Author: mirilieber
My Opera Experience
Before stepping foot into the Metropolitan Opera, I had slight reservations due to preconceived opinions of the ongoings in the place. I imagined well-dressed adults and pretentious rich folk, vying for the most expensive seats and for the respect of those around them.I pictured freshly manicured nails, and freshly pressed suit pants. These reservations were not a deterrent for me, though. I actually thought it would be quite interesting to “step into someone else’s shoes” and pretend to be like those that were not there to complete an assignment for class, but were there out of pure appreciation for the art. Plus, I’m always on board with opportunities to play dress-up. To my surprise, it seemed that a good amount of people (at least in our section, with the cheaper seats) had the same idea. Each floor I walked up, the crowd seemed to ease up on the pretension, and people seemed to be enjoying themselves more and more. The dress code shifted as well, and lightened up along with the overall mood. Average, middle-class, young, and with smiles on their faces, people chattered joyfully amongst themselves. Some seized the opportunity to “play dress-up” (like I had), in dresses and blazers, others donned jeans and hoodies. They posed for selfies with their friends, awkwardly flirted with their dates, and most importantly, actually seemed to be having a good time. To my own surprise, I felt at ease among the crowd, and like less of an outsider looking in. At this point, I forgot that I was even supposed to be observing the scene, because I felt that I was a part of it.
My first picture is one of the advertisement on the backside of the program. A big, shiny Rolex. That definitely played into my original doubts about the opera, and who it’s true audience might be.
The second picture features a young woman having her picture taken by a friend, smiling from ear to ear. Her genuine excitement seemed contagious, and she seemed to be enjoying playing the role. She didn’t seem the least bit pretentious or judgemental. This picture drew inspiration from Teju Cole in its capturing of an everyday person in an everyday moment, now sealed to look back and reflect upon. Nothing feels staged, even though she’s posing for someone else’s photograph.
As for the opera itself, I found it pretty easy to follow, especially given the subtitles on the monitor in front of each seat. Even though part of the stage was blocked from the seat I was in, I would actually choose to purchase those “nosebleed” seats again. From my seat, I was right above the orchestra. Personally, I had just as much fun watching the conductor wave his hands and flip his music sheets as I had watching the opera itself. If I turned around, I could see the lighting crew perched up in their secret hole in the ceiling. I felt as though I was getting a unique glimpse of the inner-workings of the opera that even those that paid hundreds of dollars for their seats could not experience.
All in all, I enjoyed and appreciated the Metropolitan Opera more that I could have anticipated. Did my preconceived opinions hold up? Yes, they did, to a large degree. But that said, the opera is accessible to a broad spectrum of individuals, and is often overlooked as such. Plus, it can also be seen as an opportunity to let loose and enjoy a night out with friends.
Swing by Nari Ward
Initial Observation Period
The first thing that I noticed when I saw this piece was the tire hanging. It was still, and seemed somewhat empty and sad- because when I picture a tire swing, I visualize children laughing and playing, the swing moving back and forth at full speed. I also noticed the different shoe pieces jutting out of the tire with many colors, sizes, and styles. Shoes and tires also seem to contradict one another- shoes represent walking, a tire represents automotive transportation. There are so many different types of shoes, but only one tire.
Secondary Observation Period
During my ten minutes of extended observation, I studied each of the individual shoe parts. Some were the tips of sneakers, others of dress shoes. The soles each had different impressions and levels of wear and tear. So many varying colors and textures. I got to thinking- whose shoes were these? They each had their own personality, their own voice. Whoever chose them, picked them out as a representation of their own personal style. Shoes can really offer valuable insight into a person. Who owned that hefty work boot? Who once wore that pointed heel? Each shoe seemed to be making a statement.
As I asked myself these questions, I had this moment of déjà vu, and realized that I had seen a similar art instillation, also involving shoes, in Israel. The piece was displayed at Yad Va’Shem, the Israeli Holocaust Museum. On the floor was a piece of clear glass, and beneath that, were layers upon layers of old shriveled up shoes taken from Jews right before they were sent to their deaths in gas chambers. Visitors were encouraged to stand on top of the glass, look down, and view their own shoes amongst those of the deceased. Some shoes were basic leather flats, others elaborate dress shoes. Similar to Nari Ward’s piece, each of those shoes had a story, personality, and carried the aura of their former owner.
It was then that I noticed the rope that the tire was hanging from- it was fashioned as a noose. Still thinking about the shoes in the Holocaust Museum, it shook me a little bit. But it wasn’t until I read the blurb on the wall that I realized my initial horror was more than appropriate. The noose was supposed to represent lynching, and the swing is actually estimated to be the approximate height of ne that has been hanged. The shoes, like those of Jewish Holocaust victims, served to reference humans killed because of racism and xenophobia. Each shoe represents a life lost to violence and hatred from one human being toward another. No matter the culture, religion, or race, a life is a life, and a shoe is representative of that.
An Open Letter to NYC Museums
Dear NYC Museums,
Ever since I was a little girl, I have always loved to visit museums with my family. When my parents had off from work, we would make our trek into the city, with destinations such at The Metropolitan Museum of Art and The Museum of Natural History in mind. And why not? Even though we live out in Long Island, the infinite artistic wealth of knowledge and creativity displayed in these museums are just a train ride away, readily available, many even free of charge. My mother would whip up a quick lunch, and we’d head out to the city after eating. The trip was about an hour or two, but by the time we got there, it always felt like longer. There was always that anticipation build-up, and I never had great time perception as a kid.
What I did notice, though, was that we would only spent a few short hours at the museum, which was barely enough time to scratch the surface of the place. It wasn’t because we wanted to leave, I could have wandered around aimlessly for hours, even as a kid. But alas, as soon as meal time rolled around, so did our departure. We would leave the museum, and then begin our hunt for affordable Kosher restaurants nearby.
You see, I am an Orthodox Jew. My family, along with other Jewish families, only eat food that is clearly labeled as “Kosher”. According to Jewish law, Jews can only eat foods fitting certain requirements. Food that is served in the cafeterias in NYC museums do not meet these specific regulations, therefore Jews are not allowed to consume any of it.
The problem isn’t that Kosher food is unavailable in museum cafeterias. It would be unfair to expect that non-Jewish people not partake in the foods that they enjoy, especially with us Jews being a minority group in such a culturally diverse city. I’m not bothered at all by the cafeterias, and don’t believe that museums are responsible to cater to each individual’s dietary restrictions. The real issue, in my opinion, is the policy forbidding outside food from entering NYC museums.
On the FAQ page of the American Museum of Natural History’s website, they say that while no outside food is allowed to be brought into the museum, the food court has “food for every taste”. This statement is simply false, as my religious beliefs prohibit me and my family from consuming anything substantial in their cafeteria.
I do understand that the cafeterias are a large source of income for museums, and that a change in policy would definitely impact the food court’s revenue. Families may decide to skip the heavily overpriced food, and instead pack with them. Bringing food, though, is a major inconvenience to whoever gets stuck carrying it, especially if they are planning on spending multiple hours exploring the museum itself. I would like to argue that even if the outside food ban were to be lifted, people would still be purchasing their meals from the cafeterias. Nobody would voluntarily drag around a bag weighed down with food for multiple hours unless it would be of necessity, whether that necessity be religious or even financial.
Just this past winter, my family was planning on spending a day off at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We left early in the morning in order to maximize our time at the museum, because if you’ve ever been to the MET, you’d know that it’s impossible to cover even a fraction of its exhibits in one visit. We decided to pack sandwiches, hide them in our bags, and hope for the best. We arrived at the entrance just as the museum was opening its doors, and jumped in line with the other visitors. Upon reaching security, they shuffled our bags around, and found our lunches. My father explained that we kept Kosher, and there was no other food fit for us to eat inside of the museum. The security guard wasn’t budging, and gave us two options- either to throw the food in the trash, or eat it outside.
We ate our lunch on the steps outside that day, in the freezing cold, at 10am. And then left the museum just a few short hours later.
Miri Lieber
Setting the Tone
Clips from this video were taken downtown, in Union Square and Washington Square park. While often overlooked, the sounds and vibrations of buskers and their instruments often “set the tone” for their surroundings. This video aims to highlight this such music that we’re often oblivious to.
Let’s Play a Life – Miri Lieber
Do you ever feel entangled in the web of life? Trapped inside the meaningless cycles of recurring events we refer to colloquially as “days”, “weeks”, “months”, and “years”?
Who’s to say that these cycles have purpose, that they’re leading up to something bigger? I’ve always been told to live my life in accordance with these repetitive cycles, and I’m using the verb “told” very loosely. I don’t remember anyone ever verbalizing to me that I must follow the same guidelines as the rest of the human race does, repeat the same daily motions that they do. Yet, for some reason, I live my life in that fashion. Wake up at a predetermined hour, go to sleep at a different predetermined hour. Eat three meals a day, each at predetermined times. Go to school starting and ending at a predetermined age. Sit in a classroom of individuals thinkers, boxed in to learn on a certain predetermined wavelength. Why is everything predetermined, and why is everyone okay with it?
Who and what motivates me to abide by these societal “predetermines”, that weren’t predetermined for me as an individual, by myself and for myself? People like to think of themselves as free. But if everyone is mindlessly following the same meaningless structure, how can that be considered free?
One can be idealistic and argue that I can do as I please. But, if my life was truly in my own hands in this regard, I wouldn’t fit into the system the way that I currently pretend to. I’ve been told that if you don’t keep up with the times, you’ll be left behind, forever regretful.
As a religious Jew, I do believe that my time here on earth is predetermined, and there isn’t much (or really anything) I can do to change that. I know what the word “time” refers to, understand the basic concept, but does my time in particular matter? Does anyone’s time spent here on earth matter? Why do I (and I’m assuming most others, but will refrain from speaking on behalf of those that do) feel so vital to the world that I inhabit, and also so disposable at the same time? What is with this concept of being born with a “will to survive”? Even when playing a mindless and meaningless video game, why do I feel my heart race when my pixelated imaginary character is clinging onto its last life, and feel it sink when the pixels “die”?
Is there something to be gained when it comes to the concept of life? Something to be won or lost? Or when I eventually pass, will I be placed back into the cycle on Level 1, such as that video game character?
And if I do end up back where I started, at Level 1, what purpose was there to playing the game in the first place?
Why do I always feel so vitally important, when in reality, I’m just playing my own predetermined game with no possible outcome that doesn’t eventually end in death?
