Category: Uncategorized

Out of Our Pores

Justin & Ersun Leave a comment

Hair is said to be stronger than rope. When wrapped together, strands of hair can become unbreakable bonds of keratin. Whether it be on our heads, faces, arms, legs, chests, toes, or any combination of these, most of us have this substance seeping out of our pores. It is strong, it is powerful, and it has potential. Whether or not we employ this potential for the sake of expression, it remains. We call it hair.

As humans, we are mammals, and unlike many of our kind, evolution has carried us to become significantly less hairy creatures over time. Despite the fact that we have so little hair in comparison to our comparable animal species, such as dogs, gorillas, and woolly mammoths, much time and management goes into the industry of caring for and dealing with hair. We care about the color, the length, the texture, the way its shaped, its thickness, its volume, its body–and how it represents us as members of a civilized culture. The social constructs behind hair, this natural part of our bodies, are pointlessly complex and restrictive. Women are expected to shave their legs and wax their bodies, becoming relatively hairless besides the hair on the top of their heads–of which they are expected to keep well-maintained and styled. Men are typically viewed in the opposite sense–to have hair on their bodies but short hair on their heads. While modern times have been able to minimize the stigma behind this constructed “rule,” as women are typically seen to have hair of any length while some men sport long hair, there is still a clear distinction between the hair lengths and styles of men and women. Regardless of length, women are expected to have their hair styled and well-maintained, while there is no expectation for men. Breaking from this gender normative lens, additional constructs and expectations are formed for people who may be gender non-conformist. Also, despite this U.S.-centric lens, other cultures have different values behind body hair and acceptable hair styles. With all these factors playing into the boundaries for style, true expression over the artistic medium stemming from our bodies is censored by the culture we live in. In order to truly express oneself via hair, the individual must be willing to break the mold and not fear the snap judgments of other members of society who may fear this deviation from the norm.

Whether it be a woman letting her leg hair run wild or a man taking a curling iron to his beard, hair can become an expressive medium if given the chance to grow.

Xylem Release

NicoleNg Leave a comment

On Friday, March 29 2013 while strolling down State Street, full of grilled cheese and veggies from Mark’s Carts, the commotion and bustle of the Work Gallery captured me. Low and behold, the perfect post-dinner snack for the mind’s eye lay before me in the form of the Xylem Release party.  Select writers were chosen to perform their pieces during this release, personal works that I only dare to scribe.

The most striking piece was a poem written by Seth B. Wolin. I do not know Seth B. Wolin. And yet, his piece spoke volumes to me. He spoke of the simultaneous individuality and anonymity of the masses, as well as the simultaneous cultural preservation and gentrification balance that most cannot seem to hit correctly. He spoke without excess drama and perfect smoothness.

Wolin explains his poem to be about a man he encountered in New York City, one that he would never meet again.  I truly respect the lack of narcissism in this piece, the ode to observation, and the understanding of the cultural struggle that is so prominent and often escapes those who are not overtly foreign.  He perfectly taps into the thought process I constantly experience on the subway in NYC, running into

biletul zilei cu meciuri din fotbal biletul zilei biletul zilei de azi la pariuri sportive

strangers and wondering what their story is, and how they ended up here. The poem reads:

Figure on the Five Train
5’9” fresh-faced

transplant from Ukraine.
Where is your father?

Here, there is no province.
Only concrete asphalt red win
sky – starless, bounded monolith of

sky.

Not like home. And yet, neither
are you.

Short, precise, and powerful. Just the way I like em.
“Xylem Literary Magazine is an independent, student-run literary magazine at the University of Michigan that annually publishes original undergraduate student writing and art, including poetry, fiction, creative nonfiction, artwork and photography. The journal exclusively features the creative work of University of Michigan undergraduates, and all aspects of the journal’s publicity, production, and publication are student-run.”

Opera Splashes and Sparkles in ‘Ariadne auf Naxos’

Sarah Ogar Leave a comment

I went to the opening night of ‘Ariadne auf Naxos’ and without reading about the libretto beforehand, I expected something that was stuffy, long-winded, and probably involved corsets or women dressed like this….

Boy was I wrong. What I saw on Thursday night more closely resembled this…

For those unfamiliar with the Greek mythology behind the Strauss opera, Ariadne was a human abandoned by Theseus on the island of Naxos, who spent her days bemoaning his loss and refusing all company except that of Death.

But contrary to my initial impression, this was not the only storyline.  In fact, it served more as a story within a story.

In the prologue of the play, two troupes (a dramatic opera cast and a burlesque show) prepare to entertain a duke and his guests.  However, amidst the hustle and bustle that comes before any performance, both troupes are informed that due to time constraints, they will no longer be performing one after another.  Instead, the duke demands that they combine their arts into one cohesive performance.

What results and forms the bulk of the opera, is the tragic tale of lonely Ariadne on the desert tale of Naxos who is greeted by the funny and flirtacious Zerbinetta and her fellow comedians, who show Ariadne how to pick herself up, dust herself off, and start all over again when the Greek God Bacchus shows up.

The set design closely resembled 1920s Art Deco, with simple, clean lines and flashy costumes.  Most of the men wore suits or tuxedos apart from the comedians, who donned bathing suits and flippers upon learning that they were going to a desert island.

Although every piece was eloquently executed (I was very impressed by the performer’s elocution with the German libretto) my favorite piece by far was Zerbinetta’s operatic version of ‘All the Single Ladies’ aka ‘Grossmachtige Prinzessin!’.  In this rendition, Zerbinetta wore a glimmering red flapper dress and sang about how every time a new ‘god’ comes along in her life, she is dumbstruck.  It wouldn’t be a burlesque show without a parade of tuxedo-ed men who each got their chance to dance with Zerbinetta before she changed her tune and moved on to the next one.  This number made me realize just well-trained opera singers are.  Apart from dancing and interacting with the other performers on stage, Zerbinetta made her laugh sound absolutely melodious, like a group of bells trilling underwater.

When I laugh, it either sounds like a horse or a dying moose.  But never like bells trilling underwater.

I left the performance feeling like I had gotten my money’s worth and to top it off, I was handed a pamphlet for one of the performer’s senior recitals coming up in Kerrytown.  This performance gave me every reason to see more great vocal performances and to continue my support for one of the oldest performing arts still in business.

Go opera!

Image credits: http://wodumedia.com/chicago-2002/catherine-zeta-jones-in-miramaxs-chicago-2002/ and http://www.music.umich.edu/ContainerBridge.php?path=%2Ffmi%2Fxml%2Fcnt%2Fdata.jpg%3F-db%3DRecital_Form%26amp%3B-lay%3DCOE_Fall_2008_Layout%26amp%3B-recid%3D7499%26amp%3B-field%3Dimage(1)

Pysanka, Hampstead, and the New Hunt for Egg Art

Erika Bell Leave a comment

As a kid, some of my most vivid memories were Easter time when I was given the opportunity to hijack the cartons of eggs in the refrigerator, and create dozens of pretty pastel or neon colored treasures. The worst part was waiting for them to boil and harden, yet when they were ready for my eager hands, I jumped at the opportunity to get my markers, dyes, and glue stick out, so I could use my imagination in creating some of the most original Easter eggs ever.

For some this tradition is unchanging. Kids continue to enjoy the artistic freedom of recreating meal-worthy eggs to original artwork, and many adults still hold on to this time as an opportunity to showcase the possibilities that can come with the spherical blank canvas.

Pysanka (you may have encountered some of these Ukrainian beauties recently) are Ukraine Easter eggs made with wax resist and dye. These eggs mirror some of the traditional Ukrainian folk designs and can bear any design imaginable. The ancient Ukrainian’s viewed eggs as sources of life, and as the time progressed the ideology remained intact, and many Ukrainian families practice the tradition of Pysanka each Easter. These marvels open up the endless possibilities with egg designs, and are open for those willing to learn.

Traditonal Ukrainian Pysanka Eggs

Within the Hampstead School of Art in London, England, the egg hunt is for a different purpose. Sarah John, operations director of the school, created her giant Easter egg in hopes of reviving the fun of the Hampstead neighborhood, and the fun that art can be. The Egg stands at 3ft, and seems to have brought some light into the districts troubles. For more info check out the Hampstead Egg.

Artist Sarah John who made the giant egg for the Hampstead Easter egg hunt. Picture: Nigel Sutton

Artist Sarah John: Nigel Sutton

The new hunt for egg art has quietly taken over and brought a dynamic take to the tradition of egg decoration. Given the beauty of the new movement within egg art, from the detailed colors and designs, to the overall grandiosity, I judge the the majority of egg recreation will stray from a mushed up marker, color dye, and a glue stick, to some of the endless options developed in kid’s imaginations.

je comprendo don’t ne I understand pas no comprends

Taylor Leave a comment

Music-critico-racial-pyschoanalytic-politco-philosophical theories are topics humanities students, which by students I mean me, thrive in. We like things that most people hate: why you sexually love your mother, how a triad is a trinity and how everything relates to Christ, how the systems we live in oppress people openly but no one seems to care, and if that tree really makes a sound in the woods . . . all alone . . . just like you and I: alone.

I’m the annoying student in the back that heckles when people mispronounce Foucault’s name (foo-cal-t). I’m the arrogant student that says “ontology” all too often. I’m the ass that raises my hand after every gendered comment. And yes, I hate marriage.

So every so often (all too often) I go to a lecture or talk and stare like a fresh baby looking at the world in a dazed and confused way. I hold my chin like my head might fall off, stare to the nearest wall, breath deeply, and think of absolutely nothing. It’s like trying to breath in a cement block.

“I don’t understand.”

I’ve been to two talks, in particular, that have flown so far above my head they are like the sun–definitely there in the sky but like the sun. Far away. Though I recognize it’s a sun and can describe the sun, talk about it “intelligibly,” and get warm from it.

Once I realize this is a sign from the universe that I need to get off my high horse and realize that I’m not always awesome I get to start new activities. This is the art of not understanding.

I look around the audience. Humanities students and professors are some of the best looking people IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.

I go into broken model pose. Sometimes I need as much practice as I can get and pretty much everyone at humanities talks are contorted into weird positions all while crossing their legs.

I think about my “thesis.” I do this often and I think that the osmosis theory of learning might kick in . . . finally.

I think to myself in french or spanish or I imagine what other language might sound in my head. I mean I have been stuck with English and my voice for 20 years, it’s time for a mental change.

I breakdown about how terrible the world is. People fight and protest for those that are temporarily abled-bodied, white, cis-gendered, and upper-middle class. All while people are being killed in the street, fired from their job, homeless, and all while I type this on my laptop.

I ponder about my white privilege, my male privilege, my cisgender privilege, my ability status privilege, my citizenship status privilege, my socio-economic status privilege, my educational privilege, and all my other privileges.

And then the lecturer says the world “antagonism” and I’m back!

Not understanding things that happen around me allow me to either A) think harder, B) focus on issues in my life that I don’t “have the time for” and gives me a rather quiet space to do so, or C) do this dance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8UyWmcCQYk

Sometimes you just gotta dance. And I do understand that.