Author: Daniel Gurvich

Our visit to the Jewish Museum last Tuesday was both fascinating and exciting. I had visited this museum years ago as a young child, but it was a totally different experience this time around, since I was a lot older and had a much better understanding of politics and culture. 

The piece that stood out most to me was Deborah Kass’ OY/YO bright yellow sculpture on the third floor, the same one we saw at the entrance to the Brooklyn Museum. Deborah Kass is a famous Jewish lesbian artist who is known for her fight for equality and feminism through her art. According to AM New York, Kass notably said, “When I created OY/YO, the American promise of equality and fairness was writ in the most diverse administration ever, working to make the country a better place for all.” The first thing I noticed about this sculpture is that there is a dual meaning to it: it reads “oy” on one side and “yo” on the other. This is interesting, because “oy” is a Yiddish word that is “used especially to express exasperation or dismay,” according to Merriam-Webster. Having heard my grandparents speak Yiddish occasionally instead of Russian, the only word that I understood was “oy”. It’s such an easy word to remember, yet it means so much. If someone says “oy”, you know something unpleasant either happened or is currently happening. It seems that over time, people of so many other cultures have begun using the word “oy”, to the point that it has become a nearly universal expression of shock or unhappiness. Meanwhile, the word “yo” is a term popular among youth in urban areas around our nation. “Yo” is used as an informal greeting and is especially popular within the African-American and Latin-American communities. In fact, “yo” even means “I” in Spanish, a widely-spoken language within New York City and the entire nation. 

The OY/YO sculpture constitutes conceptual art because it expresses the two words “oy” and “yo” from just one sculpture. In my opinion, there is no significance between the color or material of the sculpture and the concept it is meant to portray. It is an abstract work of art and is not a mimesis of anything in particular. One essential characteristic of the sculpture is that it resembles the famous LOVE sculpture, which is an iconic symbol of New York, among other U.S. cities. Nevertheless, the sculpture has a special significance in the Jewish Museum, since “oy” is a popular Yiddish phrase. Moreover, it makes sense that the OY/YO sculpture is in New York City, since Deborah Kass is a native New Yorker and this concept is especially relevant in our city. 

Kass tries to show that despite being a divided group of people, we are more similar than we realize and we are all people. She derives two very different cultural words from the same two letters that can be read in either direction. Her work is certainly political and it was made at a time when America was changing for the better. President Obama showed our nation that diversity is possible, great, and essential, and we must all value each other. People have a tendency to judge one another based on race and ethnicity, but this should not be the case. Just because someone has a different color of skin or speaks another language than you, it doesn’t mean that this person is any different than you. We are all guilty of cultural misunderstanding, so Kass tries to change that and remind us of that. She has an important call to action to embrace one another’s differences and learn about each other’s cultures. This is essential at a time when racism is still very prevalent and must not be allowed. In fact, New York City is the perfect place for this work of art, because we are a melting pot of so many different cultures and types of people. Furthermore, if we choose to focus our attention particularly on the African-American and Jewish communities in our city, we can see that although the two groups are very different and have had racial tensions in the past, they are more similar than they may realize and should do everything in their power to understand and respect each other. 

Statement on the Purpose of a Corporation

Credits to Khaya

As I stand on the 23^rdStreet station,

On the thin yellow strip at the edge of the platform,

Inches away from the speeding train,

Getting closer to me every second,

With its strong but blurry “E” inscribed in a circle,

Which while perfect, looks quadrupled,

And the two small, yellow lights shine brightly in my eyes,

Nearly blinding me as I look down below the train operator’s window;

I think to myself,

This is the start of my journey,

The start of my journey on this fine morning,

The first of many trains I will ride on today,

The first of many platforms I will stand on today,

The first of many train operators I will look at today,

The first of many experiences I will have today,

And the first of many memories I will make today;

But it most certainly isn’t the start of the journey,

For many others,

Who have been riding on this train for a while today,

Or on other trains today,

Or on both this and other trains,

And possibly even many others after this one;

And for some,

It may even be the end of the journey for the day,

Having gone from station to station,

Through a plethora of tunnels and bridges,

They are exhausted,

Waiting for the end of this journey,

But understanding that tomorrow the cycle will repeat;

But whether it is the start of one’s journey,

Or the middle of one’s journey,

Or the end of one’s journey,

We are all here together,

On this platform,

On this train,

In this borough,

And in this city;

And whatever happens,

We will be there for each other,

Even if we don’t see eye to eye,

We are New Yorkers,

And we are in this together,

In this train,

In this city,

In this life.

Part One

In chapter 5, Barthes writes, “It can happen that I am observed without knowing it, and again I cannot speak of this experience, since I have determined to be guided by the consciousness of my feelings. But very often (too often, to my taste) I have been photographed and knew it. Now, once I feel myself observed by the lens, everything changes: I constitute myself in the process of “posing,” I instantaneously make another body for myself, I transform myself in advance into an image. This transformation is an active one: I feel that the Photograph creates my body or mortifies it, according to its caprice (apology of this mortiferous power: certain Communards paid with their lives for their willingness or even their eagerness to pose on the barricades: defeated, they were recognized by Thiers’s police and shot, almost every one)” (10-11).

I chose this passage because I believe that it is crucial to Barthes’ argument regarding the power the photograph has over the person being photographed (the subject of the photo). Barthes writes that he is often being photographed and knows it. As soon as he feels himself being “observed by the lens”, everything changes for him and he begins to pose for the photograph. It is interesting that Barthes explains that the photograph objectifies the person and makes him sense (both see and feel) himself transforming into an immobile object that represents one part of him but fails to capture his entire essence. Barthes describes the person’s image of oneself becoming another body, although the person feels death as the photograph is taken and he is objectified. This passage helps me to understand Barthes’ text more generally as a reader, because it really isn’t confusing and allows me to feel what Barthes feels as a person who is being photographed. The action of immediately striking a certain pose for a photograph is very relatable, and it makes sense that we decide how we want to present ourselves to the camera. Nevertheless, no one photograph can capture everything we want to be captured about ourselves and our personal image. The feeling of death that Barthes mentions in this passage ties well with his discussion of thinking about time and death, in relation to the target of a photograph.

Part Two

In chapter 39, Barthes states “At the time (at the beginning of this book: already far away) when I was inquiring into my attachment to certain photographs, I thought I could distinguish a field of cultural interest (the studium) from that unexpected flash which sometimes crosses this field and which I called the punctum. I now know that there exists another punctum (another “stigmatum”) than the “detail.” This new punctum, which is no longer of form but of intensity, is Time, the lacerating emphasis of the noeme (“that-has-been”), its pure representation. In 1865, young Lewis Payne tried to assassinate Secretary of State W. H. Seward. Alexander Gardner photographed him in his cell, where he was waiting to be hanged. The photograph is handsome, as is the boy: that is the studium. But the punctum is: he is going to die. I read at the same time: This will be and this has been; I observe with horror an anterior future of which death is the stake. By giving me the absolute past of the pose (aorist), the photograph tells me death in the future. What pricks me is the discovery of this equivalence. In front of the photograph of my mother as a child, I tell myself: she is going to die: I shudder, like Winnicott’s psychotic patient, over a catastrophe which has already occurred. Whether or not the subject is already dead, every photograph is this catastrophe” (94-96).

I found this passage particularly fascinating, because after referencing the stadium and punctum he writes about in Part 1, Barthes introduces a new and different punctum that exists alongside the “detail”, the one thing in the photograph that is different from everything else and actually defines the photo. Surprisingly, this new punctum is time. Barthes offers Alexander Gardner’s “Portrait of Lewis Payne, 1865” as an example of a photograph where time as a punctum is important. While convict Lewis Payne is the stadium of the photograph, the punctum is his upcoming death. Below the photograph there is a caption stating, “He is dead and he is going to die…” Thus, Barthes explains that by giving him “the absolute past of the pose”, he knows that death is in store for Lewis Payne, the subject of this photograph. Another example is when he looks at a photograph of his mother as a child, he knows she eventually dies, even though she has already died long ago, and feels a sense of sadness. Regardless of whether the subject is dead, he admits that he shudders over the catastrophe of death, which has already occurred, with every photograph. Before reading Camera Lucida, I had never considered this perspective on looking at a photograph. I would simply think about the subject having already died or still being alive, but not as them dying in the future. Frankly, this is a really grim perspective that has made me rethink photography on a whole different level. Not only do I understand Barthes’ point here, but I also feel that he discusses an integral element of analyzing a photograph, since time is part of the story behind a photograph. Furthermore, the thoughts that arise from analyzing this new punctum evoke intense emotions for the spectator.

It’s Question Time

Is there potentially a third punctum, aside from detail and time, that can uniquely define a photograph and change the way we look at it?

It’s Image Time (sorry I know it’s a lot of images but I’m passionate about urban photography)

I wanted to include comments, but well, if you read the book, you know what I’m talking about. By the way, I actually took all these photos by myself from my phone camera. The first three are from New York City, the second to last one is from Providence, RI, and the last one is from Philadelphia, PA. Hope you enjoy!

Gallery space is perhaps the most essential element of how works of art are presented in an art exhibition. There are many choices an art gallerist has to make about how an artwork will be displayed and what  background it will have. One famous gallery space style is a white cube, which is characterized by a background with white walls and light generally coming from the ceiling. Interestingly, two galleries that my group and I visited are both examples of white cube spaces, but are also different in various ways. 

At the Amsterdam Whitney International Fine Art Gallery on 25th street between 10th and 11th Avenue, the white cube style is evident all throughout. One artist whose work stood out to me is JS Renand, a French painter with a collection of cityscape oil paintings. The first painting, titled “Sparking Eiffel Tower”, depicts the Eiffel tower illuminated in a bright, golden-yellow color on a dark blue night background. The base of the tower is situated around green trees next to a waterfront with a partial reflection of the tower on the water. Renand’s portrayal of the Eiffel Tower at night is beautiful, because of the distinction in color between the dark night and the bright tower which stands in the center of the painting and takes up most of the painting’s space. My eyes immediately glanced at this painting when I came into the room and more specifically I noticed the Eiffel Tower right away. It was only when I observed the painting in more detail that I noticed the details in the background. It is very interesting that this painting is in a white cube setting and is thus on a white wall with multiple other paintings. Despite Renand’s painting taking up only a small portion of the wall, both horizontally and vertically, and leaving ample space on top and on the bottom, it draws the visitor in with its magical and extraordinary mystique. In fact, it is such a contrast to the wall that it blends in perfectly once you take a long look at it, even better than many other lighter-colored paintings on white walls. Looking at this painting was so captivating that I felt like I was in Paris looking up at the Eiffel Tower at night rather than in a brightly-illuminated room of an art gallery in New York City. Another painting in this gallery I found fascinating is “Freddie Mercury” by Hayato Takano, a Los Angeles based artist who uses torn sheet music as a medium for his art. This work of art flows very well with the white wall it is on. Because the art is only greyish-black and white, the two colors stand out against each other. Furthermore, because the corners are dark, they fit well on the white wall, just as the Renand painting does. Takano made an interesting choice by making different parts of Freddie Mercury’s body in different shades, but they are very realistic to the shadows and outlines of a person’s face and hands in real life. It almost feels as if Mercury is looking down at us and we are revering him. Moreover, this is seen in the white outline around Mercury’s body on the work of art, putting emphasis on him in the center. Both Renand’s and Takano’s works that I am writing about are next to several other of the respective artists’ works of art. Thus, the theme of each artist’s different works of art is similar and the style is consistent. Thus, the fact that there isn’t just one work of art on the white wall makes the gallery feel complete and not so empty, but we are still able to focus on each work of art individually when we come closer and analyze it. Yet, they all flow into each other naturally, such as how Takano’s “Freddie Mercury” flows into his other works of art, such as the one of Elvis Presley two to the right. I particularly enjoyed this gallery’s summer-like vibe because of the white walls and a light tone to the paintings. 

On the same block as the Amsterdam Whitney is the Marlborough gallery, which has much larger, almost square-like, highly lifelike oil paintings, much more realistic than those at the Amsterdam Whitney. One noteworthy work of art is Alexandra Pacula’s “Fluttering Lumens,” which looks like a blurryish photograph of New York City at night from a rooftop. The sky is dark with a skyscraper on the left. There is a bridge in the distance and close to us are residential streets and buildings, which we can see the top of. There is a wide array of colors, including white, yellow, brown, gray, red, blue, and black, but they all fit well in the vibe of the painting and reflect the city’s atmosphere at night accurately. This painting takes up about two-thirds of the vertical distance of the wall, leaving several inches on the bottom and on the top. Moreover, compared to the previous gallery, there is more of a space between paintings. The white walls and light lighting create a feeling of serenity when looking at “Fluttering Lumens,” which made me feel as if I was on the roof looking down on the city in action at night, with a light breeze blowing and the sounds of passing cars and sirens far in the background. Because the colors of the painting contrast with the purely white walls and the paintings aren’t very close to each other, the painting stands out a lot and is easy to get attached to. Finally, a second painting I liked is Sunghee Jang’s “Floor,” which is made of oil on linen. It is fascinating how Jang filled most of the painting with either light or dark colors and had only a small part of the floor have red, yellow, and green colored reflections. This painting has a very realistic glossy wooden brown floor look, which stands out on the white wall. There are three vertical white stripes flowing onto the center of the painting from the top, blending naturally with the white wall from which they originate. There is such an interesting combination of darkness and light, which makes the dark parts of the painting seem less depressing and more appealing. If I were to speculate, I think that this painting may be looking forward into an art gallery from an elevation of approximately a foot off the floor, which is funny considering we are in an art gallery. Overall, as a person with minimal art experience or expertise, I can confidently say that I found that the white cube gallery spaces add an interesting perspective to the works of art in these galleries. Furthermore, I am interested in visiting more art galleries in Chelsea and all around the city.

In the heart of New York’s Flatiron District, across from the famous Flatiron Building, there lies a remarkably tall and elaborately designed street clock with a light-brownish golden-like color. In fact, this iconic clock is made of gilded cast iron, while the wreath of leaves around the face of the clock is gilded in gold. The layout of this unique structure is a base consisting of several rectangular prisms stacked on top of each other, holding up a long column which connects to the actual clock, akin to a giraffe’s disproportional neck connecting to his head. The face of the clock consists of three circles. The inner circle encloses the words “FIFTH AVENUE BUILDING,” indicating the clock’s location on New York’s most recognizable avenue. Twelve large, black roman numerals telling the time of day to passersby lie between the innermost and the second circle. The outermost circle frames the clock in a lace-like pattern. The words, arrows, numerals, and circles of the clock are all black, in contrast to their white background. Around the clock, there is a thin, golden ring-like shape, with what seems to be a nail on the outer corner of every numeral. Connecting to the column below it, the outside of the clock is decorated with oak leaves and acorns, which are common symbols of patience and strength in many cultures. The column resembles a typical Greek Ionic column, distinguishable by the two scrolls on its capital. The entire clock structure lies on a base in the shape of several rectangular prisms stacked on top of each other. The tallest rectangular prism has what looks like a door with a doorknob, as well as an inscription describing the history of the clock. 

The Fifth Avenue Building Street Clock fits Miwon Kwon’s art as a public space paradigm the best. This street clock was built in 1909 and designated a New York City landmark in 1981. In fact, it was restored by Tiffany & Co. as a gift to the historic Flatiron District after the company moved its headquarters to 200 Fifth Avenue in 2011. This work of art was built around the same time as 200 Fifth Avenue, which was called the Fifth Avenue Building at the time. It can be classified as art as a public space because it was deliberately created for the Madison Square Park neighborhood. More importantly, the clock serves an essential purpose: it is a clock that tells the time to passersby, and is thus useful to native New Yorkers and tourists alike. For decades, this clock has been an integrated symbol of the neighborhood alongside the Flatiron Building. Although this clock could technically serve the same purpose in any other location, I believe that it is an integral part of this specific site, because it serves as a distraction for everyone in such a hectic urban environment. The area is filled with workers of every profession rushing to get to their jobs or get a cup of coffee, and tourists feeling confused in such an overwhelming place. In my opinion, the clock’s enormous size inspires people to look at it, reminding everyone of the time and making the city feel a little more personal. It was also obviously more useful back in the day, before people had personal cell phones, but even today a passerby can know the time without looking at a watch or phone, which would be useful if someone doesn’t have access to them. Nevertheless, I think that this clock could be just as useful to any other crowded neighborhood of New York City, such as Midtown for example. As I viewed the art, neither the artist nor the funding body’s identity were visible. However, it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference who built the clock, although it is definitely interesting to know who funded its construction. After doing more research, I discovered that the clock was built by a company called Hecla Iron Works and funded by the owners of the Fifth Avenue Building to stay in tone with their new office building in such a prominent location. 

On New York’s famous High Line, there is one unconventional clock that is more of a work of art than a clock. Instead of numbers to indicate the time, there are twelve capitalized letters that spell the word “organization.” In the center of the clock, there is a black gear-shaped circle with a smaller white circle inside it that holds the two arrows of the clock. The arrows are white with a black outline, and have a small arrow on one end and an unusual almost side-view head-like shape. The letters of the word “organization” are also black and are on a white background. Enclosing the letters, there is a black circle with another slightly larger circle right next to it. The outer circle has a total of 48 black triangles pointing outwards in pairs of two. The face of the clock is enclosed in a circular black frame, which connects to the base of the structure. Two black legs hold up the base and are screwed onto the tracks on the High Line. On both sides of the top of the base, there is a black cat with three long whiskers and pointy ears sitting facing away from the clock. The base of the clock is mostly back, but is outlined by small white dots all around. At the middle of the top of the base, there is a black trapezoid with a white outline and a white circle inside of it with a triangle pointing up above the circle. Inside the circle, there is the top half of a globe below two “W” letters with a star in the middle of them. Above, there are two stars, one to the left and one to the right of the letter “I”. To the left of the trapezoid, there is a white rectangle with the capitalized words “Organize Now” in black on two seperate lines. To the right of the trapezoid, there is a similar rectangle to the one on the left of the trapezoid, except with the words “Organize Right.” Below the trapezoid and two rectangles, there are the capitalized words “Time to Organize” in a bold white font, with the word “time” on the first line and the words “to organize” on the line below it. 

If I were to classify this clock as fitting one of Kwon’s three paradigms for public art, I would say that it is a form of “new genre public art.” After doing research about this work of art online, I learned that it was created by Ruth Ewan and is called “Silent Agitator.” Ewan researches various events in history related to activism and creates artwork based on them. As the website “High Line” states, “In both subject matter and approach, Ewan’s projects reveal the dignity and accessible reality of these discrete but profound social movements…Her understated style offers opportunities for learning about beautiful moments in the history of social resistance and the potential offered by alternative ways of thinking and organizing.” Ewan’s inspiration for her enormous clock on the High Line came from an illustration produced for the Industrial Workers of the World union, calling on workers to organize. This clock is a “new genre public art” because it serves as a reminder of the history behind the famous twentieth-century labor movement for better working conditions and shorter working hours. This art is certainly socially conscious and is meant to evoke emotions in the people that walk past it on the High Line. Furthermore, Ewan’s clock brings people both living in the community and passersby together to look at it and reflect on their life and the relevance of the IWW movement on workers’ rights, which in turn affected many people’s working conditions and lives today. The clock could really be anywhere else, but it is integrated well into the space in which it is situated, because of its placement where it is easily visible and the compatibility of the clock’s colors to its surrounding. Interestingly, when I first noticed and photographed the clock, I thought it was meant to motivate people to be organized in their daily lives, which is an important reminder in such a hectic city with such busy and stressed people. Nevertheless, when I read the true purpose of the clock, I realized that it is relevant to nearly everyone because the IWW movement and labor movements in general were a huge part of America’s history and the history of many other nations. Interestingly, this project was funded by various private donors, several foundations, and the New York city and state governments. However, this information was not visible as I viewed the art.

These two works of art are both large clocks in New York that the public can walk by any time they want and are actually visible from afar. Yet, there are several fundamental differences between the two clocks. The Fifth Avenue Building Street Clock is right next to the crosswalk of a crowded city street and has been an integral part of the Flatiron District for such a long time. Its main purpose is to tell the time and is thus highly practical, but it is definitely a lot fancier and ornate than the “Silent Agitator” clock on the High Line. Meanwhile, the “Silent Agitator” has more of a historical significance and is a reminder of the IWW and unions’ fight for workers’ rights and is meant to get people to ponder on its significance and relevance. Nevertheless, it is also a functioning clock and tells the time to passersby on the High Line, but in a more unique way. The Fifth Avenue clock fits in well in a wealthy neighborhood, while the High Line clock fits well in a less fancy place. In fact, it’s interesting that the clock is on former tracks, which can be an allusion to industry and labor, such as the labor related to the railroad industry of the late nineteenth and early to mid twentieth centuries. An interesting similarity between the two clocks is that both appeal to all types of people from around the world and around the city, especially since they have different histories and meanings but are geographically close to one another.

Background Information

Artist: Unknown

Country of Origin: Cyprus (from the necropolis of Salamis)

Culture of Origin: Cypriot 

Date: Second half of the 5th century B.C.

Medium: Limestone 

Period: Cypro-Classical 

Analysis

This sculpture immediately resonated with me as I walked into the room it is housed in. I was struck by the lion’s fairly lifelike appearance because none of his features seemed blown out of proportion too much, such as the realistic torso to leg ratio and face to torso ratio. Moreover, the lion’s paws and mane are not overemphasized and are actually realistic. Nevertheless, I cannot say that the sculptor made the lion hyper-realistic because there are features that are somewhat unrealistic, such as the lion’s obviously widened and shortened nose and his excessively muscular and thick torso and legs. The color of the sculpture is consistent all throughout because the sculptor used the same medium. Interestingly, certain etches on the sculpture make for realistic shadows, such as between the lion’s stomach and back leg, near his front paws, and his large eyes and eyelids that almost make it seem as if the lion is looking at us. Furthermore, the darkness inside his mouth emphasizes the lion’s open mouth. Additionally, the lion’s mane is seemingly perfect because of the evenly-spaced etches emulating the fur on the mane. Nearly every part of the lion’s body is noticeably textured, thus standing out from other parts of the body, such as the torso and the legs do. Although the lion’s teeth are visible as his mouth is open widely, he does not look particularly angry. Rather, he seems slightly happy, which is ironic considering that his purpose is to guard the tomb. Another possibility is that he is actually opening his mouth to threaten potential attackers. In fact, it’s normal that there could be various interpretations of this work of art. 

This work of art consists solely of the limestone sculpture mimesis of a recumbent lion. This lion is a symbol of strength, power, and patience, as seen in his body’s bulkiness and his mature facial expression, which are relevant to his actual role in history as a guard of the tomb. Personally, I am most interested in the lion’s story and the actual emotions the sculptor intended to portray.