Colab Showcase Fall 2023 Review

Written by Emma Biswas

Upon entering the Movement Lab in Lower Level Milstein, I felt like I had been transported into a different world. I was asked to take my shoes off and place them in a cubby, something that was reminiscent of my middle school after-school dance classes. The lab itself was a whole different story. The green, orange, and purple lights bouncing off of the walls created a serene yet exciting atmosphere. I was expecting the Movement Lab to be similar to a dance studio; however, I realized that the room’s unique structure allowed for multimedia dance performances to take place, such as those in the CoLab showcase.

As more audience members filed into the performance space and sat on the lime green cushions given to us, I could feel the energy and excitement from the crowd. I have been to dance shows before, but this showcase was unique in that I was sitting directly on the ground that the dancers would be performing on – something that felt a lot more intimate. I watched as the members of CoLab were running around doing last-minute preparations for the showcase in the same area where the audience was chatting amongst themselves about the upcoming performances. Seeing the behind-the-scenes action take place right in front of my eyes was a novel experience.

As the lights dimmed, the bright white walls lit up with projections of a drawing animation and “Cherry-coloured Funk” by Cocteau Twins started to play. The members of the CoLab e-board began dancing about the lab, as an introduction to the showcase. Members were doing the worm, grinding against the floor, and doing handstands against the wall. There were even sound bites of the popular meme “oh that’s not” and “Partition” by Beyonce. Not a single audience member was silent – everyone was laughing hysterically.

The first dance of the showcase was a piece called “Still Rude,” choreographed by Effy Jo and performed by Effy Jo, Kristine Pham, Lauren Edwards, Rayna Leigh, and Shyenne Solis-Curiel. This upbeat dance was a great start to the showcase. The dancers were all dressed in white, which accentuated the powerful moves and hip-hop song playing in the background. Although the choreography was short, I was thoroughly impressed and enjoyed the whole experience, including the images displayed on the wall.

Switching gears, the piece “End Credits,” choreographed by Katie Sponenburg and performed by Liz Radway, gave me the sense of watching a music video from the 1980s. Liz wore bright blue, red, and yellow clothing, and the background was a projection of an old-fashioned television set, all of which was reminiscent of the funky aesthetic of the 80s. Throughout the piece, I was drawn to the way Liz used her arms and legs to create sharp lines and how she transitioned between fast and slow movements. 

The next piece, “Right Now,” was another solo piece by Mia Generoso. This dance was a lot slower and more melancholic. The focus was solely on Mia, as the lights were dim and there were no projections on the wall. While watching the dancer, I felt that I was almost in slow motion with how precise and smooth Mia’s movements were. During the piece, I could hear her breathing through the instrumental music, creating a very intimate experience.  I was also in awe of how Mia used her body as a medium of self-expression even while on the ground, given the limitations that come with it as the center of gravity changes. At the end of the piece, Mia starts breathing louder and spinning before hugging herself as the light dims:the perfect ending to such an expressive and intimate piece.

If I were to describe the piece “Be That Easy” in one word, it would be orange. In another solo dance, Carmen Allison dances to upbeat instrumental music while illuminated by orange lights. Beyond the lighting itself, both the music and the dance itself remind me of the color orange due to the simultaneous happiness and nostalgia. This lyrical dance is quite slow and flowy, something that feels very orange to me.

“Sister”, performed by Olivia Théard, is a piece with a wholly unique light. At the start, the music plays before the lights even go on. The instrumental starts with a single wind instrument, and the dancer moves to its rhythm. Olivia focuses a lot on the little details and movements of her hands as they flutter rapidly throughout the performance. Olivia moves across the entire space of the Movement Lab, and her movements begin to get faster and more upbeat as percussion takes over the music.

“Holy,” the last piece in the first act, is choreographed and performed by Lily Selthofner, who mentions that this piece is a smaller part of a larger performance. A giant cross is brought to the floor before the piece begins. While the dance starts, a story plays out on the screens behind her. The dancer on stage has abrupt and jerky movements that go along with the music. Another dancer is introduced in the video on screen. The cacophony of sounds starts to blend into one ringing tone. This piece is the longest one out of the ones performed so far and contains multimedia elements: writing, video, and dance. At times, the dancer reminds me almost of an animatronic because of the precise movements. Later on in the piece, the dancer utilizes the cross in her performance and charges at the audience, something that I felt really helped tell the story. Overall, I felt that this piece was overwhelming at times but still very artistic and expressive.

(“Still Rude” and “Right Now” are not pictured)

During the intermission, the audience was asked to move their cushions to reorient the stage from vertical to horizontal.

Act 2 starts out with a short film “Am I to go or I’ll Say so.” directed by Pimprenelle Behaeghel. It starts out with someone in the bathtub and then transitions between being in a pool and back to the bathtub, where the person is swimming in both. Some of the shots made me feel like I was in the water as well, and I couldn’t help but hold my breath during those moments.Regardless, I loved the transition between locations, and I noticed that many audience members were laughing while watching.

“Indwell” is a piece that incorporates both poetry and dance. The piece, choreographed by Parker Whitehead-Bust and performed by Tatiana Heintz, Idea Reid, and Sophia Sowinski, starts out with an animation of a robotic body projected on the walls. The voiceover of a poem, written by Mackenzie Whitehead, is like music as the robotic body begins to move around. As the projection switches to a galaxy background, three dancers dressed in black walk on and begin to dance. The performance starts slow and flowy but starts getting faster as the dancers start using their hands and shaking more. The music also becomes more upbeat. The performers used their arms and legs to move cyclically. At the end, one dancer remained on stage and performed a small solo before the robotic body was projected once more. The voiceover recites poetry once more in a soothing voice, and I remember the last lines: “be patient with yourself, you just got here.” “Indwell” was my favorite piece simply because of the mastery in the way that the performance seamlessly transitioned between poetry and dance.

“How To Sprain an Ankle,” a solo performance by Milly Hopkins, was another piece that impressed me with the use of both dance and speech. Milly comes on stage acting as a teacher speaking to her class – the audience. She shows a video on the walls that displays a dancer in a studio. As the piece continues, more and more “copies” of the dancer are seen in the video. Meanwhile, the teacher is teaching us about narrative authority, describing the video’s contents like a lecture. She says “I found myself only to lose myself,” which is a statement that intriguingly contradicts itself. As the title of the piece implies, the teacher is wearing an ankle brace, which she admits to the audience is a metaphor. Milly takes off her brace and her “teaching” clothes and reveals a flowy white dress underneath. She continues dancing while talking to the audience before finally asking us to choose an answer to a multiple-choice question projected on the floor. This piece felt very immersive and intimate, and I was very much in awe of Milly’s creation.

The next performance, “From Glass Mountain,” is a duet choreographed by Eva Thomas and performed by Ilana Cohen and Mary Zawalick. The dancers were often in separate areas of the space, one in the dark while the other was in the light. Their performance consisted of a lot of sharp movements that went well with the electronic movement. Later on, they begin dancing together. I enjoyed the performance; however, I felt that it did not speak to me in the same way that some of the others did. 

“I’ll Turn your Sea to a Desert” is a performance to a compilation of three of Florence + the Machine’s songs. This was choreographed by Elizabeth Lee and performed by Elizabeth Lee, Celeste Funari Muse, Eva Strage, and Priscilla Zhu. The dancers wore long, flowing outfits that moved with the choreography. Their sharp and powerful moves were fitting for the percussive music. My favorite part of the performance was when the dancers began wringing at their clothes and hair as it felt very emotional and expressive. The dancers utilized the entire floor space as they traveled throughout the piece. When the music became faster, the performers started jumping, which caused the floor to vibrate. They ended the performance by all embracing each other in one heartwarming big hug.

The last piece, “Breaking Boundaries,” is a solo by Junyoung Kim. As the upbeat R&B song starts playing, Kim begins breakdancing in the middle of the floor. He does a lot of incredible moves and tricks that seem slow and fast at the same time–Junyoung makes moves look effortless.

CoLab ended the showcase by playing “Fruit Salad” by The Wiggles while the performers and choreographers all came onstage for a bow. The audience was free to greet their loved ones who performed while dancing about, ending the showcase on a silly, lighthearted note.

What the Fuck is Wrong With You? - The Useless Art Society wants to know

Written by Nora Cazenave

Photos by Nora Cazenave and William Park

“The idea of UAS is that we want to deal with, you know, how do you put on a show on your own? How do you create art with your friends? How do you think about art as an object that can be sold? If anyone is frustrated with applying to all of these things and trying to get into shows and get their art seen by other artists, this is the place for that.”

I’m standing outside Caffeine Underground in Bushwick with Mac Jackson and Victoria Reshetnikov, the organizers of What the Fuck is Wrong With You — the Useless Art Society’s new show, who have agreed to speak with me. Mac is telling me about why they founded Useless Art Society (UAS). Inside, a small band plays at the back of the crowded space. The decor is quirky and eclectic—even the bathroom is covered in colorful, Hungarian-esque graffiti—and the space is lit with a purple glow.

Outside, a cozy group of friends and acquaintances drift in and out of the uncharacteristically warm night air, looking for cigarettes, laughing, and catching up, all in a steady orbit around Victoria and Mac. Just my presence there seems to indicate that I am part of that orbit, and I enjoy the social atmosphere and easy conversation. A number of people come over to chat mid-interview, all of whom seem vaguely related to UAS in some way, and who approach me with a striking familiarity and candor.

This is the group’s fourth show, but the first to be held off of Columbia’s campus, indicating a new direction for the group. Mac first came across Caffeine Underground after spending weeks combing through Reddit in search of a venue. “Ian, the owner of this place, rules, and was super kind and easy to work with and let us show our art for free.”

UAS was founded during the pandemic by Mac and Carlos Sánchez-Tatá, as the two artists navigated Columbia’s bureaucratic barriers and competitive student groups. While most of the show’s attendants are Columbia students, holding What the Fuck is Wrong With You off campus is the group’s first step in broadening its reach. “A lot of the art clubs had application processes and weren’t focused on making art…Since the idea from the start was building an art community, we wanted to keep it and take it with us. We kind of gave up on having it affiliated officially with Columbia, and that’s why we tried to find a space [for this show] that was outside Manhattan.”

Despite the group’s loose structure and emphasis on collectivity, there’s clearly a consensus that Victoria is someone I should talk to. “Victoria has been doing a lot for UAS,” Mac tells me. “We recently ‘recognized’ that. We don’t have official leadership roles, but Victoria’s on their shit.” (Their unofficial official job title in the group is “point-person” instead of “president.”) Victoria tells me that UAS is still finding its footing and learning to balance logistical responsibilities with the group’s original aims. “After our hiatus last summer, the meetings at the beginning of this semester weren’t speaking to what I wanted out of the collective.”

Inviting members of the group to craft “useless cigarettes” (cigarette boxes filled with twelve unique pieces of art, rolled like cigarettes) felt much more in line with their philosophy of communal art-building, according to Mac and Victoria. In the future, they hope the group’s administrative responsibilities can also become more of a collective effort, so that new members can take on any level of responsibility as soon as they join. “It’s a work-in-progress,” Victoria tells me. “It should be exciting to be part of that work-in-progress. Because it’s so loose, it’s super easy to join and take whatever responsibility you want.”

UAS may be a “work-in-progress,” but tonight it certainly achieves its goal of creating a space where artists can share their art with one another. “Something that’s remained a through line,” says Mac, “is that as an artist, there are so many barriers to access, in terms of even joining groups, meeting other artists, and showing your work to other people.”

Frustration with barriers and bureaucracy has found its way into Victoria’s art, too. One of their works at the show, “I spent $15 on my dad’s mugshot,” represents their frustration with facing “weird bureaucratic parameters.”

Victoria Reshetnikov, I spent $15 on my dad’s mugshot (2023)

“Originally I wanted to make a diptych of myself and my dad’s mugshot, but in the process of trying to locate that, I couldn’t. I had to engage with those people-searching websites—they’re really low-brow, bad places. The reviews are like, ‘I found out my wife cheated on this site!’ The process was so stressful that I started making bad decisions, like spending $15 for the premium trial service or whatever, and still not getting any information. It was very frustrating, and I decided, in a moment of haste, to attempt to picture that frustration. But I’m mostly proud of the frame. I made the frame.”

The show’s art, like the decor, is an eclectic mix of style and personality. Painting, collage, multimedia art, sculpture, and interactive pieces intermingle on the multi-colored walls. One of my personal favorites is a beautiful wooden puzzle, comprised entirely of identical pieces, that people spend the evening attempting to solve. All night, people gather around the table, inviting others to join as they quietly work through the arduous task. To me, the puzzle accomplishes everything UAS hopes to achieve—a continuous, collective effort to generate community through art.

Meinzer, Non-Puzzle (2023)

Fall For Dance

Written by Eve Rosenblum

The show opened with a conference table, one harsh light revealing the dancers dressed in business clothing. “Who is this?” “Who are you?” The dancers’ bodies gyrated to the dialogue as though possessed by some capitalist demon.

Was this class commentary or just a music piece? At points I thought there might have been a narrative, a corporate executive visits the underlings to reprimand them, only to be trapped there. But when the underlings returned and the executives exited, the visual language was broken and the audience confused. “I thought it was about God,” my friend told me afterwards.

The work-wear special kicked off Fall For Dance’s 20th annual festival in New York City Center, part of a two-week run boasting two world premiers and continent-spanning performances. Its reputation is in part based on its affordability; tickets are no more than twenty dollars and sold by lottery at the beginning of September.

The two nights I went struggled to preserve the show’s stellar reputation. Both featured solo-dancer, musician combos – the first night, tap-sody and blues, the second, ballet and baritone. Not expecting such equality of sight and sound, novelty engaged me with these two performances. But where energy carried, substance did not. I regretted that there were not more dancers to add emotional gravitas to the performances or more musicians to complicate the scores. The relationship between musicians and dancers was curious at first, but lacked the engagement necessary to sustain interest throughout the pieces.  

The introspective performances were balanced by longer modern ensemble pieces. In Program One, New York’s Gibney Company decorated the stage with speakers and their bodies in sheer, neutral clothing. The music changed repeatedly, from soul, to techno, to pop, as the dancers paired off or clumped, at one point, circling like children.

Program Two featured another big ensemble piece, indistinguishable from Program one’s aside from the choice of black rather than beige costumes. At the height of both, dancers spoke to each other with their bodies. The talented Jie-Hung Shau moved between her partners: from lust, into conflict, and, finally, resignation. More was said than what any dialogue could give expression to.

At its best, Fall for Dance showcases wonderful performers from around the globe right here in New York City. At its worst, it offers intangible pieces for its “uninstructed audience.” Access and unconventionality have earned the festival its reputation. In its 21st year can we hope for more consistency?





The New York Circus Project: Bringing Circus from Columbia to NYC

Written by Sayuri Govender

In January 2022, Ratrock interviewed Emma Owens–the co-founder of Columbia Circus Collective. Following their graduation in 2022, she and other co-founder Sam Landa realized they couldn't leave circus behind as they moved into their post-Columbia lives. Thus, they founded the New York Circus Project, a nonprofit organization aiming to connect circus artists across the city and bring the art of circus into the lives of everyday New Yorkers. I got the chance to interview Emma and Sam about the process of creating the Circus Project and watch one of their first ever showcases. 

I attended their Fall Cabaret show, presented during a Columbus Ave Open Streets event on October 8th. In the middle of Columbus Avenue, between 71st and 72nd, was a massive stage, a rig, and dozens of seats filled with audience members. It was the first time I had ever attended any sort of circus, and I was amazed by the artistry and the talent I saw. I also was astounded by the interdisciplinary nature of the New York Circus Project. As performers juggled, backflipped, and soared in the air, live singers accompanied with songs from Lana Del Rey to beabadoobee. The show was a blend of comedy, aerial work, contortion, and other unbelievable feats, where I was constantly in awe of the performers ability to push their bodies to the extreme in such beautiful ways. The personalities of each performer shone through their intricate costumes, distinct and detailed acts, audience interaction, and their comfortability on stage that made it seem like their overwhelmingly impressive talents were effortless. Through passion and skill, the New York Circus Project brought a world of wonder, joy, and creative expression to the streets of the Upper West Side. 

Throughout the show, performers extravagantly contorted their bodies, flipped and twirled while suspended in the air, and moved through the stage with extreme precision and power. For the whole show, Emma stood behind the stage with a massive smile on her face, incredibly proud of the Circus Project and its performers. “It's been so special to work with this community and bring more people together,” Emma beamed. “That's been so rewarding. We’ve met a lot of people we didn't know about before, which has been really awesome. We're just trying to expand our network as much as possible. We want everyone to feel included in this new project.” Sam added, “We're trying to meet a lot of local New Yorkers that have done circus here, as well as bringing in a bunch of people from out of town. In this show, we have performers from Montreal, Vegas, Colorado, as well as New York. We're passionate not only about bringing more circus to New York, but also meeting and building the New York circus community.”

As the Circus Project works to bring circus to New York, they have faced their own set of unique challenges–especially through the Open Streets performances. Emma expressed how, in comparison to performing at venues at Columbia, “there are a lot more obstacles and a lot of moving pieces to performing in the middle of the street. But also, there're so many people who are stumbling upon it who wouldn't normally, and it's really awesome. We've even had people watching from their windows or their fire escapes!” 

Many audience members were Upper West Side families, with children sitting eagerly in the front of the stage while their parents looked on from the sidelines. I noticed one young boy attempting to do a handstand after watching a performer walk around on their hands for minutes. In one act, the performer–a modern circus clown–interacted with the crowd and did a series of simple and silly tricks while “preparing” himself to do a backflip to the crowd’s delight. At one point, they asked for a volunteer, and a young boy enthusiastically stood up and got on stage. As I watched the performer and the boy laugh and showcase a trick together, I experienced the vision that Emma and Sam described. The crowd was enamored with the performers, the live singers, and the unique, shocking, and extravagant art of circus. 

While the Open Streets performance featured more of a traditional circus showcase–as it was more family-oriented and featured typical circus acts–it still embodied a fresh take on circus. You could feel the passion of the performers and the care they had for each other. When one act was facing technical difficulties, another one stepped up and did some improvised juggling while they fixed the issue, entertaining the crowd and assuaging the stress of the first performer and the tech crew. The crowd also was deeply supportive, remaining engaged and clapping loudly when the performer took the stage again. Each act was passionate, thrilling, and heartfelt, making years and years of practice look easy. 

Whether it was someone’s first time seeing a circus or their hundredth performance, a small community bloomed together on Columbus Ave. Sam expressed how “we want to keep this series of free shows going in some capacity; we really enjoyed doing these. We would love to do a similar project in the future and expand it, making it a bit more of a creative and novel project–whether that's performing in a new environment adapting books or plays into circus shows. Alternatively, we could take an interdisciplinary approach and work with other performance artists, like dancers, live musicians, fashion companies, actors, and so forth.”

As the New York Circus Project continues to grow, their vision stays at the forefront of the work they do. “We just want to bring circus to New York in a diversity of mediums,” Emma mused, “it's the center of the universe for arts–especially theater, dance, performing arts–and circus is a performing art that can be used to benefit different types of other art in a really great way. We don't want to be limited by being just a cabaret, just an adult sexy nightlife circus, or just a family circus. We want to be able to do it all. This is only the very beginning of what we want to do.”

Have You Given Thought to Your Grad Photos?

Written by Claire Killian

If you are thinking about upcoming photoshoots, for graduation or formal, consider a student photographer! These are some of our Ratrock photographers who have experience doing photoshoots and will make you feel comfortable, cool, and totally in your element. They know their way around campus, and can swipe into any of the buildings or libraries if you want. For anyone who wants to support a fellow student (and young artist!) we encourage you to check out some of the incredible people below. 


Name: Lauren Zhou 

Pronouns: she/her

Graduation Year: 2024

Instagram: @laurensfilmdumpt

How she describes her photography style: I shoot both analog and digital, but have shot digital for much longer. I specialize in portrait photography, but also have some ongoing visual storytelling projects (my Flushing series for instance). I have a distinct style of editing — not exactly sure how I'd classify it, but I tend to work with warmer color pallets. I love working with people, especially members of the Columbia community. I've shot for Hoot — the Columbia fashion magazine — and for CU Bacchanal — I shot the 2023 concert and did the outfit series. I've also been shooting grad photos since my Freshman year, and I'm graduating this year! You can check out some sample grad photos in the grad section on my portfolio :) 

Best way to contact: Her portfolio contact page!

What are her baseline rates (subject to change!): For one hour: I do $150 for one person, $80 per person for groups of 2-3, $60 per person for groups of 4-5, and $40 per person for groups of 6+ 

If Lauren were a cabinet spice, what would she be: Not a spice, but Everything but the Bagel seasoning.


Name: Anaïs Mitelberg

Pronouns: She/Her

Graduation Year: 2024

Instagram: @ananologs (currently no content on it but that will soon change)

How she describes her photography style: Hi all! I'm Anaïs and I'm a senior in the Sciencespo/Columbia dual degree in GS studying English lit. I got into photography as a hobby in high school (I used to shoot digital photos of my dancer friends for fun) and then started shooting with a 35mm film camera when I started college. I almost always shoot in 35mm now. I started out with landscape/street photography but have slowly made the transition to portrait work in recent years. When I got to Columbia my friends began noticing that photography was a huge part of my personality, though I didn't advertise it much at the time. Little by little my senior friends began asking me if I could take their senior photos with my film camera because they liked the idea of having their photos shot in a different way :) I love meeting new people through shoots I do for Ratrock or shoots with friends or even people that friends refer to me through word of mouth. My process is more old-school because it's film photography, but I find that that difference is all part of the fun. I either shoot in color and get the film scanned/developed at ProImage on 96th or shoot in black and white and develop the film myself at Columbia. I love to meet with whoever I'm shooting beforehand to get to know them and make sure that the photos cater to their vision and what they wish to get out of the process! I feel like shoots are a fun way to get to meet people and I like making it a very chill environment. 

Best way to contact: phone (917-657-3221) or email (agm2206@columbia.edu)

What are her baseline rates (subject to change!): $75-$100 / hour

If Anaïs were a cabinet spice, what would she be: definitely cinnamon :)


Name: Grace Li

Pronouns: she/her

Graduation Year: 2024

Instagram: @gracestills

Website: https://www.gracestills.com/graduation

How she describes her photography style: My photography practice really centers on collaboration and communication. What that looks like is gauging how comfortable you feel around modeling/posing and listening to your thoughts and preferences for your grad photos and then tailoring a 45 minute shoot around those insights. grad shoots should be no stress, and by focusing on collaboration, i hope to deliver a set of your dream graduation photos!

Best way to contact: email (booking.gracestills@gmail.com); phone; DMs

What are her baseline rates (subject to change!): $150/hour for around 30 edited photos

If Grace were a cabinet spice, what would she be: Ginger!! it's a warming spice that can brighten any dish and give you that warm and homey feeling after finishing a meal


Name: Grace Schleck

Pronouns: she/they

Graduation Year: 2024

Website: https://graceschleck.myportfolio.com/

Best way to contact: gjs2149@barnard.edu

What are her baseline rates (subject to change!): Please talk with me! I offer a sliding scale for FLI and LGBTQIA+ students.

If Grace were a cabinet spice, what would she be: Cinnamon


If you’re a photographer and would like to be added to this list next semester, fill out this survey!

Your Friendly, Neighborhood Art Market

Written by Claire Killian

Photos by Adela Schwartz

On a particularly humid Sunday afternoon in mid-April, two of your intrepid Ratrock correspondents traveled to Morningside Park to check out the Morningside Art Exchange. Tucked into the hillside slope of Morningside Park between 121st and 122nd street was a breezy, buzzing nest of activity. As someone who had never been to an art market, my head was swiveling. Everywhere there was something. DJs had set up speakers, and the music set the vibe as vendors and visitors mingled. The best word I can think of to describe this art market is cool. Everything was cool - everyone looked cool, everyone made cool art, everyone said cool things. If I felt any nerves walking into the market, they were quickly melted away. It was as if all the good vibes in the world had settled on this patch of grass for the afternoon. On everyone’s tongue were compliments - for outfits, for art products, for simply showing up. Adela and I would like to introduce you to the friendly faces, and brilliant minds, of your friendly neighborhood art market.

Caroline Shimeal (she/her)

What are you selling today?

Second hand glassware mostly, but also some ceramics and a few wood pieces. Generally decor items.

How do you find these objects?

I've always been into thrift, both online and in person. I've been kind of buying and selling stuff for a long time. I think I started selling my clothes on Poshmark when I was around thirteen. My recent obsession is glassware and colored glass. I think vintage glass is so cool, it's a great way to add a lot of character to your home. I like having a little decoration piece that doesn't look like something you can just buy at Target. It's something so fun, and I think that we should all have more pretty things in our everyday lives.

Do you sell a lot online, or only in-person?

I only do it in-person. This started as more of a hobby. I don't even know how much I've made off of it. I really don't think much, if anything, because I just like the idea - I’ve always been giving my friends gifts, and I just was like, ‘maybe I can get a little money back.’ I love giving people things that bring them joy. Even when I sell things to people that I don't know personally, I like to meet up with them in-person and give it to them, or then they come pick it up. I like how that practice is more community oriented.

Tajh Martin (they/them)

Instagram and Tik Tok: @tajhcrochets

What are you selling?

This is Tajh Crochets! I'm selling handmade, one-of-a-kind crochet pieces. Everything is freehanded, made using my imagination.

How did you learn to crochet? How did you get into it?

I started when I was 12. I recently learned that I have adhd, which makes sense because as a kid I just picked up hobbies left and right. As a kid I kind of dropped the crocheting, but around 2021 I was about to graduate high school, there wasn’t much going on with the pandemic, so I ordered yarn on Amazon. Oh, also, I got COVID - I got COVID right before college. So I actually didn't see any of my high school friends before they left for school. I had nothing else to do, so I just crocheted. I've just been into crochet ever since.

Have you sold it in an art market before this, your first time?

I sold at the Chinese Student Association market. I didn't actually sell anything, but I was there! So, this is my first real art market.

How do you decide on the prices for your pieces?

I was just talking to my friend who knits, and pricing is really hard. Being a student, it takes a really long time to produce my work. Honestly, I'm gonna be real, I do undersell my pieces. Just because if I sold it for what it was worth, I would never ever make a sale. Most of my clients are Columbia students, and a college student is not going to pay $150 for a top. My method is about $20-ish per hour, plus cost of materials, but sometimes less than that if it takes a hundred hours. I really want to sell things for more because they're worth more, but I do have to get my name out there.

Emmanuel Okeke (he/him), Kylen Thompson (he/him), and Ekqueme Eleogu (he/him):

What are you guys selling?

We’re selling second-hand clothes, mostly mens, but we also had a couple girls come in to help contribute to women's clothes as well. It's our first time selling things like this. We brought all this together, and wanted to make it curated. The goal was to get a lot of pieces together to make it a vintage type - but also with new and different designs.

How did you hear about it today? Is this is your first time?

So my friend Jude, actually, is one of the main organizers that made the whole event. I have a class with him, and he would just tell me to start selling clothes. It started as a small thing, but eventually we got a group, and then got into curation, and it started growing.

How do you curate the clothes? Is it usually clothes that you guys have personally, previously owned?

A lot of things are just either stuff that we purchased and just have never worn - pieces that are not really for our aesthetic or things that we wore for a while but then just didn't feel like it. It's a lot of stuff that we thrifted.

Do you feel like when you sell clothes, you look at the way people dress a little bit differently?

I pay more attention to what people might like. What I'm trying to do now is when people come in, trying to see what they wear so I can help them out. People will sometimes ask me things like, ‘oh, do you have this or that’ and I like trying to help them out with that. I would say selling clothes just makes you pay more attention to things people wear, and what kind of first impression they’re trying to make.

Adrienne de Faria (she/her)

Instagram: @adriennedefaria

Depop: @dridefaria

Have you ever sold at an art market before, or is this your first time?

I've been selling clothes since I was around fourteen on Depop. I've had a Depop shop running for about five years. This is my first time selling in-person, though.

Have you thought at all today about how it's different selling clothes in person?

I like it a lot better. I think it's fun, you get to think more about how you're presenting your clothes. It's very cool to lay all these pieces out. I love that they're hanging on the tree branches, it's so cute. I really love it. We didn't plan it - we got here with all our hangers and we were like, what do we do? Do we hang them on something? My friend was like, ‘you need to put it on a tree,’ and so here we are. I definitely like it in-person more, I like talking to people too.

How do you curate your clothes? What kind of thought goes into that?

These are all my personal clothes that are not ugly enough to donate, so I'm going to sell them. There’s a consideration of how often I actually wear it. So, this shirt behind you, I fucking love this shirt. I think it's really cool, and it's a cool piece, but have I worn it the year that I've owned it? Not at all. That's how I'm doing the selling and trade. Sometimes you just need a refresh. I'm literally doing this to make room for my new clothes.

How do you set the prices for your clothes?

Mostly it's based on what I bought it for, which I can usually remember fairly well. Then also I have to consider brand and vintage-level. For example, earlier I had an Oscar de la Renta, vintage dress that I bought for $90 and I sold it for $50, which is pretty significant markdown, but I felt like, if I wanted to buy this, I would not pay $90.

Watson Frank (they/he):

Instagram: @wat_is_the_world

How are you feeling?

I'm feeling very good. It's been fun so far! I've made a couple trades, and a couple other things. So I'm doing great.

Have you ever been a vendor at an art market before?

I have sold things online, but not in-person before, it's nice so far. I only started getting into printmaking over the past year or so, and it's been super rewarding. All of these are hand printed, which means that they’re made using analog techniques. There's no digital anything. All these are etchings made with copper.

Do you wanna talk a little bit about the art itself? Where do you get your inspiration?

What I'm selling today are all my prints from the end of 2022. Each of them are inspired by different animals that I take inspiration from, or a derivative of those. I have these little goblin guys, I have a rat king, which is like all the rats tied together by their tails. I'm also very inspired by nature, plants, and children's books.

How have you decided on rates for today?

I did invest a good amount of effort, and all of them are handmade, so I'm operating on like a $15 to $35 sliding scale, just depending on how people are feeling. I'm also doing trades and exchanges. If I'm going to trade something, it will be an equal effort type of deal.

Tonycia Coe (she/her):

Instagram: @itstonycia

What are you selling today?

Today I'm selling my silkscreen art prints!

Have you ever been to an art market before?

This is my first time, actually. The reason that I'm here is because I have so many extra prints from my screen printing class that I'm taking at Columbia.

What’s the inspiration behind your prints? How do you make them?

I really like using my own photography, and translating those into silkscreen art prints. A couple of them center around nature. I really like using photos of the sky, editing those, and playing with the colors, layering on top of each other for my art prints. My process is basically: I find my images, I print those out onto like transparency films, I choose my colors, and I go from there.

LEO (they/he):

Instagram @itslvaysman

What are you selling?

I'm selling linoleum prints, patches, and stickers. Everything is handmade, everything is totally unique. I carved it myself, printed it myself, mixed the paints myself in some situations.

I'm seeing pomegranate motifs, teeth, knives - what's the inspiration?

I would say that my art is inspired in large part by things that make me happy - the little mundane things in life that are joyful to me. I’m particularly inspired by geometric shapes, symmetry, and also by my experiences as a transgender New Yorker, second-generation Eastern European immigrant. The knives I just think look cool, though, those don't have much of a meaning.

Dom Jackson, @seemonsters on Instagram

Power to the Flowers: The New York Botanical Garden’s Orchid Show

Written by Claire Killian

To look at a classical Chinese landscape painting, is, in a word, to feel tranquil. They are the sort of images that you wish you could just fall into, like Alice down the rabbit hole. Trees and mists and streams dance together in the most beautifully choreographed use of space. Historically, these paintings, largely the products of Neo-Confucian thought, adorned the walls of urban bureaucrats – not entirely different from the way that romantic images of California poppies or impressionist landscapes might decorate the room of your standard Barnumbia student. Even the material of these paintings, ink and silk, draw on the natural world. While I can’t personally magic you into one of these paintings, I can encourage you to go to the New York City Botanical Garden’s annual Orchid Show –  it’s probably as close as one can get. 

Photo by Emily Lord

Lily Kwong, this year’s Orchid Show guest curator, is many things: Columbia graduate, former model, Art Basel Miami veteran, wife to comedian and actor Nick Kroll, and, as of recently, the first woman of color to curate the Orchid Show. Though Kwong has only been working in botanical installations since 2017, her resume includes shows at the Highline and Grand Central Terminal in New York, Faena Arts in Miami,and the Taipei Night Market. Can you tell she was an Urban Studies major? Despite the myriad of professions held in her career , the Orchid Show is a natural homecoming for Kwong. She identifies as second-generation American, and drew profoundly on her Chinese roots in curating this exhibit. Growing up, Kwong had four scrolls gifted to her from her grandparents in Shanghai. They inspired her before she even knew she needed to be inspired. Listening to her describe her childhood memories,  “they hung in my living room my entire childhood, and staring at their enchanted mountains, intricate foliage, and snapshots of quotidian life from rural China was the first time I really remember getting lost in my imagination. ” When paired with my own memories of her Orchid show, it seems as if Kwong has managed to marry her childhood with my present experiences walking through the show. It seems too, as if Lily Kwong has orchids in her blood. Her grandmother’s name, Jian Lan, translates to “healthy orchid," and her two sisters, Kwong’s great-aunts, are also named after orchids. In designing this year’s Orchid Show, Lily Kwong achieves what many curators aspire to do; to create an experience so organic that it seems entirely as if no thought went into it at all, despite the epic proportions of planning inherent to a show such as this.

Photo by Emily Lord

To walk through Natural Heritage (the name and theme of the 2023 Orchid Show) is to walk through a lush, surreal dreamscape. Some words of advice: move slowly, stand on your toes, kneel on occasion, and take everything as being part of the exhibit. Kwong has crafted a completely sensory experience. Lilting sounds by Gary Gunn accompany visitors as they make their way through the show and follow them from room to room. Upon entering the exhibition space, you will be immediately greeted by the heavy, damp scent of such an all-encompassing ecosystem. There are the high perfumes of the orchids, and the mulchy depth of the soils. Keep in mind that you are not just experiencing the orchids, but also how the orchids interact with the other plants that live full-time in the conservatory. Walk slowly and greet each flower as the little wonder that it is. You’ll find that many have names! (A personal favorite of mine was Lewis). Greet the flowers as friends, as the little wonders of nature that they are. 

Photo by Emily Lord

There are orchids cascading from tree branches, and micro-orchids which hug the ground. There are orchids with splatterings of colorful freckles, and snowy-pure white ones. You will be introduced to orchids so delicate that you’re frightened to breathe on them the wrong way, alongside carnivorous plants. Kwong hasn’t just curated a show, she’s curated biomes. There are several distinct sections to the Orchid Show, showcasing everything from mountainous, to aquatic, and even desert-based plants. By the time you exit the glass palace which houses the exhibit, you’ll feel as though you’ve been around the world. On your walk, you’ll follow Kwong’s ‘poetry path.’ Little snippets of Chinese poems carry you from room to room, such as Wang XiZhi’s Preface to the Orchid Pavilion Gathering. As light and colors and petals swirl around you, these poems act as a grounding force. They remind you that in this heavenly space that Kwong has created, there is deliberate room for contemplation and consideration. Often, you will find yourself invited to sit, to think, and for a moment, to become a part of the environment itself. You’ll find yourself wanting to breathe with the flowers, to stretch with the branches, and, if you go at golden hour like I did, you might even find yourself photosynthesizing a bit.

Photo by Emily Lord

For a few hours, at the New York City Botanical Garden, even in the midst of midterms, I was able to surrender to serenity. It is a place where just upon entering, you are greeted with waves of peace. For anybody looking for a few moments to escape Columbia, New York, or even reality, all you need to do is block off a few hours and head up to the Bronx. Seeing the placid harmony of what Lily Kwong and the team at the New York City Botanical garden has created filled me with love, with calmness, and with the sense that everything, really and truly everything, will be ok. An Orchid Show doesn’t just manifest haphazardly–   every plant must be carefully considered, its health taken with the utmost degree of seriousness. For such beauty to thrive, the New York City Botanical Garden created  an environment that accommodates every individual leaf. When you leave their greenhouses, filled with so much love and care, I encourage you to think a little bit more about how you can treat yourself like a prized orchid - with a little bit more gentleness, compassion, and tenderness. 

Photo by Emily Lord

Choreographing a Memory: The Art of Baci Supper Club

Written by Macy Sinreich

Photo by Sungyoon Lim

Whether it be the mind-numbing attention to detail directed towards a five-course meal at a Michelin-star restaurant or the hours-long labor of love that goes into a home-cooked secret recipe going back generations in the family tree, there is undeniably a unique combination of creativity and skill in cooking. If the inescapability of food posts on instagram stories or the popularity of food-centric media ranging in genre from Netflix’s gorgeously shot docuseries Chef’s Table to the 2022 horror-comedy film The Menu indicates anything, it’s that food is appreciated as art by mainstream audiences now more than ever. What tends to go unnoticed, however, is the work that goes into making and presenting the final dish you see on camera. There’s a host of processes and aesthetics that culminate in the final product. On paper, the food is the focus, yes—but the experience as a whole can be a kind of performance art in itself. Nowhere is this more apparent than inside the four white walls of Nichi Pandey’s dorm room which Baci Supper Club calls home.

Every Friday and Saturday evening, a handful of lucky students are invited into Nichi’s Carlton Arms suite for several rounds of dishes accompanied by various drinks brought and shared by each of the guests. The meals follow a structure that is a fusion between traditional Italian and French dining, the former influencing a three-course meal including a soup or salad, a pasta, and a protein, and the latter inspiring the creation of an amuse-bouche (an appetizer, essentially) and a dessert to cap off the night. The menu, which changes from week to week, is usually inspired by some combination of the chefs’ preferences or ideas and the favorite dishes and restaurants of the guests—which they note in the Google form that is required to be entered into the increasingly competitive lottery to attend Baci. According to Nichi, the weekend that I went they had received their most submissions yet—somewhere around 50—a number that is likely only going to continue to expand as Baci gains visibility through press and word of mouth. While there is an option to submit with a few friends as a group, the Baci team tries to select guests who most likely do not know each other yet and who may not share all of the exact same interests or backgrounds, in an effort to encourage and cultivate new connections that may have otherwise never been made. 

Photo by Macy Sinreich

Baci most definitely accomplished this core goal at my dinner, where the other six guests and I pretty much immediately got along. An eclectic group of different majors, extracurriculars, and school years (even schools in general, as one guest brought a childhood friend who currently attends NYU as his plus-one) the conversation was natural and constant, so much so that we barely ended up using the card game Nichi provided that was brazenly titled “Let’s Fucking Date”. We talked about everything from the beauty of economics, to the unfortunate decline of JJ’s place, to the Dodge Sauna, to the time that one guest was retweeted by Snoop Dogg. Despite being surrounded by candlelight ambiance, a print of Gustav Klimt’s “The Kiss”, and delicate flower petals and glassware, there was no pressure to “get deep” or to discuss romance. That didn’t mean that the conversation was never real or meaningful, though; the flow between joking about Twitter and sharing personal, introspective thoughts having to do with far more than just romance (though the subject did appear; one memorable quote being “I did meet someone over COVID though. She’s married now and has kids—”). We opened up about friendship, aspirations and fears for the future, and the balance of reciprocation and time commitment versus independence within relationships; it felt like we were old friends who had gone off on our own life adventures and had now come together for a reunion. As one guest put it, “We’re our own little capsule in time”. 

Photo by Macy Sinreich

The warmth I felt, a deep appreciation for the time and connection I was getting to share with these people I had not known mere hours before, was definitely cultivated by every aspect of the dinner that Nichi put together—a choreography of elements that he says is very much so intentional. Describing how Baci draws on Gen Z’s desire to spend time and money on experiences rather than things, Nichi told me, “In the beginning, it was just me, so I was doing every single part of it… I had held a few different types of jobs in the food industry, so I was envisioning what I saw other people doing, channeling that energy of what I'd see. I was really acting, you know, to put on a show. But now what's really changed is that since we have a group of eight people including me, there is a chance to really put on a show”. 

Apart from the unusual location and group, of course, what exactly does this show consist of that makes it different from a traditional dining experience? For one, the chefs are much more involved in the dinner, both behind the scenes and in the ‘front of the house’. “The big addition, which I guess doesn't really sound that revolutionary, was that we added a second table to the room. We usually do a bunch of tableside components—we've done a tableside Caesar salad, where the chefs will have all the ingredients and they'll make the emulsion for the dressing in front of everyone, or they’ll have pasta dough and they'll cut the pasta—and I think all of that really heightens the experience”. The team, a group of students who got involved at Baci through various avenues (some were previously guests at Baci, others knew Nichi from campus organizations, and a few were hand-picked from a pool of applicants to a form that was posted in late January) also gets to participate in the selection of the meals. “I've been really open— I kind of let everyone do what they want,” says Nichi. “Everyone gets to contribute something. We also all learn something new because I had never made that and she brought a recipe and we all were able to see how it's done”. 

Photos by Sungyoon Lim

Individual guests’ preferences are also taken into account at times. Students include information like their favorite NYC restaurant and their favorite childhood dish when they submit the Baci interest form, and the team will often attempt to recreate at least one dish per dinner inspired by this information. They’ve even made special cakes for guests who have had their birthdays at Baci, the most recent, featured on the Baci instagram (@findthekiss), being a gorgeous matcha olive oil cake topped with a healthy serving of whipped cream a blossoming pile of strawberry compote (and completed with a ring of candles for good measure). “We will recreate a dish for a person, and we bring it out and I usually say something like, ‘This is a love letter to your childhood,’ and they're really surprised. Those kinds of things are really memorable for people. Once I graduate, some people that come, they're freshmen or sophomores, so they won't remember exactly how this pasta felt in their mouth, or the taste of this or that. But I hope that they'll remember, ‘Oh, on my birthday this guy also baked a birthday cake. And I forget what was in it, but he did that for me,’ you know?”.

And then there’s the room itself, so delightfully decorated that you almost forget that it’s a tiny NYC dorm room—but the aesthetic is just apparent enough that it’s extra charming. We were seated around a long table blanketed by a white table cloth swarming with various cups, plates, bottles, and silverware by the time our night ended. In the spirit of the cozy intimacy that our physical space fostered, the tightness of the tablespace made for a busy splay of items that added to the comfort and vulnerability that this close proximity encourages. There was no room to keep your distance, no space to allow for self-containment. Flowers and leaves were sprinkled around the entire layout, the perfect colorfully organic complement to the otherwise minimalist tableware, and floral-printed napkins laid at every place mirrored the plant decor. Candles served as the only lighting in the space, creating captivating reflections of light in the endless assortment of glassware they shared the table with and casting shadows on the plain walls. Nichi gushed just a little bit about this element to me, describing the sort of quiet beauty in the figures and objects captured in silhouette. “It's like a different dimension… Being in a shafted dorm and not having that much of a view, I can imagine Baci happening in an upstairs suite with a great view of the Hudson. But this way, it's even better. In one poem I described it as a candle lit box. And I love that shoe-box feeling, as if you come in here and we're kind of like characters playing in this set”.

Photo by Macy Sinreich

The cherry on top, a piece that has become somewhat iconic of Baci, is the aforementioned print of “The Kiss”, centered on the wall at the end of the table where the chefs stood to present each dish. The only item adorning any of the walls in the room, Nichi told me the backstory behind this curatorial choice. “Baci means ‘kisses’ in Italian, and very quickly after I chose the name, I thought, ‘Well, what is going to go in a space like this dorm room that's hard to elevate?’. I immediately thought of the painting “The Kiss” by Gustav Klimt. That is a special painting to me because it was the painting that hung above my parents bed for many, many years”.  Looking up at the artwork from the spot in his room where he was zooming me from, he laughed, “I never talked to my parents about why they chose it—they're not from here, they're not Western, and I don't know why this art spoke to them or where they found it. But to me, it was just a representation obviously of love, but also of intimacy”. And indeed, the piece is oozing with intimacy; the two figures meld into one as the pair embrace, and luscious golds and greens and purples, colors rich with life, surround them. “The other really amazing part to me is that there's no eye contact between the subjects in the painting and the viewer. He's looking at her, and her eyes are closed as she takes the kiss. To me, it's so serene, like they don't care about what we think or that we're watching them; it feels like we’re almost intruding on their private space. And to me that just felt so special,” says Nichi.

Photo by Sungyoon Lim

Between the enchanting atmosphere, eloquent decor, and expertly executed anecdotal interludes by the staff, Baci comes across calm and collected on the surface, but Nichi tells me that there’s a healthy dose of disorder and spontaneity behind the walls of the dining room. “There's a lot of controlled chaos. I feel very much like a manager or a conductor of some sort, keeping my eye on the clock and making sure things are happening and coming out. But crazy things always happen anyways”. Case in point: Having arrived at Carlton a few minutes early to chat about article ideas, I witnessed a live menu adjustment as Nichi, after receiving word that a guest was bringing mojito mix, deliberated a last-minute run to acquire additional ingredients with his team. An hour or so later, once we were a few dishes and drinks into the night, the chefs delivered us perfectly prepared mojitos over ice adorned with sprigs of fresh mint, so tasty and smoothly introduced that no one would have been able to guess that they were a spontaneous endeavor—if not for the little ceramic mugs they were served in. The mug-mojitos felt appropriately representative of Baci as a whole; delicious, classy dishes with interesting backstories, served in a cozy and unapologetically authentic space stripped of the intimidating formal atmosphere of your traditional high-end restaurant.

As I walked out of Carlton carrying two feet of store-bought dried pasta in hand—an amusing gift from Nichi and the team in the name ‘journalistic integrity’—I remember being hit by an overwhelming wave of gratitude. The feeling I left Baci with that night was one that I still have trouble describing to the people I’ve told about the supper club. At a point in my life that has felt particularly turbulent, getting to sit down in the candlelit shoebox for a few hours filled with the most genuinely fulfilling conversation with (ex-)strangers was an opportunity I will never forget. It’s this emphasis on the feeling Baci imparts on its guests that Nichi is most intent on maintaining. 

“I guess my love language is a lot of gift giving. I just love giving people things and seeing them happy. Anytime we've done something tailored to a specific person, or a special additional course for someone—to me, those are the most memorable things. There's some famous quote about how people don't remember what you said, but rather how you made them feel. And I hope that that feeling lasts. Working in food service is unlike any other; it's one of the most honest reactions that someone can give you when they put something into their mouth or like you present something to them. I think I can read people pretty well, and when I see that sparkle in their eye, or a genuine ‘thank you,’ or a message later from that person—that really moves me in a way, and it’s what makes me continue doing this.”—

Photo by Sungyoon Lim

Photos and illustration by Macy Sinreich

In Defense of Gospel

Written by Sadie Hornung-Scherr

I was raised distinctly un-religious. There were no Sunday services, Bible studies, or youth groups for me and my brothers. We scoffed at organized religion and squirmed at any sort of holiday prayer. However, my secular upbringing was a sharp contrast to the world in which I grew up in. Rural Nebraska is steeped in religiosity and Christian value systems. I saw it in the prayers before football games, the veiled requests from teachers to find God, and the many attempts from my friends to get me to go to church. It never worked. I was righteously atheist, refuting even the smallest amount of religious truth. To me, religion inhibited progress and made fools of humanity. Then, I found the music of Tyler Childers, the Americana artist who was born again as a Gospel singer. 

Raised Southern Baptist, Childers is a Kentucky born bluegrass artist who writes songs about rural American culture. When Childers first entered the country music scene in 2013, his work was a study of the cycles of addiction that grip Appalachia, and he has been open about his own struggles with drug and alcohol abuse. However, Childers' most recent album, “Can I Take My Hound to Heaven?”, is a complete 180 from his previous work as the album was written after Childers' sobriety. “Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?” is a gospel album. On a song called “Universal Sound” from his early album Purgatory, Childers croons about moonshine, tobacco, and vice. On another early single “Nose to the Grindstone”, Childers relays the advice his father gave him to “keep your nose to the grindstone and out of the pills.” Childers later laments, saying, “Well, Daddy, I’ve been tryin’, I just can’t catch a break. There’s so much in this world I can’t seem to shake.” Childers’ newest album still references addiction and poverty, but now celebrates the other side of addiction, while still accepting the mistakes of his youth. On “Two Coats”, track 3 on “Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?” Childers says, “Two coats laid before me, an old and the new and I could have either of them 'less I do. One coat was ugly and terribly torn. The other, a new one and never been worn.” In this, Childers references Genesis 37:3, in which Joseph receives a coat of many colors from his father. This story has a long history in Appalachia. Indeed, Tennessean Dolly Parton sings about Joseph in “Coat of Many Colors.” For rural people, Joseph’s coat represents the thrift, grit, and humility that is uniquely definitive of Appalachia--the ability to make something beautiful out of nothing. In this context, Childers extols the baptismal nature of Christianity, the chance to be good again. Despite the poverty and addiction Childers has struggled with growing up in Appalachia, the church represents repentance and renewal. For communities that are systematically oppressed by drugs, poor education, and little upward mobility, “Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?” represents a celebration of a dying culture. Childers unashamedly displays pride for his upbringing while maintaining that progress can happen within our culture and on our own terms. For communities that have long been defined by outsiders, the ability to control our own futures, outside of coal or pharmaceutical companies, is extremely appealing. 

Presented in three acts, the Hallelujah, Jubilee, and Joyful Noise versions take the same eight tracks and put their own spins on the music. Childers himself has said the three versions represent the three parts of the trinity. In an interview with Silas House, Childer says, “Working with the same song three different ways is a nod to my raising, growing up in a free will Baptist church that believes in the Holy Trinity of the father, the son, and the holy ghost and what that means.” The Hallelujah version is classic little-white-church gospel one would hear at a Sunday service. Childers says it represents the Father: the basis and tradition from which the other two versions grow. The Jubilee version is more expansive, with background vocals and additional instrumentation. In this metaphor, it is the Son, representative of forgiveness and absolution. Jubilee is the act of growth and homecoming. Finally, the Joyful Noise version is the experimental version, ethereal and ambiguous, the Holy Ghost. Joyful Noise represents the future. It takes gospel where it hasn’t been before with less lyrics, beats where there was previously banjo, and sampled sermons; country music doesn’t have to live in a box of repetitive chords and stale lyrics. The Joyful Noise version of “Way of the Triune God”, starts with a sampled lecture on soliloquy before a New Orleans street band rises and crescendos as if they’re approaching the gates of heaven in joyful revelation.

The two standout tracks on the album are “Way of the Triune God: Hallelujah Version” and “Angel Band: Hallelujah Version”. In “Way of the Triune God,” Childers extols the community, salvation, and homecoming of organized religion: “Gimme that old time screamin' and a-shoutin'. Go up, tell it on the mountain. Faith too strong to be left doubtin'.” Here, Childers references the ebullient joy that Appalachia has found in Jesus. In rural communities where people live mostly solitary lives with little social interaction, church represents the gathering of community to celebrate a shared culture. Additionally, Childers celebrates the eminence of the land in the rural psyche. He describes that the land, as a concept, exists in the rural imagination in the same way the subway exists in New York. It is omnipresent. Our livelihoods, our cultural heritage, and our sustenance all exist in the land. In Appalachia, the hollers and hills represent their rich history, from the Hatfield & McCoys to the coal towns of the 20th century. On the same track, Childers makes direct reference to his past struggles with addiction, reminding us of the hope that exists in Christian repentance: “I don't need the pills you take just to feel the spirit movin'. Brother, I ain't slept in days all without the drugs you're usin’.” Childers is saying that the fulfillment middle America has found in opioids and alcohol can be found in our culture-–the land, the country choirs, and the gospel. You may think Childers is speaking just to Appalachians, but in “Angel Band,” Childers says that God, and the forgiveness of religion,  in whatever form, is for everyone: “There’s Hindus, Jews, and Muslims. And Baptists of all kinds. Catholic girls and Amish boys who’ve left their plows behind.” Although reductionist in his analysis of the religious disputes of the world, the point remains: there are second chances for everyone.

These facts are what make “Can I Take My Hounds to Heaven?” such a masterpiece. In one album, Childers departs from the pervasive and destructive ideals that limit Middle America, experiments with new methods of exploration, and claims that Appalachia needs progress while still celebrating his culture. In “Old Country Church” Childers ponders in fond remembrance the sinless freedom of his youth in the church, “As a small country boy how my heart beat with joy when I knelt in the old country church. And the savior above by his wonderful love saved my soul in the old country church.” Childers communicates in a familiar rural medium, displaying pride in his upbringing. In the lyric video for “Way of the Triune God: Jubilee Version”, Childers uses old home videos to display the ecstatic joy of religion in Appalachia. Parades, baptisms, dancing, and gospel choirs all celebrate the promise of Good Times ahead.

As a country artist, Childers shows a unique understanding of how country music has changed. Childers accepts that progress is needed in Appalachia while maintaining that change must come from within the culture. Childers critiques the ideals that have kept Appalachia stagnant on debut EP “Bottles and Bibles.” On “Hard Times”, Childers says, “My sweat and my wages they don't seem to weigh out. I'm gettin' more aches than I'm gainin' in gold. Whoever said you could raise you a family just a'workin' your ass off knee deep in coal?.” Childers, whose father was a coal miner, knows that deep societal advancements are necessary to the survival of Appalachian culture, yet mainstream country music aims to maintain destructive ideals in the name of outdated cultures of racism and homophobia. Country artist Morgan Wallen, who came under fire in early 2021 for his use of racial slurs, uses the prototypical country themes of trucks, cold beers, and blonde women to limit what rural American culture can be. For Wallen, propagating cultures of victimhood maintains the fear necessary for his work to thrive. Wallen’s work is indicative of growing anger within country music towards liberal ideals. Childers, on the other hand, challenges our idea of what Jesus looked like: “Just took a walk with Jesus. Just touched His nail-scarred hands. Didn't even bother her that He ain't a blue-eyed man.” Additionally, on his fifth album, “Long Violent History”, Childers talks about the inherent privilege he enjoys as a white man in the wake of the murder of George Floyd. On the title track, Childers says, “It's called me belligеrent, it's took me for ignorant but it ain't never once made me scared just to be. Could you imagine just constantly worryin'? Kickin' and fightin', beggin' to breathe?” In the theme of second chances, Childers asserts that there was a second chance in him reconciling racism with his own privilege. 

I am a girl from a hick town in Nebraska who has often struggled with the expectations placed upon me by my upbringing. Since moving to New York, I have oscillated between completely embracing the redneck allegations or repudiating all traces of rural culture left in me. Childers' music taught me that it’s okay to live with both. I can critique rural America while still celebrating the unique and dying culture of my family. I can question religion while still reveling in the banjos and country crooners I was raised on. I can celebrate the beauty of religion in rural America–the gospel choirs, the love of the land, and progress that slowly but steadily marches on.  

What to Wear While Skating to the Future: 2theFuture X Upper West Skates Pop-Up Shop Event Coverage

Written by Mac Jackson

Olive Louise Jenkins of 2theFuture and Chris Vidal of Upper West Skates. Film photo by Auden - @audenbarbour

2theFuture’s swimsuits, sweatsuits, t-shirts, leg warmers, and more made their way down a skateshop-turned-runway at a pop-up a few weekends ago on March 4th, a fashion show and opportunity to bolster your wardrobe that formed a four-hour party. 2theFuture bursts with vibrant color and personality, an artsy street style collection that embraces its wearers in the unmistakable art of Olive Louise. When Olive approached me for the second time to make a flier for one of their community events, I was thrilled– not just to illustrate her awesome clothing designs, but to have a fun arts event to look forward to attending. Olive is not just a talented designer, but a skilled marketer with a magnetic personality that brightens the wardrobes and lives of a swath of queer artists, skaters, musicians, and more. 

The pop-up shop was held in collaboration with Upper West Skates, whose doors welcomed many excited fashion and skate enthusiasts that evening. The event was decked out with a DJ and plenty of clothes; alongside boards and other skate materials, racks on racks of t-shirts displayed both the swirling, abstract, illustrative designs by Olive and the UWS logo. The highlight of the night was briefly postponed in an effort to scoot the shop’s front desk back and make room for a runway, causing some technical difficulties with the sound system wiring, but Olive handled the inconvenience seamlessly and charmingly. 

The designer took the opportunity to chat with the crowd and to thank all of the models and people involved with the show individually. They thanked Upper West Skate’s owner, Chris Vidal, for providing an awesome setting at which to show off and sell her creations. “After the show, come chat with me or any of the models, and go say hi to Chris!” Olive encouraged the crowd. Vidal cut in from across the room, “Yeah, and bring weed!” 

The place was comfortably packed, bodies lining the parallel walls and flushed back against clothing racks and skateboard displays. The scene resembled the energetic stacked crowdedness of many of Olive’s designs, which are kaleidoscopic mangles of arms, legs, faces, bellies, and boobs. When Olive had finished shining gratitude on the crowd, she asked, “Who am I forgetting?” Someone shouted in response, “yourself!” and the room erupted into cheers for the talented designer (and clearly a true friend to many). In no time the music was back to full volume, and the suspense had been built for a great runway show. 

As the sparkling models walked the aisle one by one, jean skirts, wife-beater tanks, hoodies, and swimwear took on lives of their own through 2theFuture’s alterations and screen-printed, cyanotyped, and linostamped images. The garments and the models were an unbeatable team, the clothing imbuing the wearer with an extra dosage of dashing confidence. They strutted, sashayed, spinned, and flipped down the makeshift runway, dazzling the spectators flanking them, propelled on by the DJ’s pulsing runway beats and the crowd’s claps, cheers, and giggles. 2theFuture’s eye-catching bright and bold color palettes saturated the ungendered looks, which modulated between casual and night-out-worthy. Each model was one of a kind, and showcased unique outfits with unique methods. Sporting a cherry red bikini top and board short combo, one model caressed themself as they walked, cooing, “What do y’all know about this?” to the cheering audience. 2theFuture’s popping patterns could make anybody look like the brightest person in a room– and having a string of people outfitted by 2theFuture illuminated the skate shop with a sense of celebratory queer confidence. 

The models processioned the aisle again at the end, followed by Olive in a cyanotyped jean ensemble consisting of a tube top, shorts, and leg warmers. They intended to exit out of the front door, but the show had drawn such a crowd that the exit was cluttered with spectators, so the models settled to gather at the end of the runway, hugging, smiling, and cheering for 2theFuture. The pop-up was a successful mission in what is clearly the larger agenda propelling 2theFuture’s production of wearable art– to empower people to enjoy themselves. Olive thanked all of her guests and models again, and reiterated their gratitude to Chris Vidal and his family at Upper West Skates. Vidal, a true laid-back skater, thanked the crowd for the fun and encouraged everyone to stay and hang out. “If you need me,” he said, “I’ll be at Jack’s” (the smoke shop down the block). He trusted the stylish and eclectic group of creatives that Olive had gathered together to, in his words, “do whatever the fuck you want.” 

Shop Olive’s Collection at https://welcome-2thefuture.com/clothes and visit Upper West Skates at 2768 Broadway, New York, NY 10025

Event Credits: 

2theFuture Team

Clothes: 2theFuture - @wearit2thefuture

Designer/Event Organizer/Fashion Show Choreographer: Olive Louise - @olivefromthefuture

2theFuture Stage Manager: Zora Navarre - @zora.jacoby

2theFuture Finance Person: Emily Bach - @emilyjbach

Event space

UWS - @upperwestskates

Chris Vidal - @foodrap

Models: Krystal - @jadeprinc3ss | Jarine - @212spagirl | Jes - @jes.vesconte | Feifei - @franceschoi_ | kb - @karlez | Giuseppe (Gigi) - @giuseppeguerandi | Riya - @riya.goel_ | Olive Louise - @OliveFromtheFuture

Photographers: Auden - @audenbarbour | AJ - @aj_photography_nyc | Anette - @99leigh

DJ: Elina - @elinaarbo

Clothes: 2theFuture - @wearit2thefuture

It’s Bacch: Steph Chow on Everything It Takes to Put Bacchanal Together

Written by Claire Killian

Photos by Will Park

Steph Chow is a Senior at Columbia. You can find her on instagram at @steph.fm and on streaming platforms under the name wilchai. She currently serves as Bacchanal’s co-President.

How did you join Bacchanal? 

So, the funny story is I was here for days on campus my senior year of high school. I realized that Bacchanal was, by a stroke of luck, the day before my Days On Campus. I got here a day early, I had nothing to do, I didn't really know people in the city, so I thought, ‘I guess I'm just gonna show up.’ So, I showed up, and it was the last Bacchanal that was on campus prior to this one, back in 2019, with SOPHIE, Rina Sawayama and Tierra Whack. I just sat on the lawns and I thought, ‘this is really cool.’ I've played music all my life. I started piano when I was four, and guitar when I was seven, and I was coming to Columbia to study philosophy and music. I knew I wanted to - I had always been playing, producing, and performing - but I knew I wanted to explore the music business. More of the back end of what it takes to put out commercial music and facilitate other people's creative expression, and of course, festivals like Bacchanal. I got involved in my freshman year. I was on the press team. It was super fun! Things shut down for Covid and there was a lapse. I wasn't super involved in the online Bacchanal, but I was still following along. Then, in junior year, we started coming back to campus. I was really involved in the performing arts scene. I produce, play guitar, and put out music under the stage name wilchai. Playback had done a feature on me on one of my songs called Deluge. I was still in a bubble, and then Bacchanal put up a listing for a new secretary, and I was like, ‘yeah, why not?’ It seemed like the perfect chance to get back involved after a long dormancy period. I jumped back on board around December or January of last year and shadow-learned the ropes. The main thing I did last year was helping with the on-campus portion of things. I was also playing Bacchanal with Christina Li. Then we had elections last year, and I ran for co-President. I'd gotten encouragement and also feedback on a lot of ideas about how to really make Bacchanal into a vessel for a community based around music rather than just this one-off concert - to really bring it back home to the ultimate goal of pushing forward culture and community through music. 

What specifically is your role within Bacchanal? What do you do for the club?

I'm the co-president along with Kofi Meighan (@fatherkofi on instagram). Our responsibilities are to get things in motion. It's largely leading our E-Board. We also work to create the vision and concept for what we want the concert, general body meetings and other event programming to look like, and what we want general body meetings and events to be like too. It tends to be a lot of facilitating, making sure everything goes right. Under the sphere of Bacchanal there's a lot of things that are delegated out to different groups. We have artist chairs who focus more on artist bookings, but Kofi and I have been super involved in that this year just because it’s fresh for everybody because we haven't had it on campus for such a long time. kofi and I spearhead what goes on and work with our e-board and everyone else down to our fantastic press team, publication Playback, design team and general body to execute. The biggest thing this year for me has been understanding the logistics of making an on-campus Bacchanal happen. Budget-wise, artist-wise, logistics-wise, with putting up a stage, signing contracts with artists, and getting in food vendors. Also making the general bodies more purposeful by inviting guest speakers like Grammy nominated producers or major labels - to having little activities and using Playback as a project to amplify people's writing. 

How would you describe the Bacchanal community?

That’s definitely one of the things that’s been most exciting for me this year, one of the best parts about being co-President, has been the ability to help shape and nurture the Bacchanal community. It's definitely a tight knit team. People are really passionate about music, but it's not just performers - it's people who simply  want to write about music, who want to talk about it, who know their favorite artist’s discography from top to bottom and want to express that love. We also have people who don't really know anything beyond their favorite artists’ first couple songs, and I think it's a really nice space for engaging in music in a huge variety of ways . Whether you’re a performer or a DJ who wants to play at one of our showcases, or someone who wants to learn more about how a concert runs, or someone who wants to write and interview artists on campus, there’s space for that at Bacchanal. I think it's been really fun to make a space for people to engage with music in a multitude of ways. 

How does Bacchanal choose the artists? What is your process? 

The process is largely driven by student sentiment, budget, and who is actually available. Obviously I can't disclose our exact budget, but having Bacchanal back on campus does mean that there is less money to go to artists just because of the nature of how this university runs. We have to be really, really scrappy with our budget, yet we try to book artists that we think will really please the taste on campus. There's a lot of students who are on the cutting edge of what's up and coming in music, which we really appreciate. We’re trying to book artists that satisfy our budget and cater to all the kinds of  interests on campus. It's a matter of reaching out to artist’s agents, major agencies, managers and going through a large list of who's coming up and who we know people like. After that, finding out what’s their quote range and if they’re available -  and then creating a cohesive lineup based on all those.

How does your team make the secret clues? Are they fun to do? Is it a lot of pressure? 

Those are super fun! We'll be in our group chat from the moment we know that we're booking artists, and we're throwing out a ton of different, fun ideas. We try to make them hard at first because people on this campus are really, really clever. This year there was definitely someone who got every clue. It's always a matter of looking through things that would be fun. We try to do lots of references to pop culture, whether it's like the Hailey Bieber thing, or the elemental thing for Bakar. We have fun with it, and make it something that people can talk about with their friends, and also to flex their own music knowledge a little bit. 

How hard is it for you all to keep the lineup  a secret?

It's definitely hard, but I think this year our E-Board has done a great job of keeping it on the down-low. The funny thing is sometimes we don't know exactly who the artist is going to be. People think that we know from the beginning of the year, but things change super fast. Sometimes we'll think an artist is locked in and ready to sign, but then something changes, whether their price goes up because suddenly they go viral, or the timing doesn't work out and they have been swooped up for a tour, so we always have just had the mindset of rolling with the punches. Because of that, we want to keep it close to our chest in case things change. Even if we tell somebody,  ‘it's X artist’ itt might not be that artist the next day. There have been some famous cases of other colleges booking artists and then them dropping out as late as three weeks before. A lot of it is just our team trying to prevent disappointment.

You have been with Bacchanal all four years of college, and have gone through four, very, very different Bacchanal experiences. What would you say your favorite memory is? 

I loved playing Bacchanal with Christina Li. Mm-hmm.  and opening. It's hard to beat that, it was a hugely enjoyable, fun and monumental experience for me. Honestly, one of my favorite experiences has been reviving the general body meetings and creating opportunities for people to get involved with music in whatever way they want. We had a really fun general body meeting a couple weeks ago where we played our version of music Jeopardy. It was a bit like Heardle, except in real life. That, I really enjoyed.We hosted a Bacchanal Bazaar in the fall, it was a flea market with student DJs, performers, and vendors all outside of Butler on the lawns. This can be a Ratrock exclusive - but there will be  Bacchanal supported DJs playing at a club off campus, which is not an official event of Bacchanal, but more of a result of a communal push to make things happen, and create moments to engage with music on a community level. Things like that, genuinely, have been my big highlight.

If you could have your perfect - no budgets, no conflicts - Bacchanal lineup, who would your dream lineup be? 

Off the top of my head, it would probably be Frank Ocean. I love jazz. If they could just raise John Coltrain from the dead and throw him out there, that would be amazing. I've always wanted to see Beyonce live. So it would be Frank Ocean, Beyonce, and John Coltrane. 

Do you have any musical red flags? Is there a certain artist, or a certain type of music, that's a red flag for you? Also, any musical green flags? 

I don't know about red flags. I don’t want to dump on anyone’s music taste. I feel like there are certain artists where they’re usually prefaced by, ‘oh, I know he has mad allegations, but I love him.’ That. It's like, okay, but why? For green flags, I love Dijon, and I've met a lot of people who like Dijon, who just have the best vibes recently, so that's gonna be my green flag. 

What kind of energy are you hoping to see  Bacchanal given it’s back on campus?

We really wanted it to be jubilant, high energy, and get people excited. I think, also, we're looking to have a space for people to relax and have fun, in a way that sometimes isn’t encouraged at Columbia, with everyone working really hard at a place that doesn't have a lot of large school-wide community events. It’s always been our goal to create community and a place for people to have fun. 

How will you, personally, be spending Bacchanal? 

I'll be working. Our call time for E-Board is 8:30 a.m., and I'll be at Low library getting things ready for the artists by 9:00. Once the music starts, though, I’ll probably be in the pits with everybody else. 

I know a bunch of other E-Board members are gonna be wearing our merch, which we're going to be selling on the ramps. The T-shirts got a lot of love this year, I'm so glad people liked them. Shout out to our student designers.

Who are you listening to? What’s on your playlist?

What's on my playlist? I've been listening to a lot of Dijon, a lot of Nick Hakim. I really love R&B, so those two are big for me. There’s this artist I love called Jonah Yano, who does a kind of jazz fusion. I'm also in my singer-songwriter era, I love Leith Ross and Lizzy McAlpine. Also, a lot of cool, chill instrumental music. There's a band called Sault. One of our playback writers, Ty Nagvajara, just wrote a great article on them. I've been listening to the Bacchanal artists a lot too - I've been studying up. All of these artists have been on my rotation for a while, so it's also super special for me to get to hear some of these guys.  Also, La India and Orion Sun. 

Is there anything that I haven't asked you, or that we haven't talked about that you want to say? 

I produce and I play guitar, and my stage name is wilchai. I put out a single in January, and  was featured on something in February. It tends to be like R&B meets Indie, and I'll have something coming out in April with another Columbia student singing on it.

Also, some last words about Bacchanal, I'm super excited. I hope everybody has a really fun time, and I'm super proud of our general body and E-Board for pulling together and making this happen. They learned on the fly how to get this to be on campus, how to take the feedback from students about what kinds of artists they'd like. They put in a lot of hours, and are completely passionate about it.

It’s Bacch: Dennis Franklin on Curating the Bacchanal Lineup

Written by Claire Killian

Photos by Will Park

Dennis Franklin is a Senior at Columbia. You can find him on instagram at @dennisfreee. He currently serves as Bacchanal’s co-Concert Chair.

Starting at the very beginning, how did you join Bacchanal? 

I joined Bacchanal in freshman year as a general body member. I was on the finance team, but I didn't have  much responsibility because of Covid. Originally we were trying to find sponsorships, but nothing ended up happening. Then, I wasn’t active in the club again until junior year. I was super interested in how it was working, because I was doing my own events at the same time, so I thought doing the same work on a bigger scale would be pretty cool. When board elections came around, I had been working at A&R which is very similar was finding artists doing  that sort of work, so I thought that doing Concert Chair would be super cool because it's a similar role in terms of looking for artists, reaching out to agencies, and whatnot. Since I had experience, I thought it would be a good opportunity to join Bacchanal. Then I got elected and went full force into it.

You've mentioned your role as Concert Chair. What specifically does that mean?

I am responsible for being the first point of contact for all of the agencies that we reach out to. In September we started reaching out to people, but in May, June, and July we started making our lists and thinking about what we want for the next year. We had our first meeting for this Bacchanal the week after elections happened in April last year, right after the last Bacchanal. That was good because we could really get in front of everything and have an idea of what we wanted. September is when we get our official budget, so we know how much money we're working with. From there, we start choosing  all the artists.Typically we’re working September through December, talking with the agencies and making a list of who they actually have available during our days and what their quotes are. Then, we make a ton of different combinations of people we think could work well together and figure out our offers from there.

When you say “artists  that work well together”, how do you decide on what sort of artists you're looking for, and what sort of overall vibe you want to curate?

At our first meeting we had the general body write a ton of names down on the board. Then it's kind of up to us at that point. We all really wanted to have a good variety of artists in terms of genre. We wanted a rapper, we wanted somebody who was more on the alternative side, somebody who was more dancey.  I think the best way to describe it is if I listened to them in a playlist and they went one after the other, would it be cohesive enough to where I wouldn't be like, ‘what? Why do these two people perform next to each other?’ I think we accomplished that. We had a lot of other options, but they didn't necessarily mesh as well. 

How do you, as the concert chair, handle all the pressure of what you do? Does it ever get to you?

Honestly, no, and I guess it's a selfish thing, but I feel like I have a good enough music taste to be able to pick good artists. I also listened to Pedro Damasceno (@pedrose on Instagram), who's the other concert chair. We both listen to a very wide variety of music, and I think that was really essential because there are a lot of people in the school, and maybe this is a general thing, but a lot of people have one specific music taste. They only listen to pop, they only listen to rap, they only listen to house. For example, if I only listened to rap, I would want all rappers, obviously, but you have to separate yourself from your own music taste and think about what everybody else wants. I listen to a lot of alternative and dance stuff, which, actually, everybody that we ended up getting, I had had on my mind from the beginning. Then, as a DJ as well, my core job is to try to introduce people to music across different genres.

Once you guys choose  the artists and everything is locked in, would you say that it's hard to keep it all a secret? Or do you find it easy? Do your friends beg for clues? 

A lot of friends were asking about it for sure. I didn't really tell anybody, because the thing is we also have to confirm the contracts, and they have to settle, so we didn't want to give people high hopes for something or another. Within the executive board, everybody is pretty solid on not telling anybody. The only issues we would have is we would have to go and talk to CCSC about different things and talk to different organizations on campus about particular things. In some cases we would have no choice but to tell them. Then they ended up telling some people, so, that was one of our fears, but other than that, it's not that big of a deal.

What is it like working with the other members of the Bacchanal community? Are  people mostly  from music-oriented  backgrounds? 

I'd say everybody has a type of musical background, or interest in the music industry and even music more generally. At general body meetings, it's mostly people who just really love music because as a general body member, you don't have that much responsibility. So, if you're at the meeting, it's because you want to see what's going on and have a part in the process. In this community, everybody loves music. We had a general body meeting last week and everyone was asking questions about the concert and this and that, which is really cool. On our E-Board, specifically, everyone really has a specialization on what they're good at. We have our finance people, our press people, and our concert chair. I think we all have our specialties. Music is a love for everyone, at least for me it really is. 

Over the last four years, you’ve seen many different iterations of Bacchanal. What would you say your favorite Bacchanal memory is?

I don't have one, honestly. One of the unique things about this year is that nobody who's an undergrad currently on campus, unless you're a fifth year student, has experienced an actual Bacchanal on campus. Last year was really good, but I didn't even get a ticket. What I do remember is while I was on campus during the day, on the lawns, everybody was having an incredible time, hanging out on campus. I feel like now that that is going to happen, in addition to having the actual concert here, it’s gonna be incredible. One of the unique things about nobody having experienced an on-campus Bacchanal yet has been the ability to make it into whatever we want it to be. Everyone on the E-Board has worked incredibly hard to try to add, in different events that we've done throughout the year, different t-shirts, etc. All this random stuff that we can do to encourage people to get on-board so that we can continue this tradition of Bacchanal. We're actually going to have a party next week on Thursday. It’s going to be a DJ showcase at Nublu, so that should be also fun. We have six DJs that are going to be a part of that. It's going be a boiler room format, which will be super cool. We're making sure that Bacchanal is not just thought of as a day-of-show. I know that there's a lot of other schools, USC is a good example, where they do events all through the year. They have their main thing, like Bacchanal, but then they also have concerts in the Fall. We're trying to do the same thing, where we're not just thought of as one day it's Bacchanal, and the rest of the time nothing. We want to be present and relevant throughout the semester, and throughout the year, so we can have a good presence on campus.

In terms of reviving Bacchanal, and it being most people's first traditional, on-campus Bacc, what sorts of experiences are you hoping that folks have? What sort of energy are you looking to create?

I presume that a lot of people don't know all three artists really well. My hope is that everybody just comes out of it knowing one artist a lot better than they did going in. One of the hard things for us is we don't get a very big budget for picking artists.It's funny because on all our Instagram posts, people will comment, ‘we want this person, we want this person,’ but the reality of it is we don't even have enough money to get the majority of artists that people request. For background, we basically get somewhere around $250,000 to pick artists, then of that $250,000, Columbia charges us around $150,000 to host it on campus. We’re left with a little bit above $100,000, which, for any artist who's in the top forty, is not feasible. We're left with a niche budget, but what that does allow us to do is bring in emerging artists who we think are going to be really big down the line. Everybody we've gotten now is in the early stages of their career, starting to get it going. Now people get to become a big fan of artists they may not have known before, and they're going to be able to see their growth.

If you could have your Dream Bacchanal line-up - no logistics, no financial constraints , you can bring people back from the dead - who would you have? 

There's a festival vibe that you want to go for, but this is so hard. You’re basically asking who my favorite artist is. As much as I would want very popular artists, I also really love the way that Bacchanal’s set up where we don't have very popular people. One of my favorite things is going to big festivals and focusing less on the headliners, but making a point of seeing the people in the middle of the lineup who are still growing. You get to attach to this fanbase that has already known about them forever. One group I saw early on was the Marias, at the time I had never heard of them before, but they're one of my favorite bands now. 

Being so involved in music, do you have any major music red flags? For example, if  somebody said to you, ‘I like this artist’, would that feel weird to you? Alternatively, any music, green flags? 

The only red flag I really have is if someone can only listen to one type of music. When I'm DJing and when people walk into the club, and they don't immediately identify with the music that's playing, and they’re like, ‘oh, it sucks, and nobody can listen to it.’ That definitely bothers me. To only listen to one kind of music just closes you off to so many genres that you could have potentially liked, but you didn't even buy into the idea of appreciating it. That's probably my only red flag. Outside of that, my green flags are the very opposite of that. If someone's open to going into any setting and experiencing something that's really cool, that  seems good. Dancing is also a big component, some music people will listen to music and just stand around and not do anything. If people dance, that's definitely a green flag for me. It shows they're engaged in what's going on, as opposed to just listening passively. 

As someone who makes music, and is really involved in the arts community on campus, who are some of the artists that are on your playlists? Who should people be on the lookout for?

My favorite artist right now is Nia Archives. A lot of people got big into Pink Pantheress and I think that she’s in a similar genre and of a similar style. It’s the genre of jungle, which is a little bit different from what Pink Pantheress started with. Nia Archive’s sound is just incredible, very fast paced, but melodic at the same time. Khruangbin should be on everybody's playlist. Khruangbin is my favorite band that has ever, and I think will ever, exist in life. Also, Anderson Paak. Always been a huge fan. Black Party, too, recently, and Bakar, honestly. Faye Webster as well.

How does your experience DJing and making music influence the work that you do at Bacchanal? 

I think critically about who we want more than anybody does, just because I love that I’m in the position to do that. I’ve been DJing my whole life, and I love the idea of DJing to put people onto new music, in the same way I'm able to do that here. Not just by DJing, but actually bringing in people, which I think is so cool. That's influenced me a lot. On the business side, being in A&R every single day, probably three to four hours a day, just looking for new artists, I basically got to do what I do here. I think that it's cooler to do it at Bacchanal because it’s name-brand people we’re working with, as opposed to people who haven't been discovered yet. 

Does that kind of work change the way that you listen to music?

Absolutely. I listen to music in a weird way, because I will usually go on radios and try to find the most random songs. I'm not looking for obscure songs, I'm just looking for songs in general, but a lot of times it's songs that don't have a lot of plays that tend to interest me. Then, on the A&R side of things, I listen to music for my actual job, so I have to listen from a money perspective, if that makes sense? Everything is about ‘can this person be marketed? Does this person have enough streams? Do they have the appeal for whatever audiences are going for?’ That sort of thinking influences a lot of what we do with the artists we look at for Bacchanal. They may be huge artists, but for the Columbia community, are they good? Are they the best artists to bring? Here, there's a big indie wave where a lot of people are trying to be more in line with that aesthetic, everything thrifted and this and that - and I'm the same way. Is X artist suitable for this crowd? Would they prefer somebody who's smaller, or a different genre? Trying to match the Columbia aesthetic to the artist aesthetic is super important as well. 

How will you be spending Bacchanal? 

I'll be working all day. 7:00 a.m. the Bacchanal team's going to get together, and then at 10:00 a.m. is when we start giving out wristbands for the concert.We'll be manning tables all around campus. At around 11:00 a.m. I have to go to the stage and meet all the artists for soundcheck. That will be for the next two or three hours, and then the concert starts. I'll be backstage helping the artists out with whatever they need. I think Kofi (@fatherkofi on instagram) and I are going to be out in between the sets and playing music for everyone. There's a point at which everything we do is left up to whatever the artist wants to do. We just need to hangout and be around in case they need anything. It’s probably the most terrifying and exciting part of the day. I think concerts, and events more generally, are so interesting because the people backstage have the exact opposite feeling as everybody else at the concert, because everyone else is so loose and they don't care about anything in the world going on, whereas we're like, ‘every detail needs to be perfect.’ I'm stressed out the whole time. If anything goes wrong, it's on us. 

Is there anything that I haven't asked you or that we haven't talked about that you wanted to say?

I'm super proud of our team, and especially since nobody's getting paid for this, it's so cool to see how coordinated we still are. Everybody's so excited about it. It should be a good day. Like I said, we have the follow up party next Thursday, which will be cool, and everyone should check it out.

It’s Bacch: Sophie Chen on Playback and the Music Community on Campus

Written by: Claire Killian

Photos by Will Park

Sophie Chen is a Junior at SEAS. She is currently the editor-in-chief of Playback and the Tech Chair of Bacchanal.

Starting at the very beginning, how did you join Playback?

I had an online NSOP for Covid. So, I was at home and I reached out to my orientation leader and said, ‘I like music, that's one of my major interests,’ and she suggested that I join Bacchanal, so I just followed them on Instagram, as many do. Then they published their application to be a staff writer for Playback, which I didn't realize at the time, but it was very new. I was one of the first writers, and it was like a pretty big cohort. I was a writer for maybe a year, and then I noticed that it was kind of hard to get it off the ground, especially during the Zoom year. It was around then that I applied to be the editor. After that, I also applied to be the tech chair on the Bacchanal E-Board. So now I have two jobs. 

Specifically with Playback, joining so early on, how has it evolved and changed through the years?

At the beginning, it was people who had already been involved in Bacchanal, and with the Bacchanal  community on campus, who subsequently joined Playback. Then the year after that, there were freshmen on campus again, and they were really excited about joining.There were a lot of them, which was amazing. I feel like that brought a really new energy to the group, but it also brought a lot of people, ideas, and freshmen. Which is amazing, but it also made things complicated as an editor, because everyone had so many ideas. However, we got a lot of content out, lots of very trendy and diverse music tastes, which was awesome. We also got more consistent publication meetings, in-person, which was amazing. 

How would you describe the Playback community? 

I think we have a huge diversity of backgrounds, as they pertain to music. We've got people who really love TikTok pop-culture - everything to do with music in that way. Then we've got people who have a very niche taste, or have some personal involvement with a music scene of a particular place or culture. You can't find two people at Playback who have the same taste and perspective. I think our writers get out of Playback what they put into it. There are people who don't come to any meetings and they just send in pieces, then there are some people who maybe don't feel inspired to write as much, but they come to every meeting and they're participating. Involvement can be very free flowing. 

When did you realize music was something you were interested in, and really passionate about? Something that you wanted to be involved in?

I didn't really have a personal music taste until maybe middle school. I was raised in a very organic, granola, way - You know the way - Portland, OR. I didn't know what Disney Channel was. I didn't know why Taylor Swift was on a poster in the lunchroom - like, why is she offering me salad options? In middle school, I just started listening to, I would say, pop, rap, whatever I came across, really. I discovered that I could go on Spotify and I could just click something and it would play for me. I was like, ‘I don't have to wait for something to come on the radio and be like, hmm, I hope I hear it on the radio again!’ That was wack . I didn’t realize that you could go out and proactively find the music, you don’t have to just wait for it to come to you.When I got to high school, people were listening to music more, and I learned more about my own tastes through that. I became really into hip-hop, and all the variety that there is within that genre. I had a really big Playboy Carti phase, had a big Young Thug phase, and it was all very individual. I wouldn't say that I was in a music community , so when I came to Columbia, I realized that being in a community that loved music would be awesome. 

What's going through your head when you listen to a piece of music?

Rhythm and melody are probably my top criteria. I like something with good production, lots of chords, something very rich. I appreciate that especially in the dramas that I listen to, like hip-hop, pop, alternative pop, even like some pop-rock and alternative rock - the rhythm of vocals and percussion or like the things that kind of draw me to that.

Who are you listening to right now? Who is on your playlist? 

Obviously I've been listening to Doechii. Because of Bacchanal, and because I was involved in the process, she’s been on my playlist for a while now. Maude Latour just dropped a new song, which I really, really like. In New York, there's a big underground scene that I dabble in. So I would say one of the artists that I like most is POLO PERKS. It's really cool that we're in New York, and like an artist that I like is just hanging out in the same city, doing events and all that. I feel more connected to his music in that way. I just found a random post punk band called Deeper. 

Do you have any major music red flags? Like, if somebody listens to a certain artist, or listens in a certain way, it doesn’t feel right to you. On the other hand, any music, green flags? 

I would say if your favorite rapper is 21 Savage or Drake, that is a red flag to me. I would say just having a unique music taste is really appealing. I don't see why anyone would want to not have their own music. It shows that they went out and looked for it. I believe that what happens upon us culturally totally counts as who we are, but I also love an individualized sense of music .

What is your happiest and/or coolest Playback memory? 

I think generally, just reading a piece that one of our writers sent, and I'm like, ‘oh yes, this is it, you killed it! I hear you, and you thought this through.’ I love all the cool topics that they write about. It’s a great feeling to help our writers express their ideas. As an editor, I don’t consider myself an arbiter of quality, or anything like that. I can do grammar, and believe that two heads are better than one. I love getting to be the person to tell them that their work is amazing. 

If you could have your perfect Bacchanal lineup - like no financial constraints, no logistics, you can bring people back from the dead if you want - who would you have? 

I would put Frank Ocean in there, maybe not for me, but for the homies. If Young Thug was free and willing to come to my festival, I would certainly have him. Also, Phoenix. 

What kind of energy are you looking to have at this year's Bacchanal? 

Tongues out. I want people to get super high energy for Bacchanal, especially for Doechii. She's super cool. I've been listening to her forever, I was so happy when she signed for us. Then there’s Bakar, you know, the people who are like, ‘oh, I don't really listen to hip-hop.’ I want to see them vibing and satisfied. He's a cool guy. He's fun. He's our age pretty much. Actually, all these artists are relatively close to our age, which we don't really consider that often. I want people to be wild, with lots of happy energy, because I feel like everyone in Columbia is waiting to just be happy. 

Is there anything that I haven't asked you or that you wanted to talk about that we haven't gotten to?

Nope! We’re all set.

It’s Bacch: Mayce Tomlin on his Bacchanal Performance, Where He’s Been, and Where He’s Going

Written by Claire Killian

Photos by Joshua Wang

Mayce Tomlin is a Junior at Columbia College, and will be performing as the featured student artist at Bacchanal 2023. You can find him on instagram at @maycetomlin and on streaming platforms under the name Mayce Tomlin.

Starting at the very beginning, can you tell me a bit about how you got into music? Did you come from a musical household? 

I don't consider myself to come from a musical household. I'm the only one really, but my mom is also a fashion designer. I'm not the only artist, but I'm the only musician. Nobody else in my family can play instruments, but my parents were always big supporters of me getting involved in different things. So, from a young age, they put me in different things. I started off with drums probably at nine or ten, and that was my first exposure to making music. I'm just one of those people that tries things. I picked up drums, I liked it, I can play a little bit of piano because we have one in my house, and I have a little bit of self-taught guitar. Then it kind of transitioned into producing, making beats, and then eventually ended up in rapping.

How old were you when you started to produce? 

I started making beats, just messing around with it, probably in seventh or eighth grade. Then I started taking it seriously as a freshman in high school - where I would put in real hours. 

Who were your musical influences, the artists who inspired you to start?

It's hard to pinpoint, there are so many. It's funny though because, in terms of producing, I'm not sure that I have anyone I can point to, but from a rap perspective, there’s definitely a couple albums where I was like, ‘these are the albums that made me want to rap.’ The Sun's Tirade by Rashad, Chance of Rapper’s Coloring Book was another one, Logic’s Incredible True Story. A lot of albums that came out around my freshman year of high school. Yeah. Those albums made me think, ‘hmm, I could probably do this.’ 

Did making music change the way that you listen to music?

That didn't start to happen until more recently. I don't know why it happened, but I'm at a point now where I find it - unless it's something that I'm really into - I find it hard to just turn on the radio and enjoy it, you know what I mean? I start analyzing it. I don't know when that started happening, but it's a more recent thing. People try to send me music and put me on new stuff and I'm just like, ‘ah, I could have made this.’ You know what I mean? I will say it, it's harder to enjoy music just for what it is - but that's also because I'm competitive.

Who are you listening to right now? Who are some of the people who are on your playlist, who you think should be on other people's radars?

Lots of EST Gee lately. SoFaygo a little bit. I'm kind of all over the place. Don't clown me - Lizzy McAlpine. That album has me in a choke hold right now.

When you’re on stage and you're performing, at Battle of the Bands or elsewhere, what's going through your mind? Where’s your head at when you’re onstage?

When you're on stage, sometimes it's like you’re not at all, because there's a bunch of people watching, but you feel oddly alone. You see people, and you see their faces, but they don't really register as real people. I was talking to one of my friends and she was like, did you see me? I was in the front row!’ And I had to be like, ‘I did not see one time.’ I saw the video playback though, and she was smack in the front row right, in the middle. I must have looked at her multiple times, but you kind of just black out and go into a mode, it's like autopilot. I would say too, in terms of what I feel at this age,  I don't really get nervous either. I'm also just not a nervous person either. For football games and stuff, I don't feel that way before games. Then when I get on stage, it's more of just trying to be myself. It’s fun. I'm much calmer in my day to day, which was funny, reading.  people's interpretations of my performance from Battle of the Bands. It was like [a campus publication] implied I incited a riot. I was sent that article by a friend, where they implied that I told people to smoke weed and trample people. I was like, ‘whoa, whoa, first of all, nobody said anything about weed.’ I had to get it changed too, because they put that in the same paragraph as the part with all my teammates there. Had my teammates not been involved, I would have just left it because all press is good press, but now it’s a group issue. I had to get it taken down for the team. 

You are a full-time Columbia student, you are on the football team, and you are also managing this whole music career, how do you avoid burnout? 

I don't really plan that far in advance. People always assume that I have a schedule. Lately I've just been doing things as they come. I have a calendar now, though, which is a new 2023 thing for me.  It's usually just a list of things in my mind that need to get done, and I prioritize it based on what’s due and when. I think other than that, I kind of just get lucky, there's really no rhyme or reason to it, which is hilarious. People always assume that my work is really complex, and I'm scheduling and all that, but it’s much less structured. 

Are your teammates a big part of your community? Are they a major support system for you?

Well, it's funny because when I talk about it I call them my teammates, but I think we're just friends first. We spend a lot of time together, even outside of football, they would've been at Battle of the Bands anyway just because they're my best friends. In terms of being a support network, they're definitely very supportive. They play my music in the locker room sometimes, and they’ll make jokes and quote my lyrics back to me, and I'll be like, ‘is that me?’ It's fun, I definitely do appreciate it. 

After you won Battle of the Bands, what was going through your head? Were you on top of the world? Was it an amazing feeling, or did it just feel like it's not real?

This is gonna sound cocky, but like it didn't feel any different because I just assumed that I was going to win. I went into it knowing I was going to win. So, when I won, it was more so a confirmation of what I already knew. I would say that I felt the best the day before and the day of, then like the next couple of days I just felt a bit like, ‘all right, onto Bacchanal.’ 

When people listen to your music, is there any particular experience you want them to have? Any particular way you want them to feel? 

Generally, I want to leave that up to them. I make music that I'm feeling, and if it resonates, it resonates. Today's music industry space can feel like it’s just about making songs specifically to make songs as a business, as opposed to as an art. I could churn out Top 100 billboard hits all day, but it's like, is that inspired? Is it fun? No. I just make whatever I make, with my music at least - producing is a different ballpark. In my own music though, I just make what I want to make and it'll find its audience, whoever needs to hear it, or wants to hear it, will - and if you don't like it, you're not invited.

How is production different? where does it deviate? 

It's different because you're more a work-for-hire. There are places where you can put your own influence into it, and you're like, ‘all right, this feels like me,’ but at the end of the day, I'm not gonna give a beat I would make for myself to Future, because we are very different artists. There's a bit more of a compromise in terms of what you want people to get out of what I make. I would say, when I'm making my own music, I don't go in with a goal, but when I'm producing, especially nowadays because I'm producing for other people more, I will go in with more of a goal. I would say it's a little bit different. It's more structured. 

Since winning Battle of the Bands, how have you been preparing for Bacchanal? 

Mostly just messing with the set list. I try not to overthink. People are always like, ‘are you rehearsing?’ And I'm like, ‘yeah, a little bit,’ but I also want it to feel natural when I get up there. I don't want to get up there with everything rehearsed, because then it just feels like you're playing a role. So, I've just been kind of messing around with my set list, tweaking some of the little mixes and stuff, because I have different mixes for when I perform, I’ll lower the main vocals, because I want people to hear me rap, instead of just playing the song. It's like just doing little clean-up jobs.

Do you have your outfit picked out?

Loosely, loosely. My brother has a brand called Uptown (@uptownpgh on instagram) and he just released these varsity letterman jackets, and they're really cool. I probably would've worn one anyway, but he told me - he sent it to me - and he was like, ‘you have to wear this on stage.’ He's a year older than me. He plays football at Boston College. 

What kind of energy are you looking to bring to the Bacchanal lineup? What do you want to contribute?

Energy. Just energy. It's been a running joke of mine for the past three weeks that I was like, ‘stage dive, stage dive, stage dive, stage dive.’ I'm not going to do it. I'm trying to talk myself into it, but I'm not going to do it because it's concrete underneath. I can't afford that right now. I just want people to have fun. Yeah. I hate concerts where everyone's standing around. I want it to feel like you're a part of it. 

Over the last couple of years there have been like a ton of different versions of Bacchanals, and this is the first time that it’s coming back to campus in a while. Do you have any of your own personal favorite Bacchanal memories?

Well, last year was my first one, because the year before that was Covid. Last year was cool. It was a good time. I think it's the people that make it so fun, even if there was no structure to it, like if Columbia just gave us the day off and there wasn’t a concert, it would still be as fun without the music, without all scheduled events. I think my favorite part of it was seeing all my friends. I bounced around from friend-group to friend-group all day. That was cool. 

Last question: is there anything that I haven't asked you, or that hasn't come up, that you wanted to mention?

Well, that is a great thing to plug, but yesterday I dropped an album. It’s called Who Else But Us. I'm gonna be performing a couple songs from that at Bacchanal. Then just a bunch of other little things. I'm making moves right now. I can't talk about it too much, but I have some very exciting things planned.

A Night at the Garage with Level III Collective

Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg.

Written by Macy Sinreich

On a shockingly pleasant Saturday night smack-dab in the middle of winter midterms season, I found myself in Lower Manhattan in a safety-pinned mini skirt and a sheer tank top. I stood outside of 393 Broadway in the cold concrete cityscape listening to the muted thumping of bass that was about to become a whole lot louder. 

Just a handful of hours prior, I had been camped out in Butler library trying (and failing) to read Pride and Prejudice, when I received a slack message offering up the opportunity to attend “Open the Garage!” that night. I immediately recalled a conversation held over a spontaneous group lunch the previous weekend in which Isaac, a member of Level III Collective who goes by the DJ name Mesa (@mesa.wav), mentioned an upcoming event the group was hosting at a lit-up studio space in the Lower East Side. In a moment of spontaneity, I took the ticket and got some friends on board with no idea of what lay in store, just eager to escape the pit of studying that had engulfed me all week.

People were encouraged to approach the DJ booth from all angles to feel the music and energy. Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg

And escape I did. Stepping through the doorway of Lume Studios felt like entering a portal to a different world. I found myself enveloped in a haze of blue and purple light as I made my way through the mirror-lined entrance. I felt as if I was looking at a character in a Daft Punk music video or the set of some Blade Runner-esque sci-fi film as I watched my reflection entering the space, eyes wide, taking in the flood of stimuli around me. Moments later, we turned into the main room- the “garage”, although this was far from your dad’s rusty old barn. Visuals covered every inch of the room- a life sized three-dimensional optical illusion of pulsating dots, glitchy collage-like videos featuring a rotating Level III logo captivated, and fluid cloud-like color fields transformed the plain white walls into something simultaneously dystopian and ethereal. Clothing racks featuring pieces designed by the artists @diordova and @jude.fairchild occupied one corner of the dancefloor, sharing the space rather than distracting from it. A wall divided the central room and the smaller back room where the sound and projections were still present, but softened just enough for guests to stand back and socialize or to ask for a drink (or several) at the open bar. 

And then of course, there was the music, an amalgamation of subgenres of garage, house, techno, and a host of other styles outside of the mainstream club music you might expect from your average NYC night out. At the center of the main room, the DJ booth was clearly the heart of the event- an intentional decision made to create a more immersive and engaging environment, according to DJ Dennis Free (@dennisfreee). Dennis, one of the cofounders of Level III and a central organizer of “Open the Garage!”, described the philosophy behind the collective’s music selection:

@dwellsnyc spinning house, techno, and much more at Level III Collective’s Saturday Sessions. Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg

“I could play a ton of top 40 songs and that would probably be going great… but that’s not that interesting, because I’m just doing stuff that I know is already gonna work… I think that my favorite thing right now is being able to bring people into sonic spaces that they would normally not want to engage in. Like I know a lot of the people the other day had never really listened to a lot of garage, techno, house and stuff, but we did it in a way that I felt was more digestible, I suppose. So people could still have a good time… we’re trying to create that type of space where you can be a little vulnerable for a second, go into a genre that you don’t necessarily know, and then you can vibe to it. That’s the community we’re trying to build up, is people who are completely open to new sounds”. 

@nogismyname putting on a high-energy set. Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg.

As someone who could not tell you the difference between genres like grime and speed garage, I definitely felt the spirit of openness that Dennis characterized. Despite not being intimately familiar with a majority of the sounds that played during the event, I found myself completely absorbed in the music. While the occasional hit- take PinkPanthress and Ice Spice’s “Boy’s a liar pt. 2” or Drake and 21 Savage’s “Rich Flex” for example- punctuated each of the sets, the energy that filled the crowd was constant and powerful throughout the entire night. There was no shortage of movement, no loss of momentum; the music carried the night. The studio itself, with its projections and unique division of space, helped foster an atmosphere that allowed people to focus on the music and the dance, and to switch to a different area if they wanted a break to talk and sip. 

@zanonkosi bumping afrobeats and techno vibes at Level III’s Saturday Sessions. Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg.

This setup somewhat mirrors the blueprint of European nightlife that Dennis spoke enthusiastically to me about, one in which people come first and foremost for the music, and can move to a smoking room inside the venue if they aren’t dancing; “I think in New York there isn’t that same connection, people are just standing there on their phones, doing everything they wanna do in the same spot that they should be dancing. So we’re trying to flip that, but it’s a slow process for sure, because it’s not as big of an experimental community in New York as maybe other places. But we’re trying to find it,” he explained. 

The crowd certainly seemed receptive to this format, perhaps resulting from the diversity of the attendees. In contrast to previous parties hosted by Level III, “Open the Garage!” had more non-Columbia guests than ever, probably thanks to a combination of word of mouth, TikTok advertising, and the overall momentum that the collective has built since its inception. I had a conversation with an extremely well-dressed Fashion Institute of Technology student after recognizing a tattoo artist’s work on her arm; my friends ran into several people who they had gone to high school with; this was far from an insular Columbia clique party. People were there because they wanted to be there, a welcome shift towards the type of community the collective is trying to build; “[We’re] trying to stay away from [affiliating with Columbia] and just be an independent organization. We do happen to go to Columbia, but that’s secondary”, says Dennis. 

Dova sporting one of his own designs on a white polo. Photographer: Rommel Nunez, @rommelnunezg.

Dova, one of the aforementioned vendors, echoed this sentiment about the crowd and the type of environment they shaped at the event. “New York was very welcoming, and people were very eager to come up to me and meet me. Which was actually something I was worried about, because I was having so much fun dancing in the crowd that I wanted to still be approachable. I had to go calm down and throw myself against the wall”. A childhood friend of Dennis, Dova flew all the way from California to participate in “Open the Garage!”, where he sold clothes with airbrushed graphics, mostly of cartoon and anime designs (a personal favorite of mine was a white t-shirt boasting a large image of Bugs Bunny), which can be bought online through his instagram (@diordova). Selling based on a sliding price scale in an effort to make his products affordable, he even gave gifts out to those who paid for things on the higher end of the scale, something that his online business format is usually a barrier to. Dova expressed his appreciation for what in-person selling at such an immersive event brings to him and his brand; “I definitely have a strong connection to the nights where I sell things and give them from hand to hand- that exchange. It definitely feels a lot more fulfilling than an online order. So that’s why I stay as active as I can with events in-person, and it was a blessing to be able to go to the East Coast and participate in something as special as Open The Garage!”.

The visuals, layout, music, and vendors made Level III’s most recent endeavor a truly unique event for everyone involved. “Open the Garage!”’s undeniable success is a strong sign of the potential that the collective has in the future. Formed just a few years ago in December of 2020, the momentum that the group has built so far is sure to grow even faster and stronger. With their next event being planned for late April- possibly a laid-back rooftop experience, I was told- the collective is excited about their prospects. “Especially after that last one, I think a lot of people caught on. We had a lot of other music-oriented groups reaching out and trying to see if we could collab on events, and there’s definitely going to be a lot of opportunities in the future for it,” says Dennis. The message is clear: Level III Collective is not just breaking into the scene, they’re busting through it with refreshing momentum- and they’re ready to take those willing to join them on their ascent to another level.

Level III Collective can be found @levelthreecollective on Instagram and TikTok

Eva Brander Blackhawk

Written by Taylor Elizabeth Bhaiji 

Eva Brander Blackhawk is a junior in Columbia College studying economics and anthropology. She is of the Western Shoshone Tribe based in Nevada.. Eva currently serves as treasurer  for the Native American Council (NAC) at Columbia. She lives in Indigehouse, where she helps lead the application process in choosing the Native students who will live in the house. Eva uses collage art as a way to explore the many facets of her identity as well as the complexities of issues that our generation is forced to face, such as climate change and systemic racism.

On a chilly Thursday morning, Eva Brander Blackhawk answers my phone call with an enthusiastic hello. Her energy radiates despite our virtual connection, and we immediately jump into conversation. Through our hour-long chat, we take a deep dive into her artist work that reveals her identity as a woman, environmental activist, young adult, and Native American. 

When asked about the role art plays in her life, Eva emphasizes the significant part that art plays in exploring and understanding the different facets of her identity that often complicate her self-perception. She explains that every aspect of her identity may not be so apparent in her art pieces or serve as the centerpiece of her artwork, but her art is inextricably linked to who she is. 

Despite her experience, Eva is hesitant to call herself a native artist. She grew up in Connecticut, very far from her tribe. Her father is Native American, but her mother is from Denmark. As a result, she doesn't always feel the most connected to her Native culture. Eva notes, however, that “we should be able to be an artist in whatever way we want without expectations whether we decide to include all parts of our identity or not.” 

Though she is Native American, she has grown up in majority white spaces. She believes that art opens a door for her to share her perspective and explore her identity. Eva states that “I am often overlooked as a Native woman, but my art allows me to override these limitations.” She believes that art is a tool for processing, and in her life, she uses it as a way to cope with her daily experiences and find a way to synthesize her thoughts into artwork. Eva describes art “as a deeply human activity; it’s something we can all share, so for me, art is a way to build community and start conversations.” 

Eva believes that “we are in this age where we are constantly reminded of this impending doom caused by humans that has led to climate change, pandemics, racial oppression and globalization. We are left treading water hoping to not drown from all of this ominous information.” She is constantly asking herself questions about what to make of our government, how does her Native American identity fit into the future of our nation, and what does it mean to be a woman right now. Luckily, art has become an outlet for her to process today’s world, to reflect on the past as well as envision the future.

Eva’s main medium is collage, which she describes as a process of creating small unique worlds that allow her and her viewers to envision how they want the world to look. Collage can either serve as a form of escape or blueprint for a better place. She first encountered collage in her senior year of high school. She says that she was captivated by Life magazines from the 1960s that her school had. “I saw a repetition of women being objectified and placed in a box as the ‘housewife,’ and I saw little to no indigenous representation. These are still issues that we see in the popular magazines of today.” She is interested in where our collective consciousness as a society has progressed and what has remained the same.

Eva’s creative process begins with a stack of 1960s Life and National Geographic Magazines. Over the years, she has collected folders full of images that she has pulled from these magazines. When Eva makes collages, she goes through her collection to find images that speak to her at the moment, then she finds a theme that emerges across all the images. She reflects on the types of images she often collects and uses: “I always use nature imagery, but the 60’s magazines often add some satire to my work, especially in terms of gender. The magazines are full of housewife ads such as how to please your husband.” She noticed cigarette ads were particularly gendered by making a cigarette look more masculine or feminine depending on who it was being marketed to. “As a woman, I find it interesting to look at these ads and examine the extent to which the world has both changed and not changed since the 1960s.”

When discussing the content of the magazines, Eva emphasizes that she has struggled quite a bit with the fact that there aren't really Native Americans in the magazines. She notes that she has only found three ads including Natives in the hundreds of magazines that she has looked at over the years. 

However, one of her recent projects utilizes the few images of Natives that she found. One Life magazine reported on the 19-month long Occupation of Alcatraz by Native Americans in the late 1960s and early 1970s. During the occupation, Native American people from all different tribes came together and occupied Alcatraz Island under the Treaty of Fort Laramie that says that unused federal land must be returned to the Native Americans. Eva says it was a momentous moment in history for Native Americans that made national news. “Even the fact that it was covered in Life magazine is amazing because that's something that rarely happens for Native Americans.”

Eva observes that narratives about indigenous people often place them in the past. “With the Alcatraz piece, I wanted it to be spacey and futuristic. It's a little unclear if the images are from this planet or another. In the news today, we hear so much talk about space travel and colonizing other planets, but I think that’s an issue that needs to be viewed from an Iindigenous standpoint. To me, it also very much relates to climate change and globalization. How do our identities change when we're in unfamiliar and strange places? How do you maintain cultural integrity when settling in these foreign locations?”

Eva usually shares her art with her friends and family through her Instagram account. @Evascollectionofart. She explains that art is something that she has done more for herself rather than as something to show to an audience. Eva reveals that “I'm hesitant to fully claim the title ‘artist’, but it's something I love to do.” 

Eva tells me about one interaction on social media that left her speechless: “I had a crazy moment on Instagram when Patricia Norby, the first Native American curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, messaged me on Instagram and bought a collage.” Patricia Norby has opened a lot of doors for the Indigenous community at Columbia. Recently, she invited the members of NAC to help on the new Water Memories exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and they were given credit by having their names on the wall text of the exhibit. Eva is very grateful for the work Patricia does and her repeated kindness and mentorship. 

When asked about Indigenous spaces on Columbia’s campus, Eva could not think of any spaces on campus for Indigenous students other than Indigehouse. That being said, Eva emphasizes that “the indigenous community on campus is very strong and is made up of incredible students and has had such a great impact on me. My Indigenous friends have  helped me find confidence in my identity and I honestly don’t know what I would do without them.” 

Beyond just the students, Eva does bring up the issue of limited Indigenous faculty and how that plays a role in the lack of art space for Indigenous students. She explains that it is hard to find Indigenous mentors, much less Indigenous art mentors that can help support young Indigenous artists. Eva studies anthropology in order to study Native American history and issues, and she has been particularly grateful to  Professor Audra Simpson. She emphasizes that Professor Simpson has been incredibly helpful in her journey through college. Eva is currently taking Professor Simpson’s seminar on Indigenous Feminisms, which she highly recommends. 

When asked if she felt that the Columbia community supported its Indigenous students and their culture, she was quick to respond with “No, not really.” She notes the excitement in the Indigenous community surrounding the approval of Indigehouse that happened just this year even though NAC originally applied for the brownstone in 2015. Eva explains that before Indigehouse, it was difficult to access adequate meeting space around campus. This is the first time the indigenous community has had a designated space on campus where they can connect with each other and hold events. 

However, Eva passionately states that the Columbia administration itself does little to nothing to support the indigenous culture. The indigenous events that happen on campus are almost solely organized by the students, although supplemented by  Multicultural Affairs. 

Eva hopes to see a department specifically for indigenous studies one day. Right now, the university only offers a major in ethnicity and race studies with a specialization in indigenous studies. Compared to other Ivy League schools, Columbia falls short in their support  of their indigenous students at all. Eva’s father is a professor at Yale, where they host a week-long show called Yale Indigenous Performing Arts Festival to celebrate indigenous art. 

At Columbia, there is little comparable support for the indigenous community. For instance, the Indigehouse budget for the entire academic year is only a couple hundred dollars . With that amount of money they struggle to afford  snacks for meetings and new furniture  to furnish the house. Eva emphasizes that they are working very hard to grow their presence on campus, but she doesn’t think that this effort should completely be put on the shoulders of the students. She says:“We need more faculty that can support us, we need a more representative curriculum, we need more indigenous students!”

Eva has hope that the student body can bring awareness to the indigenous community, culture and issues. She believes that the administration will do nothing unless the students pressure them into it. “The biggest thing the student body can do is educate themselves on indigenous issues and listen to their fellow indigenous students to learn more about our culture and the issues we face. The student body should be having more uncomfortable conversations about important indigenous issues, because until we face these problems, nothing will change.”

Please check out the indigenous organizations that we have on campus! We have Native American Council (NAC), Mālama Hawai’i, and Indigehouse. Look out for events for Native American Heritage Month, which is this month. Mālama Hawai’i has a lot of performances throughout the year. We have the powwow in the spring. The best place to follow the indigenous community and see what they are up to would be on Instagram. 

Eva Brander Blackhawk’s Instagram: @evascollectionofart

Native American Council Instagram: @nativeamericancouncil

Mālama Hawai’i Instagram: @malamahawaiicu

KicK iii as Declaration of the Queer Body

Written by Korrin Lee

Alejandra Ghersi’s musical catalog under the name Arca is and has been revolutionary both musically and corporeally. Arca’s body of work thus far is unarguably queer, from the lyrics in “Piel” to the single “Nonbinary” to her unapologetic presence as a Venezuelan trans woman. Combining sound and visuals, KicK iii creates a queer mode of existence that encapsulates just a fraction of what it means to resist being.

Arca is a multitude of things—a collection of self-states, or distinctly different versions of oneself, that come together to create music that exists across genres, without bounds. Arca’s five-part electronic epic traverses these self-states with each entry into the Kick universe that Arca has carefully crafted since the release of KiCk i in 2020. The Kick universe embodies transformation and the process of becoming, with KiCk i coinciding with Arca publicly coming out as transgender. The name “kick” in all its different capitalizations comes from the prenatal kick that serves as the first instance of individuation from the parent. The following four albums were released consecutively over four days in late November of 2021, each album exploring different genres and moods, ending with the introspective piano of kiCK iiiii

Arca, Courtesy of unax lafuente

KicK iii is a jolting wake-up from the robotic introspection of “Andro” from KICK ii, starting with the explosive noises of “Bruja” and ending with the ethereal beauty of “Joya”—it is perfectly unpredictable. Through listening, we catch glimpses of other states of being, of what it feels like to be Electra Rex, and what it feels like to traverse a range of self-states. The very concept of self-states, first introduced to us by the lyrics of “Nonbinary,” embraces the idea of the multiplicity of the body and self, especially with regard to the transgender experience. Gender is constantly shifting—there are no set standards, only a continuously changing experience of our inner and outer lives. It is in this way that self-states embrace the process of reckoning with gender and oneself, confronting the variants of us among our past and present selves.

For Arca's identity as an artist, the visuals are equally important as the songs. They combine the real and the metaphysical through digital depictions of herself in the accompanying visuals for “Nonbinary” and “Prada/Rakata,” thus extending the self to the digital realm. Within these visual representations, Arca creates an outlet for gender expressions that aren’t yet possible in real life. Arca, seemingly dead, drapes herself artfully on a floating rock with robotic bugs, evoking a sense of death and rebirth in the process of decay. Translucent humanoid surgeons operate on a pregnant Arca, and two Arca’s, one in white and the other in black, argue with each other, while a mutiny of Arcas are dancing in sync. The trans symbol is burned into the ground around her and etched into the foreheads of those at the base of a machine mermaid Arca, and there are glimpses of the phrase “second puberty” throughout the entirety of the video. Arca’s work celebrates what it means to move into a new body and undergo a second puberty, the birth of someone new within yourself. Though a “second puberty” is an experience that many people born female go through as they enter their twenties, it is also a term unique to the transgender community as it describes the period of physical and emotional change after taking hormone replacement therapy. This phrase is a recurring motif in the “Prada/Rakata” video, further highlighting and celebrating the trans experience as one that is simultaneously rooted in the body and transcends corporeality. Through her previous visuals, Arca paints a picture of transness and self-determination as a process that requires multiple selves coming together to create something new, setting the stage for KicK iii’s unavoidably queer exploration of the body and sexuality.

KicK iii album cover

At first glance, the album art for KicK iii is eye-catching, chaotic, and otherworldly; the central figure is a two-headed Arca with two sets of wings surrounded by two-headed skeletons on leashes serving rattlesnakes, flowers, and octopus. There’s a contrast in makeup between the two faces—one with a bold red lip and the other with iridescent eyeliner—and almost illegible marks on her wings. The album cover screams duality: the two-headed skeletons are the only ones that are “alive,” there are carcasses of single-headed animals and skeletons crushed on the ground, and the weapon she is holding is simultaneously a gun and a sword. Arca herself is made out of pairs, putting forth an image that speaks to the complex landscape of Arca and KicK iii. Arca is making herself abundantly clear: out with the singular and in with the dual, or the infinite. On her wings there seems to be some type of writing, either etched in or drawn on: “blood faggot”, “monster”, “puta”, “whore”, and “tranny”. It appears as though someone else has done this. The words are backward as if someone wrote them from behind rather than in front of a mirror. As our eyes draw away from the center of the image, we see the boundaries of the stage that Arca occupies, which seems to be in an industrial warehouse setting. Is this an exhibit? Who manufactured it?  What is real and how do we know it? KicK iii is here to make you ask questions, to consider the queer nature of life and death and of body and self.

Notably, the only music video accompanying the tracks on KicK iii is “Electra Rex”, which does not use digital renditions of Arca, unlike their previously released Prada/Rakata video (the only other visual for the kick series). Following the first notes of the song, the camera guides us past a line of models of a queer fashion show that never happened, sporting looks that exist outside the binary, and ultimately, we reach her. Arca remains the focal point of the video from this point on, as we see her thrashing around away from the group and later rejoining the queer mass, introducing us to a giant queer orgy. They are dancing, crawling, and also having sex all at once, demonstrating the body as an instrument without any formal bounds. The lyrics beckon the listener to join them, “let your hips go,” to dance like Arca, to unleash what you already know and feel. The atmosphere of this video is unequivocably queer, embracing the unorthodox and gender non-conforming looks of the models and encouraging self-expression through any avenue. Though the video accompanying Electra Rex contrasts in medium from Prada/Rakata, both invite the viewer to break free from the confines of the gender binary and corporeality. 

To further understand Electra Rex, we must understand that Electra rex is a self-state of Arca’s, one that is a merging of Oedipus Rex and Electra that kills both parents, has sex with itself, and subsequently chooses to live. Electra Rex’s existence extends past the album; it is a rejection of the binary and a celebration of the sexual. Electra is not simply just an alternate name for Arca, but an entirely different person; Arca describes Electra Rex as mischievous but with good intentions, further separating herself from the identity of her alters, of which she has a cast. Thus, Electra Rex occupies an important place in Arca’s identity as an artist and as a person, encouraging avante-garde expressions of sexuality and queerness. However, Electra Rex is not the first time that a self-state has been addressed in Arca’s work. Xen, after which her 2015 album is named, originated from an online identity that was an early form of gender expression for Arca. Xen acted as a medium through which a young Arca explored gender, it was an outlet for the self that can only safely exist online and quasi-anonymously, for Arca to be a girl and to be in love with somebody that saw that version of her. Arca’s album Xen brought back Xen, honoring her as an integral part of Arca’s identity, a self-state that tenderly held the beginnings of gender euphoria, rather than something to bury. 

Courtesy of unax lafuente

For many queer people, existing as a “different” person online was an important way by which we were able to explore our relationships with gender and our ideal self. It might be easy to consider the digital version of ourselves as wholly separate, but this only supports the “notion that what happens online does not have the capacity to impact and affect real change,” which confines the consequences of the digital to the online sphere. Instead, we should reimagine the relationship between the online and the offline as a symbiotic one that constantly shapes our awareness of ourselves and the world around us. In the digital age, it is important to honor the parts of ourselves that are not yet ready to exist outside of the online. They are as much a part of us as any of our offline selves are. Arca’s description of self-states such as Xen and Electra Rex provides a channel through which we can describe ourselves in a way that honors every single part, even the ones that we want to hide. Electra Rex is an inarguably queer character, from her inception to her personality, one that further encourages a carefree queer expression of desire and being. 

KicK iii creates a statement of multiplicity both sonically and visually that refuses to be categorized, that is quintessentially Arca in every way possible. From the album artwork to the sonic landscape to the various self-states that the listener traverses, KicK iii is a call toward a new imagining of what it means to occupy the body and the mind. Instead of limiting ourselves to one fixed identity, KicK iii creates the space for multiple iterations of the self to exist, to embody the contradictions and fleeting sentiments that we know but cannot name. Arca’s concept of self-states presents a mode of being that rejects the singularity of a cis-het hegemony and encourages self-exploration in its purest form. Queer existence as plural and without shame is a threat to power structures that function off of the production of shame and the continued shunning of those who are different. Through the lens of multiplicity that Arca puts forth in KicK iii, the body, in various different forms, acts as a vessel through which we can project our truest desires, even if those desires are intangible at present. 

As someone who identifies as trans, this concept of multiple selves particularly resonates with the ways by which my younger self fractured off into separate identities for protection. My online identity was a means by which I was able to break free from the femininity that was forced onto me. Reflecting on my many selves throughout the years, I can now appreciate each one’s purpose in building the person that I am today. So, let us abandon the static of one identity and venture towards new possibilities and what it means to exist across space and time as multiple people, honoring every part of ourselves in our construction of the queer body. 

Writer Korrin Lee’s wall full of Arca imagery

Poetry as Mindfulness: Examining Poems Displayed on NYC Subways

Written by Beatrice Agbi

The words Rushing headlong into new silence, or I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t stay home, or The trees liked the wind, may sound familiar to you if you regularly ride the subway. The phrases are the first lines to “Smelling the Wind,” (Audre Lorde) “A Night in a World,” (Heather McHugh) and “Faithful Forest,” (Alberto Ríos) – all poems displayed on the NYC subway. Perhaps you have read these words in a crowded train car as an attempt to distract yourself from the hot breath of the person standing behind you. Or you’ve skimmed them on your way back to campus at 3am, while leaning your head on your friend’s shoulder. 

You’ve seen the poems so many times before that looking at the poster becomes courtesy – after seeing the first line, you could recite the rest to yourself word for word. Most times, you don’t think about their meaning. But when you do, you wonder: Who decided to put Audre Lorde on a train? What does a poem about trees have to do with the transit experience? Who makes these decisions?

These poems are part of the “Poetry in Motion” program, founded in 1992 by the MTA and the Poetry Society of America. At its inception, the initiative displayed only four poems on overhead car cards: an excerpt from "Crossing Brooklyn Ferry" by Walt Whitman, "Hope is the thing with feathers" by Emily Dickinson, "When You Are Old" by William Butler Yeats, and "Let There Be New Flowering" by Lucille Clifton. After a brief break between 2008 and 2012, in which the program was replaced with a similar minded prose initiative called “Train of Thought,” the initiative returned under the administrative jurisdiction of MTA Arts & Design. As part of its re-establishment, not only were the poems moved to the poster cards that they are on now, but each piece of artwork shown on the poem’s poster card depicts an actual art installation in the NYC transit system. Providing those interested with a fascinating web of subway lore, this move is meant to create “synergy between the disciplines,” according to the Poetry in Motion Website.

1993 picture of a passenger looking at a poem on an overhead car card. Courtesy of The New Yorker. Photograph by Jim Cooper

A passenger looking at a poem displayed on a poster card. Courtesy of The New York Times. Photograph by Johnny Milano.

Poems chosen “must be no more than 10 or 12 lines and must be something that every subway rider would be able to appreciate,” said Matt Brogan, the executive director of the Poetry Society of America, to The New York Times. “The aim is to provide an illuminating experience and opportunity to pause in an environment where riders often feel distracted or rushed.” 

Open-ended criterias such as these are why the Poetry in Motion program has been able to display a variety of works, featuring over 200 poems since its debut. With works by Shakespeare, Henry David Thoreau, William Butler Yeats, Maya Angelou, and former US Poet Laureate Tracy K. Smith, the power of Poetry In Motion lies in its ability to connect commuters with a diverse array of poets, whose works serve to provide train riders with profound moments of insight. Their words bring pause to a commuter experience which often prioritizes efficiency over personal interactions. 

Some of these poems are directly related to the subway experience. Consider “Subway,” by Billy Collins

As you  fly swiftly underground

with a song in your ears

or lost in the maze of the book,


remember the ones who descended here

into the mire of a bedrock

to bore a hole through this granite


To clear a passage for you

Where there was only darkness and stone.

Remember as you come up into the light.

Collins’ words call on us to pause from our daily routines and engage in a moment of mindfulness. He uses the contrast between dark and light to emphasize the distinction between past and present, between those who sacrificed time in the darkness so that we could move forward with our current lives above ground. His work is accompanied by a picture of Sarah Sze’s “Blueprint for a Landscape,” which can be found in the Q Train’s 96th Street station. Her artwork gives the poem a dark blue background, a color that appears to be the same as the one used in blueprints. Thus, Sze’s art enhances the poem’s theme of construction, bringing awareness to the city’s foundational history and prompting, perhaps, a Google Search on how thousands of workers managed to lay more than 665 miles of railwork.

Image of Subway as it appears in transit. Courtesy of the MTA’s Poetry in Motion Guide.

The poem, “Awaking in New York,” by Maya Angelou, is more a reference to the daily lives of all New Yorkers. She begins by setting the scene:

Curtains forcing their will

against the wind,

children asleep

exchanging dreams with seraphim.

Such imagery is accompanied by William Low’s “A Day in Parkchester,” which can be found at the 6 train's Parkchester Street station. The artwork shows the morning sun rising over a cluster of apartment buildings, providing an exact visual to the lines which describe the city in the morning. One can almost imagine that the early morning images Angelou references take place in the apartments depicted in Low’s picture. She continues:

The city

drags itself awake on subway straps

The city here is a metonym for the morning commuters, those headed to school or work, who stare at the morning sun from the windows of their aboveground train captured by Low’s picture. To them, she offers words of encouragement:

I, an alarm, awake as a 

rumor of war,

lie stretching into dawn

unasked and unheeded.

The “I” here feels universal. It is not just Maya Angelou, but every New Yorker reading her words, who is about to begin their day. Wake up, Angelou tells her audience, you/I have a world to take on, “unasked and unheeded.” Here, Angelou’s poem and Low’s picture serve as a literal illumination; they are akin to the dawn, working to wake New York up in preparation for a new day.

Image of Awaking in New York as it appears in transit. Courtesy of the MTA’s Poetry in Motion Guide.

One of my personal favorites, “Smelling the Wind,” by Audre Lorde, subtly speaks to the theme of traveling. Lorde writes:

Rushing headlong

into new silence

your face

dips on my horizon

the name

of a cherished dream

riding my anchor

one sweet season

to cast off

on another voyage

No reckoning allowed

save the marvelous arithmetics

of distance

Since the narrator of this poem appears to be speaking to a loved one that they are traveling to meet, whose “face dips on [their] horizon,” this piece, at first glance, only seems tangentially related to the subway experience. Although this poem appears to exist in odds with the present surroundings of its environment, it asks a question that is useful to the lives of commuters. As we, on this train, “rush headlong into new silence,” whose face dips on our horizons? Who (or what) are we rushing to? Just as Collins asks us to be mindful of those who built the train, Lorde’s poem asks us to be mindful of for whom we “brave the marvelous arithmetics of distance.” 

Personally, when I read this poem, I feel as though I am hurtling through time to face Audre Lorde. The image of her that accompanies this poem is a glass mosaic titled “Beacons,” by Rico Gatson. It can be found at the 167th street station for the B and D trains. When I look at this picture of her, surrounded by multicolored beams of light, the glow she radiates is akin to that of the sun. Her face is the one which dips on my horizon. My own personal illumination.

Image of Smelling the Wind as it appears in transit. Courtesy of the MTA’s Poetry in Motion Guide.

Another one of my favorites, “Stationary,” by Agha Shahid Ali, is the most recent poem added to the transit collection. Like Lorde’s and unlike Collins’ piece, it appears to be loosely connected to the transit system. But I like it for its tone of urgency.

The moon did not become the sun.

It just fell on the desert

in great sheets, reams

of silver handmade by you.

The night is your cottage industry now,

the day is your brisk emporium.

The world is full of paper.

Write to me.

These lines feel like a call to action. It is as though Ali is handing the city over to me, as if the world is mine to be penned onto paper. “Write to me,” he commands. This order applies not just to writers or lovers, but to all its readers. If the world is our “brisk emporium,” then to whom will we dedicate our thoughts? This poem, as with Lorde’s, asks us to consider our relationships with that which is meaningful to us––whether it be a lover, a family member, or a job.

Image of Stationary as it appears in transit. Courtesy of the Poetry in Motion Website.

This poem is accompanied by Jim Hodges’ I Dreamed of a World and Called it Love, a piece of art which can be found at the Grand Central–42 Street station. With a mixture of blues, oranges, and silvers, the artist here took a combination of colors and made it his own, expressing his vision of the world and naming it Love. Although he is not writing, it is almost as if Hodges’ work obeys the final command of Ali’s poem. Write to me. Hodges has, in a sense, penned his world onto paper.

The Poetry in Motion posters have created an interesting narrative throughout the transit system. Each poem speaks to one another, providing readers with a moment of mindfulness and peace. The initiative’s aim of supplementing New Yorkers with literature has inspired similarly minded programs in public transit systems across various cities throughout the country, from Los Angeles to Washington DC. As millions of commuters nationwide find their illuminating experiences in poetry, the initiative’s national success is a testament to the ways in which literature can speak to our lived experiences, motivating us to consider the present realities of our existence . Or, at the very least, it gives us something nice to look at between transfers.

A Trip to the Picture Room, Alone

Written by Karen Cheng

Lay your burden down

Look to the sky [1]

It was an unacceptably cold Sunday in late March when, feeling the metaphorical stickiness of my Columbia dorm room, I discarded my homework to instead take the 2 train down to Brooklyn Heights. My shivering body scurried its way over to Picture Room, a cozy gallery on the corner of Atlantic Avenue and Henry Street. Nestled between a hipster, very Brooklyn cafe and a nondescript memorial chapel, I was greeted by the views of a snowy New York Harbor, and not much else. I was alone, urgently alone, in the best way possible.

Trilemma, 2022

I’d been yearning to see Cécile McLorin Salvant’s art exhibition “Ghost Song” since it opened on March 3rd. I’d begged my friends to attend this really cool opening with me this weekend and that the artist herself will be in attendance!, but my enthusiasm bore no fruit. Instead, my night was spent listening to Salvant’s new jazz album, also entitled Ghost Song, on my lonesome.

I first encountered Salvant by way of her songs, which I was introduced to as a senior in high school. The memory is indelibly inked into my mind: watching the Houston sunset from the trunk of my Nissan Rogue, my jazz friend (I always seem to have at least one) took over the aux, and Salvant’s voice boomed through the car’s shitty radio. It was a cover of Aretha Franklin’s “One Step Ahead,” the top hit from her 2018 album, The Window. “Cover” seems too trite a word for her ethereal, raw, and at times frantic rendition of the sultry classic, which brought us to a contemplative silence. The moment was brief: the song ended, Kendrick was next on the queue, and we cracked open another seltzer.

Here in your arms

Where the world is impossibly still [2]

Complementing her generative career in modern jazz is an eye for the tactile medium of embroidery––the focus of Salvant’s exhibit here at Picture Room. My “Ghost Song” viewing experience begins outside the gallery’s entrance, where I am met by an encompassing yet uncomplicated window display. As I snap a picture, the atmosphere behind me––pre-war apartments, spiderly leafless trees, a sheet-white sky, the rough outline of my own bundled-up figure––reflects back onto the glass, the messiness of the city backscattering its way onto an intricately embroidered organza. Despite the blistering wind outside, I am compelled to take a breath, pause, and look: 

Dom Sub Dom Tom, 2021

The first thing I notice on the sheer silk is the text “How to establish a daily writing practice:” (I, too, wonder how this might be done––the answer remains unfound, here as elsewhere). Above, a whimsically demonic creature exhales a softly lustered green, bordered by the titular words “DOM SUB DOM TOM.” This playful, rhyming phrase, “Dom-Tom,” is actually an acronym for French overseas territories, I learn. A hint of something sweet-sounding, childlike even, asserts itself into the complicated and violent history of French colonialism. 

This theme––the interruption of the playful with the serious––promulgates across Salvant’s work. Joyful, fantastical, whimsical; melancholy, meaningful, dynamic. It presents itself aesthetically, too, by nature of the craft: in each haphazard, diary-like “scribble,” I imagine the intentional practice of carefully, tangibly, hand-sewing each element from a wispy spool of thread. A merging of two contraries; violent and joyous; meticulous and messy. The components of a daily writing practice, perhaps?

I've come home, I'm so cold

Let me in your window [3]

In my experience, art galleries are almost always empty, aside from an exhibition’s opening night. To open the door to James Fuentes or David Zwirner is less daunting in a group of friends, who shield you from feelings of non-belonging––a receptionist’s cold gaze, the echoing creak of wood beneath your footsteps. But standing outside in the unrelenting cold, my toes begin to go numb. My body won’t allow time to think about the social ramifications of entering this lofty gallery alone. I open the door with a colorless hand.

I am the lone spectator here, but the hesitation caused by this fact fades quickly. The comforting warmth of the radiator helps, but it is mostly Salvant that makes me feel at home. With her song playing through my earbuds, her words and images in my sight, my mind is brashly immersed in her world. I take a dive into her dreamscape.

Moon Song, 2019

Trilemma, 2022

My urge was greater than my sadness, 2020

Layers of sheer, crinkly silk and linen feature images with intricate yet obviously manual touches. This parallels the way her voice sings to me, in its calculated yet earthly manner. Look closely: the fabric contorts where the stitches are especially tight, as if fighting to make space for her sewn creations. When the sun shines through the gallery’s large windows, the silk’s transparency multiplies, allowing another piece of hers to bleed through. My body, too, emphasizes the tapestry’s malleability, the weightless fabric withering in my steps. We are in a dance. 

Look closer: loose, uncut threads hang from skin, like an unplucked, forgotten strand of hair. There is a vulnerability in each character’s stitched-together existence. I recall how, on the train here, Salvant told me (through an interview I read on my phone): “I want my music and my art to feel like you’re opening someone’s diary - there’s an old ticket stub for something, a quote, an idea and frustration and a secret.” In the gallery, listening to her album, existing among her textiles, I am intimately, vulnerably in Cecilé’s world.

Lounging on the sands of my hourglass

Watching the time drip [4]

In her albums, Salvant weaves together covers and original music. In the same way that these covers become her own––from Sting to Kate Bush to West Side Story––so do her embroideries, which draw from a variety of external references to create a new originality. 

One reference that caught my eye, and confirmed the benefits of a liberal arts education: Hildegard Von Bingen, who, my Music Humanities professor will tell you, was an 11th-century nun, musician, and mystic that praised the prophetic power of music. After the church forbade her from making music, Hildegard wrote that it is Adam who possesses “the sound of all harmony and the sweetness of the entire musical art.” To make music, to talk about music, to make art about music, then, is to access part of this divine spirituality.

Hildegard Von Bingen, 2020

There’s something special about the way Cecilé incorporates other people’s work into her own. It’s like we are having a conversation with all of these sources, spanning centuries and crossing genres. “Ghost Song” is a bibliographical reflection of herself that surpasses tradition or form. And when you enter the gallery, you, yourself become another footnote.

Peace and quiet and open air

Wait for us somewhere [5]

46 minutes and 6 seconds of the Ghost Song album later, my visit to the gallery had come to a close. I recuperated at the aforementioned coffee shop, where it struck me that the barista was the first person I’d spoken to all day. My entire waking hours were spent in silence, save for a slight “hello” or “excuse me,” but this moment was the first fully-formed sentence I’d consciously uttered. Like breaking a spell, a cerebral realization came over me: I had lived entirely in my own mind that day, in a waking dream full of vibrance. Cecilé and I had shared a slice of the afternoon together, with no one else to distract. Part of this vulnerable, intimate experience had arisen from visiting the Picture Room on my own; an experience I urge you to try, even just once.

On my walk home: I gaze one last time at the window of Picture Room, at the Dom-Tom’s outstretched hand. In the reflection, a young couple walks past, wrapped in one another’s warmth. Seeing me stare through the window, they follow suit. They converse:

“This looks cool.”

“Yeah. So beautiful.”

“Should we check it out?”

“Sure. Are they open? There’s no one inside.”

The doorknob turns softly with a hesitant hand. A bell jingles. They enter; I smile.


Ghost Song the exhibition is on view at Picture Room until May 1st. You can listen to the album Ghost Song here.

[1] “Thunderclouds,” 2022

[2] “Until,” 2022.

[3]  “Wuthering Heights,” 2022.

[4] “I Lost My Mind,” 2022

[5] “Somewhere,” 2018.

Catching up with Oscar Yi Hou: From Columbia to the Brooklyn Museum

Written by Cathleen Luo

Oscar yi Hou was first featured in Ratrock Magazine in 2017, when he was just a freshman at Columbia College. Since graduating in 2021, he has since become a working artist with a career on a meteoric trajectory. He is currently working on a solo show planned to open at the Brooklyn Museum this fall, and a mural for the facade of UOVO. We caught up over Zoom to talk about his post-grad experience and how his time at Columbia shaped him as an artist. 

Oscar yi Hou, Courtesy of the Brooklyn Museum.

Oscar knew early on that he wanted to pursue art. In his first interview with Ratrock, he was making music, painting in his bedroom, and hosting small dorm room art shows he dubbed “Wien Salon.” It was through these intimate shows with friends and other student artists that he found a sense of community on campus. He met one of his closest friends, Amanda Ba, at Columbia, whom Oscar describes as “the core of the artist community of Columbia.” In describing how he found people on campus to support his work, Oscar says: “It wasn't necessarily my friend group and it wasn't really related to any art clubs. I met some artists through organizations like Postcrypt Gallery, but for the most part, I had to create an art community for myself.”

All American Girl, aka: Cowboy of Ohio 2020, a portrait of Amanda Ba painted by Oscar yi Hou. Courtesy of the Artist”.

A big reason why he hosted the Wien Salon was that he found the critical reviews, or “crits,” in Columbia’s studio classes “too nice.” Seeking more straightforward and honest feedback, he structured his shows as “basically a crit group: we started off doing a crit with a small group of people, then we'd open it to everyone and they could come and look.” To him, there are benefits and disadvantages to studying visual arts at Columbia as opposed to an art school, where crits can be much more brutal. At an art school, “everyone wants to be an artist in some kind of capacity so they're much more serious,” which can be intense and stifling. At Columbia, non-majors can take visual arts classes, which Oscar believes can be very eye-opening, but the flip side is that “there's not as much at stake.” Oscar half-jokes that the best thing to do as an art student at Columbia is to “take all the resources at your disposal because it's a rich Ivy League school.” 

The Arm Wrestle of Chip & Spike; aka: Star-Makers, 2020 by Oscar yi Hou. Courtesy of the Artist.

From the start of our conversation, I could tell that Oscar is someone who doesn’t stand for bullshit and knows what he wants. In the same way he worked intentionally to find his people at school, he also knew that he wanted to make it in the New York art world early on. Oscar originally planned to do an additional major in math or physics, but two semesters in, he thought, “Wait, I don't like this,” and decided to focus on art solely. 

Oscar explains that his motivation to work as hard as he did comes from his status as an international student, originally hailing from Liverpool, UK. “Not having American citizenship was a huge driving force. I had to self-professionalize really early on” in order to secure a working visa after graduation. He says: “I was aware that my time in the US was potentially going to be limited to just four years.” With this in mind, he knew it was necessary to “develop a cohesive body of work, have a website, a good Instagram presence, and a cohesive portfolio that galleries can look at senior year after graduation.” He succeeded, getting picked up by the downtown gallery James Fuentes right out of college.

Entitled (Chinaman 2) 2020 by Oscar yi Hou from his exhibit “A dozen poem-pictures” at James Fuentes Gallery, NYC. Courtesy of the artist. 

Oscar’s aware of how ambitious his plan looked, and he’s honest about his achievement: “Having a museum show at the age of 23 is really, really abnormal, and not necessarily the best thing.” He warns that self-professionalizing early risks burn-out or being pigeon-holed into a style. Oscar emphasizes that he does not expect art students to follow the path he’s taking, and he believes in the value of taking the time to experiment after graduation and make art for art’s sake. 

When he reflects on his time at Columbia, Oscar says: “New York is a very, very diverse place where I got a much deeper understanding of my racial positioning in the world.” He appreciates the courses he took at Columbia, including critical race, feminist, and queer theory classes, which introduced him to ideas that resonated with him and pushed him to further research. Though the texts he now cites in his artwork didn’t come from his class syllabi directly, he acknowledges that Columbia “definitely gave me the research foundation to be able to find books and texts on my own.” It is easy to see the ways his art expresses ideas about his cultural background as part of the East Asian diaspora, as well as ideas of queerness in his paintings of his friends and their relationships.

I had an “other-ache”, aka: God, how young I was, 2020. by Oscar yi Hou. Courtesy of the Artist.

Simply being in New York City and in close proximity to its art scene is a significant perk of being at Columbia, Oscar believes. He emphasizes the importance of participating in events outside of campus. Though he appreciated his art professors, the opportunities that he found most helpful were opportunities he sought out himself. He first entered the art world by becoming an art assistant to the painter Louis Fratino, who was not only his mentor but now a good friend. 

When the pandemic hit and sent him back home to Liverpool, the arts scene, like the rest of the world, went on hiatus. Oscar had never participated in the “network-y, scene-y, kind of clouty, gallery hopping art scene” but, in isolation, it became even more apparent that this sort of social climbing was not necessary. Over Zoom, he wasn't “hounding these galleries and attending all the openings and chatting up everyone.” Instead, he was focused on building a cohesive portfolio and honing his practice. Oscar believes his art was picked up quickly because he not only had a developed body of work, but also could speak eloquently about the philosophy behind his artmaking, which is a mature position to be in as a fresh college graduate. During his “shit show” online senior year, Oscar took the time to grow his art and focus on what was most important to him.

Cowboy Kato Coolie, aka: Bruce's Bitch, 2021, by Oscar yi Hou. Courtesy of the Artist.

On the topic of the dreaded “networking” in the art world, Oscar advises against it. Though he attends his friend’s openings, he doesn’t think it is necessary if you’re just doing it to be “in the scene.” He says: “It's not about how many people you know; it's more about who you respect and who respects you. It doesn't matter how many Instagram followers you have, because if all of them are tweens or bots then it doesn't matter.” Over Zoom, I can tell that this is something Oscar believes deeply; he’s not here for the shallow connections that people cite as the stepping stones of success in the art world. It's more important to him that the people he spends time are genuine, and want to support his work for the sake of his work, not for status.

In talking about authenticity, he often finds himself more interested in speaking to other artists rather than art adjacent people. Artists can tell when you are really dedicated to your craft, and for him there is no point in trying to pretend to like someone’s art just to build a “beneficial relationship: I remember one time in freshman year, I did that to a visiting artist who made faux political nonsense. After, I just felt sick. I was like, why the fuck did I do that? Like, I think this guy's art fucking sucks. So I would just recommend focusing on your craft and genuinely putting yourself out there.”

Far Eastsiders, aka: Cowgirl Mama A.B & Son Wukong, 2021. by Oscar yi Hou. Courtesy of the Artist.

As a visual art major in my third year here, I know that almost no one in my grade knows what to expect after graduating. To hear how someone’s “made it” gave me, and hopefully others, some sense of comfort in the uncertainty of post-grad life. 

Oscar has a very specific vision for himself, and through focusing on his practice religiously and seeing beyond meaningless networking, he stays true to his art. He reminds me that his path is not everyone’s path; even his best friend Amanda has a totally different career trajectory than him, but she is still doing amazing work. He emphasizes not to kiss people’s asses and find artists that support your art in the same way you’ll support theirs. Genuine connections in the art world come from shedding superficiality and celebrating the practice as it is. Everything else will fall into place as it comes.