Everglade's blog

“It’s beautiful. No, it’s not quite aesthetically beautiful, but… It’s beautiful. I mean, the history, the people. It’s not the best part of Philly, but exactly because it’s not perfect, it has potential for improvement.” 

A Temple student told me so on the train to North Philly, during my last trip for this class. Her words reminded me of what Sharon Zukin said, “the soul of a city is often felt to be in the long-time residents”. She suggested that I talk to some local folks, but unfortunately there was little people outside on that snowy day.

I planned to see the mural which has RISE on one side and SHINE on the other. In the  photo online, it’s visible in distance, the pure white letters prominent among the vibrantly colored squares in the background. But standing right in front of the mural, I saw something else hidden under the shiny surface. 

The squares were not just colors, but portraits of artists of this project and residents of this area. By incorporating these portraits, the mural showed respect for the people who gave it life, and connected art with everyday life.

The letters were not purely white, either. Scribbles were all over them. Voice. Inspired. Attitude. Power. Soul. History. Dreaming. Beautiful. We believe life. Love. Hope. 

“Against Interpretation” can be paralleled to the Believing Game. The believing game is the next level of the doubting game. It's not blindly believing in everything, but someone with the ability of critical thinking choosing to believe. Similarly, Sontag is not promoting ignorance and asking us to deny any knowledge of art, but suggesting that there is another way to look at art: don't rush to judge every artwork, try to enjoy and appreciate first.

Yes Amy, I am taking a photo of you! 么么哒

In class discussion, we all seemed to consider the move of Barnes Foundation a failure, because it defied Barnes’ intention. But after reading The Believing Game which asks us to “scrutinize unfashionable or even repellent ideas for hidden virtues”, I tried to believe that the move had some positive aspects as I re-read my trip.

The minimalistic architecture itself was beautiful. The cement exterior seemed hard and indifferent, but the glass and the shallow water made everything delicate and ephemeral. Before entering the gallery, we had to walk across a large empty space and go through ticket and bag and coat checking, which made me feel unwelcomed. Feeling the expensiveness in the air, I expected the inside display to be one painting per wall, so that the artworks could be given sacred majesty and be enshrined and worshiped.

On the contrary, paintings are placed close together, so close that, in order to keep them from fighting for space, they are separated by huge keys, carved fences, and spearheads. Now that the artworks exist in peace and harmony, they talk and dance with each other. Two pieces of the same painter share similarity or symmetry; a huge portrait of an elderly man surrounded by smaller portraits of children like an old man surrounded by his grandchildren; an ancient African painting looks like a 19th century work; a painting and a sculpture have astonishingly similar patterns.

(I thought we were going to write a paper about this so I didn't wrote everything I wanted to say. So I added something later. )

The mural surprised me. I expected it to be color blocks and white letters according to the photos, but it was more than that. There were portraits on the color blocks and scribbles of very hopeful words on the letters. Comfort. Voice. Inspired. Dreaming. Attitude. Love. Soul. We believe life. I thought the letters should be completely white in order to shine and be seen from afar, but in fact they are filled with scribbles. I guess things don't have to be impeccable to be brilliant. 

The area can't be called aesthetically beautiful. It is run-down and imperfect indeed. But exactly because of that, it has potential for improvement. It has hope. 

The weren't much people on the street and all the stores were closed except Chinese restaurants, so I was having a hard time looking for a souvenir. Then I saw a girl's abandoned boot on the ground, bright pink in the white snow. I thought it might be a good representation of that area but picking it up and taking it all the way seems really creepy. So I just took these photos of different other murals.  

I'd want to go to North Philly to see the North Philadelphia Beacon Project (Broad & Lehigh), a part of the Mural Arts Programs. The mosaic grids are portraits of people -- residence and participants in the program. I can't see the portraits in the photo, so I want to see the mural by myself. I think the portraits will talk to each other and talk to me.

I've always wanted to go to North Philly, the only direction I haven't been to. People say it's the area that you don't go, that you just don't go. But I believe it's not that scary, although I know the area is dilapidated. The mosaic is bright, eye-catching, and hopeful. I believe art can really change something even in that area.

Barnes Foundation gave me an impression of expensive when I entered. The minimalist architecture, the coat and bag searching, the well-dressed visitors, and the large empty space felt expensive. It smelled expensive. So I thought "well, another Parkway building". But I came back and watch the documentary, and realized that this was exactly what Barnes didn't want. So maybe I'll write about the different experiences one would have in the old and new building.

As for the last trip, I'm interested in Philadelphia's Mural Arts Program, specifically The North Philadelphia Beacon Project, because it decorates the most ramshackle area of Philly. 

Flowing. Floating. Drifting. Orange and dark blue run by, through, into each other. Like the warm ocean current from the equator meets the cold one from Arctic, crushing, fusing, solving, dissolving, creating home for diverse beautiful oceanic creatures. A man in dark clothes stands still in the waves.

Barnes Foundation, with its modern, luxurious outlook, seemed just another museum to me. I expected the inside display to be one painting per wall, so that the artworks could be given sacred majesty and be enshrined and worshiped. On the contrary, paintings are placed close together, so close that, in order to keep them from fighting for space, they are separated by huge keys, carved fences, and spearheads. Now that the artworks exist in peace and harmony, they talk and dance with each other. Two pieces of the same painter share similarity or symmetry; a huge portrait of an elderly man surrounded by smaller portraits of children like an old man surrounded by his grandchildren; an ancient African painting looks like a 19th century work; a painting and a sculpture have astonishingly similar patterns.

17 Boarder Crossings meets the ideal of "the live creatures" in that it's drawn from everyday life, and is in interaction with the nature. The artist finds aesthetic pleasure in the "vulgar", enjoys the problems and creates an order in the seemingly chaotic 17 crossings. Some say it has political meaning and despises the boarders that men set. But using "communist" as a way to curse and mocking small languages seem offensive rather than harmonious and unifying.

Pulling at my hair. Peeling the unruly dead skin on my hands. Biting my lips until they are perfectly soaked, perfectly smooth, perfectly bleeding.

A ray of pale white light exposes me. Am I on stage or in a laboratory room being observed and monitored and waiting for an anatomy? Not much of a difference here. I’ll do it myself.

I examine my body.

Female, 18, 5’’3, yellow skin, black hair, black eye. Oh, Asian. What does it mean to be Asian or Chinese? Traditional? Taciturn? Fortune cookies?

Two moles on my shoulder. One on the left, and one on the right. Ah, perfect symmetry! Is symmetry always perfect and harmonious and tranquilizing? I experiment with my brain. Two systematic and logical left brains, or two artistic and creative right brains? Not functioning very well.

My hand passes through my skin, my muscle tissues, my veins, and reaches my heart. Sadly, it’s not perfect. Some spots are darkened and hardened. Cut them out and start fresh.

According to Diane Ackerman, play requires “daring, risk, concentration, the ability to live with uncertainty, a willingness to follow the rules of the game, and a desire for transcendence”, and deep play “starts focusing one’s life and offering ecstatic moments”, is not always pleasant and positive, needs hard work and may not look like play.