Macaulay Seminar One at Brooklyn College

Had I not been Jewish, I don’t think I would have understood anything that the speakers discussed. I kept wondering if [most of] the class was able to pay attention not knowing the basis of Jewish food. Even though I’m Jewish, I was very unfamiliar with some of the foods they spoke about because they basically referenced Ashkenazi food and not Sephardic food. Sorry guys about those confusing details that we discussed in class! I really wish they mentioned Sephardic food because I have so many questions regarding that topic.

Otherwise, I thought it was really interesting. I’ve never been to a show or discussion that highlighted Jewish food before. And on the plus side, I’m kind of a foodie so I probably enjoyed this more than the average person.

P.S. Matzah balls are best dense!

I really enjoyed listening to the Mutter Virtuosi. Well I suppose it can’t just be limited to the listening, since the atmosphere and the sights contributed to whatever I was feeling as well. And that’s precisely the thing I wasn’t sure of before the performance—if I could close my eyes and experience the same thing with them open.

With my eyes closed, I could easily have been listening to a recording of the music. Not to say that listening to a recording isn’t “good,” but there’s something to a live performance that makes it all the more magical. Feeling the aura of Carnegie Hall—the lofty walls, plush red seats (albeit tight), the tons of music lovers all around—could only happen through the sense of vision. On top of that, watching the musicians as they played was fascinating. At times the harmony was so in sync that it seemed robotic, the way their arms moved back and forth at the exact same angle and speed. It really contributed to what I was listening to: those movements matched the music’s tenser and faster-paced moments, while the graceful swaying of Mutter and her students enhanced feelings of love and freedom that the blissful music expressed. At times they felt like more than musicians; they were dancers. And for me, that induced more than just an appreciation for classical music.

I’ve never really had any exposure to comics in the past, and so I found this whole unit that we did very fascinating and informative. The archives were really cool, although a little overwhelming with all the facts being thrown at us. The constant shock when it was discovered that we didn’t know which obscure writer created what obscure comic also didn’t help. But I found our tour guide to be interesting; she had a certain funk about her that brought the comics to life, and she certainly knew everything there is to know, which I always appreciate. In hindsight I suppose I am slightly disappointed that we didn’t discuss the more mainstream comics, but in truth it doesn’t make that much of a difference. I felt like I got a little glimpse into the comic world which was totally untouched before, so anything we learned about was a plus.

Thinking of comics as art definitely opened up a new thought process for me. I wouldn’t disagree that comics should be considered art; it does, however, elicit a different type of emotion than does traditional art (whatever that is), if it can be called an emotion at all. Comics can make the reader laugh, think about a current political situation in a new light, or become engrossed in a sci-fi story aided by illustrations and its unique story telling process. But does it make one feel? I think I can, but it hasn’t happened to me yet. I think we mentioned a few in class that were known to be specifically emotionally provocative, like Art Spiegelman’s “Maus.” I haven’t read that but I definitely should. But the fact that that one keeps coming up over and over again when we discuss the emotional aspect of comics makes me wonder: is Spiegalman the odd one out in this art form devoted to reader entertainment? Maybe the fact that we can’t seem to come up with more than a handful of “emotional” comics (and that’s being generous) is telling us something about the art form of comics as a whole. And I don’t mean to point this out in a derogatory sense, as if only visuals that stimulate profound thoughts or bring one to tears are significant. Quite the contrary; comics prove that art is more than an inexplicable language that only the sensitive-hearted can understand. If given the chance, I think comics would appeal to a variety of people, both artistically inclined and not. By this measure, comics may be reaching a wider audience than traditional artwork ever would and can spread messages very effectively, if it chooses to do so. And that in itself is something fantastic.

I had no idea what to expect going into this food talk. Would we taste food? What specifically about Jewish food was going to be discussed? Although those questions were answered once the panel discussion was over, I still left in a sort of confusion—and I actually understood most of what they were saying! I was just imagining what the others in our class thought; they must have suffered through an hour and a half of confusing jargon and seemingly humorous things that were not very funny at all.

The content itself was also slightly unsatisfying. Coming from a Sephardic Jewish upbringing, I felt slighted by the discussion. Everything was focused on Ashkenazi food—with the one exception of the passing Moroccan food as representative of all Middle Eastern foods. Middle Eastern food is highly expressive of an extremely rich and diverse culture that those exposed to any sort of Judaism seem to look over. That was one of my primary complaints that I had with the talk. Another significant one was the way they referred to everything in the past tense: it all had a nostalgic feel to it, as if everyone in the audience (who, by the way, were all secular Ashkenazi Jews over the age of 50) was remembering their grandmother’s attempt at keeping Judaism alive in the home. It was all so passé, a fond memory to look back on and smile. Hello! I wanted to yell. I’m a practicing Jew sitting right here! I still eat Jewish foods, none of which were mentioned, and they are still extremely important to my identity. And what happened to kosher being a significant attribute to Jewish food? Apparently that’s not a thing anymore.

Aside my qualms, there was a question that I should have mentally addressed but didn’t: is this a form of art? The food talk didn’t seem to point to yes; well, it didn’t seem to occupy itself with that question. But irrespective of the talk, I think food can be, but it’s less obvious. Does the culture attributed to it affect its ‘art’ status? I think our society looks at culture with an artistic eye, that it’s more a style of art than a style of life—which begs the question: can a lifestyle be a form of art? I think there would be differing opinions based on those living the lifestyle and those merely observing it. Truthfully I don’t really know, but I think the discussion highlights some important facets of art beyond the walls of a museum—in the street, in one’s home, in one’s life. Or in a food talk about the seemingly outdated culture that was apparently once known as the Jewish food of the world.

I feel as if I have so much to say about Carmen and yet nothing to say at all. I hated her for her flippant attitude and her overt and unabashed sexuality, and yet quite liked her for those exact same reasons. She was manipulative, cold, and selfish. But she was strong. She knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to get it. Like love, she was eternally free and would never be bound to anything or anyone. Maybe I admire that, the sense of freedom that allows her to live in honesty with her emotions and identity. But even though she was unafraid to act on emotion, she does so with a coldness that isn’t the normal tenderness that emotions should bring: she understands—and maybe prescribes—that her emotions will constantly change, and therefore she always changes. She has an effect on people, specifically her love on Jose. But it makes no difference to her. And that is something I despise: her inability to recognize anyone but herself. That’s exactly who she is, a gypsy constantly on the move—in physical space and in her heart.

Besides for the actual storyline, going to the opera was a great experience. I’ll admit, I grew pretty tired as the opera went on (come on, 3 hours is along time), and the constant flickering of my eyes back and forth between the stage and the translation wasn’t super comfortable either. But I liked being there, in that atmosphere, listening to the music of the show and marveling and the grand scenery that added so much. It was definitely a worthy experience.

I may not be an expert in the field of classical music, but I know I heard brilliance at Carnegie Hall. It was truly amazing, watching some of the world’s greatest instrumentalists come together to perform compositions of Vivaldi. Since I’m not familiar with classical music at all, it was difficult for me to know when the pieces were finished. It was also difficult to determine what season corresponded to each part in the third performance. However, the use of chords and chordal progressions helped me to figure out the emotions that were trying to be evoked by each instrumentalist.

I didn’t really enjoy the harpsichord solos. To me they seemed to be misplaced, or just unnecessary. It reminded me of how a child sometimes enters an intense scene of adults. The adults are extremely tense and something serious is about to happen. But then, a child somehow manages to come in between the adults and just causes some more problems. I thought the harpsichord could have been done away with. It wasn’t absolutely necessary. It broke the bond that was created by the virtuosi during the performance.

What was truly amazing was the movements that came with the people playing the stringed instruments. Each person had a distinct movement, but each distinct movement was similar to everyone’s around that person. This made it seem like a performance as well. It contributed to the mood and tempo of the pieces. When things got tense, fast, sharp movements were done. When things got playful, bouncy movements were done. And when things were soothing, large strokes by the bow were used, soothing the audience. I truly enjoyed this trip mainly for the way the violinists were able to create such a different atmosphere in the hall. They essentially created an illusion, bringing us into the worlds of some of the greatest composers of all time.

If there is any type of cuisine I am familiar with, I am certain that it is not Jewish cuisine.

Walking into Symphony Space, I became extremely excited. The building seemed small, but it helped create an intimate environment. The mood is set as soon as you walk through the doors. It was not a place that sold out crowds to thousands of people, it was meant to convey important information to the select few that found Jewish food interesting. Sadly, I was not one of those people. As soon as the food talk began, I was able to follow along with what the historian was saying. She was analyzing a photograph taken years ago. That specific part was easy to understand. However, everything after that confused me. I was lost less than halfway through the program. I think this is because Symphony Space expects only well-educated groups to come and sit through their events. I’m sure that if I were Jewish, or at least ate Jewish food sparingly, I would have understood what was going on more.

1. Where does art begin? Since the emotions that are present before you view an artwork heavily influence what you think about that artwork, does the art experience begin with the journey you take to see the artwork?

2. Can something that doesn’t evoke an emotion be art? If it doesn’t change the way you act, think or feel, can it be considered art? Does blank emotion count as type of emotion?

The Five Boroughs Food Talk at Symphony Space was an interesting event. I liked how the panelists had very diverse backgrounds. Some of them were Jewish and others were not. A few of the panelists at the event run Jewish food businesses and some are simply food historians. I felt that this diversity among the panelists allowed for a nice variation of perspectives regarding Jewish food. Although I enjoyed the discussion overall, I did not appreciate that it seemed to be targeted at a very specific audience. A person that did not have much prior knowledge regarding Jewish food or culture could easily have had a difficult time understanding the conversation. On a more positive note, I did enjoy the question and answer session at the end of the panelists’ interaction with the host. I felt that it was a good way to create a more personal connection between the audience and the panelists. I was, however, disappointed that I did not get called on to ask a question I had. I was going to ask Naama Shefi about what Israeli food, aside from the typical falafel and shwarma, she thinks will be coming to America in the near future. Finally, I was very happy that we were given goody bags at the end!

I really did love this event. I love “The Four Seasons” composed by Antonio Vivaldi. Plus, I thought it was awesome that we go those encores at the end. especially the first one, which was a movement in one of the seasons and the last one, “Air” by Johann Sebastian Bach.

Just as Jeannette asked, I had thought the same thing… What makes Anne-Sophie better than other professional violinist.? It’s a type of question that I always think of. What makes something better than another?

The performance was generally beautiful. The music was beautiful. I also really enjoyed watching them all play. The synchronization of all the musicians was really cool. At times they even seemed to be feeling the same emotions from the music while they were moving in the same ways.

Winter. That is and was always my favorite, especially the first movement. I love the main violin part. It really just captures me and takes me along with the music. It made my heart physically feel something that I just can’t really explain.

That is a major part when I noticed the fingers on the violin. Anne-Sophie had to move her fingers and her bow so quickly that I couldn’t follow them with my eyes. And (to my ear at least) she didn’t mess up. It was flawless.

Earlier than that, I noticed the fingers specifically on the cello. The reason is because I had some experience with playing the cello and from that I could really understand how hard it is. I tried to imagine myself playing what they were playing (and for that long at a time!) and I thought that I would just fail at it (I mean yes, they are professionals). It makes me sad to think that even with real practice and training (which I hope I could get back to) I won’t be able to play half as good as they do.

But that just shows that this is all they do and it’s their lives. The spend most of their lives playing their respect instruments and performing. Creating the sounds of beautiful music for all of us to enjoy. And for those instances that I am watching them and really sinking into the music, I feel that we’re connected, almost as if I’m playing with them.

(And then a harpsichord solo can bring me back to reality.)