Table of Contents MAIN FEATURE FAITH IN THE FUTURE - PAGE 4 Maddie Markley explores the spiritual practice of manifestation, and how it has helped students and artists to reshape their perceptions of themselves and the world around them.
COMMUNITY AMONGST THE ARCHIVES: AN INTERVIEW WITH SARAH KANU - PAGE 8 Carly Tagen-Dye talks with Sarah Kanu, president of the Black Student Union, about their current work with the Pratt Archives to preserve past/ present iterations of the BSU, and keep its history alive. YOUR RA@ HOME - PAGE 12 Camille Bavera addresses what it’s like to work as a remote RA this semester and what the transition to online ResLife has been like.
THOUGHTS I’VE HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE, HAVEN’T I? - PAGE 15 Cassandra Bristow articulates the complex feelings surrounding music and memory, especially during times of change and upheaval. 2
THE LEGWORK OF RAISING TADPOLES - PAGE 18 Elizabeth Clapp has been raising tadpoles since the summer and reflects on the literal and emotional transition that the experience evoked. MOURNING LOST TIME - PAGE 20 Lucas MacCormack reflects on fleeing Berlin last semester while studying abroad and how this transition has altered his feelings of belonging and home.
CULTURE KIRBY, BOSEMAN AND AUGUST 28 - PAGE 24 Aidan Moyer pays tribute to the late Chadwick Boseman and Jack Kirby, and explains the significance of the date August 28 as it relates to comics and the artists’ legacy. ONLY INTERMISSION - PAGE 27 Amber Liu examines the impact that the Coronavirus pandemic has had on Broadway and what the shutdown may mean for theatre moving forward.
All articles will also be published on our website
Letter From the Editor Prattlers, I wish more than anything that you could be reading these words while holding a physical copy of this issue in your hands. I wish the staff and I had just finished running around campus, slipping papers onto tables in the Pi Shop and on benches in the sculpture park, watching while Thomas and the other Pratt cats used them as pillows for afternoon naps. As everyone knows all too well, the new normal in our current world means adjusting to unexpected change. It’s with that in mind that we bring you “The Transition Issue” this fall. We’re in a strange—yet direly important—transformative time in our world right now. We’re going through it together, all the while having experiences that are entirely our own. These articles are an attempt to encapsulate how Pratt students have been dealing with that. You’ll find a wide range of topics, from the personal to the larger scope of New York City, pop culture and beyond. Hopefully, you’ll find that you’re not as isolated in what you feel as you may think. That being said, we can’t talk about transition without also touching upon the need for a transformed future. As I write this, it’s been a few hours since the news of Breonna Taylor’s murderers escaping their rightful charges surfaced. We have a living list of resources available on prattleronline.com and are always accepting more. Hope, like most things, feels strange right now. In spite of this, I hold onto the thought that through activism and action—through diligence and support—our collective want for change will move us toward a day where we can all experience a new kind of different. Thank you for reading. Carly Tagen-Dye Editor-in-Chief
EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Carly Tagen-Dye MANAGING EDITOR Nina Martinek
CREATIVE DIRECTORS Tien Servidio Jessica Tasmin ADVISORS Christopher Calderhead Eric Rosenblum
Cover by Tien Servidio prattleronline.com Instagram: @Prattler theprattler@gmail.com
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Faith in the Future Faith in the Future Faith in the Future Maddie Markley
Image by Alexander Moon 2020 is a time of great uncertainty. In March, the Coronavirus pandemic swept through our nation, establishing a new, socially-distanced reality. In May, the deaths of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor reignited the ongoing Black Lives Matter movement. These events, among others, have changed the way we navigate our daily lives, and have crudely reminded us of how unpredictable life can be. With that said, these events have also prompted a spiritual awakening among students across the country. Amidst the chaos, we strive to feel a sense of control over ourselves and our surroundings. To try and establish this, many young people have fallen into the spiritual practice of manifestation. With a bit of faith and self-reflection, our future goals and plans can become a tangible reality. The concept of manifestation has been thrown around by influencers on popular social media platforms like TikTok and Instagram. It’s become a 2020 buzzword and a coping mechanism. The practice of manifesting, in short, is the act of aligning oneself with a desired goal or outcome. It’s different from 4
the law of attraction, focusing on attracting who you are rather than what you want. This attraction is firmly rooted in the perception of your self worth. It can also be associated with the energy you release into the world through your actions. According to Adam Sicinski, a life coach from the Matrix Blog website, “Your thoughts affect the structure of the molecules that create your cells and shape the world around you.” Our thoughts have immense power when it comes to determining our future and responding to experiences within our lives. Manifestation involves the process of restructuring our thoughts in a way that benefits us. In order to fully understand this, we must assume that time does not exist. Our memories give us the illusion of time and, if we erase these memories, we will only have the present. This means that our past, present and future selves all exist simultaneously. Somewhere in this universe, you are living with all of your fulfilled desires and existing at your highest potential. In order to align yourself in this dimension of your life, you must have immense faith in your goals. Rohini
FEATURE Mauk, a content creator known as Rohini Elyse, discusses manifestation in her podcast, “Acting My Age.” She connects manifestation to faith within common religious practices, and quotes a verse from the Bible, “If you lack the faith that you can achieve something, that something will remain illusive to you. But the moment you develop faith in yourself and in your abilities, you will be able to manifest your desires,” (Matthew 9:29). This suggests that many people have participated in manifestation without realizing it. The practice highlights the core values of various religions: faith, self-reflection and a general commitment to a higher power or a force of life. In addition to religion, manifestation can be seen in the context of a loving relationship. In order to attract your ideal partner, you must believe that you are deserving of this partner. You must love yourself first before you can attract a loving relationship into your life, while also taking the necessary steps to achieve this goal. Manifestation ultimately begins with a specific goal or outcome. Rather than saying “I want to be happy in 2021,” focus on the actions you can take to achieve happiness. For example, “I want to find an internship for the summer of 2021.” Following this, it is important to remember that you attract what you think you deserve. Any doubtful or negative thoughts in regards to your goal will hinder your ability to achieve it. Visualization in tandem with journaling and
meditation can help you develop a positive and intentional mindset. You can practice visualization by writing down everything you are grateful for on a daily basis. You can also write down everything you would like to accomplish with your specific goal in mind. This will allow you to remain passionate and focused. Keep in mind that we are in complete control of how we respond to negative experiences within our lives. Rather than punishing yourself for feeling dejected or emotional, try perceiving negativity as a sign of what you need to work on in your life. The Coronavirus pandemic brought an overwhelming amount of negativity into our world. Manifestation can allow us to reshape the way we respond to the weight of the pandemic. This has been an important practice within my own life. I have always been a planner and I have a nasty habit of focusing my energy on future plans and commitments. Over the last few months, I’ve seen these plans fall through in every possible way. As a result, I’ve learned to accept the unpredictable nature of life and focus on the present moment with a glass-half-full attitude. An activity that has helped me develop this positive mindset involves restructuring negative experiences in a positive way before I fall asleep at night. I imagine that they occurred in a way that makes me happy. For example, if I embarrassed myself by stuttering during a public speech, 5
perhaps I will imagine that my speech went smoothly. Perhaps I inspired my peers with my words and received a great amount of admiration. When I began learning about manifestation, I stumbled upon various success stories. One story was submitted by a woman named Rachel to the “Acting My Age” podcast. Rachel described how she returned to her home state of Tennessee in 2019 after completing her masters degree in New York. She was in a poor mental state during this time and was feeling discouraged about her job prospects. She wrote, “One day I remember being at one of my lowest points and thinking ‘I’m going to write down what I want and I’m going to manifest it’ because I felt like I had nothing to lose.” She proceeded to write down her goal for the coming year: moving to Washington state. Rachel described how she began practicing meditation regularly and telling herself “I’m moving to Washington” multiple times a day. After months of dedication, she received an interview for a position at the University of Washington and landed it. Now, Rachel is living in Seattle with a successful career and love life. Her story is one of many that reveal how manifestation and a positive mindset can set you up for success in life. Recently, I was introduced to an artist, entrepreneur and spiritual thinker named Kai Mae, who graciously shared 6
their story of manifestation with me. Kai prefaced their story by describing the idea of manifestation in relation to the deepest part of our psyche, stating, “Everything in your life is a manifestation of your thought[s] and energy—all things manifest from a place of deep feeling, whether you ‘think’ you want it or not.” Similar to many of us, Kai was sent home from school at the beginning of the pandemic. During this time, Kai desired freedom beyond the confines of their institution. They made the decision to focus on their spiritual journey as well as invest in a business venture. Unfortunately, Kai needed to acquire $10,000 for this business investment. They ultimately turned to manifestation as a means of raising the money. Kai explored the spiritual practice of mantra prayer and read “Shakti Mantras: Tapping Into the Goddess Energy Within” by Thomas Ashley-Ferrand. For reference, mantra is a word or sound that is repeated to aid concentration in meditation. Kai told me that their life changed completely as a result of daily mantra prayer and repeated affirmations with mala beads. At the beginning of the summer, Kai began experiencing the benefits of their dedication to manifestation. They wrote, “I barely had to work and I had people purchasing art and crystal healing jewelry from me.” Over time, Kai raised enough money for their business investment. They emphasized the importance
FEATURE of gratitude and conscious living in pursuit of their goals. Kai encouraged me with their story, saying “Anything we put energy into, be it thought or feeling or time, we will see it manifest in our life . . . anything that is aligned with our path is already ours.� To summarize, manifestation is the practice of attracting what you want into your life through self acceptance, visualization and mindful action. It is the act of approaching life from an optimistic standpoint and learning how to maintain faith in your aspirations despite any setbacks. These ideas have been crucial for many of us during the chaotic year of 2020. As we continue through these uncertain times, positivity and self reflection are more important than ever. That being said, it is an immense privilege to be
able to focus on ourselves. There are many people in this world who do not have the financial, physical or mental capacity to manifest a better future for themselves. They are selfless in their pursuit of stability and happiness. We have navigated this sociallydistanced world for quite some time now. The pandemic has forced us to develop a closer relationship with ourselves and our deepest desires. There is a lot of power that comes from being alone with your thoughts and reflective of your actions. Through manifestation, we can regain a sense of control within our lives and also reprogram our mind and body to benefit and learn from negative experiences. Manifestation has the potential to transform all of us into better versions of ourselves for the post-pandemic future.‌
Image by Maddie Markley 7
Amongst the Archives: An Interview with Sarah Kanu Carly Tagen-Dye
Sarah Kanu is the president and sole officer of Pratt’s chapter of the Black Student Union. Starting this year, Kanu has been working closely with Pratt Institute Archives to collect and display artifacts from the BSU in the 1970’s, and to keep the current organization alive for years to come. While still in the early stages, this project is one Kanu is dedicated to continuing, particularly when it pertains to the transformative ways archives, and other people, can do better to preserve a collective and accurate memory. Read our conversation below. Carly: How did you begin this project? Was there a specific catalyst that inspired you this summer, or was it an ongoing idea? Sarah: Ever since I got to Pratt, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that organizations are 90% studentformed, led, run and maintained. Although of immense value, this also presents issues of inconsistency and a potential inability to establish legacy and a passing down of knowledge. I frequently use the phrase “dropping the ball” to describe how being a member of the Black Student Union 8
for the past four years has felt; not as a phrase to chastise any former leaders, but to express how exhausting and isolating it can be for anyone new trying to fulfill [its] goals. Due to this, it’s always been at the back of my mind to figure out methods of saving and passing down the work that was done by the Presidents before me, [as well as] the work I’m currently doing as president. It wasn’t until the July Community Meeting, however, [which was] graciously hosted [by] Black Lives Matter Pratt, that I decided to begin this work. At the meeting, we were collectively presented with the last recorded demands on the BSU from the 1970’s. The fact that many [past] issues have persisted throughout the [fifty plus] years since then—and the fact that in the fifty years since, no recollection of the work done by any iteration of the BSU exists in our institution—was harrowing. You’ve emphasized how important the Pratt Archives’ role in this project has been. Can you expand on that; what do they do exactly? The work of the Pratt Archives predates me. I’m simply an opportunist who
COMMUNITY saw the work they were doing and wanted my years [at Pratt] to be saved in that archive. I’m working with Cristina Fontánez Rodríguez (Virginia Thoren and Institute Archivist at Pratt Institute Libraries), who, in a motivating moment similar to my own, noticed that Pratt’s institutional records are heavily centered around administration, which historically tends to be white, cis and/or male. She has since prioritized [documenting] marginalized, underrepresented and misrepresented student-centered organizations, [and] actively involving us in making the archives more inclusive. Were any challenges imposed by the current pandemic? Are you mainly working remotely? The pandemic hasn’t presented any challenges. If not for the pandemic—and the space it opened up for questions on race, accountability and the end to policing in all forms—I wouldn’t have [realized] how little Black history at Pratt is saved or remembered beyond those whoexperienced it. Time and resources are more of a challenge. I’m unable to separate the different spheres of work that I do. I’m nowhere near campus, so I’m unable to do anything in person. I’m working completely online while running clubs, serving on Student Government, being a full-time student and a daughter and sister at home. It gets pretty overwhelming.
You’ve shared some scans from DRUM, a radical publication by members of the 1970’s chapter of the Black Student Union, online. Can you talk more about the magazine? It’s a wonderful resource saved and shared with me, thanks to the Pratt Archives. It was illustrated, written and put together by [Pratt students] at that time. It’s all the more striking when you realize how much of what they were experiencing, struggling through or demanding from the Institute is what my peers and I [are facing] today. On the BSU Instagram, we only posted a few pages of two issues, but I highly recommend checking out more volumes of the magazine that are digitized and available to read and reference through @prattinstitutearchives. Have you seen any changes within the Black Student Union through these artifacts? Has anything remained the same? I can’t speak confidently about what’s stayed the same, but there have definitely been shifts. Any changes in the multiple iterations of the Black Student Union are reflected in how society has shifted as well, and the perception of what purpose a BSU serves for students across time. At its core, Black Student Unions are about gathering and uplifting Blackness in whatever form that takes. To say that erasure in archives, both on our campus and beyond, is harmful 9
would be a gross understatement. You mentioned in your Instagram open-call for material that the “institutional and student memory” of the BSU is short, and has had to restart every four years. What are ways that Pratt and its students/faculty can start to stop this, both in the archives and in our everyday lives? What about archivists outside of Pratt? The first thing we need to come to terms with is as long as these organizations are solely studentrun—and the average Pratt student feels too overworked with courses to devote energy beyond that timeframe—we will continue to see the falling of our organization to the detriment of lineage. In all honesty, I have been President one year [and] my predecessor was President for one year. Both of us maintained all of the other officer positions on our own. It gets exhausting. There have been several times this semester where I [asked] myself, “What is the purpose of continuing when what I have built during this time could completely disappear in May 2021?” This is an odd time to be making demands when people are already being asked to work less, but what I wish was that Pratt had an official role dedicated to saving the information of/about these clubs that went beyond the capacity of the student. In my experience, the students’ average cycle of institutional memory is maybe 4-6 years: actions, demands, requests [and] events that do not last in conversational memory. 10
The legacy of each organization when the last remembering party leaves is always up in the air. What I hope is for a distinct relationship between the Archives and Student Involvement to be built; [one] that allows for continuity and provides the groundwork for incoming students to know they are furthering the fight of those before. Has the project helped to form a new community around the BSU or beyond? Currently, the project is still intimate. It’s mainly [Cristina and I] saving what I’ve gathered over two years. However, when the DRUM magazine and call for submissions posts were made, I was surprised to see how many people were resharing and talking about it. There is room for this project to affirm the community of Black students, faculty and staff at Pratt. Has your view of the archive shifted, from an artists’ or personal perspective? I’m not sure that my artists’ perspective shifted, but more so my communityfocused perspective, inspired by the teachings of the numerous educators I’ve had from the Humanities & Social Science Department. They opened my eyes to the fact that the archives are not a stuffy place to collect and save whiteness. [Instead], they are
COMMUNITY fluid [and] can be current. [I’ve found] that there is value in the archives in 2020, especially for Black, Brown, Queer, [and] Disabled folks.
Lastly, are there any resources (for contributing or viewing materials or related education) that you can provide?
As an art institution, there is value in being able to archive the artistic and aesthetic work of BIPOC/LGBTQIA+ communities. [Mapping] the evolution of art that has historically been underappreciated over space, location and time is needed. In the age of the internet and the co-option of Blackness as “millennial culture,” it’s significant, more than ever, to ensure we accurately record and share Black art and culture within our communities.
Absolutely. Anyone who is or was a member of the Black Student Union can submit content to be archived to me (blackstudentunion@pratt. edu or skanu@pratt.edu) or message the BSU Instagram (@bsupratt). I will be graduating this year, though, so in the future, you should also consider contacting Cristina Fontánez (cfonta36@pratt.edu) or Pratt Archives [on Instagram] (@ prattinstitutearchives).
What are your hopes for this archive? What do you hope people will take away from it? That in 2035 or some time from now, Black students on campus will hear stories of, and have access to, the ways we were gathering, supporting and uplifting one another in 20172020. That they won’t enter Pratt feeling like the first Black student to ever go through those gates, and that they won’t leave feeling like the last Black student to walk through those gates [either].
Readers should also check out the BSU’s [resource list] “2020 Black Lives Matter: Resources, Rest and More.” This living document was put together earlier this summer in response to the conversations students were starting at Pratt and in the greater world. Hopefully, the future leader of this organization continues to add to it. Also, follow [social media accounts] that continue to prop up Black folks at Pratt: @prattbap, @blmpratt, @prattfic and @bsupratt.
Image by Amber Duan 11
Image by Catherine Massa
COMMUNITY Camille Bavera
Your Your RA@ RA@ Home Home I am a freshman RA on the 10th floor of Emerson, but currently rooming with a culinary student, a proskater repped by Supreme, one cat, a parakeet and a tarantula named Angel. I am not, in fact, living in Emerson; ResLife only allows emotional support animals, and I don’t think a spider would make the cut. I, like so many others, endured a whirlwind two weeks of apartment hunting and headaches before finding a good deal on rent in New York City. I may have five roommates, but only two of them actively contribute to the electric bill! Besides spending the last two weeks of August begging my current property manager to agree to a four month lease, I devoted this past summer to the Pratt Connectors program. This is a system designed to help transition new students into their new life at Pratt and in New York City. I sent countless emails answering orientation questions, offering favorite study spots/places to eat around campus and building great expectations, only to have them come crashing down with the decision to close campus housing. Since President Bronet’s decision to close the dorms, both my classes and residents have moved
online, and I am left trying to build a sense of community for freshmen in a world where everyone is socially distanced. Reflecting back on my own freshman year, I remember my RA knocking on my door asking me to “please come out to a mandatory social,” in the dark hallway, complete with a flavor variety of BoomChickaPop popcorn. Unfortunately for freshmen today, they’re forced to click on an email link and buy their own snacks if they want to “come into the hallway.” There’s no in-person interaction, and, being in a new environment, they don’t necessarily know anyone in their classes. My position as student and staff means that I am not only responsible for myself, but for the well-being of my residents as well. The main difference between me and every other student drawn in by StreetEasy’s sexy subway advertisements is that this semester is not just about me because I’ve continued with my position as an RA. ResLife and Housing is still holding “socials” and events, but they’re now completely online. We’ve planned a couple of movie nights and club meetings, and have set 13
up new social media pages to help students regain what they’ve been missing since March: a sense of hope and belonging. In addition, future plans to reopen campus are being made for spring 2021, while the transition back to in-person living remains a hot topic at staff meetings. The position of Virtual RA, or RA@Home, is new to everyone. The idea behind this ResLife masterpiece is to connect students and floor communities while they’re socially distancing over Zoom. If you receive an email from your RA, they’re not a robot! Our names are not Alexa or Siri! It’s been so long since I first heard of the housing crisis while shopping for dorm decorations in HomeGoods, since email after email blew up my
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inbox asking me for advice when I had none to give. Fast-forward one month, and it’s hard to imagine what life would be like if Pratt hadn’t made the decision to close the dormitory doors. Would we be facing the same predicaments as schools such as UNC and Notre Dame, who have opened without proper precaution and are now closed or subject to quarantining? Or is the conviction of both Mayor De Blasio and Governor Cuomo so strong that Pratt may have taken these precautions in vain? Luckily we attend an art school, where everyone has gotten creative with their work situations and ways to stay connected with each other. I’d hate to think that my work up to this point has been in vain.
THOUGHTS
I've Had The Time of My Life, Haven't I? Cassandra Bristow
The first thing I did when I reentered New York City was cry. It wasn’t necessarily my fault. In the passenger seat of a car where I’d spent most of my high school years, “(I’ve Had The) Time of My Life” from the classic film “Dirty Dancing” came on. Of course, that isn’t what got me so teary-eyed; it was how the song happened to do so the second I hit the Brooklyn Bridge. A song that made my mother roll her eyes for its “general schmaltziness” had me blubbering all the way back to my first apartment, the apartment I had left behind in March due to the Coronavirus pandemic. I had been, as we all were, displaced, but it hadn’t felt real until Bill Medley’s voice filled the small vehicle. The city I was entering, the city I’d wanted to feel like my city for so long, would never feel the same. My emotional experience with such a peppy, pop-trash 80s song is not out of the ordinary. Music is strongly associated with memory and our ability to recall specific events. The power of music is its ability to personalize any experience; the second you’ve found a melody to attach to a person, place or thing, it’s
done. That’s why there are songs we can’t listen to anymore because they remind us of pain. That’s why there are songs we listen to everytime we feel triumphant: because we associate it with happy victories. I bet you can think of a song right now that would make you cry if you were driving across the Brooklyn Bridge; a song that had once encapsulated you having the time of your life. This one wormed its way into mine when I stopped being the girl from my hometown. It was after my transition into the girl who lived in Brooklyn with her two best friends. We would listen to the song and dance together, barefoot on our hardwood floors. Screaming, laughing, singing, jumping. Something was ending to let something greater begin. I felt savvy and omnipotent. Generally, that savvy omnipotence is an accessible feeling for all music listeners. A study conducted by Norman M. Weinberger in 2006 showed that music triggers dopamine hits in the frontal and temporal lobes, which are also associated with memory. Simply put, when we find a song we enjoy listening to, we tend to listen to it on repeat because of that dopamine 15
THOUGHTS trigger. This happens a lot during the teenage years. In a 2018 VICE Australia article, Katherine Gillipse wrote of how a person’s favorite song tends to be decided from ages 14 to 17. The dopamine triggered by music during our formative years tends to linger well into adulthood. In a time that is so unprecedented, music seems to take up more space than ever. Artists are now releasing albums available on streaming platforms without an expectation of the tour and the fanbase it facilitates. Music, something that so many people depend on for a feeling of community, is now an isolated, intimate experience between artist and listener. Every album and song has become a listening experience you have by yourself in your bedroom. As a result, the memories that music draws you back to are yours and yours alone. The moments you share with a song and yourself feel as personal as a diary entry, rather than an artistic platform to build a community off of. Yet, with all this intimate contact between artist and listener, the most haunting part of quarantine was the moment I realized music had become an escape from
reality rather than a way to cherish it. This intimacy of rhythm now lost consumed me on that fateful bridge. I didn’t expect to ache so much through a song that reminded me of a “before;” another transition from girl in Brooklyn to girl displaced that I had yet to experience. There were losses I couldn’t even anticipate yet. A song that was supposed to evoke happiness and excitement became bittersweet, and I couldn’t help the emotions which had washed over me at its hand. I hadn’t been able to dance with my friends for so long, to twist and shout and shake to songs we found together. Music was, in so many ways, where my community lay. All those basement shows and concerts I made small-talk during and danced alongside sweaty strangers during are no longer a part of my life. Sitting in that feeling, in the childhood car where my mom hates the music that I play, I wondered what songs I would listen to during the After. What songs would define this newfound city for me? The only thing I can hope for is I will never find myself weeping in the car while simultaneously wanting to watch “Dirty Dancing” ever again.
Image by Pete Gibson 17
Image by Dev Kamath
The Legwork of Raising Tadpoles I described it as torture to my mother, listening to the neighbor’s kids splash and yell in their pools; a staple of South Carolina backyards used to survive the hellish summers. Our own pool sat in disarray for as long as I could remember, filled with leaves and other indiscernible gunk. Perhaps my exaggeration was enough to spark the renovation. The next thing I knew, the pool was drained of the murky rainwater, and cleaning supplies were delivered at the doorstep. On the morning of July 30, my assignment to clean the waterline 18
Elizabeth Clapp
tile quickly turned into toad roundup duty, as I found a number of them hiding under a tarp in the pool. That’s not all they were up to. I also discovered thousands of eggs floating in the shallow rainwater that had collected overnight. It was necessary to drain the water to continue fixing the pool, but I wanted to give some of the eggs a chance, partially out of curiosity of the metamorphosis process and partially out of guilt for having to cut the lives of many potential toads short. Perhaps it was also fate that I would be attending school remotely, so I knew
THOUGHTS I would be able to care for them. I collected what I could in a tank— about fifty eggs—and researched all I could about raising tadpoles.
apparent that their best care would be provided outside, where they could begin to find food themselves. It was a bittersweet realization.
Despite my findings, I didn’t realize that the tadpoles would only remain eggs for one day. The small dots in the center of the eggs doubled in size one day, then tripled the next. Tiny tails formed and small beady eyes looked back at me. By August 4, the tadpoles were swimming and munching on the boiled spinach and fish food I would sprinkle into the tank. Seeing their growth gave me something to look forward to, a rare occurrence during the long months of quarantine. Soon, I had to start changing the tank regularly, scooping the tadpoles out and pouring in fresh rainwater. They were gleefully eating for several weeks, growing larger every day.
I find myself easily attached to things, so to make the releasing process easier, I refrained from naming or keeping tabs on any particular tadpole. I had to distance myself and see them as lifeforms with energy, which I provided with food and care. By returning them to the wild, I was giving that energy back to the world that gifted them to me in the first place. Nature is cruel, especially to such young and small things, but I am satisfied that I was able to grant them more life than the eggs I couldn’t save. Even if none of them live to see adulthood, their energy is carried forward by a natural cycle. Some of these thoughts translate to my own mortality, which I am admittedly fearful of facing, especially in the midst of a pandemic. In the end, I too am a lifeform with energy which will one day be carried on…just hopefully not anytime soon.
The first hilariously disproportionate back legs appeared on August 22. The tadpoles were now awkwardly swimming with tiny legs they didn’t know how to control yet. There was then a quick growth development: by August 26, the first tadpole had all four legs. Less than a day later, it was clinging to the side of the tank, breathing air. I felt like a proud parent, the mood akin to seeing one’s child take their first steps. I relocated any newly formed toads into a secondary tank with more air, and provided pinhead crickets, just to make sure they could eat live food. After a couple of days, it was
On September 1, I released the sixteen toads that were ready. They leapt into the awaiting world where I hope they have taken advantage of their instincts. At the time of this writing, I have been able to release thirty toads, with about twenty of their siblings still in the tank, awaiting their legs and their returned energy to the outside world.
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Mourning Lost Time
Lucas MacCormack 20
THOUGHTS On a Wednesday night in early March, I sat in a quiet Berlin bar with two friends and discussed our spring break plans. We drank gin and tonics and talked through the possibility of renting a car and doing a road trip through Poland and Eastern Europe. There were two other small groups scattered around the room chatting. Half of the bar was closed off with a velvet drape, a dance floor visible in the dim light reflecting off of the mural on the back wall. I sat stiffly, unable to fully get comfortable in the wooden chair that I had pressed closely to the coffee table between us. We voiced anxieties, traded assurances and tried our best to keep ourselves distracted. I remember saying how one of the things I wouldn’t miss was the smell of cigarette fog that permeated every bar in Berlin. I also remember saying this because I was thinking of how, in a perverse way, I would still miss that grimy stench that stuck to my clothes after a night out. When I first arrived in Berlin, the city was cold and, on the surface, unwelcoming. Over those few months, I found hospitality nestled in bar corners, food trucks and in the jacket folds of the men and women behind Spati counters. Berlin is a city of stone and metal and rain, but that hard shell fosters underneath it the warm heart of the people. As I grew to feel that warmth, the seasons began to change, and the sun peeked through the blanket of clouds in the morning just to remind us it was still there.
The morning before I sat in the dark bar off of Kottbusser Tor, we were told that “there is no way you are being sent home.” Later that night, Trump announced that he was closing the borders to the United States. I had gone to bed early, around 10 p.m. As I slept on the ground floor of our lofted, airily industrial dorm room, the cool breeze snuck in through my cracked window. I woke up not long after to a missed call and a text:
Where are you?
I asked what’s going on.
Come up to the fifth floor kitchen.
The ring of a phone filled the room. I looked up to the loft where one of my roommates was fast asleep, the phone light brightening the ceiling. When my feet touched the concrete, he picked up. “What? What do you mean?” He sprung up and opened his laptop. He then relayed the news of the border closing. It rang flat. I threw on my sweatpants as he continued his call. “Do I want to go home?” he repeated. In the fifth floor kitchen I found a council of my friends around the long, picnic-style table. Laptops were open, FaceTimes in process.
“How much are flights?” 21
“Well, who knows if he really means it?” “But what if the prices skyrocket with everyone trying to get back?”
“Do we really need to leave?”
The hours crept on, and there was no word from any Pratt administration. The optimistic updates we had received all along were not unfounded; the virus was, at the time, seemingly under control in Germany. The first case of COVID-19 in Berlin was reported on March 2, only 12 days before I was on a flight home. But, given how fast the virus brought calamity to Italy earlier in March, the optimism we were given (though comforting during extremely uncertain times) proved to be hollow. Ultimately, Pratt’s response was consistent with how it has been during the entire pandemic since then: too little, too late. After a series of anxiety-ridden events (including missing my alarm, a two-hour Uber ride across London and buying the wrong flight ticket), 48 hours later, I was “home.” I hadn’t been back to my parents’ house in Massachusetts since December, and even then, it was only for about a week during Christmas. I was placed in a position that many other students were (and are) in during this time: displaced beyond our will, back to our childhood lives. 22
During my time in Berlin, I sublet
my room in my Bed-Stuy apartment, so I couldn’t go back to Brooklyn. Regardless, all of the job prospects I was looking at during the spring had fallen through. So, in the meantime, I sat in my high school bedroom and stared at the whale-grey walls I had picked out when I was sixteen and angst-ridden. The walls soak up any light that makes it in through the windows. No matter how wide I opened my curtains, it was never bright enough. Over this period I continued to write in my little black diary that was originally assigned for class in order to document our personal time in Berlin. Instead, it’s now a relic of the transition from one of the greatest times of my life to the most uncertain. I have not opened it since late June. I have also yet to fully move everything out of my suitcases; my clothes, bags and cords are congealed in piles on what little floor space I have. Books are stacked on old VHS tapes stacked on the antique black cart that used to sit in the dining room. Since I had moved out last year, my bedroom has become a storage room for my family, and now I occupy something between a closet, my old bedroom and a motel room. I had gone to Berlin on a mission for answers to open-ended questions. In contrast to my move from the suburbs of Boston to Brooklyn, I discovered Berlin to be a mirror that stared back at me, showing me that I already had
THOUGHTS the answers and was asking the wrong questions. I had gone with the expectation to change in the way I had known the nature of change to be. At a certain point, I found myself traversing the U-Bahn without a map, speaking German to shop clerks without thinking about it and finding myself at home in this place I never imagined I would be. With that cut short, I felt wronged, stripped of all that could have been. Now, in this transient space, I have been trying to redefine what home means. Home as in my life, as in my friends, as in an existence that fosters growth. Time is all we have now, and it’s become so clear that it is only made of that which we fill it with. I have been here since March and now, outside my storage room window, I see the edges of the leaves beginning to turn orange.
Photos by Lucas MacCormack 23
Illustrated by Naomi Desai
Kirby, Boseman and August 28
to superheroes who tackled veiled versions of real-world villains like the Nazis, Jacob became Jack Kirby, the King of Comics.
On August 28, 1907, a boy named Jacob Kurtzberg was born on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Kurtzberg was a Jew with two quick fists, used primarily for scrapping and scribbling. Poor as he was, he tore through reams of old wallpaper and adorned the staircase of his tenement with cartoon illustrations. Entering the fray of a burgeoning genre that collected Sunday comic strips into 10-cent anthologies in the late 1930s, Jacob would emerge at the forefront of the comic book world. Changing his name and lending his talents
Wasting no time, Jack drew Captain America socking Hitler on the jaw and never stopped swinging from the 40s through the 60s. Alongside cocreators like Stan Lee, Kirby devised a slew of socially-conscious heroes with allegorical undertones: the spaceage paranoia and xenophobia of the Fantastic Four, the prejudice faced by the X-Men and the mock-UN of the Avengers. Valiant as these efforts were, these teams of fantastical characters were severely lacking in their diversity, especially in light of contemporary civil rights tensions of the 60s. This would be rectified when
Aidan Moyer
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CULTURE Kirby and Lee introduced the Black Panther, the first Black superhero, in 1966. The character began as a Kirby sketch labeled as the Coal Tiger, designed for the Fantastic Four as an African King, and intended to be the first major Black character in Marvel comics. Inker Joe Sinnot designed the iconic full-face mask and Stan Lee developed the bombastic dialogue for the first Black Panther stories in the Fantastic Four comic. In spite of a brief name change to the Black Leopard in the mid-70s (to avoid Lee’s unwanted affiliations with the Black Panther Party), the character’s name and position in Marvel Comics proved to be too powerful to sustain longterm alterations. The Black Panther became well-known amongst comic book fans and well-situated among the Blaxploitation heroes of the late 70s, but it would be a boy born ten years after the character’s creation who would bring the character to a truly global stage. On August 28, 2020, actor Chadwick Boseman died of stage four colon cancer at the age of 43. Born in South Carolina on November 29, 1976, Boseman took to performance at an early age, overcame financial hurdles to attend Howard University and established himself as one of the finest young actors of his generation. He won praise from countless names in the industry, including Denzel Washington, who financed Boseman’s education at the British
American Academy of London as an anonymous donor. Boseman spent much of his early career writing and directing plays, paying his dues as a television actor prior to his ventures. Boseman spent the final decade of his life portraying Black icons ranging from Jackie Robinson (August 28 is also Jackie Robinson Day) to James Brown. The Black Panther, however, was most notable. It was with this role that Boseman clinched his position as the hero of millions of children who saw themselves on screen in a way that had never before been equaled. Taking this status to heart, Boseman made sure to visit ailing children to galvanize their spirits. In doing so, Boseman has become an icon in his own right alongside the real life and fictional men he portrayed. Jack Kirby died in 1994, before the reach of his co-creations became a massive multibillion dollar empire. Chadwick Boseman died at the pinnacle of his professional career, before a proposed sequel perpetuated the already-powerful legacy as the Black Panther, elevated in the midst of the Black Lives Matter movement. As two creatives who amplified the voices of the disenfranchised, it is perhaps equal parts fitting and tragic that their names are forever bound by the date of August 28 as they are etched into history.
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Illustrated by Aidan Moyer
CULTURE
Only Intermission
Amber Liu
I had planned to spend my spring break watching as many Broadway shows as I could, and I never thought the then-downplayed threat of COVID-19 would change that. Before 2020, the longest time that Broadway closed was in 1919. It wasn’t due to their pandemic, but because of worker strikes that went on for a month. Now we are over 200 days past March 12, when statewide measures shut down Broadway theaters and gatherings of over 500 people. They still have not been lifted. So what has The Great White Way done to adapt? Attempts to replicate the same live experience online to maintain income for 97,000 Broadway workers—and to appease theater audiences—have resulted in virtual gatherings. The most notable example is the release of the live taping of “Hamilton” on Disney+, which on its first weekend resulted in over 500,000 mobile downloads of the app and many more online downloads. Fans who did not have the resources to see these shows in person were elated. Broadway has also begun to host different online performances and fundraisers that have raised millions of dollars for workers’ compensations, and the increase in online presence has introduced fans to shows they may not have heard
of. Since April, Andrew Lloyd Webber’s program “The Show Must Go On” has released a live taping of a musical for 48 hours for free, with donations going to theater employees affected by the pandemic. This has unfortunately not been enough for some productions. Shows such as “Frozen,” “Beetlejuice” and “Hangmen” will remain closed for good. Recently, John Gore Productions laid off a hundred workers. Refunds had to be issued by productions nationwide, and actors’ attempts to perform live streams have faced the challenge of copyright claims and legalities. As of now, Broadway will remain suspended until January 3, 2021. However, experts have said that even reducing theater capacities by half will not generate enough income for shows to survive. In anticipation of this, Broadway has taken the initiative to innovate. Over the summer, director Michael Arden presented an outdoor moving live performance called “American Dream Society,” an invite-only experience where audience members were asked to drive along a certain path, with each stop showcasing a different scene of the play. Most recently, the upcoming show “Diana: A New 27
Musical” announced their premiere on Netflix ahead of its intended May 2021 Broadway debut, which is extremely uncommon for a new production. In Korea, the production of “The Phantom of the Opera” has been able to continue throughout the entire pandemic, mainly through the rigorous testing protocols of their government and the strict safety measures put in place for all theatregoers, such as head-totoe disinfectant upon entry and a mandated contact-tracing app. However, Korea’s ability to implement these measures is perhaps rooted in their government’s decision to aggravate their testing and tracking instead of immediately closing down all institutions. It is food for thought to consider how Broadway could be functioning now if the United States had taken the same measures back in March. While it is a “coulda-shouldawoulda” line of thinking, seeing an industry that has provided countless memories, joy and relief to millions suffer pulls at the strings of empathy and grief for its fans. Nonetheless, the community is strong, and the audience is perseverant. It may be painful to think of what the future of Broadway will look like, especially since Broadway regularly contributes $15 billion to the local economy, but we cannot discount the hope and strength that pulses through the community. We can see that 28
bringing back Broadway may be difficult, but it is not impossible. There will always be the drive to deliver theater content to audiences, and if this pandemic has shown us anything, it is the impact theater has beyond the stage. To quote a comment I saw online, “It is worth the wait, and we will wait.”
CULTURE Illustrated by Jessica Tasmin
