How Theology Helped Me Succeed in International Business
In any successful international business venture, you need to understand another culture. That’s the advice that James Hackett gives to his students. In this video, he reflects on how theology school—especially the study of the Bible—prompted him to investigate the intricate connections between religion, history, and culture.
The Bible
James Hackett, CEO, Alta Mesa Resources
james-hackett-theology-culture
From a Cultural Perspective
In this audio recording, graduate student Margherita Berti describes how an ordinary encounter while studying abroad gave her a new outlook on cultural differences, practices, and perspectives.
Living in a new culture
2008
Margherita Berti, PhD Student
cultural-perspective
The Farewell: Teaching and Talking about Ethnocentrism as an Asian-American
The guiding question for my Humanities Moment pertains to the most recent film that I cannot stop talking about with my peers, friends, family and strangers. As a self-described film aficionado, I typically find myself at the movie theater 2-3 times a week. I definitely appreciate the power and effect films can have on our society, ways of thinking, and learning. The film that has struck me the most this year was <em>The Farewell</em> by Lulu Wang. <br /><br />Without spoiling too much of the picture, the film explores various aspects of traditional Chinese culture in regards to food, family, and grief. This exploration is juxtaposed with a first generation Asian-American protagonist, her upbringing, relationship with her extended family, and her identity as a Chinese-American. The reason I found this story so compelling was because of the well balanced discussion of cultural differences between China and America as well as the cultural clash experienced by first generation Asian-Americans, especially when visiting their families' native country. <br /><br />Viewing the film from an educator's standpoint, I was fascinated and impressed by the honest portrayal of shared grief and its differences between traditional Asian and American families. I couldn't help myself but discuss the film's messages and concepts with other viewers while also making connections to the film and my profession of teaching World History. I questioned to myself how much of my instruction, and curriculum, is taught through a lens of ethnocentrism as well as how I could potentially tackle this issue in my planning. Is it possible to survey various ancient civilizations (or cultures) without having judgment? Or are we cursed to look at history through our own cultural lens?
The source of my Humanities Moment is the recent film The Farewell
Many times throughout this year so far (since mid August)
Binh Tran (26), World History teacher
the-farewell-teaching-and-talking-about-ethnocentrism
Beauty in the Bull
This past summer, I traveled to Seville, Spain, with my family. One of the oldest traditions in Seville and many other parts of Spain is bull fighting. While we were visiting, there happened to be one occurring at the Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla, a local stadium. At first, I was hesitant to go. No one else on our tour group wanted to attend because in the United States, we typically view bull fighting as an act of animal cruelty and do not understand the cultural aspect behind it.
However, once I arrived at the stadium, I saw how the Spanish valued bull fighting. All ages and types of people gathered at the ancient stadium dressed in fancy clothing. My family and I, the only non-locals there, were shocked by the number of people who attended and were slightly underdressed for the occasion. The matadors, dressed in glittering costumes, were like local heroes. During the fight, music was surprisingly incorporated into the three rounds. After the bull dies, the meat was used to feed the poor and less fortunate so it did not go to waste.
Bull fighting is a Spanish tradition and aspect of culture that I could not understand the beauty of before I attended. In the future, I want to experience more traditions in different countries so I can see how the local people interact with them instead of basing my idea of the tradition on preconceived notions.
July 2019
Claire Batchelor, 18, Student
beauty-in-the-bull
A Memorable Experience in Seville, Spain
This summer I had the opportunity to visit the beautiful country of Spain with my granddaughter, grandson, daughter and son. On past vacations, observing the cultures of other countries has been an amazing learning experience. And so it was, when we attended a Bullfight in Seville (the Andalusian capital)! I admit I had mixed emotions about witnessing the killing of bulls, but when the opportunity presented itself, I knew I had to see first hand what this “sport” means to the people of Spain.
We arrived early at the Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla, which has a 12,000 seat capacity, and we were immediately transformed into another “world!" The atmosphere was exuberant with people, including families, awaiting the arrival of the toreros (the bullfighters). One could grab a “pre-bullfight beer” at one of many nearby bars and become immersed in the crowds about 20 minutes before the bullfight. Many were autograph-seekers, journalists, and local fans, discussing the evening’s event while awaiting the arrival of the toreros.
Upon entering the bull ring, we found our seats which were numbered on a concrete bench. I immediately was in awe of the spectacle of the local fans and their excitement of what’s to come. Okay, here comes the pageantry… A trumpet sounded and the event began. There was music and cheering as the matadors, with their exquisite attire, along with riders on decorated horses paraded around the arena. At first, the formality of the bullfight was lost on us, but we quickly were consumed with this amazing and colorful display of an important part of Seville’s culture.
My family and I learned some specifics about the formality of the evening. Over the course of the three-hour spectacle, three toreros perform in the rink with each responsible for killing two bulls. The bullfight is further divided into three separate stages, each lasting about twenty minutes. The first, the picador, happens when the toreros use their pink capes to check out the robustness of the bulls. The second part, called the banderillas, is a sad time for those who are empathic to this action. Three pairs of zagged sticks are placed in the bull’s hide close to its shoulder. Again, the expressive dance continues between the torero and the bull and, if it is praiseworthy, the music will begin to play. For the safely of the matador, his assistants are placed in strategic exits around the ring, ready to jump in and dissuade the bull if necessary.
The final portion, called the faena, is a combination of the bullfighter’s expertise, including quick passes with his cape, and the bull’s agility. There is a rule this final portion cannot go over ten minutes, less the trumpet sounds as a reminder.
There is more fanfare as the audience makes a judgment on the evening’s bullfights. As a reward to a torero who has performed well, the fans wave white handkerchiefs. This gesture means requesting the president to offer the torero one of the bull’s ear, and if the faena has been a really great success, two bull’s ears will be offered to him.
Bullfighting is looked upon as controversial in many parts of the world but to the people of Seville and other parts of Spain, this culture dates back to the Roman times. On July 11, 2019, I learned to understand the pageantry, emotions, and all-encompassing love the people of Sevilla have for bullfighting. This tradition is a part of the Sevillano culture that brings the Spanish people together to celebrate.
July 11, 2019
Ellie Perrier, 81, Mount Holyoke College, '07, Retired Administrative Assistant
memorable-experience-in-seville-spain
Perspectives
Throughout my childhood and teenage years, my mother and I frequently drove into the city of Detroit to attend an event or performance at one of the many beautiful cultural institutions. Scattered throughout the downtown area, theaters and art galleries stand out against the backdrop of urban decay. She always found the perfect artistic experience to highlight something I was studying in school, or to show me the endless possibilities of creative expression. She required that we dress up, which often meant that we had to go shopping in preparation for our outing; so many fun memories. Since it was usually just the two of us, she taught me all the best places in the city to park, and how to look “tough” when we walked down the street to our destination. I remember wondering why we needed to look tough, not yet having lost the trust of humanity that accompanies childhood innocence.
It was during these excursions that I developed a love for the city. I love the way it smells. I love the way the buildings remind me of a time that I can only read about in history books or stories. I love how it embraces its gritty reputation without apology. I love how the neighborhoods reflect the immigration of a variety of cultures who have shared their traditions and celebrations that we honor and enjoy. I love that coexisting amid the urban decay there are these inspirational pockets of hope – all having one thing in common: they pull people in from the suburbs. Even if just for the day, these centers of humanity pull in those whose families fled generations ago for what they thought would be a better life. A safer life, some would argue.
During one particular outing to Detroit, my mother shared her excitement that we were going to see a dance company. It was too early in the season for The Nutcracker; I wondered with anticipation who we would see. I wish I could recall, with certainty, which theater we visited that day – they are all such pillars of beauty standing as beacons – pockets of hope – throughout the city.
When the curtain opened and the dancers appeared everything else faded away. If you’ve ever read a book more than once or have seen the same movie or performance multiple times, then perhaps you’ve had that experience of seeing the story or the characters differently – either because you’ve changed or you’ve had an experience that has provided a new perspective through which you now see. Up to this point I had seen many ballet productions; I could anticipate an arabesque or predict the pattern in a pas de deux. I had never seen a dance performance as powerful as this. I had nothing to which it could compare. I was mesmerized. It was a ballet that simultaneously adhered to the rules and broke the rules. The performance stepped outside of the box just enough to call attention to the unique, modern way of telling a story through movement.
At moments the dancers floated across the stage like one might expect while watching Swan Lake; however, the most captivating sequences were the ones when the dancers used their bodies to create movements that told the story of a struggle – one with historical context and current-day relevance. Every muscle taut, exposed legs, bare torsos, and bodies that broke the typical mold that one might expect from a professional ballet company. Strong arms and legs carried the burden of the story of injustice and heartbreak. Strong arms and legs moved with determination toward freedom and equality.
This moment, my humanities moment – experiencing the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, forever changed the way I view an artistic production. My new expectation was that a creative director would have the courage enough to take a risk, break the mold, and show a conscious effort to create something that makes the audience stop and consider another perspective.
It always fascinated me that we travelled into the city to have our ideas challenged, to have our curiosity piqued, and to have our emotions stirred. Reflecting back on these experiences, I am grateful for my mother who created opportunities to have my preconceptions challenged and my ideas transformed.
Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater
1980s-1990s
Angela Linker, Educator
perspectives
A Mountain of Faith
It was the middle of nowhere—nothing but sand, the occasional old car or rusted out piece of machinery, a strange lake known as the Salton Sea, and in the distance a rising mound of color that glimmered in the desert sun. In 2010, with encouragement from my religion professor, my mother and I quite literally drove across the country, roughly 2600 miles to Salvation Mountain, a mound of colorful paint that displayed biblical and religious messages. Bible verses accompanied images of bluebirds, flowers and waterfalls, all molded out of a mixture of clay and straw. This visit proved well worth the journey as it helped me to jump into ethnographic fieldwork while also allowing me to experience my first prominent ‘humanities moment.’
Rising 50 feet high and spanning 150 feet wide, the Dr. Seuss-like whimsical creation was made entirely by hand and proved to be as unique as its creator, Leonard Knight, an elderly man who dedicated his life to building this mountain in an effort to proclaim God’s love. Leonard was as kind hearted and gentle spirited as I had imagined. He lived at the mountain staying primarily in an old shaded hammock. A couple people who would check on Leonard over the years explained that he spent his days scavenging the dump for old building materials that he could use to add to his mountain. Along the way, he would often pick up something to eat. Salvaging car doors, windows, ladders, and buckets, Leonard incorporated anything he could find into his masterpiece. Over time, he built it up—adding new sections like a makeshift trophy room that contained local plaques he received or the ‘yellow brick road’ that consisted of a painted yellow stairway to the top.
Showing us around, Leonard emphasized the reason for building the mountain: he wanted to tell the whole world that God is Love. He explained, “people got too complicated with love. Just keep it simple.” While his mountain displayed bible verses like the Lord’s Prayer and proclamations like “Jesus loves you,” perhaps above all Salvation Mountain acted as a direct representation of one man’s personal faith and larger understanding of the world around him. The mountain embodied a lived religion that ventured beyond static scriptures into the dry heat and sun-worn desert landscape of California.
As an undergraduate, I understood religion within a sociological lens. It could help organize groups, driving and inspiring a range of outlooks and perspectives. But it was also magical, evoking a sense of wonder and awe. Like other humanities, religion helps us to explore and think critically about the human experience while deeply tugging at our emotions. Talking with Leonard a man who lived off the grid in a hammock in the desert, he whole-heartedly believed in the power of love and set out to embody such a love through the best way he could: a large colorful mountain. Of the handful of visitors I met that day, Leonard was the only person who had any strong ties to religion. Though his proclamation seemed apart from the views of those who stumbled upon the creation and an anomaly in a seemingly ‘middle of nowhere’ location, Salvation Mountain reveals the rich life and prevalence of religious thought that exists in marginalized places.
While faith is normally looked at in the grandeur of cathedrals, churches, mosques, and temples, or even the beauty and solace of redwood forests, canyon lands, and ocean horizons, Salvation Mountain’s appearance on the margins of town and society show that even in the most unlikely of places, religion can drive conversation, thought, and action. It reveals the complexity and power that religion can have, even when its just one person calling out in the desolate desert.
2010
Victoria Machado, 30, PhD Candidate in Religion & Nature / Writing Instructor at the University of Florida
mountain-of-faith
humanity without The Humanities
My "humanities moment" occurred during my undergraduate studies at what was/is essentially a trade school in Pakistan (with no GenEd courses and only one course on Art or Art History offered among the subjects listed on your website. Specifically, during field trips to the Lahore Fort, where we saw 19th century frescoes brightly decorating the interior walls during our first visit and a month later they were gone (plastered over)! I had drawn those frescoes in my sketchbook, taken photographs and was planning to integrate these in my Architecture Thesis project for Punjab House in Islamabad. I can still feel the freezing of my body, the numbing of my mind, and the visual shock to see the plastered surface that hid my frescoes. Even as a 4th year undergraduate student, I pulled myself together to write a letter of inquiry to the Pakistani Minister of Antiquities. Long story short, my quest to uncover histories and safeguard monuments of the dispossessed began, WITHOUT being exposed to general education requirements or humanities curricula.
Since then, having spent more than 3 decades in American Higher Education machine, I wonder why have the humanities come under attack since the 1990s? Yes, neo-liberals may be blamed for everything these days, but there is a major disconnect between humanities scholarship and the public imagination/perception of the value of humanities (precisely why you are seeking "humanities moments", right?). These "moments" are not going to "mind the gap" between public comprehension of the value of The Humanities to humanity. We as humans must remove (dismantle) the colonial industrial machine of higher education, which has perfected the European division of Arts/Humanities and the Sciences, through decolonizing curricula. And please do not get me wrong, I am not calling for "multi" or "trans" disciplinary approaches, rather for taking an ANTI-DISCIPLINARY comprehension of ECOLOGY, SPACE + TIME.
Sometimes I wonder why I sought higher education in the "land of the free" when the toil I pursued back home placed me closest to the humanity of my ancestors!
19th century Frescoes on wall of the Lahore Fort in Pakistan
1985
Samia Rab Kirchner, 57, Associate Professor of Architecture at Morgan State University
humanity-without-the-humanities
Not the Gay <em>Swan Lake</em>
Matthew Bourne’s <em>Swan Lake</em> is a masterpiece that changed the way I view classical ballet as a queer person. Bourne’s reimagining of the classic story, <em>Swan Lake</em>, replaces all of the female swans with their male counterparts. Instead of classical white tutus, male swans are clad in only delicate feathery breeches, revealing their chiseled physiques to the audience. This juxtaposition of strength and fragility through costuming changes the traditional perception of the swans from classically romantic to sensuously carnal. As the Prince tentatively touches a male swan he foreshadows his inner struggle to accept the love he feels for him. This moment serves as a calling card for young gay male dancers to embrace who they are. <br /><br />Audiences are often not used to seeing the love between two men told through dance, and Matthew Bourne has seemingly shown us a beautiful, sensual love story. The way that Bourne weaves this story, carefully considering the accessibility and complexity, he establishes a new classic that has gained popularity among both the critics and the general public. Still, even as Bourne embraces the nuances of the inner struggle to find one’s identity, Bourne refused to attach the queer label to his work in an attempt to keep his story universal. Although this ballet was culturally received as supporting gay rights, Matthew Bourne has explicitly denied that this was his only intention. Instead of embracing the critics’ labelling of the work as the “Queer Swan Lake,” he pivots the narrative by announcing that the prince is not a gay man; he is just a Prince experiencing inner turmoil and the swan represents the freedom he seeks. <br /><br />My humanities moment is not Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake and the joy and identity I found within it, but instead is an interview created for TenduTV in 2011 entitled "Matthew Bourne: Refreshing the Classics and Winning Audiences Over," during which he renounced any gay readings of the work. I was so affected by this ballet that he created, that hearing him brush off the queerness that seemed so obvious in his work left my soul crushed. Bourne claimed that he doesn’t want his <em>Swan Lake</em> vision to be labeled as “just a gay story,” choosing instead to emphasize its universal appeal, and of course implying in the process that gay stories are only suitable for gay audiences. I, on the other hand, believe that identity-specific stories can be relatable, and that this story shares a universal message about wanting to be loved and cared for. I believe that the protagonist’s sexuality does not detract from the work’s appeal, instead it humanizes the gay community by showing their wants and struggles. <br /><br />Bourne’s decision to brush the queer influences in his work under the rug are supported by a long history of queer-erasure in dance culture more broadly. Ballet dancers, choreographers and critics have attempted to separate the art from queer culture for centuries, going back as far back as King Louis XIV and the form’s origins. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, composer of so many beloved ballets, including <em>The Nutcracker</em>, suffered from lifelong depression and may have committed suicide, in part because of the pain of having to live in the closet. Today, I have seen many companies comprised of mostly gay men steer away from being labeled a gay company for fear of being ostracized by a mainstream audience. Homosexual men who have given their lives to the craft of ballet long for proud representation, and it was a tragedy that Bourne chose to take this away from us, even as he so obviously put it on stage. <br /><br />As a young dancer, classical ballet training forced me to learn only heterosexual princely characters based on my appearance. I fought back against these assumptions through my gender non-conforming appearance, at which point I was discarded and my talent deemed wasted. This style of education failed to account for my desire for self-expression and creativity as a budding artist; they asked me only to imitate a masculine ideal that was not part of who I am. Just as the Prince in Bourne’s <em>Swan Lake</em> longs for reprieve from his mother’s quest to find him an acceptable bride, male ballet dancers seek freedom from their oppression from centuries-old values. <br /><br />The Prince in this story goes to the swan lake to hide himself from the world, just as I and countless others were forced to hide our sexuality for our own safety. I was forced to hide who I was from my parents, kids at school, and my dance teachers. Embracing my sexuality was not an option in the ballet school I attended, and in fact I was mocked for my appearance. When I came out, my dance teachers were the most repulsed by how I wanted to express my gender identity. In an industry that was built by queer people, they only embraced boys who fit their mold of who a “man” is in classical ballet. Recognizing the many queer influences in ballet history can help to bring us out of the shadows and into the increasingly diverse field of public opinion, allowing everyone to embrace our differences.<br /><br />Despite Bourne’s rejection of gay interpretations of his work, I believe the evidence for that meaning is too clear to deny. Bourne breaks heteronormative boundaries by choosing a man to play the swan that attempts to protect the Prince. I see two beautiful men embracing each other in a tender way that, yes, maybe shouldn’t have to be labeled as gay, but I clung to this break from tradition as a sign of romantic acceptance. While I agree that cultural traditions of heteronormativity handicap young minds, and that it is wrong to automatically label male intimacy, or anything a male does outside the macho sensibility, as feminine or gay, the romantic overtones of Bourne’s work are undeniable. I am not the only queer person to see it, as Dr. Kent G. Drummond states: “In a broader context, (Matthew Bourne) also forces a long-simmering relationship between homosexuality and dance out of the closet and into mainstream popular culture” (Drummond 2003). For these reasons, and many others, gay men - a group of individuals wanting to be accepted - still claim and cling to Bourne’s work even as he fails to return the embrace. <br /><br />Bourne’s <em>Swan Lake</em> was a catalyst for gay men wanting to dance as themselves in the ballet world, and the success of the work additionally proves that two men dancing together in a loving and intimate way can be beautiful and marketable. It is a shame that even after the work’s adoring reception, Bourne was afraid that his work would be seen one-dimensionally and that society lacked the open mind to receive all that he had created. My two-fold humanities moment is the moment of how this ballet changed me, and the moment when Bourne’s interview changed my views on this ballet. <br /><br />I hope that Bourne’s views on representation have changed as society has evolved. I was hurt by seeing someone fail to give credit to a community that needs uplifting. When leaders fail, the community has twice as much work to do. Although my thoughts on the work have shifted, I can speak to the normalization of two men tenderly embracing that Bourne inadvertently created with this ballet. The embrace between the Prince and Swan inspires me to create work that is defined by who I am; to embrace who we are and where society is going. Young gay boys dreaming of dancing professionally will continue to cling to this work, dreaming to one day experience this type of freedom. I believe that a future of gender equality is just beginning to peek over the horizon. <br /><br />Kent G. Drummond (2003). "The Queering of Swan Lake." <em>Journal of Homosexuality</em>, 45:2-4,235-255, DOI: 10.1300/J082v45n02_11
Matthew Bourne's <em>Swan Lake</em>
December 2020
George C. Berry, 26, MFA Candidate in Dance, University of Alabama
not-the-gay-swan-lake
What You Don't Like Can Still Guide You
I don't remember much about going to see <em>300</em> except that I left the theatre with an uneasy feeling. Something didn't sit right about the way the characters were portrayed. My father was a high school film teacher, so I had been given the tools to analyze a film's ideology and meaning, but this was the first time I really did it by myself. <br /><br />I recognized the way the Spartans could easily be replaced with Americans, and that the Persians were kind of meant to be Al Qaeda or the "evil" Middle East. The film was a fantasy for a post 9/11 United States audience. And it didn't end there. I was actually most struck by the way the Persians were queered in the film, and the Spartans were the peak of heterosexual hyper-masculinity. I began to think: How would this film affect the way people view current events and, more importantly, other people? What are the stakes here? <br /><br />Suddenly I understood the importance of meaning-making and what studying the humanities was all about. I talked about the film to anyone who would listen for weeks: "Don't you see how this film conflates queerness and femininity with evil?" and so on. I felt such urgency about it. It was a major turning point for me in understanding how ideas are disseminated and perpetuated. It was somewhat of a dark experience, but one that changed my life forever. <br /><br />When I got to grad school and began to learn about hegemony, power, and ideology I always went back to <em>300</em> in my mind. It's how I learned to make sense of these vital concepts. As I grew up I learned that many critics had seen the same things I had seen in the film, and that my ideas were not nearly as novel as I thought in my youth. This just further cemented my desire to pursue this kind of work. Now I study American Studies and I focus on film and how Americanness is depicted and designed. So I guess it turns out that even the works of humanities that you don't like can change your life for the better and help you find your path.
<em>300 </em>(2006)
2007
Emily, 32, American Studies Ph.D. Student
what-you-dont-like-can-guide-you
Le Magic School Bus
No, it wasn’t the real Magic School Bus from the books and TV. But one of my most poignant humanities moments did happen on a bus. And I did learn a lot from it. And, yes, the bus was French.
I grew up in Arizona in a monolingual family. I studied French in my last years of high school because I needed it to graduate. I loved it. I loved it more than I loved any other subject ever before. So much so that I majored in French and History in college. I aced my French classes. Then I started taking Spanish and Italian. Languages came really easy to me. Growing up with a brother who had known he was going to be a pilot from the age of five, I thought that maybe I had finally found ‘my thing’.
In 2010, I took a job opportunity to move to Lyon, France as an English Teaching Assistant through a bilateral program between French and American embassies. I arrived and had the normal struggles adjusting to a new city and to how quickly people spoke French. I left the U.S. with my straight A grades and the language in my mind as a bunch of binary code of 0s and 1s that could be pulled out of my mind to fit any situation.
Except for the bus.
About two thirds of the way into my one year contract was when I had my humanities moment that still serves as a reference today. As is required in a French memory, I was on my way to meet my friends at a cafe and was running late. I was speed walking through the main square in the center of town growing more and more anxious about being late, proof that I was still not as French as I had liked to think. As I was rushing, getting my heart rate up, and tensing up all of my muscles to try to walk even faster, I noticed an idle bus facing the general direction I needed to go. As I walked up to the door, the driver opened it and I came gusting into the bus out of breath.
In the process of making eye contact with the driver, I asked in French, ‘Does this bus go to [name of cafe’s street]?’
The bus driver sat up straight and looked at me for an extended moment before saying very seriously ‘Mademoiselle, we say hello to each other first. We don’t just ask. So, let’s begin again. Bonjour Monsieur.' His attempt to instruct me on how to be polite can be very easily considered rude, but that didn’t faze me because I had already felt the weighty guilt of making cultural missteps.
The bus didn’t go where I needed to go, so I got off and the driver drove on. I was very late to meet my friends. However, I stood on the street corner for a minute or two thinking about what happened. I thought about how I took my knowledge of the French language and framed it in my American habits of often being quick and in a rush. I began to realize the real world of language and cultural competence is just as important, if not more important, to learning a language. There are different styles of formality, salutation, turn-taking, interactions with strangers, etc. It wasn’t just the 0s and 1s that my French degree gave me. There were also 3s, 8s, 5s, and maybe even a few exclamation points mixed into the code. It was a rich world of human interaction that was accessed by travel. This has led me to language and its social implications. This has led me to sociolinguistics and researching language and belonging. So, this magic school bus did actually end up taking me somewhere I needed to go and it got me there just in time.
Travel
2010
Ashley Coogan, 34, PhD Student in Linguistics & Applied Linguistics, Arizona State University
le-magic-school-bus
Parts Unknown, or How a Great Mind Taught Us to Be Better
"Maybe that's enlightenment enough: to know that there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom ... is realizing how small I am, and unwise, and how far I have yet to go" (A. Bourdain).
I just fell in love instantly with the show, the concept, and each episode. The way Bourdain would narrate each place he visited would awake something that I longed ever since I moved from France to the US: traveling. It is not just the food and the connections he created when filming all parts of the world that resonated with me, it is the way he is taking us on a private tour and taught us not just the gastronomical facets of a culture, but its history, complexity, as well as the challenges it faced and what each region tries to do to overcome them.
Bourdain became a historian, a chef, and curator, a tourist, and an environmentalist, but more than anything else a story teller. He was able to find the most remote places and exposed their beauty, their secrets, and their tortured histories.
This empathic way of approaching a different culture just opened my eyes to see beyond a place and to try to understand its context, its narrative and peculiarities. The episode on Mexico takes us not only through all the food stalls and typical tacos joints, it showed the dependence America has with its workers working the fields as well as the tension arising from the wall being built and expanded. It is with food though that Bourdain discussed all of these sensitive topics, rallying and unifying opponents and critics around a meal. He was raw and unapologetic and was able to engage in a constructive discussion while sharing wine and food.
To walk in someone else's shoes to see how one lives was his advice and soon a motto I embraced. Traveling is one of the best ways to learn and I can't express how invaluable he was to the community. He made us dream of places and took us on adventures that connected us to all parts of the world. To say that his show opened my eyes and deepened my understanding of different cultures is an understatement. His impact was truly immeasurable.
Anthony Bourdain
<em>Parts Unknown: Mexico</em>
Sorya Or, 42, High school Social Studies teacher
parts-unknown-great-mind-taught-us-better
Artifacts at the Museum
Recently, I've found myself longing to take advantage of the Smithsonian Museums that are so conveniently located ten miles northeast of my home- maybe it's because such destinations were closed for a long period of time due to the COVID-19 pandemic. I figured that I might as well take advantage of these attractions re-opening and welcoming guests. Only a select few Smithsonian venues have opened their doors and so I decided to visit one that I've always enjoyed in the past, the Freer Gallery of Art. The Freer Gallery of Art boasts an impressive collection of art from East Asia, South Asia, Southeast Asia, the Islamic world, and the Middle East. The collections range from the late Neolithic period to the modern era- there is certainly plenty to see. One of the main attractions located in the Freer Gallery is the <em>Harmony in Blue and Gold: The Peacock Room</em>. This is a beautifully decorated room that serves as a lasting example of aestheticism. Despite the beauty and enveloping nature of the Peacock Room, I found my humanities moment in other places within the museum. <br /><br />My humanities moment came to me while viewing pottery, porcelain, ceramics, paintings, and sculptures from East Asia and South Asia. The connections to be made between cultures in India, China, and Korea, simply by identifying the similarities and trends in the artifacts seemed endless. Whether it was a ceramic-making technique or the spread and artistic display of Buddhism that could be traced across civilizations- regional interaction was present. Part of being a Social Studies teacher is facilitating the process of students making connections through the examination of regional interactions across time. Making those connections helps students be more globally-minded citizens.
Freer Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.
July 17, 2021
G. Lee, 33, Social Studies Teacher
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Van Gogh and Me
Last November my grandmother was visiting and wanted to do something fun. Instead of fun, my mother dragged us to the traveling “Beyond Van Gogh” exhibit that was in Salt Lake City at the time. As we entered this big warehouse where the exhibit was located, my fears seemed to be confirmed. I walked along a winding path with backlit, large-canvas reproductions of Van Gogh’s paintings with excerpts of letters written between Vincent Van Gogh and his brother Theo written over top of the paintings. For me, because I have a visual field cut and other sensory processing issues, it was painful and overwhelming to look at. The backlighting of the artwork made every detail pop and screamed for my attention. So everything smeared together and my brain could not process anything. I did everything I could to avert my eyes as I felt myself slowly becoming overwhelmed and on the verge of melting down.
I did notice that not everything in this room was yelling at me. In between these paintings, there were various empty picture frames invisibly suspended from the ceiling. As people, including myself, walked by, we all became the subjects. I became part of the artwork for a fleeting moment as I was framed within the borders. Then, once I turned the last corner, I entered a dark room with projections of moving color on the wall and floor. I went from being the one who moved around stationary pieces of art into a stationary person watching as the brushstrokes of color and light moved around me and swallowed me whole. As my mind and senses adjusted to this new reality, I entered a huge warehouse-sized room, projections of Van Gogh's work enveloped me on all sides. I was completely immersed in all the colors and details. Music written about Van Gogh or his works was gently playing in the background. For me, it was like a reverse fishbowl effect. Instead of feeling alone and exposed while something stared at me, I was a natural being that was happily swimming amidst the wonder around me. As I watched colors and paint strokes slowly morphing one painting turned into another, for the first time, art moved me in ways I never experienced before. By magnifying details that I would never normally see, I finally understood why art is so powerful. I watched his artistic process from start to finish as sketches were recreated and deconstructed before my eyes. I did not know about his work as a portrait painter, but seeing his side-by-side gallery of his many subjects, including himself, showed such an incredible imagination. This was the first time that I felt art really move me. Van Gogh’s artwork is so powerful and now I understand why his work lives on today. Visiting the “Beyond Van Gogh” exhibit has made me rethink what is possible. Please do not tell my mom that she was right and that I had so much more than fun.
Works Cited: “The Immersive Experience .” Beyond Van Gogh Salt Lake City, 2 Dec. 2021, vangoghsaltlake.com/.
"Beyond Van Gogh" traveling art exhibit
November 2021
Julia Reardon, Mountain Heights Academy, Utah
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