Monday, May 11, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Friday, December 12, 2014
This is a photograph by Andrew Suryono called "Orangutan in the Rain" and the orangutan is holding a banana leaf to keep dry from the rainfall. I am drawn to the expression on the orangutan's face because it reminds me of a face my brother makes quite often. (Isn't this a silly reason to like a photo?) Instead of looking at photos of my brother to be reminded of my brother, I am looking at a picture of an orangutan. In any case, were my brother to have this expression, I'd probably be passing by him as he is staring at something, and say "whatcha thinkin' Shaney-ios?" and he'd respond with a grunt or maybe if I'm lucky, a cheerful goofy noise. Maybe it is because Shane never really gave me a straight answer that I can remember this face of his.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Sunday, November 30, 2014
I was listening to Schumann's Dichterliebe, Op. 48 Im Wunderschonen Monat Mai (Heine, Lyrical Intermezzo No 1) and then was trying to recall the theater piece I saw when I was young that introduced me to this music and lo and behold... bravo Internet!
Old Wicked Songs
Old Wicked Songs
Saturday, November 29, 2014
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
"Music is Math" by Tatiana Plakhova
I wonder, more and more, how much of everything is filtered day in and day out. What I say in Korean, which is perhaps gibberish, is translated somewhat into something that I can't perceive, although I've studied the language and have adjusted myself to life here. And even when people speak to me, I may be listening in with an automatic subtitle system set up in my brain. When it comes to the simple messages that are universal, words don't seem necessary. I am content.
But then there exists a whole new world of things to say and convey -- of remarking that the clouds this year in Seoul were sublime and ethereal and how this proved to be contrapuntal to the dark nimbus clouds which gathered inside -- and how oceans at high tide gathered in the soul and escaped as tears in the most awkward moments. How do I say these things without thinking about the words and how they should be formulated in a language foreign to me? And if I were to say what I think is right, how could I really know how many filters have hidden the want for a bull's-eye?
And sometimes, I wonder how much of me is left after having to translate myself -- "the me"--- and translate others and think with a limited vocabulary. If only, I could just look beyond the penumbra...I just know I'd feel some catharsis.