Blog Posts

These are the prompts and due dates for all of your blog posts.

Rocky shore — DK Rule

dkrule

There was a place I used to go in the summertime. It wasn’t very popular since it wasn’t sandy like the other beaches. It was covered in rocks and the water was full of dead man’s fingers seaweed. I would usually find myself alone for miles around.

After every big storm, I would walk down and look at everything the waves and the wind had brought in. More rocks and seaweed, driftwood, sea glass. Every once in a while I would find a washed up buoy and bring it back, slung over my shoulder, to add to the collection my father had begun thirty years earlier on the side of the weathered old shed. They were hanging on top of one another right beneath the peeling “DK’s Delicious Lemonade” sign.

On cloudy days, I would buy some fried clam strips, a Del’s frozen lemonade, and sometimes a new book from the Island Bound Bookshop, and go down to my rocky shore and just sit and read and stare at the sky and the birds for hours on end. The sun would inevitably begin to set. No matter how many times in your life you see a sunset, it will never get old and it will always be beautiful.

I’d walk back, flashlight in hand. Even though it was dark and I was alone, I never felt afraid. I felt safe, calm even. A rustle in the bushes was just a deer. Everything around me was illuminated by the night sky. Without light pollution, I could see what felt like every single star in the universe, but it never made me feel small. I don’t remember ever having that “I’m just a small speck of dust in the universe and I don’t matter” phase. If anything I felt lucky that everything lined up just so, that I came together, that I can look at the stars and the moon.

The next day might be golden and sunny, so I would go to the sandy town beach with the crystal clear, ice cold water. My friends and I would make sand castles and accidentally cut ourselves on the sharp dune grass. We’d go into town to get ice cream cones and walk out to the end of the jetty, and those are some of my fondest memories. But when I go back to the island today, those aren’t the places that I’m drawn to. I find myself going back to my rocky shore with the murky water.

It is different going back there today. It isn’t as familiar as it once was. I suppose that is true of most childhood memories and hideaways. But that doesn’t diminish its importance and the purpose it served me, as a respite, at the time. Things change, and that’s ok. Trying to force something into what it once was is a waste of time, in most instances. Life, I’ve found, is about moving forward and building new memories in new places.

I still love cloudy days, though.

Looking at the night sky

jasonwaitkus

As I lay and look up at the sky my eyes are immediately drawn towards the brightest and biggest light I can find. Just like most people I ignore the little stars winking into view because they’re so small and flicker in and out of sight. Thinking about this I realize how much we do the same thing with finding happiness.

We’ve been conditioned as humans to always be searching, always trying to find our idea of true happiness. But sadly, in doing so we completely fail to pay attention to all the simple joys in our lives. For me this idea used to be all too true, and still can be at times. I first began to understand that living in search of happiness tears you apart just before I began 10th grade. Being diagnosed with depression and anxiety finally made me realize the truth. When I was hospitalized I had to face the things I always attempted to avoid. I had to actually let myself go and just express myself. In my first therapy session, we talked about what made me happy. And I realized that I had always been living and saying to myself “you’ll be happy eventually, just get through each day.” That day I realized instead I should’ve been finding even the small things in each day to make me happy, those small bursts of starlight that happen for each of us every day.

If I said that it’s been easy trying to think that way, I’d completely be lying. Even though I truly believe that there is something in every day that can bring you happiness, I still struggle to find it for myself sometimes. There are so many little bursts of brightness in each day, little things to bring about true happiness. One of the places I tend to look when trying to find a little starlight is my best friend. The only person who has truly stuck by me and showed me what a friend is meant to be like is her. We met in 7th grade and every day since she somehow manages to make me smile. Even on some of my worst days trying to cope and make it through, she manages to make me smile. The truth is without her so very sarcastic, but supportive attitude I wouldn’t be where I am, wouldn’t be here writing this.

Friendships aren’t the only place to look for the happiness that exists in each day, there’s also finding the activities that make you feel alive. For me, it’s music. Listening to music, playing instruments, talking about music, it all makes me happy. The idea that we as humans have the ability to create such beautiful sounds and rhythms along with some artists writing the most meaningful and resonating lyrics is amazing. Music is my escape from focusing on myself and the future, it lets me just live and enjoy the moments I’m listening to it.

Instead of looking for the moon, looking to find the brightest possible light and searching for the largest amount of happiness possible, why not focus on the small bursts that come to each of us every day. Everyone’s life has drawbacks and everyone always says “The future will be better” but why not live in the now, try to find what makes today better. Focusing on the negative, and believe me I know how easy it is to do so, will only make things worse, instead try to find even the smallest happiness and enjoy it. We are around much too short a time to be searching for whatever idea we each have of true and complete happiness.

The Road I Walk – Sterling Lipscomb

sterlinglipscomb

There is darkness all around, a suffocating, yet expansive darkness. It’s like a black hole: cold, uninviting, and empty. A noise, what is it? Voices… Laughter… I hear people, I know they’re right in front of me, but where? I can hear them, but, somehow, I see no one in this dark void. I see nothing, except a path in front of me, distinguished from the surrounding area vaguely by dull, gray lines, resembling stones you would see separating a lawn from a sidewalk in the suburbs. One step forward, two steps forward. I start running, desperate to get to the end of the path, scared of where I am and where I’m not all at once. Who’s yelling? Is that me? It must be, that voice is so clear. Where’s the end? The path keeps building itself as I run forward, winding around nothing. I stop, spinning around in circles, looking for anyone, screaming for anyone, but, still, there is no one. It’s just me, trapped in my head.

I experience the most peculiar loneliness in the company of others, ever since high school. Surely, being with other people should make the path brighter, right? Or more tolerable to be confined to? One would think this path becomes a skeleton in the back of the closet that is my mind when I’m laughing with friends. But it doesn’t, it only shifts in the center of my conscious to make space for the other thoughts rushing by, weaving in front and between them to remind me of the lurking darkness in my head. So, I’m stuck watching a cinematic of myself with other people. In the oddest way, it feels like I’m not really there. Depersonalization, it’s called, by professionals and the dictionary. To me, it’s simply a bad movie with an uninteresting main character, no real development, and too much repetition.

Obviously, there’s a difference between feeling depressed and having depression, kind of like how there’s a difference between being friends and being friendly. I was afraid of friendship, I still am. I’m afraid of anything intimate, really, and, if you were to ask my old therapist, I’m sure she’d say those feelings stem from my insecurities and lack of stability. I moved around a lot when I was younger, so I never really held onto friends. That’s fine, never seemed like an issue… until I started walking down that path, until that path became a part of me. Abruptly, I was alone in a new way, even having friends felt like having no one. Despite the people around me, I was completely alone on a cold, dark path that lead nowhere, but ran in both directions forever, existing out of sight to everyone but me, since it was and continues to simply be the constant state of my own mind.

With time, I came to realize that this road will never be flooded with light, or bright colors, or other people for that matter, but that doesn’t mean it has to be dreadful and scary. If I want, it occurs to me, I can walk along the beach, my mind would allow for that. Of course, it’s night time, whenever I imagine it.It’s like sitting at a beach on a spring night, with clouds whisping around my head to block out the light of the moon. There’s no moon in sight, but there is water, lapping at the sides of the walk way, just out of reach. The path becomes wood, resembling a boardwalk, and the surrounding area has tints of the deepest shades of blue and gray.  This only occurs in quiet moments though, when I am at peace or, at least mostly, relaxed. At times like those, I feel like I can stop walking, sit down and enjoy watching the world I’m stuck in become new. This is the one moment I find peace in being lonely.

The Statue-Emily Suh

emilysuh

I loved going to my mother’s office.  There was something about getting up before dawn on a day where I didn’t have school and the anticipation of the train ride that made me love it so much.  Seeing the larger than life buildings and masses of people, and smelling the oh-so-wonderful subway station smell we all know too well, was all part of my mother’s world that was foreign to me when I was a child.

My favorite part about these city trips with my mother was always looking out the window at the other huge buildings, the tiny taxis that resembled my brother’s toy cars, and the Statue of Liberty. She works on the 36th floor of a building on Wall Street, so to my 8-year old self, it was as though I was looking down from the highest building.  It was astounding to think that my mother saw this every day.  I asked her about it, but she replied saying that she never noticed it that often.  I didn’t understand how she didn’t, it was just so amazing to me at that age.

The Statue of Liberty was something I knew about from school.  I knew that it used to be copper, but turned green.  I knew that the tablet the woman held had the date July 4, 1776 inscribed.  I knew that it was a gift from France. I knew that it was a symbol of freedom and opportunity for many immigrants back in our nation’s history.  I knew from television that it was a famous attraction, like the Empire State Building.

I visit my mother every week at work, and I don’t remember the last time I ran to the window and clung to the windowsill to peek at the Statue of Liberty. I live steps from the Empire State building, but I don’t know when the last time I really looked at it or gave it much thought.  I’ve never visited either, and I don’t want to.  However, thinking back on all those times staring at the Statue, and hearing the history of it in school, I can’t help but imagine myself staring at the Statue from the deck of a boat, after weeks of traveling from my home, about to enter a foreign country instead of a window, holding a hot chocolate from Dunkin’ Donuts.

Thinking about all those people, who sacrificed so much, I feel incredibly fortunate. Even my grandparents, who came to America much later, sacrificed a lot when they moved to America, just so my parents, my siblings and I and our potential children would have a better life. If they could do something as bold as move to a country with little English and money, I know I can do that too. I can make them proud of me, and their obstacles worth it.

The Statue reminds me of all the hardships those immigrants endured, but also the diversity of the population, and how everyone I meet has a different ethnic background, and story.  There are few places in the world where so many cultures from all over the world are seen, and I am so lucky to live in one of them.

Many of the immigrants faced discrimination and rejection, but remained hopeful for the future.  That Statue was their beacon of hope, and over time its symbolism has dwindled, but its history remains the same and holds the legacy of thousands. The Statue of Liberty doesn’t mean the same as it did, it has become a mere tourist attraction, but it still holds a special place in my heart.

 

 

Let’s Play a Life – Miri Lieber

mirilieber

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?

My Memoir- Kaelah Blanchette

kblanchette14

When you live and grow up in a city like New York, you learn things pretty quickly. You learn that even when the sign is red, people still cross the street, plan ahead when taking the MTA anywhere, and that snow gets very old, very fast. As a kid and even now, snow has always been one of those things that fascinated me because of how pure it seemed to look. Winter looked the complete opposite of summer, where everything was green, the trees were bushy and full of life, and everyone walked around in barely anything. During winter, everything was a nice fluff of white, the trees were bare and everyone was wrapped so tightly in coats that they’d have trouble putting their arms down. When I was younger and it snowed, I was the most ecstatic person in the world. I immediately wanted to go out and play, make snowmen and jump around, but when I looked at my family members’ faces, they were anything but impressed.

As I got older, my love for snow didn’t fade, but it turned into something else entirely, something more mature. I didn’t want to go out in the snow anymore and run and play, but I wanted to sit and watch as it fell across the streets, the sidewalk, the trees and even on people. One thing I always liked about the snow was that it made everything a clean slate. Cars would drive over streets enough to make tire tracks in the snow, but by the morning, it was reset like no car had ever touched the street. Another thing that I always liked about the snow in a city like New York was how everything seemed to quiet at night. Little to no cars were driving around, no one was walking around outside, and it was almost like the world was at a standstill, and the only thing that was moving was the snow softly hitting the ground.

I chose this picture because this photo represents everything I see when I see snow. Many people see snow as a cold inconvenience or a reason that they have to break out their shovel to dig out their car. I see snow the way this artist portrays it in the picture; a serene, calm wonderland of white that makes you feel at peace, but interested at the same time because you don’t know what’s out there when everything is covered in white. Snow is the one thing I can look at and think absolutely nothing about because all I have to do is look and admire. To me, this picture represents a new start, a clean state, or a new beginning, whether it be in work, in school or in life. It represents the fact that regardless of what has happened in the past, everyone can and deserves to have a clean slate to work on. They shouldn’t forget that the past is there under all the snow, but they can make something new out of what is given to them. To me, snow is a fresh start, something that everyone needs every once in a while… plus it’s also kind of fun to play with.

Sarah Umstadt: Ode to the Sea

sarahumstadt99

The Statue of Liberty is perhaps the most iconic monument in New York City.  It is the beacon that welcomes people from far and wide to the city that never sleeps and here I was, looking directly at it.  It was as if my future was laying before me in the form of high rise buildings, honking horns and the smell of halal food and opportunity.

Ever since I was a young girl, I have wanted nothing more than to live the rest of my life in this city.  In the beginning of my senior year, the time came around for me to make the big college decision and I could not even think about attending a school in any other place besides New York.  Finally, the dream was beginning to come true.

A few short months later and it was move in day at the New Yorker Hotel residence. My father drove myself, my sister and my mom from our little Long Island town, into the crazy hustle and bustle of the city.  Before the chaos of attempting to fit all of my things into a tiny dorm began, my family and I made a quick stop to look out across New York Harbor and look at the same statue that welcomed my immigrant grandparents to the city; the city that was now welcoming me.  It was a surreal moment for all of us, to think that I was about to start the defining moments of the rest of my life.  It was also terrifying, slightly, because I was going to be on my own for the first time in my life and I was going to have to do everything for myself.  I also had a new school, classes, and work to worry about on top of all of the other responsibilities. Yet, the statue somehow calmed me. Of course, everything was still unknown and I was about to have to do everything on my own, but the statue, the harbor and the city skyline somehow made me feel like everything was going to be okay.  It reminded me of the fact that my grandparents came here truly on their own, not even able to speak English, and they made it.  They were probably terrified too, but they saw the statue, and their future, ahead of them and they figured it all out.  The statue reminded me that if they could, then I could.

From there, we headed to the hotel to set up my room, and it was one of the best days of my life.  My parents and my sister headed back home, and I began the rest of my life.  Although scary, it was exciting and I felt like I could do anything I dreamed of, and that I could achieve anything I set my mind to.  I keep a photo of the statue by my bed, and it will always remind me of my grandparents and that I am in control; it promises me that I can anything that I want to.

Franklin’s Ode to the Sea Blog Post

Frankie Morel

  This painting definitely speaks out to me and represents something from my life. No, that does not mean that I have been jail to before. The way that I see it, this painting has another meaning to it. I believe it signifies that even during the darkest times of our lives, there is hope for the future. Dark times are really tough, especially the ones that come back to haunt you.

My darkest time occurred over the summer, in which I was fresh out of high school and getting ready for college. My dad and I got a call on a Monday afternoon. My great aunt informed us that my grandfather, whom I loved very much, passed away. The thing about it was that we knew it was going to happened because my grandfather was sick for a while. At that moment, however, I realized that I was never going to able to see him again. I saw him last year, during my vacation to the Dominican Republic, where my family is from. I was so excited to see him at that time, but as of now, I do not know how I am going to live life without him.

Ever since my grandfather passed, I have felt so bad for my mom because she did everything that she could to keep him alive. Additionally, my mom is sick herself. She has some weird disease that is called scleroderma. From what I know, it occurs when your skin hardens until it forces your organs to stop working. The worse thing about it is that it has no treatment whatsoever, and that is what haunts me. At this time, I feel afraid because I cannot afford to lose my mom, whether it is now or next year. My mom has done so much for me, such as being there when I got my high school diploma. I cannot imagine how life would be without her because she is one of the most powerful women that I have ever looked up to. On top of that, today is her fifty-first birthday, which is why I decided to write this post today. Even though this disease is so chronic, there is still hope that she will get to live for a long time. After all, that is something that she has always wanted, as well as seeing my generation and the one after grow.

In summary, this painting is very iconic, and it sends a clear message. Everybody has dark times in life, and it is very challenging to live through them. They can come back and give you nightmares, as well as distract you from what you are doing at the present moment. However, there is a light in the darkness, and we call this light hope. Hope will bring us out from those tough times, and it will bring us happiness. Unfortunately, I will lose both of my parents sometime in the future, but for now, I must keep a positive attitude and just hope for the best.

Teju Cole Assignment

Rachel Bogan

In his 2016 essay, “A Too-Perfect Picture,” Teju Cole praises Raghubir Singh as “a photographer [who] caters to life and not to some previous prejudice.” Read Cole’s essay and then, during our visit to the Metropolitan Opera (although not during the performance!), take two photographs: one that expresses your “previous prejudice” about opera and opera-goers, and another, inspired by Singh’s work, that expresses the reality of your experience. Post your photographs along with a discussion of your experience of The Extermination Angel and an explanation of which elements of Singh’s photographs influenced yours (300 words minimum).

Teju Cole’s essay is here.

Coco Fusco assignment

Rachel Bogan

Coco Fusco, in her essay “The Other History of Intercultural Performance” (1994), argues that “conscious methods may not necessarily transform unconscious structures of belief” and thus that art might be a better tool for fighting racism and other justice issues than what she calls “didactic” methods. Choose one artwork from the Museo del Barrio exhibits, observe it for around eight seconds (the average amount of time a museum visitor spends looking at a single work), and then write down your first impressions (100 words). Then, observe the artwork for ten minutes. Using Fusco’s essay as inspiration, write an analysis of what you discovered about this artwork after a long observation, especially which “unconscious structures of belief” it is attempting to transform.(400 words).

Coco Fusco essay is here.