Category: Uncategorized

Finals Relief

Alex Winnick Leave a comment

You’ve been sitting in this chair for five and a half hours. Three trips to the bathroom, one to Pita Pit and two to the vending machine. Five different groups of lecture slides are open, sticky notes are everywhere and a combination of binders, calculators and textbooks are sprawled in every direction. You have just reached the point where you might be able to finish the entire review sheet if you skip dinner, turn it into four days without showering and make your friend (who has officially checked out and won’t stop talking) leave, please. On to the afternoon’s second cup of coffee and time to finish strong.

But wait. I have another solution. Instead of mad-dashing it until 3am, consider taking a few well-timed breaks in your studies. Turn off your phone, dim your computer screen to darkness, close your eyes and breathe easy. Put on the headphones and use these relaxing songs to ease your pain. A quick 3-minute break here and there can go a long way.

To start off, get a little funky. You need something to shake things up, staring at C-tools certainly isn’t the spice you’re looking for. Check out Lionbabe, a hot new group from NYC who brings the 1970s funk into modern house music. Watch the music video if you really need a distraction. https://soundcloud.com/lionbabe/treat-me-like-fire

Next, stay in the city and take a look at Brooklyn-based San Fermin. This group has been getting a ton of play on some popular music blogs, and are about to drop their new album in a month or so. San Fermin has tracks with musicians from the likes of Bon Iver and ACME. Let these stunning vocals and unique rhythm soothe your tension. https://soundcloud.com/teamclermont/san-fermin-sonsick

Now try an alternative to the traditional pump-up jam. This slight re-work of Edward Sharpe’s ‘Man On Fire’ will leave you energized, empowered and glowing. Make sure you close your eyes for this one- actually, go ahead, put your head down for a few minutes – the snaps will wash out all of the stress. https://soundcloud.com/edward-sharpe-mag-zeros/man-on-fire-little-daylight

Finally, open your eyes and enjoy this exceptional live performance. This is Hip Hop at its prime. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0HYp8d-RmE&

Psychedelic Boat Ride

Erika Bell Leave a comment

I’m a media buff if you haven’t noticed by now. I find art to be most interesting in the way it has developed with technology and is presented to the masses. In the 70’s original version of the highly-acclaimed Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, there are many elements of artistic innovation that have never been done before. The candy room, the orange oompa-loompa’s that belted out impromptu jams at the drop of a chocolate bar, and the most intriguing scene to me—the boat scene.

The psychedelic boat trip captures all I ever expected the 70’s to be plus an ontological approach to questioning life. I love that this was a kid’s movie. The boat trip uses a creepy Dr. Suess adapted tune, the flashing of bright lights in a dark tunnel, the indistinguishable images of monsters, and the complete fear of the passengers, to create an artistic message that what we fear is always with us. However, we choose to live in this blind oblivion with candy and the beautiful aspects of life to avoid our fears.

I find the art in the scene to be the true grit of what is visually happening, and what Willy Wonka is saying. He’s not sugar-coating his words, no pun intended. The insertion of the Psychedelic boat scene in the midst of all of the happy and carefree feelings that the movie permits, makes the scene even more noticeable and questionable.

I’m not quite sure what the scene exactly is saying through the visually graphic and trippy images, and I don’t think anyone will ever know unless they ask the writers of the film themselves. My little interpretation of the scene is that it utilizes art as a means to evoke fear and change within people, but we all know from the story only one child truly captures that change.

Here’s the scene in all its glory:

Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory: Psychedelic Boat Trip

The Downs

Terrie Chen Leave a comment
That morning, when she wipes at the frosty window with a sleeve, the oddly bruised dawn light and hazy purple of the hills beyond beckons.
Come, come.
So on go the jacket and the grubby boots by the door, and the lock catches with a soft snick. She gets on the number seventy-nine down the road. It winds its way out of town, leaving behind the houses and the shops and the people trudging up the street. Today, it’s just her and an old man wearing a pair of field glasses over his flannel, just the two of them and the driver. The bus climbs up the quiet lane and around the bend, and soon enough, they’re deposited into an empty gravel lot. She stands, uncertain, for a minute in the chill air. The old man has already started down the lane, and that’s not what she’s looking for.
But- ah! That, that is. There’s a stile half-hidden in the scrubby little trees on the far side of the lot. She plants a foot on the worn step, swings herself over, and hops down into a grassy field, onto a much-trodden path. No one else is here, though, and the road is already invisible from here. She follows it up the ridge for a while, while empty fields slope down one side, and long grasses flank the other. There would be something, eventually. Now there are cows. She pauses at the fence, observing them for a moment, while they gaze back at her with ruminant disinterest- it’s very quiet up here, and it feels odd that she could be not entirely alone.
It is some time, then, before she makes it up to the crest of this ridge. And here the land drops away before her, down to the lowlands where homesteads and farmsteads lie scattered. The air is brightening, the odd hue from the early morning leeching away and giving way to a soft, opaque blue-grey that blankets the distance in uncertain certainty. She imagines, on a clear day, that you’d be able to see clear to the sea, the city glittering on the coast, the hilly land a study in early morning contrasts, burnished bronze and deep powdery shadows.

That morning, when she wipes at the frosty window with a sleeve, the oddly bruised dawn light and hazy purple of the hills beyond beckons.

Come, come.

So on go the jacket and the grubby boots by the door, and the lock catches with a soft snick. She gets on the number seventy-nine down the road. It winds its way out of town, leaving behind the houses and the shops and the people trudging up the street. Today, it’s just her and an old man wearing a pair of field glasses over his flannel, just the two of them and the driver. The bus climbs up the quiet lane and around the bend, and soon enough, they’re deposited into an empty gravel lot. She stands, uncertain, for a minute in the chill air. The old man has already started down the lane, and that’s not what she’s looking for.

But- ah! That, that is. There’s a stile half-hidden in the scrubby little trees on the far side of the lot. She plants a foot on the worn step, swings herself over, and hops down into a grassy field, onto a much-trodden path. No one else is here, though, and the road is already invisible from here. She follows it up the ridge for a while, while empty real soccer predictions fields slope down one side, and long grasses flank the other. There would be something, eventually. Now there are cows. She pauses at the fence, observing them for a moment, while they gaze back at her with ruminant disinterest- it’s very quiet up here, and it feels odd that she could be not entirely alone.

It is some time, then, before she makes it up to the crest of this ridge. And here the land drops away before her, down to the lowlands where homesteads and farmsteads lie scattered. The air is brightening, the odd hue from the early morning leeching away and giving way to a soft, opaque blue-grey that blankets the distance in uncertain certainty. She imagines, on a clear day, that you’d be able to see clear to the sea, the city glittering on the coast, the hilly land a study in early morning contrasts, burnished bronze and deep powdery shadows.

Yuriy Norshteyn’s Tale of Tales, 1979

Justin & Ersun Leave a comment

Tale of Tales (Part I)

Like a visual representation of literary nonsense, or Alice in Wonderland tripping on psychedelic mushrooms, Norshteyn’s film appears as purely aesthetic display of randomness. As the reels roll, viewers fall into the transit of a lullaby through time and LP vinyl of a memory skipping through sequences. These 29 minutes are often acclaimed as the ‘greatest animated film of all time,’ despite the numerous modern masterworks created by Pixar and other animators across the globe. This film originates from the Soviet Union and is technically written in Russian, yet, as it bears no visible plot and is stripped of any real dialogue, the potential language barrier is debunked, as it can still be viewed and appreciated by a speaker of any language. Norshteyn’s Tale of Tales offers an insightful glance into the true nature of memory. It is stubbed and fragmented, with splits in logic and sensible thought. It is a series of vignettes, a handful of sounds and images pieced in ways often unknown to us. In this sense, the narration of the story cannot be told chronologically. The events that occur are linked through a shared idea or feeling. Like the little grey wolf bent over a small fire, the film is the painting of patience, waiting out the winter of history.

It can be seen as a visualization of emotions on high during the World War II era on the Eastern Front. Pleasure can be discovered and embraced in mundane tasks of living, as a way of coping with the sadness and overarching gloom of reality that hovered over one’s life during the time of war. Powerful images, such as the male dancers individually evaporating from their women to convey the loss of companionship via war, reach their way into this short animation, taking on the nature of sheer minimalism. The film itself adheres to this simplicity, drawing its strength from the lack of density and higher order. The animations appear to be sketched fluidly and easily, free from a domineering refiner. This stark frugalness gives the film strength, which embodies the essence of the content—drawing strength from the act of living to keep on living. This basic sense capitulates a paramount position in the human condition. It captures a realness that many animations gloss over. It abandons the flashing lights and popping colors of cinema, as they paint over the rough surface of the content, hiding the very flaws and nature of what we are. Modern pictures revolve significantly more around production, which steals attention from the wholesome nature of what truly makes a work—the story. In lieu of a good tale, artfully crafted animation must also follow, as a proper container is necessary to enclose proper insides, but should not enable the container to overpower the content.

Akin to the holiday season, in celebrating Christmas, one may exchange gifts. Beautiful wrappings may surround the gift, but when those are torn off, they are forgotten. The thing that is kept and remembered is the contents of those wrappings. The true beauty of a tale lies in the tale itself. That is the tale of tales, and Norshteyn could not have captured it more beautifully.

Painting the Numbers

NicoleNg Leave a comment

In a conversation had earlier this week about the separation of art and business as analogous to that of church and state, I would like to prove my extremely business purist ounterpart wrong. The integration of art and business, and the ability to generate new, creative ideas from the minds of the most avant-garde is not outlandish or even novel. I’m sure that this isn’t even the oldest example, but to pull the focus away from the hipster days of late that emphasize the degradation of large corporations and capitalism, I would like to turn the year back to 1966, during the Experiments in Art and Technology convention (E.A.T.).  EAT “encouraged the collaboration of artists and engineers across the country in interdisciplinary technology-based art projects.”  The project linked two entirely separate spheres of studio art and scientific engineering to meet on common ground and participate in new product innovation. One of the most iconic results of the collaboration was the “Pepsi-Cola Pavillion,” an experimental multimedia theatrical space and interactive environment in Osaka, Japan. Although most notable as a historical form of media art, it clearly exemplifies the possibility for collaboration between the artistic and business world.

Fast forward to 2012 and the evidence of artistic presence integrated into marketing campaigns remains relevant. It’s no doubt that the creative virtues of advertisers are present in every magazine flipped open or cinematography in commercials that make you cry. But even more overtly, Warhol’s iconic Campbell’s soup print was celebrated on the soup cans themselves this fall, with bright colors and a clear homage to the late artist. Warhol was also celebrated in a recent NARS cosmetics campaign, released during Spring 2013 Fashion Week.   Louis Vuitton collaborated with Japanese artist Yayoi Kusama, which inspired the line’s luxury handbag for this season. Kenny Sscharf, a Brooklyn based street artist comparable to the works of Basquiat, collaborated with Kiehl’s to create a line “Crème De Corps” that donates 100% of net profits to children’s charity with a focus on authentic art in children’s medical facilities. While I realize that the majority of the most recent examples come from fashion based companies which inherently have the tenacity to be more accepting of artistic perspectives and integration, I also hope that this is the step toward a greater trend that is to be incorporated into the natural business world. Too often do we disregard the completely valid perspective of those that think with a different set of neurons, and deem them to be either corrupt or an anarchist. Can we find common ground? Long live the banker artist!

The Power of Sound

Sarah Ogar Leave a comment

After reading an interesting article from the BBC on listening vs. hearing, I thought about the supremacy of sound over the power of sight.  In the article, the scientists brought up an amazing point.  It was that we give such a power to visuals, even though when we sleep, our eyes take a break beneath the fleshy shutter of our eyelids.  Meanwhile our ears remain in tune to any iminent sounds of danger of the voices of our loved ones.

And in terms of memory and recall, there is a reason why many romantic couples have ‘a special song’ that immediately sends them to a different place and time, where they vividly remember times past.  There is also a  reason why the two dissonant chords of the Jaws theme produce the a frightening image of a shark, whereas a mere picture of a shark produces an nonplussed exclamation of, “Cool, a shark,”

And when you think about it, sound is so much more subtle and nuanced than vision.  In real life, trees and flowers, cannot crescendo or decrescendo.  They cannot get louder.  You can move closer to a daffodil, but it cannot impose itself on you.

As a writer, to get myself into a certain mood, I will often set my Pandora station according to what mood I would like to evoke.  When writing urban fiction, I find tango fusion to be an excellent, sultry and stealthy set of vibes to get me going.  When writing about Byzantine icons, I find Greek motets to be the right compositions for the job.  And when I’m writing literary theory essays, I find simple solo piano pieces to be the right pace and timbre to get my own fingers steadily going on my keyboard.  Music definitely helps me write.  As it keeps going, I keep going.

But I could never put up a slideshow of images to watch while typing.  Although I love perusing Pinterest for travel inspiration or just to gawk at beautifully composed photographs taken by other travelers, I cannot simultaneously view pictures and write.  Although I draw inspiration from great images, my adoration and inspiration of images must be separate in time from my inspiration in writing.

I guess there is just something so disjointed about images.  Something stuck in time.  Something that stops the second you look away.  But music continues.  It commands your attention and curbs your thoughts to its emotional beck and call.  It builds scenes in your mind that don’t stop, but go on until the final decrescendo.

This post may have arisen because I am currently studying for Art History exams, and my gouge my eyes out if I have to stare at yet another Medieval or Romanesque cathedral tympanum….