Assignment 2: Postcards

I am in love with Kreuzberg. I love the tight knittedness of the locals and the magnificent smell of roasting lamb meat at the doner kebab stands, of oil. The sight of leisurely old men having an afternoon beer. I am in love with the golden rays that shines directly onto the buildings' dust encrusted facade and how quickly they turn different shades of pink and cream and blue.

Airports remind me of Love Actually. The whole sending-off, reunion, emotional deal that makes airports interesting. A woman is crying, her mascara is beginning to run as she hugs another woman goodbye. Her face prunes up. I'm gonna look away now, I hate seeing people cry.

Mmmh. The things I get myself into. It's like the chicken pox, only no oatmeal baths.

I'm trying to keep a poker face on but Mert's driving is scaring me shitless right about now. All American Rejects is playing and he's having a grand ol time. My heart's palpitating like crazy. My palms are sweaty. Turkish drivers are like Vietnam moped drivers, minus the moped and insert giant moving metal death traps instead. It's hot and I'm trying to enjoy this but I keep seeing my life flash before my eyes.

It's a whir of noise in here. I'm thinking of mom and how much she'd probably love this place right now, spices and herbs galore. It's a heavy smell and I think of old chinese ladies with crow feet and gray hair and soft hands. Mom used to take me with her to these chinese herb stores on Jackson. They'd grab my arm and pat my hand, grinning their toothy (some missing) smiles. A guy just asked me where I'm from. "America." No, where in Asia? "Oh, Vietnam." Do you know this? "Instant cherry flavored tea?" Yes, very good.

"Sunny days sweeping the clouds away..." I'm often asked why I feel sad when I hear of stranger's death. Sorry if I have a sense of compassion? Our feet quietly pat across the stone laid pavement. "Those who are scared of death don't know a thing about living." Cement everywhere. "Up above the sky remained blue."

Everything echoes in here, I swear I can hear my own breathing. I almost expect these opened mouths to start releasing cries from their O's. How eerie. How enclosed is this space. I can hear footsteps approaching and its making me realize that I do have a route of escape after all.

Final.

What does it mean to be a Berliner in a city that is in constant transformation, a place that is relatively new and at the same time historic?

Berlin, for the past half century, has had two separate histories. With the divide, West Berlin has been immersed within the western lifestyle, familiarized with the capitalistic way of living. East Berlin, on the other hand, followed the communist system way of living, one that revolved around community style living, sameness. Therefore when the Wall came down, East Berliners were thrust into a world of mass consumerism and complete exposure to the Western culture, which, in a lot of ways, clashed with what they were formerly accustomed to.

Fast-forward two decades and it seems almost impossible to picture a Berlin without the existence of chain restaurants and foreign products. From street corners to U-Bahn stations, these corporate chains coexist amongst local German businesses. One also can’t ignore the amount of non-German brand names and media that have filtered their way through. From the UK’s H&M clothing line to Hannah Montana merchandises at the Galleria department store to Disney shows like Kim Possible appearing in German television, these are just as popularly viewed and consumed widely amongst similar age groups, globally. And, while some might say that this is the advancement of capitalism and globalization, because such a thing makes the world go round, others might see it as another way to turn something authentic into another generic metropolitan.

With so much non-German products invading the German everyday life, this leads to the question of: where does this leave Germans to cultivate their own sense of self and culture?

To wander throughout the streets of Berlin today, what would one be able to see? Would the impression of a western influenced world outweigh the latter?

Turning to the basic field of sociology, a person comes to develop their sense of identity through their surrounding and through the way they are brought up: family beliefs and cultural beliefs, the idea of nurture and nature. Since Berliners in this new era of reunification are part of this expanding global society, I wanted to further inspect the role of nature.

As an American student with an interest for international studies, I have a curiosity for the motives and intent of certain key players in this globalization aspect in the 21st century. And, having somewhat of an idea and understanding behind the politics of large businesses, I wanted to see how far along I can develop my thinking on this capitalistic phenomenon. Along with that comes the realization that in this world where the line between nature and nurture is quickly graying, who impacts the other more becomes interchangeable. So, if nature is closely sewn to our identity, what does a world-marketed environment do to us as citizens in a society, what does it say or not say about us? I figured that examining a small sample of Berlin could help paint the broader picture.

*Methods of investigation

Taking the nature approach, I decided that my research would require a lot of walking around and visually examining what I see in public spaces. What I was specifically looking for was how much of an impact this spread of American fast food had on Berliners, and how was the consumer responding to these things and places?

The first time I was introduced to Berlin, I was also reintroduced to Kentucky Fried Chicken. Colonel Sander’s outlined smile illuminated in front of me as I stood in Alexanderplatz, dumbfounded at the amount of colorful neon lights that spelled out titles of fast food restaurants I recognized from the states. It was nearly one in the morning and yet every single shop was busy with midnight snackers. However, I had to remind myself that I was standing in the main center for tourists and it was still vacation season.

In the following days, I came to discover that I had underestimated the existence of McDonalds, KFC, Dunkin Donuts, Starbucks and Burger King in Berlin. From Potsdamer Platz to Kreuzberg to the Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp museum, these corporate chains were of no strangers to these locations.



Fast food, in America, have the reputation of being, well, fast, and, with convenience there comes the lack of class. The overload of calories and fat along with stories of uncleanliness has created a negative image to fast food. Americans are often warned, despite the inexpensive prices, to avoid these places for health reasons. And, no matter how decked out a fast food restaurant might appear in the states, it will always be considered another cheap meals-for-deals destination.

In Berlin (and other parts of Europe I will later come to discover), while McDonalds (or any other fast food places) might still not be considered a five star restaurant, it does take on a completely different tone. Clean floors, well-furnished furniture and even more vibrant menu images, along with delicate employees who seem to take their work seriously, carefully arranging their burgers that could might as well been taken directly from a commercial, are unique features that sets these restaurants apart from America.

And, while fast food in Berlin did mean fast, it didn’t always mean cheap. A typical combo meal faired around 6,50 euros and only specific locations offered a value menu. These restaurants didn’t seem like the usual run down diners for the lower class, but rather, their décor and pricey element added a certain higher status to these restaurants.

These observations I mentioned to my interviewee, a student I (fortunately) randomly met at the Turkeyimspor soccer game. His name was Iskandar and he was originally born in Lebanon but immigrated to Berlin as an adolescent. He was a third year student, around his early 20’s, at Humboldt University, studying Civil Engineering. I explained to him how the usual fast food diner one might find in the states would appear to look just quite the opposite. He nods in understanding and says that these restaurants are displayed to give it family appeal. Europeans, after all, are often family oriented: meals are cooked, served and eaten at home together. Therefore, in order to attract a sustainable customer base, these restaurants have to appear as if they’re serving to the majority’s interest, family friendly. A marketing technique simple enough that also provides positive results.

“As a non-American, does it bother you to see so many American corporations like McDonalds and Burger King here?”

“You know, I remember growing up in Lebanon, there was only one city where you can get McDonalds, and there was only one McDonalds. However, several years after I had left, I returned and was amazed at how many McDonalds had opened shop in my country.
McDonalds is not so much seen as an ‘American corporation,’ but rather, THE symbol of global marketing. It doesn’t bother me much, personally, because I think it’s something we’ve just gotten used to, I mean, there are over 50 McDonalds here in Berlin alone.”

That distinguished difference, American corporation versus globalization in general, indicated that the accusation on American corporation isn’t so much the concern as it is the spread of capitalism as a whole. Mass production and consumerism is imminent. While locals understand this idea of globalization and it’s manifestation, it is important to acknowledge that in its entirety, Berliners are not completely passive about this expansion of foreign goods.

If one were to travel to the heart of East Berlin, such as the district of Pankow, there is an overall less amount of food chains and a greater amount of local businesses. Upon my exploration there, the sense of pre-wall-destruction was still preserved throughout the neighborhoods. Stores selling DDR antiques could be found taking up an entire block, and even grocery stores were selling DDR goods. By setting up these local businesses and having old DDR merchandises still around, it seems like the people were resisting the overtake of giant corporations.



In a less subtle example, in 2007, the district of Kreuzberg rounded up its residents to protest the construction of a McDonald within their neighborhood. Locals got together to create a citizen’s initiative to dissuade the fast food empire from spreading into their territory. To their disappointment, they eventually lost their battle but without making a statement. As I walked past this notorious McDonald one evening, I noticed that the restaurant sat in its lot, fenced off from the street and guarded by police cars, as if still anticipating revolts. Manuela mentioned to me how a lot of the locals still boycotted this diner and due to fear of violent protesters, cameras have been installed to add further security.

Whether its publicly or subtly, it was clear that a lot of Berliners have a stronger sense of resistance towards the idea of large corporations, especially when its concerning their intimate neighborhoods, ones that they occupy and have made economically function on their own. And why not? After all, these Berliners were here way long before these outside-corporations have been.
And it shows.

Manuela introduced me to one of the more popular “fast” food places around, Curry 36, a currywurst stand that is quite popular amongst Kreuzberg locals. “Popular” would be an understatement. It was crowded with the old and young alike (think our Dicks Burgers on steroids), and the lines stretched out across the sidewalk. There was not an unhappy or unsatisfied face in sight, strangers welcomed others to share their table stands with them. The loud commotion of laughter, shouting orders, and conversations overwhelmed the atmosphere. I noticed that there was no seating available, only tall standing tables were offered to customers to stand at and eat, and while I couldn’t understand their dialogue, it seemed like no one was complaining about their sauce covered sausages or fries or the lack of chairs.



Curious to see if a fast food restaurant was around and how well it faired compared to this stand, I decided to wander around. Lo and behold, the next street over had a Burger King. I stood outside and examined their business: three customers sat outside chatting in Portuguese (I assumed they were visitors or travelers) and three more, all sitting in separate booths, occupied the inside. I continued to walk and discovered a Subway sandwich parlor not too far from where the Burger King was, again, business, compared to Curry 36, was not booming. Kreuzbergers seemed to favorably choose to honor their authentic German dish and support their local business instead of non-local.

This sense of local pride and community support was a noticeable theme within each neighborhood that I approached. Berlin, although large, was made small and personal within these districts. It is that personalization that I believe draws a lot of Berliners together and keeps them unified. That keen sense of social and environmental awareness comes from being well informed about their neighborhoods and their surroundings.

As mentioned before, passivity is not the attitude of Berliners when it comes to events that are occurring around them. It is obvious to interpret just how active these citizens are from something as simple as meandering through their neighborhoods and visually examining their environment.

From the examples of Kreuzberg and Pankow, Berliners seem to define their identity through the way they react and deal with these corporate invasions of space. Whether they choose to consume other goods aside from these foreign franchises or protest these establishments, their actions speak louder than words.

It’s not a matter of denying the fact that globalization has taken root and is expanding daily, it’s a matter of preserving what still exists and showing through consumerism that an authentic Berlin culture, with determination and, often times, a battle, has the ability to triumph amidst corporate attempt at world domination.

Problems encountered and analysis of project:

I didn’t know it then, but Shanga’s exercise on studying people’s interaction with space was a precursor for what I would spend most of my time doing for my research. It is quite a skill to have to learn to converse with body movements. Without speaking a lick of Deutsche, and sometimes running into a place where no one can understand or speak in English, I had to learn quickly how to improvise oral language for body language. Being animated with my facial expressions and hand gestures, along with being able to read and decipher the other person’s (or group’s) was something I had to become comfortable (and skillful) at doing.

I remembered standing awkwardly at the Curry 36 stand, hoping to hear someone throw out an English word so that I can feel less like an alien amongst so many locals, only to be met by more Deutsche. It was then that I realized that I could learn a lot by just studying other’s interaction around me. These people sharing stands with strangers were quite comfortable and happy in this element, ah, familiarity and satisfaction, those were two facts to record. I began to do most of my exploration this way after I realized that finding someone who spoke English was actually a bit more difficult than I thought.

Of course, body language came with recognizing my surroundings and being able to not only see with my eyes but with my nose, ears and hands, too. As Shawn encouraged us to practice more in our postcard assignment, to record things we usually forget to capture, such as what we hear, what we smell, what we see and what we feel, those were things I had to put to use, also. Were these dialogues expressed in a certain way? Were they happy, sad, or upset? Was the smell near the restaurants or stands pungent? Welcoming? These were things that I had to constantly ask myself, and in doing so, I found that they gave me insight on ways to read and understand my environment.

Assignment 4

In between: short stories and poems.

Easy Like Sunday Morning

“I can’t sleep,” my brother confessed to me one Berlin afternoon. My clock was still set to Seattle time, the time indicated 8AM on a Sunday morning. I could read the surrender in his tone through the pixels on the screen. There was desolation in his words, as if the missing period at the end of that sentence was meant for the words that failed to fill in the space of the chat box. And though I could only assume mild girl issues as the case, I decided it best to avoid any further diagnosis. My reluctance to respond made him quickly fill in the void with a question of his own, one that came all too easily, “How’s Europe?”
“Lonely,” I began to type in response, but found myself hitting the backspace, replacing it instead with “Expensive.”
I wondered if he could smell the hesitance in my answer; but seeking one another’s truth was not a part of our relationship, our sibling love settled on clenched fists and bruised skin, not revealing dialogues.
Still.
There was so much I wanted to say amidst the casualness. I wanted to ask him if morning loneliness was just as isolating as evening’s. I wanted to ask him if he found relief at the break of dawn’s light through his window blinds or restless at the thought of the stretch of day ahead. I imagined him rolling over in bed uneasily as the neon numbers on his alarm clock beamed relentlessly with numbers that kept moving forward.
I wondered if he imagined my stillness amongst a group of twenty other people. My sealed mouth. I wondered if he felt the foreign I felt, even when he was in the comforts of home and I was overseas. But instead, I found myself folding these questions up and tucking them away, pulling out humorous comments instead, something easier to handle on a Sunday morning.

Soundtrack of the U-Bahn

“The TV is your window pane, the view won’t let you down.”
Eight heads unknowingly bob in unison to John Mayer’s strumming
As I drown out the whir and metal screeching of the U-bahn’s wheels
Grinding against the tracks.

In front of me sits an attractive young woman
Her legs tentatively crossed, her left shielding her right.
Her lips moves slightly in rotation, mutely chewing her gum,
At the same time her eyes seem to be scanning me.
I take on this invitation to stare back,
We hold one another’s gaze as John Mayer transitions into John Legend.

She continues chewing, unblinking,
As if savoring the taste of a stranger’s unbinding attention.

“We just better land on the stars before they come crashing down.”
Her eyelids are lined meticulously with black liner
Can she see the restless sleep I had the night before?
Her cheekbones are slightly dashed with rouge,
I wondered if those bones were often put to work from laughter?

How much of me was she able to decipher?

Her eyes continue to mercilessly grasp mine in a full nelson.
A generous breeze grazes through the opened windows,
Surprising fresh air make its way through the enclosed tunnel.

“You can’t stop wishin’ if you don’t let go.”
Our bodies jerk from left to right
As if rehearsing some synchronized dance,
“We sway like branches in a storm.”

The sudden realization of the awkwardness of staring hits me.
I blink, the wave of my white flag.
I decide to deter from any more uncomfortable confrontation,
After all it’s nine in the morning.

And while
Relentless mouths throw in their towels for the morning
Letting tired eyes shamelessly converse with one another,
I sit in tune with Paul McCartney crooning
“Oh, I believe in yesterday.”
Still unadjusted to this social rule of conduct,
I cheat the game,
Finding amusement in the empty space
Occupying in between the heads of strangers.

A La Mosque

She folds herself over into what looks like Child’s pose. Stretching out her spine she places her forehead on the sea-green carpet. “Subhaana rabbiyal 'Allah.” After a few seconds, she gradually pulls herself upright again, this time revealing a serene face. The lines on her forehead have smoothed over and she miraculously looks younger, somehow more rejuvenated, renewed. She proceeds to close her eyes, letting her lips part ways to let words trickle out. She half sings half chants a prayer, resting her hands on top of her knees, the melody of her voice drifts toward the mosaic walls, bouncing off the tiles and travels throughout the entire mosque. “Allahu Akbar…”
To her background, two men silently pray over in the left corner of the mosque, they rotate between kneeling and standing up, palms extended out as if anticipating the Divine’s touch. Praying with their bodies, they seem to unify the physical with the spiritual.
The only other sound that seems to dare make itself known is the soft sigh of the carpet beneath the shifting bodies.
She looks like an angel with the golden daylight outlining her silhouette and the glow from the chandelier dangling above her. The giant structure of light shimmers boldly, not a single light bulb out of tune. Its sheer height seems to challenge gravity.
In this miniature world, man has constructed his own ocean, his own earth, his own sun, and his own language all for an intangible force with which man dares to reckon.
In this state of mind, she allows herself to be weakened and rebuilt again, here, she finds the vowels and consonants that make up her own language that is to be spoken and understood by only one other existence. And while she realizes that others may never come to understand why she returns to such a solemn place, so different from the outside world, she has found the reason to which only she will come to understand. That language has been uncovered, and with it comes her unbinding vow to rehearse it everyday. As Salaamu 'alaikum wa rahmatulaah…

Untitled

The sun is setting over the Bosporus as I pause to look down a row of fishing poles leisurely hanging over the bridge’s railing. The sound of car horns honking ceaselessly mix with the voices of hundreds milling about on this Friday afternoon. I inhale a deep breath of salty sea air mixed in with city dust. I admit that it tastes a bit more refreshing than the Puget Sound.
A relieving breeze picks up and begins blowing wisps of my hair across my face, after a few seconds I give up trying to keep my hair tamed, letting the strands fly about with no inhibitions. I feel liberated standing in the midst of so much commotion, as my ears attempt to make out the number of syllables in the unrecognizable dialogues. Old fishermen converse with one another, sharing heaves of laughter in between words. Their weathered skin, leather-like, wrinkle up in heavy folds when their lips curl up, exposing jack-o-lantern teeth.
Up ahead I see a scrawny boy who couldn’t have been more than nine, scrambling over the railing, climbing over to the edge. “Wait a minute, is he gonna…” Taking one look around, as if daring onlookers to stop him, he leaps into the air, an image of bony arms and legs flailing freely through space before finally making a loud splash into the sea. Intrigued by this, a few more people gather over to the railing to watch this escapade. A few seconds later, his head emerges from the water and his bony arms and legs go back to work, kicking and splashing, bringing him towards the dock. Immediately, the maternal instinct in me is to feel relief, alas, he is still alive; at the same time, the kid in me wants to jump in along with him. The waves below tauntingly splash against one another.
It turns out that he is accompanied by several of his other friends, all around his age. One by one they take turn showing off their jumps and cannonballs, tugging and pushing one another into the water. A man in a security guard uniform heads in their direction, he looks on sternly at first, until he, too, seems amused by this childhood glee. Several of the little boys look at him with concern until he gives them a nod of acknowledgement and walks away.
A few men to my side take out their cameras and begin taking pictures of the lively kids in their element. Tanned, scrawny pre-teen boys enjoying the cool relief of the sea on a hot summer day without a care in the world. Their pubescent shrieks and laughter manages to ring above the crashing waves of the Bosporus. The winds begin to pick up again, so I continue my way across the bridge, walking to the rhythmic pace of whizzing cars and indecipherable dialogues.


Temporary

These arrows
Stuck to the side
Of this building
Next to this plot
Of open land
Will no longer
Exist in five
Years.

Tombstones

In the Jewish tradition,
Stones are used in lieu of flowers
To be placed at the gravesite of dead ones.

Piled like pyramids,
One on top of the other,
They sit motionless against the pressing wind.

Perhaps flowers are too delicate,
Too temporary a gift,
For too permanent of an ending.

Whereas stones have weight.
Speaking honestly
Of the burdens left behind by impermeable souls.

Within their pores they contain the pounds of sorrow
That flowers are too vain to carry,
And tears are too fearful to make last.

Distant relatives to Infinity
They can withstand the ticking of the clock,
Remaining forgiving to the disintegration of human memories.

Urban Nomads

Techno-trance music blast through the white sand filled court, scattered about are industrial scraps-turned-art pieces that make up the furniture and décor pieces for this hipster-artist oasis. The blinding daylight cast a hazy veil across this urban land; my feet kick up small clouds of sand as I stumble my way to a bench. Those damned mosquito bites. As my eyes shift around, I half expected one of the inanimate objects to come alive while “I Am the Walrus” spill through the speakers, alas, wishful thinking.

Giant letters in rusty metal spell out ‘ANDBEAT’ next to a patio. The ambiguity of the sign spoke so honestly of Tacheles, a place that, if described, would best begin with a conjunction. Parts of the surrounding buildings still appear as if it had just stepped out of the shadows of war, with decapitated statues and a fractured façade, the stones reeked of Berlin history: war, wall, and all. However, the coats of graffiti and canvases pointed towards a new direction, a location (however, temporary) for nomadic urban artists and art-seekers alike. A gem in a large city, nonetheless, a secret art garden where even Peaches herself resides (when she’s not in rehab, perhaps?).



I stayed pretty quiet on this trip, mainly because my mosquito bites were irritating me beyond the thought of ants in one’s pants, but also because I felt my talking would be disruptive to the music and the creative energy surging through the air. I was also in one of those states of mind where your thoughts are fleeting and it’s hard to grasp onto them long enough to form them into cohesive sentences and expression (maybe it was just the itching speaking). So, I decided to not fight it and to tour this place lost in my own thoughts.

On the other side of the courtyard, I discovered the shacks where artists have taken their work to be put in an informal type of gallery for the public. I kept my camera in my pocket, but couldn’t find the courage to pull it out. In fact, it was a bit overwhelming for me.

The entire time I was thinking of my friend, Joel. He would probably find his home here. The metal sculptures that were once blank faced pieces of scraps left over from (re)construction have been meticulously welded, bent, formed and shaped into identifiable objects: a woman sitting down, the folds of her skin enhanced her feminine figure, I could almost see her take in a breath; some sort of creature that resembled something from Alien vs. Predator, a bass-treble-cleft-and-half-note-unified-into-one, and other pieces that could only derive from an individual's deep abyss.

Like these pieces of scrap-turned-artwork, Joel is a master craftsman at using what would seem to be useless, to be his medium when he creates his own art pieces. A project Joel started on last summer after he got out of the hospital were these head sculptures. He would go to beauty supply shops and purchase Styrofoam mannequin heads, take them home and from there gives them an identity. He masks their plain surfaces with texture and expression, using leather, fabrics, wires, fake vines and pretty much whatever household item he can find, and stitches them together with hot glue or a year’s worth of staples. Even despite the layers of cardboard that would become this head’s skin, he could work past its stiffness and mold emotions onto their expressions. I can imagine him sitting in the living room ripping, cutting, fitting, gluing away as a way to settle with his thoughts. Once you notice just how detailed these sculptures were, you can tell that it was made with a lot of thought and care, and through his crafting fingers, he found therapy in this.

He would always excitedly invite me to come over and check out a new head he’s made whenever I would come home from school for breaks. I loved seeing his face light up with pride whenever he’d unveil to me his new work.

It’s an unsettling feeling to realize the paradoxes that lie within art. While the piece can be timeless and universal, with the constant shift and change with time, its concept can become either accepted or rejected. This gray area makes it vulnerable for a sense of impermanence to set in. The audience and the artists themselves may feel that the art is outdated, and like most things, you have to keep moving on. Maybe this is part of the reason why these artists are constantly put in the position to have to relocate and find a new home for themselves (aside from issues of legal property and fiscal matters). While I am no Art buff, I do think the generalization out there is that art has an obligation to continuously keep up with the times, and when it fails to do so, it gets left behind, discarded and sometimes forgotten by the greater society. And, perhaps just like the artists that occupy these stations now, art can easily be taken for granted, seen as momentary and marginalized. This may sound a bit too irrelevant with what really is going on, but I feel like it acknowledges the paradigm of Berlin: it is so greatly entwined with its historic past and yet coexists in this current that keeps sweeping it forward in time.

For now this is a realm for escapism. Like how Joel finds solace through crafting, I’m sure that these artists share a similar intimacy with the work they create and the process in which they create it. Whether this place will still exist in the next month will be entirely up to fate, although it truly adds a rich, unique flavor, to Berlin.

Istanbul (Assignment 3)

I often heard "melancholy" as the term used to convey the soul of Istanbul.


From the looks of the colorful buildings and beautiful mosques that stand proudly on Istanbul’s many hillsides, sewn together by the brilliant jade-blue Bosphorous Sea, ‘melancholy’ would seem almost insulting to describe such a vibrant place.

However, at a closer glimpse, one will take notice of the crumbling stones from these graying mosques, the gradual decay of the colorful buildings seemingly built on an unstable infrastructure (and definitely not earth-quake ready, as we are later told by Orhan), and the blatant struggle of a culture stuck in a tug-of-war between a traditional way of life and the imminent expansion of globalization.


One image that my mind constantly flashes back to is Orhan taking us to Kanyon Mall. While many of us were quick to whip out our cameras and began to snap away in awe of the meticulous architectural design of the mall, I found myself slumped against the railing, feeling sick to my stomach. As I stood there, I was overwhelmed at the sight of high-end brand named stores that went on endlessly as the mall curved into an unknown horizon. Air conditioner on full blast to relieve shoppers from the unbearable sun outside, pianist playing beautiful classical tunes to humor the mindless passerby next to an indoor fountain. All of these as indicators of class, wealth and of course, the ability to excessively splurge. The mall was its own world. After a quick walk through (for which I am grateful), Orhan lead us out of the mall and down a hill. When we reached mid-hill, he made us stop and turn around. “I just want you guys to acknowledge this view right here.” We turn to face the direction from which we came. I was utterly dumbfounded at the sheer height and size of the mall that seemingly glared down at us. Like a school yard bully, this mall was adamant with its steel structure and dark glass windows. The biggest shock? Realizing that we were standing in a dilapidated neighborhood made up of slouching buildings struggling to stand up on uneven grounds. What an extreme contrast from where we were just a few minutes ago. From Gucci to grimy in a matter of a few steps. No more Prada and Dolce, just a few local shops selling cheap plastic children toy and used auto parts scattered throughout the street front, with a few Turkish faces peering out at this group of Americans wandering through their neighborhood.

We pace a few blocks when Orhan stops in the middle of an intersection and begins to tell us the history behind the establishment of these types of neighborhoods. The concrete slabs of these buildings were plagued with cracks running throughout its surface, the bright colors were mixed with a heavy gray from years of dirt and exhaust breathing unto its façade. We learn about squatters and their “illegal, yet legitimate” establishment, along with how gentrification has played a role in not only impacting local businesses but also where and how these people live.
While Orhan was lecturing, a crowd of the local neighborhood boys began to congregate in front of us, looking upon us with curious stares and attention-craving smiles. When it was time to leave, one of the boys that Orhan talked to asked in bewilderment when he found out that we were American students, “Why would you want to come here? There is nothing to see!”

An innocent question enough, but the response is burdened with so much to say. I defended myself by biting my lip and continuing down the road. In my sheepish head, I thought up of numerous of responses, none of which I found could be summed up in a few words, none that I knew to say aloud in Turkish.

But an honest question at that, also. After all, tourists come to see the readily available Istanbul, one that offers smiling faces, ice cream men in costumes, and cheap deals on jewelry and clothes, not the Istanbul these local boys were familiar with. This version, their version of Istanbul has to be pushed into unnoticeable corners, shielded by decked out malls.

“Because your neighborhood shows the real Istanbul, a city of paradoxes, where a new western-cultivated world is juxtaposed to the opposite, a world stuck in traditional roots of self-labor and the working class.”
“Because this neighborhood, amidst shack, shambles, and renewed, holds more beauty than an overcrowded strip mall that offers cheap bargains for tourists and generic Turkish
Souvenirs”
“Because this is the Turkey I’ve been wanting to find, the one that hasn’t been overtaken by grand European/American brand; an authentic display of its people striving to survive and preserving the Turkish way of doing things and living.”
“Because this is a huge wake up call to a bunch of American University students who need to witness the spread of gentrification right before their eyes in order to possibly comprehend the issue of social inequality.”

Et cetera, et cetera…

Or simply, “Because there is plenty to see here.”

Perhaps this is where melancholy can be found. It is the feeling of seeing just how incredible, yet, tragic a place is. The understanding that culture is important, and yet succumbing to its disappearance as the western movement continuously makes its way through the streets of Istanbul. A place where polar ends meet just a step away. Melancholy. A sobering state of being. Istanbul.

Little did I know that the woman sitting just a few feet away from me would soon become my new inspiration.

Dr. Susam, a high ranked board member for the Turkimspor club, quickly drew my attention to her when she first entered the room. She was already so charismatic, and she hadn't even spoken a word. A petite woman with a warm smile and eyes that seemed to be able to read right into you, she spoke in a soft manner but with firmness in her words.

As we sat to listen and learn about this club, I kept finding myself shaking my head in awe. They had done so much in their short time as an establishment. Originally started as a football (er, soccer) club for Turkish boys who would have otherwise been rejected from a German team, Turkimspor would later go onto become an empowering foothold for other underrepresented groups. The club expanded to include migrants outside of Turkey; a woman's team; and would become avid advocates for the gay and lesbian community, along with exposing their young members to the importance of education.

Despite harsh judgments and criticisms (even threats and jeers) from those who have different beliefs from this group, they persist and they do so with pride in what they stand for. Even more so, they hold high standards and expectations that all of their members are to encompass these core beliefs, too.

In their humble club headquarter, which also works as a sportsbar/cafe, I would have never expected that such a place was a central movement for social empowerment.

As the meeting concluded and we began to file out, I managed to give her a handshake and asked her a few questions. She gave me a quick synopsis of her life story.

She was a runner in her younger years, running the 10,000 meters and half marathons was her forte. However, she was forced to put aside her passion when her parents made her stick to pursuing higher education. She was heartbroken, but managed to work through it. She got her PHD at Humboldt and is now a social worker, one of 3 other women on the Turkimspor club board member, and a mom. (She also mentioned something about working for the Social Democratic Goverment of Berlin, but I forgot the details...). "It's hard, I'm very tired all the time, but I love what I do."

Fighting words for a fighting woman.

Cheers!

I often hear this from cashiers after I've made a purchased and muster out "Danke!" in my best wannabe- German.

For some reason, this response always brighten up my day a little. Unlike "You're welcome," 'cheers' has this friendly and celebratory feel to it, as if to say, "Shoot, don't even worry about it, just enjoy your day." It also makes me feel a little bit more like one of the locals, less of a newbie.


On another note, Happy Birthday, Shawn!
Here's a birthday poem I wrote for you:

My mom often said that long hair means a prosperous life,
And while I admire your growing gray strands, I also admire the way you write.
Your emails you pack with wit, humor, and hints
About how our lack of decent foot wear is enough to make your cringe.
So, I packed away my red sandals to be replaced with my puma shoes,
Hoping that my outfit suffices for the Birthday boy and our first day at the school.

You always push us to think beyond, and to step outside the frame,
"A tourist and a traveler, please understand that they are not at all the same,"
And so because of you I've learned to put aside my lens,
To admire the scenery, breathe in the air, listen, comprehend,
Leave my mind to take in the images before my camera shutter snaps,
A digital photo speaks a thousand words, but my memory, forever I will have.

Cheers!

Train talk

There's something quite gratifying about taking the train. Perhaps as a Seattle slicker, I'm too used to driving or taking the occasional Joe Metro, but after staying here for a week and a half, I've come to really enjoy taking the transit system here.

I think it's the combination of the efficiency of transportation and the chance to immerse yourself in people watching, spacing out, or conversing with someone for a moment out of your busy day.

Today, Molly and I took a good 20 minute train ride down to Eastgate mall, and it was pretty relaxing to be able to sit back and trust that the train will take us to our destination without any traffic interruption, and if by some miraculous chance we were to get lost, we just had hop on board to the other side. But, more importantly, it allowed us to simply get to know each other. Instead of one of those water-cooler conversation two acquaintances usually had, we were able to face one another and comfortably talk. We shared life stories and discovered the commonalities between a Dallas girl and a Seattle girl. And, I found that speaking a different language from the locals had a perk, we didn't have to worry about any eavesdropping (at least, hopefully not).

Like coffee and cigarettes, I think trains have that ability to put you in a story telling mood, either within your head or aloud with someone else. Perhaps its the melodic sound of the metal tracks rolling underneath, or the gentle (well, and occasional jerking) rocking that puts you at ease, or simply because the seating layout forces you to face the other person, some of the most interesting conversation pieces can derive from this simple train setting.

Oh hey, there's the Brandenburg Gate. Oh hey, there's a Starbucks right next to it.

My first night in Berlin, I met an Italian guy who was staying at my hostel and he invited me to go down to Alexanderplatz with him to check out the night scene.

While the liveliness of the plaza was exciting, I started to notice something...things began to look familiar. To my right was a Dunkin Donuts, to my left, a Burger King, up ahead, a McDonalds? Wait a minute, I thought to myself, am I still in America?

It's a bit daunting to consider the extent of globalization nowadays. Virtually every street corner in Seattle houses a Starbucks, and even thousands of miles away, a similar phenomenon has occurred.

Ironically, I placed myself at that Starbucks corner last Saturday morning, and I sat and stared out towards Bradenburg Gate. Next to me, a construction site was in the process of repaving a road, the heavy scent of the asphalt mixed with the morning heat, and the sound of drilling and pounding echoed through my ears.

It was pretty vacant for a Saturday morning, a change of scenery for me because the last time I was in the vicinity, thousands of Tourists milled about. On this particularly quiet morning, at least, compared to other days, I found myself wondering in amazement of how 20 years can do so much to a place. To think that it was impossible to walk through the columns of the Gate two decades ago, people now do it without a second thought to it. This historic place that is home to pivotal moments in history now has a money sign labeled to its face. Costumed guards stand at faux attention, where, for two euros, tourists can capture this "authentic" German moment on their digital cameras. Just down the street, a five star hotel with fast food chains neighboring it offers these tourists the comforts of good ol corporate America comfort.

Perhaps I'm old school, but I like the classics. I wouldn't mind not having the American commodity outside of America, after all, I'm traveling outside of America for a reason, right?

What if you minus-ed all of the glitz and glam of the 21st century? Perhaps the dense smell of gas exhaust would be replaced with the scent of trees and dust from cobblestones. Perhaps instead of a venti, double shot, non fat, no foam mocha latte, a local cafe that serves fresh espresso with home baked croissants might stand on the street corner.

Or maybe, I'm just over romanticizing what Berlin should/could be. After all, Berlin did get ridiculously bombed during the war, so rebuilding something of contemporary day is what's suitable.

Still, I had so much hope for authenticity.

Yo Amy, what's that you're writing in?

Meet Junior, he's my mini-pocket-sized notebook I had initially started taking notes in while wandering through Berlin. I actually never planned for Junior to be my "it" booklet, in fact, it was by pure luck that I even had him in my backpack with me because I had only packed my laptop with me for this trip.
It was given to me by my friend, Stacy. At least, I think it was. And our relationship started out mutually, I was just going to use him as a phone number/email/quote book, and his size was perfect enough to not be a nuisance to carry around. Needless to say, the amount of notes I wanted to record in Berlin increasingly grew, leaving me to part ways with Junior and move onto something that can provide more for me. Hence, world, I now introduce you to...

Perg.
I actually just purchased her from the Pergamon Museum yesterday, so she's pretty new, but so far we've managed to skip introductions and have jumped into the nitty gritty with no problems. In truth, I saw a beat up version of this at first, and I actually wanted that one because I liked how it seemed to have "character," but the cashier lady switched it up.

I've had an interesting history with writing journals. Like most angst-driven teens, I started keeping blogs and journals throughout middle school and high school, confessing candidly into these things, working my logic and emotions out as I pieced words together.
In high school, I got into poetry and spoken word, enjoying all of which came with writing poetry: playing around with the English language, breaking conventional grammar and rules and being able to reveal raw emotions. I started keeping a journal to record my (shitty) pieces in, and used it to inspire my idea for my senior project(incorporating spoken word into English classes to improve and increase student writing). By the end of high school, I had a cumulative of 4 journals. All gifts from teachers. All of which hinted towards or even encrypted with the notion for me to continue writing. It was thoughtful, but then I felt somewhat obligated, and at the same time, a little bit scared to have this laid upon me. By the time summer rolled around, I felt drained of my creative juices, uninspired and felt that I've had a healthy amount of angst-release. Since then, I've had a "dry spell" with my writing, and so for the most part, those pages have guiltily laid empty.

Buying this journal was a spur of the moment, and I've actually come to really enjoy it, --I think the whole ownership aspect of it gives me this sense of obligation and even a bit of pleasure to know that I, personally, have bought and am committing to writing in this, daily.

And while it's still fairly new, I think I will manage to build a history with it.

And, hopefully, by the end of this trip, perhaps Perg will inspire me to keep writing, prose and poetry, and I will finally have the courage to open those journal pages and start giving those empty pages the long overdue attention they need/deserve.

Somber.

In sixth grade, I read Elie Wiesel's, Night. I remember getting goosebumps as I read the words that recounted horrifying events I could barely fathom in my 11 year old mind. In middle school and my freshman year of high school, I would come to revisit the text several times, all the while the goosebumps would appear once again as the familiar, yet newly enlightening, heart wrenching story unfolded. But of course, like the third party I was, I was viewing something from the outside, I was placed at a distance in which I could only empathize to a certain extent.

However, there was that one specific phrase that stood out to me the multiple times I would read it, a line that that always echoed in my head from time to time as I've contemplated about Germany. It wasn't until visiting the Sachsenhausen concentration camp that I realized the magnitude of that single sentence, the actual weight of a single simple description.

Roughly, I remember the line as: And up above, the sky remained a magnificent blue.

And walking through that vast plot of land with the sound of the wind passing through the trees, the lonely interruption of gravel crunching beneath tourists' feet, that line repeatedly rehearsed itself in my head. Seeing the blue sky with friendly scattered clouds made me somewhat angry. And while I don't mean to sound like a righteous, all-knowing American, (and this may sound like a broken record) but I couldn't believe that such a thing had taken place where I was standing, that something so horrifying could exist beneath such a forgiving sky. It was hard to accept the brilliant day when you are treading the same path that so many victims of an inhumane crime had tread, most of them up until their final point in life.

I found myself having to recollect my breath and emotions several times. It is here that so many have made movies, written countless of texts and literature on in an attempt to preserve a significant part of mankind's history, and yet the feelings are completely different when you're actually within the walls of the scene of the crime. It is barren. It is heavy. And while tons of tourist groups surrounds you, desolation sets into your bones.

It was sobering. A feeling that I was a bit relieved to encounter. Here was the bit of truth I was waiting to unearth on this excursion. This brought blood and air to these stories I had only read and seen film productions on, the ghosts of the past looming in front of me.

Adam, the tour guide, brought up something that just can't be repeated enough, "There is no conclusion," especially to such a chapter like this, or any other narratives within history with similar (or perhaps even different, but nonetheless) tragedies or outcomes, that to simply let things gather dust as a way to brush it under the rug is begging for history to continuously repeat itself. (And history will prove that it's still prevailing, with incidents like in Cambodia, Rwanda, Darfur...)

And while I am still working through my thoughts and this overwhelming feeling, I'll admit that it's given me a surge of motivation, this feel to be more active within the humanities; it's reassured me that my initial desire to be involved with the social sciences is still blazing somewhere within me. And by no way am I attempting to turn this post into a motivational speech, but it's hard to walk away from seeing blood stains from actual victims years ago and let apathy take over.

At last Wall, we meet.

I'll admit that the sudden long stretch of wall that appeared out of nowhere took me by surprise. I didn't expect such a monumental piece of history to be placed so nonchalantly at roadside, squeezed next to hipster beach clubs and a decked out sports stadium. But perhaps, surprise is just the element suitable for this wall, after all, it was literally built overnight, and by morning, Berliners were divided. And even though this stretch of wall is just a fraction of what was, pacing alongside it, I got that sense of restriction, with the wall looming above me, blocking part of the sky from my view, I tried to imagine this as my daily life. Would I get used to it? Would I ever feel frustrated at this stubborn barrier? Even when I knew that I would eventually reach the end of the wall and finally see the other side, just knowing that my peripherals were limited was enough to make me impatient.

However, that's excluding the factor of the art on the wall. Which, is fittingly enough, another part of the surprise element.

The amount of color and images meticulously painted on certain sections of the wall brought a whole new feel to this concrete barrier. It was now a canvas of expression rather than restriction, and to experience this transformation was pretty wild. It was uplifting, in a way, to see a negative concept that was built out of warfare and resentment to be turned on its head and now a place to inspire unity.

It was also quite a charm to come across several of the artists, and even witness them in action. One of the artists from the UK, Peter Russell, mentioned something that I found rather intriguing. When asked to explain his art, he answered, "“You know what they say when artists are asked to explain themselves? They are mute.”

Lost in translation, or perhaps, development of understanding and freedom of interpretation? I'm an optimist.

Identity through Media and the Arts

Abstract
Media and the arts have always accompanied society: created by people to not only express, but also to influence and define identity at an individual and national level. The unification of Germany after the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989 brought together a fragmented nation with a traumatic history and conflicting ideologies. How then does a nation, so eager to emerge from its past, move forward and form a new national identity? In this project, our group is interested in exploring the details underlying how the media and the arts are used to shape, transmit and interpret the German people’s sense of self. Childhood heroes stem from media and contributes to the development of youth identity while the arts provide means to express one’s own identity or examine how others convey identity. The specific questions we hope to look into consist of how the children’s media influences identity, how identity is expressed through street performance and how identity is reflected upon by contemporary visual artists. This project will be conducted in Berlin, a city ideal for research in this subject due to its renowned richness in the arts. Our methodology will consist of interviews, visiting venues of street performances and exploring contemporary art shows exhibiting local young artists. Through our research, we hope to gain a better understanding of the factors driving the formation of German identity after the wall, as well as a unique perspective on how identity is influenced, played out and reflected upon in a diverse society.

1. How is identity being influenced through media for youth…
1.1. Background
1.2. Question
1.3. Daily Schedule

2. How is identity perceived through visual arts?
2.1. Background
After the fall of the Berlin wall in 1989 and subsequent unification of Germany, a new artistic energy emerged in Berlin that led to its creative spotlight in the international art world. Art became a main form of expression as well as reflection in new Germany. Not only was visual art employed to address social, political and cultural ramifications of unified Germany, but it was also used to reexamine the collective trauma of German history, in particular that of the Third Reich, terrorist activities of the Red Army Faction (RAF) and the dictatorship of German Democratic Republic (GDR). Contemporary visual arts took a new turn in Berlin with the growing popularity of Avant-gardism and other post modern art styles that aims to penetrate the everyday and push the boundary of visual expression. New forms of visual art in post-wall Berlin have played an important role in reflecting and shaping the development of German unification and the formation of a new German national identity1.


1980-89: Works by Gerhard Richter and Isa Genzken

Reality Bites: Making Avant-garde Art in Post-Wall Germany was the first thematic museum exhibition to examine how contemporary artists have dealt with the social, economical and political ramifications of German unification1. The exhibition was conceived and organized by Dr. Sabine Eckmann and toured in the states. Featuring about 70 artworks created since 1989 by both German artists and international artists living in Germany, the exhibition explored three themes: “Redressing Germany,” “Traumatic Histories” and “Global Spaces.” These themes examine conflicting German self-images, traumatic histories and transnationalism through a range of multimedia from video to photography to installations, assemblage and new media art.

In the early 1990’s, the emergence of renewed German nationalism was perceived as a serious threat where many feared that the violence and irrationalism witnessed during the Third Reich would resurface. In response, Marcel Odenbach created Neiman dist mehr dort, wo er wollte (1990) “No one is where they intended to go,” a video piece that encouraged Germany to consciously consider its past before blindly stepping forward to a new beginning (Fig. 1). Odenbach uses subversive avant-garde montage techniques to provoke unease about German unification and the new German nation.


Fig. 1: Works by Rosemarie Trockel, Imi Knoebel, and Marcel Odenbach’s Neiman dist mehr dort, wo er wollte (1990)

In another piece, artist Manfred Pernice transforms a recovered bicycle rack from former East Berlin into a work of art (Fig. 2). With its red color and outmoded modernist look, the object evokes ostalgie (nostalgia for life in former East Germany). Pernice calls attention the lost of GDR culture as it was obliterated and assimilated into western culture.
Fig. 2: Manefred Pernice, Untitled, 2002

Post-wall artists did not shy away from traumatc histories in Germany’s past. In fact they reflected on historical trauma by going beyond representation and symbolism that was most commonly employed to examine the past. Instead, contemporary artists created narratives to retrieve meaning and attempted to visualized trauma through the use of already mediated image that at times were stripped of meaning and presented as fragments1. This form of expression can be seen in Rudolf Herz’s Dachau, Museumsbilder (1996) (Fig.3), where the artists investigates the role of photography in formulation of German’s traumatic past by recovering, rephotographing and altering documentary images of concentration camp guards from Dachau.


There are many more examples of contemporary artists employing visual arts to reflect upon historical traumas and present day changes as Germany seeks to redefine its national identity. Almost like a reality check, the new generation of contemporary artists looks upon social, economical and political changes and directly mediates the development of a new national identity.

2.2. Question
The future of any nation largely rests upon the emerging generation of youths who are fresh out of school and ready to contribute to society. In Germany, this new emerging generation in their twenties was born towards the end of the era when East and West Germany stood divided by the Berlin Wall. With limited personal or memorable experiences of that physical barrier or the subsequent unification of Germany in 1989, how do contemporary artists from this generation reflect on historical realities of post-wall Germany? How are they dealing with the social ramifications of German unification? This generation will play a large role in redefining German national identity, how are they employing multimedia art forms to explore and reflect on national identity?

2.3. Daily Schedule
To explore the theme of how identity is interpreted through multimedia arts in young contemporary artists in Berlin, I plan on visiting museums and art shows that exhibit young artists. I will be looking for common themes and common employed media popular among emerging contemporary artists. In addition, since we will be closely associated with Humboldt university, I hope to spend some time interviewing college art students about how the theme of national identity is taught, interpreted and portrayed. I will also explore public and street art around Berlin.

Here is list of a few museums and exhibitions showing contemporary art in the month of August

• UDK Berlin – institution of art instruction in Berlin
• Gemeinschaftshaus Gropiusstadt – local art gallery featuring contemporary pieces by local artists
• Cabaret Voltaire - hosts range of art exhibitions providing energye for contemporary art scene
• Hamburger Bahnhof -Museum Für Gegenwart, contemporary collections
• RAW Temple - aimed for youth of berlin
• Kunststiftung Poll – political artists who emerged in the former West Germany during 1960s

3. How is identity being lived/carried out by artists?
How do artists live/carry out their identity?

3.1. Background
The Seattle area offers little in the way of busking. Aside from the occasional skilled performer in Pike Place Market (Figure 3), the busking musicians residing the streets dress themselves as vagabonds and do little more than strum chord progressions on the guitar. Thus, I feel that the busking in this area now carries an association with homelessness along with all of the stigmas attached to it.
However, it is not like this everywhere. In other countries, skilled musicians take to busking and perform quality music. During a four-day trip to Spain, for example, I remember seeing/hearing several such performances. My guitar professor also said that conservatory students in England often busked to get some pocket cash2. With Berlin being one of the world centers for the arts, I am expecting that the busking music scene will be of higher quality than that around the UW. If this is the case, I am curious to see if/how the stigma surrounding busking musicians differ between various locations.

Fig. 3: The Slimpickins. An example of one of the more talented busking groups in the Seattle area.

In addition, to observe how one carries him/herself through performance is to study how they convey and live their identity. As a musician, I try to pay attention to what other people do in how they make music. What is the choice of repertoire? How do they phrase melodies? How do they carry themselves on stage? Etc.
Busking musicians are a unique group to study the interplay between performance and identity. Unlike concert “classical” musicians, buskers are not bound by expectations to perform any particular musical genre or style. This gives more leeway for experimentation as well as a wider range of repertoire to play from.
3.2. Question

Are there differences in the stigma/expectations in busking musicians (and perhaps other busking performance styles) in Alexanderplatz compared to a flea market in Arkonaplatz? If so, what underlies it?

3.3. Daily Schedule

In order to explore these ideas surrounding stigma and expectations of street performers, I will look at busking musicians in Alexanderplatz (a public square) and compare them with performers in Arkonaplatz (a flea market). Specifically, I intend to spend ample amounts of time in each location in order to:

1) Observe what styles of music are performed at each.
2*) Talk with/interview bystanders about their expectations and stigmas surrounding the musicians.
3*) Talk with/interview the musicians about what they believe the audience thinks of them in regards to stigma and expectations. If the performers aren’t too busy, I may try to engage in longer conversations regarding how they carry out their identity via music.
4) Attempt to busk at both of these locations to observe bystanders from a performer’s point of view

*As I cannot converse in German, these steps are dependent upon the Berliners’ fluency of the English language

With music being one of my majors, I am naturally drawn to it as a research topic. I know little about how other cultures view music and am curious to find out how their views differ from mine. Aside from illuminating more of the world of busking, my research endeavors will touch upon the ever-important philosophical question of how identity is conveyed to others.

Cultural Sensitivity (Daniel’s biases):
Living in Seattle, I eventually came to associate street musicians with homelessness. In order to conduct my research in an objective manner, I need to dispel this mindset prior to leaving for Berlin. A second bias I hold is that of believing that Western Classical music is the most sophisticated/complex form of music available. Again, this is a viewpoint I need to try and get rid of as it will prevent me from fully appreciating the different forms of music that I will be exposed to.


References
1. Sabine Eckmann. Reatlity bites:making avant-garde art in post-wall germany. Mildred Lane Kemper Art museum, St. Louis. Hatje Cantz Veriag, Ostfildern. 2007
2. Partington, Michael. Personal Interview. 20 May 2009.


What roles do Popular-Cultural Icons play in youth development?

Background:

Like Greek gods and goddesses, pop-culture’s super heroes are the modern day mythological figures. Their god-like characteristics and abilities are what make us, the ordinary day citizen, celebrate their existence.
Of course, super heroes have a greater impact on us other than giving our imagination a sense of escapism and hope. Because these fictional characters are products of the media industry, a larger social factor plays a role into giving these figures a reason for being.
With the emergence of industries, consumerism, and the widespread form of propaganda usage in the beginning of the 20th century, caricatures and icons were prevalently often used to symbolize or to express an idea. As these forms of propaganda took place and began to develop, not only did their appearance change through dawning a more detailed facade, but so did their complexity in meaning. The development of technology, radio shows, and eventually, moving pictures allowed these super heroes to reach the masses through giving the characters actual voice and movement. These realistic attributes allow the audience to identify with them, thus building a relationship between human and cultural symbols.
This relationship between fiction and non-fiction becomes significant when one considers how this plays a role into the process of social conditioning and the acceptance of dominant ideologies. In this project, I aim to examine how fictional superheroes in present day German media are provoked by real life politics and social settings. I will conduct my research through interacting with German youth and doing close analytical readings of manufactured goods (Toy stores, comic books, advertisements…etc) and also of what is visually available on the television (popular television series). In doing so, I hope to see the greater picture of the types of celebrated ideologies amongst German youth and how this shapes their own sets of values and beliefs.


Questions:

What or who are the popular icons portrayed in German media today, and what are their characteristics? How great of a role do these cultural icons play in the development of German youths, and what impact does it have on their values and beliefs?

Daily Schedule:

While I don’t have a complete tentative schedule for this, I know that my places of research will have to include:

1) A popular youth setting, such as a school, where I can interview/interact with youth.
2) Different stores and shopping plazas that might offer indications of pop-culture merchandises.
3) Examining a popular television show (Bibi Blocksberg, Das Sandmännchen)
4) A contemporary day art museum, perhaps to see if these icons are incorporated (and even molded) into Art.

Cultural Sensitivity:

Because I have grown up in the American Culture, I have a slightly biased perception, interpretation, and even an incomplete understanding about German culture, be it political or social. I also have the presumption that all youths generally like the same thing, therefore, I have to consider gender differences, class, and political differences when I research.

Education differences

To say that Berliners are removed from this dissonance of political culture and ideology is unrealistic. The strong divide between East and west exist today on what some anthropologists might call an axis of social classification. East and West are distinguished by their own culture behavior and character. One can almost call it stereotypical classification: east Germans are characterized as dim-witted versus west German creativity or west German austerity versus east German humanitarianism.

When examining the role of education, it seems that the education institution seems to be governed by those stereotypes. I found a book by Dominic Boyer called Cultural Anthropology, in which she addresses a volume focused “On the Sedimentation and Accreditation of Social Knowledges of Difference: Mass Media, Journalism, and the Reproduction of East/West Alterities in Unified Germany” that discussed the social experiment that was conducted on the Berlin school system after the collapse of the Wall. Based on the theory of “Big fish little pond”, this theory claims that “students attending academically selective schools or classes where other students are particularly bright are likely to experience lower academic self-concepts than equally able students who are educated in a comprehensive setting.” The school systems on the west and east were different from one another. The West German students attended schools and classes based on their achievement levels whereas East German students did not. With the unification of Berlin, the Max Planck Institute for Human Development wanted to evaluate the effects of what would happen when East and West German students are placed within the same schooling system. The anticipation was that while West Germans might be negatively impacted by this shift in schooling more so than East Germans during the first year, East Germans will continually, and increasingly, be negatively affected by this in the long run.

I guess the reason for this anticipation is the realization of East Berlin schooling system being static during the time when West Berlin schooling is becoming diverse and expandable shows a huge discrepancy of knowledge and understanding between the two.

I’m curious to know what the present day implications on the schooling system are. Emergence of both types of institutions seems almost undoable to me, for it feels as if the whole of Berlin would have to accept the Western way of teaching, especially since the dismantling of the East’s political party would show that the old-fashioned way of thinking is inadaptable to this new era that consists of constant change.

No Cars?

The New York Times today published THIS NEWS PIECE about a town in Germany called Vauban. Here, garages, driveways, and street parking are banned from the suburban neighborhoods in an attempt to reduce gas emissions and to encourage residents to trade in their cars for environmentally friendly alternatives (like public transportation, biking, or even walking). What's cool is that this compact town now has more room for other things like shops and larger walk ways.
Can you imagine being able to play an endless game of kickball on the street and never ever be interrupted by a honking car?

I guess the downside is that the convenience of a car would cost you more, but trains are way more fun, anyway.

Childhood Development

I grew up in the fabulous era of awesome cartoons. Fortunately for me, my world didn't need the glam, glitz and glitter of shows like Hannah Montana and Zoey 101 to satisfy my fix of afternoon television. No, I got the humbling satisfaction of watching shows like Hey Arnold, Pokemon, and Recess.

There's already a disconnect between the late 90s and the mid millenium generation. It seems that the different ways in which shows are conveyed to the masses now are affecting the way in which we behave and have outlooks on certain things.

So, I thought about how this might ring true for the youth who grew up in the pre and post era of the Berlin Wall. Surely the uses of media and even education must have differed on both sides of the wall, and therefore this brings up questions of what these differences were and what kind of impact it had on the Berlin youths.

It would be cool to perhaps look at some of the shows (if possible, hopefully YouTube might have some), or maybe view through grade school textbooks to see if any comparisons or contrasts lie within them to allow me a closer look into the childhood of an East and West Berliner.

After all, they say childhood is one of the most crucial time in a person's development. So, I want to examine the type of things that were playing a role in molding the lives of these youths, who, to my understanding, may as well have grown up on different sides of the world.

In class, after much thought about what my research question could possibly be about, the objects that I would put on my altar would be an East and West Berlin children's book, a popular toy memorabilia, a grade school teacher's lesson plan, and maybe even lyrics to a childhood nursery rhyme.