A personal account written in my personal capacity. Nothing I write should be taken as the stand of any organizations or publications I belong to :)
It was definitely worth the wait. If you're a UP student, waiting for the announcement of the University Student Council results at Vinzon's Hall should be on your list of things to do before you graduate. Granted, I couldn't cheer like most of the people there because I was too busy taking down notes and sending data to the staff in the publication office. Nevertheless, it was a uniquely UP experience. At around 7:00 PM I secured a spot behind the HALALAN Technical Team, and willed God/dess to lend me superhero vision because I was just as anxious as everyone else to see the results. I mean, the monitor was just there! At 7:06 the Tech Team announced that all voting precints were officially closed, except for the College of Law. The STAND UP supporters were singing a rather catchy song, but I didn't get the opportunity to ask what it was called. At 7:31, the Law precint closed and the votes were in. (Save for 7 manual votes-- 3 from Econ, 3 from Engineering, 1 from Bio-- that wouldn't change the turnout.) They began the announcements with the College Representatives.
Architecture: Alexander Mayoralgo (ALYANSA)
Library and Information Studies: John Ronald Almonita (STAND-UP)
CMC: Nigel Cornel (Independent)
AIT: Juan Carlo Danganan (START AIT)
NCPAG: Desiree Ico (KAISA) 91
Law: Chingkay Martinez (ALYANSA) 280
CHK: Angelo Flores (KAISA)
Statistics: Heverly Bravo (STAND UP) 214
CSSP: Juan Carlo Tejano (ALYANSA) 496
Economics: Carlo Go (STAND UP) 348
Education: Montana Dominguez (STAND UP)
Home Economics: Pamela Abesamis (KAISA) 253
CAL: Kriselda Sebastian (STAND UP) 324
Business Ad: Engelbert Chua (ALYANSA) 700
Music ALYANSA
CS: Jackie Canlas (ALYANSA) 401
Engg: Cyrus Cruz (KAISA) 1287; Michael Bien (ALYANSA) 1065
CSWCD: Marie Villar (STAND UP 67)
***The Fine Arts Representative backed out a day before the election, or so I hear.
Then came the councilors.
Marvee Resma KAISA 2642
Simoun Salinas ALYANSA 2739
Richard Etsrella ALYANSA 2790
Ezie Mariazeta STAND UP 2896
Jeanine Duran STAND UP 2910
Dan Ramos STAND UP 2922
Gem Garcia STAND UP 3080
Sarah Elago STAND UP 3263
Nico Ibaviosa ALYANSA 3587
K Karingal KAISA 3633
Tin Borja ALYANSA 3827
Chorva David KAISA 4159
Then the two highest positions.
Vice-chairperson: Amme Agudo STAND UP 4046; Bevs: 2659, Tonton: 2038
Chairperson: Rain Sindayen STAND UP 3091; Beng: 2972, Mario: 2923
The reaction from the STAND UP supporters was defeaning,and I don't blame them. They secured the two highest positions, plus five of twelve councilors. Afterward, Jane (News Department) appeared, apparently she ran from the CSSP precint she was covering, and said we had to interview people from each party. We found ALYANSA immediately, hello people in blue, and STAND UP, who were a sea of red in the middle of the Vinzon's Hall lobby, celebrating. One got the feeling that the celebration would last past dawn. But we could not find KAISA supporters, who seemed to have left right after the announcements were made. Jane told me the shocking news that BUKLOD CSSP won Chairperson, Vice-Chairperson, and ALL twelve councilor positions. The only positions SALIGAN won were department representatives (Anthropology, Sociology, Linguistics, and one of the two Psychology rep positions). Take note, there were no BUKLOD candidates for Anthropology, Sociology and Linguistics. I was stunned for quite a bit: nobody predicted that it would happen. EVER. Personally, I'd like a council that has an equal number of reds, blues, and yellows, but in CSSP, no. KAISA did not win any positions, although they weren't exactly running as KAISA but as independents. Maybe next year they'll gain party status and have more impact on the voters? The councilor with the lowest number of votes came from KAISA, after all. That said, I have not gotten over the BUKLOD domination. I have nothing against them, but the win simply defied all expectations. Here are the CSSP results, taken from http://sinag.co.nr :
Chairperson
Javelosa 670
Garcia 357
Abstain 81
Vice Chairperson
Mabel Ogoshi 681
Abstain 434
CSSP Representative to the USC
JC Tejano 496
Codi Rivera 426
Reinna Bermudez 150
Abstain 43
Councilors
Dan Ramos 521
Adrian Baccay 500
Paula Parungao 478
Ron Reyes 466
Mickey Eva 447
Anna Isaguirre 447
Daisy Ducepec 411
MM Merilo 393
Sam King 380
Casey Giron 352
Denesse Handumon 326
Chabi Tuando 318
Shin Ocampo 310
Paulo Caparas 294
Riz Lorenzo 282
Mahon Andaca 275
BJ Costales 246
Ralph Gascon 232
Jadd Dealino 205
Abstain 46
Anthropology Dept Rep
Vince Escarcha 26
Abstain 4
Geography Dept Rep
Ehjay Pasagui 65
Igi Toda 61
Abstain 3
History Dept Rep
Leslie dela Cruz 37
Jio Guiang 20
Abstain 0
Linguistics Dept Rep
Mhawi Rosero 83
Lester Oliver 1
Abstain 3
Philosophy Dept Rep
Mara Favis 46
Raya Manalo 43
Abstain 7
Political Science Dept Rep
Jolly Padilla 126
Jit Sohal 71
Geri Cerillo 19
Abstain 8
Psychology Dept Rep
Pia Vizcarra 312
Jay-Ar Alejandro 104
Richmae Gillera 84
Abstain 19
Sociology Dept Rep
J Peralta 44
Honeylet Santos 10
Abstain 28
Note: there are still 10 uncounted ballots
ON THE USC ELECTION RESULTS:
Jane: Ano po yung masasabi niyo sa results?
Toff Lumag (ALYANSA Spokesperson): Ano po to, uhm, masasabi ko as ALYANSA member? Well, we got 12 seats sa USC, 8 college reps and 4 councilors. Uhm, I think that with the quality of candidates that we have, yung mga nanalo, uh, we are confident, we are still confident, that, uh, that the programs of ALYANSA will be carried on in the USC. Kahit na, siguro, mas kulang tayo sa numbers ngayon, naniniwala tayo na mapapasa pa rin. And I'm actually very proud of the kind of campaign that ALYANSA brought this year, yun nga, yung "Kasama ka," I think we were able to put the message across, and that's the most important to us.
We also have an interview with STAND UP College of Arts and Letters Chair Krisha Sanihon, but I really need to get some sleep so I'll update this post and add a conclusion tomorrow.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
IR Practice Essay
Disclaimer: The Art Studies Essays below this are far, far more interesting. This is an International Relations practice essay and is posted for the sake of posting... And because I like it. :))
Cameron G. Thies' article, "Are Two Theories Better than One? A Constructivist Model of the Neorealist-Neoliberal Debate," uses the Survival Model to suggest that the Neoliberal school of thought has more external validity and is more internally coherent than Neorealism. That is not to say, however, that Neorealism is invalid, as the author emphasizes on the need for empirical testing to arrive at a true judgment. The Survival Model concentrates on logical consistency, and he cites Bueno de Mesquita and Morrow (1999) as proponents of the idea that logical consistency is the key to evaluating theories, in disagreement with Stephen Walt who lists it as the lowest criteria, behind degree of originality and empirical validity. Thies believes that it is possible and desirable to explain conflict and cooperation with the same theory, and this can be achieved if both Neorealism and Neoliberalism establish that process, structure and environment are parts of the same whole. Will his suggestion truly eliminate the debate, or create a new one? And if the two theories are consolidated, will the Survival Model remain valid?
The Survival Model is derived from McPhee's Survival Model, that "demonstrates how art artifacts survive and become part of culture while others are eliminated from the cultural canon." An art and culture Survival of the Species, if you will. It elaborates on how cultural artifacts are subject to a screening process, and it is this screening process that is central to its application to the Neorealist-Neoliberal debate.
Using the analogy that a screening process is like separating the wheat and the chaff, the perennial problem is finding just the right screen because as one removes to much chaff, wheat is removed as well. Likewise, when one tries to retain too much wheat, chaff is retained as well. Wheat here represents cooperation, and chaff represents conflict. Here we note that there is always a normative bias towards cooperation in both sides. Thies argues that Neorealism is a single-screening process, as it approximates Neorealist ideas like arguing that states are always preparing for conflict, and the billiard-ball model of state interaction. Neoliberalism, on the other hand, is a repetitive-screening process as found in traditional material that stands the test of time.
The Survival Model makes several assumptions in order to arrive at its predictions, but let us define the terms it used. A is the proportion of new cooperative interstate relationships initiated or renewed in each period, while B is the proportion of new competitive ones, and C is the proportion of conflictual ones. It is important to note that "cooperation" is when states adjust incompatible policies, "conflict" is when they make no attempt to do so, and "competition" is when they adjust policies but not necessarily make them compatible with others'. Furthermore, a is the probability that A relationships will survive, b is the probability that B relationships will survive, and so on for C. The model assumes that Ab>c in favor of the Neoliberal approach. Thus the model takes both schools of thought into account, assumes hypothetical values for state interactions based on their respective stands, and assumes a bias towards peace.
After a single screening as expounded in the article, the results are consistent with Neorealism: there is more chaff in the system. The majority of interactions that remain is conflictual and competitive. After a repetitive screening, however, the results resemble Neoliberal thought: we have more wheat, the system has more cooperative and competitive interactions. But as repetition continues, we lose more wheat--after a critical point, we lose cooperative and competitive relationships.
Neorealism and Neoliberalism are both rational-choice theories which believe that states are egoist and self-interested. Alexander Wendt implies that both of them are of the Lockean form of anarchy, although Neorealism's proponents believe it as Hobbesian, and Neorealist's proponents are leaning toward the Kantian. Their main differences lie in their view of international cooperation, absolute versus relative gains, and their favoring of either process or environment.
Thies believes, and explains through the Survival Model, that the Neoliberal approach is more able to reflect the world system as of today, for two reasons. First, that the nature of international interaction itself is repetitive and continuous. Second, that in today's world, cooperation, conflict, and competition are all present. Neoliberals cite the "democratic peace" as proof that international cooperation is ultimately possible, while the Survival Model suggests that after several screenings, conflictual relationships will inevitably arise. Huntington's "Reverse Wave" is a manifestation of this.
I believe that while the Neorealists and the Neoliberals have similarities, their differences in their basic assumptions will hinder them from being consolidated. They have the same ends but different means of getting there. Consolidation will require a compromise from both sides, and it will essentially create a new debate of whether or not the new version (a post-neorealist-neoliberalism perhaps) is better equipped to explain the international stage than its successors. And since the Survival Model is premised on their difference in the descriptive view of the world, the consolidation would invalidate the model. The arbitrariness of the data is also a problem since from the beginning it has a bias towards cooperation and leans either toward the Neorealist perspective or the Neoliberal perspective at any point. Furthermore, the model is inconclusive, since it is only a test of logical consistency. However, it does provide valuable insights on how Neoliberalist and Neorealist thought can be harnessed to further understand the subtleties of today's global political landscape.
Cameron G. Thies' article, "Are Two Theories Better than One? A Constructivist Model of the Neorealist-Neoliberal Debate," uses the Survival Model to suggest that the Neoliberal school of thought has more external validity and is more internally coherent than Neorealism. That is not to say, however, that Neorealism is invalid, as the author emphasizes on the need for empirical testing to arrive at a true judgment. The Survival Model concentrates on logical consistency, and he cites Bueno de Mesquita and Morrow (1999) as proponents of the idea that logical consistency is the key to evaluating theories, in disagreement with Stephen Walt who lists it as the lowest criteria, behind degree of originality and empirical validity. Thies believes that it is possible and desirable to explain conflict and cooperation with the same theory, and this can be achieved if both Neorealism and Neoliberalism establish that process, structure and environment are parts of the same whole. Will his suggestion truly eliminate the debate, or create a new one? And if the two theories are consolidated, will the Survival Model remain valid?
The Survival Model is derived from McPhee's Survival Model, that "demonstrates how art artifacts survive and become part of culture while others are eliminated from the cultural canon." An art and culture Survival of the Species, if you will. It elaborates on how cultural artifacts are subject to a screening process, and it is this screening process that is central to its application to the Neorealist-Neoliberal debate.
Using the analogy that a screening process is like separating the wheat and the chaff, the perennial problem is finding just the right screen because as one removes to much chaff, wheat is removed as well. Likewise, when one tries to retain too much wheat, chaff is retained as well. Wheat here represents cooperation, and chaff represents conflict. Here we note that there is always a normative bias towards cooperation in both sides. Thies argues that Neorealism is a single-screening process, as it approximates Neorealist ideas like arguing that states are always preparing for conflict, and the billiard-ball model of state interaction. Neoliberalism, on the other hand, is a repetitive-screening process as found in traditional material that stands the test of time.
The Survival Model makes several assumptions in order to arrive at its predictions, but let us define the terms it used. A is the proportion of new cooperative interstate relationships initiated or renewed in each period, while B is the proportion of new competitive ones, and C is the proportion of conflictual ones. It is important to note that "cooperation" is when states adjust incompatible policies, "conflict" is when they make no attempt to do so, and "competition" is when they adjust policies but not necessarily make them compatible with others'. Furthermore, a is the probability that A relationships will survive, b is the probability that B relationships will survive, and so on for C. The model assumes that A
After a single screening as expounded in the article, the results are consistent with Neorealism: there is more chaff in the system. The majority of interactions that remain is conflictual and competitive. After a repetitive screening, however, the results resemble Neoliberal thought: we have more wheat, the system has more cooperative and competitive interactions. But as repetition continues, we lose more wheat--after a critical point, we lose cooperative and competitive relationships.
Neorealism and Neoliberalism are both rational-choice theories which believe that states are egoist and self-interested. Alexander Wendt implies that both of them are of the Lockean form of anarchy, although Neorealism's proponents believe it as Hobbesian, and Neorealist's proponents are leaning toward the Kantian. Their main differences lie in their view of international cooperation, absolute versus relative gains, and their favoring of either process or environment.
Thies believes, and explains through the Survival Model, that the Neoliberal approach is more able to reflect the world system as of today, for two reasons. First, that the nature of international interaction itself is repetitive and continuous. Second, that in today's world, cooperation, conflict, and competition are all present. Neoliberals cite the "democratic peace" as proof that international cooperation is ultimately possible, while the Survival Model suggests that after several screenings, conflictual relationships will inevitably arise. Huntington's "Reverse Wave" is a manifestation of this.
I believe that while the Neorealists and the Neoliberals have similarities, their differences in their basic assumptions will hinder them from being consolidated. They have the same ends but different means of getting there. Consolidation will require a compromise from both sides, and it will essentially create a new debate of whether or not the new version (a post-neorealist-neoliberalism perhaps) is better equipped to explain the international stage than its successors. And since the Survival Model is premised on their difference in the descriptive view of the world, the consolidation would invalidate the model. The arbitrariness of the data is also a problem since from the beginning it has a bias towards cooperation and leans either toward the Neorealist perspective or the Neoliberal perspective at any point. Furthermore, the model is inconclusive, since it is only a test of logical consistency. However, it does provide valuable insights on how Neoliberalist and Neorealist thought can be harnessed to further understand the subtleties of today's global political landscape.
Art Stud 2 Midterm Essay 4
At Tour Eiffel, two mimes fall in love and it is literally beyond words. On a long walk along Parc Monceau, a father and a daughter rediscover their relationship in a misleading conversation. In the square at the Place des Fêtes a Nigerian man lies bleeding for coffee. In a print shop in Le Marais a young Frenchman becomes hopelessly attracted to another man who may or may not speak his language. In a small apartment in Faubourg Saint-Denis, a struggling actress finds a friend in a man who will never be able to see the silver screen. And in the Quatrième Arrondissement, a letter carrier from Colorado narrates in rough French how she has fallen in love with the City of Paris.
These are the segments that stand out for me the most from the 2006 film Paris, Je T’aime, my favorite work of art. There are eighteen segments in all, representing the eighteen arrondissements (literally: districts) of the City of Paris. They are each about five to six minutes short, but always akin to flash fiction: just long enough to give meaning to an entire world.
I have never been to Paris. I have seen it in thousands of pictures, I have heard it mentioned countless times, I have yearned to visit it if only to gaze up at the Notre Dame or into the Louvre for a few fleeting moments… And yes, I do tend to become dramatic when I speak of L’île de France. That is why Paris, Je T’aime captivates my imagination. But besides its obvious charms, it is also interesting because despite being the meeting of the minds of more than twenty-one directors, it has a seamless character to it. Each story flows to the next even when they have little but the theme of love and Paris as a backdrop in common.
Also worthy of note, beside the touching storylines, are the cinematic techniques that were employed. The segment for Parc Monceau by Alfonso Cuarón was shot by a single camera on the one side of the street, while the two characters in constant dialogue walked on the other side. There was always a distance, both in the camera angle and the words, that made the twist (the old man and the young woman were father and daughter) impossible to predict. Quartier de la Madeleine by Canadian writer-director Vincenzo Natali, which featured Elijah Wood and Olga Kurylenko, had no dialogue at all. There Wood was a backpacking tourist who fell in love with Kurylenko, a vampire. The segment was intentionally darker than the rest, and the color resolution was such that the blood would always be the center of attention.
One of the most dramatic segments was Place des Fêtes by South African writer-director Oliver Schmitz. It employed the flashback, from the point of view of a Nigerian man. As he lay bleeding from a stab wound, a nurse kneels in front of him, and he recognizes her as the woman who parks her car in the building he cleans. The flashback reveals that he always wanted to ask her out for coffee but he never got the chance—until that moment she arrived with an ambulance. Although perplexed she obliged, but by the time she got back with the coffee and remembered who he was, he had already died. There was barely any dialogue; the segment’s musical score is the Nigerian man’s voice singing a French love song. But as far as the cinematic devices go, I was most impressed by Faubourg Saint-Denis by German writer-director Tom Tykwer. It featured a blind student of languages, played by Melchior Beslon, and his girlfriend, a struggling actress, played by Natalie Portman. Halfway through listening to a call from Portman that sounded like she was breaking up with him, Beslon launches into a narration of how they met, how they fell in love, and how they grew apart, while the images were fast-forwarded montages of the different stages in their relationship. The development of the story was almost overwhelming because of the rhythm and repetition of the words and images. As his words became faster and faster, so did the images, and when it stopped he was sitting alone in front of his computer and there was a high-pitch sound I can only describe as what you hear after the complete confusion in your mind has subsided. Then the twist: Portman calls him again and explains that she has not broken up with him after all.
My top two story-wise are the ones that have to do with language. First, Le Marais by the American writer-director Gus van Sant, of Gaspard Ulliel telling Elias McConnel in endearing French how he believes they are soul mates. Much of the segment is Ulliel’s monologue about destiny and attraction. Before he left he gave him his telephone number, but McConnel did not understand what happened because as it turned out, he knew almost no French at all. When the shop owner explained it to him, he dashed out into the busy Parisian street to find Ulliel, an outsider plunging into an unknown world in pursuit of an idea. And second is the very last segment, set in the Quatrième Arrondissement. It was the one I empathized with most of all. It was also, I think, one of the most artistic because of the idea to make the character narrate a love for Paris in a language beginner’s grammar and accent. The effect was at once humorous and deeply touching. While the other stories dealt with the love of a person towards another person (or non-person, as in the case of the vampire), this is the only segment that explored the possibility of falling in love with a city. Et Paris m’aime aussi, she said in the end.
There are so many ideas, so many images, and so many sentiments in this movie that to watch it once is not enough. There are the obvious things, like ironies and lost love, and then there are those that while comedic convey so much of culture and art, like the story of the mimes who had nothing at first glance but had everything when they chose to make it so. This movie is also about possibilities, how anything can happen, how there may be adventure right where you stand. How there is always a story if you open your heart to it. And to me, what is so great is that Paris, Je T’aime explored both the insider’s and outsider’s perspectives. While each segment can stand on its own, taken together they become more than a movie: they become a statement. They seem to say, “This is Paris. Imperfect, wonderful, bizarre, beautiful Paris.” And they make even those of us who have never been there believe in the magic.
These are the segments that stand out for me the most from the 2006 film Paris, Je T’aime, my favorite work of art. There are eighteen segments in all, representing the eighteen arrondissements (literally: districts) of the City of Paris. They are each about five to six minutes short, but always akin to flash fiction: just long enough to give meaning to an entire world.
I have never been to Paris. I have seen it in thousands of pictures, I have heard it mentioned countless times, I have yearned to visit it if only to gaze up at the Notre Dame or into the Louvre for a few fleeting moments… And yes, I do tend to become dramatic when I speak of L’île de France. That is why Paris, Je T’aime captivates my imagination. But besides its obvious charms, it is also interesting because despite being the meeting of the minds of more than twenty-one directors, it has a seamless character to it. Each story flows to the next even when they have little but the theme of love and Paris as a backdrop in common.
Also worthy of note, beside the touching storylines, are the cinematic techniques that were employed. The segment for Parc Monceau by Alfonso Cuarón was shot by a single camera on the one side of the street, while the two characters in constant dialogue walked on the other side. There was always a distance, both in the camera angle and the words, that made the twist (the old man and the young woman were father and daughter) impossible to predict. Quartier de la Madeleine by Canadian writer-director Vincenzo Natali, which featured Elijah Wood and Olga Kurylenko, had no dialogue at all. There Wood was a backpacking tourist who fell in love with Kurylenko, a vampire. The segment was intentionally darker than the rest, and the color resolution was such that the blood would always be the center of attention.
One of the most dramatic segments was Place des Fêtes by South African writer-director Oliver Schmitz. It employed the flashback, from the point of view of a Nigerian man. As he lay bleeding from a stab wound, a nurse kneels in front of him, and he recognizes her as the woman who parks her car in the building he cleans. The flashback reveals that he always wanted to ask her out for coffee but he never got the chance—until that moment she arrived with an ambulance. Although perplexed she obliged, but by the time she got back with the coffee and remembered who he was, he had already died. There was barely any dialogue; the segment’s musical score is the Nigerian man’s voice singing a French love song. But as far as the cinematic devices go, I was most impressed by Faubourg Saint-Denis by German writer-director Tom Tykwer. It featured a blind student of languages, played by Melchior Beslon, and his girlfriend, a struggling actress, played by Natalie Portman. Halfway through listening to a call from Portman that sounded like she was breaking up with him, Beslon launches into a narration of how they met, how they fell in love, and how they grew apart, while the images were fast-forwarded montages of the different stages in their relationship. The development of the story was almost overwhelming because of the rhythm and repetition of the words and images. As his words became faster and faster, so did the images, and when it stopped he was sitting alone in front of his computer and there was a high-pitch sound I can only describe as what you hear after the complete confusion in your mind has subsided. Then the twist: Portman calls him again and explains that she has not broken up with him after all.
My top two story-wise are the ones that have to do with language. First, Le Marais by the American writer-director Gus van Sant, of Gaspard Ulliel telling Elias McConnel in endearing French how he believes they are soul mates. Much of the segment is Ulliel’s monologue about destiny and attraction. Before he left he gave him his telephone number, but McConnel did not understand what happened because as it turned out, he knew almost no French at all. When the shop owner explained it to him, he dashed out into the busy Parisian street to find Ulliel, an outsider plunging into an unknown world in pursuit of an idea. And second is the very last segment, set in the Quatrième Arrondissement. It was the one I empathized with most of all. It was also, I think, one of the most artistic because of the idea to make the character narrate a love for Paris in a language beginner’s grammar and accent. The effect was at once humorous and deeply touching. While the other stories dealt with the love of a person towards another person (or non-person, as in the case of the vampire), this is the only segment that explored the possibility of falling in love with a city. Et Paris m’aime aussi, she said in the end.
There are so many ideas, so many images, and so many sentiments in this movie that to watch it once is not enough. There are the obvious things, like ironies and lost love, and then there are those that while comedic convey so much of culture and art, like the story of the mimes who had nothing at first glance but had everything when they chose to make it so. This movie is also about possibilities, how anything can happen, how there may be adventure right where you stand. How there is always a story if you open your heart to it. And to me, what is so great is that Paris, Je T’aime explored both the insider’s and outsider’s perspectives. While each segment can stand on its own, taken together they become more than a movie: they become a statement. They seem to say, “This is Paris. Imperfect, wonderful, bizarre, beautiful Paris.” And they make even those of us who have never been there believe in the magic.
Art Stud 2 Midterm Essay 3
I am eight years old. My little feet in their little heeled shoes make tapping sounds against the blindingly white floor. I let go of my mother’s hand and I run to the place I looked forward to visiting after every trip to the bookstore. A purple dinosaur greets me at the entrance, its muffled voice annoys me. “Dinosaurs are extinct,” I always tell my classmates who like him. But I lose those arguments because, “HE IS NOT, I SEE HIM ON TV!” I ignore the fretful dancing mascot and hurry to the dolls. Everything is so bright, there are too many people. Someone is singing “It’s a small world after all” very loudly. I see the Barbies in their little plastic cases with their pretty dresses that could only be worn by dolls. Everyone insists on giving me Barbies; I always liked the little worlds more. Some people call them Polly Pockets. But each one is a different world, you can’t call them all Polly Pockets! Well, except for those that look like where Mommy puts her makeup and do have a Polly doll in them. The best part about them is the dolls are painted and you never have to worry about where their clothes and shoes are. And they come with stories too. I have Snow White and the six dwarves (I lost Sneezy already), I have Pocahontas, Cinderella, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and Polly and her Giraffe. Today I am going to get a new set, a magnetic one. Of Beauty and the Beast, and I can make Belle dance without touching her, just like magic. My favorite last week was Pocahontas, but John Smith’s lower half decided to run away, so I need this one. I could think of nothing for days. There is a big smile on my face when I see it, the set is larger than any of the ones I have, and I grab it and hand it to Dada, and the little numbers on the tag mean absolutely nothing.
I am eighteen years old. The toy store is a cavernous hall of light, sweet candy smells, and cheerful music piped in through the overhead speakers. Too cheerful, and still much too loud. Whatever is new is displayed where the shoppers cannot miss it. In the summer, inflatable pools and giant rubber ducks in all the colors of the upper spectrum of the rainbow; at Christmas, waving Santas on toy trains, on tracks laden with snow and surrounded by pine trees. Today the wave boards are on display, skateboards with hinges at the middle like my cousin Mike has. And good grief, they’re worth one month’s allowance and then some. Roland Barthes says that the toy store is essentially a microcosm of the adult world, that French toys prefigure the world of adult functions. I look around and see toys that are indeed miniature versions of reality, but which one? In the little girls’ section, quaint little country cottages with robins on top, waffle makers and pasta makers and easy-bake ovens, toy croissants and Caucasian babies with their blonde hair and blue eyes. In the little boys’ section, pretend high-power rifles, miniature remote control- operated 4x4s and helicopters, plastic swords and shields, police badges that declare “NYPD.” Nearby, shelves upon shelves of board games (or bored games as my cousin calls it), and it is always the section with the most silence in it. I walk to the dolls section, where everything is pink and the floor is a runway, and feel a tinge of envy. Barbie has a Jacuzzi, for crying out loud, and I guarantee that if I put it to scale, it would be bigger than our bathroom.
Here I note the difference between me and Barthes: he was a writer in a first world country. I am a writer in a third world one. (For simplicity’s sake I use the term “third world,” although I’ve always thought it was a misnomer: there is, after all, only one world.) As far as microcosms go, this toy store is a microcosm of all wishful thinking, because the miniatures are all we’ll be able to afford. It could also be economics, supply and demand. Western products are what are on demand, so they are what are on display. Or is it the other way around? It probably doesn’t matter as long as it sells.
But in my opinion, Barthes presents two arguments that are valid even in a setting far removed from where it was formulated. They are both present in the paragraph: “There exist, for instance, dolls which urinate; they have an esophagus, one gives them a bottle, they wet their nappies; soon, no doubt, milk will turn to water in their stomachs. This is meant to prepare the little girl for the causality of housekeeping, to "condition" her to her future role as mother.” This is probably also why toys for the XY children have to do with cars and guns, or essentially, speed and violence… and probably why they cancelled Teletubbies on account of “Tinky Winky is gay.” True, the present adult world may have grown more tolerant towards homosexuality, but certainly not up to the point that “gay” or “lesbian” are words uncensored in the extension of the toy store known as Playhouse Disney. And certainly not words used to generate ideas for toys: we are a long way away from “Gays/Lesbians Section” at the local Toy Kingdom—because parents generally don’t want their children to grow up homosexual.
Toys are a form of priming a child’s psychology, and it serves to perpetuate the current order. But this is often unintentional, as their parents, and their parent’s parents, were once children who went through the same thing. It is convention, it is seen as normative, and as is usually the case, the traditional is seen as right.
I think back to that magnetic Beauty and the Beast miniature world, which I played with for hours and hours, sometimes with a flashlight, until I discovered Harry Potter. It has a castle, glittery blue and purple with towers and turrets, a bridge to the lake where the magnet controller is, a little house for Belle’s father, and a yellow brick road. Belle is in the yellow dress, Beast is wearing coattails, Gaston is in the red Frenchman’s coat with a ribbon tying his long hair back. There is a second version of Beast, his transformed version, wearing the same coattails. Is this a microcosm of the world I grew up in? Certainly not on the literal level, because I have neither seen a castle, nor have I met a person in coattails. On the figurative level, there may be a little resemblance. Beast is a nobleman who falls in love with a peasant girl, the classic class transcendence, a storyline common in today’s telenovelas. But the nobleman has become a capitalist’s son, and the peasant girl works at McDonalds. But even that is ultimately wishful thinking.
The importation of goods, as the importation of concepts like Christianity and the State, has determined many of the dynamics in our country. And it is this process, which extends to all areas of human development, that determines many of our ideals and aspirations. If priming children is done with toys, and if all the toys we see are Western ideas and labels, then is it any wonder why we grow up generally holding everything Western as superior to our own? And it does not end with toys: preschool and elementary textbooks, indeed the entire Philippine education system, is based on Western instruction. In a sense, Roland Barthes is right. Toys are a microcosm of reality. It is only always a question of “whose.”
I am eighteen years old. The toy store is a cavernous hall of light, sweet candy smells, and cheerful music piped in through the overhead speakers. Too cheerful, and still much too loud. Whatever is new is displayed where the shoppers cannot miss it. In the summer, inflatable pools and giant rubber ducks in all the colors of the upper spectrum of the rainbow; at Christmas, waving Santas on toy trains, on tracks laden with snow and surrounded by pine trees. Today the wave boards are on display, skateboards with hinges at the middle like my cousin Mike has. And good grief, they’re worth one month’s allowance and then some. Roland Barthes says that the toy store is essentially a microcosm of the adult world, that French toys prefigure the world of adult functions. I look around and see toys that are indeed miniature versions of reality, but which one? In the little girls’ section, quaint little country cottages with robins on top, waffle makers and pasta makers and easy-bake ovens, toy croissants and Caucasian babies with their blonde hair and blue eyes. In the little boys’ section, pretend high-power rifles, miniature remote control- operated 4x4s and helicopters, plastic swords and shields, police badges that declare “NYPD.” Nearby, shelves upon shelves of board games (or bored games as my cousin calls it), and it is always the section with the most silence in it. I walk to the dolls section, where everything is pink and the floor is a runway, and feel a tinge of envy. Barbie has a Jacuzzi, for crying out loud, and I guarantee that if I put it to scale, it would be bigger than our bathroom.
Here I note the difference between me and Barthes: he was a writer in a first world country. I am a writer in a third world one. (For simplicity’s sake I use the term “third world,” although I’ve always thought it was a misnomer: there is, after all, only one world.) As far as microcosms go, this toy store is a microcosm of all wishful thinking, because the miniatures are all we’ll be able to afford. It could also be economics, supply and demand. Western products are what are on demand, so they are what are on display. Or is it the other way around? It probably doesn’t matter as long as it sells.
But in my opinion, Barthes presents two arguments that are valid even in a setting far removed from where it was formulated. They are both present in the paragraph: “There exist, for instance, dolls which urinate; they have an esophagus, one gives them a bottle, they wet their nappies; soon, no doubt, milk will turn to water in their stomachs. This is meant to prepare the little girl for the causality of housekeeping, to "condition" her to her future role as mother.” This is probably also why toys for the XY children have to do with cars and guns, or essentially, speed and violence… and probably why they cancelled Teletubbies on account of “Tinky Winky is gay.” True, the present adult world may have grown more tolerant towards homosexuality, but certainly not up to the point that “gay” or “lesbian” are words uncensored in the extension of the toy store known as Playhouse Disney. And certainly not words used to generate ideas for toys: we are a long way away from “Gays/Lesbians Section” at the local Toy Kingdom—because parents generally don’t want their children to grow up homosexual.
Toys are a form of priming a child’s psychology, and it serves to perpetuate the current order. But this is often unintentional, as their parents, and their parent’s parents, were once children who went through the same thing. It is convention, it is seen as normative, and as is usually the case, the traditional is seen as right.
I think back to that magnetic Beauty and the Beast miniature world, which I played with for hours and hours, sometimes with a flashlight, until I discovered Harry Potter. It has a castle, glittery blue and purple with towers and turrets, a bridge to the lake where the magnet controller is, a little house for Belle’s father, and a yellow brick road. Belle is in the yellow dress, Beast is wearing coattails, Gaston is in the red Frenchman’s coat with a ribbon tying his long hair back. There is a second version of Beast, his transformed version, wearing the same coattails. Is this a microcosm of the world I grew up in? Certainly not on the literal level, because I have neither seen a castle, nor have I met a person in coattails. On the figurative level, there may be a little resemblance. Beast is a nobleman who falls in love with a peasant girl, the classic class transcendence, a storyline common in today’s telenovelas. But the nobleman has become a capitalist’s son, and the peasant girl works at McDonalds. But even that is ultimately wishful thinking.
The importation of goods, as the importation of concepts like Christianity and the State, has determined many of the dynamics in our country. And it is this process, which extends to all areas of human development, that determines many of our ideals and aspirations. If priming children is done with toys, and if all the toys we see are Western ideas and labels, then is it any wonder why we grow up generally holding everything Western as superior to our own? And it does not end with toys: preschool and elementary textbooks, indeed the entire Philippine education system, is based on Western instruction. In a sense, Roland Barthes is right. Toys are a microcosm of reality. It is only always a question of “whose.”
Art Stud 2 Midterm Essay 2
The seashell parol hangs on the windowsill, slowly turning in the rare gust of wind. I stare at it and remember where and when I bought it: Hundred Islands, Alaminos, Pangasinan, during the summer break. It is on the small side, about the size of my open hand, made of little red and white seashells and strung together with twine. It is inexpensive, as far as consumer standards go, sold to tourists at the main car stop. Folk art, as defined by Encarta Encyclopedia, is, “carvings, paintings, needlework, decorated utensils, and other artifacts created by artists and artisans—often anonymous—who have no formal academic training in the arts.” This parol is Folk Art, and I realize I have taken part in one of the main factors that threaten its survival.
Today, more attention is certainly paid to popular, “high,” or even “fine” art. The cultures and traditions that espoused traditional art forms seem to no longer be in fashion, except perhaps as novelty items that hold no intrinsic value to the outsider. And that perhaps is one of the main challenges faced by folk art: it simply wasn’t created to withstand globalization.
Waters (2000) defines globalization as “a process in which the constraints of geography on social and cultural arrangements recede and in which people become increasingly aware that they are receding.” As globalization makes the global society more homogenous, the dominant, or Western culture, becomes more and more prevalent. Some cultures, especially marginalized ones, are perpetually in danger of becoming erased. On the one hand, less and less people will be interested in the traditional, and on the other, given the situation of Philippine indigenous tribes, members of these tribes themselves may find that “joining the tide” is an easier way to live. It is a question of acceptance versus non-conformity, and the opportunity cost is relatively higher when one is non-conformist.
Another threat to Folk Art is commercialization. The fast pace of supply and demand and the Age of the Stock Market attaches a price tag to everything. Even things that were dreamt up by men and women long before money was a word now have a market value. Objects that take a central part in rituals of birth, death and everything in between, like the T’nalak of the T’boli, can now be bought in souvenir shops as pen holders and purses, a far cry from their once sacred purpose, and indeed priceless position, in the society. As mentioned, indigenous tribes are often marginalized, and dire economic conditions often force them to sell their cultures and traditions. In the capitalist setting however, mass production is inevitable, and along with mass production comes a “diluting” of the traditional processes in the name of speed and quantity.
Globalization and commercialization meet in a hybrid of time and space called the World Wide Web, or the Internet. The ultimate torchbearer of the twenty-first century, the Internet has also become a venue for the exploitation of Folk Art. On websites one can see an authentic Igorot bahag for sale alongside the Agung of the Maguindanao, Maranao and Tausug. And not for a very high price either. But the Internet is not all detrimental: various groups advertise their causes to rehabilitate Philippine Folk Art online. Ironically, the largest and most prominent, like Kayamanan ng Lahi Philippine Folk Arts and KULTURA, are based in the United States (Los Angeles and California respectively) because they are headed by Filipino immigrants. According to their official website, Wheatonarts in Millville, New Jersey held a Philippine Folk and Glass Art Workshop. But it is cynicism to see it as a lack of interest of Filipinos in promoting Folk Art. “Interest” in art itself may be seen as a post-materialist concern that immigrants are able to engage in precisely because they have the privilege of economic stability But there are others here in the Philippines, like bloggers, who make travel journals that document Folk Art, and also help in promoting awareness about them. There is also the Ayala Museum that features a Gold of Ancestors exhibition of “Philippine pre-colonial gold artifacts.” But these are luxuries, not venues that the average Filipino can engage in. Lack of information about these art forms is also a vital threat: the average Filipino knows of the Ancient Egyptian mummy but not of the Taka of Paete.
Aside from globalization, commercialization, and exploitation, attempts to industrialize also threaten not only Folk Art but also the multitude of indigenous tribes. Ancestral land is taken away from locals to make way for factories or plantations of raw materials, or even condominiums and subdivisions. Yet other threats are pollution and climate change, because Folk Art utilizes materials taken from the land and the water. Pollution causes destruction of water sources and soil erosion, climate change causes alterations in the overall environment that causes many plants and animals to become extinct.
There are many other threats to Folk Art aside from the ones I mentioned above. The present global landscape is an ever-changing environment that spends little time and attention on cultures, traditions, and the art forms that represent them. Especially in a quintessential post-colonial state like the Philippines, there are far more pressing concerns because of the desire to modernize and become an industrialized society. One can hope that more people and institutions will take part in the preservation of Folk Art, but to hope is not enough. Grounding in history as the Filipino moves into the twenty-first century is vital, lest we run the risk of losing our identity. Information about Folk Art is, I believe, a solid base for its preservation. Proper and extensive documentation, establishment of exhibits and information drives through popular media; eventually, when the cause has become well-known, establishment of laws that will protect not only Folk Art, but also indigenous tribes, to guarantee their security and existence.
Today, more attention is certainly paid to popular, “high,” or even “fine” art. The cultures and traditions that espoused traditional art forms seem to no longer be in fashion, except perhaps as novelty items that hold no intrinsic value to the outsider. And that perhaps is one of the main challenges faced by folk art: it simply wasn’t created to withstand globalization.
Waters (2000) defines globalization as “a process in which the constraints of geography on social and cultural arrangements recede and in which people become increasingly aware that they are receding.” As globalization makes the global society more homogenous, the dominant, or Western culture, becomes more and more prevalent. Some cultures, especially marginalized ones, are perpetually in danger of becoming erased. On the one hand, less and less people will be interested in the traditional, and on the other, given the situation of Philippine indigenous tribes, members of these tribes themselves may find that “joining the tide” is an easier way to live. It is a question of acceptance versus non-conformity, and the opportunity cost is relatively higher when one is non-conformist.
Another threat to Folk Art is commercialization. The fast pace of supply and demand and the Age of the Stock Market attaches a price tag to everything. Even things that were dreamt up by men and women long before money was a word now have a market value. Objects that take a central part in rituals of birth, death and everything in between, like the T’nalak of the T’boli, can now be bought in souvenir shops as pen holders and purses, a far cry from their once sacred purpose, and indeed priceless position, in the society. As mentioned, indigenous tribes are often marginalized, and dire economic conditions often force them to sell their cultures and traditions. In the capitalist setting however, mass production is inevitable, and along with mass production comes a “diluting” of the traditional processes in the name of speed and quantity.
Globalization and commercialization meet in a hybrid of time and space called the World Wide Web, or the Internet. The ultimate torchbearer of the twenty-first century, the Internet has also become a venue for the exploitation of Folk Art. On websites one can see an authentic Igorot bahag for sale alongside the Agung of the Maguindanao, Maranao and Tausug. And not for a very high price either. But the Internet is not all detrimental: various groups advertise their causes to rehabilitate Philippine Folk Art online. Ironically, the largest and most prominent, like Kayamanan ng Lahi Philippine Folk Arts and KULTURA, are based in the United States (Los Angeles and California respectively) because they are headed by Filipino immigrants. According to their official website, Wheatonarts in Millville, New Jersey held a Philippine Folk and Glass Art Workshop. But it is cynicism to see it as a lack of interest of Filipinos in promoting Folk Art. “Interest” in art itself may be seen as a post-materialist concern that immigrants are able to engage in precisely because they have the privilege of economic stability But there are others here in the Philippines, like bloggers, who make travel journals that document Folk Art, and also help in promoting awareness about them. There is also the Ayala Museum that features a Gold of Ancestors exhibition of “Philippine pre-colonial gold artifacts.” But these are luxuries, not venues that the average Filipino can engage in. Lack of information about these art forms is also a vital threat: the average Filipino knows of the Ancient Egyptian mummy but not of the Taka of Paete.
Aside from globalization, commercialization, and exploitation, attempts to industrialize also threaten not only Folk Art but also the multitude of indigenous tribes. Ancestral land is taken away from locals to make way for factories or plantations of raw materials, or even condominiums and subdivisions. Yet other threats are pollution and climate change, because Folk Art utilizes materials taken from the land and the water. Pollution causes destruction of water sources and soil erosion, climate change causes alterations in the overall environment that causes many plants and animals to become extinct.
There are many other threats to Folk Art aside from the ones I mentioned above. The present global landscape is an ever-changing environment that spends little time and attention on cultures, traditions, and the art forms that represent them. Especially in a quintessential post-colonial state like the Philippines, there are far more pressing concerns because of the desire to modernize and become an industrialized society. One can hope that more people and institutions will take part in the preservation of Folk Art, but to hope is not enough. Grounding in history as the Filipino moves into the twenty-first century is vital, lest we run the risk of losing our identity. Information about Folk Art is, I believe, a solid base for its preservation. Proper and extensive documentation, establishment of exhibits and information drives through popular media; eventually, when the cause has become well-known, establishment of laws that will protect not only Folk Art, but also indigenous tribes, to guarantee their security and existence.
Art Stud 2 Midterm Essay 1
Here the red clashes against the white, the white curves and writhes into eight letters that make an empire. Here too stands a man with his eyes to the ground, with a sweet, bubbly dagger to his heart. But there, there is a closed window tells you that a horse is a door, yet a valise is still a valise. These works are fifty-five years apart, but they both rely on established conventions to convey a meaning. One uses predetermined symbols to denote a stand; the other combines symbols with words to unsettle what is known.
Antipas Delotavo’s “Itak sa Puso ni Mang Juan” is fairly easy to understand. At a glance one can see what the artist’s message is: that capitalism has brought more heartache than joy to the Filipino working class. The Filipino image, represented by Mang Juan in his work clothes, conveys sadness and even hopelessness with a downturned face and sullenness to his expression. The figure is walking, and in my imagination, slowly, towards the left, perhaps representing how capitalism is leading the common Filipino farther away from development. It is interesting for me how his arms are drawn, one holding the other back. And up until now, I didn’t notice how the end of the first capital “C” resembled a dagger, or even a demon’s tail as artists draw it. There is a striking difference between this work of art and the Coca-Cola slogan “Open Happiness.” It also contradicts the myriad commercials that claim Coca-Cola fosters unity, friendship, family values and even love, and exposes them for what really they are: bids for more sales. And at the expense of Mang Juan, no less.
On the other hand, Rene Magritte’s “The Key of Dreams” aims to question our association of names with objects. There are four “windows,” the first from the left is the horse labeled as “the door,” the second, the clock labeled “the wind,” third, the jug, labeled “the bird,” and fourth, the valise called, as convention would deem correct, “the valise.”
The first time I saw this painting, I was thoroughly disconcerted. What on earth does the horse have in connection with a door, or the jug with a bird? The time and the wind I can understand, they are both abstract and intangible. And why is it called the “Key to Dreams?” But that was a slide in a PowerPoint presentation, and I soon forgot about it.
Upon further evaluation, I believe this work aims to make people realize how much of the world is socially constructed; how much exists only because we make them so. But the unsettling feeling caused by this is somewhat quelled by the last square: “Hey, maybe you’re right, maybe it is a valise.” Perhaps it is also a foray into the fascination of people with their dreams and interpreting their dreams, and Magritte is also trying to say that dreams are representations of objects that do not make sense at times because our subconscious and unconscious are taking over. But sometimes our conscious selves break through, as is expressed by his fourth square in the painting. I think that the usage of color—shades of brown and white—give a character of warmth and solidity to it that also contradicts the “dream” aspect. A question of color association as well?
Magritte once said, “To be a surrealist... means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.” Surrealism, I think, is very powerful, as anything strange in a sense creates an entire new world of thought that convention would not allow.
To me, both Antipas Delotavo’s Itak sa Puso ni Mang Juan and René Magritte’s Key to Dreams invite us to look closer, and at the same time, beyond, everyday objects. These artists implore us to not take anything for granted, to take a more active interest in the world we have created for ourselves through words and images.
Antipas Delotavo’s “Itak sa Puso ni Mang Juan” is fairly easy to understand. At a glance one can see what the artist’s message is: that capitalism has brought more heartache than joy to the Filipino working class. The Filipino image, represented by Mang Juan in his work clothes, conveys sadness and even hopelessness with a downturned face and sullenness to his expression. The figure is walking, and in my imagination, slowly, towards the left, perhaps representing how capitalism is leading the common Filipino farther away from development. It is interesting for me how his arms are drawn, one holding the other back. And up until now, I didn’t notice how the end of the first capital “C” resembled a dagger, or even a demon’s tail as artists draw it. There is a striking difference between this work of art and the Coca-Cola slogan “Open Happiness.” It also contradicts the myriad commercials that claim Coca-Cola fosters unity, friendship, family values and even love, and exposes them for what really they are: bids for more sales. And at the expense of Mang Juan, no less.
On the other hand, Rene Magritte’s “The Key of Dreams” aims to question our association of names with objects. There are four “windows,” the first from the left is the horse labeled as “the door,” the second, the clock labeled “the wind,” third, the jug, labeled “the bird,” and fourth, the valise called, as convention would deem correct, “the valise.”
The first time I saw this painting, I was thoroughly disconcerted. What on earth does the horse have in connection with a door, or the jug with a bird? The time and the wind I can understand, they are both abstract and intangible. And why is it called the “Key to Dreams?” But that was a slide in a PowerPoint presentation, and I soon forgot about it.
Upon further evaluation, I believe this work aims to make people realize how much of the world is socially constructed; how much exists only because we make them so. But the unsettling feeling caused by this is somewhat quelled by the last square: “Hey, maybe you’re right, maybe it is a valise.” Perhaps it is also a foray into the fascination of people with their dreams and interpreting their dreams, and Magritte is also trying to say that dreams are representations of objects that do not make sense at times because our subconscious and unconscious are taking over. But sometimes our conscious selves break through, as is expressed by his fourth square in the painting. I think that the usage of color—shades of brown and white—give a character of warmth and solidity to it that also contradicts the “dream” aspect. A question of color association as well?
Magritte once said, “To be a surrealist... means barring from your mind all remembrance of what you have seen, and being always on the lookout for what has never been.” Surrealism, I think, is very powerful, as anything strange in a sense creates an entire new world of thought that convention would not allow.
To me, both Antipas Delotavo’s Itak sa Puso ni Mang Juan and René Magritte’s Key to Dreams invite us to look closer, and at the same time, beyond, everyday objects. These artists implore us to not take anything for granted, to take a more active interest in the world we have created for ourselves through words and images.
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