The Arts in New York City

Over the weekend, I took out my high school’ yearbook.  However, this time, the content of it did not interest me as much, it was rather the art in it that attracted me.  Before I dig in into the content of it, I quickly examined my yearbook’s cover and admired the craftsmanship behind it.  Oh boy, was I proud of my yearbook.  To me, it seemed like the world’s most precious jewel.  When I opened the cover and inspected what was inside, I saw art in many forms.  For instance, there were drawings done in different styles, inspirational poetry, solo pictures, group pictures, people’s (friends and teachers) signatures, etc.  All of a sudden, every single detail in my yearbook became art.  It was just amazing.  I would say I had entered a new word, actually my past, my life, my high school career.

My mother is an artist. She cannot paint, take photographs or dance. Neither can she sing, write poetry or churn out novels. For my mother, the wok is her canvas, the spatula is her paintbrush and her palette lies behind the cold doors of the refridgerator. My mother treats dinner like a chore, something that must be done whether it be pleasurable or not. Since I was younger, helping out was a chore as well since my mother both wanted my help and hated it when I got in the way. However, it seems cooking as well as many things, is art. The selection of materials to create a masterpiece is like the choosing of colors to paint the sky or a mountain in a landscape. The emotions she puts in while cooking: the frowns when something is too salty, the nod of satisfaction when something’s just right – it is the age of Expressionism acted out in our kitchen. While my mother probably doesn’t see dinner this way, her cooking is art in the making. Even the way I have learned to work around her, dodging her hands while I continuously chop garlic and stepping back while I’m washing the dishes and she needs the stove; it’s all a well choreographed dance. So while I may be perusing galleries for silent unmoving art on the walls of New York City’s elite institutions, I can find art just as well in my little suburban kitchen in Queens.

As I walked through the 9/11 exhibit in the NY Historical Society, I saw the different perspectives of the tragic event through the powerful medium of photography. The exhibit reminded me of the Snapshot of NYC Common Event we had attended earlier. Although we had all taken pictures of NYC on the same day, the perspectives varied, as did the content of the photos. The photographs in the 9/11 exhibit expressed the mixed range of emotions and reactions to the tragic event: sadness, frustration, disbelief, solidarity, vengeance (one photograph said “Nuke them all”), a calling for peace. The whole human range of emotions is very expansive and the medium of photography portrays these emotions very well. I would recommend a visit to this exhibit to those interested in commemorating those lost on that tragic day.

    Conceptual artist Roxy Paine took ideas about nature and industrialization to create steel trees and a steel rock, artworks housed in the museum called Madison Square Park. The tension between nature and industrialization were obvious in Paine’s works: the real trees and rocks surrounding the artificial trees and artificial rock; the material used to make the artworks, steel, which is made from natural raw materials but becomes steel through a man-made process. The artist sought to contrast nature and industrialization in his works, a theme we are all familiar with in this city. The whole city can be seen as a museum, with its many parks and trees and its many skyscrapers as artworks depicting this tension between nature and man. This tension is everywhere around us: when we walk on a sidewalk with trees on the side, when we are in Central Park and we look up to see skyscrapers in the backdrop, or when we admire the blue sky, lost in a daydream only to come back to our city life. Although Paine did an admirable job in portraying the tension between nature and man, the audience did not have to look any further for this tension than in their everyday life as a New Yorker.

I walk across the Madison Square Park to the subway station every now and then. There is an artificial tree at the center of the park. It is made of steel and has short branches but leaves. It is as tall as the natural trees in the park. It always catches my eyes because of the glossy steel. I have different feelings about it every time when I see it. When I am in a good mood, I see it as a growing tree and feel a sense of liveliness. However, I see it as a dying tree when I am in a bad mood. In conclusion, the emotional state affect how people feel about artwork.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Star Wars, The Cosby Show and Mrs. Doubtfire.  Yes, I did say Mrs. Doubtfire.  This museum simply overcame me with a sense of nostalgia.  It appeals to people of all ages through media covering many eras of American culture and even has the coveted interactive component.  You can listen to the soundtracks of the classics such as Casablanca and Raiders of The Lost Ark.  The actors and actresses also share their experiences and mindset with you through recordings that walk you through scenes.  A mini model of a temple houses a screening area, one of the main attractions of the museum.  Freddy Kruger’s hand and a model of Yoda are also some of the more attractive components.  Another is the most massive collection of Star Trek and Star Wars memorabilia I have ever found.  I recommend this museum to children and adults of all ages and any connoisseur of truly amazing media.

Sitting on the N train, heading towards Penn station, I was surprised as a beggar came my way. What caught me off guard was the grace and sincerity in his voice. He began by saying that he’d accept anything that anyone could give him. But his next line brought a smile to my face. He said that if you couldn’t give him anything, he’d instead accept a smile as he walked by. Hearing that, I didn’t care if he really was a Vietnam veteran or if his house got burned or if his family got robbed at the motel they were staying in. Just because he brought that smile on my face, I was ready to give him whatever I could afford. This made me think he was probably one of the most successful beggars out there. I began to look at begging as an art, since it required the manipulation of words and emotions. I now see begging as a competition, a competition to win my money.

We went to the Alexander string quaret in English class. The performance consists of three violinists and one celloist. One of those performers explained some music theories to us. It was the first time I really got to know Beethoven. The classical pieces they played were very unique. Usually, I think classical music is calm and slow, but the music by Beethoven is intense and dramatic, to some point, even frightening. It inspired me to perceive music in a different way. The experience was enhanced by the performers’ emotional attachment. They moved their bodies back and forth and their facial expressions were very intense. I was really enchanted by both the music and their body motions.

While heading for Times Square, I found a show in the subway station to be very interesting.  It was a little man, perhaps four feet tall, dressed up in a black suit and hat, who was imitating Michael Jackson.  Honestly, he was a very good dancer.  I wonder if I can ever be half as good.  While the radio was playing music in the background, he stood in front of it and made all of Michael Jackson’s moves.  In order for me to appreciate all of this, I had to fight my way to the front of the spectacle.  It was just hilarious to see him dance, especially when he would jump up and down and take his blazer off, and people would clap and cheer very loudly.  Although his dancing was good, I think most people were attracted to this because of the size and charisma of this individual.

I always look forward to taking the 6 down to Union Square. Not only because it signifies the end of the school day, but also because I often come upon the familiar sound of fast beating drums. Actually, the drummers beat on white and green buckets splattered with specks of paint. The duo consists of a man with diesel ebony rocks for arms and a very well toned, thin woman. The man’s silver chained crucifix shakes violently as he drums with superhuman speed so that the sticks are only blurs. I feel the beats like they come from my own racing heart making me want to join the dancing stranger who has already succumbed to the overwhelming flood of high spirits.