Author: Elisa Mateo-Saja
Opera Expirence
Before watching the “Exterminating Angel” I figured the opera would be filled with people of this nature. Older Caucasians who brought binocular along with them to view a play much too far away. A group of people annoyed from the start with new attendees that didn’t quite understand what was about to ensue. As we walked into the very crowded theater and took our seats, I noticed the crowd. Around us were middle-aged and elderly people, all of whom were white. I spotted literally no people of color. There were quite murmurs filling the theater as we waited for the show to begin. And our fellow opera attendees, sat with their binoculars pressed up against their faces gazing down at the stage. Personally, I don’t understand the appeal. Not to a watching a show so far away. But all that aside waited patiently to see a show I figured would be uninteresting, difficult to understand and in no way relatable to my life.
I know we weren’t supposed to take photos during the opera but I thought this was a keep part of my experience that I hadn’t expected. I didn’t intend to be reading the entirety of the opera because it was in English. But it was not comprehensible. The singing was so drawn out I couldn’t understand anything any of the characters were saying. And at our distance, much f the time I couldn’t notice who was speaking because the spotlight wasn’t strong enough. I thought it as cluttered, and strange. And quite frankly uninteresting to me. In reading the essay it is obvious that Singh’s work is not only amazing and breathtaking, but it is inspired. I struggled to find his work as a representation of my opinions of the opera because my prejudices were justified and my photos were uninspired by the opera itself. I found myself, through most of the performance, reading not watching the extremely complex show. Not only could I not follow the dialogue but when I did look up, I was confused by green hand holographs, weird dancing insect-esque people, bears, and sheep. In summation, the opera was just not my thing.
Dubset
A nickname for my town, White Plains, is Dubset. There are a lot of stories of how we got the name, but the one I like the most goes something like this: Somewhere in the 1990’s the White Plains high school athletes began chanting “Dubset” meaning White Plains. It is said we got this name because we have two, a set of, “dub’s” or “w’s”. one w coming from White Plains the other from all of our wins. Since then our sports have gone in another direction, but our name stuck. For me, Dubset is not just about my high school or the sports, it is about the people in the town. This portrait showcases just a few of the wonderful parts of my life in White Plains. My video exceeds the upload capacity so I put a link below.
The Black and White Flag
Robert Longo’s Untitled(American Flag), from the Brooklyn Museum
Categorized, isolated and divided. The nation of the free has fallen to chaos. I was born and raised in this country. I was taught to believe in equality and encouraged to use my freedoms. There was a constant affirmation in the notion that America was made up of all the different people within it, and stronger because of their differences.
Now this country that is vast and beautiful in so many different ways, expects its people to be all the same. The once colorful flag that streamed brightly, its color a point of pride, has now been dinged to black and white. It is not just the want for us all to look the same but is the effort to make this country something it never was. They shout, “make America great again”, but how would we do that? This country was great because of its immigrants, how can they expect to be great again by removing all the people that build this nation up?
I am growing up in a time of conflict and insanity. I have dreams to do great things for this nation and this world, but quite frankly I don’t know if it’s possible. I see all that goes on around us, the violence and the immaturity of the people who hold our lives in their hands. They all look similar, old white men. And they say I’ll get my chance to change things. But will I? Will I ever be an old white man? Will this country ever be ready to see a brown woman in power? People tell me it will be 2036, that times will have changed. But weren’t they saying that 20 years ago too?
It’s 2017 and what do we have now. We all thought we were headed in the right direction. I remember watching the Obama inauguration in my fourth-grade class. A grainy black and white screen, on a giant TV monitor, the ones they used to roll in on carts and stick VCR tapes into. We all thought we were going forward. When he won again against another wealthy white man, I thought damn were only going up from here. And then we came to this. All night I stayed up and watched our country go from color to black and white. State by state, each time she lost one my heart sank. We are bleeding our red, white and blue. And each one of us drains as our flag does. Losing our color, losing our pride, and losing our differences. The things that once made us so great.
I still hold on to my dreams to change this nation. I am scared and know it will be hard but I’m going to bring the color back! Not just the reds, whites and blues to the flag. But the color of our people, and their pride of their color.
A black and white world isn’t realistic, and even if it was, it isn’t one I’d want to live in. I want the clash of the yellows and the greens. The shouts of the reds and purples. And the vivacious energy that blue and pink bring the table. I want a country that pops off the wall. I want a flag, a nation rather, filled to the brim with colorful life.
I don’t think it will be easy, but I know that slowly we will get our color back.
