Bilingues et artistes 2013 11 N°13

BILINGUES

H E R I T A G E ET ARTISTES 1

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Letter from the editors

“My father used to say that stories are part of the most precious heritage of mankind.”

–Tahir Shah, In Arabian Nights Heritage is defined as “something handed down from one’s ancestors or the past as a characteristic, a culture or tradition.”. As important as we feel it is to look to the future when it comes to art, it is also essential to look into the past. What we sometimes forget is that what makes us who we are often transcends our personal experiences and breaches into the experiences of our ancestors or of the culture in which we were brought up.

While tradtition and culture is in the midst of dispersing and evolving, EABJM is a microcosm of how all kinds of people from all kinds of places can fit together and strive to make the world a more interesting place. The pieces in this issue – all artwork from EABJM students – embrace not only cultures from our past, but also emerging ones – the ones that will shape the future we are responsible for passing down.

This is our first issue, and we are proud to continue B&A’s long history.

Literature and art are also great witnesses to our heritage. When looking over the submissions to this issue, we were amazed at how elementary, essential and finally beautiful our heritage ended up being in our minds. In each piece here there is a story and it is our utmost pleasure to share the treasures of our wildly imaginative EABJM family.

Sophie Benson is a part time

student and part time althlete. She loves science fiction/fantasy and microwave pizzas. Sophie has lived in California, Oregon, New Zealand and now France. Her dream is to direct Step it Up 8. She currently resides in Paris, where she is very content napping with her cat, Mimi.

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Aili Izsak-Niimura is a lifeguard who can’t swim and is a huge

fan of both poetry and chocolate. Before moving to the City of Lights, she resided in the Big Apple. Her hobbies include cello, singing, the poetry club and debate. Her dream is one day to become the mayor of a very small American town.

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LITERATURE

B&A

IN AND AROUND TOWN p. 5 We tell you what’s currently hot in Paris - Which museums, art galleries and exhibits - And Why!

HERITAGE

HANAE’S PHOTOS p.1213

ARTS PLASTIQUES

Hanae’s photography takes a look at people all over the world, from Cambodia to Paris.

MOTHER’S DAY p. 6 Lucas Damon uses Charcol and red crayon on A4 paper as a tribute to his mother.

SEARCH FOR MY IDENTITY p.6 Leah Diouf’s struggle with her self image finally comes to an end... as she comes to terms with her heritage.

FAMILY TREE p. 10 Maddie Osborne details what Heritage means to her, and her family in a Coraline-esque drawing.

MOTHER’S MUSICAL HERITAGE p. 9

WESTERN ROOTS...OR BOOTS p. 2

Anne-Eleanore Deleersnyder’s dark tale of music and family will leave you yearning for Chopin’s precious notes.

PHOTOGRAPHY

ARBRE DE VIE p. 13 Thomas Sittler reviews the L’ar-

bre de Vie contemporary art exhibit at the College des Bernardins.

PARADISE LOST p. 8 A new insight on an old tradition, Amelie Iselin translates a Mexican Day of the Dead skull to a modern day world.

Sophie Benson paints her cowboy boots on aquarelle paper. It’ll take you all the way to the wild west.

UNTITLED p. 12 Aili Izsak-Niimura explores her interpretation of heritage through poetry.

Coverpages front and back by Sophie Benson Bilingues Et Artistes - N*13

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In and Around Town Paris and its Surroundings

Pinacothèque de Paris

Advertised in the Paris Metros as the “Queen of Art Deco”, Tamara de Lempicka truly is the queen. The Polish painter is portrayed in the small Pinacothèque gallery in Paris, her sharp angular paintings displayed tastefully through out a maze of rooms. The exhibit leads us through her still-lifes, portraits, defining life moments, even correspondences between de Lempicka and others. Mostly oil on canvas, the paintings are creamy yet bold, they are not to be missed. Unfortunately, the exposition finished the 8th of September, but be sure to check out her artwork nevertheless.

Musèe d’Orsay

Grand Palais

After L’Ange du Bizarre, the eerily seductive exposition the Musée d’Orsay had to offer last year, comes Masculin/Masculin: L’Homme nu dans l’art de 1800 à nos jours, open from September 24th to January 2nd. The innovative exhibition features naked men in photography, painting and sculpture, with artists like David LaChapelle to Lucian Freud to Bouguereau.

Be sure to check out this unique exposition - it should be great for practicing sketches!

One of the pioneers of Cubism and the papiers collés technique hits up the Grand Palais from September 18th to January 6th -- can you guess who it is? You guessed it! Georges Braque (18821963), whose avant garde works helped sculpt the 20th century’s artistic scene will cost us 8euros per entry, but hopefully it’s worth it! The exposition promises to offer a unique perspective into his work, reuniting his works from all around the world.

Pierre et Gilles (nés respectivement en 1950 et en 1953) Mercure 2001 (modèle : Enzo Junior) Photographie peinte, pièce unique H. 117,3 ; L. 87 cm Collection particulière © Pierre et Gilles. Courtesy Galerie Jérôme de Noirmont, Paris. Photo Jean-Philippe Humbert Georges Braque, L’oiseau noir et l’oiseau blanc,1960, Huile sur toile, 134 x 167,5 cm, Paris © Leiris SAS Paris © Adagp, Paris 2013 - See more at: http://www.grandpalais.fr/fr/evenement/georges-braque#sthash.ADBdT2JG.dpuf

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At Last

I

By Leah Diouf can’t say that I’ve always accepted my ethnicity. As a matter

of fact, I had trouble accepting the fact that I was different in terms of my origins and my physical appearance. When I mention physical appearance, I’m mostly talking about my hair. I’ve always had thick, voluminous hair; my mom told me that that was my main African heritage from my father’s side. The fact that she had very thick hair didn’t help my “condition” at all; it actually worsened it.

Growing up in the suburbs of Paris, I attended an elementary school where all various ethnicities were gathered: Algerian, Lebanese, Senegalese, Egyptian… I was considered more of an outsider not because I was raised by an African father and a white mother, but because I was American. At that young age, I believed that people would actually be impressed of the fact that I could speak two languages and have a notion of two different cultures.

However, the other children proved me wrong. They didn’t think it was interesting that I spoke two languages or was multicultural, but rather found fault in my hair, which led to my long search for personal identity. I knew perfectly that my hair was not flat like the other girls’: it was short, almost as curly as Diana Ross’s, and it made me look like a boy. I didn’t really have a problem with it until a girl deliberately pulled it, asking me why my hair is so weird. I didn’t ansBilingues Et Artistes - N*13

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wer; I never considered asking my parents about it, because I didn’t believe it would be important. Then an avalanche of questions invaded my mind: why is my last name an African one and not a French or American one? Where does all this hair come from? One night, I asked my mother that last question and she naturally responded: “Honey, as you noticed, Papa

doesn’t have the same color as me. Papa is Senegalese and French which makes you a quarter Senegalese and French.

This gorgeous hair you have here comes from your African genes and, trust me, millions of girls have the same hair as you do.”

I didn’t know I had a third identity. I was fascinated but scared as well; let’s

just say that my skin color “Inherit my doesn’t exactly correHeart” by Lucas spond to what people would expect of someone Damon who has African genes. As you have read, I considered these origins as “identities”. A few days after this revelation, I started telling my friends about this new identity I had 7

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recently discovered. I was quite shocked since I do not speak a word of Wolof.. My father told me that “Diouf” is a popular family name in Senegal, and that we are not the only family to be named “Diouf”. I naïvely asked “So, I have more family relatives?” My father laughed and kindly assured me that no, we were not related to all the other Dioufs. Having Diouf as your last name could lead to confusion; as people believed that my father was the football player Pape Diouf or the recently deceased actor Mous Diouf.

I didn’t have a problem with my recently discovered Senegalese genes; but I still couldn’t live in harmony with my hair.

I hated it. I hated it because it drove people away, or attracted them only for them to laugh at it, or even pull it. I considered that heritage as a curse. All I wanted was to be normal, to not have to wake up in the morning and find this capillary haystack that is growing curlier and curlier. I wanted people to finally accept me. As a result of the many hair treatments I went through, the haystack started to calm down. This year I decided to stop all the treatments and see how my hair would react. To my surprise, I fell in love with it.

All these years of straitening my hair and searching for a better treatment finally made me realize how much I actually despised it. How I was ashamed of it, because of the negative remarks of my friends and classmates. How I actually believed that straightening my hair would make it go away, but I was wrong.

Now, when I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see someone who is the whitest ethnic girl in the family, , but a girl who fought many battles against herself, before finally dropping her weapons, and welcomed a new face, a new state of mind, a new identity, at last.

{ } Did you know?

Wolof is the second main Senegalese language after French.

It is somewhat close to Arabic.

For example, to salute an individual, you address them as “salamaleïkoum”.

If you wish to say “How are you ?”, it would be “Naa an tudd”

Paradise Lost, sculpture by Amelie Iselin

Mexican Day of the Dead Skulls are a staple in Mexican heritage. Every November first, everyone goes to the graveyard with treats and special sugar skulls to present and honor to their dead ancestors. This skull was made out of beads , marbles and tictacs, reflecting upon the modernity of today’s materials while skill keeping the “sugar skull” aspect by having the teeth made out of tictacs.

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Mother’s Muscial Heritage

By Anne-Eleanore Deleersnyder.

I

t sounded like a ticking bomb that could not explode. It was

continuous, cutting and cold. But the real problem was that this unperturbed noise could not be musically identified. In a world only built on flawless notes and Photo by Sophie Benson feelings, this one was only a lifeless beat from an irregular diapason.

It all comes back and flashes. Vibrations: La, 440 Hertz, the primary and essential base to all forms of music.

She has long, insect-like fingers. Each time they hit a note, my skin crawls and my heart surrenders. I have been listening to this masterpiece for so long. I know it by heart. She stops and looks at me – with her blue, deep ocean-blue eyes. I have been studying, playing, practicing hard for seven years and now it is my turn. But I cannot play it. I simply cannot. Not now. You do not, you cannot, take Chopin’s work so lightly.

I need something more than only an ear and a metronome to play the Nocturne. I need emotions. I need a memory.

Mother. I will never forget the way you used to play it. They may say you were insane, but they don’t know the real meaning of your sickness. Truth is, once you hear Chopin’s Nocturne, your life is changed forever. You become a lonely creator, a desperate researcher, seeking the unique purity of an unborn poetry. This is more than just reading music on paper. It is about trying to read your own self on a metaphysical scale.

I remember everything that followed your death. Musicology. A medical way to fight against a trauma of the soul. I cannot say if it did work – I don’t know myself. But the first piano piece that came from the radio, that first day in the hospital, made me a professional talent scout of perfection. Piano lesson after piano lesson, I tracked perfection and tried to put it within my own skin, head and hands.

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I breathe soundlessly and Mother smiles. Her small sweet sky-blue eyes are twinkling. Do. She hides her face with her hands. Fa, mi, re, do. I can see her cry. Ti do, re do. The golden drops are running like a shiny river down her cheek. Do. her knee and uncovers her face.

Then, she whispers: “At first, The Nocturne is a gift from god, a musical masterpiece.

But it has driven me into a powerful, uncontrollable and total madness. Play it until your fingers hurt, your arms weaken and your whole body aches. Play it until everyone is gone and everything has vanished. Play it until your head turns and your soul escapes. Music is like a drug, a turbulent feeling creeping in you, emptying, ironing everything out. Music is the elixir to the heart. I cannot picture my life without music like you cannot picture your life without love Even if music is all about pain.� The piece is finished and I am alone. The last note hangs to the ceiling, but slowly comes down like a feather falling from the sky, dancing in the silvered dark n ess, swirling, twirling, turning around in smooth, royal sadness.

Like crying is a necessary prelude to smiling, music is a necessary prelude to life.

The beep reiterates. It is now incredibly warm and sweet. It is a La, but the octave above, 880 Hertz. My own heartbeat is bursting with pride, filling the whole room with life, Bilingues Et Artistes - N*13

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drawing the V of Victory on the black and blue screen. It is the same hospital. Same room – no, almost. A woman is standing still next to me, blond hair and blue eyes.

The Nocturne is playing in the hospital. I start singing, softly.

- Don’t. It is only in heart, in your head, darling.

I listen. The sound is becoming louder, louder. - It is everywhere...

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- It is driving you mad, darling.

I cover my ears. It sounds like an alarm. The beep goes faster, faster.

Adrenaline, fear. I scream:

- Don’t you hear it?

Louder, faster.

The notes are fading, mixing, exploding. Intoxicating.

An orchestra of dissonant, dislocated, disrupted sounds.

A wry hubbub. An ebullient, flamboyant din. The zenith of pain. Louder, faster. Chopin’s work, my heartbeat. Chopin’s heartbeat, my work.

Drawing by Maddy Osborne

- Just like your mother.

I look around - the walls withdraw, the world decays, the music collapses. Mother’s musical heritage. I cannot believe it. My whole family cursed by the nameless power of music.

Now it is my turn, falling in the endless and soundless well of inhumanity.

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You’re a Kabuki portrait Autumn leaves kimono A thousand cranes your neck and two sad almonds peeking out under the three pound hairpiece.

He is a man in a uniform Green is the color of the fields in the spring and then brown When the harvest is done He stitches his jeans back together.

We’re the exotic peoples.

The inbreds, the half-wed.

My babushka wore a scarf over her head and squints in grainy photographs.

A colonial woman whispers into her ear at night she becomes part of the ether.

– Aili Izsak-Niimura Photographs on pages 6 and 7 by Hanae Taxis

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Arbre de vie Column and photograph by Thomas Sittler If I should name one thing which most particularly distinguishes France from its European neighbors, it would be the especially rich and cohesive cultural heritage that arguably 1,500 years of existence as a sovereign state has left us. Unlike its neighbors Germany or Italy, for example, who before the 19th century did not exist as a unit but rather as a multitude of small independent entities; France has since the reign of Clovis been a mainstay of the western European map.

The relative stability provided by these borders have allowed France over the centuries to amass unrivaled quantities of cultural goods and traditions that form a heritage handed down from one generation of French to the next. And whether you are fond of the ‘patronge’ of the Catholic Church or not, there is no denying that this institution has been the strongest single influence on

by Thomas Sittler culture in French history.

Since 1789 the Church has had it much tougher in France. Catholics – now a minority group according to some studies - saw an interest in their religion dwindle, the Church would have to be innovative to remain a relevant player culturally. The use of the College des Bernardins could be viewed as a manifestation of just such an effort.

Since 2008, the disused Cistercian monastery in Paris as a center for conferences, exhibitions and concerts. This photographs of the recent L’arbre de Vie contemporary art exhibit at the College were my attempt at a representation of the heterogeneous –even incongruous- mixture of art that had arisen here. In this combination of colorful plastic constructions with the austere architecture of the place, past and present seemed to merge into a blur.

Embracing modernity, it turns out, was the best way to keep the deep-rooted tree of French cultural heritage alive.

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Interested in joining the B&A team?

Contact: bilinguesetartistes@ gmail.com

Ecole Active Bilingue Jeannine Manuel Fall 2013

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