This past Sunday we had the opportunity to sit in on a dramatic reading of Stephen Gracia’s play “The Woman who Gave Birth to Rabbits”. I firmly believe that reading a play does it no justice in comparison to seeing it acted out, which is why I was initially excited for this experience. I have never really been someone who gets “weirded out” (for lack of better phrasing) by things in literature, plays, or film, so I did enjoy the play when I read it. I found its commentary on a woman’s station in life and societally implanted obligation to create a family to be incredibly thought-provoking. Hearing the actors read it made me enjoy the play even more as I thought it helped to invigorate the characters. I found the actress who had played Mary’s performance to be especially captivating, but of course all of the actors shone in their roles. I also enjoyed having the opportunity to discuss the content of the play and the theater industry in general. Stephen told us about all of his efforts to make his work affordable to the masses, as the art world tends to be nigh inaccessible to many. Additionally, he told us something that I also tend to find true: “When money changes hands art becomes fraudulent.” The idea that art has steadily morphed into a commodity to be bought and sold is one that we have frequently addressed in this seminar, and it makes me glad to see that there are artists out there ensuring that their art is available for everyone. Aside from the play itself, I also had the opportunity to speak to two of the actors afterwards, Victoria and John (who had played the midwife and Joshua). They told me about a film production company they owned, and we just talked for a while about all things film and the film industry, as it is something I definitely have an interest in. I found my experience with “The Woman who Gave Birth to Rabbits” to be quite gratifying in a multitude of ways: not only did I get to experience a compelling piece of art, but also the opportunity to have a discussion on the art with the man who created it and on the art industry in general.

I found Tuesday’s Night at the Museum to be an incredibly gratifying experience. Although, regrettably, only two floors of the museum were open to us, I don’t suppose I can complain about that since the Brooklyn Museum was open after hours specifically for us Macaulay students, and the floors we did have access to were filled with fascinating exhibitions. Starting from the top down, I first explored the fifth floor. My most significant impression from the artworks on this floor was how diverse they were in origin, time period, etc. I found the juxtaposition of modern art with that of a more classical background very thought-provoking, as it inspired me to ponder the similarities between the two. I also thought that the fifth floor exhibits did an incredibly good job at highlighting the inequalities so ever-present in the art world. Here, Black, Indigenous, and Asian art was highlighted in a way that is so uncommon for most art spaces, as these communities are commonly underrepresented in the museum world which I notice tends to favor, for lack of better phrasing, dead white guys. I noticed a major theme of examining the reason why these marginalized voices have historically been so cast out of academic and artistic spaces and I felt that the fifth floor almost served to stress how art from historically marginalized communities belongs in a museum just as much as that from white artists.

One of my favorite parts of the fifth floor exhibit was probably that dealing with orientalism in art. As I had learned from a description on the wall, American artists throughout history fetishized Arab culture despite many of them never even having visited it. Of course, to these American artists, an Arabic scene was just generically Middle Eastern, with traditions of different countries being blurred into one vague, exotic ideal of what they thought the region was like. The same is true for East Asia as well, especially as chinoiserie came into vogue in both Europe and America. Something I noticed was that white women painted in kimonos looked modest, whereas Asian women painted in kimonos were hypersexualized by the artist. I felt that putting these paintings in the same exhibit serves to facilitate a meaningful conversation about the history of unfair–to say the least–depiction of women in art based on their race.

The third floor served as a stark contrast to the fifth, as it was filled with ancient Egyptian art. Ancient Egypt is close to my heart, as I admittedly was very into ancient Egyptian mythology as a child…in any case, I highly enjoyed looking around at the ornate tombs and artifacts. One of my favorite works was a mummy portrait from the Roman Period known as Woman with Earrings. I found myself drawn to this portrait because the woman looks so realistic. Compared to Egyptian art of other periods, I found the Roman influence incredibly apparent. Something about her, perhaps because she looks like just another woman I could see on the street, piqued my interest. She is beautiful in a very approachable way, I suppose.

If given the chance, I would instantly come back to the Brooklyn Museum. Not only did Night at the Museum offer me the opportunity to visit a museum I hadn’t been to beforehand, it also gave me the opportunity to connect with my Macaulay peers from other campuses, and I even got to reunite with some old friends from middle and high school! In summation, I believe that events such as this one are instrumental in bringing together Macaulay students from all campuses and giving us a space to culturally enrich and intellectually challenge ourselves.

Earlier today, my seminar-related travels brought me to the Metropolitan Pavilion, which was hosting the Affordable Art Fair–a gallery in which artists from all over the U.S. and even international artists have the opportunity to showcase their art and sell it to the interested. I admittedly did not have high hopes for this event, a feeling pre-established by my purchase of a ticket the night before. I had paid roughly $41 for a relatively bare-bones entry ticket; VIP tickets were around twice that if memory serves. This represented my first financial hurdle in regards to the curiously named “Affordable” Art Fair, as I found the comparatively steep price affordable by no means. As a silver lining, guests under 16 were allowed free entry–but what good did that do me? I digress.

As I stepped into the venue itself, I was greeted with bustle. Swaths of people moving from exhibit to exhibit as if on a circuit, chatting up a storm amongst themselves and even with the artists. Immediately, I felt out of place. The employees were polite and I had no real interactions with anyone (save for one of the artists, but I will get to that later), but looking at the price tags of artworks made me realize the gulf between myself, an 18-year-old college student working a minimum wage job, and the artistically inclined who had undoubtedly come from all over to spend thousands of dollars on a new painting for their living room–or something. I think the cheapest painting I found was $600. Slave to souvenirs as I am, though, I didn’t walk home empty-handed: virtually all of the artists gave out free postcards or bookmarks as business cards, and who would I be not to capitalize on such an opportunity?

In any case, the art itself was a mixed bag for my tastes. I believe that modern art receives too much flak from the general population who I notice tend to prefer the classic old Western canon. I won’t lie and say that every piece I saw spoke to me, but there were many that I highly enjoyed. For example, Mercedes Jelinek’s Immersion, a photograph printed on recycled book paper, seemed to me an incredibly interesting way to present photography in a novel light. That being said, it was also $6,000, which overrode any positive feelings I had for the work. I understand that artists need to make a living, but the entire point of an “accessible” gallery should be that art is accessible to everyone, and I don’t see how such a price point can justifiably be called accessible.

As I sauntered through the gallery, I came across works by Chicago artist Richard Glick. We exchanged polite smiles and then he struck up a conversation with me, which made me momentarily freeze. He told me he was the artist behind the paintings I was looking at–something I discerned by the name on his lanyard–and I barely uttered a “That’s nice.” Retrospectively embarrassing for me, but we got to talking and I started warming up. The first thing he said to me after was, “You know, they call this affordable but it really isn’t at all.” I swiftly nodded, and we got along to talking about my school, what I was interested in, et cetera. This interaction was probably the highlight of my visit. I really enjoyed being able to have a conversation with an artist, even if it was just exchanging pleasantries. Instead of being some far-off figure, the artist was just a human standing in front of me. I also liked that he addressed the hypocrisy of calling the Fair “affordable” without my having to even intimate such a thing.

I wish I had more positive things to say about the Affordable Art Fair, but I would be lying. Woefully out of place among the rich art snobs of Manhattan, I decided to move on to better, cheaper things. Namely, a quick detour to the Chelsea Hotel to check out the lobby before I hopped on the SIM1c once again. With Patti Smith on my mind, I set out on a 10 minute walk from the Pavilion to the Hotel; it was probably shorter than that in actuality. But in any case, it served as a nice way to end my trip, although I do regret not getting a coffee or something in the bar. Next time, I’m sure.

For my first experience with professional live theater, I would definitely say that I enjoyed The Counter. The play followed Paul, an aging retired firefighter (played by Anthony Edwards, who I totally did not expect to see after knowing him only from NBC’s ER) and Katie, a waitress at the diner Paul frequents. Initially, I found their banter amusing, as it almost reminded me of my own job. I work in a bakery, and I periodically get customers who love to tell me their life stories all while I’m ringing them up or helping them choose a cake for whatever occasion. Paul and Katie’s friendship steadily deepens as the play progresses, only for Paul to ask of Katie the unthinkable. One day, he gives her a vial of poison he had purchased online and tells her to put it in his coffee without telling him when, so that he can be “surprised”. Understandably appalled, Katie sees to it that Paul does not fall into any deeper of a depression that he seems to be in and does everything in her power to keep Paul alive. A theme of the play I found to be especially compelling was that of dying on one’s own terms. Paul’s brother had died in a feeble state, weakened by disease–something Paul absolutely does not want for himself. Although his purported method of achieving such a thing is morally questionable at best, I nonetheless respect that he simply wished to die on his own terms.
An aspect I highly respected about Katie’s character was her self-assurance in regards to why she left the city in the first place. Paul jabbed at her, saying her moving was a “give-up life”: for Katie, however, it was anything but. In actuality, it was her new beginning after a traumatic hysterectomy due to endometriosis. The scene where she finally tells Paul off and explains why exactly she moved was, for me, one of the most satisfying in the entire production.
Beyond that, I found their friendship beautiful. Paul and Katie genuinely supported and uplifted each other throughout the play: Katie continually pushed Paul to stay alive, whether that be through learning Italian or pursuing an old relationship with Dr. Bradley, and Paul was a support to Katie in navigating her feelings for a friend who had rejected her. Ultimately, Katie decides to go meet this friend on Paul’s urging, and the two share an embrace before she leaves and Paul is again left alone. I admired Paul’s selflessness in this moment: someone as lonely as himself could very well have told Katie to stay at the diner so he could have his conversation partner, but he only ever had her best interests in mind, just as she did his. The Counter, to me, serves as a testament to the profound strength of friendships forged in unlikely places.

I decided to visit the Rubin Museum of Art, accompanied by my sister. As somebody who has had a lifelong interest in cultures other than my own, the idea of seeing an exhibit filled with Tibetan and Himalayan art and culture, which I admittedly do not have much knowledge of outside of a high school world religion class, tantalized me. Another major factor which spurred my visit to the Rubin specifically was the unfortunate fact that it is closing its Chelsea location in favor of becoming a virtual museum. Thus, I made my journey to Manhattan–a rather comfortable one thanks to the humble SIM1C. 

As I made my way into the museum and up the stairs to the second floor, I was entranced. Glimmering golden tapestries and ornate copper statues were a visual treat. One of the first pieces I had noticed that truly struck a chord with me, and which dwelled in my mind for the entire duration of my visit to the Rubin, was a tantric copper statue of the Vajradhara Buddha with a consort. As I examined their intertwined bodies, Berger’s discussion of sexuality as depicted in Eastern art as opposed to Western art in Ways of Seeing immediately came to mind. Berger detailed that Eastern art never objectified women as European art did. Instead of being objects of male sexual desire, naked women in Eastern art were depictions of sexual love between two people. I found the depiction of sexual love in this statue refreshing compared to the idea of the female nude so prevalent in the old European canon. 

A bit later into my visit, I encountered something I had never seen the likes of at any museum I have ever been to. The Mandala Lab was an interactive exhibition created by contemporary artists which was based on core Buddhist tenets and meant to stimulate all of one’s senses, not just sight. Personally, I found the scent library to be among the most interesting aspects of the Mandala Lab. It involved six different stations where one would press a button and a scent created by master perfumer Christophe Laudamiel would be blown at you. From there, you would choose emotions on a wheel and describe how the scent made you feel. Each of the six scents were created in collaboration with artists who connected them back to a specific time of their life. They ranged from cigarette smoke and the smell of the earth after rain–two scents which, unfortunately for me, aggravated a migraine–to temple incense, which I found the most pleasant. 

Aside from the olfactory experience, the auditory experience was definitely among my favorites. Designed for the museum-goer to express their anger, it involved a collection of gongs which were designed by various artists in differing size and shape, and therefore sound. The instructions were to think about your anger, strike the gong with the mallet provided, and lower it into a pool of water to see how it altered the sound. To me, it served as a testament to transforming anger into something productive, something beautiful. As I struck the gongs and heard their reverberations alter after being lowered into the water, it made me examine how I can transform my own anger; how I can transfer that negative energy into something positive.

Something else I enjoyed about the Rubin was the Tibetan Buddhist Shrine Room. I have never had the opportunity to go into a house of worship other than my own church, so I highly appreciated having such an opportunity at the Rubin. My initial impression of the Shrine Room was how profoundly beautiful and ornate it was–as a Catholic, I must say that I have quite the penchant for the ornate. The room was dimly lit and the soft smell of incense wafted through the air. To me, it was entrancing. The appliqué tapestries adorning the wall along with dozens of little statues and candle holders almost reminded me of stained glass windows and offering candles in a Catholic church–though I obviously know the two are completely different, it proved to me how universal and innately human the appreciation of beauty in worship is. 

(My picture may seem brighter than how I described, but that’s just thanks to my overexposed phone camera.)

One of the last things that I saw at the Rubin was a short film, Yarlung (2020), directed by Kunsang Kyirong, a Toronto-based indie filmmaker. Yarlung follows the story of how three children cope with the death of their mother, and how the Yarlung Tsangpo river allows them to cope and deal with their immense loss. For them, the river is both sacred and a comfort to them in a difficult time: they played, swam, and fished in the river, like the village children generations before them. There was also an ongoing motif of their grandmother’s tea, another comfort to the children. The way they took refuge in nature almost struck me as Romantic, which I appreciated. Visually, the film was beautifully animated in a simple charcoal-drawn style that I found comforting. Tea and the river were intertwined in the film, or it seemed as such to me, as ancient, time-honored comforts to the people of Kyirong’s village. In its five minutes, Yarlung conveyed a powerful message about finding comfort in simplicity and the familiar. Not only were the children able to find peace, but I felt that as a viewer, the environment Kyirong created in the film extended to myself as I was watching–it even made me feel more relaxed. I found that Kyirong was able to deliver such a strong message in five minutes what some renowned directors are unable to do in two hours, and I commend her for that. 

The Rubin museum is easily one of the most beautiful museums I’ve ever been to, aesthetically and otherwise. Exposing myself to a culture I knew next to nothing about certainly paid off, as I feel my visit offered me some insight into Tibetan culture. Although it is an absolute travesty that the physical building will be closing, I left the Rubin with a strong desire to learn more about Himalayan art and culture and will definitely make an effort to do so.