Author Archives: Emily

the pianist

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We arrive in Bailey Hall mere minutes before the performance. The median age is roughly 65 (we receive a couple surprised looks as we enter) and the room is awash with the comfortable din of conversation and laughter. We take our seats quickly, and the light dims almost immediately.

As the first c minor chord sounds, true and clear, I am filled with a sort of comfortable familiarity that comes with returning home for the holidays after a long time away. His hands fly across the ivory keys, striking each with the precision and control that distinguish a concert pianist from an amateur.

For me, this first sonata is especially special because I’ve played it myself (although obviously not nearly as well as Emanuel Ax). However, the sense of kinship the piece evoked within me created a unique and enjoyable listening experience unlike any other classical concert I’ve attended. He then moved into several other classic compositions by Beethoven and Chopin, demonstrating his grasp of the old masters for a public audience, though his biography notes that he is also accomplished in more niche pieces.

It was so, so nice to have the opportunity to hear a professional, world-renowned concert pianist in concert. As a classically-trained pianist myself, being able to hear him play inspired me to learn new pieces, such as some of the Chopin pieces that he performed. Though many people love classical piano, few appreciate how much time and effort it takes to reach the level of finesse and control that professional concert pianists display. People say it takes 10,000 hours to become a master, but most professional concert pianists have far exceeded that amount by the time they are performing in concert. To be able to see that the fruits of that labor live was quite a fantastic treat.

As the second act progressed, he kept the audience enthralled by a series of increasingly complex scherzos. Each cadence and nuance was skillfully executed with technical perfection, but he also plucked each emotion from the music as clearly as if he was painting on a canvas.

I am so glad I had the chance to see Emanuel Ax in concert, and can’t wait to see what other concerts happen this semester.

national treasure: kroch library

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Let me begin by admitting a sad, sad fact:

I haven’t read for fun in several years. Since high school, I’ve had so much required reading for school that I either haven’t had the time or was too tired to read for leisure. Going on the rare books tour, it was great to see Mr. Heidig’s excitement for his work. His clear passion for the study of these books and the history behind them brought me back to a time when I read far more often.

In my junior English class, we had to pick one author and read 4 of their novels, as well as complete other assignments for a year-long major author project. I picked Mark Twain, and I remember learning all about his childhood and adult life–including that he had spent 20 summers in Elmira. What I never connected until yesterday was that the Elmira of his history was the Elmira just 30 miles away from here.

It’s so fantastic that Cornell has a library and collection as fantastic as the Kroch library. I’ll definitely be visiting again in the future. Who knows, maybe I’ll even find time to read for fun again someday.

another first edition Bible

another first edition Bible

real actual 100% papyrus

real actual 100% papyrus

Sitting Bull's signature

Sitting Bull’s signature

Shakespeare's First Folio

Shakespeare’s First Folio

first edition of the King James Holy Bible

first edition of the King James Holy Bible

page from a Gutenberg bible

page from a Gutenberg bible

stress relief

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The first week of class, I wasn’t able to go to my building meeting because I had a night class, so instead I met with GRF Sara over lunch a few weeks later. During this lunch meeting, we discussed hobbies and interests and I mentioned that I carve pumpkins every year during October. I then asked Sara if we could possibly make the pumpkin carving an activity for the Rose Scholar’s program and she said she would work on making it happen. Next thing I knew, I got an email saying it had been approved!

Thank you so much to Sara, Sara, and Esmeralda for making this happen. This weekend was definitely one that I needed a break from the work. I’ve been trying to make a conscious effort this year to manage my stress better, especially after last year in which I clearly did not manage stress well. I am so glad we were able to have the pumpkin carving event. In addition to Sara from CAPs giving some great tips on how to manage stress, the vibe of the room was very calming and pleasant.

This session was a good reminder that sometimes it’s stress-relieving to do something very mechanical that doesn’t require a lot of thought, such as carving a pumpkin or coloring. I don’t have that much to say about this event except that I really enjoyed it and highly recommend it for future Rose Scholars years because it was fun and extremely successful for relieving stress.

the manifestation of the jazz soul

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It began with music.

The camera focuses in on a bunch of teenage girls in Southgate, documenting a sleepover, joyful and unworried. Amy, though vastly different in face and stature, opens her mouth, trills and riffs emerging as casual and easy as breathing. Here, we catch a glimpse of her musical prowess even at the tender age of 14.

The scene cuts to some early videos of Amy with her friends, showing a playfulness and kindness which had never been displayed by the media. We then see Amy at her audition with Island Records, singing her self written song “I heard love is blind”. Here, we see someone yet untainted by the poison of fame, someone with a love of music pure as the fourteen-year-old girl who sang during that sleepover.

That someone would never be again. Though funny in many places and beautifully composed, there was an omnipresent sense of foreboding during the entirety of the documentary. We know how Amy Winehouse died, it was only a matter of waiting for the scene to appear on the screen. The backstories, combined with Anthony Pinto’s penchant for nostalgia-inducing music, left me with a sinking feeling in my stomach during the whole movie. I’ve followed Amy’s musical journey since Frank, from her girlish tones on “Cherry” and jazz riffs on “Know You Now” to her more mature sound on Back to Black.

For me, when I think of Amy Winehouse, I don’t think of the drugs or the addiction. I think of the talent which was stolen too soon. I think of the jazz spirit which manifested itself within someone so young. I think of the voice of soul, so rare in nowadays music industry, which was extinguished far too early. I don’t think of the drugs, because that was a separate person. When watching Amy perform, it was evident that there were two major separate identities within her that battled for dominance. There was the young, rebellious girl who loved nothing except music and music alone, thinking of nothing except of bringing soul and jazz back to the modern music industry. This girl took crap from no one and allowed no one to boss her around. Then, there was the media-constructed, peer-molded Amy. This version of Amy was born of a mother too weak to enforce rules and a father absent from his family. Her desire for her father’s approval caused her to revert to childishness as an adult, becoming unable to make her own decisions, always seeking guidance from her father or her string of boyfriends.

When I think of Amy Winehouse, I think of the first girl, because that’s the one I believe was the real Amy. Her very last recording was “Body and Soul” with Tony Bennett, a jazz icon and one of Amy’s biggest idols. I believe that Amy knew she couldn’t last much longer under the feeding frenzy that her life had become under the influence of the media and her money-hungry father. She knew her time was coming to a close, which is why it was so fitting that this recording–an iconic jazz classic, sung with an iconic jazz singer–was her last. Her story began with music, and in the end, it ended with music.

a series of backstories

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“Wow, I’m glad I went on this tour.” That’s the thought that ran through my head multiple times Saturday afternoon. I originally embarked on the Behind the Scenes tour to see the Secret Tunnel, but several of the other places we toured were just as interesting. Professor Blalock gave a brief history of Ezra Cornell, full of facts that I had never heard nor expected. Fun fact: Ezra Cornell was a hardworking farmer from a working class background who only had a third grade education, yet he created what would become one of the best universities in America–and the world. If that’s not a slice of inspiration, I don’t know what is.

We dodged the raindrops to Noyes, where I was excited to learn that every other Tuesday there’s free food and massages in Noyes. Here’s to hoping I remember to take advantage of those massages as prelim season continues.

The next leg of our journey was to the archway between Lyon and McFaddin. While the rain splashed down, he told us tales of the famed Quill & Dagger secret society and their secret elevator–something I wish I could have used on move-in day, but alas. Everyone was thoroughly relieved to finally shuffle inside Lyon out of the rain, and into the locked rooms on the first floor which I had yet to see before. The war memorial inspired a silent respect from the group, as we quietly moved around, examining the names of those fallen and the solemn architecture of the room. I’m especially glad I got to see this room, since it’s usually locked and I hadn’t seen it before despite passing it every day on my way to my floor. I’m glad that there’s a memorial in Cornell for those fallen students. It’s pretty hard to imagine what it must be like to go to war as someone my age, and I was glad to see there was a place honoring their memory.

We ended in Becker house, where we crept underground and explored the facilities and operations hub that produces the famed West Campus dining for which Cornell is known. After a short pause in the secret tunnel, Professor Blalock kindly allowed us into his apartment, which was wonderfully built and smoothly integrated into the main house.

I’m most glad that I had the opportunity to see so many different places on West that I wouldn’t have the opportunity otherwise, but the most fascinating parts were the backstories that left their palpable memories on every surface.

the memory project

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I didn’t know what I was expecting from the Caochangdi Workstation performance, but it most assuredly wasn’t the performance I encountered.

The performance began without introduction. The stage was shrouded in darkness–anticipation crackled in the air, palpable and tense. Then, a film began to roll.

This first performance was a dialogue between a mother and daughter–the mother, recorded on film, and the daughter performing on stage. The mother described her painful birth experience; the daughter described how her mother once made her write a “self-criticism” letter. As the performance progressed, the daughter writes her “self-criticism” letter to her mother, repeating over and over how sorry she is for talking to a boy and that she will study harder and won’t make the mistake again. She roughly scrawls her self-criticism letter in red inked Chinese characters all over her body, voice pitching higher and higher into hysteria until–silence. The room was so quiet, as if no one dared to breathe lest they pain the performer any more. This is when I realized that the performance wasn’t about the daughter being upset about her mother punishing her. This was the performer as an adult, trying to convey to her mother how sorry their relationship has deteriorated. How sorry she is that their communication has been lost. She used the medium of her 15 year old self to convey her pain until she leaves the stage in a swatch of red light, leaving a sense of unresolved sorrow and a wistful nostalgia for the relationship that had been.

The performance was masterfully done–her interpretive dance, as well as the cadence of her speech, combined with the minimalist English subtitles strongly evoked emotion from the audience. I can’t say I enjoyed the rest of the performances quite as much.

The rest of the performance was confusing. Interpretive dance sequences and short monologues were interspersed with documentary clips on the Great Famine, which plagued China from 1959-1961. These clips were fascinating, organic pieces which showed the performers interviewing old villagers in their own hometowns who survived the famine. The combination of standard Mandarin Chinese from the younger performers and the rural dialects of the villagers provided an interesting contrast between the modern world and the old–though admittedly 1960 was not long ago. While these clips provided a fantastic, first hand account of the famines and the culture of the villages, the interpretive dances were harder to understand. I’m probably just bad at understanding performance art, but I had a very hard time trying to understand the message they were so clearly trying to convey. The dances, while interesting, at times pulled away from the core of the performance, which I thought was the interviews with the villagers. In comparison to the first dance which enhanced the message and comprised most of the performance, these interpretive dances were difficult for me to understand and left me confused and my brain tired from trying to make sense of it all. I would have liked to see more interaction from the documentaries.

I left the performance feeling slightly dissatisfied, but I can’t say I’m sorry I went.

dropped it like it’s hot

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It wasn’t a hot day. It wasn’t even a warm day. In fact, it was 60 degrees and cloudy. Not that the cool front was unwelcome, after a week of mid 80s weather. But, being used to the sluggish, blanketing heat of the south, I was slightly out of my element. Which is exactly why I was so interested in seeing the Pepper Party. Boy, did they bring the heat– literally. There was a large educational tent on peppers, but I’ll be honest: the main reason I went to this event was to get me some of those spicy snacks.

My parents are hardcore gardeners, and by hardcore I mean my mom has several different types of peppers alone in addition to numerous other vegetables. Unfortunately, it appears I have not inherited the gardening gene, but there was a certain comforting familiarity of being around so many plants. Even with some prior knowledge though, I was excited to learn some things I hadn’t known before.

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Pic 1: The life cycle of a bell pepper.

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Pic 2: A flower from a pepper plant.

The enthusiasm of the volunteers was awesome. They were all so excited to share their knowledge of peppers, and it was great to see even some who had devoted their careers to the study of the plant. I met a woman who worked on breeding a sweet pepper and a hot, striped pepper in order to obtain a sweet, striped pepper (pic 3). She offered me a slice of a pepper she and her team had bred. I jokingly (but also a little not kidding) asked her if the raw pepper was sweet.

“It should be,” she replied, albeit a bit nervously.

I bit into the pepper. A sweet flavor exploded from the slice–it was the sweetest pepper I had ever tasted. See, I eat spicy, but I’m not usually a huge fan of raw peppers. There’s a certain bitterness in the aftertaste of a raw bell peppers that I usually don’t enjoy. This pepper, however, had no such problem. If all the peppers here were this tasty, I said to myself, I couldn’t wait to try out the other foods.

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Pics 4&5: Pepper plants inside the educational tent.

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Pic 6: Black seeds in a pepper

Upon exiting the tent, I traveled around the world. Well, the countries that showed up, anyways. First stop: Mexico. I scooped up the chicken mole with some deep fried corn tortilla chips on the side. I’ll admit, I was a little disappointed. It was a sweet, rich sauce, but it wasn’t spicy at all. Maybe that’s how the dish is supposed to be made, I wouldn’t know. Nevertheless, it was delicious, and I moved onto Morocco in search of spice. This one proved mild as well, but with more of a kick than the mole. The dish was a beef meatball with cilantro and sour cream or yogurt, and it was also delicious.

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Pic 7: Moroccan meatball

Partly full but still in search of spice, I walked over to Thailand. Ah, this was familiar to me. The volunteer handed me a spring roll and asked, “sweet or spicy?”

“Both,” I told her, gleefully clasping my hand in anticipation. She drizzled Mae Ploy sweet chili sauce and Sriracha onto my spring roll, and I could barely contain my excitement before she handed the bowl to me. Sweet chili sauce is probably one of my all time favorite sauces. I eat it in the dining hall all the time, and I have it all the time at home. In fact, this dish was so good that I sprinted back for seconds before the Rose house group picture. I’m pretty sure I’m still holding some kind of food in my hand in the picture, but thus is the life of a continual eater. At the end of the Pepper Party, my mouth had acquired the comfortable warmth I’ve come to associate with well-cooked peppers–just the right amount of heat. Not the horrifying burning sensation when I eat something way too spicy and scramble for milk, nor the disappointment left behind by mild spices. I’ll definitely come back when they have the Pepper Party again, and next time I might even buy a jar of the jalepeño mustard they were selling. Maybe someday I’ll even try the Trinidad Moruga Scorpion, the hottest pepper in the world–but I’ll be sure to have lots of dairy products near me. And maybe an ambulance.

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Pic 8: SPICIEST PEPPER IN THE WORLD OMG

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Pics 9&10: More pics from the botanical garden because I like taking pics and pretending I’m a photographer instead of a kid with an iphone