Author: jbaz

You know those days when you have a three hour lab at lunchtime, or a 12-hour clinical, or a block of classes without break, and you didn’t plan ahead for the moments when the only thought on your mind is food?

You almost feel stuck waiting until you can grab a bite to eat, but you can’t go quite yet because you have to dedicate this time to other things. You can’t be satisfied all the time. Likewise, you can’t be happy all the time. There will be good days and there will be bad days just like there will be times when you’ll be so hungry your stomach feels as though it’s collapsing on itself. When you finally taste food again, that sensation will be far more meaningful and rewarding. There will be times when you don’t understand why the world is against you and why you feel sad, why your favorite old dog is suddenly sick when you’re away, why your grandpa is in hospice…you name it. There’s a lot we can’t control, but I assure 100% that the light in your heart comes back, brighter than ever. Just you wait.  Time heals all hearts. You can’t measure how long it takes to mend a wound, but here are some steps to help you grow from the pain:

1. Give yourself a day to mope. If your workload is mundane and irrelevant to the large scheme, don’t do it that day. Pick it up when you’ve cleared you mind a little bit.
2. Write down your thoughts. A week later you’ll be writing about the best night you just had and skim across the words that aren’t so tender anymore. You can gauge your progress!
3. Stay busy. Pick up a new hobby or follow through with old ones.
4. Call old friends. Call new friends. See what’s up with them and you’d be surprised how much they can offer whether its a laugh or advice.
5. Dress how you want to feel. Feel good look good. Feel bad, still look good.
6. Find a release. Exercise is a good outlet, and you’ll feel healthy and energized. Then treat yourself. It’s been a while since you had Rod’s. Go get a shake and bring a friend. 🙂
7. Music. Sample to every kind and ask for recommendations. Listen “Blindsided” by Bon Iver for a gloomy, reflective song. Listen to “Take You There (El Bee Remix) by Sean Kingston to start to an awesome night WOO.

Life is good.

Before I get carried away with by my train of thought, I must first say that Manchester by the Sea was brilliant, and Casey Affleck does a phenomenal job as Lee. I saw this movie knowing nothing about it other than its title, so I will leave the same opportunity to my readers who have not seen it yet by keeping details out.

When the credits began to roll, the audience remained still as if they had been petrified to stone and the theater filled with silence. Moments later, the stillness was finally interrupted with the onset of surrounding lights and soft footsteps that signaled it was time to go.  Throughout the movie, director Kenneth Lonergan blankets each scene with the perfect sound, whether it was a classical number by Handel, Poulenc, Albinoni, or Massenet, elements of an original score by Lesley Barber, or a piercing silence. Sometimes the music would overpower a conversation in the film because the conversation itself didn’t matter; the feeling associated was far more powerful than the words.

Words are limiting because they form a framework for thoughts whereas silence does not give any direction. We can use words and sounds to communicate with each other so we can follow and understand each other’s direction. Without these, we are left stranded. Perhaps this is why Lee is surrounded by silence during his story. When he feels the most pain, it becomes so overpowering to the point of numbness. The silence embodies the numbness. However, the absence of noise does not have to be a bad thing. It can be almost…liberating. Like a fresh start.

So I refrained from spilling details about Manchester by the Sea because my words might have influence your own perception of what you would expect to see going into the movie. They might steer you in a direction that you would not want to follow. For some movies, I think it’s important to have a sense of background and public opinion, but for this one, I highly recommend viewing without any expectations.  Instead, watch it for what it is in each moment.

On Wednesday January 24th, Hill Auditorium transformed into an expeditionary vehicle that carried us through the solar system. Emmy-nominated artist José Francisco Salgado created a Science and Symphony performance using his phD in Astronomy to translate astronomical concepts into visual arts. The University Symphony Orchestra guides us through outer space, stopping at each planet with the accompanying sound of Holst’s “The Planets,” Weber’s “Concerto in F,” and Mozart’s Symphony No. 41 “Jupiter”.

Hill Auditorium:

Hill Space Odyssey:

The journey began at Mars, “The Bringer of War” with loud, violent sound. Next Venus, “The Bringer of Peace” with light, uplifting harmony…and so on.

Sitting there thinking about these masses so big and so far away, my mind drifted to a place far beyond the Milky Way. Note the amphitheater structure of the auditorium. The wall behind the screen provides a base to the sound and the extends outward to maximize sound projection. The physics of sound in the auditorium is similar to the physics of placing handheld music devices into a bowl to amplify the sound. After you clear out the matter in the cup (tea, dust, coins), the cup so small can make a big difference in how one enjoys music.

If you look closely, the sideways basin structure resembles that off a cup, almost like the auditorium itself is a cup tilted on its side. So if we explore beyond earth, beyond our solar system, into something far larger than what we know, what will we find? We can see and prove microscopic life smaller than us like the little mindless bacteria. We have yet to understand the life larger than us..what if we are in that cup so small

In reference to the Dr. Seuss story Horton Hears a Who, we know there are no whos, but are there Hortons?

On the 10th of January, the Hatcher Graduate Library housed a gallery called Boundaries and Belonging at the University of Michigan.

Of all the pieces in the room, this one spoke the loudest. You couldn’t see it until you trekked all the way to the back of the display.

On a blank slab lies hundreds of different stickers, different colors, different sizes, different feelings, different messages. People decorate their belongings with these stickers to express themselves. Each sticker could represent an experience they had, awareness, or perhaps be a simple little memento. It takes an ordinary object and adds a dollop of what makes you, you. They are like two dimensional capsules for a memory. Whether or not there is a climatic story attached, it marks an encounter that perhaps you share with people or sets you apart.

The stickers could be like the people we meet throughout our lives. We start with a blank slate. As we begin to make connections with people, they stick. When we lose touch with people, their stickers slowly peel off. When we find one we like, we preserve it. Over time, some are basically inscribed on the slate.

One sticker may be your mom, the first one on the board who you can’t always see underneath all the chaos of new people, but you know she’s there.

Others could be those best friends who may not be the biggest stickers, but they are the brightest and most visible in the larger scheme of things, the waiter that made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe, that cute boy with the New York accent who you finally got a chance to know.

We learn a thing or two from these people. Together, they create a collection of memories and a mural of your past. It’s the entire collection that tells your story, not just a single sticker. Do these “stickers” define you? Think of it as a foundation. Your past may not define who you are; your past may prepare you for who you are to become.

You can tell a story…

(Last night in the Moore Building on North Campus, the Britton Recital Hall housed the Piano Department Faculty Recital. The beautiful instrument with which they performed once belonged to Russian-born American classical pianist and composer Vladimir Horowitz. The Steinway Gallery of Detroit provided this piano, the same Horowitz Steinway Piano he played in the 1986 show in Moscow and his concerts around the world.

I didn’t know the language in which each pianist spoke off stage. Does that matter? No. I did know the language in which each pianist taught. After all, music is a language we all understand.

They conjoined with the instrument to deliver a story that didn’t require words or symbols, a history or a future. They spoke in the melody. They spoke in the moment. Some of the pianists explained the piece from the perspective of the composer before they began to play, while others left the piece open for interpretation. Each of them told a unique story. Whilst they explored their stories, it did not seem like the pianists were playing an instrument. Rather, they fused with the piano to become an inseparable pair.

Christopher Harding executed “Arabesque in C Major, op. 18” of 1839 by Robert Schumann with delicate hands. With a gentle yet masterful touch, he created sounds both loud and soft.

Amy Cheng and Martin Katz demonstrated piano four-hands with “Fantasia in F Minor, D. 940” of 1828 by Franz Schubert. The three units, Cheng, Katz, and the piano, formed a whole. Each note stitched together to form a quilted song. Cheng cued Katz while the pattern of her breath to create flawless seams in the sound. Their fingers bounced off the notes and then feathered back down to the keys to pick up the consecutive notes with eloquence.

Logan Skelton amazed the audience with his rendition. His hands brushed across the keys and painted a vivid setting from the piece. Sound is usually accepted through our ears, but his musical explanation engaged all of the audience members’ senses.

Arthur Greene glided through the measures of Frédéric Chopin’s “Etude in A-flat Major, op. 25, no. 1.” of 1837 and his “Barcarolle, op. 60” of 1846. His face began to flush with red as he charged the piano with another level of intensity, bringing character and passion into the piece.

Matt Bengtson performed Conlon Nancarrow’s “Canon B” from Three Canons for Ursula of 1989. First, he played solely with the left hand, then the right hand, and then brought the two together. The way he played, it sounded as though he disassembled and analyzed each note individually with artistic brilliance.

John Ellis translated “Sunday: Evenin’,” “Tuesday: Sugar Hill,” and “Wednesday: Apollo: Touch the Tree (for Fats)” from Arthur Cunningham’s “Harlem Suite” of 1970. I say translated because it’s like the piano whispered to him and he amplified its voice. He took the listeners back in time to Harlem years ago.)

…Without a single word.

About 43 miles away from the University of Michigan is Detroit, otherwise known as the Motor City. You can commute downtown for a trip to the DIA, a game at the Joe Louis, or a slice of the nightlife. Many clubs and Greek Life communities hold events at venues in the city. Whether you are going alone or with a group, the opportunities are limitless. I ventured to the heart of the spoke wheel intersections in downtown to a place known as Campus Martius Park. Here, they provide ice skating throughout the cold spell in the Midwest every day including weekends and holidays. From the rink, I happened to notice the Quicken Loans building, particularly the two blocks jutting out the side of the structure.

Tell me, why did the architect place these two blocks there? And why are they different sizes? Some may find the randomness displeasing, perhaps unsettling to the eye. Evenness seems correct. This idea could have stemmed from the human body itself; it displays symmetry in its image. We shape glasses to be two identical lenses to fit our eyes. What if we started wearing one round lens and one square lens? Or monocles? Parallelism with shapes reduces chaos and can be satisfactory, so one may try to further understand an object when its appearance isn’t as organized.

In art, there is no such thing as “correctness.” Being difference is what makes it an art. If we went around seeing paintings with literal interpretations of the same thing, or buildings of the same architecture, the world would be uniform, but it would be boring. Asymmetry makes can make a piece unique and beautiful.