Author Archives: Linda Wong

Don Giovanni

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When reading the libretto, I thought of Don Giovanni as being more tragic than comedic. There were some comedic moments that seemed to be sprinkled throughout the libretto; for example, Leporello’s aria where he sings about the different women that Don Giovanni has been with. Don Giovanni as a whole (the libretto and the opera) is a mix of both comedy and tragedy, but to me, the libretto highlights the tragedies and the opera highlights the comedic moments. While watching the opera, I felt myself laughing more than I felt myself feeling sad for the characters. There were a lot more moments in the opera that when acted out, was funnier than read in the libretto. For example, I didn’t think that interactions between Don Giovanni and Leporello when they were alone were as funny as the opera made it seem. When I was reading it in the libretto, I thought it had a more serious tone, rather than Don Giovanni joking and playing around with Leporello. Everything though, did happen because of Don Giovanni’s tragic flaw, which is his womanizing ways. He didn’t even repent at the end, which ultimately caused his death. Even with such a tragic ending (or what was supposed to be tragic), the rest of the characters like Zerlina, Don Octavio, Donna Anna, Masseto, Donna Elvira and Leporello made everything light-hearted as they each told the audience what they were going to do. For example, one of the two couples said they were just going to go back home to eat dinner, and Leporello only said that he was going to find a new master. With each tragic scene, the next scene seems to offset the tragic atmosphere with comedy. To me, it seems like the live version of Don Giovanni was more comedic than tragic.

There were clear differences in class that were reflected in the libretto and the opera. Clothes, for instance, were strikingly different between the nobility and the peasants. Even the names give off the clear differences in social class; the nobility had Don/Donna in front of their names whereas the peasants were just referred to as their first names. Mere actions in the opera defined the differences in social class. For example, Leporello practically tends to everything Don Giovanni does, because Don Giovanni is his master and therefore is of higher status than him. When Don Giovanni drops down Leporello’s jacket (after they switched clothes) Leporello rushed to pick up the jacket and puts it back on Don Giovanni. Don Giovanni exudes an air of nobility when dealing with women, like Zerlina and Donna Elvira.

The music did enhance the story. There were certain parts where the music became thunderous, which was almost like a warning to the audience that there was something bad happening. This anticipation creates a mood, and that enhanced the story. The music were like cues to the different scenes and set up the transitions between the different scenes. The music definitely reflecte the type of relationships between the characters, therefore reflecting the mood at the particular scene. For example, most of the scenes where Leporello and Don Giovanni interact had light-hearted music, when it was more comedic than tragic. The music enhances the story and gives you expectations.

Opera differs from the contemporary performances in the way that it incorporates dancing, singing and acting. It is more structured in the sense that the actors have to become someone else and express emotions that the character is feeling, whereas in contemporary performances it seems like the dancers are able to express themselves to a certain extent given the choreography. They don’t have to pretend to be someone else, but instead can be themselves. To me, operas are more enjoyable since it is more clear in its story line, whereas contemporary performances can be interpreted in so many different ways.

House/Divided

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The Builder’s Association production of a House/Divided created a parallel between the financial crisis of the present day and the Great Depression of the past. They took the two events and intertwined them with each other, allowing the audience to see the similarities between the two events. During the shifts in time, the large house in the middle of the stage was used as a way to bring the audience back to the period of the Great Depression. It even became see-through, so that viewers would be able to see clearly what was happening. A large digital screen was used as well, with different screens popping up as the performers were chatting into the computer screens. In short, House/Divided was so rich with media that it became a little suffocating; in fact, it overshadowed the performers to the point where I don’t remember any of the performers.

After this performance, I lean more towards Phelan’s view. Live performances feel more real when it isn’t cluttered with media and technology. However, I don’t completely agree with Phelan, nor do I completely agree with Auslander’s view. There are certain times though, where media can truly enhance the performance – in that aspect, yes, I do agree with Auslander. However, there has to be a certain balance between enhancing the performance and completely consuming it. In this instance, I feel like House/Divided was consumed by the media that was supposed to enhance it. Like the woman who strongly disliked the production in the discussion after the show, I feel like there wasn’t enough of an emotional aspect to the performance. To me, it was more informative rather than anything else. I didn’t feel the wrath that I felt while reading the book; I just felt a bit blank and confused. Without media in this performance though, I feel like it would have been a bit harder to understand, and a bit harder to transition between the different time periods. In this case, media aids in this performance, but as I stated before, House/Divided really did clutter the performance with media.

Caretaker Studies

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The first pose, contrary to what most people thought, was of my mother. She would always wake me up early in the morning, screaming into a phone with anger and annoyance. To be honest, the only reason why I’m able to wake up in the mornings on the weekends is because of my mother screaming into the phone. She’s a very busy person – sometimes I hardly see her in the mornings, afternoons, and nights. She runs errands for my father, and then she has to take care of problems of numerous condos and apartments. In short, my mother is a landlady. My father on the other hand, is an architect. So while my father creates these buildings, my mother rents them out. Since my father is overseas most of the time, my mother has to deal with the tenants. She has to deal with them almost everyday, and most of the time it is through the phone. My raised hand signals her angry hand gestures, as if saying “what is the problem?” or “what do you mean?” or “I have done everything you asked for already, why are you still unsatisfied?”. My opened mouth signifies the way my mother screams into the phone occasionally, and the way my leg is propped up shows her old habits of propping up her leg. Her phone rings at least five times a day – even when she was on vacation, leaving her cell phone with my sister, it rang nonstop. My sister had to be a substitute for my mother, and I could almost see my mother in my sister as she also talks into the phone and makes the odd hand gestures.

My second pose though, is of my sister. The comments people had were correct – my raised hand and tilted head signifies asking for help. However, the pose meant more of giving help than receiving. Curled fingers are more natural than a flat hand, so giving help was more natural to my sister than receiving. My stretched hand represented how she would always be there to help me, or anyone even, whenever they needed help. She grew up with having to take care of two younger sisters, and knew of her responsibilities as the oldest child. She always tried to do the right thing and was very proper, which is the reason why I stood up straight with my feet planted firmly on the ground, side by side. Even though she knew she had a lot of responsibilities she asked for help whenever she needed it. She didn’t try to take on the world without wanting anyone else to help her, and she knew her limits. Although we don’t see each other as much as we did when I was younger, I know that she’ll always be there to help me, and that I’ll always be there to help her now.

Snapshot Day

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To be honest, to be able to capture New York City in one photograph is baffling. There are so many different aspects of New York City that can’t be contained in only one photograph, so having this Snapshot Day for Macaulay, to me, was difficult. How do I capture New York City? That was the question that ran through my mind when I first thought about this assignment. Then it came to: what is New York City, really? It’s unique to each person who lives and visits here. When you think about New York City, the basics come to mind: the shining lights, the skyscrapers, the bridges and the bustling sidewalks even at midnight. Then I realized that it didn’t have to be anything complicated. New York City is just New York City, no matter where you are in the city. So, to me, New York City is a bowl of ramen noodles.

This is an overly simplified version, of course. New York City is home to so many diverse cultures, and food is no exception. For the night of the eleventh, I went out for sushi with some friends, and I ordered some ramen noodles. This photograph loosely follows the rule of thirds; the large ramen bowl is on the first line, and the small saucer for soy sauce falls on the second line.  There is also the pattern of lines on the wooden table. The initial focus is on the bowl of ramen – it takes up most of the picture. The way the focus is on the bowl makes it seem like it’s the foreground and everything else that is out of focus the background. The more you stare at a picture though, the more you notice the rest of the details. Your eyes are first pulled into the bowl of ramen and then you start noticing the soy sauce, the chopsticks, the cup of water and someone’s elbow across the table.

Photo Analysis: Wandering Violinist, Abony, Hungary

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Wandering Violinist This photograph is called Wandering Violinist, Abony, Hungary, taken by André Kertész in 1921. In this picture, there is a young child, a boy, and a man playing the violin. All three are staring in opposite directions, and it makes you wonder what they’re looking it. What drew me in was my curiosity in how these people are related. Are they a family? Are they strangers? The boy and the man seem to have some relationship with each other since they’re standing close together, but the child seems to blend in with the background.

The picture seems to be taken while they were all walking and while the man was playing the violin. The rule of thirds was used, with the boy and the man on one line vertically and the child on the other line vertically. Another use of lines is the curving tire streaks on the dirt road from a vehicle, maybe from something like a car. The boy’s and man’s foot is aligned with one of the tire marks. Other lines include the fence in the background. The man’s head is aligned with the top of the fence, and the boys head seems to be aligned with the line where the house in the background connects with the ground. There is a lot of empty space; there is clearly a foreground and background.

For my picture for snapshot day, I’ll be incorporating the different rules that we learned. I’ll apply the rule of thirds by shifting my camera in relation to the subject that I’m trying to capture. I’ll imagine aligning the image to the gridlines, vertically and horizontally or even diagonally. I’ll also incorporate techniques from the reading – where the angle of the camera causes different perspectives.

Beginning of Something Review

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The moment you walked in, you could feel a change in the atmosphere. It might have been because of the sparkling curtain of beads that fragmented and distorted the light or because of the dark ambience created by the dimly lit room. The one sight that greeted the audience as they walked in to find their seats was the nude woman strumming a guitar. She sat, legs crossed, on the elevated platform, strumming a soothing melody. Chairs were arranged in such a fashion that it entirely surrounded the platform. Mirrors of all different shapes and sizes were placed on the wall, angled downwards, allowing all different kinds of views for the audience as well as the dancers.

The dance started with a single spotlight at the woman who was strumming the guitar. She dressed herself in beads, twisting and turning, prancing at times and dancing at times. Three other women, who donned a fur coat, cloth skirt and a thin black coat, respectively, soon joined her. They stomped, screamed, jumped, skipped, ran, fell, convulsed and stared. Their many different actions at different times all came together at certain points, and all scattered and dispersed at others. There were times when they were organized, strutting across the platform confidently, and there were times when they nearly crashed into each other as they lunged and jumped.

RoseAnne Spradlin’s “Beginning of Something” was certainly the beginning of something. The way the dancers stripped themselves of their clothes showed their vulnerability, with no clothes to hide under. They bared themselves of anything and in a sense freed themselves from whatever limitations they had.

Analytic Post-Modern Dance

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Analytic post-modern dance differed from modern dance in the way that it wasn’t about the music, or the meaning of the dance. In fact, post-modern dance choreographers defined dance as almost any type of action: walking, running, games and even contests. To them, it wasn’t about the content – it was about the context. They believed that a dance for the audience should only be the dance itself, without the special effects, lighting, or even music. Anyone could become a dancer, whether they were trained or not. It was all about the movement of the “natural” body.

Steve Paxton’s contact improvisation is the epitome of the belief of the analytic post-modern dance. It only consisted of dancers using their bodies as their own props, and nothing else. With each interaction, the dancers knew a little more about their partners. It was not about the glamour of dancing, but about movement and the body itself. There was no music, but the way the dancers were interacting almost made you think as if there was some silent song playing in their heads. It’s almost like a pendulum, the way one dancer moves and interacts with the other and how the other will respond back to the movements of that dancer. This un-choreographed dance is fluid even with the sudden hesitations and whatnot. For post-modern dance, only body and movement mattered and Paxton’s contact improvisation embodies this idea.

Linda Wong

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My name is Linda Wong and I have an undying love for fluffy animals. Dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits… as long as they’re fluffy, they have all my attention and love. It may be weird, but I think I communicate better with animals than I do with people.

I grew up in in Brooklyn, and I’ve lived there ever since. I have two older sisters; one five years older and the other, seven years older. Reading books became more than a hobby for me; it was almost like breathing, as corny as that sounds. My mom used to drop me off at the public library, and didn’t come to pick me up until closing time. There, I spent hours reading those books that could become so magical. Back then, I thought that I could also became a person who could create magic with words.

Art, to me, is everything. A water bottle can be art, the magnets on a refrigerator can be art, and even garbage can become art. I think it’s about how and what you perceive art to be, not what others claim and label it to be. Although I’m not as artistic as I’d like to be, I still appreciate art. I’m not too crazy about paintings, but I do love exotic and unique architecture.

Sophie’s Self Portrait

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Sophie once said before, that she would love to learn the Salsa. Her desire to dance is shown in this performance: endless twirls and flailing arms. It started off with an awkward laugh and smile. Then, she let down her braid and threw off her shoes, without giving it a second look. And then, she twirled and twirled, like the ballerinas in those delicate music boxes.

She used the whole classroom as her stage instead of being stationary.  With her bare feet, Sophie twirled everywhere. Left and right, back and front. Looking at the way she spun around endlessly, it was almost like we were sucked in a trance. Her arms were up in the air, and her hair was flowing around her. And if you kept staring, somehow you could picture her in another setting, maybe even in a tropical rainforest.

The way she threw away her shoes showed how she didn’t care. It didn’t matter whether the floor was dirty; at that moment, it seemed like all she cared about was being unrestricted, and those shoes proved to be a restriction for her. The same goes for her hair. Instead of it being neatly done, she let her braid down and let it get loose and wild. Those two actions she showed at the beginning showed what she liked to be: fun and free.

Recording a performance is never the same as watching it in person. While you’re trying to capture every single fleeting moment on camera, there might have been something you missed in person. You can see everything in person, but on the camera, it’s not as easy to capture everything you want to capture. While I was recording Sophie, I found it rather hard to enjoy a performance when you’re trying to capture it at the same time.