“Mom, I’m OK!” is something I’ve said countless times in my eighteen years of existence. It’s a phrase that requires little thought and automatically comes out of my mouth. I’ve never given it much thought until yesterday, when I first saw the photograph “Mom We’re OK” on our trip to the ICP.

I didn’t think much of the picture when I first laid eyes on it. All I noticed was eight horizontal, alternating layers of black and white rows with a bunch of skinnier, vertical rows at the center. The picture bored me. I thought it was meant to be some fancy geometric picture, and that’s when I noticed three blue words, “Mom we’re OK,” on one of the white rows. After further analysis of the picture, things finally made sense to me. I realized that I was looking at the side of a beat up building. The white rows were balconies, and the dark rows were the windows of the building I was looking at. The three strange words on the side of the building appeared to be spray painted on a while ago- some of the paint appeared to be dripping down and fading.

At that moment, the image’s strength struck me. I could hardly fathom why someone would write that on the side of a building. I tried to come up with a story to go with the photograph, but everything I thought of was too emotionally taxing. I chose to write about this picture because I think it’s a good microcosm for what good art should be for everyone.

Good art should make people inquire about the circumstances under which it was created. It should make people question, study, and create interpretations of their own.

Overall, I enjoyed my visit to the ICP. I especially liked the exhibits on the first floor. Some of the pictures, like the one of a woman smoking crack and the one of a man on a gurney smoking a cigarette, were so obscure that I couldn’t possibly imagine them happening in real life! I also enjoyed the exhibits on the bottom floor. Something about seeing men at work made me feel connected to America and understand that true heroes are the people that work hard every day to make better the lives of other people. Because the two floors were so different, I learned that there are many ways people can express themselves. I can’t wait to see more throughout the semester!

Everywhere I look people identify themselves based on their musical preferences. There are the Indie inspired teenagers, the Rock and Roll loving guys, the Classics admirers and many more. I was never able to solely identify myself with any of these groups, and after last Tuesday night I finally understand why.

Being part of any one of those stereotypes means that you always listen to songs within your genre. You listen to whatever fits that mold and leave room for little else. You become immediately dismissive, but there is so much wrong with that attitude! Going to the Jazz made me realize that all music is beautiful in its own way and should be discovered and listened to by everyone (as idealistic as that may sound). Even though Jazz doesn’t make me want to find the closest dance floor and start dancing, I still think it’s beautiful.

I was taken aback by the emotion that was tucked away in the music. Listening to each and every set was just like watching the plot unfold in a movie. The deep sound of the bass, the graceful notes coming from the piano, the dynamic beats of the drum, and the occasional presence of the saxophones painted a unique picture in my mind. Every set carried a different meaning that I would try to decode by using my imagination. My favorite technical aspect of the performance was when the drummer took out two feathery looking sticks and used those instead of the conventional drumsticks that he was using before. I never knew such a soft and soothing sound could come from drums, a percussion instrument!

My only complaint about the performance is that I found it strange to just sit around and watch people play music the way we did. For some strange reason I felt like Jazz would be much more enjoyable in a social setting where people could mingle and talk to one another without the fear of disrupting performers. I can’t wait to find a cool Jazz club to visit!

I wasn’t sure what to expect of our night at the Brooklyn Museum. Visiting museums is something that I usually experience on a personal level, not a social one. I go with my grandmother, and as soon as we get there we each go our own separate ways and meet up at the end. Being bound to walking around a museum with three other people was intriguing enough, but the fact that we had to discuss each piece of art we selected for five minutes apiece was entirely a new concept for me.

At first, I found the assignment awkward and uncomfortable. My group had a difficult time choosing two pieces of art, and once we agreed on our selections we realized that we didn’t have much to say. On our first attempt we only used a minute and a half of recording time! However, after a while we all noticed that we were overanalyzing the situation. After all, art is art! It’s supposed to be something that elicits emotion and is interpreted on an intuitive level. We loosened up and just started talking about the art we saw instead of thinking about what we were going to say ahead of time, and I ended up having a blast! Hearing other people’s feedback happened to be extremely interesting. I learned that everyone truly does see things in a different light. Overall, I’m glad I had the opportunity to experience art in a whole new way.