Ernest Hemingway wrote in his book, A Moveable Feast:
“If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young [wo]man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”
Hemingway stayed in Paris in the 1920s when he was in his early 20's. Eighty years later, I also got the opportunity to live in Paris in my early 20's. Like Hemingway, the experiences in Paris has a profound and lasting impression on my life. I have since left Paris to move back to New York City - but Paris is indeed a moveable feast. It came in the form of bicycling in downtown Manhattan.
I learned to ride the bike for the first time in my life summer 2007 in Paris. This summer 2009 I participated in the Bike Around Downtown New York program. I am no longer a beginner (though still mastering those brakes and turns!) - but the enthusiasm of when I first learned to bike is still there, ever strong. Marie Pierre would be proud to know that her student has learned well and kept the passion going ... two years later, a whole ocean away.
Learning to ride the bicycle in Paris holds a lot of significance me. It is a city I love dearly, and though I no longer live there I still think of the city and the friends fondly. As I did on two wheels along the Seine River, passing by Notre Dame, Musée d'Orsay, Eiffel Tower ... I am elevated on two wheels and cycling from South Street Seaport, to Battery Park, a view of Statue of Liberty, up along the Hudson River. I lived in Paris for over five years and thought I know it well, but near the end of the journey I saw the city in a new way. On bicycle I also got a new perspective of New York, this city I have called home since 1985.
Good memories never pass, they linger in us. Great memories, get stronger with time. Living in Paris in my early 20s taught me a lot. It has inspired me to learn to see a place with a fresh new eye. In Paris I was young, a foreigner in a new land, life was full of romance, culture and arts. I am no longer in my 20s now, but I try not to let those precious life experiences escape me with age and time. I came back to New York - not with indifference - but with great curiosity, interest, a passion to discover and explore, as I did with Paris - it's as if I have fallen in love with New York all over again.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Sound and Fury, Signifying Everything
New York City is a place filled with infinite possibilities of things to do, especially in summer time. So many choices that it is an activity itself to filter out what are the worthy and interesting activities to do. Ironically, sometimes it is the unexpected and unplanned events that turn out to be the most memorable.
On this late August evening I was invited to an event I knew nothing about, except it is a play about Macbeth and is being acted out in Mineral Springs in Central Park. Without inquiring further, I gave an affirmative reply. Those two details was enough reason for me to want to attend. I worked in Central Park as a summer youth intern and love the park dearly, and am always happy to have a reason to return to visit. Shakespeare’s plays have interested me since high school where one very passionate English teacher, Mr Illman at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of the Arts taught the students the Shakespearean plays so thoroughly well that a lot of the scenes and soliloquy still stick firmly on my mind today.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Twelve years later … just a few blocks away from Lincoln Center where I first learned Shakespeare’s plays I have the unique occasion to come see Macbeth performed by a young theater group, Extants Arts Company. Founded in 2007, the cast and crew are young, in their mid 20s, talented, and passionate. The director says, “Here in the park, against the backdrop of trees and sky, we can appreciate the most elemental story of Macbeth – the story of the society man has built upon the foundation of natural allegiances of kinship and marriage. We can see what these relationships can inspire us to become or what they can drive us to do”.
The weather has been scorching hot and humid this month of August. Recently a thunderstorm had struck more than 100 trees in Central Park, the most severe destruction that the park had experienced in the last 30 years. When I got to Mineral Springs, I noticed a huge fallen tree, kept off by yellow caution tape. The theater group has been rehearsing in Mineral Springs for some time - but their set has just been change. Nonetheless the group adjusts and adapts; nothing deters their enthusiasm and the show goes on.
At 6PM the show starts and the audience has settled themselves on the picnic blankets on the grass. It was the first time I ever experienced sitting outdoors for a theatre performance. Unlike the traditional setting, where there’s a stage for the performers, and seats for the audience – here the audience is part of the set. The actors were performing in every direction, and we physically had to move our heads, move our bodies to react to the different scenes. It’s dynamic and engaging!
During the intermission, the audience was advised should it start raining, they could leave and come back the following day to see Act II. As raindrops steadily fall on my open umbrella, the actors continue their lines … oblivious to the rain. None of the audience left. The rain only made the scene more interesting. When MacBeth encounters the three witches, lightening sounds the sky, almost on cue.
Daylight fades from the park, the last act has ended, and the whole cast of eleven members stood in a row, bowing to the audience. The sound of applause fills the quiet park air and I glanced at each of the actors in admiration. They all put on a great show. The evening’s unexpected performance really liven me up. It left such a lasting impression on me that if I was to meet Shakespeare then and there, I would say to him: Life may be a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and heard no more, a tale full of sound and fury - but for sure, it signifies a lot.
On this late August evening I was invited to an event I knew nothing about, except it is a play about Macbeth and is being acted out in Mineral Springs in Central Park. Without inquiring further, I gave an affirmative reply. Those two details was enough reason for me to want to attend. I worked in Central Park as a summer youth intern and love the park dearly, and am always happy to have a reason to return to visit. Shakespeare’s plays have interested me since high school where one very passionate English teacher, Mr Illman at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of the Arts taught the students the Shakespearean plays so thoroughly well that a lot of the scenes and soliloquy still stick firmly on my mind today.
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
Twelve years later … just a few blocks away from Lincoln Center where I first learned Shakespeare’s plays I have the unique occasion to come see Macbeth performed by a young theater group, Extants Arts Company. Founded in 2007, the cast and crew are young, in their mid 20s, talented, and passionate. The director says, “Here in the park, against the backdrop of trees and sky, we can appreciate the most elemental story of Macbeth – the story of the society man has built upon the foundation of natural allegiances of kinship and marriage. We can see what these relationships can inspire us to become or what they can drive us to do”.
The weather has been scorching hot and humid this month of August. Recently a thunderstorm had struck more than 100 trees in Central Park, the most severe destruction that the park had experienced in the last 30 years. When I got to Mineral Springs, I noticed a huge fallen tree, kept off by yellow caution tape. The theater group has been rehearsing in Mineral Springs for some time - but their set has just been change. Nonetheless the group adjusts and adapts; nothing deters their enthusiasm and the show goes on.
At 6PM the show starts and the audience has settled themselves on the picnic blankets on the grass. It was the first time I ever experienced sitting outdoors for a theatre performance. Unlike the traditional setting, where there’s a stage for the performers, and seats for the audience – here the audience is part of the set. The actors were performing in every direction, and we physically had to move our heads, move our bodies to react to the different scenes. It’s dynamic and engaging!
During the intermission, the audience was advised should it start raining, they could leave and come back the following day to see Act II. As raindrops steadily fall on my open umbrella, the actors continue their lines … oblivious to the rain. None of the audience left. The rain only made the scene more interesting. When MacBeth encounters the three witches, lightening sounds the sky, almost on cue.
Daylight fades from the park, the last act has ended, and the whole cast of eleven members stood in a row, bowing to the audience. The sound of applause fills the quiet park air and I glanced at each of the actors in admiration. They all put on a great show. The evening’s unexpected performance really liven me up. It left such a lasting impression on me that if I was to meet Shakespeare then and there, I would say to him: Life may be a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and heard no more, a tale full of sound and fury - but for sure, it signifies a lot.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The Secret 'Community' Garden
The East Village has been my home since 1992 when my family first moved here from Chinatown. One distinguished characteristic of this neighborhood are the many community gardens. Of them all, my favorite without a second thought, is the 6BC Botanical Garden. This place is for a New Yorker, a Manhattan resident, an East Villager, an oasis from the busy city life.
Stretches of vines covered the tall iron gate. Bushes hide the view of the outside traffic of cars and pedestrians. My favorite spot to sit is at the stone table. Here I have spent countless hours reading and writing, pondering about life. Or just simply enjoying some precious moments of solitude. There is privacy here, despite it being a public space. A tiny pond is the home for a few delicate water lilies. The garden is filled with many diverse plants and though small in size, I feel like being in a forest. I am now a regular visitor, but I still enter the garden each time impressed and in admiration. Such care in creating something so beautiful, out of what was once nothing.
6BC Botanical Garden came from a rubble-strewn empty lot in the early 1980s when East Villagers, all volunteers, started re-building it. It is part of GreenThumb, a program of the City of New York Department of Parks and Recreation. “Established in 1978, GreenThumb remains the nation's largest urban gardening program, assisting over 600 gardens and nearly 20,000 garden members throughout New York City. GreenThumb was initiated in response to the city's financial crisis of the 1970s, which resulted in the abandonment of a tremendous amount of public and private land. Residents of these devastated communities transformed these unattractive and unsafe spaces into green havens. These community gardens, now managed by neighborhood residents, provide important green space, thus improving air quality, bio-diversity, and the well-being of residents. But gardens aren't just pretty spaces; they're also important community resources.”
I went away for college and lived abroad in Paris where I frequented many of the city’s little parks and gardens. In the past year and a half, I immersed myself in environmental filmmaking and was exposed to more of what Nature has to offer. I have come to acquire a genuine appreciation for the conservation of green spaces, and feel for city dwellers it is especially needed for a balance living.
After a near decade away I came back to New York City to find a lot of the characteristics have changed. Like other neighborhoods in Manhattan, the East Village has been affected by the city's exploding development - and 6BC like that of other New York community gardens, was threatened. I am very grateful that such unique things like the community gardens are still here today in the East Village.
Stretches of vines covered the tall iron gate. Bushes hide the view of the outside traffic of cars and pedestrians. My favorite spot to sit is at the stone table. Here I have spent countless hours reading and writing, pondering about life. Or just simply enjoying some precious moments of solitude. There is privacy here, despite it being a public space. A tiny pond is the home for a few delicate water lilies. The garden is filled with many diverse plants and though small in size, I feel like being in a forest. I am now a regular visitor, but I still enter the garden each time impressed and in admiration. Such care in creating something so beautiful, out of what was once nothing.
6BC Botanical Garden came from a rubble-strewn empty lot in the early 1980s when East Villagers, all volunteers, started re-building it. It is part of GreenThumb, a program of the City of New York Department of Parks and Recreation. “Established in 1978, GreenThumb remains the nation's largest urban gardening program, assisting over 600 gardens and nearly 20,000 garden members throughout New York City. GreenThumb was initiated in response to the city's financial crisis of the 1970s, which resulted in the abandonment of a tremendous amount of public and private land. Residents of these devastated communities transformed these unattractive and unsafe spaces into green havens. These community gardens, now managed by neighborhood residents, provide important green space, thus improving air quality, bio-diversity, and the well-being of residents. But gardens aren't just pretty spaces; they're also important community resources.”
I went away for college and lived abroad in Paris where I frequented many of the city’s little parks and gardens. In the past year and a half, I immersed myself in environmental filmmaking and was exposed to more of what Nature has to offer. I have come to acquire a genuine appreciation for the conservation of green spaces, and feel for city dwellers it is especially needed for a balance living.
After a near decade away I came back to New York City to find a lot of the characteristics have changed. Like other neighborhoods in Manhattan, the East Village has been affected by the city's exploding development - and 6BC like that of other New York community gardens, was threatened. I am very grateful that such unique things like the community gardens are still here today in the East Village.
Friday, February 13, 2009
A Bouquet of Broccoli
Finding love and keeping love in a big city like New York is not easy. With a population of over eight million people of locals and transients, there are many choices. There is a never-ending way to meet people: social parties for all type of interests, online dating, speed dating, industry networking meetups, matchmaking by family, friends, co-workers, etc. Many choices, many options, and as a result, many reasons for people to have an excuse to move on, one person after the next. Is it possible to find genuine, lasting love in a city like New York?
A year ago I met up for brunch with a group of girlfriends, in our late 20’s to mid 30’s. Of the various subjects we talked about, one was about relationships. Having moved back to New York just recently, I was not aware of the difficult dating scene. I, being the ever optimist believe that it is possible to find true love naturally. One girlfriend warned me that love just doesn’t happen that way. She gave a scenario of a supermarket, how a girl reaches out for a broccoli just as the guy reaches out for one and a great rapport strikes up between the two. Such scenario, my girlfriend says – I must erase it out of my mind because it will never happen in real life. The reality is that there are so many false starts, so many lost opportunities, so many disappointments, so many rejections, so many broken hearts – is it a surprise that so many people have become so jaded and so cynical?
But still, I remember the broccoli.
What intrigued me about my girlfriend’s example was not so much the supermarket, or that the guy and the girl reach for a broccoli (though I do love vegetables and broccoli is indeed one of my favorite) - What intrigued me was the possibility that things can happen on its own, the serendipity - that two people can meet and really find a connection, that things can work out. Finding someone to fall in love with is a miracle. Staying in love takes a lot of work from both sides, and sometimes it really is beyond one’s control. But I believe finding that special someone to love and to be loved is really worth the while. It makes a normal walk in Central Park that was once so habitual a whole new experience. It makes a cup of milk tea taste so much sweeter. It makes plain written words so much more multi-dimensional. It makes just merely being held in each other’s hand so full of emotions and love.
My favorite writer during college was Dostoevsky. In Brothers Karamazov, the character, Grushenka comments that she has done so many bad deeds but she is redeemed, because she gave an onion to a beggar. "Just know one thing, Rakitka, I may be wicked, but still I gave an onion." (Book VII, Chapter 3). In this big metropolis of New York City, where life and experiences may have caused cynicism and hopelessness about love - maybe we can have faith again in broccoli?
A year ago I met up for brunch with a group of girlfriends, in our late 20’s to mid 30’s. Of the various subjects we talked about, one was about relationships. Having moved back to New York just recently, I was not aware of the difficult dating scene. I, being the ever optimist believe that it is possible to find true love naturally. One girlfriend warned me that love just doesn’t happen that way. She gave a scenario of a supermarket, how a girl reaches out for a broccoli just as the guy reaches out for one and a great rapport strikes up between the two. Such scenario, my girlfriend says – I must erase it out of my mind because it will never happen in real life. The reality is that there are so many false starts, so many lost opportunities, so many disappointments, so many rejections, so many broken hearts – is it a surprise that so many people have become so jaded and so cynical?
But still, I remember the broccoli.
What intrigued me about my girlfriend’s example was not so much the supermarket, or that the guy and the girl reach for a broccoli (though I do love vegetables and broccoli is indeed one of my favorite) - What intrigued me was the possibility that things can happen on its own, the serendipity - that two people can meet and really find a connection, that things can work out. Finding someone to fall in love with is a miracle. Staying in love takes a lot of work from both sides, and sometimes it really is beyond one’s control. But I believe finding that special someone to love and to be loved is really worth the while. It makes a normal walk in Central Park that was once so habitual a whole new experience. It makes a cup of milk tea taste so much sweeter. It makes plain written words so much more multi-dimensional. It makes just merely being held in each other’s hand so full of emotions and love.
My favorite writer during college was Dostoevsky. In Brothers Karamazov, the character, Grushenka comments that she has done so many bad deeds but she is redeemed, because she gave an onion to a beggar. "Just know one thing, Rakitka, I may be wicked, but still I gave an onion." (Book VII, Chapter 3). In this big metropolis of New York City, where life and experiences may have caused cynicism and hopelessness about love - maybe we can have faith again in broccoli?
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Art & The City
On a cold, slushy, rainy day at Christmas time in midtown Manhattan – I step out of the subway station to find flocks of busy New York locals and visitors abound. In the mass of human bodies floating through the subways, the streets, the stores - how does one become a regular in a big city like New York City?
One secret may be to be a regular at a place. Some folks like to be a regular in their local café. Others have a favorite restaurant. And still others always hang out in their corner bar. I like to be a regular at
The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA).
It was one of first thing I did when I moved back to New York City in fall 2007: I bought a membership card to MoMA. For $75, cheaper than the price of the unlimited monthly subway pass, I have unlimited access to the museum for an entire year. There are no lines to wait, no tickets to buy, no stress of people. Instead of trying to see everything in one day, we can take our time and just see a bit one at a time. I like to study and absorb one piece of work, and return at another time to see more. It’s a great way to appreciate the museum without feeling overwhelmed. I especially appreciate the movie theaters in the lower levels, where I have caught quite a few documentary and feature films.
The MoMA has a very nice atrium. The view is especially alluring through the windows from the third, fourth, fifth and sixth floor. In the current installation by Swiss artist Pipilotti Rist who has created a 7,354 cm of landscape of sound, sculptural elements, and moving image that envelop the walls in a vivid panorama. There is a sign to take off your shoes before getting on the carpet – and to make friends with person next to you. The carpet is white and the huge sculptural seating island is made of suede like cushion. Despite being in a roomful of strangers from all over the city and all over the world, you get a sense of tranquility - you see people really relaxing, almost mediating. As I unlace my very wet hiking boots, I think to myself how welcoming it is to take them off and literally separate from the slushy cold outside. Sitting on the cushion and lying down, there is the comfort and warmth of being in one’s living room.
Encouraged by the other part of the sign to make friends with person next to you, I start to speak with this older couple from New Jersey. There are too many attractions in NYC and they don’t come to MoMA that often when they are in Manhattan. But today they are visiting with their daughter who is attending Savannah College of Art and Design. We then go into a deep discussion about art and its great value in society, and that there is not enough emphasis in the US education encouraging the study of art. After the couple left, I fold my coat to use as a pillow and lay down. As I stare at the panorama screen of a nude woman underwater, I begin to hear people speaking French around me. A sudden wave of nostalgia wash over me with the same image of me lying down…. on the square of Musée Centre Pompidou in Paris.
I developed an affinity for museums in the mid 1990s when I was a Fine Arts student at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and the Performing Arts in Lincoln Center. Classes, homeworks, and projects required the art students to spend a lot of time with sketch pads in all the museums throughout the city. I enjoyed looking at the diverse objects in all forms of sculptures, canvases, and installations. It’s inspiring to learn about the artists’ backgrounds and their different time in history. I also love this concept of a public space as a place of learning and inspiration. From walking through the ancient artifacts of Mesopotamia at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, to going up and down the rotunda of The Guggenheim where the architecture itself is a piece of art, to walking through the skyscraping dinosaur bones at The American Museum of Natural History, to pondering while standing underneath the Greek columns of The Cloisters – I am in awe of how different people in different eras of different parts of the world have all been inspired to achieve all they have done and their accomplishments are passed down to us today. Though I stopped studying art after high school academically, the passion for museums and a love for history stayed strongly with me.
When I moved to Paris in summer 2002, the first thing I did was get a membership card to museums. The museum I frequented most often was Musée Centre Pompidou. I eventually settled in the 11th arrondissement in the neighborhood of Belleville and the museum was just about half an hour walk away. It soon became my favorite hang out place. In the summer months I would lay down on the leaning square and stared at the colorful pipes. Whether listening to street performers play their instruments, or writing in my notebook, it was a great way to enjoy Paris and live the city as a local. Inside the museum, I had spent many coffee breaks writing in the café. When it got too hot, the Bibliothèque was a great place to escape the heat. And still, like MoMA, there was a lower level (and upper) for watching documentaries and features.
Today, there is a screening of Henry James’ Washington Square Park. This version is by Polish filmmaker Agnieszka Holland and came out in 1997. It is such a treat to see this film now, for the first time, on the big screen – it seem to be the right time as I have not lived in the city for almost a decade and am rediscovering it and trying to reconnect with it - watching the film in MoMA somehow made me feel closer to New York City. I am struck by the music composed by Jan A.P. Kaczmarek. Long after the credits have ended and I have exited the museum and taking the subway home, one song from the film, "Tu chiami una vita" still lingers heavily on my mind. The lyrics are by Salvatore Quasimodo. It is a truly beautiful song, so well written, so meaningful, for all emotions it evoke, I am really moved.
Art is like love. So inexplicable, so not logical, so not something we think we need - but yet - without it, life is dull and not as meaningful. You do not need to study it, you do not need to read about it, all you need is to feel it. And when it does resonate with you, it is pretty powerful.
One secret may be to be a regular at a place. Some folks like to be a regular in their local café. Others have a favorite restaurant. And still others always hang out in their corner bar. I like to be a regular at
The Museum of Modern Art (MoMA).
It was one of first thing I did when I moved back to New York City in fall 2007: I bought a membership card to MoMA. For $75, cheaper than the price of the unlimited monthly subway pass, I have unlimited access to the museum for an entire year. There are no lines to wait, no tickets to buy, no stress of people. Instead of trying to see everything in one day, we can take our time and just see a bit one at a time. I like to study and absorb one piece of work, and return at another time to see more. It’s a great way to appreciate the museum without feeling overwhelmed. I especially appreciate the movie theaters in the lower levels, where I have caught quite a few documentary and feature films.
The MoMA has a very nice atrium. The view is especially alluring through the windows from the third, fourth, fifth and sixth floor. In the current installation by Swiss artist Pipilotti Rist who has created a 7,354 cm of landscape of sound, sculptural elements, and moving image that envelop the walls in a vivid panorama. There is a sign to take off your shoes before getting on the carpet – and to make friends with person next to you. The carpet is white and the huge sculptural seating island is made of suede like cushion. Despite being in a roomful of strangers from all over the city and all over the world, you get a sense of tranquility - you see people really relaxing, almost mediating. As I unlace my very wet hiking boots, I think to myself how welcoming it is to take them off and literally separate from the slushy cold outside. Sitting on the cushion and lying down, there is the comfort and warmth of being in one’s living room.
Encouraged by the other part of the sign to make friends with person next to you, I start to speak with this older couple from New Jersey. There are too many attractions in NYC and they don’t come to MoMA that often when they are in Manhattan. But today they are visiting with their daughter who is attending Savannah College of Art and Design. We then go into a deep discussion about art and its great value in society, and that there is not enough emphasis in the US education encouraging the study of art. After the couple left, I fold my coat to use as a pillow and lay down. As I stare at the panorama screen of a nude woman underwater, I begin to hear people speaking French around me. A sudden wave of nostalgia wash over me with the same image of me lying down…. on the square of Musée Centre Pompidou in Paris.
I developed an affinity for museums in the mid 1990s when I was a Fine Arts student at Fiorello H. LaGuardia High School of Music & Art and the Performing Arts in Lincoln Center. Classes, homeworks, and projects required the art students to spend a lot of time with sketch pads in all the museums throughout the city. I enjoyed looking at the diverse objects in all forms of sculptures, canvases, and installations. It’s inspiring to learn about the artists’ backgrounds and their different time in history. I also love this concept of a public space as a place of learning and inspiration. From walking through the ancient artifacts of Mesopotamia at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, to going up and down the rotunda of The Guggenheim where the architecture itself is a piece of art, to walking through the skyscraping dinosaur bones at The American Museum of Natural History, to pondering while standing underneath the Greek columns of The Cloisters – I am in awe of how different people in different eras of different parts of the world have all been inspired to achieve all they have done and their accomplishments are passed down to us today. Though I stopped studying art after high school academically, the passion for museums and a love for history stayed strongly with me.
When I moved to Paris in summer 2002, the first thing I did was get a membership card to museums. The museum I frequented most often was Musée Centre Pompidou. I eventually settled in the 11th arrondissement in the neighborhood of Belleville and the museum was just about half an hour walk away. It soon became my favorite hang out place. In the summer months I would lay down on the leaning square and stared at the colorful pipes. Whether listening to street performers play their instruments, or writing in my notebook, it was a great way to enjoy Paris and live the city as a local. Inside the museum, I had spent many coffee breaks writing in the café. When it got too hot, the Bibliothèque was a great place to escape the heat. And still, like MoMA, there was a lower level (and upper) for watching documentaries and features.
Today, there is a screening of Henry James’ Washington Square Park. This version is by Polish filmmaker Agnieszka Holland and came out in 1997. It is such a treat to see this film now, for the first time, on the big screen – it seem to be the right time as I have not lived in the city for almost a decade and am rediscovering it and trying to reconnect with it - watching the film in MoMA somehow made me feel closer to New York City. I am struck by the music composed by Jan A.P. Kaczmarek. Long after the credits have ended and I have exited the museum and taking the subway home, one song from the film, "Tu chiami una vita" still lingers heavily on my mind. The lyrics are by Salvatore Quasimodo. It is a truly beautiful song, so well written, so meaningful, for all emotions it evoke, I am really moved.
Art is like love. So inexplicable, so not logical, so not something we think we need - but yet - without it, life is dull and not as meaningful. You do not need to study it, you do not need to read about it, all you need is to feel it. And when it does resonate with you, it is pretty powerful.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Cantonese Opera in Chinatown
On a magnificent clear sunny day beneath the hustle and bustle of New York City’s Chinatown lies a different world, of semi-darkness, sound and music. Every Sunday at New York Chinese School on 62 Mott Street the doors are opened to the general public for performances on Cantonese Opera. I came as one of the spectators to support one of the musicians.
When my father retired five years ago I got really worried that he would get bored. His job at his Chinatown restaurant occupied so much of his time, six days a week at over twelve hours a day for the past two decade in New York City that he did not have any time to develop personal interests and hobbies. Not yet sixty years old, he feels old and worn out, and he has been through a lot. In the mid 1950s his parents left him and the poverty stricken Taishan village in southeastern China. At six years old, alongside his three siblings he had to learn to take care of himself. Growing up he experienced famine in China and got very little education. In his life he only knows of the three things: thirty years of farming in China, twenty years of working in a restaurant in New York, and how to care for his family. After I graduated from university and both my elder brother and I were supporting ourselves, my dad made the decision to quit the stressful restaurant job and finally start living; he joined a music group for retirees in Manhattan Chinatown.
In the basement auditorium, both on stage and in the audience are filled with senior citizens in theirs 60s to 80s. There are half a dozen singers and eight musicians playing various instruments: the er-hu (Chinese violin), the flute, violin, gong, bells, etc. All of them share the similar background as my father, recent or long time immigrants from China these former workers from Chinatown restaurant or garment factory all spent many years slaving behind the restaurant stove or a factory sewing machine. After their children grew up and left the house these immigrant had the rare situation of having to find something to do with their time. This is how, like my father they came to be performing on stage.
Despite living in America for many years, the oversea Chinese immigrants hold on to the Cantonese Opera culture that they know of from China. As a kid, I grew up listening to Cantonese Opera and understand it very well. On stage with makeup concealing their old age, the 70 and 80 year olds look like 20 somethings dressed up in traditional Chinese outfits. The singers are not just merely singing out words, there are also facial expressions and hand movements. The Cantonese Opera stories are taken from ancient love stories from Chinese history and from famous literary masterpieces. The best stories are the tragic ones. One story performed was taken from one of the four Chinese classics, Outlaws of the Marsh about Lin Chong, a chief military instructor of the late Northern Song Dynasty who was framed and sent into exile. Sitting in the audience if you understand Cantonese Opera and know the stories, you feel a sense of comfort and familiarity. But even if that’s not case and it’s your first time, it’s ok too. You can still appreciate the experience, by absorbing the music, emotions, gestures, and the whole atmosphere.
At 5:00PM the show comes to an end, and I stood up to give a hearty round of applause to my father and his fellow Cantonese Opera performers. I applaud them not just for that day’s performance, I also applaud them for their energy, their motivation and their will. From garment factory workers to restaurant workers, from a job that is behind the scenes to something that is on stage they have reincarnated in one lifetime. These retirees all had no musical background, and now they’ve all learned to play instruments. It is truly inspiring to know that we can never stop learning, no matter what age and what background. Some people say life ends with retirement but for these retirees, life only starts. Next time you are in Chinatown do stop by for a Cantonese Opera show, you’ll be surprised to find what you can learn.
When my father retired five years ago I got really worried that he would get bored. His job at his Chinatown restaurant occupied so much of his time, six days a week at over twelve hours a day for the past two decade in New York City that he did not have any time to develop personal interests and hobbies. Not yet sixty years old, he feels old and worn out, and he has been through a lot. In the mid 1950s his parents left him and the poverty stricken Taishan village in southeastern China. At six years old, alongside his three siblings he had to learn to take care of himself. Growing up he experienced famine in China and got very little education. In his life he only knows of the three things: thirty years of farming in China, twenty years of working in a restaurant in New York, and how to care for his family. After I graduated from university and both my elder brother and I were supporting ourselves, my dad made the decision to quit the stressful restaurant job and finally start living; he joined a music group for retirees in Manhattan Chinatown.
In the basement auditorium, both on stage and in the audience are filled with senior citizens in theirs 60s to 80s. There are half a dozen singers and eight musicians playing various instruments: the er-hu (Chinese violin), the flute, violin, gong, bells, etc. All of them share the similar background as my father, recent or long time immigrants from China these former workers from Chinatown restaurant or garment factory all spent many years slaving behind the restaurant stove or a factory sewing machine. After their children grew up and left the house these immigrant had the rare situation of having to find something to do with their time. This is how, like my father they came to be performing on stage.
Despite living in America for many years, the oversea Chinese immigrants hold on to the Cantonese Opera culture that they know of from China. As a kid, I grew up listening to Cantonese Opera and understand it very well. On stage with makeup concealing their old age, the 70 and 80 year olds look like 20 somethings dressed up in traditional Chinese outfits. The singers are not just merely singing out words, there are also facial expressions and hand movements. The Cantonese Opera stories are taken from ancient love stories from Chinese history and from famous literary masterpieces. The best stories are the tragic ones. One story performed was taken from one of the four Chinese classics, Outlaws of the Marsh about Lin Chong, a chief military instructor of the late Northern Song Dynasty who was framed and sent into exile. Sitting in the audience if you understand Cantonese Opera and know the stories, you feel a sense of comfort and familiarity. But even if that’s not case and it’s your first time, it’s ok too. You can still appreciate the experience, by absorbing the music, emotions, gestures, and the whole atmosphere.
At 5:00PM the show comes to an end, and I stood up to give a hearty round of applause to my father and his fellow Cantonese Opera performers. I applaud them not just for that day’s performance, I also applaud them for their energy, their motivation and their will. From garment factory workers to restaurant workers, from a job that is behind the scenes to something that is on stage they have reincarnated in one lifetime. These retirees all had no musical background, and now they’ve all learned to play instruments. It is truly inspiring to know that we can never stop learning, no matter what age and what background. Some people say life ends with retirement but for these retirees, life only starts. Next time you are in Chinatown do stop by for a Cantonese Opera show, you’ll be surprised to find what you can learn.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
America’s Most Endangered Place: New York’s Lower East Side
In May 2008 The National Trust for Historic Preservation listed New York Lower East Side as one of America’s 11 most endangered places. After a year of producing films on our endangered natural environment, my latest project is giving me a whole new perspective on how the term “endangered” can also apply to a man-made place.
Lower East Side, historically an immigrant neighborhood has in the last two decades gone through much development. Gentrification, as defined by www.dictionary.com is “the restoration and upgrading of deteriorated urban property by middle-class or affluent people, often resulting in displacement of lower-income people”. Located in downtown Manhattan, the Lower East Side's close proximity to the Financial District has attracted bankers and business professionals. Gallery owners who can no longer afford the priced out Chelsea has seeped into the LES and settled their little galleries on Clinton Street and various other streets. Original resident buildings called tenements were once homes to a lot of immigrants have now have increased in price. The first hotel, a glass-walled 22 stories building opened on Rivington Street in late 2004. Many condominium towers are sprinkling up and the prestigious private university, New York University has also expanded their campus down to the LES. As more and more higher buildings are constructed, there is huge concern whether the LES will become a place where only the wealthy can afford to live.
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
~ Emma Lazarus’ poem on the Statue of Liberty
Lower East Side has been the most culturally diverse square mile in United States since the founding of this country. Most Americans can trace their roots to the Lower East Side one-way or other: Irish, Germans, Italians, Jews, Chinese, Hispanics, etc. When my family immigrated to New York City in the mid 1980s, we settled in Chinatown and LES. Speaking no English, the immigrant neighborhood provided support and resources with those similar to our backgrounds. Coming to America with nothing, immigrants learn English, get work, get an education, become American – Lower East Side played such vital place for many immigrants like my family that I can’t imagine growing up anywhere else but here.
Lower East Side developers such as Misrahi Realty talks about how change is inevitable and how development is necessary for a neighborhood. New York City is always changing, and LES is no different. For the developers, Lower East Side is still an immigrant neighborhood, just a new sort of ‘immigrants’ now. These ‘immigrants’ are international young professionals, college educated, good credits, and carry Blackberries. In face of these new ‘immigrant’, the traditional immigrants of the Lower East Side suffer. From long time tenants who are struggling to keep their rent control homes to small business owners (known as mom and pop stores) to artists, everyone is struggling to survive in the new Lower East Side.
Marylou, a Dominican American and Sharon, an African American were born in the neighborhood have lived here for half a century. They met when they were in second grade and have been best friends since. Greg, an old time resident in his mid 50s says any kid should be proud to grow up in the LES where there are all kinds of people and you learn to live with others very early in life. John, a long time Lower East Sider in is early 60s of Spanish descent said he could hardly recognize the changes now and missed the old time community feel of the LES. Shalom, an artist originally from Europe settled in the LES in the early 80s. Feeling the lost of the true flavor of the city, he said it’s just a matter of time that he will go back to Europe. He claims Berlin or Prague is more dynamic and open to poor artists than NYC. The list of long time residents affected by gentrification goes on and on. With development increasing every day, both the physical and symbolic character of the LES is eroding.
What is the future of the Lower East Side? Will it stop being a place that welcomes the poor, and instead only become a place for the affluent, for those who can afford to live here. In the natural environment, trees and oceans are potentially resilient; in time they may grow back. But once a neighborhood is changed and its historic buildings torn down with families and communities uprooted - it is all gone. For a country with little history as United States, I feel the need to hold on to its roots, more necessary than ever. But above all, I think what is endangered is not just the actual neighborhood of the Lower East Side – I feel, tragically what is also endangered is the idea and symbolism of an America that is a place accessible to all.
Lower East Side, historically an immigrant neighborhood has in the last two decades gone through much development. Gentrification, as defined by www.dictionary.com is “the restoration and upgrading of deteriorated urban property by middle-class or affluent people, often resulting in displacement of lower-income people”. Located in downtown Manhattan, the Lower East Side's close proximity to the Financial District has attracted bankers and business professionals. Gallery owners who can no longer afford the priced out Chelsea has seeped into the LES and settled their little galleries on Clinton Street and various other streets. Original resident buildings called tenements were once homes to a lot of immigrants have now have increased in price. The first hotel, a glass-walled 22 stories building opened on Rivington Street in late 2004. Many condominium towers are sprinkling up and the prestigious private university, New York University has also expanded their campus down to the LES. As more and more higher buildings are constructed, there is huge concern whether the LES will become a place where only the wealthy can afford to live.
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
~ Emma Lazarus’ poem on the Statue of Liberty
Lower East Side has been the most culturally diverse square mile in United States since the founding of this country. Most Americans can trace their roots to the Lower East Side one-way or other: Irish, Germans, Italians, Jews, Chinese, Hispanics, etc. When my family immigrated to New York City in the mid 1980s, we settled in Chinatown and LES. Speaking no English, the immigrant neighborhood provided support and resources with those similar to our backgrounds. Coming to America with nothing, immigrants learn English, get work, get an education, become American – Lower East Side played such vital place for many immigrants like my family that I can’t imagine growing up anywhere else but here.
Lower East Side developers such as Misrahi Realty talks about how change is inevitable and how development is necessary for a neighborhood. New York City is always changing, and LES is no different. For the developers, Lower East Side is still an immigrant neighborhood, just a new sort of ‘immigrants’ now. These ‘immigrants’ are international young professionals, college educated, good credits, and carry Blackberries. In face of these new ‘immigrant’, the traditional immigrants of the Lower East Side suffer. From long time tenants who are struggling to keep their rent control homes to small business owners (known as mom and pop stores) to artists, everyone is struggling to survive in the new Lower East Side.
Marylou, a Dominican American and Sharon, an African American were born in the neighborhood have lived here for half a century. They met when they were in second grade and have been best friends since. Greg, an old time resident in his mid 50s says any kid should be proud to grow up in the LES where there are all kinds of people and you learn to live with others very early in life. John, a long time Lower East Sider in is early 60s of Spanish descent said he could hardly recognize the changes now and missed the old time community feel of the LES. Shalom, an artist originally from Europe settled in the LES in the early 80s. Feeling the lost of the true flavor of the city, he said it’s just a matter of time that he will go back to Europe. He claims Berlin or Prague is more dynamic and open to poor artists than NYC. The list of long time residents affected by gentrification goes on and on. With development increasing every day, both the physical and symbolic character of the LES is eroding.
What is the future of the Lower East Side? Will it stop being a place that welcomes the poor, and instead only become a place for the affluent, for those who can afford to live here. In the natural environment, trees and oceans are potentially resilient; in time they may grow back. But once a neighborhood is changed and its historic buildings torn down with families and communities uprooted - it is all gone. For a country with little history as United States, I feel the need to hold on to its roots, more necessary than ever. But above all, I think what is endangered is not just the actual neighborhood of the Lower East Side – I feel, tragically what is also endangered is the idea and symbolism of an America that is a place accessible to all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
