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In response to “The Circus of Fashion” by Suzy Menkes, I’d like to address the “seriousness,” or lack thereof, of fashion moguls and the level of austerity that is expected of the truly fashion elite.  Menkes explains that those truly dedicated to the art of fashion are, and should be, adorned in nothing more than black looks head to toe, in contrast with the fire-heeled, Margiela masks, and intergalactic sweatshirts of late.  The forefront of fashion, according to Menkes, has shifted from these serious types “into a zoo: the cattle market of showoff people waiting to be chosen or rejected by the photographers,” referring to the recent surge of Street Style celebrities captured by Tommy Ton, Scott Schuman, or Leandra Medine.  It seems as though Menkes believes that shows are meant for those of true fashion professionals: editors, buyers, and stylists;  those who peer off Style.com or Nowfashion are not worthy or fashionably educated enough to offer critique .

Yes, I agree that much of fashion “blogging” and amateur attempts at influencing fashion via the web are lackluster (read lookbook.nu and the oceans of unoriginality and sponsorship that follow).  And yes, the successors of Project Runway type shows do follow a somewhat ridiculous “American Idol”-style initiatives, in which a public vote selects the fashion winner.”  But to criticize the public availability and creation of opinion of fashion is itself even more ridiculous than all the rest.   What would art be if it were only meant for art collectors, and those “truly serious” about craft? Isn’t the purpose of all artistic forms to express a feeling or emotion, and emote that to the world?  And aren’t all collections ultimately at judgment of the public?  Yes, those who have been in the industry may be able to understand the originality or cohesion of a collection “better” most. However, this should not change the fact

that I am also entitled to view and form personal judgment. Without Style.com or NYMag or Refinery29, I, someone who is interested in fashion, would never have access to something that I am passionate about. The rise and importance of the social media generation has only helped to quickly spread information worldwide. How can fashion then be mutually exclusive from this sphere, where technology rules all, and anything remotely public spreads virally?

In that same light, aren’t those who blog about personal or street style attempting to tap into their own artistic expression via sartorial means? If an aspiring artist were to show the world her newest painting on the web, would she be subject to similar sentence?  Menkes contrasts the “circus-like” showing of show-goers outside fashion tents, those sporting high contrast prints, sky-high shoes, and surreal headgear,  with “the opposite of look at me fashion,” wearing the most basic but craftfully structured pieces.   But who is to say that fashion is meant to be entirely serious? What is the point of it all if we can’t live our lives in it? As a person entering the fashion arena, why is it that the Dedicated pros” must only be “dressed head to toe in black?” It seems to me that Menkes, and those who criticize, are missing the point.

After my second workshop with high school students as a part of the Hip Hop Academy, I officially feel outdated in the Hip Hop world. Not to say that I do not stay up to date with the current Hip Hop releases and activities, but it is clear that the same artists and music that caused me to fall in love with the culture are irrelevant, if not unheard of, according to teenagers just four or five years than me. Common, Talib Kweli and Jay-Z have been replaced by Meek Mill, Drake and Kendrick Lamar. While there are positive qualities to be discussed regarding these contemporary rappers, (particularly in terms of Kendrick) they distinctly lack the 1990’s style of early Hip Hop that defines the genre. These rappers helped establish true Hip Hop, and albums such as Mos Def and Talib Kweli Are Black Star, Reasonable Doubt, Illadelph Halflife and Resurrection embody the fifth and most essential pillar of Hip Hop: Knowledge, more than anything Drake or Meek Mill has produced. So even though Biggie Smalls and Tupac are still synonymous with early Hip Hop, Nas, The Roots, and the A Tribe Called Quests of the 90s are no longer discussed or noticed.

Comparatively, this is a shame. The majority of Drake and Meek Mill lyrics focus on drugs, money and women, and the glorifying fame this lifestyle brings. Of course, Common, Nas and the rest were rapping about these topics as well, but they were doing it in a much more socially minded, creative manner. For instance, one of Common’s most famous tracks, “The Light” serves as a platform for Common to discuss how his love for a woman extends beyond a purely sexual relationship, and how he would never use sexist terms such as “Bitch” directed at her. Meek Mill’s song “Amen” featuring Drake features lyrics like, “Shorty wanna f**k me, I say get on top and roller coast.” Not the most intellectual statement about women ever delivered in music. The same topics of drugs, women and fame have transitioned from forms of economic hustle, entrepreneurial spirit and meaningful relationships to testaments of power, success and male dominance, which perpetuate the negative stereotypes against Hip Hop culture. Any critic examining Hip Hop today would obviously assume that the genre of music promotes taking advantage of women, abusing drugs and alcohol and irresponsibly partying, as that is what the majority of Hip Hop says today. This is a shame, because Hip Hop has always, and always will, stand for so much for more.

However, it is not surprising that today’s youth idealizes Meek Mill and Drake. They produce catchy, attractive music that offers an identity and culture to which to attach; and not all of it is bad. Meek Mill promotes a life outside of prison (having gone to jail and sworn never to return) and Drake has said something intelligent here and there. Kendrick Lamar, while producing aesthetically different music than the 90s rappers, preserves their habit of writing creative, intelligent and socially conscious lyrics. As much as I would love to share my love for the artists that, for me, define Hip Hop, I unfortunately cannot force 10^th graders to see it the same way. I am left with the only prospect of finding the same values, creativity and genius in today’s rap if I hope to support Hip Hop’s last and crucial pillar.

I’ve always found it interesting and amazing that the portraits of the (debatably most) important Hindu goddess, Durga, differed region to region. Before you roll your eyes, frown from incomprehension, or click at some other link, let me explain myself.

India is a wee bit complicated. The country itself doesn’t have one unified identity; there are many regions that have their own languages, ways of dressing, cuisines, ideologies, and traditions. To bring that into perspective, imagine going to Indiana, right downstairs, and everyone speaks a radically different language, the art and architecture look completely different from Michigan’s, the men and women wear togas rather than jeans, and you can’t recognize anything that they’re eating.

Yep.

So, in a sense, the word “Indian” doesn’t really mean anything in terms of summarizing a culture because… well, an “Indian” culture doesn’t exist.

Which makes the art throughout the country so interesting. Like so many other cultures around the world, art and religion are inextricably linked. Hinduism especially relies on art because it places such high importance in the visual aspect of religion. Stories of famous mythologies are painted on the streets and temples and images of gods and goddesses are omnipresent. I mean everywhere. Bumper stickers, posters on restaurant doors, statues at business entrances and every empty crook and cranny on the streets, walls in houses. Literally everywhere.

My dad’s job had us traveling throughout India so I couldn’t help but notice how radically different the images around me were, despite depicting the same figures. Durga is particularly interesting. She’s an Indian goddess in some sense because many Muslims and tribal people also worship some form of her, not just Hindus. She is hailed as the Supreme Goddess and the origin of all energy and life in the universe, a timeless maternal spirit that pervades everything, transcends time and religion, and ensures that the world remains in balance. Think Eywa, from the movie ‘Avatar.’

Here’s a statue of Durga from my home province, Andhra Pradesh.

Note how colorful and vivid it is. Also, note what the Goddess is wearing. A fairly simple sari. The people of Andhra are traditionally farmers, very rural people. Though we’re known for having a beautiful and poetic language, we’re simple people who toiled away in the lush lands of southern India. Hence, the folksy, bright colors and fairly simply draped sari. Juxtapose this with the sophisticated refinery that is the North.

Northern India has seen far more attacks and conquests, from the Muslim Mughals to the Christian British, and has been more directly placed under their rule than southern India. Thus, the depictions of the Goddess tend to be more anglicized and highly influenced by what is considered beautiful by that region of the country. Her body is generally made of white marble to reflect the more appealing (to them) aesthetic of having lighter skin. Her garlands are made of roses, as opposed to native flowers such as the hibiscus or the marigold flowers. Her jewelry is also more intricate and contains many gemstones and pearls whereas in southern depictions, She wears extremely ornately designed gold due to relative abundance of gold and lack of gemstones in the south.

Depictions of Durga from the state of Bengal are radically different from all other regions, especially in terms of Her distinct facial structure. Also, while northern India generally depicts Durga as marble white and southern India depicts Her with a more flesh-colored tone, Bengalis depict Her with yellow skin. I mean the yellowest yellow of all the yellows you’ve ever seen. Her bindi (the marking on her forehead) is also more intricate than the standard red dot and her jewelry is out of this world.

Durga is the Bengal’s most loved deity and Her festivals are celebrated with more pomp than any other.

A depiction of Durga from Tamil Nadu, the southernmost state of India:

Her skin color is a lot darker. It is also common to find Durga statues made of black marble in these parts of India because they more accurately depict the darker pigmentation of southern Indians. Also, Her bindi is completely different (three horizontal lines and a red dot in the middle) to reflect a more popular strand of Hinduism in Tamil Nadu. The usage of animals more prevalent in this region, such as buffalo, is common in imagery associated with Her.

The following depiction is from Rajasthan, a state in the north that perhaps had the greatest association with the Muslim Mughals. She has on a blouse and a long skirt and drapes Her sari over her shoulders rather than tying it around her body, like the women of Rajasthan. The way She’s painted, with Her head facing the side but Her body facing the viewer, is a direct influence of the Mughals, who also painted their figures this way.

In the coastal Orissa, where peacocks are especially used as a sign of beauty and majesty, silver is abundant, and jewelry is designed after the beautiful conches and seashells found along the beaches.

In Assam and Tripura:

Depictions of the Goddess are endless. There are paintings and statues of Her naked, clothed, blue, green, black, orange, with bindis of all shapes and sizes, with Oriental features, with blue eyes, etc, etc, etc. But this post is getting way too long and I’ve realized now that none of these pictures do justice to Her or to the beautiful statues and paintings they’re portraying.

For most of us, museums are givens. They house great works of art, artifacts from all periods of history, things that are somehow important, culturally significant. Yet they embody in them a sort of unquestioned authority, something that manages to shape our perceptions of the things they display without our ever really being aware of its even happening.

When objects are removed from their original contexts, they are uprooted, unanchored, available for meaning and significance and narratives to be redefined, recast. Every setting has the power to describe its object. A scattering of pots on the floor is not accorded the same importance as a single pot sitting by itself on a plinth. Are things displayed in a corner, along the wall, in the center of the room? Are they lit (or not lit) in any particular fashion? If all the displays are spaced very far apart, each individual item gains a sort of weight. It’s like those dishes in high-end establishments where you get a thumb-sized filet of something (albeit an aesthetically pleasing something) that covers ten percent of the plate’s surface area. We assume it’s nice because it’s been marked out as something unique, important.

These are all rather ambiguous frames, but they do just the same work as the literal picture frame, which tells us what to pay attention to and what to pass over. Even if the wall has designs on it, even if the painting is about as interesting as the wall, you look at the painting, not the wall. Placards and other accompanying text oddslot function similarly. The Plexiglas box is a utilitarian object (a bench), not part of the exhibit (some sort of rumination on the human condition) because it has not been marked. It does not say, look at me, contemplate me. We refrain from treating it poorly out of consideration for other people’s property, not because it has gained some sacred status.

And the text itself, naturally, has an entirely different power in its ability to shape how we contemplate things in museums. Even the fact that an object is in a museum, as opposed to someone’s private collection (a Bronze Age artifact), or on the street (any sort of art— what even is or isn’t art?), says something about the worth it is given. We, the general public, on the whole have little specialized knowledge, little background on the things museums display. We look to museums to be authorities on their subjects. Indeed, the great majority of the time, they certainly are. But this relationship, the one between the things and the museums and us, is often invisible. We don’t see it, and we certainly don’t think about it.