The first photos are my own, amateur shots. The second group are Monsieur Vermes' shots of us taking shots. With our cameras. Enjoy!
(and now for the master...)
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Atelier (Workshop) Photo!
Below are some photos from my first ever photography excursion, led by Philippe Vermes, who's had pieces exhibited at numerous museums in Paris and around the world. He is a wonderful teacher, and guided us with the spirit and energy of a teenager throughout the Bastille area, down along a boat dock on the Seine, and through the rainy alleys of train-stations, statues, and kind men and women who engaged us for some words of wisdom about their favorite city in the world.
The first photos are my own, amateur shots. The second group are Monsieur Vermes' shots of us taking shots. With our cameras. Enjoy!
The first photos are my own, amateur shots. The second group are Monsieur Vermes' shots of us taking shots. With our cameras. Enjoy!
Friday, February 5, 2010
Thank God (but only at home) for new friends, and for the warmest, most supportive administrations/shuls I've ever encountered
Does recounting life here necessitate my including the really embarrassing stories as well? Like when I went to 3 not-the-right campuses until I found the right 1? On 3 metros and 1 bus and 1 other mode of transportation? In 3 or 4 separate areas of Paris? For just under 2 hours? (Causing almost 1 teardrop?) Only to find out that my class starts NEXT week?
Fiiiiine.
My latest realization is that while I was initially embarrassed of my foreign accent and poor speech, my foreignness is actually my savior. I used to dread the moment, three second into any interaction, when my interlocutor realizes I'm foreign - but it's just at that moment when s/he usually smiles, replaces coldness and impatience with relaxed muscles and readiness to help, and either starts pointing, guiding, or drawing me a map. How very liberating, comforting, and helpful a realization. And asking questions usually results in interesting, if short conversations.
Anyway, I've officially finished the language practicum and my French is now perfect.
Hahahahahaha.
I told that to a French friend of mine (after a five minute conversation en français) and he laughed, so I'll let you decide the extent of my sarcasm.
Okay, now we must back up a bit cuz lots of shtuff has gone down - let's take it one by one:
CHABBAT PLEIN
There is a Jewish student center in Paris called le Centre (Edmond) Fleg, which slightly resembles a campus Hillel, but serves Parisian Jews ranging 20-30 years old. To my great luck, they had a "Chabaton" during my 3rd Shabbat in Paris. I and a friend from Barnard spent both Shabbat meals at the Center, where we made our first Parisian Jewish friends. Everyone was extremely welcoming - as soon as people heard we were foreigners, they came to our table to say hi and offer contact information. Apparently American exchange students are rare. I have to say - there have definitely been moments when I've thought to myself, "Okay, so that's why they say the French aren't warm," but for the most part, I've been impressed by just how welcoming people have been in so many different situations, which brings me to...
REID (Angel-infused) HALL
Reid Hall is the home base. Next week, I begin taking courses in the French University system. But for now, I have been basking in the kindness and warmth of the Columbia University staff at Reid Hall. I had expected that upon our arrival, the staff would not cuddle us too much - they'd remind us that we're in France now, and we have to learn to fend for ourselves. Well... I couldn't have been more wrong. From the moment I walked into the first orientation session, through personal advisory meetings and regular hall-way greetings, I am continually moved by the staff's support. Reid Hall houses numerous exchange programs, but the Columbia hallway is about 30 feet long. The staff somehow knew each student's name from the moment we arrived, and they are perpetually smiling, patiently deconstructing our French, and helping us figure out how we want to spend our time here. Further, there is tremendous support built into the academic program. We have tutorial sessions for our various courses, where we grow acquainted with research and paper-writing, French-style.
Reid Hall also arranged numerous activities for us to sign up for at our will. Conversation workshops to improve our spoken French, Photo and Plastic Art workshops with darling, talented teachers who of course greeted us not only with lessons but also coffee and delicious (-smelling) French cuisine. A night at the opera, the theater, etc. I signed up for (almost) everything.
ATELIER (workshop) CONVERSATION/
CHABAT CHEZ MOI (at my place)
Ummm, so most students dodged these ateliers, but I signed up for 6/6 cuz I needed the extra practice. Excitingly, I made some really fun friends - while I still have trouble asking the cost of a crêpe, I managed to get into some moderately heated political/religious discussions almost every session. Let's just say I was nicknamed "madame la rabbine de Columbia" despite being warned that in France, religion is only for the home. Perhaps that's why the friend (S.) who thus dubbed me also invited me to Shabbat dinner, which I attended after accompanying her to the shul of the only woman rabbi in France (I'm told). It happened to be ROCKChabat, which made for some delightfully beautiful tunes - Lechah Dodi to "Hallelujah" (Leonard Cohen) and Adon Olan to "Satisfaction" (Rolling Stones). Young French Jews singing Hebrew in French accents to Classic Rock tunes - goosebumps-inducingly beautiful. S.'s family was welcoming, interested, and lots of fun. Her 21 year old brother disagreed with all my previous interviewees and told me that indeed there are French television series worth watching (to help learn French). Later, S. helped me work on my French numbers. (Just to clarify - I skipped two levels of French, so while I can use the French subjunctive, saying "148" presents a challenge.) We counted (her practicing English, me French) from 1 to 1 million - obviously skipping around. She was great about it - prancing back and forth across the living room as I translated her English sentences back into French and simultaneously teaching me about herself, France, and even Zionism - "I was born in the year 1985," "the French Revolution happened in 1789," "Theodor Herzl wrote 'the Jewish State' in 1896," etc.
SYNA DES VOSGES
The next day, I decided to try a new "syna"(-gogue). As Madame (my host mom) always says, we have 10 shuls just around the corner - and while the one on rue Pavée is historically famous and on rue de Tournelles, breathtakingly magnifique, built during the Eiffel Tower's construction, I hadn't yet found one that quite floated my boat. And then I found Syna Place des Vosges. Place des Vosges is a gorgeous square park built by Henry IV, surrounded by a beautiful square building, two blocks from home, which I hear becomes Edenic in the Spring. Madame told me I could find an Ashkenazic shul somewhere in the square. When I tried to open the wrong door, an adorable pre-teen boy called to me. Upon finding out I'm new in town, he smiled and said "Wooow, bienvenue a Paris!"
Immediately, I felt at home. The Rabbi delivered a profound, text-based, relevant d'var torah, and announced one of his congregant's Bat Mitzvah. After services, I introduced myself to him and he assured me he'd guide me to other foreign (and French) students. Later, I returned for a short Talmud lesson, followed by afternoon services, and what turned out to be a Tu B'shvat Seder/Bat Mitzvah. Throughout my time at the shul, I felt as if I was part of a big Italian family. Everyone was SO friendly and warm! I'm looking forward to returning.
MY SHOTS AT MARRAIGE, KABBALAH STYLE
Later, Madame's best friend came over. This was a monumental occasion, for I had never met the face behind the voice she speaks to about 10 times every day (that is not an exaggeration, I don't really get it). She took great interest in my love life, and was all but horrified to hear that I'm a Scorpio. "C'est très dur, très très dur," she told me. Apparently I must find someone more "fort" than I (very poorly translated as "stronger"). I told her my name means "gentle," but I'm not sure that overrides the power of the Sign. Dun, dun, dun... Still, we got along really well - contagious smile, gorgeous lipstick - she was a complete darling!
Anyway... I'm off to try Chabad numéro 1 and then back to Syna des Vosges tomorrow morning - Chabat Shalom!
Fiiiiine.
My latest realization is that while I was initially embarrassed of my foreign accent and poor speech, my foreignness is actually my savior. I used to dread the moment, three second into any interaction, when my interlocutor realizes I'm foreign - but it's just at that moment when s/he usually smiles, replaces coldness and impatience with relaxed muscles and readiness to help, and either starts pointing, guiding, or drawing me a map. How very liberating, comforting, and helpful a realization. And asking questions usually results in interesting, if short conversations.
Anyway, I've officially finished the language practicum and my French is now perfect.
Hahahahahaha.
I told that to a French friend of mine (after a five minute conversation en français) and he laughed, so I'll let you decide the extent of my sarcasm.
Okay, now we must back up a bit cuz lots of shtuff has gone down - let's take it one by one:
CHABBAT PLEIN
There is a Jewish student center in Paris called le Centre (Edmond) Fleg, which slightly resembles a campus Hillel, but serves Parisian Jews ranging 20-30 years old. To my great luck, they had a "Chabaton" during my 3rd Shabbat in Paris. I and a friend from Barnard spent both Shabbat meals at the Center, where we made our first Parisian Jewish friends. Everyone was extremely welcoming - as soon as people heard we were foreigners, they came to our table to say hi and offer contact information. Apparently American exchange students are rare. I have to say - there have definitely been moments when I've thought to myself, "Okay, so that's why they say the French aren't warm," but for the most part, I've been impressed by just how welcoming people have been in so many different situations, which brings me to...
REID (Angel-infused) HALL
Reid Hall is the home base. Next week, I begin taking courses in the French University system. But for now, I have been basking in the kindness and warmth of the Columbia University staff at Reid Hall. I had expected that upon our arrival, the staff would not cuddle us too much - they'd remind us that we're in France now, and we have to learn to fend for ourselves. Well... I couldn't have been more wrong. From the moment I walked into the first orientation session, through personal advisory meetings and regular hall-way greetings, I am continually moved by the staff's support. Reid Hall houses numerous exchange programs, but the Columbia hallway is about 30 feet long. The staff somehow knew each student's name from the moment we arrived, and they are perpetually smiling, patiently deconstructing our French, and helping us figure out how we want to spend our time here. Further, there is tremendous support built into the academic program. We have tutorial sessions for our various courses, where we grow acquainted with research and paper-writing, French-style.
Reid Hall also arranged numerous activities for us to sign up for at our will. Conversation workshops to improve our spoken French, Photo and Plastic Art workshops with darling, talented teachers who of course greeted us not only with lessons but also coffee and delicious (-smelling) French cuisine. A night at the opera, the theater, etc. I signed up for (almost) everything.
ATELIER (workshop) CONVERSATION/
CHABAT CHEZ MOI (at my place)
Ummm, so most students dodged these ateliers, but I signed up for 6/6 cuz I needed the extra practice. Excitingly, I made some really fun friends - while I still have trouble asking the cost of a crêpe, I managed to get into some moderately heated political/religious discussions almost every session. Let's just say I was nicknamed "madame la rabbine de Columbia" despite being warned that in France, religion is only for the home. Perhaps that's why the friend (S.) who thus dubbed me also invited me to Shabbat dinner, which I attended after accompanying her to the shul of the only woman rabbi in France (I'm told). It happened to be ROCKChabat, which made for some delightfully beautiful tunes - Lechah Dodi to "Hallelujah" (Leonard Cohen) and Adon Olan to "Satisfaction" (Rolling Stones). Young French Jews singing Hebrew in French accents to Classic Rock tunes - goosebumps-inducingly beautiful. S.'s family was welcoming, interested, and lots of fun. Her 21 year old brother disagreed with all my previous interviewees and told me that indeed there are French television series worth watching (to help learn French). Later, S. helped me work on my French numbers. (Just to clarify - I skipped two levels of French, so while I can use the French subjunctive, saying "148" presents a challenge.) We counted (her practicing English, me French) from 1 to 1 million - obviously skipping around. She was great about it - prancing back and forth across the living room as I translated her English sentences back into French and simultaneously teaching me about herself, France, and even Zionism - "I was born in the year 1985," "the French Revolution happened in 1789," "Theodor Herzl wrote 'the Jewish State' in 1896," etc.
SYNA DES VOSGES
The next day, I decided to try a new "syna"(-gogue). As Madame (my host mom) always says, we have 10 shuls just around the corner - and while the one on rue Pavée is historically famous and on rue de Tournelles, breathtakingly magnifique, built during the Eiffel Tower's construction, I hadn't yet found one that quite floated my boat. And then I found Syna Place des Vosges. Place des Vosges is a gorgeous square park built by Henry IV, surrounded by a beautiful square building, two blocks from home, which I hear becomes Edenic in the Spring. Madame told me I could find an Ashkenazic shul somewhere in the square. When I tried to open the wrong door, an adorable pre-teen boy called to me. Upon finding out I'm new in town, he smiled and said "Wooow, bienvenue a Paris!"
Immediately, I felt at home. The Rabbi delivered a profound, text-based, relevant d'var torah, and announced one of his congregant's Bat Mitzvah. After services, I introduced myself to him and he assured me he'd guide me to other foreign (and French) students. Later, I returned for a short Talmud lesson, followed by afternoon services, and what turned out to be a Tu B'shvat Seder/Bat Mitzvah. Throughout my time at the shul, I felt as if I was part of a big Italian family. Everyone was SO friendly and warm! I'm looking forward to returning.
MY SHOTS AT MARRAIGE, KABBALAH STYLE
Later, Madame's best friend came over. This was a monumental occasion, for I had never met the face behind the voice she speaks to about 10 times every day (that is not an exaggeration, I don't really get it). She took great interest in my love life, and was all but horrified to hear that I'm a Scorpio. "C'est très dur, très très dur," she told me. Apparently I must find someone more "fort" than I (very poorly translated as "stronger"). I told her my name means "gentle," but I'm not sure that overrides the power of the Sign. Dun, dun, dun... Still, we got along really well - contagious smile, gorgeous lipstick - she was a complete darling!
Anyway... I'm off to try Chabad numéro 1 and then back to Syna des Vosges tomorrow morning - Chabat Shalom!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Angry about Haiti + rushed plastic arts workshop =
The New York Times compiled a disturbing, moving, painful montage of pictures from the week following the tremblement de terre (earthquake) in Haiti. Lots of people/newspapers here were talking about the earthquake in light of France's complicated relationship with Haiti. It struck me that people (myself included) always said it'd have been better to learn Spanish in order to communicate with impoverished people and countries, and that French is the language of philosophy and sky-pointed noses. And then I found all these videos of Haitians describing their experiences. Hearbreakingly, I understood their words.
The next day, I arrived at the Atelier (workshop) Arts Plastiques that Reid Hall had arranged for those interested. Our artist host/teacher provided all the paint, magazines, glue, and tools that we needed, and invited us to make art. As I looked through some of her art books, I kept seeing paintings of people, of bodies, but my appreciation of the talent and beauty was disrupted by images from the previous night. Bodies, arms, legs - they're not supposed to look like they did in those NY Times photos. Bodies are not supposed to be under buildings, mixed in with broken chairs and garbage and other people's crushed bodies.
I began to sketch some ideas, and then I picked up a science magazine. It was perfect. Somehow, discussions of race and medicine, of health care and nutrition advice, really resonated with my disorganized, not-yet-formulated feelings and thoughts. People can talk all day long about blame and responsibility, but at the end of the day, we're left with bodies, homelessness, new orphans, and a world that must figure out how to react.
So -
the form: collage
the material: decontextualized images and text
the time limit: Shabbat was starting in 1.5 hours.
I worked faster than ever before, producing something angrier and more graphic than I've ever made, after which I used a twisted paper clip to tear through parts of it. Of course, I was still deeply upset, but it felt good to get it out a little bit. Matte medium stuck to my fingernails and hands, I ran home to Shabbat.
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