Category — What it Means

Opps! after doing a last check through of work done I found that I missed the artist one so he is mine!:

“Oh Say, can you really see?” was a seminar offered by the Wolfe Institute on Jimi Hendrix and his connection to escapist science fiction. Will Fulton describe the sound painting that takes place in Jimi Hendrix’s music that illustrates the science fiction aspect of the music. However, this was only the surface, as beyond the fantastic lyrics lay social subtext. Jimi Hendrix’s isolation, he says, served as an impetus for this new form of writing. Coupled with this shift in lyrical style, the 1960s technology was changing music production.

To this “Allegorical atomic science fiction” rock and artists utilized different technologies to enhance the estrangement. Multitrack allowed for addition parts to be recorded and overdubbing, which permitted further manipulation of composite sounds. Examples of these techniques were depicted by “1983… (A Merman I should turn to be” a late Hendrix Song. Several effects can be easily noted: whistling and breathing vocals through ADT delay, echo on lead vocals, flute, and bass. VFO on flextone that made the bouy sound, tape speed variation to sound the fish, panned echoes of cymbal “bubbles” echo on headphones feedback to represent seagulls, and live fade ins/out to mark transitions.
So what does this mean in retrospect? The 60’s were a time of great change, or rather an immense desire for change. However, Jimi Hendrix who often avoided much social commentary believed that “the only happiness is the kind that you hold in your mind.” As such, the only happiness to be found was not on this world but those beyond, a fantastic escape.

Emily Wong & Victoria Tang: Final Project.

In this video, we analyze Salvador Dali’s Portrait of My Dead Brother. Enjoy!

I recently went to ICP, and exhibits that were being displayed there were truly amazing and inspiring. The one that I spent the most time on was the 9/11 memorial. The exhibit had a very solemn and serious feeling. I see the exhibit as a tribute to those who died on 9/11.

The thing that struck me the most was when I saw the piles of rubbish on the floor that actually came from the destruction of the Twin Towers. It made me realize just how real the situation is. It is not just an exhibit in a museum, nor is it just a piece of American history, it was a tragic happening that affected the lives of so many families. They lost lost the people that they loved. The exhibit made it all feel so real. I was deeply affected by the 9/11 memorial, and it got me thinking about the issue from a different perspective. My visit to ICP was an eye opening experience.

Being born and raised in Bay Ridge Brooklyn, I feel like what I call New York City is a mix of what I’ve experienced throughout my life. Many people automatically imagine the city life in Manhattan and the MTA when they think about NYC. For me though I feel like city life might actually only be a small part of what I consider to be my New York. Sure I love going to the city once in awhile to look at the skyscraper buildings, shining lights and to watch the constant movement. However when I take a step back and look at my life, how much of my life have I actually spent in the city? I can’t imagine my NYC life without the picnics I’ve spent in Central and Prospect Park or going to a nearby playground to enjoy the swings in the middle of the night. Below are 4 pictures that mix together to form what I consider my NYC because I feel like my NYC can’t be complete without all the other parts of it.

As someone who loves exploring, I’ve traveled around the city a lot, and I’ve found many things that make our city so unique. The form of expression we have is incredible and I feel like the city is what it is because you get a different feeling when you travel from one part of NYC to another.  NYC wouldn’t be as amazing as it is if people could only feel one thing from it. The first picture is a picture of Shore Road which is about 3 avenues down from my house. The view from Shore Road is amazing, whether you go there for a morning jog, to admire the ocean at night or to watch the sun rise and set. I love going at night and it’s especially amazing during July 4th with the fireworks. Shore Road has always been a place where I can just stroll around at, admire the scenery and smell fresh air. In the morning it’s so quite that it’s unbelievable and you feel like it’s just you and the water.

The next picture is a picture of Prospect Park. I feel like parks make a huge part of NYC. It’s what makes the city even more amazing because even though there are so many buildings and roads we can still find a huge park encompassed by greenery. The parks is what gives our city the serene side where families bring their kids out to the park to just relax and play.

Compared to the park, Times Square itself brings out a whole new image of NYC but it’s also the main image that people see NYC as. NYC wouldn’t be what it is without the constant motion of people and cars. We’re known as the city that never sleeps and in Times Square you’ll always find people there, no matter what time it is. Times Square is where all the main attractions of the city is from Broadway shows to huge department stores. It’s where everyone usually goes to have fun at night. This is the “other part” of my NYC and it’s a more adult like or party like compared to the Shore Road and parks part of my NYC.

The last picture is a picture of the playground near my house. Compare to Times Square the playground is more secure but yet the same level of activity is going on. Even though I’m 18 now I’ll still go to the playground to go on the swings. To me my NYC isn’t defined to a single image because my NYC simply isn’t limited to that. My NYC is a mix of what I’ve experienced and what I’ve taken from this city. There will never be a single image for my NYC because without the other parts, that one image won’t seem so significant.

I feel like the song  A Whole New World from Aladdin would describe NYC perfectly. It’s a song with amazement of the new found scenery and I feel like a lot of people who come to New York City are amazed by what they see and it’s totally differently from their own life.

On Thursday, November 10^th the Wolfe Institute invited DeeDee Halleck to speak about alternative media. Without a clear image of what the event was, I went on the notion of, “perhaps they’ll talk about how alternative media is effecting the way people express themselves or report things.” However, it was not so.

The first hour and a half consisted of stories. Stories of different radio programmes in different countries and how they came to be. They ranged from a communicative Bolivian Miners’ Radio to an empowering Honduran Teenage Radio. Each came with a little historic context and then, almost formulaically, their current success and influence. Despite the almost universal fact that these stations were representing the demands and preoccupations of “the people”, I felt that Halleck, for some reason, did not mention places that one would assume have much to do with rebellion, protest, and freedom of speech, namely, Egypt and the rest of the Middle-Eastern countries. The utter lack of any mention of the “Arab Spring” seemed odd and detrimental to the lecture because of their importance in the movements of Occupy Wall St. and the related causes.

Despite this, Halleck covered many different movements that while not inciting global occupations brought about practical and immediate change in there conditions. For example, the group that Halleck focused on the most was one of illiterate, rural, Indian women. Trained by a local university professor and given A/V equipment, these women were about to document their farming practices and related process to illuminate the damage certain government changes had caused and also to fight against the establishment of Monsanto terminator seeds. Their reports, sent to the government, helped pass legislature that benefited them and eased their woes.

But they are not alone, along with them were many others that worked in what Halleck called, “community media.” It is this resurgence of alternative media as a way of empowering and unifying the community that Halleck believes will be able to accomplish the dreams of movements like Occupy Wall St.: liberté, égalité, fraternité.

David Mills blew me away with his comical performance of the Langston Hughes works. Although I’m not a huge fan of poetry, I have enjoyed Hughes poetry in the past. Since Hughes is mostly known for his poetry I was really surprised to learn today that he had also written 47 plays which is more then what Shakespeare has written.

Mills performance was a combination of several of Hughes short stories. I found the way he started the performance interesting since instead of starting on the stage like others, he appeared from the back and had already begun his performance while walking to the stage. Voice in this performance is very important as he changes the pitch to let you know that there’s a change in character in his one man dialogue. He brings comic relief to the audience with higher pitch voice and the way he displays the characters attitude. My favorite part of the performance was the short story with the woman who was getting robbed by a kid on the street. I found the story funny but I also liked the underlying theme. The kid who’s trying to steal the purse didn’t realize the purse would be so heavy and in an attempt to run with the purse ends up falling himself due to the weight of the purse. He is then caught by the woman. Instead of bringing him to the authorities though, the woman brings the boy to where she lives, lets him wash his dirty face and even provides him with food. Throughout this part of the performance, I really enjoyed the way Mills changed from each character, from the shivering nervous kid to the powerful woman. He displayed the emotions behind their actions well by portraying how the woman now had control of the boy since she showed him who’s boss. The boy now afraid to run away from woman after attempting to steal her purse, just obeys her throughout the rest of the performance. What left me smiling in the end was when the woman asked him why he tried to steal her purse and he said then he wanted to buy shoes. Most people would get angry at people trying to steal their things but instead she replied with, “why didn’t you just ask me for the money?” At the end of that part of the story, the woman gives the boy $10 to buy his shoes. I found it nice that Hughes would write about the unexpected kindheartedness some people may have in them and I really enjoyed how well Mills displayed it. Mills never displayed the woman as gentle or naive, but it was rather the blunt way he portrayed her and how natural it was for her to just give.

As a treat to the audience Mills also performed one of his own works to compare it to Hughes “Merry go Round.” Mills performed his work titled “Great Adventure.” Both these works relate to segregation and racism. In both you can see the interaction the characters have with the issue of the race.  It’s kind of sad when you watch the performance and the children have to deal with the issue of racism on the rides. Mills “Great Adventure” is more of a modern day amusement park after Six Flags while during Hughes time there weren’t as many amusement parks. Mills tries to display how something we take for granted like all the amusement parks we have is precious to others and how they might not even be able to enjoy it as much. Throughout the story the children encounter segregation laws as they go on the rides. We see the guide cough after he says hold on to all your possessions which shows the stereotype that people hold. Compared to Mills interpretation of Hughes, the way he performs his own stories, is more active. There’s a lot more motion and it’s a lot more upbeat compared to his previous performance.

Ultimately, I really enjoyed David Mills performance. I felt that he interpreted Hughes really well and did a lot of research to get the right tone, feeling and message. His accents through the performance was to show where Hughes had written each work since he wrote one work in Italy and others in different areas. He also lived in Hughes old apartment for 3 years. I assume it would give him a better feel of the conditions Hughes was under when he wrote some of his works and the daily lifestyle Hughes would have in his neighborhood.

At IPC, my favourite photo was the real old school one of the house in black and white. Something about the wooden panels, use of shade and contrast along with the general humbleness of the abode gave it not only a an eerie ambience, but also a sense of history. For that I decided to write a little something.

“That creaking door, it leads to the bastard’s basement. That’s where they keep the children I hear.” Seán claimed, but I whispered back, “Ludcrisity!” He responded, “No, little injun Conall, he said so.”

We laughed, uncontrollable. Kept walking down the city land. The old youngster Paddy sat on the corner of the chemist’s house, panting, unrestrained.

“Don’t run in the mornin’ mate, it’ll kill ya.”

I knew it would but that didn’t stop me, or Paddy.  I told him, “Good on you, have a fair journey.” He said fine but still followed.

“I oughta have one.”

He did. We passed through the lane, swiftly dodging the drunken fathers on Amsterdam Avenue. Their children left in the bars as collateral for unpaid tabs. It was a sad affair surely. Seán came along too, step-by-step, right behind us, beyond us as well but only he knew that.

He whispered to ‘imself, thinking no one could hear him but hoping someone did, “Oi avent tha sloightest idea wher’ hes goin’. I ‘ont know.”

Paddy headed to a house in the middle of the lane, no different than the one to its right, no different than the one to its left, undistinguished among the rusted ruins of skyscrapers reminiscent of the overthrown empire. It was just dark, but he was cowardly; he was worried, frightened. Paddy was an ol’ pal. He had tripped up with us a fair lot. We almost got the dreaded sores together, yet another odd experience.

“Goodday o’ sunshine, dark-

day reins over night, sometimes.” I sing, a popular song of the city, sombre thing it is.

Paddy, the pal, and he was here, insufferable as he be, was. A nice, tall, square man, he was before door. An annoying fool. Dead to me, dead to all he was then. That house there had a nice old man with a 12 gauge shot gun and a jumpy finger.

It was to be expected though; that genius Paddy, it wouldn’t av happened any other way and I know how god abhors the immortal. Somewhat a hypocrite, that god fellow eh? Yarbles. Paddy would say if you asked him. He was one of them religious types, sorta. Thou shant have other gods, other than meself, god would go round sayin’. What a scribbish god. Paddy that fool.

The house was mighty cold, hellishly so, Satan ‘imself probably batin’ his wings in the basement, that masochistic fool. An irrevocable fetter ice is to one’s heart, but more importantly, one’s feet. It was a self-imprisoning classism, impossible to exit but all too easy to get caught in, poor Paddy.

It was a beautifully cold house though. Sparkling too, definitely a feast for those that such is of interest no doubt, but warily one must chew as it is one you are bound to choke on. It had these golden streamers on the walls, all mixed up with each other. There was a stairway to the left that led to an open door, this stair’s streamers were black, didn’t match the walls, hurt my eyes. We went up ‘em, crouched a bit, silent as could be. Paddy ain’t the fastest, that nervous prick, but once in he off’d the top lights, maybe he warn’t as scared, we needn’t be blinded but so we were, We went the first left and were left in the right, though left to stare at the blackening white wall, decaying from the inside out with a sort of vomit orange foam that poked out of a few holes. There green couch with the white man in it, black wears, black gun, silver bullets, red blood, pink n’ purple wall, yellow faces, back door.

We ran.

We ran.

We Ran.

Bright light, dark eyes, even darker, tainted souls; we were corrupted if we were innocent.

Poor Paddy, paddled in his own blue blood, benevolent.

When the massive towers of the World Trade Center fell on September 11, 2001, America was brought to her knees. Immediately thereafter, we joined together. Patriotism and love for our country was at its best.

The construction of the 9/11 memorial demonstrates that the patriotism and love for our country are still as strong as they were ten years ago. This tragic event will never be forgotten.

Although the 9/11 memorial is not completely built yet, what is already finished says a lot to those who have been affected physically and emotionally by the doings of the terrorists, and to those who do not recall any impact on them from the attack.

As I was nearing the 9/11 memorial site, I saw a lot of people waiting for entry. From there I knew that this wasn’t just any memorial. I didn’t expect there to be such heavy security. To me, the metal scanners that we had to pass through symbolized America’s great value and how we can’t let our country be caught off-guard to harm ever again. It felt a bit like as if I was going through airport security in order to board a plane, which also became much stricter after 9/11.  As I headed out of the security center, I noticed a huge board on the wall filled with photos of people from all over the world mourning with us. It showed us that 9/11 isn’t just significant to America, but many other foreign countries have felt the impact too.

When I officially entered the memorial, I was surprised and amazed at how simple and tranquil it was. Even though the place was filled with trees, benches, people, etc., I still felt the openness and emptiness. It strangely resembled the High Line Park. Despite the noisy construction surrounding the site, the open space still gave me the ability to reflect upon the reason why this memorial exists. I reminisced the day when I was picked up from school by my parents to go home and find out that the World Trade Center doesn’t exist anymore and that many innocent lives have perished into the flames and debris. Many families with young children were there too. Of course, the children were more carefree, and you could hear their laughter from time to time. I didn’t find this response to be particularly disrespectful, but it’s just that life goes on. Our job now is to remember the dead, but keep the living alive and hope that they’ll never see what happened ten years ago reoccur in their lives.

The North and South Pools were certainly exquisite. The huge and deep water falling from every side of the pools were so aesthetically pleasing. In the center of the pool, there is another waterfall effect. No one can ever see the end of the pools. Do they ever come to an end? Where does the water stop flowing? I believe that the falling water represents all the tears that have fallen for those who have passed away and suffered from the 9/11 attacks, and that those tears are never-ending because those we have lost from that unfortunate day will never leave our hearts. The myriad of names engraved on the stones that perimeter each pool are the souls our continuous tears are for.

For me, the trip to the 9/11 Memorial evoked many different emotions and feelings. After watching the news coverage of the 10^th Anniversary of 9/11, I did not expect to see the immensity of the memorial site. The television had only captured certain angles and views of a much large scene.  Financial buildings and corporate offices surround the site, and the nearby streets are teeming with workers and business. Yet as soon as I entered the memorial, that piece became blurred. Within in the site, there was a serene and quiet peace, everyone reverently tiptoed around and whispered softly, providing quite the contrast to the bustling surroundings. Another interesting aspect at the memorial was the individual commemorations left at some of the names. Families had come to pay tribute, leaving behind a small trinket or flower. These small tokens created a more personal and private memorial. Another curious characteristic of the memorial was the construction of the fountains. The water seemed to flow infinitely down and down, until it could no longer be seen. In my opinion, the flow of the waterfalls incited the image of falling towers on 9/11, when the collapses occurred the towers seemed to falling for an eternity. However, creating this image with water brings it to a new meaning with the water signifying a cleansing and purging—an opportunity to start anew and move forward.