Macaulay Seminar One at Brooklyn College

Hello class,

This is a reminder that this Thursday I will be leading a discussion of photography using chapters 1&7 of Ways of Seeing as a guide.In preparation of this class, remember to do the following:

1. Please read these chapters and bring the book with you to class.
2. Bring in or post one photograph (either a professional artistic photo, an advertisement, or a photograph you have taken) to analyze.
3. We will also reflect on your experience at both the Vietnam Veterans Memorial and the 9/11 Memorial, so make sure to read and comment on your classmates posts to refresh your memory of this trip.
4. If you have not done so already, post your description of the photograph you choose to describe at ICP.
5. Review this site in order to help you take your Snapshot Day photo (we will go over this together in class as well): http://kalidraws.tumblr.com/post/32953413185/today-i-gave-my-students-a-quick-presentation-on

I am looking forward to seeing you soon!

Hey guys, so I tried to find the pictures that I was going to talk about right now to make it easier but i was only successful in finding one of them. So the first picture that I found and that struck my curiosity was a picture by Tim Jarvis titled, Anglican Priests at graveside of Craddock, Eastern Cape, 1985. This lengthy title does the liberty of giving some of the details of what I saw in the pictures. So, It was a close up of Anglican Priests, all of which had their fists raised up. Behind them was a crowd of people, most of them regular except for this one irregular white woman in the back. “What was this white woman doing?” I asked myself. What place did she have at this graveside, and was she there to mourn or was she there to show support. She didn’t seem to have a mournful face but she seemed rather joyful. It was weird. And i couldn’t exactly wrap my finger around it.

This next picture, I saw as I was leaving the picture of the Anglican Priests. It is by a photographer by the name of Gille de Vlieg and is titled, Pauline Moloise, two women and Winnie Madikizela Mandela mourn at the memorial service for Benjamin Moloise , who was hanged earlier that morning, Khotoso house, Johannesburg, 1985. Here I saw a row of ladies in the front mourning over this man with a row of men in the back also holding up the same fist that I saw in the first picture that i came across. I started to think about this symbol of the fist. What did it mean? What was it a symbol of? Why a fist raised up? Fists usually symbolize aggression, but how did that tie in? Questions, Questions, Questions.

Finally, the last picture that i saw was another Tim Jarvis picture entitled, UOF meeting, Claremont, Cape Town, 1985. It showed a white woman on a podium also holding up her fist like the men in the photo above. This just added even more to the curiosity behind the fists!

Last Thursay I had the pleasure of visiting the International Center of Photography with a friend and my Macaulay classmates (that’s all of you!). On the way to the ICP we met familiar faces from our childhood on 42nd Street (Sesame St and Toy Story represent). There was some interesting imagery at the CP, not all of it PG-rated. I noticed how the so-called ‘candid’ images were much more fascinating than those portraits of influential people that were abundant. I was drawn to the vintage magazines that lay beneath the glass. Most striking was that they lacked the superfluous text that infests most magazine covers today (refer to any edition of Seventeen). The cover usually had just a color portrait, with a reference to some sensational news on page XX. On the lower floor were more photos and also some illustrations. Particularly I am referring to those that were drawn upon pages of New York Times. I was all done and just about ready to leave, when – unbenownst to me – there was actually an assignment to be completed. Whoops! With the last few minutes, I tried to scrounge up the most interesting photo of the lot. It was going to be a challenge, but finally I found something that really caught my eye. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it online. Those of you who’ve seen it, great! Others, try to imagine it through my words.

It was titled ‘Sheep Farmer and Son,’ 1983, by Wendy Schwegmann. Basically it was a boy and his father in front of some white house. Details, details. The boy had a gun, a pistol sort of thing, and it was directed at someone or something (hopefully the latter!) outward and to the right of the picture. He was fat, and chubby, and short. So not the most athletic kid on the block. I’m thinking of Piggy here from Lord of the Flies (great book if you haven’t read it). He was also wearing pants. The dad was looking on outward and to the left of the picture (he’s facing the photographer but his body is directed to the left). He’s an ordinary man, except for the fact that he is wearing short shorts! What I mean is he is wearing those ‘boy scout’ shorts that the kids usually wear (remember that white boy with the watch that we discussed in class?) I thought it interesting that the boy had on pants while the fatherly figure was wearing the shorts of childhood. Something like a societal reversal, don’t you think? Something like turning social norms upside down, maybe? Like the end of apartheid, I would say.

After that enlightening visit, we endured the trek down to West 4th, where we caught a showing of Luz at La Mama. I did not really catch on to the one actor=multiple characters thing that was going on. It seemed kind of all over the place, which made it hard to follow. One aspect I thoroughly enjoyed, however, was that little bit with the Carmina Burana. It made me chuckle when they mentioned performing it at Carnegie Hall, an event I personally attended earlier this year where chorus members from my own school were performing. The incorporation of the Roasted Swan (which is a tenor solo and has its own movement) was a welcome addition. My favorite character was the ‘businessman,’ who had the same attitude as one of the guys who appear in Jersey Boys: smooth, fast-talking, and confident.

It was an OK way to spend an evening, I’d say, and I’ll close with these few photos I took during the trip.

Elmo’s excited. Sofia doesn’t look too pleased!

Is there some chemistry between them? Artur laughs and looks on.

Nice to see the Empire State up close. Great view at the top, from what I’m told!

A skyscraper with an interesting facade. I wonder what goes on there?

Saying goodbye to the Empire State Building. See you soon!

There isn’t much art in the area of Brooklyn where I live and have lived since birth. There’s a bunch of houses, apartment buildings, shops and synagogues. Nothing stands out as artistic besides some of the nicer houses so I decided to take a trip to Coney Island, ten minutes away from home.

When tourists think of the Brooklyn, they think of Coney Island, which is home to the Brooklyn Cyclones, Astroland (now called Luna Park after some transfer of ownership) and of course the eighty-five-year-old wooden coaster called the Cyclone. The skill and originality of the roller coaster design along with its popularity make up one of the most significant symbols of Brooklyn, enough that it became an NYC landmark. I wonder if anyone would consider a roller coaster art. Nevertheless, I feel the whole design of the park and its colorfulness would make it art.

An attempt at taking a picture of the park from the Wonder Wheel through the fog

Wonder Wheel – The scary old Ferris wheel

Luna Park Entrance

The Cyclone

A current dweller of Monsey, NY (Rockland County), I couldn’t seem to think of any specific piece of art that defines the place. No specific architecture. No specific memorial. No specific form of transportation. Well, I needed to find something that defines where I live. So, while there is no specific piece of art that is manmade to define my community, “Mother Nature” has definitely left her mark. If paintings and photographs of nature are considered art, then surely G-d’s work itself is art, as well.

The contrast of the abundant nature and scenery of where I currently live to where I first grew up (Flatbush, Brooklyn) is best made by friends from the city that come over for a visit. Comments like “you live in middle of nowhere!” and “why are there hardly any sidewalks?!” cause me to appreciate the tranquility of the suburb in which I live even more. And, my (Monsey born) little sister’s remarks upon our visits to Brooklyn of “How did you live here? It’s so crowded and gloomy” cause me to remind her to to appreciate the nature that surrounds her every day.

This past Thursday I had the opportunity to visit the area where the Twin Towers stood for the first time in about 15 years. I don’t have any memories of that first visit unfortunately, but the day they went down will be ingrained in my memory forever.

The first thing I noticed about the memorial site was the design of the Freedom Tower and the surrounding buildings. They all have a beautiful reflective surface that reflects the sky and the surrounding buildings. Together, they create a breathtaking visual effect. I can only imagine how amazing the area will look when all of the construction is finished.

When walking into the memorial, I had some idea of what it would be like based off of descriptions that my friends had given me. The actual memorial however, blew my  ideas out of the water. I was unprepared for the sheer size of the North and South Pools. They really help people who never had an opportunity to visit the original site get an idea of how big these buildings really were.

The color black was used heavily throughout the two pools. Black is traditionally associated with mourning. In the memorial it helps set a somber tone that aids in reflecting on the lives that were lost.

Around the perimeter of the of the pools are the names of the people who lost their lives. Hearing how many people died and actually seeing most of their names were very different experiences for me. Seeing the names helped me better reflect on what a profound tragedy this was.

A common theme that I think I noticed was how the victims of the attacks were themselves, made a part of the memorial in a symbolic sense. When I looked at the names I noticed that they were cut into the bronze rather than written on top. While this was likely done so that the names could “light up” at night, I felt that there was another reason as well. Cutting into something is very different from simply writing on top of it. When a cut is made into something that cut is now a part of that something. The names are part of the memorial and by extension, so are the people.

I think this also applied to the water in the pools. The water flowed out from the area with the names and then plunged deep inside the memorial. I like to think that the water was representative of the people and that by going inside the memorial it was like they were becoming a part of its foundation.

One of my favorite parts of the memorial was the Survivor Tree. After reading its story I was really amazed. I thought it was really cool how it was representative of the resilience of the survivors. On a larger scale it also represents how New York and the country persevered  in the wake of the attack.

It’s hard for me to remember 9/11/2001. I remember sitting in school, doing work like usual, and the teachers all told us to quietly get up and move into an assembly room. As I went to school at a Jewish Day School in a very populated suburb of Boston, they had concerns about our safety. Everyone around the country who was near any city was concerned about safety. The country essentially shut down for close to 24 hours until what happened could be sorted out. I can say I remember that day, but I can honestly say I don’t remember what the world was like pre-9/11 security.

The events on 9/11 changed the way the world works. I can’t remember a time when metal detectors and X-Ray machines weren’t standard, or expected.  It’s been a part of the way my generation has grown up.

Not having a visceral memory of the events, I came into this memorial hoping to feel and experience what had happened over 11 years ago. One of my mother’s coworkers’ husband was John Ogonowski, the pilot of flight 11, the first flight that hit the north tower, but I still had trouble connecting with the events of that day.

The memorial did it for me. The sheer majesty and magnitude of the sight hits hard right as you walk through the gate, while walking the grounds makes you realize the sheer size of the buildings that once stood here. The design of the memorial is spectacular, as the symbolism of the water flowing through the footprints of the buildings is detailed all the way down to the opening under the nameplates where you can actually reach in and touch the water. It’s striking. I only saw a few people who looked like they were mourning the loss of a loved one, but to see their anguish as they placed yellow flowers on the plaque next to the name of those they lost was unbelievably powerful. The site is incredible.

We were also fortunate that we stayed long enough to see the lights come on in the pools as well as underneath the names. The water is lit up so it appears as though they create another dimension, making the pool look twice as large. Each droplet gets a sliver of light as it cascades into the center. The names each get backlighting as well, as you can see in the photos below.

To be able to take a moment of silence, a moment of reflection, and a moment of peace at this memorial is something I’m glad I had the opportunity to do. To imagine all those who did not or will not have the opportunity to make it to New York to see this beautiful representation of a horrific tragedy is difficult, and proximity is one thing definitely on a student in NYC’s side. It was tragic, moving, and remarkable, and I can’t wait to visit again.

Hi everyone!

I had never been to either the 9/11 Memorial or the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, so I really enjoyed the experience of visiting them this past Thursday. Although I did not lose anyone in my immediate family on the day of the attacks, I certainly was, and still am, affected by that tragic event in a rather profound way. As I walked around the two pools reading the seemingly endless list of names, they really struck an emotional chord in me. The one in the picture below that reads, “Vanessa Lang Langer and her unborn child,” caused me to pause in a moment of reflection, for I was admirable of the mother-to-be’s selfless act, yet deeply troubled by the life that never was.

I really enjoyed the sound of the waterfall as it created an overall soothing sensation around the memorial. The sight of the fluid, rather than static, water also brought a sense of being cleansed, as if all the hatred, anger, and despair surrounding that day was being washed away into the dark depths of the pools. We are now in a process of regrowth as we begin to rebuild physically, in the form of new trees and buildings, but emotionally as well. And this, I thought, was very appropriately reflected in the sign they placed on the grass.

I was born in the Pakistani city of Lahore.  My family moved to New York before I turned one. Since that time we have periodically returned to Lahore to visit loved ones. For this assignment, I looked for something that reminded me of those trips.

The image below is of a watercolor painting titled Basant. It was made by Dr. Ajaz Anwar, an artist who dedicates his works to perserving the cultural heritage of the city. This particular piece really spoke to me.

Source: http://www.oldlahore.20m.com/photo2.html

Basant is a large annual festival that celebrates the coming of spring. People celebrate by flying beautifully colored kites. On this day, the sky is literally full of kites. The painting helps give people an idea of what it looks like.

While I’ve only been lucky enough to participate in the festival once; the kites in the painting remind me of Lahore. Kite flying in general is a popular pastime in Pakistan. During my trips, on any given afternoon you could see at least a few kites sailing high above the city.

Another aspect of the painting that reminds me of Pakistan is the roof. It may sound silly but it’s true. Large, flat, accessible roofs are a part of most houses there. Not only are they the go to place for kite flyers but in warm weather people like to sit outside on the roof to enjoy the view and cool breeze. A lot of my memories are simply of spending time on the roof of my cousin’s house, enjoying the day and each others company.

I pondered for a few days how exactly I can capture my neighborhood with a photograph. As a resident of Elmhurst, my first thought was inevitably a picture of Queens Center Mall, but I decided that would be too boring and clichè. I thought about taking a picture of the New York City skyline that can be seen from behind my apartment building, but then I thought to myself, “What!? You don’t live in Manhattan!” Finally, I decided to take a picture of Queens Boulevard, one of the many jewels of the borough. I realize that it may be a bit trite, but it is still not as boring as a picture of Queens Center, in my opinion. At any time of day, at any point on the boulevard, this is about exactly what you would see: an endless expanse of streetlights, headlights lined up two by two, and lines of brightly lit stores, ranging from chain stores to restaurants to delis to dentists’ offices to barber shops. Additionally, you would see lines of apartment buildings behind these stores.I tried to express this diversity through this image. It may be a bit difficult to see, however. I notice now, that by pure accident, I managed to capture a moving MTA bus. This is a good representation of my neighborhood as well because areas such as mine rely quite heavily on public transportation. I live near several large shopping centers, so people coming from all over the five boroughs need a convenient way to reach these places.