This collage really represents me. It contains things that symbolizes my ideals and things that I feel are important. Some of the things that I decided to include were family, food and fashion. Although I do not consider my family to be “stereotypical” or “traditional” we do hold traditional values in very high regard. In addition to this we are very tight knit and we would sacrifice anything for family. Next is food. Food is something that links all of us. It is an important part of my family and I feel that the best way to connect to another culture is through their food. Other things that were important for me to include were a representation of travel, my interest in equestrian sports, and New York. Lastly I would like to mention the words that I included on my collage. “Bold” is meant to represent me. I like to think that I make bold decisions and I try to steer away from being a conformist. I like to be bold with my assertions and with my choices. “Empowered” represents many things for me. First, Baruch is empowering me to a better future. Next, it also represents my family’s attitude towards me. They never pressure me to do anything or be anything that I don’t want to be. I know many stereotypes about Asian parents pressuring their children to be doctors and lawyers, but I never received such pressure which I am grateful for. I think that this has empowered me to make my own decisions. Lastly, “Lady” is a word that represents manners and rules that I think all people, not just ladies, should follow. To be courteous to others. To be respectful of other people’s thoughts and opinions. To be humble and to realize that not everyone will think that you are the most amazing person to grace the earth (no matter what your mother tells you). FInally, always be yourself no matter what people think of you; it is impossible to please everyone and some people are just born miserable so don’t take it personal if they don’t like you.

The Urban Bush Women dance at the Brooklyn Academy of Music was a unique and interesting interpretation of a traditional dance performance. The show combined traditional African dance with modern technique and contemporary themes. The themes however, were not portrayed that clearly and while the dance was superb and quite intricate and impressive the story line was not. It was only present at times and at others it was non-existent. Although I do not believe that the show as trying to tell a story, the plot that fell in and out of the show was confusing and distracted from the elegance and strength of the dancers. It was apparent to the audience that the dancers were highly trained and very technically skilled.
The way that the dancers tried to portray some kind of plot or e or storyline was a bit of a stretch. The only time in which the message was clear was during the scene in which it was more of a modern dance scene. In this scene, the emotion and the passion were clearly portrayed to the audience and also the elements of humor that were added really enhanced the dance. The dance also subtly touched upon the idea of slavery and the bringing of the slave from Africa. This was evident in the scene in which the dancers were lined up on top of a bench. They seemed to have their hands bound behind their backs as they jumped up and off of the bench. These themes were very slight and could easily be missed. I believe that the dance would have been enhanced and benefitted from a complete lack of plot. If the main focus was on the dance and did not shift back and forth the dance would have been able to shine center stage.
The only criticism in regards to the dancing that I can make is that there was sometimes too many dancers doing different dances at the same time. It was hard to distinguish who the main focus should have been on. In this case, there was too much of a good thing. It would have been more effective if there had been less going on, this way the talent of the individuals could have been better appreciated.

When I first started reading Samuel Freedman’s “Who She Was” I was hoping for a compelling story of a man in search of his mother’s past. However, within the first few pages of reading, I was extremely angered by his indifference and general attitude towards his mother. I could not believe that his mother’s passing was so meaningless to him. It took decades and the death of an aunt to compel him to even visit her grave.
I was not able to comprehend such disregard for the death of a parent. Comparatively, I lost my father to cancer as well, and when it happened it was the most devastating thing that could ever happen. I was not extremely close to him because he was always at work, but it was still horrible. The feelings of regret and anguish seemed as though they would never subside. So for someone to be so apathetic to his mother’s death, to me, was unacceptable.
It was not as though he had a bad relationship with her, he simply did not care. He did not want to get to know her and did not make an effort to even be a part of her life. When he finally decided that he cared enough to learn about her, it was only about thirty years too late. When he referred to the fact that he never thought of her as anyone other than his “father’s wife” I almost wanted to throw the book out the window. Reading about him exiling his mother when she visited him at college was so frustrating. It seemed to me that he was a terrible person and that I would never want to meet such a man.
Luckily, after hearing him speak, he was able to redeem himself. I admired him for the way that he tirelessly researched about his mother. It must have felt like some kind of atonement to finally show some kind of interest in his mother’s life. The only thing that I did not like about his method was that he treated her like a research project. The way that he looked for information about her was the way that people would usually go about researching a scientific topic and not really the way that one would find out about a loved one. It was almost as though he was conducting some type of investigation.
I think that if one wanted to really connect with a loved one on a higher level, they should do it because they want to. Freedman seemed to have really been motivated to learn about his mother; he seemed genuinely interested. It just seemed that he was about thirty years too late. If I had not met him and heard him talk about his experience and what he gained from doing the book, I think that I would have continued disliking him and not understanding where he was coming from.

Street photography was a realm of art in which I had never entered. It was completely foreign to me, I was aware of its existence, and that was pretty much the extent of my knowledge on the subject. So, any type of exposure to the subject of seeing any examples of it from any artist would have been an enriching experience. When I was told the prolific street photographer Jeff Mermelstein would be coming into our class to personally show us some of his work I figured it would be something I had never really seen before and it would be intriguing to hear about the photos from the person who actually took them.
I didn’t know what to expect when Mr. Mermelstein was coming in, I could not envision what I thought he would look like or what his personality would be like. It turns out that his humor and his demeanor would be captivating. He started out telling a little bit about himself and his philosophy in regards to street photography. He admitted that he didn’t necessarily like the title “street photographer” because of the certain stigma that came with it. He went on to talk about the photos themselves and described his love for color in his photos and the “M&M like seduction” that color in photos could possess.
His photos were nothing like what I thought street photography was. It wasn’t just of skyscrapers and city landmarks. There was a sense of action or movement in almost all of his photos. Something always seemed to be going on, and we as the viewers just happened to stumble upon it. When asked about his work process, he described the endless walking and the inconceivable ratio of pictures taken to pictures actually used. He also spoke about the way he shoots his photos. He still uses film and he likes the idea that sometimes something will be in a photo, and said  “I didn’t see it when I took the picture.” He enjoyed that element of surprise.
One photo in particular really stood out to me. It was a photo of a car that had driven through a storefront with pedestrians nonchalantly passing by. It was a very bizarre scene to see. Based on the way he works, it is safe to say that he probably just stumbled upon this scene, I mean, it’s not likely that someone informed him that this had occurred and suggested that he go and check it out. So, it lead me to believe that street photography also has a lot to do with luck and being in the right place at the right time. When asked about how he found this incident, he jokingly said, “I drove my car through the window and got out and took the photo. It was an old car anyway so, it was worth it.”
I had never met a photographer before, except for the ones at weddings and bar mitzvahs, but none that actually took their photos not necessarily to preserve memories but perhaps to create new ones. The photos of a street photographer can evoke emotions and feelings that a family portrait simply cannot compare to. There is a certain element to the way they look that creates movement within the stillness.

It is strange for me to think of my father as anyone other than the person I knew him as.  It is even stranger to think of him with any other woman than my mother but once upon a time this was true. My father had been married once before and I had no knowledge of this and never imagined or thought that it was even a possibility. This is often the ignorant misconception of children; that their parents had no lives before they were born. In many cases this is not the child’s fault because their parents may be the type that never eludes to their past or is very private about their former lives.
This was exactly my case. My parents rarely talked about their life before me. I have little knowledge about what their childhoods were like or what it was like growing up in another country. The little information I do have concerning these topics was actually acquired from relatives and not from my parents. They didn’t really talk about it and I never thought to ask. So, it came as quick a shock to find out that my father had actually been married before.
My father passed away, unexpectedly, in October of 2004. It wasn’t until my mother and I were cleaning up some of his old belongings in his study. I came across a folder that was labeled “Divorce Papers”. Immediately, I froze. I didn’t know what to expect when I opened it so, I quickly slipped it into a pile that I knew my mother would be going through later. I suppose it was out of fear that I would find out something that I didn’t want to know. During such an emotionally trying time, I didn’t think that I could take any more stress. What could be worse than enduring all the regrets and the anguish and then finding out that my parents weren’t even married anymore? I mean, I knew that they went through rough patches as all couples do but this information would have been unbearable at this time.
I knew that neither of my parents would ever divulge this information to me willingly, and I probably never would have known about it otherwise. I respected that my parents wanted some things to remain private. If they didn’t want me to know it would most likely be for a good reason. When my father became ill, it wasn’t until his second bout with cancer, that I was even told. Although I had known that something was wrong I did not press the subject. I imagine that for my own protection, I was never told certain things. So, when I saw the label on the folder I assumed the worst.
I continued going through the old papers and records and waited and watched as my mother sorted through the pile. She didn’t even hesitate when she saw the folder. She opened it and read through the papers that it contained. I noticed an old, crinkled, black-and-white photograph paper clipped to the corner of one of the pages. It was an image of a tall slender woman that I did not recognize. “This was your dad’s first wife,” she said, as she handed me the folder and walked out of the room. After that point I never revisited the subject again. The folder was placed in the deep recesses of a filing cabinet in the office.
Over four years have passed since that day and I suppose curiosity got the best of me. A project for school was the perfect excuse to find out what really happened and who my mother’s first wife really was. My first and most important source was my uncle, Joe. He always gave the most candid answers and is still a troublemaker, even at the age of 74. He was my father’s older brother, the oldest of all of the children. He was the ultimate source of information for anything that happened in our family. His memory never ceases to amaze; phone numbers from a half century ago, his addresses in four different cities, the names and faces of countless employees and friends, still fresh in his mind as if they were from just days ago. As it turns out, he and my father’s younger brother, Peter, were the ones that took care of all of the paperwork for my father’s divorce.
During the time m father was getting his Master’s degree at the Oklahoma University and working as a chef in a restaurant. His wife was living in Taiwan and he would send money back to her every month. They were sweethearts in college and got married right after graduation. Looking at her photograph, she was an attractive young woman, probably too attractive to be married at twenty with a husband halfway around the world.
My father worked hard in school and whatever time he didn’t dedicate to school was devoted to work. He sacrificed a lot to get his Master’s. He worked a grueling job at a local restaurant and soon became a self-taught chef. Working his way up from a line chef to the head chef, this would allow him to one day open a restaurant with my mother.
It was soon discovered that she was having an affair and not putting my father’s hard earned money to good use. She squandered much of the money he sent back. Luckily, he was smart enough not to send her every last penny. He was distraught to find out about this and immediately instructed my Uncle Peter, who was in Taiwan at the time, to file the papers on his behalf. It was a long and complicated process, to divorce someone from thousands of miles away, but understandably my father did not want to see her again.
During the time that the divorce was being settled, my father met my mother at a holiday party. She remembers that he didn’t seem all that upset. He figured that if it didn’t happen that he probably wouldn’t have met my mother. If things had not worked out the way in which they did, it’s hard to say what everyone’s life would be like, and if I would even exist. While all this was very surprising to find out, it was almost more of a relief to know that it was not my mother’s name on those papers.

street-photography3

(Link to Movie)

I thought that this project was going to defeat me. I had no idea what to take pictures of. The only things that I had ever taken pictures of were people or major landmarks while on vacation. I had never taken pictures spontaneously or for the sake of making art. I had only had experience taking tacky, postcard-like photos of the Eiffel Tower, or the Coliseum. What did I know about being a “street photographer”?
I stressed about having a theme, about where to take these photos and whether or not my photos were even worthy of being called “art”. I wandered around aimlessly through the streets of Midtown Manhattan with my little pink camera in hand but nothing caught my eye. All I could think of was how unusually cold it felt and how it seemed to be a little early for all the Christmas decorations. I thought of doing a series called “Christmas in July” documenting all of the early Christmas decorations and how they irritated me but I decided that would look too much like a tourist’s visit to the city for the holidays.
I looked everywhere for inspiration. I asked people for their opinions and what they would do if they had to do a street photography project. I even found out that I knew the famed “Chelsea Red” guy through a very unusual series of events and random questioning. After my mindless wandering and numerous interrogations I gave up and went home.
The next day I was riding in the passenger side of a car, still clutching my camera wondering about what to photograph. I started taking random photos of what I thought was nothing. I photographed everything and anything that I could get into my frame. I ended up shooting my entire set through the window of a moving car. This added a certain level of difficulty to getting my shots but I welcomed the challenge. If I missed the shot there was no way for me to go back to take it, unless I had the driver make an illegal u-turn or double back around the block. I looked for eye-catching boutiques and geometric bridges; pretty much anything that had an interesting pattern or look.

My frame was greatly limited by the fact that I was in a moving vehicle and that I, myself, was limited in movement. I tried taking pictures of things that were behind me by use of the side-view mirrors on the car. That’s when I came up with the title of my series. The little phrase on the bottom of the mirror, “Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear”. I think that the title suits the set in that it represents the restrictions that I incurred while trying to create my “art”. Even though you can see the objects in the mirror, you have to gauge how close they are. Even though I was able to see all the things around me, I had to estimate when to take the photo in order to get the shot I wanted. There are limitations.
With the way that I took my photos I was able to achieve different angles that, perhaps just walking on the street would not be able to produce. The photos all seemed to organically manifest themselves. At many times I didn’t quite know what I was going to get when the shutter closed but I ended up really liking what came out. I saw things that I wanted to shoot that I would normally whiz by without even a second glance. This route that I had traveled so many times before was suddenly beautiful and interesting. Things didn’t just blend into the background of the city. I actually studied my surroundings and wanted to include them in my series.
From this project I have gained a new appreciation for the roads that I have traveled on so often. I now see these streets in a new light. No longer will I think of the Pulaski Skyway and grimace. I won’t automatically think of its relentless and plentiful potholes. Beauty can be found in the most unlikely places, sometimes all it takes is a little bit of traffic for you to stop and notice it.

If there had been many other performers with him on stage I think he would have overshadowed them anyway. No other performers were necessary and the way that he distinguished between the different characters was very clear and effective. Specifically in a scene in which Clifford and his father are fighting, it is almost as if there are two people on stage. The audience forgets that there is only one person on the stage. He plays all of the characters so well and so convincingly.
The way the story was told was truly unique and unexpected. The music builds the excitement. The sole performer, Matt Sax, doesn’t miss a beat and the audience is amazed at his precision with words and on point acting.
The way that the sequence of events is skewed is a very unusual way to tell the story. All of the events are tied together with the scene of Clay’s mentor introducing him onto the stage and then leading into a certain stage in Clay’s life or specific situation that changed him. The time is distorted but still makes sense.
The only drawback of only having one character was that sometimes because of the jumps in time, it was difficult to tell what age Clifford was. Sometimes it would be a event that occurred later on but the audience does not necessarily know this because there is little to distinguish when this occurred. The only time it is clear is when Clifford is a young boy and taking the stand in divorce court. Another example of when the time frame is really clear is when Cliff’s mother is calling him for his birthday. This is the only scene when the passing of time is really distinguished.
“Clay” takes a unique approach to the musical. It is reflective of the cultural changes that are going on today.  Times are changing and the norms that are accepted by society are being flipped upside down. Hip-hop music was seen as a lesser form of music and Rogers and Hammerstein would have cringed at the thought of a musical using hip-hop.