As soon as I saw the stage light up at BAM, my imagination was captivated. The music and light from the first scene created a serene atmosphere and I was reminded of the ocean, as if the dancers themselves were placed on the shores of Africa. When I watch dance performances, my mind usually lingers, and linger it did in a sense, but my eyes were still drawn to the stage. My favorite part of the performance, done by the Urban Bush Women and Compagnie Jant-Bi, was when a group of guys came on stage. This was partly because from afar, before that I could not entirely tell which of the performers were male or female. The men danced raucously but with graceful and synchronized movements.

Movement was the best way to describe Les Ecailles de la Mémoire. I loved when the men danced with their red cloths, bringing color and unity to the stage. The red cloth set my memory in motion once again, because one of my good friends once wore a shirt of that color during a significant time in my life. Even though the story was a little hard to follow, I thought there were several motives that infused the plot with meaning. Kinship, joy, relationships, and the past were all touched on at different times. The onlookers were provoked to think. The dancers portrayed playful and complex people in a graceful manner. The combination of the Women from Brooklyn and the others from Senegal created a dance style that was impressive, unique and memorable, leaving a memorable impression on the diverse audience.

At an instant, when Sam Freedman visited our classroom, one could tell he was dedicated and humble. Barely late at all, he was apologetic of running a bit behind, despite countless valid excuses. What a busy man! I believe a lot of his energy and drive contribute to his successes as a writer, teacher, and human being. When he began speaking about his novel, one could tell he was kind, despite what could be considered mean about his nature towards his mother in “Who She Was.” He spoke as an author should, with words full of color. One thing that struck me as odd was the repetition of the word obscure to describe his mother. It is such an honest word, but I would have used it to negatively describe someone whose character I find to be slightly off, yet he used the word without remorse, as if it was in full of meaning, but dead in the way I am used to.

Sam Freedman’s search for honest facts enthralled me and made me wonder what drove this man to such integrity. I am glad he has seemed to make atonement with his mother by writing the novel. He seems like a good man who has had regrets, but he is changed forever because of it. He was extremely helpful in giving us advice for our own papers. His research methods are so involved, which further show his dedication to make amends with his mother. Another thing the Freedman taught me was that it is much easier to make amends with a family member while they are still living!

On April 23^rd, 1958, my father, Joseph Andrew Musgrove, was born in Washington, D.C., and then lived in Oxon Hill, Maryland, a short walk away from Southeast D.C.  He was one of five boys born to Tom Hardwick Musgrove and Dorothy Hall Musgrove, as part of the Baby Boomer generation. Each of the brothers is two years apart in age and he is the second youngest. His father was in the Navy and he met my grandmother in Virginia at Colonial Beach by the Dahlgren Naval Station. My grandmother grew up in Washington D.C. but my grandfather came out of poverty in Newton, Georgia. That region is so poor that the Great Depression changed nothing for his family because they could not get any more impoverished. The first house my father lived in was a two bedroom, one bathroom triplex, undersized for seven people and a dog, so it’s understandable why he says, “I don’t think it ever crossed my parents mind to move because the neighborhood was going to change. I think it was just time. … We definitely needed more space.”

When he was eight years old, he moved to a more rural part of Oxon Hill, named Friendly, and two years later his old neighborhood was nearly completely black. The neighborhood’s demographics changed quickly. This seems most interesting to me because he grew up in the 60’s and 70’s, when race riots and the Civil Rights Movement were occurring. He described growing up in such a tumultuous time as, “Those decades, especially the 60’s were times of great drama, accentuated by the fact that most of it was brought into our living rooms by television. For me, it started with the Kennedy assassination. I was five years old and fairly aware for my age. I remember vividly the day of, and the days after the assassination. I particularly remember being upset that Saturday morning cartoons were disrupted by coverage of the funeral. Then the killer, Lee Harvey Oswald got shot, and that was also on T.V. It wasn’t too long after that when Herbert Hoover died, so I sat in front of the tube and watched another horse drawing a flag-draped coffin riding down Pennsylvania Avenue. It wasn’t long after that when I began to realize that the civil rights movement was gaining momentum and things were getting stickier in Viet Nam. My oldest brother turned 18 in 1964 so the concept of possibly being drafted also entered into the picture.” He was barely six.

His mother was a secretary for the Department of Agriculture and his father was a truck driver at the Washington Navy Yard. Living on the border of D.C. He explained, “My parents had to show papers to enter D.C. to go to work. My old neighborhood had soldiers with tanks and guns and jeeps patrolling the border. The skyline glowed orange from all the fires. You couldn’t even buy gasoline for your lawn mower for fear that you might be building Molatov Cocktails, which were little bombs that you made with gasoline and a rag in a bottle. That was all in the name of the civil rights movement and racial tensions in the U.S. The sentiment against the war was also escalating at a rapid pace during that time.” This was happening when there were the hippies and drugs on the news, increasing the generation gap.

My father’s family used to go to the Washington Monument every year to watch the fireworks. He describes one of these outings as not so pleasant, “When the big riots came in 1968, I had a front row seat… Not only were the fireworks spectacular, but there was always a potential that something would happen. I remember one year the Yippies, who were like militant hippies, were protesting and causing trouble and the Park Police tear gases them and got thousands of other people including me and my family.” I cannot imagine going to watch a spectacular show of fireworks and in turn being partially blinded. What a nightmare all of this seems like to me. Of course T.V. played a large part in all of this. My dad told me that, “The younger generation, who were already in a low-level rebellion in the early sixties, really got hot when the war was escalating. No one had a good explanation on why we were even there, and every night at supper time we saw the horrors of war on T.V.”

Presidential assassinations, race riots, the draft, and the war: at a young age, this all hit close to home with my father quite literally. Which is why it blows my mind when he tells me that he was still a pretty happy little kid, remembering the best historical achievements of those decades to be a man on the moon and the Beatles.  Music has always been one of his passions and it defines him throughout his transition from childhood to adulthood. He was not satisfied with the radio stations until they were more rock infused. “You would not believe the crap we were listening to on the radio. And I don’t mean our parents music. Guys like Frank Sinatra and Henry Mancini were big on the radio, and I didn’t pay much attention to that but it wasn’t awful. The awful stuff was like Alvin and the Chipmunks, the Singing Nun, the Monster Mash, Flying Purple people Eaters and a bunch of crap like that. Just horrible!” Still, he gave no complaints about his childhood.

Other than the terrible music, he didn’t mind growing up in such volatile decades because they brought good change along with the bad. Aside from the protests and war showing up on the news, my dad always seemed to see life in an optimistic light. He enjoyed the more positive aspects of television with great enthusiasm. He always seems to remember tunes from outdated commercials and old television shows, and “Going to the moon was cool…and I saw it all live on T.V.”

In the early 70’s, while he was still in secondary school, there were fewer assassinations, but still a lot of turmoil. “There were protestors everywhere. If not race riots, then war protests, or just those guys that wanted to protest the establishment in general. Early in the decade, there were the college students killed by National Guardsmen at Kent State University.” The biggest disappointment my father felt, however, was in 1971, when the Washington Senators moved to Texas. As a 13-year-old baseball fan in Washington, it was devastating to my father, as well as to his family. On the brighter side, “That blow was probably softened a little by the Redskins getting better after decades of decline.”

Despite all these crazy on goings occurring during his childhood, my father does not complain, but instead, he embraces the positive aspects of where he was born, grew up, and where he later settled down. “Well, let’s see, you sure meet a lot of different people from different places. Almost everyone here is from somewhere else. Living in Virginia is kind of neat since it has so much rich history, being the birthplace of eight presidents and all. And the museums in D.C. are some of the finest in the world, and most people in America don’t realize that they’re all free! Then there’s the monuments and other cool Government Buildings like the Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the FBI. and Arlington Cemetery. It’s kind of neat filling out a form that asks what state you were born in and you can say N/A.

After the tragedy of the Senators leaving, and then the Redskins finally winning again, my dad began college at University of South Carolina in the Navy ROTC program.  Even though he was far away from Washington D.C. for the first time in his life, he still followed close behind his parents footsteps. He served courageously in the Navy like his father. His parents were both employed by the federal government, and he, too, married a government employee. In his life, among owning a baseball card and collectible store, he has also worked for the government and then as a contractor working with the government. Growing up near Washington D.C. has defined my father as a person and the decades in which he grew up have left an impression on him that still affects him in his interests and work ethic today.  When speaking about what type of work he does when I so often get confused by how he is either an engineer, program manager, or contractor, working for either the Navy, a corporation, the government, or all three at once, he often tells me that he is taking a step towards “Making the world safe for democracy.”

Glass Ingots from Uluburun Shipwreck

Falcon Pendant

Standing outside of the Met for the first time, I wondered what lay ahead.  Despite the construction near the steps, the museum still appeared majestic.  The large scale of the pale sandy colored building reminded me of many of the museums I have been to in Washington, D.C., of which if I had never visited before, the Met may have appeared like a castle to me.  Of course, the inside of the museum was even more beautiful.  The high ceilings and the Greek columns gave the museum an open and airy feeling, and the lighting, which overall was bright but not harsh imbued the impression of a place not to be missed.  My friends and I even noted the elegance of the staircases, which were simple and sleek, and I haven’t even gotten started on the Met’s art.

I thought that the Babylon exhibition seemed interesting because I have always been intrigued by cultures of the ancient Egyptians and the other lands nearby.  I for one am thankful that the Babylonians, well known for their rich history, beautiful art, and intricate artifacts, left behind plenty of treasures for us to cherish.  My favorite part of the exhibit was of the Uluburun Shipwreck and the items salvaged.  There were samples of Glass ingots, which are truncated cones of stone that are fired up to become glass. There was 770 pounds of ingots on the ship.  I found the colors of the glass they used in Babylon quite attractive: deep cobalt, rich turquoise, vibrant purple, and stunning ambers.  I learned from the exhibition that blue glass is actually a substitute for precious stone.

I also viewed another artifact that had to do with glass only it was less colorful.  It was a large Canaanite jar that held glass beads.  The jar was made of ceramic, but the glass beads blended right in color wise, as if they were an attached mass of various sized blobs all in the same shade of off-white.  There were both plain globular beads and decorated beads.  The beads were wire wound, which means they were not on a necklace, but instead strung onto wire, most likely on the ship as merchandise.  I found all of the glass and supplies to make jewelry on the ship to emphasize the Babylonian’s culture as one infused with adornment, and I enjoyed exploring the art, culture, and history that the Met had to offer.

Frances Richey seemed more like a peer than a superior, stylishly wearing a vivid purple knit cardigan with a matching shirt and a belt around her waist.  Even her ornate earrings seemed unexpected to me to be worn by a middle-aged woman.  Regardless, I immediately knew that she had flair and I hoped her personality matched her creative style that initially drew me in.  She created a humble and compassionate atmosphere by greeting students arriving late with a “Thank you for coming, I’m glad you made it.” Instead of feeling irritated or set back, she happily volunteered to fill them in on the material they had missed.

            She has worked in sales and marketing before, so it is little surprise she could capture the attention of her audience.  She was chatty but articulate about serious matters. Her recent book “The Warrior,” is a collection of poems she wrote when her son decided to serve his country by joining the green berets.  It was a way for her to tell him about things that she couldn’t talk to him in person about.           

            I half-expected her poetry to be boring and cheesy, like I often disappointedly find poetry to be, but her talent for detail and imagery to combine with a subject that creates conflict and emotion was a welcome surprise.  For example, when she writes about her son’s graduation from West Point, she describes swallows overhead as “black butterflies,” whose “bloody throats arrived out of nowhere.”  I had been a little worried that her poems would be about something irrelevant to my life, like her lost love or something like that.  Instead, there was a motif of war, soldiers, and motherhood combined. I appreciated her more realistic poetry in comparison to the naïve or idealistic.

 I noticed an interesting reoccurring theme of vertigo throughout her poetry and I found it a dramatic tool to emphasize the hardship she faced with her son being away.

            By the time Ben grew up, Fran decided to start writing after attending a poetry workshop at a hospice where she was volunteering.  All of the death in the hospice taught her a lot, especially about how quickly life could end.  Her twenty years of employment in the business sector made her hospice work and yoga teaching seem ironic, but peaceful and youthful at the same time. She genuinely told us, “I’m interested in you,” and I believed her. With her sense of energy, her trendy clothes, and her ability to tell her life stories as if we were her best friends, it was as if Frances channeled her charisma from the teenagers in the audience themselves.

I have made many a collage, which is why I knew I did not want to make mine on an 8 and a half by 11 sheet of paper.  I love making collages and I did not want to be limited to a small amount of space.  Initially, I used a magazine with very large pictures, so the materials I was working with required a lot of space.  I decided to use a box because it has an inside and an outside.  The outside of my box represents the surface, or for me personally, my outward appearance.  There is a large photograph of a hand opening a doorknob.  I liked the used of black and white in this picture so I decided the entire outside the box would look more uniform if it was mostly black and white.  On the surface, it often looks like my life is uniform, and everything appears to be in order.  Once one opens the door and see inside, or for instance look into the box, they realize that there is a lot more than what meets the eye. 

The inside of the box represents the inner workings of my mind.  The “Luna Sunrise” wrapper represents me because I am full of contradictions, just as Luna, in other words the Moon, contradicts the Sun.  I travel a lot, hence the Metrocard.  I recognize different seasons in my life, which is why there is “the fall” in my collage.  I used the wrapper of a “Cup Noodles” because it was spicy chile chicken flavor and I love spicy food, but I am very lazy when it comes to cooking so I make food that is quick and easy. 

There are items hanging in the box to add depth.  It parallels the depth of my thoughts. The beaded flowers are part of a friendship bracelet.  Its bright colors brighten up the box like my friends light up my life.   There are soda bottle caps to represent my sentimentality. Strawberry crush soda is one of my favorite sodas. I have fond memories drinking that soda, and I have a lot of memory and significance attached the flavor strawberry as it is.  The geometrical metal design is just something I found.  Art is often just found spontaneously, but that does not necessarily undermine an object’s importance. I then used the metal as a part of the bigger picture.  I see it as a cage for the bird that is “flying” through it.  “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings” is the title of one of my favorite poems and books by Maya Angelou.  At the end of the poem, Angelou says, “The caged bird sings for freedom.”  Freedom has always been a very important concept to me.  I cannot stand being forced into a certain position or being controlled.  The woman with the apple reminds me of my favorite perfume, DKNY Red Delicious, and it also reminds me of temptation.  Freedom brings temptation upon us, but it also emphasizes the importance of responsibility. 

At the bottom of the inside of the box is the word “faith” because it is the basis of my beliefs and ambitions.  Also, if it weren’t for my faith, my life would not have a strong foundation, but it would be rather shaky.  I believe that no matter what, my faith should remain something I can always fall back on.  I hope that the rest of my collage can speak for itself, but if not, I leave it up to your own interpretation.  No matter what, however, please enjoy it, it’s art. 

Initially I had no idea what my photography theme would be. I love taking pictures, so I have a hard time holding back and focusing on a specific subject matter. Because of my obsessive clicking with a camera, I decided I would just take a million pictures and then decide what my theme could be, choosing a few photos with a unifying connection.

             After only taking a few random photographs, I had a better idea of what I wanted my theme to be. I ended up deciding on a theme I call “City Lights” because I like taking photographs that have glare from light or that use light to make contour shadows more apparent, adding contrast. Light is one of the main components of photography since it has to do with both the flash and the shutter, among other technicalities. The first photograph that caught my interest was one called “Prism.” Its really interesting glare flooded my mind with images from memory of the pictures I have taken which showcase the unpredictable qualities which light can bring forth.

            In a city with numerous streetlights, car lights, building lights, and lampposts, the task of photographing pictures with light as the emphasis seemed pretty easy. However, I could not use pictures with interesting reflections made by the sun because the weather was dreary on all of the days I took photos. I wanted to also emphasize the interesting reflections made by the flash, or lack there of, on glass surfaces such as windows. This is a very difficult thing to capture and takes up time used for trial and error since reflection pictures are often blurry if you do not use flash or washed out if you do. In the city, everything and everyone moves so fast that I did not have time to capture many successful reflection pictures.

Since I did not want the pictures to appear forced but I wanted them to just happen naturally, the type of pictures I could use was limited. Also, I had to expand the types of photos I would use. Cloudy days made me realize that my favorite “Prism” photograph may be hard to recreate during the daytime because of the lack of sun. I wanted to avoid photographs containing gray skies in a theme based around light. I then decided that it would be a good idea to take pictures at dusk so as to capture the lit streetlamps and the contrast between the dark of night and bright lights of New York. Taking pictures at night is difficult because my camera’s flash and lenses are not exactly well suited for the dark. I had to experiment with my camera’s settings depending on the amount of light each scene I photographed contained. Many of the photographs I took turned out to be blurry. When I saw a photo opportunity, I had to take the photo several times using different settings and then decide which one came out better. My photograph “Park After Dark” was one of the most difficult pictures to take. Out of taking six pictures of the sculptures, the one that I put in my power point was the last one I took, and it was the only photograph that was not blurry.

            Another challenge that I had was deciding whether or not the photos I wanted to use exemplified my theme and did not have too many distractions to take away from what I intended by the photograph. I wanted my photos to be cohesive, yet varied. I had to get over the fact that people might not see my pictures in the same light I do, no pun intended. Some of my night pictures were blurry but in a good way. I found them surreal, but I had to decide whether or not they might take away from the overall theme of my pictures.

            One of the most intimidating obstacles that street photographers must endure is the anonymous passer-bys who may not be so happy to be in your picture. When I shot my “Crossing Paths” photograph on Park Avenue, there was a woman in the middle of the intersection waiting to cross. When the light turned red, and I began to cross, she shouted into my face angrily, “Were you just taking a picture of me?” I said “Nope,” and kept on walking. Then, I realized that I wanted to tell her, “Don’t flatter yourself.” She was ugly and mean. She barely shows up in the picture, too. She was far away and the lighting is not upon her one bit. Maybe it is symbolic that she is hidden in the dark.

            Overall, the street photography project was a good experience because it allowed me to choose a theme and take photographs around my theme instead of just taking random photographs. It was a little weird, however, to take pictures in New York City because it made me feel like I was carrying around a huge sign that lit up and said “TOURIST.”

As one can imagine, I expected the hip-hop musical Clay to be like nothing I had ever seen before.  Not only was it anything but ordinary, it also went above and beyond my expectations.  With a song about sleeping with his stepmother, the main man Clifford certainly has a few surprises up his hoodie sleeves.  This one-man musical was intensely entertaining.  It pulled at the emotions.  The audience got to see Clifford all the way from his tragic childhood to his confusing adolescence.  Amidst turmoil and pain, however, bits of comedy were scattered throughout the production. 

One part made me laugh close to uncontrollably.  It was when Clifford was trying to free-style about females and he rapped about “super-man that ho”.  In his rhythmic lyrics, he seemed to quote a description straight from urbandictionary.com. He explained exactly what the expression means in a way I could never seriously imagine a teenager, a rapper of all people, to describe it in.   I already knew what it meant, so his unique description of a strange thing I have already heard about made me almost roll on the floor.  The dictionary diction reminded me of the difficulty of presenting a hip-hop musical to such a diverse audience.

With a wide-array of ethnicities in the New York audience, I felt considerably comfortable watching a white up and coming rapper.  Some faces were young and others were elderly.  I cannot fathom how they took the musical to be.  Much of the content seemed a bit inappropriate.  If the root of the plot was not so serious, I would have been appalled, but the musical had a balance of comic relief and seriousness.  Even though I would never ever fall in love with my stepparent, I did feel that I could relate to the song “Reflection of I,” in which Clifford struggles with his likeness to his father.  I have felt the same way when it comes to my mother.  The concept of the main character being molded into the person he aspires to be also appealed to me. As an inspiring work of art, the overall sincerity and freshness of Clay imprints a lasting impression.

Even though his photography is black and white instead of color, Cornell Capa’s photography caught my eye at the ICP exhibit.  The contrast between light and dark in his photographs brings out different textures and adds movement in his art.  His photographs are not as much art however, as they are an act of humanitarianism.  Capa captured images in a journalistic approach.  He intended to educate the world with his photos.  His subjects often included people in countries with political turmoil, mostly in Central America.

            One of my favorite photographs is titled [Betty Elliot on couch at home with Eugenia, Shandia, Ecuador.]  I like this photograph because I have heard of Betty Elliot’s story.  She is a very intriguing person.  Basically, her husband visited tribal Ecuador as a missionary and the Native Americans slaughtered him.  In a forgiving manner, Betty then went to Ecuador and became a missionary herself.  The photograph of her on a couch sitting closely to a young native woman is an aesthetically pleasing image.  The centerpiece is composed of the two females.  The background around them consists of simple furniture in a well-lit room.  The photograph tells a story in its context, like all of Capa’s photographs.  You can tell that Betty is a friendly and loving person.  In the photograph [Betty Elliot with Mintaka and Mankamu, Tiwaenu River, Ecuador,] one can see Betty’s face close up.  In this photo, her age and weariness is more apparent.  It is a more expressive way of telling a story by the details of her facial features.

            In his work, Capa has a common subject of political dissidents of Buenos Aires photographed in September 1955, including [Cheering the arrival of rebellious Argentine naval troops who would complete overthrow of Juan Perón, Buenos Aires].

A photograph that stood out to me is [Images of Perón burned by students, Buenos Aires], which is self-explanatory.  It is interesting because it shows a portrait of Eva Perón being incinerated.

            Lastly, my favorite photograph is [Woman looking at boy sleeping in box on street, San Salvador], which is taken in the early 1970’s.  It emphasizes the audacity of San Salvador’s poverty.  The woman passing by the child sleeping looks puzzled.  I find it interesting that she is the only passer-by that seems to be concerned by the spectacle.  It is a little like passing a homeless person in New York City because most people do not seem to care, only instead of a grown man sleeping on the streets, it is a little boy.  I like that the photograph seems to have motion.  Capa seems to freeze time to the instant the woman views the boy, yet the woman is still moving forward.

At first, I didn’t know how to respond to Jeff Mermelstein as he began to prepare his old-fashioned slides for our class. He seemed a little confused and I was nervous that he was going to turn out to be a grumpy old man. I was half-expecting a boring presentation, one slide after another with a few monotonous descriptions of when and where each photograph was taken. Then, Jeff Mermelstein began to describe, with fervor, his experience with being a street photographer. All of my predictions were proven wrong. His use of language was vivid as he spoke of his love of color photography. He mentioned how seductive color photography is to him, like “colored M&M’s.”

In his photographs, Mermelstein often uses color to create emphasis. Other techniques he uses include experimenting with vantage point, using fill flash, lacking depth of field, and standing about 5-10 feet away from his subjects. The products of all of his hard work are numerous images that are full of surprise and quirky subjects. On the streets of New York, as well as elsewhere, Mermelstein has the gift of capturing some of the most eccentric people in the strangest of lights. Whether it be people at a Bar Mitzvah with a chimp, a man playing a piano on the streets of New York, another shoving a book in his mouth, a woman with a rooster, an old man with giant scissors, or Richard Simmons himself with adoring fans, Mermelstein finds intriguing subjects to capture as images and then in turn, he creates captivating art unlike anything else.

He finds the extraordinary in the ordinary streets of every-day travelled places. He captures ordinary people at their most intense levels. The facial expressions the people he photographs are usually expressive with the most genuine of human emotions. Jeff Mermestein is a man willing to take risks for his art by placing himself extremely closely to strangers, but he is wisely a pacifist when it comes to unruly subjects who are upset because he does not have their consent to be photographed. He makes it clear that it is worthless to engage in fights with the people who do not appreciate street photography as art form. Jeff Mermelstein advises amateur photographers to have fun with their photos, and to be natural. He follows his own advice, and it shows in the eccentricity and realness of his numerous works of art.