The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 14, 2017
STREET EDITORS: JIANING ZHAO, DANIELLE HOFFMAN, LYRIC PEROT
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Christmas Color
PAGES DESIGNED BY DIANA TANG, WILL RANDALL
The Street takes a look at some ways to decompress on campus around the holidays
I’ll Be Honest:
I Cried During CHROMA
diSiac’s spectacular show entitled CHROMA debuted recently in the Berlind Theater
Lucy Chuang Contributor ‘21
No one pays attention to the group of dancers gathered in the rafters at first, until four members of diSiac Dance Company vault through the aisles of the Berlind Theater pumping their arms to Cardi B’s “Bodak Yellow.” That’s when things start to get interesting … and colorful. Never having been to a dance performance on Princeton’s campus before, I was beyond excited to see CHROMA, a performance with the “intent of welcoming color and light” into diSiac’s gener-
ally “dark aesthetic.” The program itself boasted a mosaic of color and talent, coupled with insanely skilled and diverse members to create a spectrum of contemporary and hiphop movements. The company has members ranging from freshman to seniors, with every single person functioning as an invaluable asset in creating a production that comes alive with the depth of what it means to be human. The range of emotions that evoke friendship, liveliness, and power persevere throughout a two-hour show that is filled with high-intensity music. I’ll be honest: I cried
Image courtesy of Lucy Chuang
Image courtesy of Allison Huang
during CHROMA. I cried because of how beautiful some of the movements were, how gracefully each dancer moved in sync with the others, and how every person I watched on stage performed as if they were born to be on that stage, with glistening eyes in the audience following their every step. Separated into two acts, the show introduced familiar music and themes that were fascinating to watch. The opening number, “Change is Everything,” showcased a duet accompanied by other dancers leaping between the shadows of light and dark. “Human” featured a piece with all girls in reflective jewel tones mim-
icking robotic and feral movements to represent the wide span of human experience. My friends and I gaped at the ability of the dancers to not only move to the choreography but live it. I’ll be honest: I also yelled during CHROMA. How could I not? At the very beginning of the show, a loud, booming voice rang out from the blacklight and shouted, “Hey Yo Princeton” to grab our attention and silence chatter. The voice called out, “You think you know, but you have nooo ideaaa!” which basically summed up the entire experience. Because watching the people on stage wasn’t the
Image courtesy of Lucy Chuang
Image courtesy of Lucy Chuang
only good part about the show. It was also watching each of the dancers calling out for their friends and giving insight into what was coming with each new number through laughter and hushed whispers. I think I yelled the most as I watched “Flawless,” when dancers unapologetically embraced their roots and wore their hearts on their sleeves to showcase the journey of individuality. More so than anything, every piece in the show conveyed lightheartedness and simultaneously introduced heavy conversations. The audience was in awe at the burst of “Rainbow Sweatshirts” that ended Act Two with every color previously introduced in the show. It was surprising to see personalities of each dance member thrust into the open, whether it be during a mini-solo or a video depicting a humorous cast-specific rendition of the “Wizard of Oz.” Playing with the technicality of professional dance, the themes of emotion, interaction, and individuality, and the colors of the rainbow, diSiac’s CHROMA won’t be forgotten. The audience will remember the first time they saw in CHROMA.
The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 14, 2017
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Who is Jeff Whetstone? Professor, Filmmaker, Anthropologist, Princetonian Heather Grace Contributor ‘18
One Friday afternoon in late October, Jeff Whetstone, a professor in the visual arts department, was stationed in the Digital Learning Lab on the first floor of Lewis Library, sitting in a swivel chair with his black leather boots kicked off for comfort. From behind a brushedsilver computer monitor — in a large room containing nothing but twenty more of the machines — his round, wire-rimmed glasses shone with identical rectangular reflections in each lens, flashing from bright white to muted black as he navigated back and forth between image thumbnails. “You know what a RED camera is?” he asked, before explaining: “It’s a cinema camera that takes these enormous, huge video files that are kind of un-editable.” He spoke the last word more slowly, anticipating that he might mispronounce it otherwise. “So, I’m crunching them down to size for a video I’m doing,” a process, he explained, that was better done on campus than from his home in Princeton or his shared studio in Long Island City. “This is a magic thing — I don’t have one of these,” he said while cupping the cylindrical hard drive in both hands as it sat whirring away with its 64 gigabytes of RAM. Whetstone was processing the video files for his most recent project — an experimental short documentary that was commissioned for “Prospect New Orleans,” a triennial exhibition of contemporary art taking place in the city, where it was shown last month after two years in the making. The footage focuses on the tension between society and wilderness, exemplified in the bustling activities along a small strip of land bordering the Mississippi River through which Whetstone documents the local catfishing economy
and international shipping operations that take place amid daily life in New Orleans. “People are just eating out of the river while global capitalism floats by,” he said. This new work is also a continuation of Whetstone’s career-long exploration of Southern masculinity and the outdoors: earlier series include images of wild turkey hunters, natural landforms, shooting ranges, and camouflage-clad teens across the southern United States. This anthropological angle in Whetstone’s artistic practice can be traced to his time as an undergraduate at Duke University, where he joined a cohort of students and professors living in and around migrant farmworker camps in eastern North Carolina and worked as a documentary photographer for the service group. Though Whetstone’s photographs were published, bringing attention to the cause of “Student Action with Farmworkers,” he admitted that the images were more concerned with achieving certain aesthetics than with directly helping the migrant community. “I had to consciously decide what kind of photographer I was being, and that decision took another five or six years,” he said. Having grown up in the rural South, the fortynine-year-old speaks with the accent of his hometown — a small farm town outside of Chattanooga, Tennessee — which he remembers fondly for its caves, mountains, and brooks, and where most of his extended family still lives. Through his life, Whetstone has lived in several other small Southern towns, including Whitesburg, Kentucky, where he lived in his midtwenties while working for Appalshop, a cooperative dedicated to mobilizing the arts in rural areas of Appalachia. In light of the 2016 election, Whetstone’s desire to engage with rural communities and create empathetic portraits of white, working-class males — figures that are
now hyper-politicized — seems to have been a kind of recognition of something that was worth paying attention to. “It’s funny how you make work, and then the world changes and it changes its meaning,” he said. That meaning took on a predictive quality, as Whetstone’s work in rural communities suggested to him the potency of the Trump electorate even before Election Day: “I was like ‘Trump’s gonna get elected, it’s gonna happen, I can see it,’” he said. “Trump spoke all those codes — I know what those codes were about, largely about race — and he excited a lot of racists. Just enough.” Now in his third year as a professor of photography at the University, Whetstone was selected to be the chair of the Public Spaces Working Group for the newly formed Campus Iconography Committee, which to him is “a heavy-
lifting and very important role.” The committee was created in response to a campus-wide controversy over the legacy of Woodrow Wilson, “a flat-out racist guy,” Whetstone remarked, and the University’s thirteenth President, after whom the School of Public and International Affairs is named. “If there was no Woodrow Wilson, we wouldn’t have that student action. They sat in the President’s office, and I think that’s a great thing — I did it when I was a student,” he said of the Black Lives Matter demonstrations on Princeton’s campus last year. “You can’t be apolitical anymore— especially now and especially here.” “I’m not sure if anybody knows what artists really do,” Whetstone said, chuckling, “but one of the things we do is analyze visual information and cut to the chase on what markers and metaphors are ac-
tive in a piece of art, and so that is what is needed here.” He watched his own hands to ensure that they were properly communicating his thoughts as he gestured. “The idea is probably to amend that history,” he said while rotating his hand in the air, his fingers bent as if trying to grasp the thing that needed changing. “Why they went out and got the white male to do this,” referencing his own nomination, “when that seems to be the issue of white male-dominated iconography on campus ...” he trailed off. “It doesn’t look like that when you walk around: it’s a global university. But that history certainly was that. And that history was literally etched in stone and poured in bronze and hammered on the wall in big frames. And so how do you negotiate that history and reflect the present? Got any ideas?”
Image courtesy of Heather Grace Jeff Whetstone from the Visual Arts department just finished a film on New Orleans
Gallery
Image courtesy of Jeff Whetstone.net
The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
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Hanukkah Traditions of a Princeton Student Carolyne Davidson Contributor ‘21
While we all share an excitement for the start of a muchdeserved winter break this Friday, the traditions we will enjoy over the holidays are vastly different. This sense of diversity is the c ornerstone of the Princeton experience. I, for example, have learned so much about the Judaism thanks to my roommate, Malka Himelhoch ’21, who is a member of the vibrant Jewish community on campus. She shared with me the details surrounding Hanukkah and specifically how her family celebrates this joyful holiday. Himelhoch explained that the tradition of Hanukkah is to “light candles every day in order to commemorate the candelabrum that stayed lit magically for eight days, even though there was only enough oil to sustain it for one day.” This miracle occurred soon after the Maccabean revolt in which the Jews reclaimed the temple in Jerusalem from their Greek-Syrian oppressors. Each night of Hanukkah, an additional candle is lit until all eight are lit. “The obligation is to sit in the candles, watch them, and enjoy their light,” Himelhoch said. Many other traditions surround this eight-day celebration, including playing dreidel. Himelhoch said that her family visits her grandparents’ house
Courtesy of Carolyne Davidson Hanukkah follows the lunar calendar and involves a variety of traditions during the eight-day celebration.
each year for a Hanukkah party, where they “play [dreidel] with pennies, and whoever wins the most pennies can trade them in for a chocolate bar.” Of course, no holiday is complete without great food. The customary
dishes for Hanukkah are “potato pancakes, called latkes, with sour cream or applesauce” and “sufganiyot, which are donuts that are filled with jelly,” Himelhoch explained. They also sing traditional Hanukkah songs
and give and receive presents. Hanukkah, which began Tuesday night, occurs according to the lunisolar calendar, not the commonly used Gregorian calendar. Himelhoch pointed out that it’s fun to be a
part of the overall holiday spirit with Hanukkah falling close to Christmas this year. No matter what you celebrate, take a moment to embrace the diverse backgrounds here at Princeton and learn something new.
THIS WEEK ON THE SEXPERT:
Unsure Dear Sexpert, I’m an undergrad and recently started hanging out with a graduate student. We’re really into each other and are thinking about having sex, but is it “okay?” My friends seem to think it’s taboo. —Unsure
Dear Unsure, It’s great that you’ve found someone you are really connecting with! However, to your friend’s point, there may be a concern that the relationship is against University policy or that a skewed power dynamic between you and the graduate student that could impact your satisfaction with the relationship. To the first concern, there are policies that prevent relationships between individuals in a supervisory capacity and those they are supervising. According to article 1.3.4 of Princeton’s “Rights, Rules, Responsibilities,” any “sexual or romantic relationship between students and teachers, supervisors or mentors (faculty members, staff members, or other students) violates both University and professional standards”. Although relationships between graduate and undergraduate students are not strictly prohibited, the guidelines warn of possible infringement on state anti-discrimination policies.
Furthermore, the Office of the Dean of the Faculty’s procedures state that “no faculty member, researcher, graduate student, visiting student, or undergraduate course assistant shall initiate or engage in a romantic or sexual behavior with any student, including a graduate student or DCE student, who is enrolled in a course taught by that individual or otherwise subject to that individual’s academic supervision or evaluation.” By supervision or evaluation, they mean interactions like teaching, advising, supervising research, assigning grades, and providing letters of reference. So, if the graduate student is in one of these roles, it is in the best interest of both of you to end the relationship. Even if the graduate student is not currently academically supervising or evaluating you, if the graduate student becomes a teaching assistant for a class you are taking, or in one where your close friends are enrolled, it is a violation of these policies. This is because there could be questions of favoritism regarding grading or treatment. Additionally, if the graduate student is in a role that directly oversees direct programming, organizations, or activities you participate in, this could be a concerning relationship. In fact, power dynamics are not just limited to those in positions of power or leadership. It is a part of how we relate to and interact with others. A healthy relationship is built upon many components, including trust, autonomy, support, clear and open communication, security, and maintenance of individual identities and friendships.
Given that you are most likely younger, the two of you may have different levels of experience and maturity. This dynamic may impact whether this relationship would be a healthy one between two consenting adults of equal positions. Try asking yourself if you feel like you would be able to resolve conflicts and make compromises on equal terms. Would you be willing to support each other’s friendships and relationships and maintain personal hobbies given your possibly different friend circles? Another factor to consider, especially if you are
considering becoming romantically involved with a graduate student, would be the expectations involved and practicality of such a relationship. For instance, it is important to discuss whether you plan to have a long-term relationship or a short-term one. Moreover, both of you should consider how your family and friends would perceive your relationship and be okay with the potential conversations if or when they share their opinions with you. If you are unsure of how you should proceed in this situation, you can talk to a counselor at Counseling
and Psychological Services or the Ombuds Office, a neutral, confidential, independent resource that assists in mediating and resolving conflicts and problems among University community members. For concerns about power dynamics within a relationship, consider reaching out to the SHARE office at 609-258-3310. ~The Sexpert Information retrieved from Go Ask Alice, Umatter, Ombuds Office of Princeton University, and Princeton University Regulations.
The Daily Princetonian
Thursday December 7, 2017
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Love & Lust: I heaped too much of myself onto you I didn’t even notice you for a few months. I came to class early and sat in the same seat each time, exchanging few words with anyone. Then I started to push the limits of my fast-walking abilities, leaving my room for class later and later, until I started to come late enough that someone would find my unassigned seat before me. And, eventually, the norm shifted so that every class I was next to you. You were a terrible person to sit next to. You slurped coffee instead of sipping it, teetered on the back legs of your chair so often that most of the time I glanced over at you it was to make sure you hadn’t fallen over, and barely
strung together sentences when you inevitably became my partner by proximity for discussions. I didn’t dislike you. I just didn’t notice you. A month before class was supposed to end, we watched a full-length film and at the end of it, instead of clapping you hollered out some ridiculous noise as applause. When questioned, you were genuinely confused that we all didn’t know what the sound was. That was when I noticed you. I fell for the ridiculousness of you — how you yelled applause, how eventually your chair did fall over, how it turned out that your coffee was really just hot water. And, for a while, I think you noticed
me, too. We started inching too close together to be entirely comfortable when talking and let our skin linger whenever it touched. We gravitated towards each other in class and eventually began talking outside of it. And this is where I scared you off. Not consciously, because you still smile a genuine smile at me when you see me, but that little thing where I thought you noticed me too was extinguished. I expected too much from you, too fast. Instead of finding a way to deal with my mental health issues, I pinned my happiness on you. I hid the fact well enough, but once I noticed the way I would brighten a little too much
when I talked to you, it felt like an undercurrent to the tenuous friendship between us. I heaped too much of myself onto you — trying to fill up the briefest of silences about everything I thought you should know about me; never once considering pacing myself or asking the same things of you. I only saw that you noticed me, and once I noticed you too, I didn’t think to pace myself. Now, I burn when I think of all that you know about me, and that I barely have half of the same facts, stories, and complaints stowed away. I was becoming more of a strange sort of weight than the girl who kicked you under the table during class for making fun of the
professor or the girl who tried to learn your version of applause. I wish we could’ve met now, with the version of myself that can look at last year and think that I was a child who didn’t understand anything about healthy relationships. I think if we had met now, we would’ve gotten further than we did. A bigger part of me still waits to see your eyes brighten with your smile whenever we run into each other. Mostly, I know that you are probably lost to me, but next time will be better with someone new. Maybe sometime I’ll ask you to lunch again, and this time, I’ll start by asking why you drink hot water instead of coffee.
Lost (Again) Anoushka Mariwala Contributor ‘21
In my first article for The Street, “Lost,” I wrote about getting and feeling lost on an early autumn campus shrouded in mystery, its trees still holding onto their leaves, everything full of promise. Now, as winter approaches, everything becomes familiar, shrouded in memory instead. “In the beginning, I got lost all the time,” Lucy Zhang ’21 in Mathey said to me recently over lunch. “Now, I can’t get lost even if I try to.” We’re all sharing this Orange Bubble, this tiny, enclosed world, and in the weeks since that first article, I’ve watched those once foreign arches, quads, and halls become veiled by layers and layers of memories. It’s something I’m still having trouble getting used to. How everything is reused. How one picnic bench or dorm room or staircase landing can become linked to so many stories, stories that are not only my own. Sometimes, I wish I could look at them with a fresh pair of eyes again. Memories can hurt, and
returning to the spaces in which they were formed easily reopens wounds. The happy memories are sometimes the worst: a carefree game of ping pong, a moment of laughter, a first kiss, reminding me of what I have lost. After a breakup, my friend from home embarked on a journey to “reclaim spaces” that recalled his ex by creating new memories in the places where old ones still brought him pain. That meant visits to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the ice skating rink that opens each winter by City Hall, and 30th Street Station. In the city, he went out of his way. Here, it’s almost impossible not to reclaim space, to add layers upon layers to single landmarks. The quad where my roommate and I threw oranges at trees for no reason is the same quad I walked across, stunned, after receiving a fateful text. The common room piano bench where I read sad poems with a friend at the end of a bad night is where another friend likes to park herself when we study together. It’s not only spaces on campus, but traditions and
routines that gain weight. Hoagie Haven’s mozzarella sticks are simultaneous reminders of a boy’s all-toourgent tokens of affection and the unconditional love of a hallmate, now sister. Even people, perhaps too easily, become living memories, ghosts. Former classmates, acquaintances, friends who fought, friends who drifted apart, hookups, exes, everyone in between. It’s already common to see someone I no longer really speak to multiple times in a day. But sometimes we reconnect, come back to life again. While distance, both physical and metaphorical, is hard to find, creating these constant reminders is so easy, almost inevitable. It means that we care, perhaps more deeply than we’d like to admit. Maybe someday, long after graduation, I’ll come back here to soak in nostalgia, pausing at that arch, that staircase, that bench. I think the memories will still be there, hiding. In one of my favorite poems, “Tonight I Can Write,” Pablo Neruda writes, “Love is so short, forgetting is so long.”
Courtesy of Anoushka Mariwala