its surroundings. The lion is also much smaller in size compared to the immense vegetation engulfing it: the flower, budding off of the stem of a “tree”, is nearly the same size as the ferocious animal. Though after taking some time to observe it, I realized that the lion in this painting is a rather realistic illustration as it feasts on an antelope. Dabs of red are located around the claws, mouth, and side of the lion, as this is the only place within the entire painting where red is present. As the lion feasts on the antelope, its haunting eyes are staring directly at the viewer. Though Rousseau was often criticized for being a primitive artist, the lion to me is still an incredibly intimidating mimesis of nature, hiding within the immense forest, looking out for its next prey.