Author: Jessica Sun

There’s nothing quite like the splendor of the Met, yet I didn’t know what to expect of the opera. I was hoping for the best but prepared for the worst. Despite Alexandra’s prep for us, I wasn’t sure what to expect; I only expected big and impressive and perhaps slightly controversial. And I think that to that extent, it delivered.

My absolute favorite aspect of the opera was the music. Having experience as both a solo violin player and a violinist in a huge orchestra, I was captivated and swept up by the music. The orchestra was fantastic, and the music fit the mood and plot so well. It’s grand and expansive but also detailed. I enjoyed the Asian influences in certain themes or parts of the score. In particular, one of Turandot’s themes (I think it was her theme) started out sounding exactly like a very famous Chinese folk song, Mo Li Hua. I couldn’t get the actual melody out of my head every time it started playing, but I’m glad he included such a well-known Chinese melody into the opera.

I also really enjoyed the sets. Just as Alexandra told us, they were really all-out, and I chuckled a bit when people clapped the first time the curtains rose on the Imperial Palace interior. The costumes and sets were definitely gorgeous. You could almost feel their grandeur, even from our seats near the top.

But I was rather unimpressed by the plot. I’ll give it to him that it was written a while back, and Alexandra had prepared me a little bit, but it just bothered me the entire time the way Romeo and Juliet does. I really only liked Liu and didn’t find the other story lines very compelling. There were so many cliches, and so much of it was just too dramatic or just treated the female characters terribly. I think the cast did a great job with their given character arcs, but only Liu really stood out to me. Not only were her vocals powerful, but I think she captured her character’s emotions best. I found it ridiculous that Calaf just stood by when she confessed her love and said she was willing to die. And Turandot’s character just grated at me but particularly how she just “thawed” (as I believe they put it) at the end. It seemed too forced and fake. Just like with Romeo and Juliet, there was no love, and the idea that either of the two women were for Calaf to win or possess is just terrible on every level. In some ways, I almost wish I hadn’t read along with most of the lyrics because I probably would have enjoyed it more without reading them and had just listened to the singing.

While on the subject of the vocals, again, Liu was my favorite by far, but I was impressed by Calaf’s as well. Of course, there’s the famous solo that was made famous by Pavarotti that I hummed along to. I do think his microphone was turned a bit low at parts so that the orchestra totally overwhelmed his voice, at least for us sitting up so high. I thought Turandot was great but not as impressive as I was expecting. I’m not sure if it was because it was the actress’ debut or because I just kept comparing her with Liu.

The last bit is the controversial bit that Alexandra mentioned briefly. Obviously, as an Asian, I waited until after the performance to discuss the Chinese aspects but I definitely couldn’t not think about it. The unnecessary satirization of aspects of the culture is disappointing, regardless of the time the opera was created. From the fact that almost every time we saw the every day people they were hunched or huddled or just cowering or bowing to the scenes where they were crawling around looking like monkeys to the role of the Three Masks and Ping/Pang/Pong to the improper use of the fans at times (although I will admit I loved the little acrobatic bit at the very beginning of the opera) to the obvious stereotypes to the names that were most not very Chinese at all and to everything else in between, I was just really upset by the portrayal of Chinese people and our culture. Yes, I enjoyed the obvious Asian influences in the sets and the score, and at least there’s an opera set in China at all, but regardless. And I know that Alexandra briefly mentioned it, but a few of us were talking about the actors portraying the characters after the performance. On the one hand, I can understand that there may not be many professional Asian opera singers that could do any of the roles justice (and I am glad there was at least one Chinese singer), and I don’t mind them dressing up as Chinese (though grossly stereotyped and sometimes done incorrectly) because I understand the need to look Chinese, but on the other hand, it is still upsetting to see such little representation. I’m curious about how many Asians were involved in the dancing, particularly in the Imperial Palace, as opposed to other races/ethnicities. The choreography wasn’t so difficult that they couldn’t have gotten professional Chinese dancers to do those portions, and I don’t think they were singing at all. It could have been that the majority of them were in fact Asian, but it was hard to tell from where we were sitting. I just hope representation was much better there.

I’d say that overall, I enjoyed the opera, but there were disappointing aspects, though nothing I shouldn’t have expected given Alexandra’s preparation for us and having read the libretto and the other background information. I still love the music, and that was definitely the strongest aspect in my opinion. There were strong performances throughout and by many of the main characters at some point during the performance. I think this fell somewhere either between “will you still love me tomorrow?” and “The View from Nowhere” or just slightly behind “The View from Nowhere” in the context of all our performances this semester.

(I realize this review might be a little scattered in thought, but I had many thoughts that could have gone together. I hope that overall it was easy to understand and that I wasn’t too repetitive.)

Jessica Sun

As I looked through various photographers’ photos, I kept getting drawn to the ones with scenes from New York City. That is, until I came across this image, Gordon Parks’ “Ingrid Bergman at Stromboli” (1949). Though I can’t quite place what it is exactly about this photograph that’s so striking to me, I think it’s probably the differing gazes of the picture’s subjects. On the one hand, you have Ingrid looking toward the lower left hand corner, but on the other hand, you have the three women looking at/watching Ingrid as though they’re judging her. I find this dynamic really interesting. It adds a layer of tension and also reminds the viewer that the people in these pictures have a story too. This picture makes you wonder what the women are thinking and also what Ingrid is thinking. Are they reacting positively or negatively to her? How does she feel about the attention? She seems aware of their gaze and is either bothered by it or is nonchalant about it, depending on how you interpret her facial expression. When I first looked at the photo, it seemed as though they were judging her, and she’s trying to act as though it doesn’t bother her. I could relate to that feeling, and so it made me wonder more about her. (As it turns out, Ingrid Bergman was a famous actress, which likely changes the tone of the picture.)

Compositionally, the photo is pretty strong. The photographer made us of the Rule of Thirds, with Ingrid at the bottom right point and the three women at the top left point. Given the two different focal points, the photo also makes use of counterpoint. It’s clear Ingrid is closer to the camera than the other three women, but they occupy roughly the same amount of space in the photograph. In addition, the photographer made sure to leave space in front of the women walking so that they have a space to “walk” over. There are, however, some lines passing through some of the heads in the picture. For instance, the line of the shadow hits Ingrid’s head, although it’s more at an angle so it isn’t very prominent and is only at the top of her head, so it doesn’t imply a line or draw much attention. There are also lines going through the heads of the three women, but these are not very obvious either, especially since the three women are more in the background rather than the foreground.

For my picture, I’ll definitely be looking to utilize the Rule of Thirds. I’d also like to try having multiple focuses so perhaps I’ll take a shot at counterpoint, but it’ll depend on what I ultimately decide to photograph. The other photograph I was thinking of using for this post was actually the one Ariella chose, and I really liked that photographer’s use of reflection/glass, so if I can, I think I’d like to get a shot similar to that.

Jessica Sun

The performance started even before the lights dimmed, with audience members hearing the rhythmic stomps while they took their seats. Alessandro Sciarroni’s will you still love me tomorrow? begins with the dancers standing in a circle, with all of their eyes taped shut except for Sciarroni’s. The audience watches as they perform the dance sequence, influenced by Bavarian and Tyrolean folk dance, that the audience members get to know very well as the performance continues. At the beginning of the performance, one of the dancers comes forth and explains that the performance will continue until either there is no one left in the audience or there is no dancer left on stage. Thus starts the beginning of the performance. If nothing else, the dance is amazing cardio feat, with the dancers dancing and hopping around for almost the entire duration of the dance. Just watching it left me exhausted.

The use of repetition was interesting. Though it could start to feel monotonous at times, it was broken up and made less tedious by the differing formations and interactions. Most of the beginning of the dance involved the dancers dancing seemingly by themselves. Only once they take the tape off of their eyes do they start to notice one another. As the dance progresses, they start to interact more and more often, starting first with glances, then watching one another and smiling, and then playing around with one another. Long portions were broken up by small sections of different combinations, straying from the rhythm the audience soon gets accustomed to, and by the use of humor. The dancers did a great job of engaging just enough with the audience. In addition, there was a refreshing mix of professional stage presence and the faltering of such a presence. Every once in a while, and becoming more common towards the end of the dance, audience members would see dancers smiling at one another or laughing or wiping their face or playing around with one another. Dancers would, either purposefully or not, mix up the combination or do something a little bit different from the rest of the group, and eventually, the others would follow. At first it seemed very purposeful, as though the choreographer was trying to say something about being unique and doing something different than the rest of the crowd, but as the performance went on, it became more difficult to tell what was improv and what was planned. The dance seemed to take a life of its own, and whether it was improv or choreographed, it was done tastefully so that there weren’t awkward changes and shifts as things changed and progressed.

The one aspect that did break some of the flow for me was when one of the dancers would, every so often, make his way off “stage” (still visible to the audience, given the nature of the dance space) to fiddle around with the music. While the use of music enhanced the performance, his exits often seemed to come at the wrong time or didn’t fit well with the natural rhythm of the combination, breaking the beat for me. The music, too, often just seemed to be put on at random times, perhaps when the dancer/musician felt the others were getting tired and needed a motivational boost.

Perhaps the most enjoyable part, however, was when the dancers found a way to add just a dash of humor into the performance. In dancing such an obviously tiring dance while also engaging with the audience, the dancers were able to make those watching invested in the dance as well. We eagerly await what they are going to do next, waiting to see how dancers will deviate from the worn, repetitive combination. And slowly, the audience watched as dancers started to leave, starting with Sciarroni leaving early on, teasing us with some heaves of the accordion, which reminded viewers of how exhausting the performance must be. But one by one, the dancers leave until three are left. The dancer manning the music goes off stage and starts playing Say Something. Suddenly, one of the remaining dancers leaves, leaving two alone, watching him leave. Like the audience, there’s a sense of sadness, of longing to leave (and perhaps run after the other dancer) as well. Before we know it, one of the two leaves, with the song playing in the background, emphasizing the hole left by the absence of the other dancers. The rhythm that became the soul of the performance is replaced by silence, only covered by the song playing. At last, the last dancer turns and runs off, not necessarily perfectly in time with the beat of the music, but still with a sense of finality.

This performance is one that everyone can enjoy, whether one has seen a million dances before or none at all. There is no denying the strength and endurance of the dancers, highlighted by our ability to see their hands and thighs growing redder or their clothes filling with sweat. Some of the dancers would even step off stage to get a drink of water before returning to the dance. The performers engage with and entertain the audience, making it exciting to watch. It was almost impossible for the audience members to talk about the performance as everyone filed out, with the constant rhythm still beating in our minds.

(On a side note, for those who went to the Judson Church performance with the “How long can you hold an absence?” performance, I found that this performance was sort of like the opposite of it. This was about how long the dancers could maintain their dancing before they left, rather than leaving as you got tired of waiting for something that wasn’t coming.)

In our short discussions on the performances we’ve seen thus far, we have talked a lot about interpreting and understanding a dance/performance, often without looking at other aspects of it. We seek to find meaning but without first understanding how to get to that point, skipping over the details of a piece. On the contrary, Alastair Macaulay focuses his review of New York City Ballet’s Swan Lake on the dancers themselves and the way they bring their character to life–or don’t–and how that is facilitated by the music, costuming, choreography, etc. Though Oliver stresses that “description should make up the main substance” (89), Macaulay sees no need to focus on describing the dance itself since Swan Lake is such a widely known ballet/story; thus, he makes his review different and interesting by discussing the other important, but often forgotten, pieces of the performance.

Macaulay does take time to describe and analyze several of the dancers’ performance, mainly that of Sara Mearns. His focus is on her unique ability to take the well-known dance to new heights through her emotional performance, which brings a deeper level of complexity than is usually portrayed by the Odette/Odile roles. In his review, Macaulay uses a healthy mix of “strong and varied action verbs,” “interesting adjectives,” and other forms of various other word choices. He describes how Mearns interprets the role with “completely authoritative individuality,” with “voluptuous passion” as Odette and “enigmatic, even…[brilliant]” as Odile. She dances as though “riding the full power of a wave.” He continues his focus on her dancing and what she brings to the character by pointing out how though she “stumbled” towards the end of Odile’s fouettes, she remained driven by the emotion and drama of Swan Lake.
Macaulay similarly describes the performances of the other dancers: Tyler Angle is “elegant,…gallant, relatively lightweight and without…specificity;” Brittany Pollack, Tiler Peck, and Joaquin de Luz “found a constant supply of wit and color” and looked “distinguished;” and the corps de ballet “danced with power and passion.”

Macaulay’s main point, however, is in the contrast between the dancing and the orchestration/costumes/colors of the ballet. His review highlights his ability to truly analyze a dance; as Oliver notes, “a critic must be able to make comparisons, determine structures, or place things in context,” (81) all of which Macaulay does. He talks about how the conductor, Daniel Capps, would sometimes slow down the tempo to accommodate the dancer, turning the great orchestration “clumsy.” He then goes on to criticize how the performance, meant to honor the late Albert Evans, only seemed to cast black males in the role of Rotbart. He uses this criticism to transition into his criticism of Peter Martins’ production and of the designs of the dance itself. He calls the costumes “silly,” the color schemes terrible in both concept and execution, and even goes so far as to call a costume “grotesque.” He does then take note of some of what NYCB does well, especially including multiple principals in slightly smaller roles and including many debuts.

Using these facts and observations, Macaulay analyzes the performance as a whole, informing the reader and potential viewers with more than just a review and glimpse at the characters and dancers in the ballet but also at the behind-the-scenes happenings. Unfortunately, Macaulay was unimpressed by Martins’ production and choices, and though he enjoyed the dancers’ performances, he found that NYCB’s Swan Lake is “less than the sum of its parts.”

Jessica Sun

Everyone views art differently; sometimes, a piece seems easier to understand, while other times, a piece of art may just confuse the viewer. Artists often use different colors and techniques in order to more clearly express their perception of the world. Whereas Miro uses differing paint patterns, colors, and geometric shapes in The Birth of the World to highlight an abstract, chaotic, raw view of the world, Seurat’s Evening, Honfleur utilizes a precise painting technique, known as pointillism, and particular colors in order to show how duality enhances the world around us.

Jessica Sun

(So I got really confused about the commenting and posting situation, so I’m writing my blog post portion separately from my comment. I’m in the Blog B group.)

When Nureen and I walked through the MoMA’s collection of Surrealist artwork, the first one that really caught my attention and stuck out to me was Joan Miro’s “The Birth of the World.” Sure, I wanted to see Dali’s work and Magritte’s “The False Mirror,” but they didn’t capture my attention the way Miro’s painting did. I didn’t understand it, but reading the plaque opened my eyes more to what the painting was and what it was about. I still don’t have a very clear idea, but I just found it so fascinating. To be honest, it’s now one of my favorite paintings because there are so many layers to it that I didn’t know about before. The geometric shapes are drawn without context on the large canvas, which was prepared for the purpose of allowing Miro to more effectively display his subconscious thoughts, which characterizes the movement.

I was originally very unsure about which other painting to write about in my essay. Originally, I was going to use Monet’s “Agapanthus,” but I found it difficult to use it to talk about the aspects of Miro’s painting that I wanted to discuss–mainly his use of paint and his depiction/view of the world. I then remembered Georges-Pierre Seurat’s “Evening, Honfleur,” a classic example of his use of pointillism. Though Seurat and Miro had very different painting styles, they used their unique styles to depict their view of the world. Whereas Miro believed in seeing reality through the subconscious mind, Seurat saw the beauty that makes up the world. It isn’t always easy to see the whole picture, but when we do, we see how beautiful it is. Up close, paintings utilizing pointillism look random and incomplete. You can’t tell what you’re looking at because the image is broken up into small pieces. Only from afar can you piece together the image and see the whole picture come together. This has always fascinated me, from the first time I saw a pointillism painting until now. Thus, though the two paintings and artists are very different, I wanted to discuss how they use their styles to show different views of the world.

Jessica Sun (Blog B)

The Birth of the World: http://www.moma.org/collection/works/79321
Evening, Honfleur: http://www.moma.org/collection/works/79333?locale=en

There’s something beautiful about standing in a room full of beautiful and acclaimed artwork. But sometimes, it’s the conversations they elicit or that you hear in passing that are more interesting. This is because everyone has different interpretations of the same piece of artwork and sometimes even of one section of an art piece. Being in the MoMA is always interesting because there is always the opportunity to have engaging conversations about the artwork; because of this, I was glad to have been there with my partner, Nureen. As we walked around the galleries, we would point out and comment on the different paintings that stuck out to us.

Having read the Berger and Barnet readings made me view the artwork in a slightly different light than from my past visits. I, too, used to look at art and try to interpret it as an art expert or art historian, which put up a barrier between me and the artwork. I would try too hard to find some deeper meaning or message, but I never truly tried to figure out my own, independent opinion. Berger’s point about how the ability to replicate and reproduce art has allowed for a mystification really struck a chord with me. I had never thought about the barrier we place between ourselves and the art we see. This time around, I was able to try to interpret the art–with aid of the background information given on some of the plaques–on my own, which was a point made by both Berger and Barnet. We usually don’t know the artist’s intent, but one of the benefits of replication and reproduction of artwork nowadays is that it’s accessible to, potentially, anyone, allowing us to be able to see a piece of art and interpret it based on our own experiences and thoughts. Art is made valuable by the viewers who look at it and appreciate it, but everyone appreciates a piece of art for different reasons because we all think differently and have our own unique experiences.

For me, this idea really took shape when I was viewing the contemporary art gallery, which focused on using art to show political conflicts around the world. In the past, I may have just quickly walked through the gallery, occasionally reading the plaques of the interesting pieces, but this time around, I really took my time interpreting the pieces for myself. And through talking to Nureen, I got to see first hand the notion that people interpret art differently. For instance, there was an installation that was just a black room with one huge screen of bright white light, nothing more, nothing less. It certainly helped to read the three panels on the wall leading into the room, but once I got in there, it touched me in a beautiful way. The overwhelming light made me think of my own past and of some of my own personal memories, and I honestly almost cried because of the emotion it elicited in me. And it was nothing more than a huge, lit up screen. To Nureen, perhaps it was simply just a bright light in a dark room, but for me, it was so much more because it made me think of my struggles.

There is no right or wrong way to interpret a piece of art; I believe that part of the reason so many people feel so out of touch with art is because they feel that it’s something only certain people can understand. But that is not the case, and at least for me, I appreciate artwork so much more now than I did before. The meaning of a piece is fluid and unique, and there’s a certain beauty in just that itself.

When the first few beating notes of the music first began, before Jocelyn first stepped out, I had little idea of what to expect of the performance. As she began to dance, or rather jerk and move about, I started to see just how abstract the piece was going to be. I was taken aback by the unnatural movements, but it also captivated me as I tried to figure out what was happening and what it represented in relation to the theme. As the performance continued, I finally started to piece together my interpretation of the dance.

I saw the beginning as chaos, as people stuck/caught up in the chaos of their own lives, unaware of their relation with others, save for a few interactions. This stops when they see something–the Earth–in the distance, transitioning into the idea of the overview effect and its potential implications. The music stopped and there was a sense of rawness as she took her hair out of a bun and he started jerking and making sounds, reaching a yell. There was this sense of internal chaos in him, followed by this curiosity as they kicked around the beach balls. This transformed into the two of them circling around in a circle, saying the names of numerous countries, giving the sense of a newfound unity, showing the implications of spaceflight for conflict resolution as people realize just how small and insignificant we, and our individual problems, are. But this was soon forgotten as they began making hand gestures, leading up to them holding up “guns.” Then there was a sense of coming together again as they fought and ended up settling against one another again, as if tired of all the circling and hidden messages. By the end, they stand together, experiencing the same day and night, light and darkness.

Having an idea of the premise of the performance before watching it helped me to put together this interpretation, but I could understand the confusion many of my friends experienced. We didn’t go into this realizing just how abstract and far from usual images of dance the performance would be. As a dancer, I had my own image of what I thought the performance would be like, but I would not have imagined what it actually turned out to be (in the best way possible). My favorite aspect, however, was hearing my peers’ reactions to the piece during the intermission/break. While I wouldn’t say that the talk and Q&A helped to give me a better sense of the performance, I think it may have provided some deeper insight for others. I love how this piece can be interpreted in so many different ways, and I enjoyed how the abstract and metaphorical nature of the dance made/forced me think and interpret each movement and section of the dance. This isn’t something you can watch passively and truly appreciate, at least in my opinion. I greatly look forward to future performances for this course, though it would also be nice to see some works that aren’t nearly as abstract.