Uncategorized
Memoir
https://www.artfromguantanamo.com/moath-alalwi/
Half a Decade
The sea brims waves with foam and the sky with clouds.
I rode in on the latter.
I was born in June, a summer baby. And naturally, I have an affinity for the sea. I can’t actually swim well enough for it to be called swimming.
Once when we went on an excursion in the waters surrounding the Dominican Republic, my father and I were strapped into life vests and instructed to swim toward the barriers where the sea life was (there we could take photos with sting rays and admire coral—the standard tropical tourist treatment). I timidly climbed down the ladder of the boat, knowing that this nine year old body couldn’t swim. I knew it was deep, the water was dark. So when I plopped down, despite all the reassuring from my father and the guide, I panicked. I went down before I went up. The life vest on, and I still was submerged before I was floating. I grasped the rungs and climbed back up to the safety of the deck.
This past May we went to Florida for a bit, school was basically over and everyone needed a break of some sorts. On one of the last days we drove out to Hollywood Beach. The water was clear and blue, and of course enchanting. Warm and so, so soothing. Facing away from the beach, and out into the horizon, the water was divided: clear blue, dark blue, and again clear blue. People were swimming past the dark patch and ending up in calf-deep water. So I swam into it. And I got there. (I also convinced my non-swimming-incredibly-afraid-of-deep-water Mom to come in, and later when the tides changed she was stranded… oops).
I am not afraid until I am out of my depth. So my love remains. My love remains because I remember the summers waking up and loading into Oksana’s car and heading out to Coney Island. My love remains because I remember the thermoses we filled and headed to Rockaway. And because I remember the brief visit home and the sand of the Caspian Sea, we rubbed it into our hair and all over our skin, it was just sand.
When we first moved here, it was a lot of plane riding. From Baku to Istanbul, a brief respite, and from Istanbul to New York. It was difficult for me. But not as difficult as it was for my parents. And not as difficult as I made it. Any time I had my hands on a paper and a pen, I drew. And every time the drawing was the same. A family on a plane headed home. I did not understand why I was isolated. Why was I removed from world I knew? Why was I suddenly imprisoned?
I had spent one hundred percent of my life watching the sea bubble around my toes as my mom called from the shore “Don’t get mazut in your hair.” I had sat on light wooden benches built into decks as we sailed, boasting about never getting seasick. I had found fascination at the airport. Everything measured, accounted for, systematic. I loved the flights.
I felt agonizing pain in my ears as we descended onto the runway. The lady in front of us looked back pityingly, as my mom pushed a candy in my mouth and instructed me to pace the aisle.
Being in the sky was different. Surrounded by clear blue. The clouds bubbled around the smooth metal. We were airborne.
The next summer, when my feet felt the Atlantic, I was unfazed by the cold, I’d forgotten the warmth of the Caspian. I’d forgotten that before the threat was oil, because now I was steering clear of plastic bags. I’ve forgotten about the airplanes.
I didn’t hit the shores, I hit the runway, in a vessel nonetheless. My luck brought peace with it, safety. I was not imprisoned, I was rescued.
Shyann C. – Teja Cole
We’ve all heard the phrase “a picture is worth a thousand words,” yet many of us don’t feel a need to read through the images. In Teja Cole’s essay “A Too- Perfect Picture,” Cole sheds light on how to really see if an image is even worth one word. From his perspective, taking a picture that adheres to the rules of photography can still be meaningless. After reviewing a play, The Exterminating Angel, I’m inclined to agree.
Now, the opera itself is a section of art. Before the play, I had no real opinion on how the actors or stage looked. As a music minor, the term opera is “a drama sung from beginning to end,” and nothing more. After taking Cole’s opinions into consideration, opera (or at least this particular one) does not float my boat. The images from the play (above) look
so dramatic that I can’t for the life of me figure out the tone of the play. If someone were to look at this, they’d see a group of actors posing. Every movement is staged, any picture that anyone would take would come out just as dramatic. The main piece of Cole’s essay that got to me was how artificial some pictures could be. They just aren’t …natural, let alone relatable or enlightening. When I see these actors move and sing, it’s interesting but even half of my classmates didn’t know what the hell was going on. How is it possible to take a random picture and have it come out photographically flawless?
The reason I choose these images was that they are the closest thing to an “off – guard” from the play – but they don’t do justice. Cole admired Singh’s works because of their ability to “read as a moment of truth snipped from the flow of life,” but here there is nothing but “indulging the fantasy.” This situation may not be realistic but it could have at least been relatable; the exaggerated movements, the dynamics of the registers – it’s a show. I’m aware that the point of the performance was to entertain but even Tom and Jerry hint at a struggle that we can all relate too.
Open Letter to the new york hall of science
New York Hall of Science,
Hello. I first stepped foot inside your walls when I was a little seedling in elementary school, and I have to admit, you were pretty cool—very cool actually. I went back a few years later and I found new things to be fascinated about. I haven’t gone back since, but my friend and I got to talking, and we’d like to take her sisters there. We haven’t visited in eternities, and the girls would have fun. Then I got to thinking, why haven’t I gone back since middle school? I don’t think I outgrew you, but more like you outgrew me. You outgrew my reach.
If we were to go, we’d be a pack of four. My friend and I are college students, so we’ve got college ID, and her sisters are on that 2-17 range. That’s already $52. I don’t work, but my parents do give me a bit of money as an allowance, let’s assume that I go, and only pay for myself. My friend works. She’s usually working Tuesdays, Fridays, and weekends, so she’s making a part time pay check, and she’s working every opportunity for free admission. After she pays for her bills out of her biweekly paycheck, she has about $100 to play around with until her next check. That’s 14 days to live on $7, 6 days of which she can’t spend any money at all, just to cover a $39 admission. And with the way your prices and schedule is set up, that is an unavoidable cost.
Both times I visited, I was driven, either in a school bus or by my parents. I don’t drive now, I don’t go have access to a free bus, and I’m not going to ask my parents, so I’ve got to take public transportation—so we’ve got to take public transportation. That’s another $5.50 for each of us. And since we can only go on a weekday (due to my friend’s work schedule) we wouldn’t need to cover fare for the girls. Because their school metrocards work Monday to Friday, we’d be covered for the days we could go. But this is basically another day Liya (my friend… it’s about time she got a name) would have to live in New York City without spending a dollar (not to be obvious, but that’s pretty difficult for a college student).
In addition to admission into the actual museum, the activities have price tags too. The Science Playground, Rocket Park Mini Golf, and the 3D theater are between $4 and $6. The costs keep adding up. Sure, we could get the movie theater ticket, or the all-inclusive tickets, but those are incredibly pricey too! It seems like there is no winning.
And who could forget? Dinner. There is no doubt in my mind that after even a few hours running around room after room of things you just can’t not touch, I’m sure I’d be hungry… and the girls too. And neither me, nor Liya will take the girls on a 2 hour commute if they are hungry. So, whether we’re eating at the food court, or going to a local stop, that’s undoubtedly $5-$10 at least for each of us. So basically another $30 for Liya to cough up, that’s in addition to $39 and $5.50. Liya has to budget two weeks into $25 if she wants to take the girls to a museum where they can be for 2 hours sandwiched between a 4 hour commute, and a 30 minute meal that will cost her $75. And sure, we could save up, but events and exhibits are constantly changing. By the time we’ve got enough money for a day, we might not be seeing what might’ve been in tune with the girl’s interests two weeks ago.
I’m not saying down with admission, or more free days, or free food, or free buses. Although the last two would be particularly nice, I don’t expect them. I’m expecting though, that you rethink the first two. Everyone understands it costs money to maintain institutions such as the New York Hall of Science. But if you’re able to have some kind of college student discount, I’m sure you could make it even more generous, or at least have occasional promotions. Maybe even send vouchers to middle schools? Something. Also, why not add free hours to a weekday, instead of two free on weekends? Perhaps a Tuesday 2pm-5pm slot?
Regardless of what you decide, you’ll be a cool place. But there are bunches and bunches of kids across the city who haven’t experienced your coolness, and will inadvertently outgrow you. Give them a chance to experience science. Give Liya’s sisters a chance to experience science. The only reason we decided to take them, was a mutual epiphany. We had to work harder for girls to be in STEM, and we had the chance right there to do it. Obviously taking them to a museum one day, isn’t enough, but just planting the seeds can be enough. Help us water the garden.
Maryam Salmanova
open letter video
Dear Subway Dancers
I couldn’t find any actual subway dancers so I thought that this would be the next best thing.
That’s Not Kosher – Open Letter to NYC Museums
Open Letter Final Draft
Dear Subway Dancers-
I’ve seen you on the train ever since I was a little kid and I was always in awe, asking my mother for money so that I could give to you all, people who I thought were so talented. However, now that I’m older I’ve begun to realize a couple of things that I think you all should consider.
Trains are not very safe, for neither you nor your audience. No one can control the speed of the train except the conductor, who cannot control anything that is going on inside their train. Trains can slow down, speed up, or turn at very fast speeds without warning, These conditions are hazardous to your routines, especially during the ones where you aren’t on the floor of the train. These conditions are hazardous to us, the passengers, as well. Any sudden movement of the train can cause anybody to move suddenly, directly into your path, which could end up harm both you and the passenger. I’m sure that you all are very careful and I can only imagine the amount of effort that goes into practicing and preparing your routines, but you are performing in an environment that is entirely out of your control, and as a passenger, I don’t need more hazards to pay attention to while taking the train.
Something else you all need to consider is who your audience is. Everyone on the train is looking to get somewhere, we didn’t fork over $2.75 because we wanted to “improve the MTA.” Although in-transit entertainment is nice, everyone has a book or a phone to entertain themselves these days, and if they don’t have anything out, they’re either talking to someone or asleep. The latter don’t like being interrupted, and the former are likely to look up and go back to whatever they were doing before your act began. In either case, you’re not likely to get much money. In addition to this, you can only perform at certain times during the day. Rush hour would be ideal, but there is no room to perform, and even if you could that would certainly be classified as dangerous. As a result, all of you must settle for off-peak hours, so there aren’t many people on the trains anyway, further decreasing the amount of money that you could have made.
To sum up, although having an audience who MUST sit through your performance in one way or another sounds ideal, the conditions in which such an audience is presented to you are not suitable for you or the passengers because of the danger presented and the amount of money that you can make.
However, I understand that you all have talent, and I find it fantastic that you all wish to express these talents. I understand that the fact that you all perform on a moving train adds something to your shows, but I would like to propose better places to show off your talents, and that would have a more receptive (and willing to give) audience.
There are several parks in New York City that have plenty of space for you to perform. Each individual show can have much more room to show off your talents, and as long as you don’t block any pathways, nobody will complain. People who are interested in seeing you perform can step up and watch, and people who don’t have the time or are aren’t interested can simply walk on. As a result, you are left with people who are actually interested in seeing you perform, and for the most part, willing to give you money. Although a permit is required to perform in a public park, it is a small price to pay in exchange for a safer environment with a more engaged audience, which could ultimately result in more money made for all of you.
I hope you understand that I really appreciate your talents, and I would like for all of you to perform in a manner that is safe for you and for us, and to make more money using the talents you have. Thank you!
-Frank Gutierrez
Broadway Open Letter Video Project
This is a link to my open letter video project on youtube.
The Exterminating Angel
The Exterminating Angel surprised me. I’d never gone to an opera before, but I’d heard that they were just entirely song. Not musicals, but song nonetheless. I was excited to hear beautiful voices expressing beautiful things. I also had my preconceptions of the audience in an opera—predominantly middle-aged and older, and white. I was pretty disappointed when I got to heard beautiful voices performing choppy thoughts, and confusing plotlines. But even in my disappointment, I found nuggets of surprise.
My mother always drones about Italian operas and how at the performance, there were little translating screens. I would think, why even go. But after our trip, I realized without that little screen, I wouldn’t know what was said even if English was my first language. And if I were to guess, who had the time to indulge in the storylines of predominantly or entirely white casts, singing about God knows what, I would have assumed—like I did assume—that like the predominantly or entirely white cast, the audience would also be predominantly or entirely white. I went into the opera house expecting that, and I was correct. There were people of color here and there, but nothing compares to the amount of whiteness I saw. And specifically, 40 years old and older. While Singh urges readers to liberate themselves from their preconceived notions and possible expectations, I couldn’t seem to do so, since my assumptions were proven true.
Not all was bad, however. I never thought operas could bend the lines of artistry the way The Exterminating Angel did. But before that… It never registered to me that there would be an orchestra. I assumed the voices of the cast would carry the entire show. But The Exterminating Angel proved that any work can be redeemed at least somewhat if the music is good. And the orchestra was brilliant, probably my favorite part. Because I had not assumptions going in, I was able to experience raw and true art, the kind that Singh urges the audience to seek out, not the art that slides into the molds we have, but the kind that reminds us that life, real life, doesn’t have perfectly crisp edges and ends. Instead, it is unpredictable. And boy was The Exterminating Angel unpredictable. Never in my life would I have expected sheep on a stage. And here they were. Front and center for all of us to see. Boundaries that I didn’t even know I set up were broken with this opera. I placed the opera into a box it did not b elong. I tried to define it in a way we try to define photography. I tried to demand technicalities that didn’t need to exist. Instead of the thirds principle of photography, I expected archetypical tragic plot—boy that is not what I got.
The element of surprise if very powerful in artistic form. We all have expectations of the forms of art we consume, and when those expectations are ignored and we are given something entirely different, regardless of the quality, the newness of the experience sears it into memory. And that memory is the most powerful of all, for it is art in its truest form, and Singh believes.
