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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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Meditation on MFA Show: Commemorating

4/22/19

I don’t want to think about death. I doubt most people do. And so when confronted with facts, statistics, and news coverage, I find myself ever more disinterested. I have grown numb to the suffering of those who I can’t immediately help, as are most people with most global issues. But in my mindless wandering walking through the MFA show, I found myself captivated by Commemorating by Dilay Kocogullari. It was a hanging garden that I noticed first. White pockets and white vines held simple clusters of grass. It was mesmerising, looking both fantastical and grounded in reality at the same time. I will admit, I was completely ignorant of the femicide occurring in Turkey. Perhaps I had read it as a passing headline or mindlessly skimmed an article about it. Violence occurs at every moment in every corner of the world, so it comes naturally to me to dismiss a crisis occurring far far away from myself. Kocogullari could not dismiss it. So in an effort to illuminate her grief and promote social growth, she gathered 70 people to contribute to her installation to commemorate the over 300 women who were a victim to femicide in her country of Turkey. Though it would have been impressive of her to crochet the individual pouches and vines herself, I find it to be even more remarkable the incredible community she created in this work. She brought together people who created a system to promote growth and harmony, represented by the resilient nature of the grass. As she did in her installation, Kocogullari calls for an end to meaningless death and violence; a noble cause which shines through her subtle yet powerful piece. I don’t know what I could possibly do to end global violence. It seems like an impossible, unknowable task. Yet, Kocogullari has executed the righteous first step towards her mission of peace, which is curing ignorance. And so when misting the bundles of grass with her given water spray, I found myself reminded of the incredible influence of a voice, and the power I can achieve by just listening and understanding.

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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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Vanity

Realising I am objectively beautiful has had a profound impact on my confidence and how I take care of myself. It has also greatly impacted how I view the world, so much so that my perception of everything has become consumed by it.

France, Spring 2017

In the Spring of 2017, my mother and I took a trip to France. It was an amazing trip, I couldn’t believe how beautiful the country was. We took many pictures but there was one that changed so many of my assumptions about myself. We were in Biarritz, and I had worn a tight little dress, forgetting how cold it really was outside. My mother and I toured the city and went shopping, and then we walked around the water. There was a stone pier which we walked along and my mother told me to pose for a picture. I ironically hopped on the ledge and did my impression of a Vogue model. On her iPhone 8, she accidentally took the most marvellous picture of me. I was shocked and in love. My hair flowing, and my legs looked so long and toned. I looked like a Burberry model. It’s remarkable how my perception switched so dramatically because of one frame.

Confidence and Self Respect

I believe middle school is the time when most girls become aware of the social politics of cliques and social Darwinism. There were the cool girls who crowded together and wore Abercrombie and Fitch, which at the time I thought was exclusively for girls much older than me like my sister. I was a weird preteen and I was painfully aware at the time. My mom refused to let me pluck my bushy eyebrows and she refused to let me wear makeup. She would say “I don’t care what other moms let their kids do, you’re my daughter and I’m telling you no. Wait until you’re older” I used to believe that I was at best average. Average by its nature is hardly a sin, yet the standards of beauty in my mind made it so being average meant effort seemed pointless. I was inactive and paid little attention to the choices I made for my body. So after that windy and cloudy day in France, I thought perhaps if I just tried; if I truly attempted to be the version of beauty I believed in, I could perhaps be the version of myself that I was satisfied with. I once asked my father what he thought a beautiful woman looked like. He said it was health and confidence that made a woman beautiful. My father was clearly being honest, as my mother is the most gorgeous woman. She is radiant, charming, and strong. So like my mother, I decided that my body was the first to improve. I began to portion food and exercise regularly. I meticulously cared for the seemingly trivial aspects of my body like my skin, hair, and nails. And with that, I found myself realising the inherent natural beauty I was so lucky to be born with. I corrected my posture, dressed according to my body type, and started drinking more water. I felt radiant and confident. I felt as if I had finally decided to use my entire potential. And with that, I truly believe that I deserve the best, and to accept nothing else in all aspects of my life.

Boys

Now boys are a whole other issue. In middle school seemingly everyone, “even the ugly girls,” had a significant other. My friends would tell me about their cute dates and drama. And I wondered when I would have the same trivial problems. I remember when I was 16 years old, I sat in the kitchen watching my mother cook dinner. I sighed and asked, “Mom, why don’t boys talk to me?” She laughed and said to me “Well obviously because they’re intimidated by how beautiful you are. Also, do you really want a high school boy?” I always tried to be likeable, but I thought maybe I wasn’t pretty in the way my friends were. I just assumed I was on the tail end of average, whereas most other girls who had boyfriends were on the upper end of average. There was no one, in particular, I wanted in high school, but don’t we all crave attention? My dad overhearing our conversation walked in the kitchen with the groceries and said: “You know, maybe if you were just nicer to the boys they wouldn’t be so scared of you.” I rolled my eyes and my mom laughed and playfully hit him with her wooden spoon. If it was my personality, then the issue arises whether or not I should change. I’d always been nice to people but I don’t subscribe to flattery. But then again, that one girl who’s a massive bitch has a boyfriend too, so what gives? At the time, I settled with the thought that it must be that I’m just not as attractive as I try to be. And though I didn’t dress up specifically to attract anyone, I often wondered what I was lacking. What I remember most vividly is the desire to be seen and appreciated for beauty. Being seen as beautiful is one of those things you feel is granted to you at birth, by luck or blessing. And so no one wants to feel unlucky or cursed. Someone else seeing your beauty is a test of objective beauty; proving whether or not your beauty is one that truly exists outside of your mind. Though self-compassion and self-assurance are integral to your own stability, the inherent social validation we feel from others is important. Especially the validation we feel from the sexual and romantic relationships we form. After realising and actively pursuing beauty, I have noticed the changing dynamics. There was one boy who was nice to me in high school. He was 4 years older than me, and I respected him. He kept in touch with me and after 3 years of seemingly friendly banter, he asked me to sleep with him. I was surprised and immediately felt incredibly stupid. He said “How did you not see this coming? You can’t seriously be that naive.” Though I was flattered, I discovered the new and frequently occurring breed of boys who don’t actually want to be my friend. The issue has arisen that although I’ve always wanted to be seen as beautiful and sexy, there will be some people who only see that and want that. Which is not inherently harmful, but rather an extra precaution I must take when considering the relationships I involve myself in. Especially since I know I have so much more to offer. It’s a seemingly trivial problem, but more significantly, it’s a new problem I’ve had to confront against my adolescent preconceptions of romance.

Amor Fati

Fredrich Nietzche believed that suffering is necessary and just as beautiful as joy and success in our journey through life. I adopted this attitude through the rose-tinted lenses of beauty. There are nights when I feel pain, fear, and loneliness; I look into the mirror and think of how beautiful I am when I cry. My big almond eyes are glass, and my flawless skin is flushed red. I’m just a beauty queen in tears. Rationally speaking, it seems completely morbid, almost masochistic. But against the uncertainty of the future and the unbearable waves of helplessness, the one constant is that I am most certainly gorgeous. And so vanity is my chosen sin.

Media Vanity

I’ve always loved fashion photography. There’s something so fascinating in capturing the human body bare or adorn. A slight shift in angle, lighting, scenery is enough to expose the potential of aesthetic beauty. That’s perhaps why one really gorgeous photo of myself has affected me so profoundly. My deep dive in the world of vanity has illuminated the concept of aesthetic beauty itself. It’s also pushed the question of beauty in our society and why it’s so deeply connected with our own value. I believe that beauty and self-worth are two completely separate virtues. Though beauty is, of course, subjective, there is still the common conventional standard of beauty which greatly influences our own standards. Wealth is also a question that arises with conventional beauty. Does beauty correlate with wealth, or does wealth correlate with beauty? And so, although everyone can be a valuable human existing, not everyone is beautiful. Nor should everyone be seen as beautiful. Aesthetic beauty is both incredibly valuable, and not valuable at all.

#shameless plug #ig: srushti.kshirsagar

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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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On the Colour Brown

March 25th 2019

Brown is an underrated colour. When thinking back at every time I’ve asked someone their favourite colour, brown has never been said (or it’s been said but perhaps it’s so rarely said I can’t remember). Although I’ve grown to love brown, I find it’s a difficult colour to notice or appreciate because of how particular the shade must be in order for us to appeal to it. Take for example blue, green, purple, or red. Any shade of these can be appealing and is often seen and desired in our creations. Brown, on the other hand, is sensitive to its shade. As so often does it remind us of things undesirable such as shit or dirt. I believe that in our modern sense of the colour, we’ve learned to associate brown with nature, and it’s the rare shades of brown that are appealing in our natural world that we accept. Every shade of pink flower is beautiful, but not all shades of dirt are appealing. Even in fashion, though there’s a shift towards neutral tones, it’s incredibly hard to create an appealing colour scheme because of how dull it can make one look. Greys and yellows can also be seen as dull, but each shade of those colours can be appealing based on where it’s used, whereas shit brown is never at all appealing. Brown is a weird colour and though I’ve grown to appreciate it, I find that it’s the most limiting in its use.

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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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March 7th 2019

Get out of bed.

No 15 more minutes

You’ll regret those 15 minutes when you’re late and look like shit

Will anyone care if I walk to the lounge in my underwear for the tea kettle?

Do I care? Ha no

What’s the weather like? Freezing? Damn

Am I going for professional today? Or casual?

You dressed up yesterday so you can go sporty chic today

Is my eyeliner symmetric? No.

And again

This time it’s right

Wait… okay whatever I need to leave

Oh FUCK FUCK JESUS IT’S SO COLD

You do look cute though

I wonder if he thinks about me

No he doesn’t, get over it

This Hozier album is amazing

I want this

I want that

I want that too

You’ll achieve it stop worrying

But I might not

But you can and you will

Why is it you can only get a salad at 3 places here?

Do you think he still has my pictures hung on his wall?

It doesn’t matter, get over him

Stop talking to yourself out loud people can actually see it

I want this

I want that

I want that too

You’re more capable than most people

But maybe that’s not enough

But it could be

Do you remember that one time...?

Yeah that was fun

Stop looking to see if he’s around

What do you have to do today?

Nothing important.

That’s good

That’s bad

I want this

I want that

I want that too

You still have time

No I don’t

Yes you do

4pm tea time

I hope no one comes to talk to me in the lounge

Yes you do, just not the wrong person

I guess I can just pass the time

I want this

I want that

I want that too

Hard work pays off

What if I’m not working in the right way?

Is there anything else you could be doing?

Oh this shower is cold

Oh GOD it’s not warming up

I guess I’ll go to bed since there’s nothing else to do

What is he doing right now?

Probably asleep, as you should be

I want this

I want that

I want that too

Be patient

What if I miss my chance

Trust you won’t

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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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One Thousand Love Letters Meditation: Love and Other Contracts

Love is completely selfish. I pondered on this notion as I walked around Peter Bruun’s One Thousand Love Letters exhibit in the Maryland Art Place. It may sound contradictory as Bruun’s exhibit is something so touching and romantic, but past the obvious emotional impact, there is something inherently greedy in the expression of love. The exhibit is broken into 4 of 8 themes: “Forever Family,” “Cupid’s Arrow,” “Wild Horses,” and “Love Thyself.” Each depicting love in different forms and contexts. When asked whether or not one type of love can be possibly stronger than the other, Bruun claims “There is no hierarchy in love.” So then as I walked around, why was I immediately drawn to each section in my own specific order? With all due respect to Peter Bruun, the answer is because there is indeed a hierarchy in love. There is a path of least resistance in our hearts, that I recognised in reflecting over the experience. In my theory, the hierarchy goes respectively: the love we desire, the love we are most familiar with, the love we don’t understand, and the love we take for granted. How we decide upon these categories are the values and conditionals we place on our relationships.

I was first drawn to Cupid’s Arrow because this is the type of love I’m pathetically desperate for. In Fredrich Nietzche’s The Gay Science, Aphorism’s #14 poses the idea that romantic love “betrays itself most plainly as the striving after possession: the lover wants the unconditioned, sole possession of the person longed for by him; he wants just as absolute power over her soul as over her body; he wants to be loved solely, and to dwell and rule in the other soul as what is highest and most to be desired.” We seek romance because we want to be someone’s everything. It may sound egotistical and asking for too much, but isn’t love a transaction of sorts? If my lover fails to show me intimacy, passion, and friendship, what use is he to me? Alternatively, what use am I to my lover if I fail to give him the same? The love letters Peter Bruun hangs in this section hold the same virtue. Many, if not most, claim how their lover makes them feel sexually, spiritually, and emotionally. Romantic love is also the most conditional of all. The bittersweet reality of modern romance is that love comes and goes. Yet we continue to risk the pain of losing someone who we give ourselves to because the cost of love is insignificant to the benefit of it. Not anyone can be my everything. For me, that someone should preferably be tall, pretty faced, and a man. He has to be intelligent, amusing, honest, and able to keep up with me. Why do I have these conditions? Because it’s not a matter of what someone else wants, it’s what I specifically value in myself and others. I refuse to settle for less because if I do, I’m not being true to myself. So I’ll suffer the boredom and loneliness of being single because I know it is in my self-interest to fulfil my conditionals. What’s more special than a stranger finding everything they could possibly want in someone as different and flawed as I am? Romeo and Juliet betrayed their families and died in the name of love because they gave each other seemingly what no one else could ever. Rose found in Jack freedom from her oppressive upper-class expectations. Shah Jahan did not commission the Taj Mahal for his dead wife Mumtaz’s use, but for his own sake. Music, film, literature, and visual art express the pain and joy we feel when we find someone to share our lives with. No one is inherently entitled to this love, but it is the love we actively work the most towards making it more valuable. In the same way I watch romantic films and listen to romantic music, I dwelled in Bruun’s letters. In the same way I tell myself when I feel alone that I won’t always feel this way, they comforted me. They assured me that being a hopeless romantic isn’t a waste of time, but rather a calculated emotional investment.

I then moved along to Forever Family as it’s the most familiar type of love to me. My mother has been there my entire life. Growing up I never questioned why she loved me because I believed it was her job to love me. And now from an analytical point, I understand that concept. It’s simple biology to explain the love of a mother. A child gives a mother purpose, and a mother gives a child the best possible circumstances to survive. It’s true today as well. If there’s one type of person I can be vulnerable around it’s my family. They protect me in times of distress, uncertainty, and fear. My mother grew up in a broken family, forced to grow up before her time. I can see how she heals from that pain by doing absolutely anything for my siblings and me. She pushes us to work hard, to be independent, and do what we can to keep our minds and bodies healthy. And in times I feel worthless, like a failure and ugly, she is there to tell me I am wrong. She tells me I am beautiful and fearless, and I deserve every happiness. I love my mother because I trust her to give me stability and hope, as it’s her job too. My father’s love follows this same principle though his love comes in the form of practicality. My father can’t bear to see me or my siblings suffering. He works incessantly to make sure we have a home, food, and the best possible education. He teaches us the virtue of responsibility and honesty. I take that for granted sometimes. And regrettably, I don’t tell him I love him often enough. Forever Family captures the essence of family. Letters to siblings, parents, and friends all speak of the necessity of seemingly unconditional support. Love Letter #52 from Megan to her mother expresses what we value the most from our parents, “Thanks for raising me right, showing me how to live a whole life, and loving me even when I’m really hard to love.” What makes a family, is the ability to forgive and understand. My sister, brother and I are so different yet so similar. We are stubborn and ambitious. We compete and play rough. Yet when we feel defeated by the unforgiving world, we support each other as teammates. The difference between family and friends is that one feels effortless. Like minds attract each other. My best friend Katie is hundreds of miles away, yet I don’t miss her because I feel her presence with me. We give each other laughter and support. Though she may not realise it, she reminds me that I don’t always have to pretend to be an adult, holding the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am with my family for the same reason lions stay in a pride: to survive in the unpredictable and perilous wild.

It was my curiosity that pulled me towards Wild Horses. Addiction is foreign to me. It’s a tragedy that occurs elsewhere. And as I observed the different messages, I felt truly selfish. I could not relate my own benefit to this love, but in further inspection found that perhaps what exists is just hope. Peter Bruun understands this love. It is what triggered his creation. Beyond the pain, suffering, confusion and resistance, there is hope that perhaps there is more than addiction to live for. Bruun could give only this to his daughter before she passed away. I felt selfish gazing upon the pain. Expressions of love resonate with us because it is integral to who we are. As I sought to understand this love I could only muster a guess as to what it might feel like to love someone who is being controlled by a substance, or alternatively be someone struggling to find in love what they attempt to in substance. And so I move forward, accepting what I hopefully cannot ever understand.

Finally, I came to Love Thyself. I do love myself. I am incredibly resilient and ambitious. I am intelligent, understanding, bold, and impulsive. I am stubborn and think too much. I’d like to believe I have a good sense of humour, great taste in everything, and that I am incredibly sexy (like really sexy). I believe in truth and integrity. I feel too much too often. I am confident in myself because I am incessantly striving to change and be better. And with love and lust for life, I find that there is nothing above myself. Not fear or complacency. There is one person you should ultimately be loyal to and that is yourself. You exist, and that is enough reason to fight for yourself.

Peter Bruun’s One Thousand Love Letters has allowed me to understand how integral love is to who we are. Survival is the strongest drive of humanity. And to survive we love as conditionally and complexly. Without love, we are nothing but skin and bone, stumbling through existence aimlessly. We love for our own sake; to feel comfort, passion, and lively. It is our salvation and the reason to push forward against suffering. It is completely egotistical. Yet, essential for our humanity.

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mardigrasqueen-blog · 6 years ago

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Empirical Evidence Review

February 5th 2019

John Rupert’s Empirical Evidence invites viewers to meditate in the natural yet manipulated works in his self curated exhibit. Walking into the exhibit I was immediately drawn to a peaceful silence. Yet the silence was not silence, it was a soundtrack of nature made noises registering in the mind as something ordinary. Walking through this exhibit, I must first praise the curatorial design of the exhibit. The largest and most visually stimulating of pieces, Bittersweets Vines, serpents through the space, guiding your eyes to each of the exhibits. When sitting at the only bench available, you are seated directly under a speaker playing the natural noises drowning out whatever brief distraction. Guided by the tranquillity of the noise, I meditated and contemplated the theme and visuality of the exhibit. And on further reflection, I’m not impressed. Notice how I can only really remember two pieces? That’s because the simplistic yet supposed power of the pieces is rudimentary in its lofty theme. I am an advocate for environmentalism. And as someone who’s raised in a Hindu household, I am fascinated by the dynamic yet fragile character of nature. But I fail to feel anything walking around this exhibit. Watching the BBC series Planet Earth evokes more emotion and attention from me. As does walking through the Smithsonian Natural History Museum. You may say it’s unfair to compare the exhibit to something as well funded like the BBC and the Smithsonian, but if art doesn’t resonate with you, is it art at all? I think the most creditworthy aspect of this experience is the exhibit design, which I can compare to naturalistic interior design. I don’t want to go to an exhibit leaving with the only thought of “Huh, I guess that was….neat.” Other than the actual exhibit itself, what’s more interesting is a question on what themes can be translated through the medium of print and installations. As a fanatic of the outdoors, perhaps my experiences are stronger than that of two boulders placed in a corner. Is it useful to discuss the immense power of nature through something so dull and lacking of artistic complexity? Although I’m a lover of art, I believe that nature is just you have to experience to appreciate. John Rupert’s lacklustre attempt to embody the incomprehensible force of nature may not have been his fault at all really. His attempts may not be in vain but how he goes about to portray an idea is elementary compared to Spiral Jetty by Robert Smithson for example. Sympathetically to Rupert, I say, nice try.

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