Red Rover

Diane Frank’s description of the dance event “Red Rover” sounded so interesting that I knew I had to go. Not only did it exceed my expectations, it was probably one of my favorite art performances I have ever seen. The dance consisted of five different dance groups who performed a site-specific dance. The audience walked from site to site led by the “Rovers”—Stanford students who were dressed in white with some sort of red highlight—bandanas, sashes, etc. Not only were the dances unique, visually stimulating, and physically impressive, but the way in which the performance was conducted had artistic and conceptual significance.

First, the way in which the Rovers led the audience was artistic—they had to run ahead and direct the audience with their body, using the environment around them as props. For example, if they encountered a tree on the way, they would wrap their body around it while pointing with, for instance, their leg. If there was a curb, they would lie down as a barrier while constructing an artistic position on the ground with their body. Some were quite impressive—doing handstands along the way, using the Quad pillars as support, or holding an arabesque position on cement blocks for long periods of time. One interesting aspect I noted was that on the walk to the second location, we walked through a rather industrial construction site on campus where we wound in and out of metal fencing and construction plastic. This had meaning for me as it was so different from a formal dance performance in which one enters a fancy venue, dressed nicely, to watch the performance. Not only were we walking from place to place, but we were walking through ordinary settings. The Rovers did not choose to lead us through an area that was not cluttered with construction, but rather took the normal path despite the somewhat informal surroundings. To add to this informality, the walking caused each member to arrive at the scene at different times, so each member did not see the same thing. In fact, some would miss the beginning—there were no formal start/stop points for the performance. All of these characteristics played on the natural aspect of art—that everything can be viewed as part of the dance. In a way, all the ground we covered was part of the performance—the walk itself was a dance—we were being led to go certain places along a path that had some goal.

It will be hard to describe all of the dances in such a short space, so I will note on how many of them used the environments around them for their stage, for I think this is one of the main things Red Rover was trading on. The first piece began with various pairs spread along a courtyard, with one of the members of each pair standing on a polished stone “bench”—already using the environment as props. As the dance progressed, each member began to run down a grassy hill and dance around the trees—grasping and groping them as they circled around. Then, the Rovers led us to a place where we could see the next piece of the dance more clearly, because the dancers began to frolic down the hill (the change in elevation not allowing us to see their further steps from our original position). The dancers proceeded to enter a shallow pool/fountain and continued the dance in the water. This was one of the most interesting parts of the whole dance as the use of space was incredible. Not only were the dancers in water but the source of the sound was as well—there were three artists using bottles, barrels, coins, and other tools to make water sounds which were then amplified and distorted. It reminded me of Professor Applebaum’s sound system performance. I also enjoyed the fact that not only did the environment affect the dancers, but the dancers in turn affected the environment—creating ripples in the water, and making water prints on the stone as they stepped out of the water.

The second performance was affected by the wind and the sun. There were petals forming a spiral that the dancers ran through, yet which were blown by the wind, blurring the spiral’s lines. The setting sun also shone through an opening between two parts of the building, so the performance had its own natural lighting. The fourth performance used the actual functional aspects of buildings as an aspect of their dance. The focus of their performance was that “the brain is the body” and “the body is the brain”—the writing on their shirts and also the subject of their chants. Ironically, the dance was performed in the main section between the Law Library and Meyer Library. The dancers even used books as props for their dance. In each case, the environment was used for its props and setting. The fact that the Rovers also used props around them and the dances themselves were not on stage but in various parts of campus showed that anything can be used as art and the environment around us can be our stage.

The Golden Gate Bridge

An architectural marvel, the Golden Gate Bridge has been one of San Francisco’s key features for more than 75 years. The fascinating landmark spans almost two miles across the San Francisco bay and stands 746 feet tall above the water. Tourists flock from all over the world to witness this masterpiece because seeing a structure in a picture and then seeing it in reality are two completely different experiences.
The most astonishing aspect of the Golden Gate Bridge is that it has but two vertical supports, leaving most of the bridge suspended between them. Because of this, the bridge appears as a physical impossibility due to the restrictions of gravity. However, the design of this bridge allows it to be incredibly stable while retaining its splendor. This gives the structure an extremely perplexing quality, as if it were constructed by God himself and thus too perfect to understand.
In terms of the aesthetics of the design, the structure is organized using the horizontal axis onto which the road falls as a datum. The two towers comprise the vertical axis. As a whole, the bridge is very symmetrical, as the towers are equidistant from the center, but even smaller parts of the bridge have symmetric properties. For example, along both sides of the base of the bridge, there is a repeating pattern of right triangles. This motif can also be found just below the horizontal axis on the supporting towers. Here, the triangular pattern has been transformed so that instead of two triangles sharing a hypotenuse and thereby forming a square, the right angles point inward and the hypotenuses form the outside of the square.
The idea of contrast is also ever present in this magnificent structure. The two cables that run over the top of the towers and are secured at either end form a giant parabola in the middle of the bridge. Symmetry comes into play again since the two cables run parallel to each other. This implies complete perfection; from a side view, the bridge is just as symmetric as it is from an aerial view. Under the cables, there are poles that vary in length for support. These poles draw attention to the vertical axis, consequently forcing the viewer to contemplate the space beneath the bridge that is not directly supported. Another instance of contrast can be found in the towers, which contain spaces shaped like rounded rectangles. The rounded shapes break up the linear focus of the rest of the bridge and add variety to the design.
The Golden Gate Bridge is as awe-inspiring as it is confusing; the design in incredible, yes, but the real feat lies in its functionality and durability. As a symbol, this bridge establishes San Francisco as a majestic city and beckons outsiders to become part of it. If such a grandiose and seemingly architecturally impossible structure can stand in the San Francisco Bay, then who’s to say that their dreams will not be fulfilled in the city?

Photographs

Revolving Around Red Rover

This evening I participated in “Red Rover,” a traveling dance performance on the Stanford campus, and it was one of the best artistic experiences of my life. I wandered around campus with the audience, but behind my Nikon’s lens, creating a different experience for myself, one that revolved around a swirl of color, movement, and sound, rather than intricate thematic details.

            When I woke up this morning I was dismayed by (what appeared to be) rain clouds, however, by this evening the sky had cleared and was simply speckled with white clouds. As students, I feel that we often take for granted how beautiful and architecturally diverse our campus is, and “Red Rover” took advantage of this diverse beauty. There were a total of five dances, and student guide dancers led the audience across campus. These guide dancers were dressed in white and pranced around campus, perching themselves on columns, climbing on gates, and creating human chains to hold back traffic. They slithered between the audience and the dancers and heightened the sense of connection between the two groups.

            One of my favorite dances took place on the pavement between Meyer and the Law School. Six women in red shirts danced up and down the road chanting things such as “my body is meant to be here,” throwing books upon the ground, and smothering themselves with red paint. The dancers opened bottles of “blood,” finger painted their bodies red, and left handprints upon the ground. Their movements were deliberate and the dance illustrated the women’s power over their bodies. By this time in the evening, the sun had almost set and large flashlights illuminated the dancers. Because I was photographing the event, I was fascinated by the flashlight ringlets patterns on the dancers.

            The final dance, which took place inside of the red fountain near Green Library, was my favorite. There was only one couple in this dance and they glided in and out of the fountain’s boundaries, climbing up and down the stone stairs that surround the fountain. Visually, it was stunning. They were cloaked in white clothes that seemed to drip off of their bodies; they were surrounded by red, and illuminated by the fountain lights below. This dance focused the audience’s attention to the interactions between the two dancers’ bodies: the power construct between them continually shifted as they switched positions.

            I said at the beginning that I “participated” in “Red Rover” this evening, and while I had no official role in the piece, I still feel as though I participated in it… just by being in the audience. The dance was trading on the dancers’ interaction with their surroundings, which includes the audience. The surroundings also includes the sunset, and while the dance can be repeated, the sunset and the ambiance will never be exactly the same. Each dance was unique and the dancers employed not only their bodies, but also rose petals, flags, clothes, books, paints, flowers, and musical instruments such as gongs. It would have been easy for these dances to become over the top, but their balance between virtuosity and nature created a performance of understated beauty and sensuality.  

The Golden Gate Bridge

The Golden Gate Bridge has been an icon of the San Francisco skyline since May 28th, 1937, when it was opened to vehicular traffic after four arduous years of construction. Today marks its 71st anniversary of its opening. Looking at this gargantuan structure, not only do I marvel at the sheer size, intricacy, and brilliance of its architectural features, but also, I’m awestruck by the shocking—even unexpected—beauty of this design. When looking at the bridge, some may initially see a highly functional system of parts that has come together to form an orderly and efficient whole—then they may begin to note the aesthetic features. Others will initially become so enveloped in the aesthetic qualities, that the mechanics of this giant’s construction will be a secondary, and minor concern. For me it was the second; first I viewed The Golden Gate Bridge as I would a sculpture, and only when my eyes shifted to the vehicles zipping across and the boats cruising under the five-lane bridge did I begin to think of its success in terms of functionality. The bridge’s duality, in terms of function and aesthetic appeal, has made it one of San Francisco’s main tourist attractions.

When I visited the bridge last weekend, there was enough sunlight to bring out some of its most striking design features. The Golden Gate Bridge captures and reflects sunlight as though it were a prism. At times it is unclear what color the paint on the metal structure actually is. I have been to this site many times, in many different types of weather, and viewed the bridge from almost every imaginable angle. In this respect, I have come to comprehend the intricacies of The Golden Gate Bridge, and have come to understand it as more than just a famous, flat silhouette in the San Francisco skyline. Against the backdrop off a spotless blue sky, it seems more rust-colored, while in the fog, the tops of the towers appear whispy and pink, almost getting lost, reminding me of a smudged image on a chalkboard. When lit up by the moon, headlights, and the manmade floodlights at its base, the bridge appears to be bounding out of the night sky; it is pale and luminescent as though the light is actually radiating from the surface of the structure itself, not just bouncing off of it from another source. In all cases, when the vertical ribbing catches light, it looks delicate, thin, and even frail, like thread or dental floss, but the fact is, they are rigid cables, supporting tons and tons of weight, ensuring the stability of the bridge.

In terms of the structural aesthetics, I feel as though the bridge was designed with an Art Deco theme in mind. Not only does the bridge’s bright red color suggest this theme, but so do some of the shapes we find in its design. The vertical ribbing, the two towers and the horizontal line created by the base gives us four distinct triangles divided into dozens and dozens of cross-sections. This pattern-like feel, as well as symmetry can be likened to much of the Art Deco themed architecture found in this part of the country. Importantly, not only does this symmetrical triangular pattern mimic a style that we have seem emanated time and time again for aesthetic appeal, but these patterns are what have made the bridge a strong, dependable resource for commuters, and a world-renowned engineering success.

There is an aspect of effortlessness, as well as simplicity in the design of The Golden Gate Bridge. Standing in the hills of San Francisco, looking out on the bridge, I tried to squint my eyes and imagine that it was made of something entirely different from concrete and metal. From such a distance, I started to envision the towers as tree branches, and the cables as silk webbing made by a tent caterpillar. The same type of duality is present in a caterpillar tent, as in the design of the bridge; we are at a crossroads of aesthetic appeal and functionality. As a comparison to the bridge, the design of one of these caterpillar tents must be durable enough to last for months, and to protect the caterpillars that will eventually emerge.

The longer I looked at the bridge, the more I became enthralled by the cables. I felt the sense that each cable attached to the bridge was delicate in nature, probably somewhat pliable. The long cables running from column to column seemed to be sort of draped slackly over the towers—this gave me the image of a clothesline hanging between two trees. When juxtaposed with the rigidity of the five-lane base and the two gargantuan towers, the cables seemed bendable and relaxed. Not only was this an intriguing design feature in terms of aesthetic quality, but the malleability of the cables is also an engineering decision that has served The Golden Gate Bridge well during periods of high winds, and seismic activity. Thus, there is no question in my mind that this bridge exemplifies the perfect balance between function and aesthetic appeal.

Red Rover

Today, I attended the end of a dance performance called Red Rover. The dance piece presented five individual pieces spread throughout campus. Because the title was “Red Rover”, the color red was vibrantly infused into each location or the dancers themselves.
Though I was not able to view the entire performance, I was able to view many of Nadia’s records from the performance, which were outstanding. She managed to create compositions that captured the dancers at the height of their movement and with the full brilliance of the scene; color and contrast. One dance took place in the Clark Center. To the viewer of the performance, the dancers were framed by the red arches of the Clark Center, which lie parallel to the ground. It was surreal to see the arches in the context of dance, where I was more familiar with them in the days when I worked at a lab in the Clark Center. In the center of the Clark Center, there is a large circle. The dancers had lined the circle with rose petals, spiraling them inwards. The contrast of the bright red petals against the concrete seemed to breathe life into an otherwise barren structure. The actual dance consisted of four dancers; two couples. They wound around the spiral carefully, not disturbing any of the petals as they spiraled in and out holding hands. As the dance moved onwards, their care of the spiral lessened and their motions became more dramatic. The spiral fell into disarray. To me, it reminded me of a mandala painting; of the impermanence of beauty, and how even that impermanence can be beautiful. The disorderly arrangement of the petals did not take away from the bright life they brought to the Clark Center.

As the dancers moved from location to location, there were guides that pointed the way. Dressed in all white with a striking red bandana in their hair or on their arm, the guides either stood as still as statues, hunched in varying positions on the walkway, or stood in a dramatic dance pose pointing the way to the next performance. One impressive piece involved them waving red ribbon streamers down through the main quad.

The final piece was set in the red fountain in front of Green Library. I was able to speak to one of the dancers about the composition and choreography behind the dance. The two dancers were dressed in all white and moved gracefully about the arch of the red fountain. There was a little table inside the water curtains of the fountain that the dancers would occasionally stand on to perform. They wound around each other delicately, and played on the contrast between standing outside the red arch, and in the center of the fountain. They also took the opportunity to stand directly underneath the curtain, taking full advantage of all of the space. The reflection of the light from the fountain on them made them appear ethereal. They were playing on two dimensions of red: the conception of red as the color of passion, and its conception as the color of rage. When the choreographer decided to create this dance, she thought about what red meant to her. She found a poem that described red as a dichotomous color, a color of oppositions. She brought the poem in for the dancers and asked them to choreograph something for themselves as if it would be an individual piece, and took elements from it to use in the final choreography. Working with the conception of red as a dichotomy, she decided to represent this in the space she was using. The movement of the dancers between the outside of the fountain to the ‘nucleus’ of the fountain was very deliberate. I did not notice this myself because I did not notice the changes in poses between outside the fountain and inside, but I did notice their delicate use of the space. When I looked at the images Nadia took, it did seem that when they were moving into the center of the fountain, it symbolized a deepening of intensity. Proximity itself was enough to induce that feeling of intensity.

Furthermore, according to the dancer, the dance was intended to symbolize the contrast between the two emotional elements of red. The choreographer wanted to show how movement would change based on feeling; for example, the difference between movement in passion, and movement in fear. The movement in fear was especially communicative to me, as the dancer would hunch over and place her hands between her knees and look to the side. It was an upwards fetal position, and when it was being explained to me, I could name the feeling based on her pose before she named it herself. It was incredible to me that emotion could be that clearly articulated through dance pose and body language.

Red Rover was a feast for the eyes in action and in stills; and a feast for the mind. It gave me quite a lot to think about, and a greater appreciation of the work and concept that goes into creating a story or presentation of ideas through dance. It is more than creating something beautiful; these choreographers created pieces with real weight and meaning, and they pay very close attention to visual presentation, aesthetics of the surroundings, and the nuances of the space they are working with. I have never thought so much after a dance performance, and I am inspired to try to create a dance choreography at some point (after much more training and practice!).

Tamarine Lunch Review

On Monday, May 19, Nadia, Ellora, Yaa, Becca, and I dined at Tamarine, a Vietnamese cuisine in Palo Alto. When I arrived, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I had never been to a Vietnamese restaurant. There were a few businessmen scattered here and there, the lighting was slightly dimmed; the ambiance of the room felt maroon, the color of the tablecloths. As I took in my surroundings, I got the impression that Tamarine was trading on a more formal, less traditional approach to Vietnamese food, for the place seemed to value an upscale, high class, clean appearance over a deep-rooted cultural experience. Instead of garnishing the walls with Vietnamese art, a separate room was formed to showcase art from Vietnam. Likewise, the food dishes had to be ordered separately—the salad, the rice, stews, and main dishes were all a la carte. It seems that Tamarine aimed to present both Vietnamese culture—through art and food—and their entrees all separately, giving the customers autonomy to mix and match various elements of food and art in a unique manner, so that a variety of experiences are possible.

The first dish I ordered was the Ginger Chicken Salad: chicken, cabbage, cashews, mint, and ginger dressing. Overall, the salad had a sweet, but subtle flavor, contrasted by the sharp (compared to round), rhombus-shaped plate on which it was presented. The chicken was particularly soft, but gave off a slightly bitter aftertaste. The dressing was lightly drizzled atop the salad, providing the perfect balance among ingredients, such that none dominated the other. The ingredients were relatively isolated from each other in the form of layers in the salad; in this sense Tamarine succeeding in keeping its elements separate, left for the customer to mix them.

Next I ordered the Coconut Rice. This dish came in a banana leaf bowl set atop a weave basket, the most elegant of the three dishes I ordered. The rice was isolated from the rest of the food, enclosed and sheltered. The banana leaf dimmed the lighting deep inside the bowl, emitting a green hue within the dish. I found that the rice, moist and soft, topped with shaved coconut, tasted best in its own rather than mixed with other dishes. While atypical of rice dishes, the self-sufficiency of the rice was due to its creamy rather than plain flavor. In this case, I felt encouraged not to mix the rice with the rest of the dishes, though I still had the option of mixing them.

The main dish I ordered was the Mango Tilapia, but with chicken instead of tilapia. This dish was disappointing. The first two had set up high expectations, and when I took my first bite of this stew-like dish, I was overwhelmed by the tang of the sauce and the savory aspect of the chicken and mango. Instead, I was expecting something sweet; my experience with mangos in restaurants has been that they are always sweet. This turned out even more disappointing when I found that the dish did not mix well with the coconut rice; the sauce was too overpowering. Unaccustomed to eating stews without some type of balancing dish such as rice, I felt abandoned by the restaurant, left with a dish too thick to be a soup and too strong to be eaten on its own.

Though Tamarine succeeded in presenting its customers with separate dishes, lending to more possible combinations and autonomy of choice, my personal experience with the food was one of failure; the dishes did not mix well, and the main entrée was unappealing. However, I would return to the restaurant again—but only for the coconut rice, a pearl amongst pebbles.

~Dominique Y.

Rain, Rain

I love rain, and I love you music. So, you can probably imagine how much I love the absolute genius that is Paul DeMarinis’s RainDance. After we saw the prototype in his studio, I actually went home and marked my calendar for when it would be up on Santana Row, and on Memorial Day, I had the distinct pleasure of Rain Dancing under Paul DeMarinis’s incredible creation.

We got to Santana Row at about 3 in the afternoon. Parking was a nightmare, and we were wondering how in the world we were going to be able to find this one exhibit in the midst of all of the hullabaloo that is Santana Row. Well, I looked up and there it was: RainDance. So, I’m still not quite sure how this thing works, but from what I can gather from the, now many, times that I have used it, Paul has created a metal structure that emits two thin streams of water. Whoever is using it must have an umbrella. When the water hits the umbrella sounds are emitted. The look of RainDance has changed since our time with DeMarinis. One of the things that struck me first was the color change. There were four structures and each one was painted a different bright color: blue, red, green, yellow. Each umbrella was clear and very deep, which is to say the umbrella could cover all of your head. This, I found, gave a more surround sound experience. The walkway was elevated on wood that was covered with green turf. The whole exhibit was bright and engaging. If I hadn’t come expressly to see it, I probably would have stopped anyway just to see what all those colors and sounds were about.

It was incredibly busy when we arrived. Kid after kid after kid was walking through holding their huge umbrella’s over their 2,3,4, foot frames. Those umbrellas really swallowed them up, and I found that I couldn’t hear the music. I wondered if it was broken, but I waited my turn, rather impatiently. Becca went before I did, and as soon as she stepped underneath the streams of water a song BLARED out. It took me by surprise because I could hear nothing when the little children went through before me, but I think that because Becca is so tall and more of the umbrella was out, people standing by could hear the music. It was an interesting new element to the exhibit that I wasn’t aware of before.

The kids were taking an annoyingly long time, but finally, I grabbed an umbrella and went through. Each of the different streams played a different song, and I took my time, trying to soak it all up. Finally, when I finished I kept my umbrella and went through another time. Yes, I was that annoying child that I just talked about, the one who takes two turns and is really slow, and pushes the other kid down to get to the umbrellas…okay, so I didn’t do that last thing, but I can’t say I wasn’t tempted!

I think one of the best things about RainDance is that it is so relatable, and freaking awesome, for kids of all ages. There were kids who could barely hold up their umbrellas, senior citizens, who also could barely hold up their umbrellas, there was even a young teenage couple who went through together, just minutes after they had grossly been making out in front of all the innocent children. It’s just so universally fun, and I can’t imagine it ever getting old for anyone.

Another Juno viewing...

The critical and popular success of the 2007 film Juno directed by Jason Reitman has much to do with the audience’s connection with and sympathy for the eponymous character. Judging from the box office numbers and Academy Award reception, one should have no issue guessing that most people saw both Juno and Juno extremely positively. However, as often as moviegoers laud the film, critics have disparaged it for the lack of the realism and believability displayed in the character of Juno. Those who are a part of the latter group usually say that they dislike the film because they found it hard to connect with such a fictitious personality. Says one IMDB reviewer, “The main character is just annoying, and like the film, too contrived. You can't empathize with her as she isn't believable, it's just another attempt to be alternative.” Therefore, I believe that this film trades on the strength of the main character and to adjudicate the success of this film as a piece of art, I should examine how the filmmakers crafted Juno to reach this goal.

It is understandably a difficult task to judge how a whole film portrays its main character. Therefore, in this blog entry, I attempt to tackle this hurdle by focusing on some of the opening scenes. This is especially pertinent when considering Juno because the sole function of the introductory scenes is to show the world the quirkiness and wit of Juno.

The very first scene of the film opens to a silenced shot of Ellen Page standing on a lawn, facing a recliner chair while drinking from a gallon of orange juice. The shot in its bizarre content (e.g. the out-of-place living room chair and the odd choice in drink) and dreamlike composition is reminiscent of a surrealistic painting. The camera cuts to a close-up of her slightly pained, slightly apathetic expression as the wind blows over her hair. Enter Juno’s voice-over monologue, “It started with a chair.” Immediately, the viewer understands this movie is all about Juno and her uniqueness. Reitman successfully captures this sentiment by putting the subjectivity of Juno’s character front-and-center. We view the world through Juno’s eyes, and the director does not try to hide it. As stated above, this becomes apparent within the first few minutes of the film. After the opening scene, we follow Juno slowly walking around to the grocery store in a small town while the soundtrack totes the very quirky Barry Louis Polisar’s “All I Want is You.” The music almost perfectly exudes from Juno’s aura. Another instance of this comes right after Juno receives a positive pregnancy test for the third time. As she walks home in the dim evening light (which cleverly reflects Juno’s mood), the camera follows her closely from behind. All we can see is her upper torso and the back of her head covered by a big red hoodie. From her perspective we view her drudgingly walk past a group of runners who shoot her quick glances. With this very artful mise-en-scene, Reitman ensures that the world revolves around his main character. As the film goes on, it becomes apparent that as a viewer, you are invested in Juno, whether you like it or not.

From instances such as these, I think the film is very successful in projecting the viewer into the inner territory of Juno’s character. The combination of this and standard narrative techniques such as pathos and ethos allows the audience to sympathize with Juno and her unfortunate situation and at the same time admire her witty, idiosyncratic personality. The filmmakers did everything they could to boldly and artfully present a dynamic and thoroughly explored character. Therefore, whether one comes out of the viewing hating Juno or loving her seems entirely contingent on his or her subjectivities rather than the art itself. Personally—if that has any worth—I was in the “love it” contingency.

RainDance @ Santana Row

Even though Memorial Day was bright and sunny, shoppers at Santana Row had their umbrellas in hand. That’s because they were enjoying the music of Paul DeMarinis’s water creation, RainDance. RainDance uses variations in water streams to create sound. As the water hits the umbrella, the participant can hear a melody created by the falling water. When I first spotted the exhibit, I immediately recognized Paul’s invention from when I first viewed it at his studio, however, there were some aesthetic alterations. Instead of basic metal, the contraption was now painted in bright yellows and greens, making it appear very lively and fun. Additionally, a bright green turf walkway was installed underneath of the waterspouts to recycle the water. The piece was very vibrant, and caught my eye instantly from a far. Even though I had already experienced the awesomeness of RainDance, I couldn’t wait to try it again.

I couldn’t wait to grab an umbrella and walk underneath the musical water, but I was forced to wait by a line of other interested shoppers. As I waited my turn to receive one of the clear umbrellas, I observed all of the other participants. I was so amazed by what a variety of people were enjoying Paul’s creation. I watched a boy of maybe 6 walk under the water and exclaim with a huge grin, “THIS IS FREAKY!” I saw an elderly woman walk behind a young teenage couple, all in awe of the musical water. Each and every person walked off of the platform with a smile on his or her face, both confused and delighted at the same time. When it was finally my turn, I grabbed the umbrella and ducked under the streams of water. Each of the different stations offered a cute melody, and even though I already knew what to expect, I was so enchanted by the music.


I think a huge part of the appeal of Paul’s exhibit is the mystery of it. Most people don’t know or care about the mechanics of this technical piece. They enjoy being bewildered by the music making water that falls over their heads. There is a distinct joy in experiencing something “unexplainable”, and for many shoppers at Santana Row this joy was abundant. Although RainDance can definitely be commended for its complexity and ingenuity, it is the awe that the little melodies invoke that makes the piece so memorable. From young to old, people were genuinely delighted by Paul’s invention and I think that made the piece very successful.

San Jose Museum of Art: Love Disorder 2008

I have heard of interactive art, but he sensed my every movement. I was looking in the face of art, itself.

Just when I had found comfort in on-campus art interactions, my art education took me to the San Jose Museum of Art. Last weekend, I had the opportunity to literally experience Bruce Charlesworth’s Love Disorder 2008. Love Disorder 2008 is predicated on this visual-audio composition in order to induce psychological disturbance in its viewers.

From the piece’s location in relation to other art exhibits to the interior design of the exhibit’s space, Love Disorder 2008 draws on several artistic elements to engender the piece’s theme of “disorder.” I realized the seclusion of the room where the piece lurked. One could have easily overlooked the doorway, leading into the room, for the doorway was hidden between hanging art forms and other doorways, in which projecting images attracted people inside. On the other hand, art admirers could see only this rather dull red wall if or when they passed the doorway to Charlesworth’s work. The bright spotlight that shined on the wall enlivened the dull red paint. The isolated location and the bright lighting of this room contrasted with the surrounding social, dark movie rooms.  I wondered about the museum’s antisocial arrangement of this space, so I was drawn to the red wall.

I walked into the room to be greeted by a pair of piercing blue eyes. The dark, grave pupils belonged to a wrinkly old face that I could not seem to shake. His stare paralyzed me, commanding my attention to the point that I forgot that the face was a mere image on a projector screen. The rapid movement of his eyes prompted my discomfort and my deviation from mental order, so to speak.

Somewhat spellbound by the menacing face, I drew closer to the deceptive head shot. After moments of silent scrutiny, he opened his mouth: “Come closer.” As if he read my mind, he continues: “I know what you are thinking.” These formidable statements alerted me that something was not quite right. Once I was a few steps into the room, away from the doorway, I had entered his unstable world. The bright lighting near the door occupied little space in the rather dim room. The initial lighting was a ploy to invite curiosity, but the bare red walls entrapped me in what was now a dim, bloody-walled asylum.

From then on, the elderly face began his emotional tantrum. First, he yelled as if I was encroaching on his personal space,  “Get back!” Then, like any curious mind would do, I challenged him by invading his space even more. Then came his threats: “I’ll set your house on fire!” Once I realized that he could not hurt me, his threats did not deter me but rather encouraged me to come within a few feet of the screen. The once terrifying eyes cringed into a fit of fear and surrender. Before I fully came out of my trance, the last words that I heard were: “I can’t breathe!”

Love Disorder 2008 was effective in provoking people because the old face served to disturb people’s emotional states. Furthermore, in addition to the projector, built-in motion sensors signaled the old man’s responses to my physical proximity. According to his mood swings, the old man was a victim of his isolation and a slave to his own thoughts. Since he was trapped by his own thoughts, he tried to lure people into his world of mental disorder.

 

 

Lunching at Tamarine

Yaa, Becca, Dominique, Nadia, and I had a good lunch at Tamarine on Monday, in a room with wood colors and beautiful artwork lining the walls. The artwork brightened the room by focusing on single colors and weaving varieties through them with different shaded patterns and geometries within the panels of a single color.
I was extremely disappointed with the service, because the waiter consistently forgot every order I made, which surprisingly, interfered with my enjoyment of the meal. It was very interesting how much that influenced my sense of how well the meal was prepared, since the two are entirely unrelated, but it made me more critical on the whole.
I enjoyed some of Becca’s Wakame salad, which was a light collection of seaweeds drizzled with a citrus lime vinaigrette. It was incredibly refreshing, and the different textures of the seaweeds were interesting to explore by taste. In addition, the seaweed was laid on a bed of salad, and that contrast was also intriguing—alternating between the smoothened taste of citrus flavored spinach, and the chewy crunch of green seaweed.
I had the shrimp cupcakes, which were floured cakes fried and filled with shrimp and shrimp powder. It seemed that they only thing they had to trade on were the delicious aroma and flavor that comes from being fried—otherwise they were boring and surprisingly bland. The shrimp cakes had to be flavored by dipping them in a sweet vinegar chili dipping sauce, to enhance a sense of contrast—unfortunately, the cakes could not stand very well on their own, which I was disappointed with.
I also had a mango tilapia, which was to be panfried and glazed with a mango salsa. The pan frying did not reach through to the fish, and so it tasted like a fried layer covering a grilled piece of tilapia. In addition, the mango salsa tasted too much like sweet and sour chicken sauce. The combination of the two was very disparate—it felt like a grilled fish had been thrown in to the salsa without any melding of the flavors. At Tamarine, I find that they play on the combinations of two different and unusual flavors, but in this dish, there was no successful melding of the two in a convincing way. The attraction of the contrast is the process of convincing the taster that the two disparate ingredients do in fact taste delicious together. This was not achieved.
When I compared my meal at Tamarine to a meal I had at Three Seasons the night before, a similar restaurant that I had been to before, I was very surprised. I had similar dishes at both, but somehow the flavors were more well integrated at the Three Seasons. Their mango fish was a pan fried fish that was infused with the taste of “buttery friedness” and had a simple accent of greenish mango, lemon, and chili sauce that set it off. In addition, it was fried very lightly, but well enough that it didn’t feel like my arteries would be clogged, but the flavor and texture had infused through to the entire fish. Had I to choose between Tamarine and Three Seasons, though I have been a relatively regular customer at Tamarine, I would now switch to dining at the Three Seasons.

San Jose Museum of Art

I walked up close to the wall hoping to find a written blurb on the odd, wire-crazy piece displayed on three large tables that I was having trouble interpreting. I began to read the museum’s guidance as to what I was actually viewing when I began to read something about small, mechanical dispensers and propaganda leaflets. I looked back at the installation and wasn’t able to see this at all, thinking I must not be as artistically sophisticated for the museum as I needed to be, when I looked up. Plastic dispensers. I was reading the description of the wrong piece—a piece I did not even know existed! Mounted on two pedestals more than five feet above my head were these two, small, clear “machines” that had pamphlets stuck in them. Szyhalski’s work entitled “If/Then” was one of the most interesting pieces I viewed at the San Jose Museum of Art on Sunday, May 18 because of its interactivity with the viewer and its harsh and deliberate social commentary.

“If/Then” was a work of art that used these plastic “machines” to dispense the propaganda leaflets periodically throughout the day, with the leaflet then floating down through the museum space to the ground. The most interesting part of the piece was the line I read at the bottom of the plaque on the wall that stated the museum goers could pick up the leaflets and keep them at their own will. A leaflet never dropped while I attended the museum, but I found this to be such an interesting and effective idea. A piece that I didn’t even know existed, as if it was almost hiding up above me near the ceiling, could disseminate such a strong message with just a museum attendee wondering what that little piece of paper was doing on the ground. With just two small little plastic boxes and a simple mechanical structure, messages and themes of the US and Coalition Forces in the Gulf War and Iraq were produced. I stumbled upon this piece on accident, as was its intention, for propaganda messages try to hide from us, and realizations of reality come in odd and subtle ways like “If/Then” did for me. I thought the piece’s subtlety made it that much more impacting when I discovered it.

There were two more pieces of art that I found efficacious and powerful for the same reasons as “If/Then”—one for its interactivity with the viewer and one for its subtle social message that becomes revealed with further understanding. “Love Disorder” by Bruce Charlesworth was a piece I again stumbled on by walking into a room and experiencing a large projected video character who was talking “to” me. The character was speaking in short phrases, some of which displayed anger, sadness, affection, and other emotions. However, as I walked closer, the character began to say things regarding my proximity to him and how I was getting too close. As I began to back away, he would either tell me to go on and leave, or to come back. He was aware of my motion throughout the space! The fact that I could “interact” with this video character made the piece so potent as I began to become connected to this person due to his display of intense emotions. Not only was this piece literally “in your face,” but its idea was as well as I began to see the effectiveness of interactivity to connect the viewer to the piece and involve you in such a way that you would never expect. This piece literally played with my emotions, as I believe would be the case if I were to stumble upon a propaganda pamphlet on the floor of the museum!

“Tantalum Memorial” by Harwood, Wright, and Yokokoji used another technique to “touch me.” It produced a subtle, but overpowering social message through use of a simple, mechanical idea much like “If/Then.” It showed a series of Strowger switches that are the inner-workings of phones. Every so often, this “sculpture” would move and click and display the relay of messages behind phone communication. Upon reading its description, I was curious as to why this was a “memorial,” and discovered that the metal tantalum essential for mobile phones has caused many deaths in the Congo due to wars over the mining of this material. I would never imagine the clicking of these metal machines was used to reveal the Congolese strife and warfare, and in this way it hit me hard upon realization. With this message, I began to think of the triviality of our obsession with cell phones and the complete unawareness of the destruction occurring behind the workings of the cell phone. In addition, I began to think about the concept of our ability for constant communication when perhaps the Congolese people have no way of communicating their unknown and shocking situation. These three works of art used different, but completely effective, techniques to reach the viewer and promote their messages.

Fleet Street Blasts Off

Looking as sharp as ever in their tuxedoes and red bow ties, Fleet Street delivered yet another hilarious performance during their spring show titled “Fleet Street Conquers the Moon” on Sunday, May 11th.
At first, I was certainly skeptical of how well the performers would pull off this theme of conquering the moon, because in all honesty, it seemed far too lame for even Fleet Street to make funny. I was instantly proved wrong when I picked up a program, which was cleverly designed to mimic the safety instruction pamphlets you would find in an airplane. However, this was obviously no ordinary program, for not only did it list the songs in the show, but it also depicted various situations in which passengers on the space shuttle may (or may not) find themselves. For example, on a typical airplane safety card, you would find pictures of an airplane crashing into water or on land. In the program, there were similar pictures, captioned “On a bad day, we might crash like this.” Then, in an adjacent picture with the caption, “On a good day, we might crash like this,” the airplane is plummeting into a sea of marshmallows with a rainbow and smiling sun in the background. Quite simply, the program made sense in the context of the show, but it doesn’t make sense in and of itself. All of the safety instructions are completely random, which is extremely appropriate since Fleet Street often relies on haphazardness to create humor.
I also particularly enjoyed the detail given to the set. In the first half of the show while Fleet Street prepared the audience for “takeoff,” a cardboard moon could be seen hanging from stage right. Immediately following intermission (during which the journey to the moon took place), the moon on stage right was replaced with a cardboard earth and various paper maché rocks were strewn across the stage. Was it a little cheesy and over-the-top? Well, yes, but what more can we say of Fleet Street?
Whereas the visual aspects of the performance were quite entertaining (minus a few technical difficulties), the audience really attended this concert to hear music, and Fleet Street delivered. Famous for their quirky antics juxtaposed with their humorous pieces, the singers performed six new songs, which is quite impressive since all of them are original. Fleet Street further enhances the hilarity of the lyrics with purposely overstated choreography. At times, I felt like it was slightly annoying to have to focus both on the lyrics of the song and the choreography, but in general, the group did a decent job of not detracting too much from the words.
What I found most interesting about the performance was that about three songs were not original and did not rely on humor as a means of impressing the audience. Although the audience may have been less receptive during these songs, as they were expecting something hilarious yet were denied, I thought that the inclusion of more serious pieces was a very bold and smart decision. In my opinion, every time Fleet Street sings a more serious song, they take a huge risk since they are known for being comedic. Thus, while singing a song such as “Ruby Baby,” the group can only rely on their vocal talent, thereby purely showcasing their synchronousness and tone quality. As a member of the Stanford a cappella community, I can honestly say that Fleet Street is one of the most musically sound groups on campus, and I feel like that shows during their less ridiculous songs.
Another entertaining part of the show was the extremely random skits in between songs. A couple of them had to do with being on the moon (one involving a Fleet Streeter in a creepy alien costume) but most of them had absolutely nothing to do with anything. Usually, a skit followed one of the more subdued songs to keep the mood light and funny, which I found to be a clever and effective tactic. In addition to enhancing Fleet Street’s already solid reputation as a hysterical group of guys, the skits also demonstrated their acting skills. The guys were extremely funny and did a great job of keeping character throughout the roars of laughter from the audience.
Even in dealing with the sound difficulties that hindered the showing of their various videos between songs and skits, Fleet Street performed with class and style, as per usual. Knowing that they write their own skits and most of their music, maintain a professional demeanor during performances and still manage to sound phenomenal, it is obvious that Fleet Street has tremendously talented members. The show was very well-produced and extremely entertaining. Even if a cappella music is not necessarily a favorite of yours, I would highly suggest attending a Fleet Street performance--they’re fantastic, they’re funny, and they always dress to impress.

Tasting Tamarine

This afternoon I went out for lunch and dessert on University Avenue.  Yaa, Becca, Ellora, Dominique and I decided to try Tamarine, a Vietnamese restaurant. It is a relatively expensive restaurant, most likely targeting middle aged business people (at least during weekday lunches). The décor is subtle but elegant, in a feng shui sort of way. The restaurant is separated into two sections: the first is larger and has a bar; the second is long and skinny, making for a more social atmosphere. The walls are a subdued green, the rooms are separated by a deep green curtain (which was open while we dined), and the chairs and plates are a light green. The bar has tall, sophisticated, brown chairs, and there is a long bar-like table in the larger room with the same tall chairs, creating a variety of seating options. Bright paintings, mostly orange and red, made by local Vietnamese artists adorn the walls. Bamboo motifs decorate the area above the bar, vases of flowers are scattered throughout the room, and flies buzz through the air, adding (or detracting, depending on your viewpoint) to the natural feeling.

I have sampled Vietnamese cuisine a few times before this afternoon, however, I am most accustomed to pho, or Vietnamese soup. Today I ordered the “Papaya Salad” and “Coconut Rice.” When I ordered the salad, I envisioned fresh, orange papayas with green leaves and dried beef. However, I received a surprise. The papaya was grated green papaya, which tastes nothing like the papaya I am accustomed to. I did not like the taste or texture of the papaya, which was bitter, stringy, and dry, but I did like the hints of basil in the dish and the dried beef. My second dish, the coconut rice, was delicious. The rice was wrapped within a bowl made of banana leaves, which sat in a small wicker basket. The shape of the banana leaf bowl was reminiscent of a volcano and flakes of toasted coconut overflowed from the top of the bowl. Coconut flakes were also sprinkled throughout the rice, and the bottom of the rice dish was pleasantly buttery.

Ironically, the dish that I enjoyed the most was not my own. I absolutely loved Becca’s “Wakame Salad,” which surprised me because I have never before like seaweed or tofu. When the waiter (who messed up three of our orders) brought the salad to our table, I was immediately drawn to its multiple layers and various colors. When I began to eat it, I realized that these layers appealed not only to my visual senses but to my taste buds as well. The tomatoes were soft, the avocados smooth, cucumbers crunchy, the tofu light, the spinach crispy, and the seaweed alive. The salad dressing was a blend of sesame seeds, olive oil, limejuice, and a Japanese citrus called yuzu. The salad reminded me of an Italian appetizer I have had before with cucumbers, avocados, tomatoes, cheese, olive oil and lemon juice. While the “Wakame Salad” is composed of a more unexpected combination of ingredients, it still managed to harmonize beautifully.

Tamarine’s menu explains that their dishes are small and are meant to be shared among dinners, as the dining experience should be communal. I rarely eat Vietnamese food and I enjoyed being able to sample my friends’ courses. The act of sharing food fosters a sense of community among whomever is eating. This community feeling and subtle ambiance makes Tamarine a perfect destination for business lunches, which explains why the majority of the cliental were businessmen and women. However, the sophisticated feel and good food also make the restaurant a destination for a wider audience.

One by one...

To be perfectly honest, I always felt like Talisman was a little high and mighty. Now, don't get me wrong, I know some singers for Talisman, and they aren't pretentious in the least, but every time I saw them perform, as Fleet Street alluded to in their own spring concert, it seemed like they thought they could end the world's problems, enormous, centuries-old problems, by singing about them. What really blew me away about their concert this past weekend? I think they might be right.

Vocally tight and balanced, Talisman exhibited a breadth of material I had not seen in their other shows. Ranging from African tribal music to Chinese lullabies to American rap, their set list was impressively varied and showed a lot of technical skill and music sense that isn't necessarily obvious when they only sing a couple of very similar songs at a dorm show. On the other hand, the show also demonstrated how strongly the group favors certain voices within itself, showcasing the same soloists (including the musical director several times) when a little more equitable distribution would have been in order and not gone unnoticed.

But I think all this was to be expected; we expected quality music from one of the preeminent campus vocal groups, we expected more breadth in a longer show, we even expected something to be not quite right--in this case the solos--from a group composed almost entirely of human beings. Yet what I at least did not expect was the power of their stories and of their community. Hearing about songs they learned while overseas and the experiences they had there, seeing the way they talked about their travels with such confidence and honesty, and knowing that they are still simply students like us--taking classes, going to parties, and writing papers--was so inspiring. Seeing that they, and thusly we, can make such a difference, even just twenty some people, is really empowering.

And to cap off their already stunning performance, they just pushed me over the edge with their final number. One by One is what I would call Talisman's trademark number, and one with which I was slowly becoming fed up. But at the end of the show, putting it off until the last number, they began to call up all the Talisman alumni in the audience and began to song. Bolstered by dozens of other voices, the sound took over Dinkelspiel Auditorium, washing over the audience in rich waves of tonal ecstasy. Hyperbolic? Perhaps, but accurate to some extent of the short-term effects of the number. I left literally speechless, stunned by the power of their voices and with a new sense of respect for the impact of the human voice.

Talisman

It was not what I had expected at all. Before last Friday night, the word “Talisman” made me think only of spirituals, hymns and prayers. I walked into the concert expecting to see an hour and a half of rich and soulful vocals—that thick, syrupy sound that a gospel choir in a gargantuan church seems produce effortlessly. What I experienced did not meet my expectations, but surprised me in a very powerful way. This element of surprise, along with the spiritual nature of the program worked synergistically to create an intense emotional experience for me. Surprise came in many different forms; while I expected to see a group of about twenty people standing in a horseshoe formation, singing spirituals in four part (SATB) harmony, what I witnessed was a combination of dramatic lyrical interpretation, readings of literary passages and storytelling woven into their musical program, thus creating a sort of patchwork quilt of performance artistry, not only pleasing to the ear, but to the eye as well. I was particularly shocked to see rappers from Palo Alto perform alongside these 23 singers. In quite a different way, I was blown away by a performance piece which began with a mass muddle of voices and opinions clashing, then a startling period of silence, punctuated by the start of 23 voices singing together. I can say, without hesitation, that Talisman presented a wealth of talent, creativity, experimental expression, and variety in their performance, which did not meet my expectations, but surpassed them.

The rich hum of the larger than usual alto and bass sections reverberated with a soothing timbre underneath the virtuosic, acrobatic or sometimes frenetic vocals, which appeared in some melodic lines. Overall, Talisman blended so well, that they often sounded as one, polyphonic voice. This voice, at different times, seemed to take the form of a mother telling her child a bedtime story, a man begging for basic human rights, a child asking a question about the direction of life, or any number of imaginable characters.

It seemed as though every piece either managed to tell a story of human struggle in the face of crisis, or was alive with human celebration of life, love, culture, family, identity, and miracles. There appeared to be a strong connectedness between the singers and the music; every person on stage was immersed in the culture, community, and sentimentality represented by each vignette. Talisman’s attention to presentation contributed to their ability to tell a story each time as well. Several stylistic elements of the program struck me as quite original, in particular the way in which these 23 singers physically aligned themselves prior to, as well as during vocalization. Not only did these formations contribute to the mood and visual aesthetic appeal of the piece as a whole, but it was clear that these formations were trading on sound quality as well.

Additionally, it was clear that the singers understood, in this context, that the body was not just a medium of vocal expression, standing on stage limp, along for the ride so-to-speak; it was there in order to convey certain sentiments to the audience, that otherwise could have gotten lost. In my experience of watching the swaying of gospel choirs, and even the pop-and-lock dance moves of Justin Timberlake to “Sexy Back”, I have discovered that the sight of bodies moving to music through space and time can create tension in one’s own body. This innate urge to respond to an aural stimulus with physical movement is just one part of what makes us human. During all parts of the show, I felt, in my body, the urge to move, in order to release this built up emotional tension. This is not to say that I was in any sense “dancing in the aisles”, which has always seemed to me a preposterous thing to cite in a review. All I wish to say here is that I picked up on some of the singers’ more subtle physical cues, which helped me to follow, and feel at the most basic level what those on stage must have been feeling.

While the phrase “text painting” refers to the process of making the score of a song match its literal meaning. When I was watching Talisman perform, I thought of a new phrase: “dance painting”. However, it doesn’t quite work in the same exact fashion as “text painting”, for it is clear that it was the music, and not the physical movements, which came first. One of the best examples of this “dance painting” was during a song with a wide dynamic range. As the music got louder, the performers would swing and sway faster, maintaining good posture and looking straight ahead. However, as the music got quieter, the lower to the ground the singers seemed to become. This reminded me of one of my favorite scenes in cinematic history—The dance to “SHOUT” in “Animal House”, in which every single person at the fraternity party finds themselves literally lying on the ground at the ultimate dynamic valley in the song. This, while it may seem out of context, provides a good example of what I mean by “dance painting”. Each member of Talisman seemed to understand how constant physical augmentation of the shape of one’s body has the ability to change the aesthetic appeal of the song, and even more successfully provoke emotions in audience members. Singing is a full body exercise, so changing the way your body is situated on stage, or even moving while singing has effects on the sound of the music as well.

Therefore, I found that in terms of sound-quality and emotional impact on the audience, both the physical movements of the individuals, as well as the group movements contributed in a very positive way.

Finally, I would like to revisit the idea of connectedness. Each member of Talisman appeared to be connected, not only to the lyrics, music and other artistic elements of the songs they were performing, but also seemed to be very connected to one another. One of the most moving experiences in this entire show was the final song, in which Talisman Alumni were invited on stage. More than sixty people flooded the stage, but shockingly the sound quality didn’t seem to change, nor did the previous sense of emotion or connectedness that I alluded to before. No. This group’s alumni blended in as though they had been rehearsing with the current members for years. My eyes scanned the faces of each person on the stage; each one represented something different in terms of culture, heritage, and perhaps even values and beliefs, but they were all brought together by one thing… the music they love.

Trendy

Earlier today I had the lovely pleasure of dining with Becca, Nadia, Ellora, and Dominique at Tamarine, in Palo Alto. Before I knew anything about the restaurant, I would go up to friends and ask them what kind of food they thought would be served at a “trendy” restaurant in Palo Alto. I had many answers but my favorite was “sandwiches and arugula…maybe cheese, but definitely arugula.” It turns out Tamarine is a Vietnamese restaurant that boasts of its specialization in a “family dining experience.”( I tried to look up the word Tamarine in the dictionary, but it kept coming back to tamarin: a South American marmoset, therefore, I assume the word is most likely in Vietnamese.)

Lunch got off to a great start. I had a glass of water. I’ve found that it is incredibly difficult to mess up a glass of water, although some have tried. A few minutes later we ordered. We all decided to get different things so that we could be in keeping with Tamarine’s policy of family dining. Tamarine makes small plate entrées only, specifically for this purpose. As we waited for our food I looked around some. Tamarine is indeed a very “trendy” restaurant. The table at which we were seated was a very modern style, half booth/half seat table in a pretty seafoam green. The other tables were in keeping with the modern theme and a color scheme of wood (wood isn’t a color…), green, black and white. The restaurant also doubles as an art gallery, so I got to look at some of the painting that were hanging around in the main room.

Then my food arrived! I love food so I was unspeakable excited to eat. The first things they brought out were our appetizer choices of which I tasted the shrimp spring rolls, wakame salad, and the papaya salad. I really enjoyed my spring rolls. My mother makes spring rolls from scratch so I was expecting a thin layer of dough stuffed with deliciousness and then deep fried. I’ve come to see that as the definition of spring rolls, but this was entirely different. I stared at it curiously for a moment because I highly doubted that it had seen a deep fryer (to my complete disappointment)! The layer of dough on the outside was incredibly light tasting and white in color. I’m not sure what if was, but Wellington is as close as I can come to describing it. Inside it there was shrimp, pork, lettuce, and mint, but all I could taste was the lettuce and mint and the Hoisin sauce I was dipping it in. It was like eating a mint wrapped in lettuce and dough dipped in a sweet sauce.

The next thing I tried was the wakame salad. This salad contains seaweed, tofu, and avocado in a yuzu-lime vinaigrette. It is described on the menu as “a light and refreshing salad” and indeed it was just that. I am accustomed to seaweed in sushi form, so this was a new experience for me. I have to admit I couldn’t actually taste anything. If you asked me today what seaweed tasted like I would say, “um…light?” I’ve decided a seaweed salad is more of a feeling than a taste. It says, “I’m sophisticated and hip and the kind of person who orders dressing on the side and eats froyo with fresh fruit and sips lattes and…” The other salad I had was the papaya salad and that too could be described as light and refreshing. The unripened papaya was sliced incredibly thin and paired with beef and basil. It was good, but I still finished eating it feeling as though I’d eaten nothing at all. We actually began a discussion on iron chef because of our appetizers because it felt like this is what someone would make if given green papaya to cook with.

I finished with my entrée of kurubatu pork prime rib in a spicey tomato sauce. It was not spicy at all, but I was certainly happy to get to the meat after all the lightness. It was very delicious! Over all I had a very good, light, dining experience, and with all that trendiness flying around we figured why not stop at red mango for some fro-yo? Amazing! All I needed was a small Yorkshire terrior on a leash lightly jogging ahead of me as I balanced my new painting from Tamarine.

San Jose Museum of Art

On Sunday, Darius, Dan, Katie and I visited the San Jose Museum of Art. The first piece we approached was a set of three metronomes, altered and set to hypnotic voices by Paul DeMarinis (a Stanford artist). Shortly thereafter, I entered a room about the size of our classroom and saw three different videos projected onto three different walls. Each video captured the same scene from a different perspective (in both angle, magnification, and time period). The scene, called “Fashionably Late for the Relationship,” was comprised of a traffic island in Manhattan, occupied by a makeshift bedroom. Inside the bedroom, a hybrid bed-couch, an upholstered chair, an antique-looking wooden desk, an oval shaped mirror, several lamps and a number of hanging dresses were surrounded on four sides by pavement, bordered beneath by an oriental rug and above by a pole-supported white pavilion tent. An actress, Lián Amaris Sifuentes, treated the space as one would treat a bedroom: she slept there, put on makeup inside, changed clothes within a small, closet-like space, and was gone for most of the day. One stationary camera showed an empty daytime bedroom; another followed the actress with a close-up perspective of her nighttime preparations; the third was also stationary, set at nighttime, and showed the actress sometimes sleeping, sometimes preparing, and sometimes missing. All three projections were sped up to sixty-times real time.

At first I was drawn to the daytime camera, primarily by the way passing cars would zoom through at a blur until the light turned red, then pause, and then zoom forward again. This process combined a visual pleasure with a time-bending twist. Observing Manhattan at a sped-up rate, I was able to see how many cars passed through, what kinds of cars they were, how often passerby crossed that street, how often cars cut off other cars at that intersection, how often pedestrians cut off cars at the intersection, how often cars inch up at the light (rather than remaining stationary for the duration), in just a few minutes: data that would take hours of standing idly on the street in real time to compile. I was nearly compelled to conduct a statistics-sociology experiment on patience in Manhattan while in the room. (Though I turned to another camera angle instead.)

A close-up view of Sifuentes’s preparations brought a new dimension to the piece. From certain angles, I could barely detect that her bedroom was set in the middle of traffic; in these moments, her application of makeup and adjustment of clothing seemed to be nothing particularly unique. At angles that captured the surrounding streets, however, I saw both her present and her future--both her preparations and what she was preparing for, both the first part of her night and the second. Were she in a typical bedroom, she would descend to the rushing street soon enough; by way of the artist’s creation, however, there was no delay. In this sense, the artist was comparing public and private space, tranquility with transition, the deliberate with the hasty. Why do we transform from peaceful creatures into anxious ones as we cross through the doorway? Why don’t we treat the space of all like the space all our own?

Upon exiting the room, I noticed another film playing on a much smaller screen. Putting on the attached headphones, I realized that the film was “Dazed and Confused,” a 1993 movie I’ve enjoyed many times before. In this version, however, the actors’ voices were dubbed over by the voices of Indian workers to whom American jobs have been outsourced. In a superficial sense, the result was humorous: foreign accents contrasted sharply with the slang-laden vocabulary of obviously-American teenagers. After watching for a few minutes, I noticed that the piece’s blurb asked the viewer to consider the “themes of outsourcing American identity”--a comment that I found altogether unhelpful and a bit bothersome. While the dubbing certainly altered the film--greetings and profanity were especially surprising to hear through the new voices (“Wuss goin’ on” became “What is going on?” and so forth)--the piece was never convincing enough that I became immersed in the new version. In other words, the knowledge that the original voices had been dubbed over was always in the front of my mind, and as a result, I never worried about “losing” the original to the new or the old voices “becoming” the new voices. I never felt any concerns about the outsourcing of American identity. I did enjoy realizing how essential our slang is to the way we relate to each other: the characters in the new version certainly lost some of the intimacy that they shared in the original.

Madison and Fifth: Visual Feast

I really need to get out more. Since when has it been appealing for food to flaunt a mysterious darkness?

A few weeks ago, a couple of my friends and I had the opportunity to stop for lunch at Italian restaurant Madison and Fifth. During the car ride into the city, my friend from New York informed us of the eatery’s smooth New York style. Far from the ideal college city, Palo Alto offers upscale establishments that cater more to its affluent residents rather than its nearby Stanford community of penny-pinching college students. Because of Palo Alto’s expensive taste, I expected that the food would either taste great for a terribly high price or that the food would look attractive, taste horribly, and feast on my funds.

            The large open entrance assuaged my financial worries. We did not enter through a single door but rather through a wide space where a radiant smile of a woman in a bright reddish orange dress welcomed us. In addition to the restaurant’s open space design, the semi-formal attire of the hostess made me feel as though the restaurant came alive at night. Furthermore, as we followed the woman in the vibrant dress, I saw my reflection staring right back at me in the mirrors above the tables and booth seats. The fact that the mirrors lined the wall seemed a bit obnoxious and unnecessary, for they made me hyperconscious of my inelegant sagging pants and t-shirt. The eyes of others in the reflections reassured me that we did not quite fit in among the business skirts and slacks. Essentially, the mirrors prompted insecurity. Because the wall with the mirrors faced the bar, the mirrors reflected drawings of people dancing on the wall above the bar. The drawings should have continued around the large room, yet the mirrors interrupted the flow of the sketches. Shelved bottles of wines surrounded the customers, reinforcing my previous notions of the restaurant’s fitting nightlife personality. I mention the appearance of the restaurant to set the scene as well as to illustrate how the visual experience influenced my first impressions and expectations.

             The outlandish interior decoration did not quite deter me from eating the food.  I ordered the Linguine al Sapore di Mare, which was a basic seafood platter of pasta and an assortment of steamed sea creatures. The dish contained shrimp, mussels, calamari, and clams. Contrast in coloration and texture as well as the dish’s overall layout of ingredients demanded culinary praise. The pasta became my immediate focal point of the dish due its dull black color and central location on the plate. The black pasta and the glistening black exterior of the mussels and clams gave the dish this mysterious darkness. Moreover, the softness of the pasta contrasted with the hardness of the shelled sea animals. Because of their location on the edges of the plate, I felt as though the four clams and mussels were guarding the pasta from intruders. Also, the barrier of mollusks acted as some sort of datum that brought organization to the layout of the dish. Once a person recognized the element of contrast, they could also see the subtle contrast of color between the dark food and the white rhombus-shaped plate. If the chef had invested this much time to make my food pretty, so to speak, I knew that the taste had to be decent or better.

            In a sense, the visual attractiveness of the food earned more appreciation than the actual taste. Everything tasted normal, for the pasta slithered smoothly down my throat and the shrimp and calamari did not demand too many chumps before swallowing. I appreciated how the off-white calamari and the light orange shrimp were hidden within the pasta in order to maintain the dark uniformity of the dish. Also, to return to my earlier points on the restaurant’s layout and nightlife personality, I am sure the experience would have been different if we had went at night. For instance, the lighting in the restaurant would have been dimmer in order to accentuate the lighting above tables. The emphasized table lighting would then force people to focus on their food more than the somewhat distracting decor. Similar to a job interview, presentation was everything, for it prepared me for the delicious content. Although the meal cost nearly twenty bucks, I discovered that a feast for the stomach can and should also be a feast for the eyes. 

Trendy Eats: Lunch @ Tamarine

In my town, When I came to Stanford from Mansfield, Ohio I moved from one farm to another. "The Farm" here in Palo Alto however is completely different from the farms I was accustom to. Instead of fields of corn and soy beans, the primary crop of this farm seems to be the human mind. There are also many other differences between my small hometown and the ritzy Palo Alto. One of the biggest differences is the cuisine. Where I come from, Applebee's and Outback Steak House are considered high class eatin'. Restaurants are for eating and are all, for the most part, generic. Here in California, however, people seem to be obsessed with trendiness. From FroYo hot spots to Whole Foods, everyone gravitates towards what I call fashion food: food that is popular or in style if you will. Being seen eating at these stylish eateries is more important than the actual taste of the food.

A few of my classmates and I traveled to one of these trendy restaurants on Monday to grab a bite of lunch. Tamarine, on University Avenue, describes their cuisine as "contemporary Vietnamese" and offers a variety of small plate entrees on their menu. As soon as we entered, the vibe of the decorations was very modern. Silver and green straight-back chairs stood around sleek black tables, and even though it was midday, the room was dimly lit. Contrasting with the chic interior, loud hip hop music was playing over the sound system. "Hm.. odd. Must be trendy," I thought to myself.

For lunch I started with the Wakame Salad, a seaweed salad with avocado, tomato, and tofu. I really enjoy traditional Japanese Seaweed Salad and so I decided to give this version a whirl. It was definitely different, but light and refreshing. It came plated very delicately on a small dish which was aesthetically pleasing. The dressing was very sparingly used which was also a plus. My only complaint about the salad was that the seaweed was very slimy and soft. I prefer a much more crunchy seaweed so I was a little displeased. Visually the salad was an A, taste-wise I give it a B-.

For the main entree I had a dish called Kurobuta Pork Prime Rib with a side of coconut rice. The rice was spectacular. It came wrapped in a banana leaf in a small bowl which was simple yet elegant. I was really happy that the coconut flavor was distinct but not overwhelming. I was worried that it would taste to much like a dessert by its description, but it was worked well as a side item. I didn't feel the same way about the Pork Prime Rib. The flavor was completely bland and the meat itself was mostly gristle and very hard to chew. By the end of the meal I found myself just wanting more coconut rice instead of finishing the pork.

Overall Tamarine was trading on being trendy, hip, cool etc. and by these standards I think they achieved their goal. The artwork on the walls, other decorations, furniture and ambiance were all mellow and had a good vibe. However, when it comes down to it, a restaurant needs to trade on the quality and desirability of their cuisine. For such high prices and poor service (the waiter twice forgot to bring items that we ordered) , Tamarine's food did not live up to my expectations. It is not stylish chairs or trendy music that brings me back to my favorite restaurants, it's the assurance that I'll enjoy a good, quality meal.

San Jose Museum of Art

This week I am reviewing a piece from the I Laughed Till I Cried exhibit at the San Jose Museum of Art. The overall theme of the exhibit was technology, globalization, and their consequences. I found this to be extremely befitting for the SJMA being that it is located in the heart of the Silicon Valley, a geographical symbol for technology and innovation. The specific piece that I was drawn to was Tawian-born artist Shih Chieh Huang’s “Twilight Zone,” which had its own darkened corner separate from the other pieces in the exhibit. At first it was difficult to understand what was going on and what the art was supposed to be. After careful examination, however, I was delighted at the intricacies of both the piece itself and the messages it broadcasts.

The piece consists of a collection of both household and commercial products synthesized in such a way to resemble odd futuristic creatures. There were two snail like creatures hanging from the ceiling at the entrance, three pig-like creatures also hanging from the ceiling, and many small ones on the floor which were made up of two highlighters as feet and shopping bags as the torso. Every single “creature” was periodically lit up by flashing blue, white, green, or red LED’s. Also, each creature had different arrangements of periodically inflating and deflating shopping bags. Small electronic fans in the inside of the bag powered the bags inflating and deflating mechanisms. This was a very interesting artistic choice in that the flashing LEDs and the inflating bags seem to suggest a certain type of dynamic liveliness to the creatures. Furthermore, the creatures beeped (due to alarm clock radios built in to their bodies or other little noisy electronic gadgets) and moved around the room. The three pig-like creatures also had a monitor displaying a video of blinking human-like eyes except significantly animated and distorted. It is also important to note that the electronics that powered these constructions were in no way meant to be strategically hidden from the audience, as other art frequently does with their electronics. Rather, the electronics are put in the focus of the piece. All the wires, chargers, and adapters symbolically represented body parts (e.g. the wires as veins, adaptors as eyes) and were highlighted by the artist in this way.

This piece was essentially the amalgamation of uninteresting consumer products that govern and dominate our modern existence, such as household appliances, lights, computer parts, water tubes, and cheap motorized toys. As the description in the museum noted, the creatures resemble a futuristic ecosystem of strange evolutionary adaptations that have arisen from our own present-day lifeless technology. In many ways, this was a critique of our modern society and our reliance on technology, electronics, and consumer products (such as shopping bags). For example, the LED’s were so prominent it reminded me of a miniaturized and exaggerated Tokyo. By stripping these objects of their meaning and transforming them into this somewhat frightening environment, Shih Chieh Huang cautions us to think about the negative consequences of globalization and technology.

Sensing My Way Through the Exploratorium

            On Sunday afternoon I visited The Exploratorium, a children’s science museum in San Francisco. I visited the museum throughout my childhood and more recently for my senior prom, however, I had never before approached it as a work of art. And when I did, I was surprised to discover art where I least expected it.

            I spent the majority of my time on Sunday at the “Mind: The Science, Art, and Experience of our Inner Lives.” It is an interactive exhibit on our minds and senses. One of the exhibits that I found most interesting was “Center of Attention.” It is a black booth that you enter (one person at a time) with a microphone and four stage lights directed towards you. A bellowing voice addresses the “audience,” telling them to welcome their guest speaker and loud applause bursts through speakers.  You are then directed to say “hello” into the microphone.  When I was in the booth, I knew that the audience that I was about to address was fake, but my heart still began to beat faster as I said “hello” into the microphone. To my dismay, the audience responded with a loud “BOOOOO!!!” I consciously told myself that “this audience is not real and is not actually reflecting upon quality of your ‘hello,’” however, I still felt disheartened. I was then instructed to say something else, and upon saying “you guys made me sad,” the audience cheered and I became happy. I spoke into the microphone again and children’s voices began laughing and jeering at me. This time memories of being teased in elementary school floated to my mind and I was overwhelmed with sadness. The audience then laughed as though they were laughing with me and I felt proud. I was shocked to discover the intensity of the emotions that this little black booth brought to me. If I had simply read a plaque in a museum stating that people’s emotions will react to generic computer-generated sounds, I would not have believed it. The people who designed the black booth, along with its lighting and sound, were creative and had to find an aesthetic balance for the exhibit. In other words, they needed to replicate the experience of being in front of an audience well enough so that a viewer would subconsciously believe it enough to react, and that process of design is a form of art.

            Another exhibit that captured my attention was a series of Paul Eckman’s photographs from New Guinea. I was not struck by the quality of the photographs, but rather by their message. Paul Eckman traveled to a remote tribe in New Guinea in the 1960s and took photographs of the people’s facial expressions to demonstrate that human facial expressions are universal. For example, people in all cultures raise their eyebrows while greeting others. The Exploratorium has a corresponding interactive exhibit to go along with these photographs, “Polite Smile, Delight Smile.” It has twelve photographs of people (Western and from the 21^st century), with two photographs of each person. A flap covers one of the photographs of each person. You are supposed to decide whether the revealed photograph depicts their true smile or their social smile before you lift the flap to see their other photograph. “Polite Smile, Delight Smile,” demonstrated Eckman’s discovery that true smiles activate the orbit of muscles around one’s eyes; this is the trick to detect whether someone is genuinely smiling or if their smiled is posed. This interested me as an artist because it is essential to understand these subtle human mores while painting or photographing a person. However, these exhibits have greater meaning when viewed in the context of the museum. Paul Eckman’s photographs most likely appeal to an older audience, keeping adults entertained, while “Polite Smile, Delight Smile,” provides a hands on component that brings science to life for children. The museum is trading upon its ability to teach children science in a fun and informative way, while also keeping adults interested.

            After learning about my senses in the “Mind” exhibit, I went to the Tactile Dome and learned what it was like to rely solely upon my sense of touch. The Tactile Dome is a dome in the middle of the Exploratorium. It is a completely dark maze that you experience only by touch and communication with one other partner. I had never been to the Tactile Dome before and blindly wandering through tunnels, feeling things like cowboy boots and chains, being claustrophobic and trying to figure whether or not I could stand at certain parts of the maze, scared me. I was unable to see the maze, as it was completely dark, but it wrapped around itself and took us on journeys climbing up and sliding down in the dome. It is definitely a work of art, one that appealed to my sense of touch, a sense I often take for granted. The “Mind” exhibit is a new addition to the Exploratorium and the decision to put it near the Tactile Dome was ingenious because one first learns about their senses and then experiences what it is like to rely on just one in the dome.

            The exhibits in the Exploratorium encourage people of all ages to learn about science while having fun. Each exhibit is carefully crafted to be visually appealing so that people will want to approach it, to be easily understood, and to be durable, and each is its own work of art. Additionally, the entire museum is a work of art. The columns in the entry way, which appear normal on first glance, are actually shaped to form people, the strips of light on the walls form images if you train your eye to read them, and the visible wiring and structural support on the ceiling are deliberate elements of the architecture, revealing how the building works and operating as each of the exhibits in the museum. 

Exploratorium and Fleet Street Spring Show

I went to the Exploratorium in San Francisco this last weekend, and explored the various ways that they combine portray science in an artistic way. There were several exhibits that were very appealing in their design and presentation.
One was a grand piano suspended from the ceiling by a few cables. Below it lay a series of red concentric circles that formed a bulls eye. Each ring had a different line of text that increased in perceived anxiety level as I moved towards the center. On the outside was typed “I’m not afraid”, and in the inner circles I remember seeing, “I just shouldn’t take that kind of a risk.” As I moved in towards the piano, I couldn’t help thinking about how large it was and how it was squarely above my head. A rush of thoughts wrap around the viewer; a single strike of fate and that piano could fall squarely on my head—it just isn’t wise to stand here. The piano was specifically hung in a portion of the building that had high ceilings and large windows so that one could see it hanging from the second floor. In addition, the piano wasn’t parallel to the ground—it had a slight tilt to the left, so that as I approached it, I could see the keys slowly disappear out of sight. The tilt made each step towards the center of the bullseye seem less sudden and made the gradual shifts in mentality that were typed underneath my feet more real.

I also saw a set of mannequins on the second floor that were wearing clothes designed in all sorts of media and technology. One was wrapped in newspapers, the others used recycled materials, semiconductor technology, solar panel material, and one even was a series of photographs that gathered together to frame a television set holding the same picture on it. The point of the exhibit was to create a “second skin”, or “clothing in digital and analog formats”. I don’t believe that any people would walk around wearing the outfits that were created, but they were truly beautiful. Looking at them, it was hard to believe that they were made out of newspaper and recycled material; when I crossed my eyes, they looked like flowing, natural fabric. The materials flattered the mannequins in a completely unpredictable manner. One gorgeous dress was made completely out of Snickers Bars wrappers. It presented an interpretation of objects that we would normally consider trash or ugly as having the potential to be synthesized into beauty.

The same evening, I attended Fleet Street’s Spring Show. Fleet Street is a talented, all male a capella group at Stanford. Their performances are a delightful alternation between hilarious skits and equally amusing songs. They often compose and arrange many of their own works. Classic favorites include “The Masochism Tango” and “Everyone Pees in the Shower”.

One of my favorite Fleet Street songs from this show was “Metrosexual”. This song takes an old style of singing: call and repeat, and updates it. “Metrosexual” is about a young man who loves Clay Aiken and appreciates pair of tight jeans and a good manicure—playing on clear examples of what ‘metrosexual’ would mean. The song is incredible not only because of the quality of the melody but also the lyrics. In the beginning, the last three words of the main singer are repeated word for word. However, on the second verse, one line ends along the lines of “jeans that fit just right” and the chorus backs up with “tight-ass jeans”. The violation of expectation continues through the rest of the song: when the main singer makes a comment about shaving, the backup singers follow with “Razor Burn”!. The audience usually succumbs to laughter when the backup singers retort back with these clever lines.
However, the whole performance wasn’t all silliness—Fleet Street also sang “Ruby” and a Dave Brubeck piece without a change in quality of performance. Fleet Street’s main charm is that it is able to poke fun at others and at itself through its skits and songs, but it also has the talent to back it up. They set up various expectations and proceed to break them without restraint, whether through humor or through serious singing. Even when they are making a joke, they will set up what you think the joke is and then break into the true punchline. Fleet Street put on an excellent show yesterday, as usual