REVIEW: As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow – The Play

On December 6th, at 5 PM, the Ford Collaboratory in the Mardigian Library became a portal to war-torn Syria through the powerful stage adaptation of Zoulfa Katouh’s As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow. The story, which follows Salama Kassab’s heartbreaking journey through the Syrian civil war, was beautifully translated into a theatrical experience

The play centered on Salama (played by Leila Haddad in a standout performance), a former pharmacy student turned volunteer medic. Leila captureed Salama’s internal struggle with raw, unflinching authenticity. Her portrayal of guilt, hope, and despair—especially in moments of silence—felt like a masterclass in restraint. Haddad’s ability to convey emotion, especially in the quieter, more introspective moments, was mesmerizing.

Image Courtesy: Leila Ghaznavi

However, where the play truly shone was in its staging. Director Amira Shafiq, President of the Theater club, created an intimate, immersive experience that makes the audience feel as though they’re walking alongside Salama in the ruins of Homs. The use of minimalist sets striked a balance between realism and surrealism. The lighting design deserved special mention, with its stark contrasts between the warm glow of past memories and the cold, unforgiving present.

One of the play’s most intriguing choices was the personification of Khawf, Salama’s manifestation of fear. Actor Omar Darwish gave Khawf a chilling yet oddly sympathetic presence. His interactions with Salama—at times antagonistic, at times comforting—perfectly captured the inner turmoil of living through unimaginable horrors. These scenes, while impactful, occasionally slowed the pacing slightly, but they were essential in depicting her mental and emotional state.

The dialogue, much of it drawn directly from the book, was both poetic and raw, though some lines feel better suited to the page than the stage. While some of Salama’s reflections felt a bit expository when spoken aloud, they still carried the emotional weight of her journey.

“Perhaps this could have been remedied with more physical storytelling or additional silences to let the weight of the words sink in,” added Alexis Mohammed, a student at the University of Michigan Dearborn.

The supporting cast also delivered heartfelt performances. Yasmin Agha brought warmth and strength to the role of Layla, Salama’s pregnant best friend, though her limited stage time left her arc feeling somewhat underexplored. Karim Al-Rashed, as Salama’s brother Sami, offered moments of levity and hope, with his final scene leaving the audience in stunned silence.

One of the play’s most powerful moments was the climactic hospital scene. The chaos of wounded civilians flooding in, enhanced by overlapping shouts, frantic movement, and a pulsing soundscape, left both Salama and the audience breathless. It was a visceral reminder of the relentless toll of war.

That said, the play did struggle to capture some of the novel’s nuance, especially in depicting Salama’s quieter moments of healing and growth. The ending, while emotionally charged, felt slightly rushed, leaving the audience including myself, yearning for a deeper exploration of Salama’s transformation.

As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow is a story that demands to be told, and this stage adaptation did justice to its poignant message. With stellar performances, innovative staging, and a deeply personal tone, the December 6th performance was more than a play—it was a call to bear witness, to empathize, and to remember.

REVIEW: Anora

Yet another masterpiece from director Sean Baker. “Anora” is possibly the movie of the year, winning the prestigious Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival last May. The film manages to be wildly entertaining and heartbreakingly tender, fusing together comedy and tragedy in a sincere, never tacky, plot. Baker has added a crowning jewel to his already impressive list of achievements – his movies, like “Tangerine,” “Red Rocket,” and “The Florida Project,” are all superb depictions of people living life on the edge. 

Anora (played by the excellent Mikey Madison) is a sex worker dancing in an upscale Manhattan club. She’s bratty and charming and sexy; the golden strands woven into her hair, her big brown eyes and pouty lips, and a thick Brooklyn accent seduce both clientele and audience. We might be tempted to make assumptions about this street-smart stripper, but she’s unfailingly competent at her job, wooing the helpless men around her with a sharp confidence and glamour, and even pulling out an accented Russian upon request. 

Yet Ani – as she prefers to be called – makes a cardinal mistake: she falls in love at the job. The object of her mascaraed eyes is Ivan (played by the up-and-coming Mark Eydelshteyn), who woos Ani with an ADHD, marijuana-fueled manic appeal and a ready checkbook. The relationship is initially transactional but quickly morphs into genuine affection. The trouble is that Ivan’s sexual adventures are paid for by his father, a wealthy Russian oligarch, who will surely not take kindly to his son’s gallivanting with an American stripper. 

Indeed – as anybody but Ani and Ivan could have foreseen – the relationship does not have a happy ending. I’ll spare any spoilers, but let’s just say that there is a scene where Ivan, pulling up his pants with one hand, sprints away from his own mansion and into the city, leaving behind two hired thugs and a weeping, half-naked Ani in his wake. This marks the end of the first act of the film, and it’s only downhill from here. 

It would be easy to divide the characters of “Anora” into two categories. The bourgeoisie and the plebeians. The upper class and the working class. The rich kids and their imprisoned servants. The buyers and the sellers. Baker avoids such cliches. Ani is no damsel in distress. She is unfailingly self-sufficient, brash and confident, completely sure of her own worth. But even the toughest Brooklyn girl has a breaking point, as one of the aforementioned hired thugs, Igor (played by a silent-but-strong Yura Borisov), empathetically foresees with a knowing eye. I say “empathetically” here because Igor and Ani are two sides of the same coin. Two young people, essentially enslaved by a spoiled brat, competently but dutifully making their way through an uncaring city. 

In a way, Ani is much like the impoverished kids playing make-believe in the Orlando motels that Baker depicted in “The Florida Project.” She has learned how to take care of herself, but yearns for love. She is equal parts brazen and naive. She and Ivan live in the same city, but in completely different worlds. And as she soon finds out, her dreams are pure fantasy.

REVIEW: “touch” by Ericka Lopez

In most art exhibitions, there’s one rule that should never be broken: don’t touch the art. But visitors to Ericka Lopez’s “touch” at the Institute for the Humanities are not just allowed, but encouraged, to break this taboo.

Ericka Lopez is a blind artist who works primarily through touch, and uses her memories of color from before she completely lost her vision to inform her color choices. Her exhibition consists of a mix of textile, ceramic and assemblage works, all of which viewers are “invited to gently touch.” Across the multitude of media, there are many textures to explore.

The punch-rug textile squares, in a rainbow of marbled colors, are shaggy and soft—but sometimes punctuated by beads and buttons, or a particularly scratchy type of yarn. The coil-built ceramic vessels are warped and bent into organic forms, appearing so flexible that I was almost surprised by how solid they felt under my fingers. And the assemblage works, sewn together out of everything from keys to spools of thread to fuzzy balls of yarn, were a surprising mix of textures. Sometimes, running my hand across a collection of beads would create delightful moments of sound as well, contributing to the truly multi-sensory experience.

Details of pieces from Ericka Lopez’s “touch.” Photos by reviewer.

Closing my eyes and exploring the works with only my hands was a lesson in just how nuanced my sense of touch could be. I learned from the textiles that there were many more different kinds of “soft” than I knew how to describe, and from the ceramics that a glossy glaze feels completely different from a matte one.

In her exhibition statement, curator Amanda Krugliak writes that “As visitors to the gallery become active participants, there is the opportunity for deeper human connection beyond surfaces.” It is one thing to be merely a viewer of an artwork, and another to touch it, to rub your fingers through loops of yarn or dangling beads. When my touch shifted an arrangement of keys on one of the assemblage works, I realized that it would be ever-so-slightly different for the next person to enter the gallery. The opportunity to participate in an exhibition in this way, and to be connected to the artwork in the same way that the artist was as she created it, is a rare and precious one.

The exhibition contains multiple features to make Lopez’s artwork accessible to blind and low vision visitors, including braille labels on the walls beside the pieces and QR codes leading to visual descriptions of the artwork. (There are no labels printed in plain text—sighted viewers will have to pick up a paper exhibition catalog just outside the gallery in order to read information about the pieces.) All exhibition materials are also available in both Spanish and English.

While the colors and textures may be visually stunning, pictures don’t do this exhibition justice. Ericka Lopez’s diverse and captivating body of work is best seen—and felt—in person.

“touch” is on view at the Institute for the Humanities Gallery until December 13th. Detailed information about accessibility can be found here.

REVIEW: Through the Lens: The Henry Ford Estate’s Timeless Beauty

The Nature Photography event at the Environmental Interpretive Center on November 14th was an experience I’ll carry with me for a long time. It wasn’t just about wandering the trails of the Henry Ford Estate; it was about seeing this historic space through the eyes of the students who had captured it with their cameras. Their photographs didn’t just frame the estate—they transformed it, revealing a place I thought I knew in ways I hadn’t imagined.

The Henry Ford Mansion . Photo By Alexa Mckray

The student photographs lined the trails like quiet whispers of their perspectives, each one inviting me to pause and see the Henry Ford Mansion in a new light. The mansion, with its stately stone facade and commanding presence, became more than just a historic landmark through their eyes. One photograph caught the mansion bathed in the soft, golden hues of a sunset, the light making the stone seem alive, glowing with warmth.

Another portrayed it on a misty morning, its edges blurred and softened by fog, giving it an ethereal, almost dreamlike quality. Standing there, with the real mansion towering above me and these interpretations surrounding me, I felt like I was experiencing its many layers—its strength, its mystery, its quietness—all at once.

It was in the orchard where the students’ work really resonated with me. Walking among the bare, twisted trees, I stopped at a photograph of the last apple of the season, clinging stubbornly to its branch. Another image focused on the intricate lines of a gnarled trunk, its bark peeling to reveal the scars of time. These moments, frozen through their lenses, made me pause and look closer at the orchard itself—its beauty, its endurance, its history.

 

Images By Katrina Brown And Kai Richardson

The pond, still and reflective in the late autumn light, was another scene transformed by the students’ photographs. In one, the water was alive with lily pads under the green canopy of summer. In another, it was frozen and dusted with snow, radiating the stillness of winter. Standing there, I felt a deep appreciation for how photography can carry us through time and seasons, reminding us of nature’s constant transformation.

This event wasn’t just about the photographs—it was about the way they made me feel. They invited me to look closer, to see the familiar in a new light, and to connect with the estate in a deeply personal way. Each image wasn’t just a capture of a place but a piece of the student’s perspective, their way of seeing the world.

Walking those trails that day felt like stepping into a conversation—one between the students, the estate, and myself. Their work didn’t just show me the beauty of the Henry Ford Estate; it reminded me how much beauty there is in looking, really looking, at the world around us.

REVIEW: Threads of Justice and Legacy: Lester Johnson Art at the Stamelos Gallery

Visiting the Stamelos Gallery at the Mardigian Library on Monday was a powerful experience that gave me a deeper appreciation for Lester Johnson’s work. Stepping into the space filled with his vibrant pieces, I felt the energy of his journey as an artist, a journey that is deeply rooted in the history and culture of Detroit and the broader African-American experience.

The exhibition, FOUR: Lester Johnson’s Selected Works, is a captivating reflection of his life and creative evolution. As I stood in front of his large-scale totem sculptures, I couldn’t help but think about how Johnson’s work is so deeply connected to his childhood in Detroit’s Westside, a historically rich Black community. Growing up just blocks from the iconic Blue Bird Inn, a hub for jazz legends like John Coltrane and Miles Davis, it’s clear how the rhythms and melodies of Detroit’s jazz scene shaped his creative vision. Johnson’s art is infused with the spirit of this music, often created with it playing in the background, as he seeks to channel its energy and emotion into his sculptures and paintings.

Courtesy of Lester Johnson
26 Wood, Fiber, and Fabric Totems. Courtesy of Lester Johnson

One piece that particularly struck me was the 26 Wood, Fiber, and Fabric Totems, which are a tribute to Rosa Parks and Judge Damon J. Keith. These works, rich in color and texture, tell a story of resilience and community. The fabric, woven with African-inspired patterns, speaks to the ways in which culture can bind people together, even in the face of adversity.

For Johnson, fabric is more than just material—it’s a symbol of the strength and unity that communities, particularly Black communities, have built over time despite systemic challenges. The totems were a poignant reminder of the importance of honoring the past while continuing to fight for justice.

As I walked through the gallery, I was also reminded of how much Johnson’s personal experiences shaped his artistic direction. His move into papermaking in the 1980s, influenced by Al Loving and Lynn Forgach, marked a turning point in his work.

I could sense the new textures and depth in pieces like Lynn’s Song and Nerfetiti, where paper became a medium for exploring his longstanding fascination with primal cultures and natural materials. The three-dimensionality of the work felt so immersive, like I could reach out and touch the cultural stories embedded in the fibers of the paper itself.

Courtesy Of Lester Johnson
Lynn’s Song and Nerfetiti. Courtesy of Lester Johnson

 

The most moving aspect of Johnson’s work is its ability to connect deeply with the viewer. Each piece tells a story—not just of the artist’s journey, but of the shared human experience. Whether it’s the universal struggle for justice or the celebration of the cultural legacies that shape our lives, Johnson’s art invites us to reflect on what unites us as individuals and as communities. My visit to the Stamelos Gallery was a reminder that art isn’t just about what we see on the surface; it’s about the stories, struggles, and triumphs that are woven into every brushstroke, every piece of fabric, and every sheet of paper. Johnson’s work is a testament to the power of creativity to honor the past and inspire the future.

 

REVIEW: Arbor Glyph

The Student-led Exhibition Committee is a newly-formed group of Stamps students, faculty and staff who aim to provide more opportunities for undergraduates to exhibit their work. The SEC’s inaugural exhibition “L’Assemblage” was displayed last winter in the Stamps building, and the committee has now brought student work to the walls of the Stamps Gallery with “Arbor Glyph.”

Tucked away in a small side room off the main display space of the Stamps Gallery, “Arbor Glyph” is an understated but cozy exhibition. An inviting semicircle of wooden chairs filled with soft pillows faces the single, large-scale artwork. A carpet softens the tile floor, and black fabric covers the walls. Calm instrumental music, mixed with birdsong, plays softly. The environment feels calm and secluded, a comfortable hiding place.

The artwork itself is a combination of painting and projection, spread across three tall paper panels that form a single image of a chaotic, colorful forest. The painting was created collaboratively by about a dozen Stamps students who attended a painting event in October. Their only direction was the prompt “depict a tree.” This spontaneous method of creation is apparent in the wide range of styles that share space on the canvas, from bold streaks of ink to carefully placed brushstrokes.

As I approached the work to take a closer look, I realized that where my shadow fell onto the wall and blocked the projection, the colors disappeared. I had been aware that there was a projected element to the artwork, but it was so well integrated that I had failed to notice that the painting was composed with only black ink. The colors of the piece are an illusion produced by the projector overlay, bringing vibrancy to the shades of gray.

Arbor Glyph, detail. Shadows cast onto the artwork reveal the shades of gray beneath the colorful projection.

The longer I looked at the piece, the more small details I noticed. Apples among a tree’s scribbled branches. Birds in the sky. Animals lying beneath the trees, sheltered by their branches. Mushrooms growing in the undergrowth. These details added subtlety and life to the scene. I also noticed that the colors of the projection seemed to shift over time, particularly the sky, which cycled through blues, greens and purples.

The artwork and the space encourage this kind of contemplation—I found the chairs comfortable and the music very calming. The small room felt like a peaceful refuge, and I was content to spend a long time with the piece, watching the colors slowly shift.

I enjoyed the exhibition itself, but to me, the most valuable aspect of “Arbor Glyph” is the mission it represents. While there are existing opportunities for Stamps students to exhibit their artwork in the Stamps Gallery, such as the Undergraduate Juried Exhibition, those opportunities tend to be very selective and set a high bar for entry. There is value in recognizing exceptional work, but there is also value in creating space for work that might not otherwise have the chance to be publicly displayed. The Student-led Exhibition Committee is creating exhibition opportunities that are more accessible for students, and for that I applaud them.

“Arbor Glyph” is on display at the Stamps Gallery until November 16th.