Maganda Theme Unveiling Reflection - Cecilia

Maganda Unveiling

It seemed almost a month into the semester and I was feeling really out of place at Cal. I was to old, too fat, too slow, too brown and not white enough. I started to feel like I shouldn’t be here and that somehow I should be cleaning someone’s house instead. . .

The performance was a comfort to see these young artists some young enough to be my children, speaking out about issues of love, friendships, politics, economics, life. It was encouraging to see my people taking their message around the world to be heard from their experiences their point of view. I was proud to take my daughter to the event as she is Filipina and will also carry her message.

I had to leave early. But after that evening, I knew I was here to stay. Cal was mine.

Field Trip - Cecilia

Here are some picturesof the murals of Chicano Park in San Diego.It is about nine acres and is located under the Coronado Bridge. During the early 70s or late 60s the area was going to be developed into a freeway but the community rallied and protested and won. Today they celebrate every April 22 or the nearest weekend by having a party for the community called Chicano Park Day.

Art Post - Cecilia

Tijuana. A tourist trap with zebra painted donkeys. A haven for migrants making their journey to the land of opportunity. Or the first stop back after being detained at the border. I went to live with the migrant workers at a shelter for men. During those four days, I saw what I’d only heard about or seen on the television.

I met women who worked at foreign run factories who made $6 a day, who lived in shanty communities where the only thing that ran was toxic waste into their river which flowed by their front door. There was no other running water. There were also ran thousands of orange extension cords starting from the power poles ending in the houses made of warehouse pallets, garage doors, and other scraps of whatever may be available.

I ate with the migrants and heard their stories about their lives, families, and children.

Reflection of Maganda

Overall, I was very satisfied with the class. I learned a lot about different forms of art such as graffiti, photography, and poetry. The class was very successful in executing the workshops. My favorite part was the graffiti workshop because it was hands on experience of actual spraypainting graffiti on huge platforms- what other class in Berkeley would allow you to do that? It was a class where we were able to express our creative side and were encouraged to be open about it, since most people are shy about their artwork. It was a very chill atmosphere. I met a lot of nice people that made the class that much of a success. There was a lot of participation and interaction between the facilitators and students. I'm very excited about taking next semester's Maganda decal again.

Art Post: Mural in my room

Art Post: Poetry

I've been going through a lot this past semester.... ah- yes, if there has been anything positive coming out of the seemingly endless bumps on the road of my life lately, it has been the inspiration for me to write something on a personal level since high school. So, here they are in the form of poetry.... Enjoy!

First Love

Everything feels just so right

As I fall asleep at night

With you in my oblivious dreams

My world is franticly spinning, it seems

What's this vulnerable feeling I feel?

A feeling I never thought was so real

A feeling I've longed for all eternity

One so filled with everlasting serenity

Like the enchanting bright full moon

That scintillates upon us way too soon

Never wanting it to go away

Only wanting that heartfelt moment to stay

Why does it feel like nothing's real?

Like the strife of life is not hard to deal

Maybe because of your glistening sweet smile

It makes my days a little more worthwhile

Maybe because of the sincerity in your eyes

It is there where I see pure truth- no lies

Maybe because of your strong arms so caring

It is there where I find my sure sanctuary

Everything feels just so right

As I fall asleep at night

Because I dream of a one love that's true

A cherishing love I know I've found in you

_______________________________________________

Bittersweet

Alone and on my own again
My world seems like chaos- I just want to amend
I gave it my all, I gave all I had
At first it was good, but then it went bad
Back then it was different, we were young and careless
And time took its' course; it was time to progress
I had to rendezvous with my heart and soul
They said that I needed to focus on me to be whole
I want to be patient, but I've been for too long
How is it that we kept loving each other so wrong?
"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind"
You brought out the worst in me; I was out of my mind
I brought out the worst in you; a vicious cycle it was
Why wreak harm to each other- for what?! Just because?!
On the other hand, how did we love each other so right?
There were indeed many times when it was pure delight
We gave each other the stars; we knew our love was true
And I wouldn't change anything for all that we do
Yes, time took its' course; it is time to progress
Will you meet me halfway- no more or less?
You'll always have that special place in my heart
It's time for a new beginning, the next chapter, a fresh start
Amongst all this confusion… the hated love and the loving hate
The untold destiny and the unknown fate
Through the cumbersome coldness and the hectic heat…
Well, I guess in the end, it is all bittersweet.

_______________________________________________

Dreams

Hold on to your dreams
Don't ever let them go
For if you do, how would you ever know?

Only one life to live
Infinite chances to grow
The possibilities are endless
In time you will know
That passion, determination, and will
Is all the drive you need
On embracing your dreams to ideally succeed
Should failure arise, don't dare give in- try again
At least you can say you endeavored 'til the end

Hold on to your dreams
Don't ever let them go
For if you do, how would you ever know?

A VERY LONG and NOT VERY TRUE story about a night that in many purely metaphorical ways never happened (you've been warned)…

Sorry if either of my posts offend anyone, I mean no harm in their creation I was just trying to have fun with an assignment that had no real rules if you know what I mean. Hope they work. Just wanted to say thank you to the facilitators for taking the time to start a decal about art and being enthusiastic through the entire experience, you were all great!

As I stepped out the backdoor, descending down into a concrete corridor where we keep the jankiest cleaning supplies of them all (and by janky I mean some serious industrial-strength degreasers and some inexplicably sticky hoses), I suddenly remembered there was somewhere, many “wheres” actually, I’d much rather be in the present. Earlier in the week, as I wandered aimlessly through Sproul with a look of earnest concentration on my cursedly amiable face, a flyer caught my uncontrollably sparkling eye’s attention. Lacking a countenance that could crush such cursory curiosity, like the kind of stern “flyer” swatter snarls that many avid Sprouler’s sprawl across their face as they head to off to “class” (Doe library to check facebook), I had no choice but to take what my damned baby face seemed to crave like gerber grapplesauce (open up for the AIRplane wooovroomyummy). Meanwhile the lucky ones unscrew their snarls and store them in their trendy bag of tricks (somewhere between a half-finished, two-day old Daily Cal crossword, a never-been-opened book they’ve been “reading for fun” since freshman year, and an embarrassingly sentimental, graduation-gift keychain with initials like BF4E or the worst palindrome of them all, MOM) and scurry off to go smile at a screen. I, on the other hand, begrudgingly opened my slightly soiled palm to this stranger like Jesus to his followers (even the annoying ones). After I so graciously accepted the flyer and read (aloud for no particular reason): SOLOMON SPARROW’S ELECTRIC WHALE REVIVAL. A closer reading revealed a more relevant revelation, this live marine mammal benefit I was stoked to see after reading the headline was in fact similar but not entirely the very same “Free Willy-Fi” type of charity event I was overly excited to be part of. It was in fact a show that was touted in much smaller print (more suitable for whispering really) as “a spoken-word theater experience like no other” by the lovelily overstressed and underburdened overachievers at Superb. Bless their little resumes. Based on their word, which is solid gold in my freshly unopened, uhhum… “pleasure reading” book, I decided I would be there for the poor soul who had spared a one-ply square of crisp paper for a stranger like me when he gently shoved his four inches of bold text two inches from my unfurling face. Obviously doing so just in case I had forgot my prescriptions at home and illustrating just one more way campus folk always make sure everyone’s needs are considered, that is of course, before they litter all over them with their own, more pressing ones. Not bitter, I am not bitter, not even a little bit bitter. Just better. Just kidding. Anywho, I had this acid-induced flashback to that moment on Sproul as I was bending over in preparation for my own embarking upon a wood-floor mopping experience like no other when something struck me like 9 furious octipussy tentacles (I don’t even want to think about what the hell that ninth thing was) and I suddenly realized I had to get the fuck outta there. I dropped the cesspole of human drudgery from my hands like a used condom and bolted out across the unlubricated dining room floor until I was out of the oversized front door like a U.S. ally out of Iraq. One lost shoe, two broken old-people walkers, and three broken old-people plastic hips later I arrived at MLK’s Pauley Pavilion in record time. I had covered the busy block that separates campus from my house in record time, despite the fact that Barry Manilow was playing his final show at the Greek and a Senior-friendly Condo’s Governing Board had flown in from Florida, coincidentally, on the very same day. After I busted through the parade of saggy skin and replaced knees, scalped my own treasured ticket to one of the senile suckers (I am a big Fanilow myself), and convinced a geezer whom I am pretty sure was my second uncle that my shoe was worth at least one of his social security checks, I had enough money to buy the $8 ticket to see the spoken word show. As I sat down in the audience to enjoy the show I thought nothing could top the excitement of the journey it had taken to get there but boy was I mistaken. The performances did not disappoint for one second! Mike McGee confessed his undying love for pudding, Derrick Brown described his inspired date in hell, and three other past and present (intern)national champion slam poets by the names of Anis Mojgani, Buddy Wakefield, and Dan Leamen discussed everything from douches to Dogma. October 18, 2007 was a night to remember and one I wont soon forget, unlike my Uncle Don who keeps calling me to see if I left a shoe behind the last time I visited his place in the “Adooring Acres” retirement condos in Daytona. I just keep telling him I wont come back to get it unless he swears to not try to give me a noogie every single time I see him. And every time tell him to make that promise he just laughs until his asthma starts acting up again and chokes “we bof know that’s jusht naganna happen shonny boo!”

Timeline to Eternity (cause nine-thirty p.m. just doesn't have the same ring to it)

I wasted a lot of your time and probably left you with deep grooves in your head (from the scratching), that is only if you managed to read the entirety of my other reflection which I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. So I’ll keep this one short and sweet like its subject Lawrence Farlinghetti, an old teddy bear of a man who was one of the founding fathers of the beat poetry movement in San Francisco. In fact I won’t even write in complete sentences I’ll just give you a timeline of my adventure in bullet point format:
• 6:10- depart Berkeley with hair-brained friend, 30 minutes behind my suggested departure time, just squeezing ourselves onto the packed Fremont train before the doors shut
• 6:15- five minutes into a “whose a later person” argument with my clueless friend who, I might add, is always late for everything; also five minutes since everyone in our vicinity began hating us even more than the oversized handlebars on our cumbersome bikes
• 6:20- interrupt my rambling friend to remind him we have to transfer at the next station
• 6:45- arrive at civic center station at the time I recommended we get to City Lights Book Store where Farlinghetti is speaking about his new book and official post as poet laureate for all of San Francisco
• 7:00- leave civic center on a 2 mile bike ride to Broadway St. wondering where the last 15 minutes went (only he wondered though, I knew it was his slow ass cheeks’ fault)
• 7:15- arrive at the locked and closed book store to my friend’s utter disbelief and my own expectations, look longingly through the apparently soundproof glass window at the legendary poet’s lips open and close for what could be the very last time in such a public setting (he’s kind of old and withering away)
• 7:17- after locking up our bikes in a shady alley my clumsy friend nearly drops the key down a gutter but it miraculously manages to stay perilously perched on one of the thin grates, proving once again that God watches out for his most careless creations
• 7:30- enter the Beat museum across the street after spending 13 minutes and utilizing countless logical, moral, and economic arguments to dissuade my horny friend from entering the most haggard-looking strip club on the corner of Broadway and Chinatown.
• 8:30- after a glorious tour of the museum in which we learned all about the exploits and writings of famous poets like Allen Ginsburg and authors like Jack Kerouac who were the heart and soul of the sixties counter-culture, free-speech movements my good friend and walk up to the shopkeeper with heightened spirits and buy a fascinating book about eastern philosophy and meditation we decide to share call “Live in the Now.”
• ? – lost track of time as we headed back home to Berkeley

Field Trip #1: Maganda Event w/ Rick Rocamora

This was actually the first Maganda event I attended. The guest speaker for that evening was photographer, Rick Rocamora (sorry if I spelled his name wrong). Overall, I would have to say that it was very inspiring, moving, and compelling. Most of his visual work shown that night portrayed the Filipino struggle both in the U.S. and home soil. Each photograph had a message and truly confirmed the saying that a picture is worth a thousand words, as he is able to capture the emotion and connect with the subject. I remember feeling so disheartened for the Filipinos, especially in the Philippines, from his photographs. I have a greater appreciation for photography, not only as an art, but as a strong message of activism.

Also displayed that night was the artwork done by various students. At this point, I can't remember what my favorite piece was because they were all so good. But the atmosphere with good artwork, an amazing guest speaker, and some good snacks made this Maganda event worth all the while to come! I hope to attend more next semester.... Good job, Maganda!

Microscale, Macroscale, and Beyond

I went over to BAM to check out the new exhibit by Tomas Saraceno. His pieces incorporate science and technology into art. Each piece was quite unique. They ranged from giant clear-plastic blow-up balls tied together with black nylon, to video cameras that you put your eye up to and it projects it onto the wall. The plastic ball pieces I could definitely relate to nature, as they reminded me of masses of foamy bubbles you sometimes find in the summer nestled in bushes. These bubbles are created by insects for protection or something... I don't exactly remember. Another piece that was interactive had you pull a string and blow a soap bubble from two other pieces of string. The bubbles would land on the carpet and stay there for a few seconds. I thought the juxtaposition of materials used was quite unique; there was a lot of plastic involved, and yet he made certain parts of the piece look very organic, by using a rock or fake plants. Overall, I thought Saraceno's exhibit was captivating and engaging, both subjectively and objectively. He achieved this through interactive pieces that combine the worlds of science, nature, and art.

Field Trip- Girl Talk Rocks My Socks

On October 14 I saw Girl Talk perform on Lower Sproul. The event was put on by Superb and it was an amazing experience. Students were pouring in from all directions, surrounding the platform he was performing on. I was lucky enough to have a very aggressive friend with me who pushed us on to the platform to the table where Girl Talk was at! In fact, I was so close that I held Girl Talk’s hand for a few moments (sigh); it was thrilling. His music is essentially a very complex mash-up of different songs. In the same song f his you might hear “Laffy Taffy”, “Kryptonite”, Neutral Milk Hotel, Gwen Stefanie, and a slew of other musicians. His beats are basically upbeat dance music. Whats so fascinating is the way he creates his music. Instead of records and mixers, he just has his laptop, and he uses a special program to mix his music. But, he mixes everything live, so essentially he’s clicking about a million times every song, changing a beat here, speeding things up there, etc. It was one of the most exciting shows I’ve been to. It was great to see the community come together, literally packed in like sardines, just dancing and enjoying the music.

Field Trip Reflection - Sheena

I went to the MOMA in San Francisco a couple months ago with my Mom and brother. The fifth floor was dedicated to displays by Olafur Eliasson, an installation artist from Iceland. When you stepped out of the elevators you entered into a room that had monochromatic lights that had a yellowish color, so you only saw black and white in the room. It was a really weird feeling and at first I was really thrown off. There were a couple of reflective pieces with mirrors that made it look like you were seeing reflections of yourself for a long distance both up and down. There was also a piece that was pretty interesting and interactive. You would step on a piece of wood and on a screen you would see ripples coinciding with the amount of weight that you put on the wood. I would really recommend going to see this exhibit. It will be up until the end of February, it's definitely worth it.

Because I couldn't make it to any of the Maganda events, I went to the last poerty slam of the year last Monday at the Naia Lounge. I am not really into poetry, but this CalSlam was pretty cool. Everyone that went up had a different style of work and different topics. I like the story telling method of a lot of the poems. It made me more interested in poetry. Although I could not stay for long I enjoyed what I saw. The judges were also very nice to all of the poets which I thought was cool. I can't really remember names but the poem about politics was cool.

Rachel Ely goes to SFMoMA

Last weekend I went to the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco. As always I was blown away with all the different forms of expression/ creativity displayed in one place. Jeff Hall's photography exhibit was amazing and I spent a long time reflecting on his photographs. I love the quietness and serene feeling inside art museums with people walking around, sometimes alone, other times in small groups. I always leave musesums feeling inspired. It makes me sad though that it takes a required assignment to take me to a museum. Most people, and myself, should go because they we to and not because we have to.

Soul Juice Literary Magazine Cover

This was a drawing I made from a series of photos I had taken. The drawing was for the cover of the literary magazine at my highschool, titled Soul Juice.

Every month in Santa Ana, California, there is an event dedicated to the expression of local artists within the Orange County and Los Angeles area. Hundreds of pieces are displayed at the first of the month, exhibits constantly varying in theme and ranging from canvas work to D.I.Y. handicrafts. In October, I flew back to Orange county, luckily in time to catch the Art Walk which had a beautiful display of sculptures and extensive exhibit dedicated to puppets of all varieties.

field trips

Throughout the former half of this semester I had very long breaks between classes, and being new to the school as well as a commuter I didn’t have much to do with that time. If I had a break before 1 pm, I would eat somewhere and sometimes I would walk past the benches at Dwinelle and hear John Fizer playing some really nice songs on his guitar. Many times I would sit down next to him and listen to him play, or wait to see if he would play, depending on how many people were around him, and accordingly, how out of place I would feel sitting there around a large group of strangers. I still sit there, but less often as my schedule changed after a while. Everyone around there smokes and I hate cigarette smoke, but I would breathe it in, listening, or waiting for an opportunity to listen. I really enjoyed the music he would play, and I had never truly been introduced to folk or bluegrass music before so I was very curious. I would ask him about what life was like back in the seventies around Berkeley and then I would sneak in some questions about what artists were good to listen to. In whatever book or reader I was holding I would jot down the names that he mentioned, waiting a few seconds after he said them as to not make it too obvious that I was writing it down and to not seem as ignorant as I actually was. When I got home I would look in my textbooks and try to make out the names written in the hasty, sloppy handwriting. I’d then go on the internet, look up the work of each artist, and within the next few days I would have a new record to listen to. Since then, my already frequent daydreams have been about living the lives that these artists talk about; mainly leaving all the books and studying behind and living a life of risk, wandering the world, or “ramblin.” Throughout the semester, two of the main artists that I ended up enjoying by way of this process were Tom Paxton and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott. Very coincidentally, a couple of weeks ago I was doing more research on a bunch of artists and I discovered that Tom Paxton would be playing at the Freight & Salvage on November 30th and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott would be playing at the same venue the very next night. I bought tickets to both.

My friend and I got to the venue, off of San Pablo Avenue, pretty early – only two other couples were ahead of us, both of which were in their forties or fifties. We sat in the cold for a good hour and a half. Demographically, this pattern remained the same as more people got in line for the sold out show. When we got inside I noticed how beautiful the place was as well as the cabin-like feel of the place. We sat at the front and drank some hot cocoa that the venue was selling as we waited. A half hour passed and the sixty-something year old man came out, guitar strapped around his neck, along with another, even older guitar player who was to accompany him throughout the night. It was pretty interesting to see him in person because the videos I’ve watched of him are from the fifties and sixties and are in black and white. He’s gained a little weight, but it is still possible to see his younger self in him. As the night progressed I watched the fingers of both their fretting and picking hands, imagining being able to play or write like that, and trying to remember the chords, knowing damn well I wouldn’t be able to remember any of It when I got home. He didn’t play my favorite song of his, but some highlights for me, and for everyone else I’m sure, were “Ramblin’ Boy” and “The Last Thing on My Mind.” Both of these songs are very mellow, but also very sweet - descriptions that are accurate for a lot of his catalogue. His voice has aged, but it is still nice. I felt very satisfied and grateful when I left, and also with an anxious feeling for the next night.

We got to the venue at just about the same time, but this time we were the first in line. I was more excited for Ramblin’ Jack than Tom Paxton because I had more recently picked up his latest album I Stand Alone which is oddly one of the best musical recordings I have ever bought, plus his music has an attractively playful, rugged, western swagger to it. The crowd was slightly younger this night with some twenty-somethings like me scattered around, which is somewhat interesting because Ramblin’ Jack is seventy-five. His music is pretty universal among age groups; he is widely known as a great, humorous story teller, he is known as an innovative picker, plus he was friends with Woody Guthrie, and Bob Dylan credits Jack to be one of his most influential teachers. We sat in the same seats as the night before and drank hot cocoa again. Actually, the cocoa was disappointingly warm, not hot. Ramblin’ Jack took the stage by himself, cowboy hat and boots on. He told some pretty interesting stories throughout the night and he had us all laughing and smiling. Mostly I was paying attention to his guitar work; he plays music that just looks incredibly fun to play. One of the only reasons why I would want to live to be seventy-five is for the prospect of living long enough to learn how to gain control of an instrument like that, and to be able to tell the kind of stories that he tells in the way that he tells them. Throughout the last fifty years his trademark nasally voice has adopted a very rugged, coarse, and wisdom-filled nature to it, but it’s beautiful for the type of music he plays and sings; it kind of legitimizes songs about death, suffering, and losing people, and overall it provides a different, genuinely reflective feel to the music. Crazily, out of the probable hundreds of songs he knows, he played three of the four or five songs that are particular favorites of mine from his latest album. Two of those were “Arthritis Blues” and “Call Me a Dog.” At the end of the night, he bowed and raised his hat in gratitude as we all applauded. I noticed how he had grown shorter compared to the pictures that I had seen of him from years ago and various thoughts about life and time ran through my head. I closed my car door after I had gone inside. Listening to his CD on the drive home, I continued to fantasize about living the stories told in the songs.

Art Post-- Carrie

Sorry this post is so late, but I've been having computer problems and haven't been able to upload my pictures until now. Anyway, here is my art post-- I like to draw and paint, and sometimes I take classes for fun. I really like to play with shapes and color in my work. This particular painting was for a class, and the assignment was to illustrate "natural energy." I used a lot of organic, curving shapes, and made the shapes spiral outward as if coming from a central nucleus of energy. I don't know, basically I thought it looked cool and the teacher liked it too.

Poetry after the Storm

In essence of the efforts to help Hurricane Katrina victims, multiple student organizations collaborated to create Poetry after the Storm. This night headlined some of the most influential people in the arts nationwide. Poetry and song was bellowed from the depths of artists souls, and certain silence of empathy and awe of talent was apparent in the audieance. There was also a silent auction in which all profits were proceeded to the re-building of facilities in New Orleans. This night was truly inspirational in the fact that the efforts of various groups combined could create such a powerful ambiance and exhibition simply to help fellow man.

Cal Slam 11/27

A night filled with words intoxicating the audience with various emotions. It was amazing to witness various artists spilling their love hate relationships with life on a microphone. Two artists stuck out from the lineup of 13 poets that night, their names were Hadash and Danny. Both were inspired by different realms of creativity, one from the bellows of her womanhood, personifying a season with sensual haikus, even making the boisterous blush. Another allowed the essence of adolesence to capture his being and through his powerful words (did I mention he was the 2007 national champion in spoken word) the audieance was in awe of such a man still intact with his inner conscience. This night was truly a catalyst for an apprieciation of spoken word, such an example of energy and manipulation of emotions through words, was a catalyst for capturing anothers mind and creating empathy amongst strangers.

Simple desired Pleasures

I painted this for a class project. It is a replication of my thoughts on how i view the cosmos, society, and personal on time, love, and money.


Photograph of when i was in Haight and Ashbury. I thought this was poetic; the simple having a firmer graps on reality. Living in a lifestyle that that is feared by many, however living life the way it was intended.