Blog Posts

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Tu Afro No Cabe En La Foto (Alex Guerrero)

sterlinglipscomb

 

First Impression

At first glance, I like the simplicity and straight-forwardness of this piece. I like the fact that it shows how we try and put women, especially women of color, into a box that we decide upon. The colors are nice, I like that they used muted colors. I think that puts a lot of emphasis on the message of the piece, rather than the appearance. You can tell that there is a message behind the art, that it wasn’t just created for self-expression’s sake. This art has a specific purpose, otherwise, it wouldn’t have the Spanish text at the bottom.

 

Analysis

Upon closer inspection, the author only uses a kind of toffee brown and several different shades of gray/black, no white. This emphasizes that the woman in the painting is colored, and different, separate from the paintings that use white. And, with all of the space outside of the photo, it really shows how we rarely ever look at the entire person, or the “big picture”. Around her afro, I see little patterns that appear similar to leaves. I think this is to indicate the natural beauty of colored women, and how they should let their natural beauty/state show, just as the trees continue to bloom after every winter. I also think the writing below the box is meant to reflect modern social media, such as Instagram, and the way we confine people to a box and a few words of text. We capture the beauty and essence of a face or a moment, but not the true experience of the place or person. There is so much more to someone than just a pretty face, but often that is all we are reduced to because we cannot fit everything we are into a photo. Unless a photo is taken from far away, or with lots of planning, we are reduced to taking a photo of what is convenient for us to remember. In a selfish way, at that time, the story of the subject matter in the photo doesn’t matter because we are only valuing the benefit we receive (likes/comments/acknowledgment) So, while the subject matter may have all of these details or features that are important to understanding who or what a person is actually looking at/liking, the photographer is reducing it to something abbreviated, something s/he liked; the person in charge is changing the subject matter to fit his/her ideals. Notice how I avoided the Spanish text and what that means? I can say with utmost certainty I did that because it’s inconvenient for me, a white girl who speaks no Spanish past level 1. However, the Spanish portion is important because it shows how this happens across the board. Everyone, individually, places other individuals in boxes, for their own convenience and understanding, regardless of the true nature/humanity behind said boxed individual. Everyone projects their ideals of how someone should be onto others, what’s different is how/if those projections get recognized or stated. Whites imposed their ideals onto minorities for the longest time, this only shows that hasn’t changed much amongst humans with the development of technology. In fact, it is only getting easier to see people as objects/faces rather than real people with experiences and lives.

Coco Fusco Blog Post

sarahumstadt99

8 Second Observations:

Within the first eight seconds of observing this artwork, I immediately noticed the vibrant colors in contrast with the more run down looking buildings.  The hotel is bright blue and the paint used to spell out the world “OUTRAGE” is bright purple, yet the house in the second picture and the last picture appear to be vacant and rundown.  I also noticed the religious image on the wall of the house that’s for sale.  The image seems to be very ornate, but the “for sale” sign shows the neglect and inability to sustain the home.  Lastly, I noticed the women in her market, and the way that her business seems to be rundown as well.

 

10 Minute Observations:

After spending some time analyzing and observing this art, I noticed the fact that each image seemed to be showing the effect that the unstable economy has on the houses and businesses in Puerto Rico.  The photos were all evocative in the way that they showed the abandonment of homes, the pleas and anger of the community’s inhabitants and the struggle that people re facing to keep their businesses going or to sell their homes.  The plaque next to the images tells the viewer that the photographer wished to show that “for sale signs are ubiquitous, as are the signals of empty, abandoned homes.” (Miguel).  These images are attempting to show people the devastating economic effects of funneling money into Puerto Rican tourism rather than residential towns, and the realities such as abandoned hotels, houses, and rundown businesses. In her essay, Coco Fusco mentions that art is perhaps the most effective didactic method when it comes to explaining the needs for justice, or to transform minds to realize the situations in various countries.  This series of photographs is a perfect example of this. Sometimes it is difficult to explain just how rundown and abandoned a small neighborhood after the effects of economic crisis and neglect. The image of the word outrage painted on a fence has a much deeper emotional effect on its viewer than simply reading or listening to people lecture about the suffering in these communities.  I think the artist was very specific and strategic in outing these images together. Each one shows a building, or a home that was obviously beautiful and inhabited at one point, but it now overgrown and abandoned.  The Hotel in the bottom left image is a beautiful blue color, and the architecture is very traditional and stylistic, however there is an empty lot next to it, and its windows are now boarded up.  This once beautiful building is now deteriorating, and the image evokes emotion and understanding in its viewer.  The beautiful religious image on the side of a home that also has a very telling “for sale” sign on it also shows the way that previously beautiful family homes are empty and deteriorating as people can no longer afford to live in these neighborhoods.  The power that all of these photos has on its viewer is a much more powerful didactic tool for showing the suffering that these small neighborhoods are facing due to the economic crisis in Puerto Rico, and prove Fusco’s point that art is the most effective way to teach the need for justice and change for neglected people and places.

Coco Fusco- Uptown Hitters Art Exhibit

i43099

First Impressions

“The art style was unique in a way that each portion of the image was intended to have symbolic meaning that is more so straight forward. An instance being the fire in El Pique that seems to have the rest of the painting revolve around it. Even the individuals within the painting are focusing on it, yet each remain convoluted except the person on fire. I found this interesting since there are so many things this fire could symbolize. This also backs on the form of art. Three dimensional while still remaining two dimensional in the same respect gives an interesting depth to the paintings.”

El Pique

Analysis

“‘Emerging at a time when mass audiences in Europe and America were barely literate and hardly cognizant of the rest of the world, the displays were an important form of public ‘education.'”

Fusco’s essay in its entirety seems to focus on the seemingly undesired obtaining of “exotic” performers and art from Eurocentric societies at an earlier time in history. Though it seems that this was looked down upon, was it not better for the Europeans to inevitably learn of other cultures first hand? Yes, they had went through the process in a way that leaves little to be desired, but it was something that was to be done eventually. In terms of the art, especially El Pique, it seems like race plays a large part in the symbolic representation. There is an individual in the top right that is evidently white behind what seems to be a car steering wheel. This could be an attempt to show how much people of white descent “control” the lives of others or society while also blending in their own respect. There are three people within the painting. The one that could be considered white is also partially yellow in a yellow compartment. The man/woman to the left of the painting is peeking out from behind a curtain, the face blending into the background darkness to the point of barely making out features. The clothing is clear, yet more stained than the others. The final individual is the one who’s head is set ablaze. The peculiarity of this person is how well they blend into the background in terms of the clothing. In the pink is a set of two babies and several other things such as what seems to be a building, hospital cart, numbers and the list goes on. In a certain sense, this may show the priorities of each, whereas the individual in the pink is extremely distracted and has a lot going on in his head. To my realization, this perhaps shows a deeper dynamic to the whole race position. On one end, you have what is at the surface which is an entire cluster of mixed images centered by what can be the cumulation of an individual’s life. Perhaps his siblings are to his bottom left and the entirety of his background remain just that, a background to what is really at stake, his sanity in terms of expectation. The other two within the painting seem to watch over the boy almost as if they are the ones running his life. In terms of Fusco’s essay, I’d say the boy’s life was never his own to begin with, or that is what is being shown or depicted.

Muhammad Ansi’s “Statute of Liberty” – Shyann C.

shyc99

 

I’ve made it. I am finally here, I am finally free. My father used to tell me, “Son, America is a hell disguised as a paradise,” but seeing her majesty ahead – her pale green and blue hues fresh and inviting as the ocean waves that brought me here – would make hell seem like a wonderful place to live. Of course, I am being foolish.  I am not physically free – the screams of the damned echo in my head. They are my own outbursts of confusion. Has it been days? Weeks? Months? Time shouldn’t be of essence but I know that soon enough, I will be able to kiss her majesty’s feet, admire her construction, admire her beauty.

She reigns supreme over all. The American pigs do not appreciate her but I do. She stands above all else, a mother to a kingdom, awaiting a hero to save her. While her beauty does captivate, her imprisonment drives a man mad. My suffering shall not be in vain – I will save her.  She gives me a new freedom for my demented imagination. I lie awake at night imagining us, together –  her cold copper on my cold, bruised and battered flesh. Does she know I want to rescue her? Does she even know I exist? Lady liberty standing tall, but for how long?

The truth is, I have never seen her up close. But I am here, she is close. Her form appears in my head and I call the guard for my fix. I need to see her. I have to paint her. She is a magnificent sight! Although in reality she may be greater and for that I am sorry for the lack of representation my love. Your arm carries a torch that could burn entire cities in one wrong move – I too, am a loose cannon, they’ve pushed me this far. If you had known my hell here on this island, would you rescue me? Would my 76 hertz of agony awaken you? Perhaps.

            Crimson paint for your oxidation – My arms are bound behind me as the course fibers rip my flesh, “I don’t know anything! I swear I don’t!” Forest green and sky blue mixed for your beautiful copper and iron skin – “What are they planning?” Shock, bolts of electricity dance before my watering eyes in these wavelengths. “I am innocent!” They up the current until –

Black – The ocean casts its shadow on you and brings you to life. “Why are you  this?! You’re going to kill me!” Another shock. His blue eyes suddenly turn black, everything turns black. Now for the sea, baby blue. His eyes. Dip, stroke into the paint. Light coat of brown for your kingdom, it is nowhere near as magnificent as you. His arms grind my face into the ground, his knee in my back – I’ve never felt more helpless. I know he won’t end me, but I wish he would. Then bury me in the land of my love. Let my soul roam free.

 

                

           

           

Ode To The Sea- Isaac Paredes

i43099

From across the sea, I see the reaches of a land far beyond my grasp. A bridge from my end to nothing; a pier for the empty sea between me and the dreams of a new land. It serpentines through the water effectively winding its way towards the center. A dark and gloomy day spreads across the sky, a brown flurry of lost intent mirrored onto the water that is my path. The incomplete lands across the water lay stagnant in their mass.On the pier rests nothing, it binds to the water and becomes one. Where the path meets my end, it fuzes into the ground as if the wooden pier had grown from the dirt itself. Mountains and hills forming a snake like horizon line in a brown completeness. In the blue haze is the formation of life’s formula. Beginning in a pure white to only be corrupted by doubt in the continuation of the path. The darkness soon engulfs the entirety of the person, of the situation and gives way to an entire portion of the painting belonging to the corruption. This eventually leads to a moment of realization whereas the dark shifts to the light. The light being the realization that through the murkiness comes a virtuous perspective of life. The sky is a turmoil of brown gloom fighting with the cloud passing through. Streaks of the blue sky bounce along the turmoil of the land, a new conundrum phasing through an open sea. The gloom adding a new sense of dread and weariness alike. This is the foundation, the core to the world and its future. Whereas we all come from the same land and the same beginning as seeds sprouting out into an ocean of possibilities separate at all points but from where we began. As the colors continue to morph together, we see a pattern to this mass of possible pathways that keeps each person from turning away from their future. The stokes on the pier act as a guiding agent, ever most unchanged by the environment while all the same dictating the direction of the path. Though curved, the path still heads towards a new land of intent and mystery. Unable to stray too far from the path, this curvature remains true as the different possibilities in which we all choose our future without choosing anything at all. This winding of color change gives way to seeing just how much freedom we have in our destinies; none at all. We are guided  by the decisions we make in life, right or wrong. The spires holding the pier together are both the opposite thought process in every situation where an individual could take left or right. This further dictates their direction and all the same continuing to form their path into a new future and path on the other side of the ever so murky water in between. With each decision, we get further from where we all began, eventually coming to a mid-ground  where we realize the fallacies in trying to the to the other side in the first place since it is truly just the end of what we hold dear in our own lives.

Crying Eye

serg319

I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.

I knew it was coming. I’d known my whole life. This wasn’t something one could just avoid. It’s followed me since a time I can barely remember, and will follow me for the rest of my life. Eventually, it had to be talked about. She chose the most convenient time possible; we were alone. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked-for signs on her face. She seemed nervous, couldn’t meet my eyes.

For the longest time, my heart would stop anytime she called for me without being straightforward about the reason she needed to speak to me. This was not an exception. An overwhelming wave of nerves pulsed through my veins and washed over me. Every time I found myself in this position I always jumped to the worst-case scenario conclusion that she knew and she was going to say something. My deepest fear was finally climbing out from the depths of where I pushed it throughout my whole life and was ready to tear me apart. But that never turned out to be the case, so why would it be now? I could have relaxed yet, I didn’t.

She began to speak, and suddenly I was cold. Freezing, as I always get whenever my nerves get the better of me. She struggled to form her sentences, thinking of how she wanted to phrase certain statements or questions. She was obviously avoiding certain words. I didn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, it benefitted me. I could use this to my advantage and spin everything to play in my favor, yet on the other hand, maybe being straightforward about this would end the constant fear I was forced to live in. Her eyes were red. Her gaze shifted between me and anywhere else. I could feel myself shaking as I listened to her muddle of words, statements, questions, accusations, support, insults.

I had been preparing for this conversation for as long as I could remember. I had promised myself I wouldn’t cry. I may be a lot of things, but weak certainly wasn’t one of them. Yet I felt my tears begin to swell up and I cursed myself for it. Crying now was not an option. As she continued to release her pent-up emotions, ideas, fears, I had to make a decision. Was I ready to face this head on or was hiding my only option yet again? At the moment, I made up my mind that I was ready. I was not going to cry. She was waiting for me to respond. The perfect opportunity was now in front of me, I could finally be free.

I lied. I lied and I lied even more. I had become quite good at it and was proud of it in a way that would make others sad. I lied and she challenged me. She insisted she wanted me to be honest but I knew she didn’t. If she really wanted honesty, she wouldn’t have avoided something she knew since forever. I lied until I left that room. She wiped her eyes and went back to watching her television show as I left the room and sat on my bed. I was back where I started once again. Looking back now, I can’t say I know if I made the right decision or not. Emotions tend to blur together. All I can truly say was that I felt cold for the rest of the night.

A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie

dannyfarran

 

Looking out into the horizon; not really knowing what awaits in the unknown. The allure of wonder fascinated me as a child; whether it was looking to the skies and into the stars or below the sea beyond the reach of any man. My eyes fled the existence of the familiar around me and instead searched for the unknown.

In the past I often looked back to the days of exploration and imagined myself a doughty explorer who feared nothing. No land too wild to be tamed. No person mighty or brawny enough to halt my journey. Nothing could stop me in my tracks. I clad with a musket and loyal crew of men explore the lands unbeknownst to even the mightiest sailors and explorer. Heading westward before any even conceived the thought of the manifest destiny.

I find it funny, now that I have grown much older and have long abandoned the thought of exploration and adventure, that the only image to emerge when reminiscing of my youth is A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie. A quite dramatic piece that brought forth this idea of a large untamed expanse that lay in wait for a heroic young voyager, like myself, to claim it’s ripe treasure. I was exposed to this piece at a young age due to its home being the nearest museum to me. I did not know what initially caught my eye but I knew instantly that I was enamored of it. Perhaps it was the sunlight th

at illuminated valley. I always recall it being brighter than it really is. Maybe it was the shambolic way the trees were depicted. Actually, I do think it was the sunlight. It adds that dramatic flair to the piece and induces a sensation of grandeur. And as time went by my interpretation of it changed from land waiting for me, to Gandalf and Erkenbrand’s band flanking the vastly superior Urak-hai army at the Battle of Hornburg, to what I see now: a gateway to a memory.

Of course this was before I learned of the cruelty of these explorers and lamented the suffering of the indigenous people. My attitudes shifted from exploration to repair. I have not abandoned the unexplored frontiers but I do not look to them with same fascination that I had when I was a child. Now I am a man of politics and philanthropy. I still am a staunch advocate for the study and exploration of our seas and of space but no longer do I wish to do the exploration. Instead I would rather push progress from the ground with policy and grassroots organizing. I would rather develop our society and fix the issues that have been and are becoming prominent. So while a tempest may be brewing just beyond the skyline the sun will be there to remind me of dreams; the dreams I once had and what they mean to me now. For now the discovery that awaits me is no unruly strand of distant land but instead remedies for our concurrent affairs. My dream is now of an idyll nation and hopefully that could extend to the world. And knowing just how unlikely it is to come true I still seek solace in the idea that I can move mankind up the stairway of progress; even it be one step of thousands. Hope still stands by my side and when I think of hope I see Bierstadt’s sun from A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie shining through the mountain range as a tempest brew just over the skyline. And so, that sunlight that I was enamored of as a child still infatuates me. Then there’s a little part of me that still thinks of Gandalf.

Ode To The Sea – Dylan Senkiw

Dylan Senkiw

When I ask myself what I want in life, I am always drawn to the allure of new opportunities, sights and experiences. There is nothing more exciting that exploring a new city or finding a hidden gem. This drive to seek out unique experiences and obtain new knowledge can be describes by a voyage of a ship.

First, the ship readies itself at dock. The crew loads the supplies; possibly cargo for delivery, maybe necessary resources and miscellaneous gear, as there are always unexpected events in a journey. In life, I am always prepared to get up and go. I am prepared for what is next, and I am ready to take on the challenge.

Next, the ship departs in anticipation of the opportunities that lie ahead, whatever they may be.  Often, I will embark on new paths in life, unsure of the outcome, but I see a possibly better future. I am eager to try something new and learn something from it. Although this often leads me to spur of the moment experiences, it can also result in rash decision making. Even with the later, I am able to take away life lessons. If I lead myself to a mistake, or a misstep, I am bound to realize how I caused the wrong move, or what I could’ve done more effectively. These lessons shape who I am.

While on the journey, ships can encounter unexpected barriers. To overcome these barriers in life, I must be strong willed and determined. If I am weak, I can sink; however, I make sure that I keep myself up by any means necessary. I work towards my goal, and I don’t stop until I achieve it. There are bound to be restrictions and setbacks, I must accept that, but I can’t let it hold me back from what I want. Surpassing each boundary, no matter how big, or small, or inconsequential, will not only prove to myself that I am fit for this journey of life, but it will enhance my decision making and logical reasoning.

Finally, the ship will arrive, the destination will be revealed and the effort of the voyage will be surpassed by a sense of achievement and excitement. At this point, I enjoy the benefits of hard work and perseverance that has allowed me to get to my destination. I am able to learn new things and grow from my new destination. Once I arrive, there are a plethora of opportunities waiting for me. I will be sought after, respected and accredited, as not many people can make it to where I am.

A voyage is not always physical. In my life, this represents abstract journeys to find an answer, or learn something about myself. It also represents learning in new environments and having new exposures. Throughout the entirety of life, I can expect to be spur of the moment, I can expect to chase dreams and I can be ready for new experiences, knowledge and opportunities. I am sure that my life will be a constant voyage with many different destinations.

The Black and White Flag

Elisa Mateo-Saja

 

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.