Category: Uncategorized

Transition periods are often fraught with the uncertainty of non-belonging. They are not precisely anchored to one end, but neither are they to the other. Human logic tends to separate things into binary oppositions, dividing concepts not only into categories but demanding the certain identity of one or the other. Black and white, up and down, right and wrong. But who is to determine the precise boundaries, the exact points of division, when nearly everything is a gradient? And so these distinctions are rendered almost arbitrary.

And then, there is night and day.

Twilight is itself already a murky time, somewhere between sleep and waking, silence and noise. Then there is what is known as the blue hour, so termed for its literal appearance. These are the hours situated just before sunrise and immediately following sunset, when the sun itself has not yet risen above (or has only just dropped below) the horizon, but there is an diffused, ambient sort of light filtered down from the atmosphere. The first glimmerings of sunlight scattered in the upper atmosphere give the sky a deep, jewel-toned glow, while the land remains unlit by direct light.

What this time of day provides is an ethereal in-between transition period, valuable for its unusual quality of light and, perhaps, because it is so fleeting. Moving inward towards the daylight hours, light progresses into the golden hour, the first and last hours of sunlight. A lower solar angle and more atmospheric interference translate into longer, redder wavelengths, and it is during this time that light takes on a strong, warm glow. Building faces are gilt, landscapes turned to amber.

Dusk and dawn and the times surrounding them are often perceived as boundaries, as lines, as borders between night and day. But in truth they are segments of time, unbounded at either end, melting seamlessly from one to another. They are quiet, brief, and go frequently unnoticed, yet they provide such drastically contrasting types and temperatures and qualities of light that they remain unique, and, as ever, a sight to behold.

Those who are interested in a twilight-hour jaunt (with or without camera) may find this site invaluable. It comes with location/coordinate input, charts and maps with hours and angles and latitudes of everything the sun and moon are doing, and all sorts of helpful things.

I would like to devote this week’s post to \”A Very Potter Musical.\” I’m not sure why, but the topic of AVPM and “A Very Potter Sequel” have both come up in several conversations I’ve had this week, but inevitably, in each of these conversations, at least one person participating had not heard of either of these two StarKid productions.

AVPM and AVPS are musical, theatrical spoofs of the Harry Potter series. Both of these productions were written and performed by  UofM students, and they are brilliantly done. I feel these two performances should not be missed, so I encourage everyone to check them out on YouTube!

The acting in these two plays is enjoyable and comedic.  The sets are imaginative, and the humorous pop-culture references, clever story re-imaginings, and exaggerated characterizations make the time spent watching these videos well worth your while.

I do not consider myself a person with an obsessive personality.  However, when it comes to Frida Kahlo, I would only use one term to describe my feelings for her, obsessed.  I don’t know when the obsession started, I cannot pinpoint one day or event, but somehow I have accumulated books, artwork and small images of her around my room.  Where I go Frida seems to follow.

I read the book Frida: A Biography of Frida Kahlo, by Hayden Herrera a few years back.  From this biography I learned about Frida’s relationship with Diego Rivera, how he would often have numerous lovers while with Frida and how they loved each other, yet hurt each other so often at the same time.  I also read that one of Diego’s lovers was no other than Frida’s sister!  What betrayal.

Frida never fit in growing up.  She was the black sheep and the odd ball out, so to say.  An accident when she was a teenager only worsened this label.  She was in a streetcar accident where one of the railings from the streetcar entered her body through her back.  After this incident, she never fully recovered, and complications due to this event were eventually what killed her.  She had numerous surgeries on her back and leg that left her bed ridden and this is where she painted a lot of her self-portraits.  She walked with a noticeable limp and finally had to get her leg amputated.  I have had back problems of my own, not nearly as bad as hers, but still like to equate my pain with hers.  I look to her paintings as a place to examine her suffering.  Her honesty through her self-portraits is comforting for me and I think this is why I love her so much.

She is my inspiration.  Even though she lived a hard life, she lived it well, creating masterpieces that created not only an outlet of her own, but also an example for others to follow and resonate with.  She was beautiful, truthful and inspiring as both a female and an artist.

There is something about the sound of French composer Yann Tiersen (of Amélie fame)’s music, a strange, poignant quality. The tracks are largely instrumental, but only minimally so; piano and accordion and violin often layer over other unconventional instruments. Sound is sparse but constant, running, circling ever around and around. It is lively, fluid, lilting, this music.

Timeless at its core, the best of Tiersen’s music seems to revel in individual moments rather than transcending time altogether. Freeze frame. Click, whirr. A handful of Polaroids. Sun-faded corners. Worn wooden floorboards, a cobbled street, the café under striped awning. Whirp. A worn leather-bound book, indolent summers on a green riverbank somewhere.

Perhaps it is more accurate, when making such observations, to specify that we in the end really are examining Tiersen’s scoring of Amélie (2001, full title Le Fabuleau Destin D’Amélie). Its sound draws largely upon Eastern European folk and classical roots, but is not defined by its inspiration. Evocative of quiet idyll, of philosophical reflections on life, the music is at once quaint and familiar, old and new.

My family often spends New Years Day recovering from the previous night’s activities while watching an endless array of movies. Though for the past years I have had the honor of choosing the cinematic lineup, this year I was overruled by my relatives. Instead of watching a film of substance that forced the audience to “think,” my family wanted to “escape reality” for a bit and watch a fairly mindless set of action and “comedic” movies. Thus, I was not only forced to watch a bad Bollywood version of Scary Movie, but I also had to endure almost two hours of George Clooney aimlessly running around in The American instead of watching Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan. However, after finally seeing the movie last week, it seems as if the Black Swan might have actually been a perfect compliment to the plotless films I watched over break.

The Black Swan, starring Natalie Portman, Mila Kunis, and Vincent Cassel, is your basic ballet narrative with a little bit of psychodrama added into the mix. Part Center Stage, Sixth Sense, and Mommie Dearest the film details the rise and fall of Portman’s character, ballerina Nina Sayers. Though Sayers wins the lead role in a production of Swan Lake, she seems to become increasingly conflicted and embattled regarding her own identity and reality. Ultimately, through her efforts to find herself, Portman’s character is often in conflict with her foe, Kunis’ Lilly, or her mentor (played by Cassel).

While I found the visual aspects of the film to be extremely compelling (ex. the GORGEOUS costumes by Rodarte and the exquisite dance sequences), the plot itself is not entirely unique. The movie basically boils down to the following stereotypical narrative: A ballerina strives for perfection and this obsession with perfection is his/her downfall. While the occasional bloody/gruesome scenes help to divert the audience’s attention away from this fundamental storyline (especially the one scene in which Winona Ryder seems to stab her face with a nail filer!), the ending is ultimately predictable and unsatisfying. I left the movie theater not only confused as to why this movie was so heralded in the first place, but also happy that my parents weren’t there to witness my cinematic upset. But, then again maybe I just didn’t get it. Let me know what you think in the comments section below 🙂

The more splendid and satisfying a brief stint from academia is, the more jarring it is to be return to collegiate reality and all its invigorating tensions. With the crunch of salt under heels, and a mere 19 days past the winter solstice, it’s no surprise that there is hardly a cheer or levity in our gaits as we make the spitefully cold walk to our classroom doors. The novelty of the newly marked year will soon be spent, and what left but this expanse of dry air and the bite of the steely nights? For some like myself, January has become the designated month to celebrate the all too well-known cultural sentiment entitled “postmodern ennui”, fed by what the DSM-IV calls seasonal affective disorder. While some turn to light-therapy, and others to feel-good, witty and inspirational films and others yet to the veritable bacchanal of Friday evenings, I have, of late, found myself craving for BBC documentaries presented by British particle physicist, Brian Cox (of course). As the lengthy adage goes: a dose of physics mends a day in which nothing seems to have come to adequate fruition.

In Professor Cox’s show, The Wonders of the Solar System, the unfamiliarities of the physical world are rendered majestic and absurdly grand in its explicability. In fact, I would argue it is done so well that suddenly the evening air regains some of its color again:

In the gusto after viewing the five available episodes of WotSS, I swiftly made my way to the nearest bookstore and purchased Brian Cox’s book, Why does e=mc2?, and on a spread of summer lawn refreshed and extended what I had known on general relativity. Although six months have passed, the one passage that I can think of, most appropriate in the season at hand, describes the staggering beauty of science. If nothing else, Cox makes the most passionate and most accessible arguments for his field.

The scientist’s job is to strip away the complexity we see around us and to uncover this underlying simplicity. When the process works out, and the simplicity and unity of the world are revealed, we experience the Ionian Enchantment. Imagine for a moment cradling a snowflake in the palm of your hand. It is an elegant and beautiful structure, possessed of a jagged crystalline symmetry. No two snowflakes are alike, and at first sight this chaotic state of affairs seems to defy a simple explanation. Science has taught us that the apparent complexity of snowflakes hides an exquisite underlying simplicity; each is a configuration of billions of molecules of water, H2O. There is nothing more to a snowflake than that, and yet an overwhelming complex structure and form emerges when those H2O molecules get together in the atmosphere of our planet on a cold winter’s night.

And with that, and then so suddenly, some things have been turned aright in the world. Professor Brian Cox, may just be my very own light-therapy lamp.

Sue majors in Neuroscience & English and tends to lurk in bookstores.