I'll find my own bravado

Recently I watched a movie that I had never seen before, expecting it to be another dull and forgettable film that was similar to the other wannabe "indie" films out there at the moment. Turns out, my judgement was way off and i quickly found myself quite drawn to the unexpected twists it had to offer. It wasn't predictable, or boring - in fact, it resonated quite a bit. I'm not going to talk about the film, because that's not the point - what stood out to me was a single moment somewhere in the middle where the protagonist is having a debate with another pivotal character, who is older and has more life experience. After some back and forth debating he stops and declares that your 30's are the worst decade in your lifetime. That statement really made me stop and think, is that true? Maybe I'm biased because I'm (yes, still) in my 20's - but as I near closer and closer to the end of this chapter of my life, I can't help but reflect on the whirlwind that has been the last couple of years. Many good days, quite a lot of bad ones too - but would I take it back? Not a chance. The way I see it, your 20's are the time when you make mistakes. It's when you realize who your real friends are, who deserves to stay and who needs to be cut off. You still rebel, but not in the same way you did when you were a teenager (which was a crazy adventure in of itself). You stand up for things you're passionate about politically and otherwise. Most importantly you find yourself and your calling, whatever it may be. It takes a while but you get there eventually. It's the ten year frame where you discover who you are as a human being and what adulthood truly entails. Granted this is all subjective, I know, but I have always viewed the 30's as that bliss point where you're still young but you have everything figured out (well, the important stuff at least). Yes, every decade brings its own struggles and hardships, but if we were to take a collective average, what decade is the so-called "worst"? Is there really such a thing? Again, it varies from person to person. In any case, if we were all the same, how boring would that be? What do you think? What has been the worst year or years of your life, so far? Tell me your thoughts.

vera x

Home

My family history is complex and and would certainly take a long time to explain. As in any other family, we can all drive each other up the wall and there is never a shortage of drama, however at the end of the day we are there to support each other, no matter how scattered across the globe we are. Since I am mainly of Polish and Russian decent, my ancestors have endured a vast number of tragedies, and I suppose I have inherited that trait of being able to start over in a new place. Having moved so many times in the past, it has become almost second nature to be able to pack up at short notice and leave to someplace new. For that reason I believe that although having a physical place to call “home” is always a privilege, to me home is where my loved ones are. After all, going back to an empty flat, etc. and just being filled with memories isn’t quite the same as having dinner with the whole family, or going to see snow for the first time. 

    It’s these small events and milestones that make us who we are as humans. It’s the accomplishments and the downfalls that test to see who is there for us. Friends of course play a huge role in this, however the difference is that not only do you choose your friends, but they tend to come and go. Family is something that defines you, and that sticks with you for the rest of your life whether you like it or not. Despite some hardships, my life has been pretty blessed. In short, when I think of the word “home,” I don’t think of the places where we gather once a year to have our own reunion of sorts, whether for the endless Christmas festivities that last for days, or exploring the city of Torun during the warm days of summer. Instead I think of the people who surround me, and how humble and loved they all make me feel. No one knows you more than the people who helped bring you up, so the saying goes, and in this case I find that to be true. To me, home is going to get ice cream at the infamous local ice cream place with my older cousin and my step grandfather on hot summer afternoons, it’s going to the beach with my grandmother and braving the cold morning water. It’s waking up to the sound of that strange next door neighbor (who has known my family for decades) knocking loudly on our front door every morning at the crack of dawn with some pointless newspaper that we end up tossing right after he leaves. It’s being at midnight mass and hearing very off-key singing, only to turn around and see my cousin and his friends laughing because they are already making plans to invite me to their all-nighter festivities right after the sermon. It is going to the local renown bakery at 3 o’ clock in the morning and watching the employees through the big window bake the bread and take it out fresh from the oven. It’s having the mayor of the city of Gdansk coming up to me at one of my aunt’s infamous parties and seeing if my Russian is still any good. It is reuniting with people, friends and family alike, after a long period of no contact, and being able to pick up and as if it had only been yesterday. The long and short of it is, without my family, Poland and any other place in Europe would just be a beautiful country that I come from. With them there, it is home, and there is no place I’d rather be.

The One Where Vera Gets Arrested In Zurich, Switzerland

This is basically the so-called "story of my life", even though I'd like to think that if people will ever talk about me or reminisce about my past, it will be more than just about this single event . . . because of its infamous and somewhat tragic yet hilarious "it could only happen to me" nature, I've been asked to write it down, lest I ever forget the details (UNLIKELY!). Just FYI though, I was very young at the time so I have a somewhat selective memory from this situation and probably forgot one important detail or another, so please bear with me.
 
 
"The One Where Vera Gets Arrested In Zurich, Switzerland"
 
It all happened a while back, I don't remember the year exactly but I believe I was around 9 or 10 years old at the time. My uncle and aunt-to-be had invited the entire family to their wedding, which was to be held in St. Petersburg, Russia. From what I knew, it was going to be very elegant and "royal-esque" and of course a big deal, not to mention I had maybe at that point only been to one wedding before in my lifetime so I was beyond excited.
 
The plan had been for me, my mum, my aunt and cousin to travel to Zurich, Switzerland for about a day or two, and then from there to catch a connecting flight and arrive in Russia, and afterwards take a train straight to St. Petersburg.
 
The whole trip to Zurich and our stay there went rather smoothly for the most part, although from what I recall I had insomnia and for the life of me couldn't fall asleep in that hotel we stayed in. I also remember (unintentionally, of course) angering the hotel staff with my cousin - what can I say, boredom lead to rebelliousness. Regardless, our shenanigans kept us very entertained - from racing each other down the corridors and stairwells to playing hide and seek by the front desk, amongst other things.
 
For the record, my mother has a knack for losing important things, and is unfortunately prone to having mishaps during trips she takes (thankfully I did not inherit this trait).
 
Fast-forward, we landed in Russia, got off the plane, and were about to go through customs when my mum noticed she didn't have any of our documents (passports, boarding passes, etc.). We explained the situation, but were still not allowed back on the plane, which of course made us all go instantly into a state of absolute panic (my cousin in a fit of rage almost threw his glasses on the floor). In the end, they gave my mom a choice - either be arrested on the spot, or go back to the airport in Zurich where we came from and then be "dealt with" there. Knowing the nature of Russian prisons, we all decided it would be best if the two of us would just fly back to Switzerland so we bid a tearful goodbye to my aunt and cousin, who had to tell my grandmother and step-grandfather what happened, and we left.
 
What of our documents? Well, we figure they were probably stolen by the cleaning crew . . . after all, American passports could be sold for a lot of money.
 
Upon our arrival to the Zurich airport, my mother frantically started making phone calls. It was a hopeless case - her boss thought she wasn't being truthful about what happened and that she only wanted have an extended vacation, and the Polish consulate basically told us that since I was not yet a Polish citizen my mom could not prove that I was her child, to which he added: "You don't even have ANY documents . . . you're nothing, you don't exist."
 
During our 4 to 5 days at the airport, we were kept in a tiny room with no windows, bright fluorescent lights, and a few bunk beds. We were not allowed to go out of the airport. Frankly, no one knew what to do with us. We couldn't leave, and we couldn't stay. We didn't have an identity.
 
Our "cell mate" was a big fat cheerful Russian lady, who had also somehow gotten her documents stolen on a group tour. I remember her cheering us up, saying, "I have been through the war. This is nothing." I gave her English lessons in exchange for her company.
 
I got sick very quickly, since they didn't provide us with any food or drinks and I barely ate, and when I did, it was old refrigerated airport food. Did I mention that our suitcases had gotten lost? That was decidedly the cherry on top of an already horrible situation.
 
On one fateful occasion we came across one of the police/security people who worked there, and he took pity on me because I was so ill and exhausted. I remember him giving me fresh oranges that I would immediately take into my hands and bring up to my nose to fully soak up the scent (perhaps, in hindsight, this is where my fondness of orange juice comes from? food for thought). Out of curiosity my mum asked him why he was helping us, he replied "I have a daughter about her age."
 
What happened next was a miracle - that police man said that he would give us permission to go out for a few hours to the city of Bern in order to get temporary passports, but only under the condition that we kept quiet and that we came back as soon as possible . . . after all, he was risking his career for us.
 
Thanks to our guardian angel, we got the documents we needed after a heavy day of traveling around Switzerland, and we came back. We said adieu to our former roomie, who decided to move to some sort of hotel, and we flew back to Poland, where our suitcases were waiting for us.
 
A few years later, a movie came out. I never did see it, but from what I've been told, it's about a man who is stuck in an airport. Coincidence? I think not.
 
v x
 
P.S. To that police man - you helped me and my mum so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking pity on me, and for saving us. I will always remember your kindness . . . you give me hope. To this day I still have this little tiny angel doll that I found laying on the sidewalk the day we were allowed out of the airport, and it makes me think of you.

Slavery Question

Slavery in Africa varied in a few ways in comparison to slavery in the New World.

In Africa when tribes would go to war, the losing side would be enslaved to serve the winning tribe. They mostly would be in the fields farming and harvesting crops such as sugar cane, cotton and tobacco. In America however it transformed into a completely different view of ownership based on skin color. Slaves were worth more in America than in England.

There were many types of slavery that initially began in Africa and continued in America as slaves were deported - Chattel Slavery, Debt Bondage, Forced Labor, and Serfdom.

Chattel slavery meant that the slave in question was treated as land or goods, and could be traded. They had no rights and no say in their future, and often had to work hard and perform difficult tasks. Chattel slavery immigrated to the Americas along with the slaves.

Debt Bondage was more relative in the sense that once the debt was paid off in some form of labor, the slave was theoretically allowed to leave -- however these debts usually ended up spanning generations. This kind of peonage grew all the more strict once it reached America

Forced labor was somewhat of a contract in which a person would be threatened in various ways and punished severely at any hint of escape.

Serfdom was slightly more lenient as the tenant farmer was still under the control of the landlord, however with permission could leave the land and marry and change their current occupation and could earn some money by cultivating the owner’s land.

Some of these slaves were shipped were shipped out to America in the early 1600’s to work for households without pay. This kind of slavery was indefinite and usually a slave would be tied to this form of labor for the rest of their lives.

Until the Emancipation Proclamation in 1863 slavery was legal in America and very common.

Hitchcock Compare & Contrast

Alfred Hitchcock is known for his film noire and black and white thriller classics. A common theme in is work is a strong lead female character who is liberated in some way (however not necessarily the protagonist). Some of Hitchcock’s films also include love stories, whether or not they are between the main characters or as general subplots - “Rebecca” and “Notorious” are two such examples of films that very well emulate Hitchcock’s style and and personal touch that is so easily recognizable with their vivid imagery and story lines, and the typical shots of the director himself that are common in his pictures.

“Rebecca”, a drama that was released in 1940, follows a woman who marries a widower, whom along with his entire household seems to be obsessed with the death of his late wife. It is a psychological thriller, as well as symbolic in the sense that the protagonist herself has major character development, starting out as a naive, submissive woman into becoming completely engulfed in the idea of being reincarnated into her husband’s deceased wife, as everyone makes her feel inferior and beneath her. Rebecca’s name is a constant reminder of her ever-lasting presence, even with her death, while the lead character remains nameless throughout. Through a series of events in the film the plot takes a different turn and in the end it is revealed that the husband, Mr. de Winter, wasn’t still in love with Rebecca and that in fact she had been not the person she was made out to be all along.

“Notorious” shows how Hitchcock’s style evolved in just a matter of years. While also a thriller, it is more of a gothic romance that delves into espionage. The shots manage to be subtle yet simultaneously dramatic, with it’s close ups and carefully selected angles, one scene in particular being when Ingrid Bergman’s character wakes up in bed with a hangover and we see, from her perspective, the room spinning and Delvin (Cary Grant’s persona) approaching. This film in a way explores a theme that now is more common - tension and a love-hate relationship between a male and female protagonist. Alicia Huberman, played by Bergman, is an American whose father is a convicted Nazi spy who is sent on a mission to put her promiscuity to good use and find out what a ring leader named Sebastian is up to by seducing him. In the end, she ends up falling in love with Delvin himself, the man who assigned her that task. This film is suspenseful most of all in the infamous scene where there is a close up of Alicia’s hand holding the key to the wine cellar, showing at that moment the fear of what the outcome of this whole mission may be, and also hinting that perhaps she is not the heroine in everyone’s eyes, even though other characters seem much more intimidating.

“Rebecca” from the start offers a glimpse into the different kinds of lighting that Hitchcock used. Even in the title screens there is mist and fog, and it turns into a very contrasted night sky. This film is from the get go very suspenseful, while “Notorious” accelerates into a dramatic ending.

These two films vary in a sense when it comes to technicalities such as lighting and angles, as well as the moments of suspense, however in many ways they are similar. The politically themed “Notorious” and the dark “Rebecca” both discuss the topic of control. Both female protagonists go to great lengths to achieve their goals, whether that is love, individuality, or otherwise. Both lead men are essentially portrayed in the beginning as not having the best intentions, and in the end turn out to be more complex characters than initially thought. Hitchcock was a master of minimalism and plot twists, and in the case of these two films it is no exception.

What Is "Home" To You?

    My family history is complex and and would certainly take a long time to explain. As in any other family, we can all drive each other up the wall and there is never a shortage of drama, however at the end of the day we are there to support each other, no matter how scattered across the globe we are. Since I am mainly of Polish and Russian decent, my ancestors have endured a vast number of tragedies, and I suppose I have inherited that trait of being able to start over in a new place. Having moved so many times in the past, it has become almost second nature to be able to pack up at short notice and leave to someplace new. For that reason I believe that although having a physical place to call “home” is always a privilege, to me home is where my loved ones are. After all, going back to an empty flat, etc. and just being filled with memories isn’t quite the same as having dinner with the whole family, or going to see snow for the first time.

    It’s these small events and milestones that make us who we are as humans. It’s the accomplishments and the downfalls that test to see who is there for us. Friends of course play a huge role in this, however the difference is that not only do you chose your friends, but they tend to come and go. Family is something that defines you, and that sticks with you for the rest of your life whether you like it or not. Despite some hardships, my life has been pretty blessed. In short, when I think of the word “home,” I don’t think of the places where we gather once a year to have our own reunion of sorts, whether for the endless Christmas festivities that last for days, or exploring the city of Torun during the warm days of summer. Instead I think of the people who surround me, and how humble and loved they all make me feel. No one knows you more than the people who helped bring you up, so the saying goes, and in this case I find that to be true. To me, home is going to get ice cream at the infamous local ice cream place with my older cousin and my step grandfather on hot summer afternoons, it’s going to the beach with my grandmother and braving the cold morning water. It’s waking up to the sound of that strange next door neighbor (who has known my family for decades) knocking loudly on our front door every morning at the crack of dawn with some pointless newspaper that we end up tossing right after he leaves. It’s being at midnight mass and hearing very off-key singing, only to turn around and see my cousin and his friends laughing because they are already making plans to invite me to their all-nighter festivities right after the sermon. It is going to the local renown bakery at 3 o’ clock in the morning and watching the employees through the big window bake the bread and take it out fresh from the oven. It’s having the mayor of the city of Gdansk coming up to me at one of my aunt’s infamous parties and seeing if my Russian is still any good. It is reuniting with people, friends and family alike, after a long period of no contact, and being able to pick up and as if it had only been yesterday. The long and short of it is, without my family, Poland and any other place in Europe would just be a beautiful country that I come from. With them there, it is home, and there is no place I’d rather be.

Winogrand

When looking at Garry Winogrand’s work, the first thing that comes to mind is energy. Although some are more serene than others, most of his photographs are very lively and dramatic and at times even humorous. What Winogrand essentially managed to do is change documentary and add his own twist to it, as all photographers do he made it his own -- showing a different side to the American way of life during the 30’s and the 50’s in New York. In a city that was already thriving with city life and being home to many photographers that are household names today, a small circle of photographers (including but not limited to Diane Arbus, Robert Frank and Walker Evans) Winogrand attempted to not conform to the rules that documentary photography dictated at that time and instead, much like the Impressionist painters of the 19th century, branched out to find their own style.

    As many writers have described him, Garry Winogrand was an extreme prolific shooter. There are numerous accounts of him almost preying on his subjects as if he was hunting them down, even though as all other photographers who have experienced working on the street, he knew that the best method was to stand and wait for those “moments” to come to him (something he no doubt picked up from Henri Cartier-Bresson’s work). At the time of his death about 2,500 rolls of undeveloped film, 6,500 rolls of developed but not proofed exposures, and contact sheets made from about 3,000 rolls were discovered. Winogrand was a strong believer in constantly releasing the shutter. It is inevitable that when going at such a fast pace and not having time to position everything exactly the way you want it, not every shot is going to turn out --therefore it makes sense to get as many frames as you can in one session in order to have a bigger selection to choose from. The more time you spend looking or thinking about the opportune scene, the more likely you will miss it. That doesn’t go without saying, however, that Winogrand would have most likely already had the photograph in his mind before he was done taking it. Even though he never got to see a lot of his own work that he did in his lifetime, and had so many photographs that he himself didn’t know what to do with, he knew which shots came out the way he wanted, and which ones didn’t.

    As all other documentary photographers, Winogrand was a strong believer in getting the shot in camera, he refused to crop his work because that made him feel as though the shot wasn’t good enough the first time around. He encouraged many of his students to push themselves to get closer to their subjects, and to not shoot from the hip. Being a “street photographer” comes with a certain level of harassment, and rejection seeing as how not everyone wants to have their picture taken --  even so, a simple smile and a nod goes a long way to let passersby know that you have good intentions. A unique tradition of sorts that Winogrand had for himself, was that he intentionally left his film undeveloped for long periods of time after he shot the roll. He is quoted as saying that looking at his work right after coming back from photographing it made him too biased and emotionally attached, searching only for photographs that made him have fond memories. Therefore seeing them much later when he had little recollection of that day in particular was a good editing tactic. He became one with his environment when he was out on the street, but then took a step back to detach and look at these captured moments in time in a new light.

    Researching Garry Winogrand and looking deeper into his work has only made me more inspired and impressed by everything that he managed to accomplish. He taught people not to be afraid and to be passionate about what you do for a living, to be kind to strangers and to draw inspiration from others. Photography is a competitive field, especially in this age when anyone can snap a picture with their smartphone and send it to the press or edit it to look nice -- but as healthy as it is to be independent, it is just as important to be able to be able to work as a team to accomplish the greater good. Probably the very first photograph I ever saw of his, that I am still unsure of the context of is an untitled print of a man who appears to be falling or doing a flip in air. The shot perfectly captures him upside down with a cigarette in his mouth while onlookers stand by. It is so different from anything I had ever seen before, and even though I have no clue what lead up to this moment or what happened after, it makes me feel as though I am there. That is one thing that I appreciate about Winogrand’s photographs, is also the  blatant message that life shouldn’t always be taken too seriously.

Native American Question

In the beginning, Native American tribes were accommodating and definitely benefited from European colonization, and vice versa. The Native Americans were introduced to new weapons and industrial tools while the Europeans learned about agriculture and different foods that were unknown to them such as corn, potatoes, pumpkin, yams, and lima beans. The Native Americans used different tactics to lure and hunt animals, while European agriculture was based on grain and wheat and rye and relied on domesticated animals and machinery to feed the population, horses and guns were used to hunt.

The French in particular, who were interested in fur and trade, as well as silk (which was highly sought after) would waste resources by skinning the animals and leaving the rest of the meat to rot. The Spanish on the other hand were after gold and land amongst other things. While some settlers were not hostile towards the Native Americans, many were. Communication was difficult as tribes across America had their own language and  the culture was purely based on speaking, not writing.

One of the major downsides was that with these new settlers also came foreign diseases that these tribes were not immune to, such as smallpox and the plague, which wiped out many people by the thousands as there was no known cure.
    
As time went on, and the Natives realized the English were not planning to leave, but began expanding, relations between the two were tense. In the end the broken treaties and deals lead to mistrust and therefore many wars and battles -- Europeans were enforcing religious laws and selling land, essentially cheating the Native Americans out of their homes and culture, and most importantly their lifestyle. They were forced into reservations and their freedom was taken away, primarily being enslaved into harsh labor.