I am of the opinion that all the fine arts are connected and all help one another.
For instance, just yesterday I performed Lady Macbeth’s monologue at the theater festival. Afterwards, I came home and practiced a session of piano, specifically Chopin’s 1st Concerto. Now, I’d been thinking about ballet as my multi-genre paper for creative writing is closely tied to it. And as I played this giant 50-page piece, I couldn’t help thinking about all the other performing arts I’d ever done. And I came to the conclusion that they help with my music a lot. And, probably, vice versa.
You see, theater helps with music because it helps you learn how to find and express emotion infinitely better. And it helps you take something like a script or notes and turn it into something more, the way a good play or true music will be. You learn to see all the hidden nuances behind the little black marks on the page.
And dance helps with music because you can visualize dancers as you play. Costumes, moves…it helps you see what, perhaps, your audience is seeing, and it reminds you that things have to flow from one thing to another, not suddenly, but with grace, as a dancer does. Swift fingers do dance across the ivory keys, controlled, creating something beautiful.
With the help of other things, the art of music can be furthered in many respects.
It works vice versa, too. The knowledge of music helps you understand and feel when you dance. If you don’t know anything about music, how can you relate and react to it when you dance? And music is often a part in theater…music brings intensity to movies, everything to musicals, interest to plays. And you never know when performing experience comes in dead handy. Dance helps you learn to orchestrate movement in theater and to be on time, precise, and controlled—and theater teaches dancers performing and emotion.
After a while of this, you realize, of course it’s interconnected. All life is interconnected. Everything you do in one walk of life can be transferred to another somehow—because although you learn specific things for each, you also learn lessons about confidence, about learning, about different parts of life and about different kinds of people. You learn how to work with others instead of against them, you learn how to strive for your very best; you learn patience and determination and perseverance.
I guess that’s why I love the arts, even though sometimes they drive me crazy. Art can give meaning to the rest of life. It can enhance the experience we have on earth. Art can drive us to realizations as we explore its mysteries, which we may not fully understand (/reference to a poem from 4th period), but which can stir something inside of each and every one of us. It lends another dimension to the theater of life, something both real and not, something strange and surreal and infinitely beautiful.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Cleansed by Fire
Fire. An epitome of the duality of nature. On one side, the warming flame that has helped man since the beginning of everything to stay alive. On the other, the burning, raging, destroying inferno that lays waste to our homes and our lands. Balanced in between, it is also cleansing and purifying…the fire of roses.
Since the beginning of our memories, fire has held a sort of sacred place in the legends of mankind. We tell of how the sun is like a great ball of life-giving fire, and fire is indeed almost life-giving. Fire, I am sure, protected early people from wild animals, and it is the basis of civilization, allowing us to cook, fire our tools, and many more things that, although maybe done in other ways now, fire was once essential to. It has a special place in our minds.
Legends involve fire in manifold ways. Fire was once one of the 4 or more elements in different cultures, along with water, stone/earth, and air/wind, at least standardly. It has been embodied and praised as a god or goddess. There are all kinds of stories told about how man acquired fire, how it’s been helpful to us, and more. Fire has also been a symbol of both destruction and purity, both darkness and light. Almost…paradoxical, in a way.
And yet, fire does destroy. Even as we warm ourselves with it, it burns down the candle, the wood, the fuel you throw upon it. Even as it gives, it has to take from something else. What do we sacrifice to give ourselves warmth?
In a way, fire is like the balance of life. When we want something, we have to give something else up. And sometimes, what we want gets out of hand, and we have to start all over at the very beginning. Is this good, or is it bad? Can you really describe nature as good or bad? Everything has a gray area for someone, no matter how white or black it may seem to you. You can’t condemn fire because it destroys, because you rely on it for warmth. Unsurprisingly, this seems to apply to a lot of our world.
It’s like building a tower out of Janga blocks or cards. You work until it becomes exquisite and tall, and then something happens to tip the balance and it all falls down, destroying your entire work and leaving you to start anew. It’s like that in nature as well. Fire gets out of hand when the natural balance has tipped, and it falls upon us and destroys all of it, leaving us to start again. When the natural balance is tipped, we have revolutions, or wars, or plagues. And then, we start over again at the very beginning.
The thing is, even though fire is terrible, even though war is terrible, things always start anew. The lichens return and the forest grows. The people pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start over. After destruction, even by fire, we can rebuild.
Fire…what does it mean to you?
Since the beginning of our memories, fire has held a sort of sacred place in the legends of mankind. We tell of how the sun is like a great ball of life-giving fire, and fire is indeed almost life-giving. Fire, I am sure, protected early people from wild animals, and it is the basis of civilization, allowing us to cook, fire our tools, and many more things that, although maybe done in other ways now, fire was once essential to. It has a special place in our minds.
Legends involve fire in manifold ways. Fire was once one of the 4 or more elements in different cultures, along with water, stone/earth, and air/wind, at least standardly. It has been embodied and praised as a god or goddess. There are all kinds of stories told about how man acquired fire, how it’s been helpful to us, and more. Fire has also been a symbol of both destruction and purity, both darkness and light. Almost…paradoxical, in a way.
And yet, fire does destroy. Even as we warm ourselves with it, it burns down the candle, the wood, the fuel you throw upon it. Even as it gives, it has to take from something else. What do we sacrifice to give ourselves warmth?
In a way, fire is like the balance of life. When we want something, we have to give something else up. And sometimes, what we want gets out of hand, and we have to start all over at the very beginning. Is this good, or is it bad? Can you really describe nature as good or bad? Everything has a gray area for someone, no matter how white or black it may seem to you. You can’t condemn fire because it destroys, because you rely on it for warmth. Unsurprisingly, this seems to apply to a lot of our world.
It’s like building a tower out of Janga blocks or cards. You work until it becomes exquisite and tall, and then something happens to tip the balance and it all falls down, destroying your entire work and leaving you to start anew. It’s like that in nature as well. Fire gets out of hand when the natural balance has tipped, and it falls upon us and destroys all of it, leaving us to start again. When the natural balance is tipped, we have revolutions, or wars, or plagues. And then, we start over again at the very beginning.
The thing is, even though fire is terrible, even though war is terrible, things always start anew. The lichens return and the forest grows. The people pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and start over. After destruction, even by fire, we can rebuild.
Fire…what does it mean to you?
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Uncertainty
Where do dreams go? Do they remain, somewhere in the ether of reality, when they have passed? Is there a record somewhere of all the yearnings of mankind through the ages? If one could look into dreams, I wonder, what would one find? Perhaps all dreams have been dreamed before. Perhaps the secret yearnings of our hearts are desperate echoes of other dreams, repeating through the ages.
What are dreams, anyway? Anyone who remembers their dreams remembers the desperation of their real life, the people they think about, but they also remember things so far-gone that they cannot even begin to explain their strangeness. What wanderings in the deepest part of our mind produce these twists—and what do they mean? Are our dreams trying to tell us things?
It is more than likely that they are figments of our imagination, nonexistent, and completely out of our control. But one can’t help wondering what there is in our minds that causes them. It’s mildly unsettling to think that, indeed, we do not have complete control over our mind, that there is something below the level of consciousness. One can’t help thinking … how does it influence us? This subconscious…what does it do? Does it see as we do? Does it think? Is it obedient to our will? Is it, well , benevolent?
So, the depths of it are like science fiction, and perhaps improbable. It’s no secret, though, that we still have much to learn about ourselves. We lack the capacity of using so much of our brains—science has proved that. If we could use it; if we were capable of doing it; if we could only learn to do it; what would change? Would anything change?
Possibility is endless, as it were. Before certainty, imagination fills up the gaps so quickly and voraciously with millions of explanations. Is, then, certainty always better than the unknown? How often has your imagination created hopes of many things only to be surprised (not always pleasantly) when the reality is revealed? Perhaps simply not knowing is better than the absolute certainty.
Yet after all, the uncertainty is one of the reasons why we have wars. If we were certain that something was right (if we were certain of the nature or existence of a higher power!), our lives would be much different, but they would have the potential of being so much better (or worse).
In my understanding, the only thing we can be certain of is that uncertainty is a part of us and shapes our lives, in all its forms: in dreams, in reality, in faith, in hope. We err because we are human. We lack certainty because we are human. And as long as we still continue the search for certainty in the knowledge that we don’t know everything and likely never will, we will continue to be human. The moment we imagine we know more than we do, that we are the masters and not part of everything, is the day we fall into our darkness once more.
What are dreams, anyway? Anyone who remembers their dreams remembers the desperation of their real life, the people they think about, but they also remember things so far-gone that they cannot even begin to explain their strangeness. What wanderings in the deepest part of our mind produce these twists—and what do they mean? Are our dreams trying to tell us things?
It is more than likely that they are figments of our imagination, nonexistent, and completely out of our control. But one can’t help wondering what there is in our minds that causes them. It’s mildly unsettling to think that, indeed, we do not have complete control over our mind, that there is something below the level of consciousness. One can’t help thinking … how does it influence us? This subconscious…what does it do? Does it see as we do? Does it think? Is it obedient to our will? Is it, well , benevolent?
So, the depths of it are like science fiction, and perhaps improbable. It’s no secret, though, that we still have much to learn about ourselves. We lack the capacity of using so much of our brains—science has proved that. If we could use it; if we were capable of doing it; if we could only learn to do it; what would change? Would anything change?
Possibility is endless, as it were. Before certainty, imagination fills up the gaps so quickly and voraciously with millions of explanations. Is, then, certainty always better than the unknown? How often has your imagination created hopes of many things only to be surprised (not always pleasantly) when the reality is revealed? Perhaps simply not knowing is better than the absolute certainty.
Yet after all, the uncertainty is one of the reasons why we have wars. If we were certain that something was right (if we were certain of the nature or existence of a higher power!), our lives would be much different, but they would have the potential of being so much better (or worse).
In my understanding, the only thing we can be certain of is that uncertainty is a part of us and shapes our lives, in all its forms: in dreams, in reality, in faith, in hope. We err because we are human. We lack certainty because we are human. And as long as we still continue the search for certainty in the knowledge that we don’t know everything and likely never will, we will continue to be human. The moment we imagine we know more than we do, that we are the masters and not part of everything, is the day we fall into our darkness once more.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Warnings in the Mist
Stargirl Caraway. Clarisse McClellan. People who made a difference. People who changed a life. They are the most important people, our guiding stars, the people who bring us back to the path we need to take. But if you look at them, who are they? Oddballs. Strangers. They never stay long, and they’re always unexpected. Is this gift going to die out? Disappear? Become rarer and rarer? Will we become the bookburners, the firemen, convinced that we’re doing it for the greater good?
Look at our civilization. We have everything. Technology, comfort, entertainment. But are we truly better than the cavemen playing with fire? Maybe all we are is a different, more advanced kind, and more dangerous. People wrote those books to leave some kind of a warning for the future generations, and yet I watch this generation groan and grumble through them and I fear we are on the train headed straight for that direction with the cliff looming ever nearer as we, still young and ignorant, throw more coal on the engine fire.
We scoff at these words, and in these very actions we show that there is still a reason and a need for these stories, that there is danger in the things we do. If we cannot bring ourselves to understand this, then, indeed, that culture, that repression, will become the fate of our sorry race. We will become the pleasure-seekers, the layabouts, and we will accomplish what? Nothing. Progress without spirit, without soul, means nothing. Technology and all the improvements it has given to our society means nothing if we don’t progress in how we use it. We may say it’s for entertainment, but do we want to end up like Mildred Montag, a videot, engrossed in things that don’t make any sense to her just because they talk to her? “I laugh, they laugh!” Did we come out of the dark ages for this?
We seem to be following some kind of life cycle. After all, how does the human life go? Babies, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, doing everything. Children, bright-eyed and innocent. Teenagers, growing sharp, maybe jaded. Adults, in their prime, capable, working. And then? Elderly, feeble, and falling into the “second childhood”. Well, we had the adult stage, it seems. Days of explorers and people who did things, days of expanding and working and collaborating. Is this the result? Second childhood? Confused and not understanding again?
Let these words serve as a warning. Let these tales serve their purpose. Let them pull us away from the danger of the plunging cliff. It’s not too late. As long as there are willing, ready minds, as long as there are people willing to take a hand in things, as long as there are people willing to be active, and as long as there are people willing to remind us, we can still survive. As long as there is one person left with hope and the fire to do something, there is hope. Let that person be you.
Look at our civilization. We have everything. Technology, comfort, entertainment. But are we truly better than the cavemen playing with fire? Maybe all we are is a different, more advanced kind, and more dangerous. People wrote those books to leave some kind of a warning for the future generations, and yet I watch this generation groan and grumble through them and I fear we are on the train headed straight for that direction with the cliff looming ever nearer as we, still young and ignorant, throw more coal on the engine fire.
We scoff at these words, and in these very actions we show that there is still a reason and a need for these stories, that there is danger in the things we do. If we cannot bring ourselves to understand this, then, indeed, that culture, that repression, will become the fate of our sorry race. We will become the pleasure-seekers, the layabouts, and we will accomplish what? Nothing. Progress without spirit, without soul, means nothing. Technology and all the improvements it has given to our society means nothing if we don’t progress in how we use it. We may say it’s for entertainment, but do we want to end up like Mildred Montag, a videot, engrossed in things that don’t make any sense to her just because they talk to her? “I laugh, they laugh!” Did we come out of the dark ages for this?
We seem to be following some kind of life cycle. After all, how does the human life go? Babies, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, doing everything. Children, bright-eyed and innocent. Teenagers, growing sharp, maybe jaded. Adults, in their prime, capable, working. And then? Elderly, feeble, and falling into the “second childhood”. Well, we had the adult stage, it seems. Days of explorers and people who did things, days of expanding and working and collaborating. Is this the result? Second childhood? Confused and not understanding again?
Let these words serve as a warning. Let these tales serve their purpose. Let them pull us away from the danger of the plunging cliff. It’s not too late. As long as there are willing, ready minds, as long as there are people willing to take a hand in things, as long as there are people willing to be active, and as long as there are people willing to remind us, we can still survive. As long as there is one person left with hope and the fire to do something, there is hope. Let that person be you.
WE DID IT!
.WE DID IT! WE DID IT! WE WON!
Yesterday marked the 15th year that FFJH has won the State Science Olympiad—in a row! It was a milestone year and a most incredible feeling. Something about being on the team that did it again against ever more increasing odds fills one up with pride. The little bit about getting to be the one who receives the trophy was nice too.
It’s a funny feeling you get right before an eventful day. All day on Friday I was walking down the halls, I was thinking about how the next time I’d show up at school, everything would be different. Well, it was true—but in a good way, not a bad way, thankfully.
Not only that, but on Saturday morning, we couldn’t help imagining what would happen if we didn’t win, if we broke the streak…14 years of Olympians angry at us, a dead quiet bus ride home, a drab ice cream social…but we won.
We won! Two little syllables that mean so much—in this case, at least. Our team has been preparing for this since October, and to know that effort and work have definitely paid off is a rewarding experience, especially as it promises more fun things to come (in the form of Nationals, which happens to span my birthday).
This is good for other reasons, of course, I have to say that I’m glad this happened, because it’ll hopefully get everyone motivated again and “off their rumps”, as someone so kindly put it. There’s nothing like winning to get people psyched, and nothing like a large golden trophy to make people proud of the team. To be honest, I don’t feel that this year’s team is as close as last years, but I’ve no doubt that that will change now.
Personally, I’m proud of myself and the team I coached. I medaled in every event: a set and an almost-set, lacking a bronze. My Experimental Design team (you’re amazing, guys!!) took silver, matching last year when we had a much more competent coach. It was a success in many ways, although I feel a bit like Apolo Anton Ohno—lots of medals, but not the best ones. Apparently my brother had 4 golds his equivalent year.
The best reason to be energized is that we are going to Nationals and my gold medal goal (<3333 “Smartiepants”) has a possibility of realization. And that is much more than exciting. I have a chance to earn the gold medal I know we can make, and maybe even another—I have my eye on something for Experimental Design (6th? Maybe? 10th last year) and Solar System (please tell me we’ll beat 7th).
It was an exciting day all around, though I swear I’m never taking 5 events again. It’s very hectic to have to run from room to room and event to event in a hurry with little time to study and relax. Be as that may, it’s certainly an experience one ought to have as an Olympian. And really, it’s the experience that counts, for everything. So…
GO TEAM!
(This should've been published last week but I forgot to do so after I wrote it. >>)
Yesterday marked the 15th year that FFJH has won the State Science Olympiad—in a row! It was a milestone year and a most incredible feeling. Something about being on the team that did it again against ever more increasing odds fills one up with pride. The little bit about getting to be the one who receives the trophy was nice too.
It’s a funny feeling you get right before an eventful day. All day on Friday I was walking down the halls, I was thinking about how the next time I’d show up at school, everything would be different. Well, it was true—but in a good way, not a bad way, thankfully.
Not only that, but on Saturday morning, we couldn’t help imagining what would happen if we didn’t win, if we broke the streak…14 years of Olympians angry at us, a dead quiet bus ride home, a drab ice cream social…but we won.
We won! Two little syllables that mean so much—in this case, at least. Our team has been preparing for this since October, and to know that effort and work have definitely paid off is a rewarding experience, especially as it promises more fun things to come (in the form of Nationals, which happens to span my birthday).
This is good for other reasons, of course, I have to say that I’m glad this happened, because it’ll hopefully get everyone motivated again and “off their rumps”, as someone so kindly put it. There’s nothing like winning to get people psyched, and nothing like a large golden trophy to make people proud of the team. To be honest, I don’t feel that this year’s team is as close as last years, but I’ve no doubt that that will change now.
Personally, I’m proud of myself and the team I coached. I medaled in every event: a set and an almost-set, lacking a bronze. My Experimental Design team (you’re amazing, guys!!) took silver, matching last year when we had a much more competent coach. It was a success in many ways, although I feel a bit like Apolo Anton Ohno—lots of medals, but not the best ones. Apparently my brother had 4 golds his equivalent year.
The best reason to be energized is that we are going to Nationals and my gold medal goal (<3333 “Smartiepants”) has a possibility of realization. And that is much more than exciting. I have a chance to earn the gold medal I know we can make, and maybe even another—I have my eye on something for Experimental Design (6th? Maybe? 10th last year) and Solar System (please tell me we’ll beat 7th).
It was an exciting day all around, though I swear I’m never taking 5 events again. It’s very hectic to have to run from room to room and event to event in a hurry with little time to study and relax. Be as that may, it’s certainly an experience one ought to have as an Olympian. And really, it’s the experience that counts, for everything. So…
GO TEAM!
(This should've been published last week but I forgot to do so after I wrote it. >>)
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