The Arts in New York City » Bonny Lin

Bonny Lin’s Final Podcast

admin — Sun, 23 Dec 2007 15:47:01 +0000

Wintry Wonderland

bonnylin — Fri, 14 Dec 2007 05:42:28 +0000

In the cemetery that is Madison Square Park, one will find an abundance of naked trees scattered between black fencing. Faded and rusty bars imprison these tall unfortunate creatures who stand there frozen and stunned. A harsh wind blows and their scrawny branches quiver, their rattling slightly smothered by the howling gust. Little movement can be found for happy birds and friendly squirrels are hiding from the frosty cold that has immersed itself over everything. However, in the midst of this wintry grave, strong silver beings stand unrelentingly against biting winds. They glow like fire against the night lamps and warm eyes watering from the stinging chill.

Heart-throb

bonnylin — Wed, 14 Nov 2007 07:09:31 +0000

I always look forward to taking the 6 down to Union Square. Not only because it signifies the end of the school day, but also because I often come upon the familiar sound of fast beating drums. Actually, the drummers beat on white and green buckets splattered with specks of paint. The duo consists of a man with diesel ebony rocks for arms and a very well toned, thin woman. The man’s silver chained crucifix shakes violently as he drums with superhuman speed so that the sticks are only blurs. I feel the beats like they come from my own racing heart making me want to join the dancing stranger who has already succumbed to the overwhelming flood of high spirits.

No numb legs this time

bonnylin — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 06:42:54 +0000

Remembering our awesome class trip to Chelsea to tour a number of galleries intriguing to our curating minds, I decide to pay the galleries another visit. Ambling around the area, I notice the couple of studios that we visited, but peering through the glass walls, they seem to be exhibiting the same displays. So I move on, eventually stopping myself at a quaint little entrance on the corner of W20th Street and 11th Avenue. What immediately draws my attention is its pink and red-brown colored building in a gray and desolate street. Upon exploring the venue, I find that it creates a very comfortable gallery to enjoy various canvas works and paintings.
Entering the rather empty studio, I am greeted by an old man in a suit who takes out an ebony stand for my dripping umbrella. The warmth of the place is instantly apparent. The lighting is a soothing yellow compared to the stark white laboratory-ness of the galleries we have been to and ceiling lamps are placed to cast light shade on parts of the empty spaces of the white walls. I slip between a small wall facing the window where three auto-portraits, or self-portraits, by Laurent Dauptain are displayed. Across from the giant heads is a wooden bench against the window on which I sit cross-legged to enjoy the view and the relief from being off my feet. Dauptain uses oil on canvas to create the blurred portraits of himself. They remind me of the things and people I see when I remove my glasses.
I regretfully drag myself from my comfortable seat to tour the rest of the gallery. However, I find an even cozier armchair to relax in as I take pleasure in observing other paintings. In my snug new seat I notice the sand-colored rug under the chair which complements the dusty red-brown tiles underneath the rug. The canvas I see in my seat completes the neutral color theme the gallery seems to have. It displays a Mediterranean or coast village that greatly resembles the houses in Disney’s Aladdin with soft green and orange-red buttresses over windows and doorways. The white-blue puddles on the dirt streets and the clear sky form a memory of a long gone storm leaving behind a fresh morning.
Venturing forth from my armchair, I survey the rest of the gallery which is bigger than it seems. A bricked archway leads away from the grand lounge to a smaller space branched by a couple of smaller rooms. In every room there are cushioned benches or armchairs available to guests surrounded by a collection of paintings ranging from bold green and yellow hill villages to charming families holding hands and playing in snow. The comfortable earth-like colors and soft jazz playing aloud are hypnotizing and relaxing. On our previous trip to Chelsea, numb unsteady legs detracted some attention away from thought-provoking displays. However, this gallery takes advantage of the simple luxuries of chairs and benches, and easy lighting making the entire gallery experience easier to enjoy.

Little Lady

bonnylin — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 03:34:32 +0000

The small woman wearing purple puffy short-sleeves stroked the strings of her small violin with the slender red hairs of her bow. She reached onto the tips of her toes as she smoothly elongated a high A. Her wrist shook with vibrato and slowed as the note dwindled into softness and she rested steadily on her feet. Her face was the image of satisfaction and serenity as she continued among the orchestra that played from her squat little radio. Again, she rose like she was breathing for the first time. Her eyes were shut, remembering an enchanting dream, and again she settled onto her feet, swaying with her notes. The silky voice of the violin was striking against the ceaseless grumble of trains and the robotic female overhead that cautioned travelers about safety. The small woman with her small violin stood out as a tiny persistent ray in a bustling underground world.

City Streets

bonnylin — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 20:47:37 +0000

“Life Underground” by Tom Otterness

bonnylin — Wed, 10 Oct 2007 00:28:45 +0000

In search of alluring or thought-provoking artworks to delight in? Look no further than the transit system from which you use to traverse to museums in order to find such creativity and ingenuity. One station in particular houses its own remarkable collection, the 8th Avenue station where the L and the A/C/E trains meet. The artisan behind the life of each inanimate being goes by the name of Tom Otterness. He effectively colors the routine momentum of our lives between lives as we venture from one place to the next.
Stepping off the L train and onto the platform, one can immediately locate a number of Otterness’ work. The medium from which he chooses to express his imagination comes in the form of small cartoon figures with spherical heads, two dots for eyes, and four chubby digits on the hands and feet. They are as smooth as marbles and shine like polished bronze. Sitting on the bench, the first thing I observe is a rattlesnake spiraling up from the dingy platform floor. It has two circles with a dot in each as eyes and on its smooth round head it wears a rather fine top hat. Its mouth is open and its tongue is sticking out as if choking. Then one notices the chain on its neck extending to the ground where it is held by a tiny bronze man no bigger than the size of the snake’s head. Looking into the barrel the snake’s spiraling creates, one finds a little man wearing a train conductor’s hat. The miserable snake is pitiful- chained and choking, trapped in a corner between two grungy pillars made of white bathroom tiles. On the other corner created by the two pillars, a stuffed animal sized woman wears the same expression as that of the snake- mouth agape with tongue sticking out. However, the reason for her shocking contortion is quite obvious. She lays on her stomach, her back and neck arching backwards as a massive hinge from some giant machinery crushes the last breath from her.
Between the next two pillars, a suited gentleman with a bowtie and top hat holds one end of a saw while his wife in an elegant gown and pearly earrings holds the other end. On the same platform, one can find an odd squiggly being with a man’s head at each end. In their hands they hold giant pennies, dices, and playing cards. Heading towards the A/C/E platform, one passes by a couple crawling beneath the black bars that separate the two sides of the turnstiles, another couple drunk and partying with horns, and two beggar-women holding a hammer.
The A/C/E platform has even stranger characters. There is a police officer standing over a beggar woman clutching her head and her possessions and one can just imagine him tapping his foot impatiently. An angry phone-like beast eats a man in a suit and a little above the scene hovers a mechanical fly with legs like that of Spiderman’s Dr. Octopus. In a formiddable death grip, it cages a man with a bag of money for a head.
There are so many notable personalities in this underground museum that catch one’s eye. However, the suit, bowtie, and smart hat on such round innocent figures all seem to connect in order to tell a story. Otterness efficiently gains the attention of observers and also tries to tell something about the damaging effects of industrialization and indulgence in money to a busy member of this fast-paced world.

Art in Union Square

bonnylin — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 02:02:11 +0000

I settled myself in Union Square Park among the many white collar workers taking a short lunch from the insipid routines of life as employed adults. From my stone seat, my feet dangled half a foot from the ground, and the statue of George Washington on a horse loomed overhead. The first things I noticed were the animal’s strong flared nostrils, strained veins on its cheek, and its blank grey eyes. Washington sat firmly in the saddle with a powerful sword sheathed on his left flank. His gaze was fixed forward and his right arm reached, his fingers searching. For what, who knows? Perhaps he was reaching for something unreachable or feeling the cool breeze between his fingers on that hot sunny day. Maybe he was commanding his army of squirrels that resided in the garden or demanding the strange dancer before him to cease his jig. As I started to leave, I took a final glance at the frozen man and his pet and came to the conclusion that the steed was a stallion and not a mare, if you know what I mean o_O

Review 1

bonnylin — Wed, 19 Sep 2007 15:53:55 +0000

Every week, the public is invited to the American Folk Art Museum to enjoy live music on Free Music Fridays. Now, most museums feature their displays in dimly lit rooms where smooth shadows easily creep across strange stone faces and dance with little men clad in animal skin. This museum was no different in that respect. However, the shadows and frozen figures were all neatly assembled into a much, much smaller space.

The museum seemed to be hiding as the small glass door was concealed behind a sharp turn. Near the entrance stood a tiny gift shop filled with all sorts of quaint items from a box of matches to a giant map of the United States made completely of colorful license plates. I thoroughly enjoyed the shop because I like giant wooden spoons and small china. The atrium, being the central hall of the museum was quite unimpressive. It was simply a small open area lined with folding chairs on two sides. A very grand staircase on one side, along with the lack of windows, threw more shadows within the already dim accommodation.

In the atrium, I took a seat to the right of the band to delight in some free live music. The three members included Tarrah Reynolds, who was the vocalist and guitarist, Sean Dixon, who played the drums, and Brian Satz, who played the bass. It was a very casual, café-like atmosphere. Tarrah’s guitar portrayed the mellow mood with its strings sticking out at the nuts. The drummer’s poet hat and the small round tables with newspapers, magazines, and drinks, added to the typical café ambiance.

Tarrah and her band members sang the usual three to five-minute songs. They sang about love, friendship, and the past in a bluesy style. The small room allowed the bass to boom and stand out and Tarrah had a very beautiful, smooth, and soft voice. It was sweet and pure, like glass, and her high notes rang in one’s ears. Unfortunately, these high notes were rare for I only heard them in one of the seven songs she played. Other than those strong and clear notes, her songs were mostly repetitive in sound. She did not include much range in her singing and basically played and sang the same couple of notes over and over again. Furthermore, she could enunciate better sometimes because every so often, she would sound like she’s drooling, and she could probably bring the microphone a little closer because her soft tones would occasionally get lost in the acoustics. The beginning of a song would sound pretty decent, but one would lose interest easily and quickly.

As a whole, the performance was quite disappointing. Although I got the chance to listen to a very beautiful voice, its loveliness was offset by the repetitiveness of the range and the dreariness of most of the songs. In addition, the environment was so informal to the point that it seemed less like a serious gig, and more like a rehearsal. The setting was also very distracting and noisy as museum goers walked in and out all over the place. However, kudos to the overall pleasantness and friendliness of the museum’s staff and band members.

bonnylin — Sat, 08 Sep 2007 06:30:33 +0000

yo ;]