The Pacific Sentinel - May 2022 by The Pacific Sentinel

MAY 2022 Spring’s Can’t Miss Art Even The Case

of the

Missing Case Study

Honest Jams Passes 100th Episode

its

Quitting Time

Fellow Students,

NEWS ANALYSIS

Friends, as the Spring term rapidly passes, I wish that you are all granted the energy you need to persist. The world as we know it is far from gentle, and the troubles of our nation can cause great pain. In your pursuit of higher education, I hope that the energy that allows you to persist against adversity will grant you the strength to cause great change in the future, for there is tremendous need for change.

04 The Case of the Missing Case Study

ART & CULTURE 06 Honest Jams Passes its 100th Episode 08 Fashion, Function, and Art: Netsuke Exhibition at the Japanese Garden 10 Help Finds Time to Breathe Through the Chaos 12 “Breaking Bread” in Haifa’s A-Sham Arab Food Festival 14 The Evolution of Hurray for the Riff Raff 16 Spring’s Can’t Miss Art Event

FEATURE 18 Quitting Time

Credits:

Contents:

03 Letter From the Editor

EXECUTIVE EDITOR Vivian Veidt NEWS EDITOR Daniel Chilton ARTS AND CULTURE EDITOR OPINIONS EDITOR

Saqif Maqsud

PRODUCTION EDITOR DESIGNERS

Sarah Samms

As this may be my last opportunity to address the readership before I return to my non-academic ventures, I want to reflect on how the past two years of editing this publication have allowed me to grow. In the last two years, I have seen many skilled writers emerge from this magazine with confidence in their abilities. I have seen illustrators, designers, and reporters go on to achieve their great ambitions. I have also been empowered by this position. As my first feature documentary is due to release this Summer, I am able to clearly link that success to the supportive environment I have had over five years with various student media outlets. For me, student media was an excellent proving ground. I hope that each of you has such an opportunity to find support in your ambitions. As I depart The Pacific Sentinel at the end of the term, it is my hope that the magazine will continue to be a source of support for many years to come. From supporting aspiring journalists, artists, and editors internally to supporting local arts and culture, to inspiring readers, this magazine is home to a world of possibility. In what may be my parting words to all of you, I wish to tell you to seize the world that is at your fingertips. It may be the greatest challenge of our lives, but our time has come. May you all find the support you need to take action and create change. Kind Regards, Vivian Veidt Executive Editor The Pacific Sentinel

Astrid Luong THE PACIFIC SENTINEL

Letter From the Editor

Stacey Horton , Astrid Luong

ILLUSTRATORS

Camden Benesh , Astrid Luong

ARTIST FEATURE

Camden Benesh, Kiyora Fukuoka

FEATURED CONTRIBUTORS

Jeremiah Hayden, Corry Hinckley

NEWS ANALYSIS

THE CASE OF THE MISSING CASE STUDY

CASE STUDY COFFEE REOPENS THEIR PSU LOCATION J

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One day, in the middle of the first week of this past Winter term, a note curiously appeared just inside the museum entrance to Fariborz Maseeh Hall (FMH), on the counter of the Case Study Coffee shop. The note seemed to have been hastily written in permanent marker on a pastry bag, which read “CLOSED FOR THE DAY! Be back tomorrow!!” A line-drawn smiley face beneath the text softening the blow. But the next day, the same mysterious scene was set. It appeared nothing had changed since the abandonment. The lights and machines were off, there was no visible barista, and the pastry bag with the friendly note laid in roughly the same place it had been the day before. “There is not much to tell other than sales were slow due to the mask mandate,” Wes

Russell stated in an email last week. Russell and his wife Christine Herman co-founded the first Case Study location on NE Sandy in 2010, and the Portland State location opened in January of 2020, just before COVID-19 made it to the United States. Like many businesses in the early days of the pandemic, the local chain had to temporarily close all of their cafés, including the PSU location. As understanding about COVID-19 has increased and restrictions have decreased, they have slowly been able to reopen four locations to the public, including PSU just this week—welcome news for any under caffeinated Vikings. When in person learning is in session, the café is a popular spot for students and faculty to grab a morning coffee or an afternoon boost between

classes. Located on the first floor of FMH, just below the main entrance to the Jordan Schnitzer Museum of Art, the café space has a small table and enough chairs to host a small study group or meet with friends. PSU changed guidelines after the Spring break to no longer require mask wearing in classrooms, offices, and most other public and private indoor spaces. Naturally, this decision changes the dynamic surrounding beverages in a class setting. For those who have been waiting, the promise written on the mysterious Case Study pastry bag has finally come true.

Case Study is open in FMH Monday-Friday from 8:30am-11:30am and 12:00pm5

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eremiah Hayden

ARTS & CULTURE

Honest Jams Passes its 100th Episode

“It’s worthwhile, whatever your experience level is and whatever your history is, to be working on art,” Walker Spring tells me. She and her Honest Jams Podcast co-host Ayal Alvez spent plenty of time listening to podcasts while working long days together at Heavy Vegetables, Spring’s local vegan delivery and meal service that she runs out of her home in SE Portland. In the backyard, her partner Victor runs a recording studio, Destination Universe, which boasts a long list of records created there since opening in 2010. With a recording method easily accessible, Spring’s experience as a member of the houseband on NPR’s weekend show “Live Wire,” and inspiration from an open mic series in which Alvez participated, they decided to create a podcast of their own in February 2020. “I was going to this open mic at the Laurelthirst,” Alvez says, adding “That kind of became my church for a year—up until the beginning of the pandemic.” The open mic offered songwriters the opportunity to write a song based on a prompt, and any participant could perform that song and another song the following week. Alvez and Spring integrated that aspect with concepts borrowed from the Immersion Composition Society’s classic “20 Song Game”—in which a small group of songwriters spend a day writing and recording 20 songs each—to set arbitrary constraints for each week’s episode in an effort to eschew perfectionism from their guests' and listeners’ creative processes. In Spring and Alvez' variation, an online word generator spits out three prompts that begin with the same letter, then the hosts and a musical guest take one week to each write and record a song based on at least one of the words. Past prompts have included anything from “helmet” to “pastel,” “mutation” to “incandescent,” and “death.” In an often hilarious segment, “What Does the Internet Say,” the hosts take a quick dive into

fun facts, dubious information, and etymology of the prompt word. In a recent episode entitled “Machine,” Alvez describes a steampunk looking robot created in 1964 whose sole purpose was to answer the phone and hang up the phone, but had no voice or messaging capabilities. A month after their first podcast episode was released, the music community took a massive blow with the arrival of the pandemic. From small open mics, like the one at the Laurelthirst, to larger world tours and everything in between, venues and the communities who gathered in those spaces suddenly became fractured. Thus far, Honest Jams Podcast has predominantly featured friends made from years playing in bands; mostly musicians who live in the Northwest, though they hope to bring in guests from outside the region in the future. “It's just who is in my rolodex, right?” Spring says. “It has been amazing during the Zoom times, to be able to stay connected with people and see what they're up to. I want to see what art my friends are making and to stay connected that way.” Alvez is the sole songwriter for his band, Saroon, and has played in live bands and on recordings for countless Portland artists. Spring is a founding member of Point Juncture WA and Bitch’n, and recently joined the longtime Northwest staple Old Time Relijun, who

THE PODCAST IS A FUN ANTIDOTE FOR STIFLED

toured across Europe last November. She created a two part Honest Jams “Extrasode” while on that tour, which she playfully suggests is “so when people say, ‘how was the tour?’ I can say, ‘here's two hours of my inner thoughts.’” Between the regular prompt episodes and the Extrasodes that lean more heavily on music theory, Honest Jams has just passed its hundredth release, and they show no sign of slowing down. Relieving pressure is an effective creative tool for the hosts and their guests, but listeners can soak up new ways of approaching their own art in each episode as well. “Removing expectation is what we’re trying to do,” Alvez says. “I believe in a culture where everybody feels empowered to do that in their own way. There are places where a perfectionist attitude is extremely helpful, but most of the time, it’s armoring. Get past that, for yourself, and see what happens when you allow yourself to create stuff.” Now over a hundred episodes in—and never a missed week—Honest Jams clearly has something to say about how empowering it can be to free the mind from pressure and allow a worthwhile creation to transpire. Honest Jams releases every Friday on all major podcast platforms.

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Jeremiah Hayden Illustrations by Camden Benesh

ARTS & CULTURE

Photo: A netsuke carving at the Portland Japanese Garden is on display under a small magnifying glass, bring to life the fine details of the piece.

FASHION, FUNCTION, AND ART: NETSUKE EXHIBITION AT THE JAPANESE GARDEN A RETROSPECTIVE ON THE EXHIBITION OF TRADITIONAL NETSUKE CARVINGS AT THE PORTLAND JAPANESE GARDEN

From upper class warriors to farmers, to artisans and the lower merchant class, the kimono was worn by all manner of people in 17th to 19th century Japan. One functional aspect of the kimono created a dilemma, however: it had no pockets. This is how small, intricately detailed carvings commonly made of ivory or wood called “netsuke” came to be a fashionable and functional solution to the problem. The Assistant Director of Exhibitions at the Portland Japanese Garden, Sarah-Kate Nomura, described netsuke carvings as “a tiny sculpture that’s small enough to fit in the palm of your hand. They were used as a counterbalance, or a toggle to hang pouches or boxes [inro] from a men’s kimono, and that’s how they carried around their everyday essentials like medicines, money, or tobacco sets.” The Japanese Garden is an idyllic place, tucked into the upper West edge of downtown Portland. In many ways, the slow growing scenery and patient creation of the space is a large scale version of the attention to detail found in traditional netsuke carvings. The Garden’s curator, Hugo Torii says “every gardener, after spending years mastering the art of manicuring nature through the act of being a mere intermediary, would try to leave their own mark in some discrete way. The forgotten art of netsuke from Japan points to the innate human drive for expression and creativity, much akin to the way we crave nature.” During the Edo period, the upper class

shogunate and samurai ruled the populace with strict guidelines. Conspicuous wealth was frowned upon, so people had to find new ways of showing off their individual style. “They were quite strict about people being homogenous in their dress, and definitely not having anything flashy or showy,” Nomura said. “But the lower classes were actually pretty wealthy, and they were merchants and artists, so they were eager to express their status or personality in some way. The netsuke were kind of a loophole for that because they were technically functional, and they could be tucked away a little bit.” Many carvings in the exhibition are brought to life for guests through small magnifying glasses inside each exhibit case, revealing the meticulous detail carved into each piece. As with art of all types, these netsuke were created to represent various aspects of daily life. While men predominantly created netsuke— apprenticeships were passed down through the patriarchal line, and they were not worn by women—some women actively sold their own work, and were often represented in the carvings performing their common work roles as well. “It shows a glimpse into everyday life for a woman at the time,” Nomura said. “There is one image of a woman beating a cloth, and she’s making soap really smooth and pliable; she’s a craftsman.” Real and imagined animals in the collection take form as Chinese zodiac symbols thought to represent human characteristics: rats (intelligent, adaptable), monkeys (creative, witty), puppies

(loyal and sincere), as well as shishi—lions believed to repel evil spirits. Despite their isolation, as Edo Japan’s trade policies opened to other parts of the world, so did Japanese artists’ curiosity about newcomers to the islands. Dutch traders who lived in Japan are commonly characterized as tall, thin foreigners in unique clothing and hats, similar to how they are portrayed in contemporary woodblock prints. Common folklore of the era contributes heavily

One common story in Japanese folklore is told of Momotaro; a young boy who is born out of a peach to an elderly couple who has long wished for a child. At the age of fifteen, the boy temporarily leaves his parents and encounters friends in a dog ,a monkey, and a pheasant along his journey to fight devils on an island in northern Japan, a commonly believed to be the sparsely populated island of Megijima. An ivory netsuke of an elderly farmer carrying a large peach is on display in the Pavilion Gallery.

Photo: View of Mt. Hood (Wy’East) from the Japanese Garden Pavilion

is renowned for his design of the Japan National Stadium in 2020. The courtyard and its adjacent cafe, gift shop, and the castle wall in the distance give the courtyard its open, minimalist feel. Moss is featured heavily on the upper half of the buildings’ porcelain rooftops, directly above their patinated metal lower halves. Guests exit the cultural village through the Nezu Gate and enter Flat Garden—the first area developed here in the early 1960’s—a peaceful, raked sand and stone garden made of gravel imported from a Kyoto riverbed. A Japanese method of gardening called miegakure, or “hide and reveal,” is widely utilized in the layout of this space. Around any corner, at the top of a set of steps, or through another gateway could be an entirely different use of color or texture, which builds a sense of mystery and appreciation of the moment throughout the tour of the garden. The Pavilion Gallery opened the day Mount St. Helens erupted in 1980, and from this vantage Mt. Hood appears as borrowed scenery, sitting like a cap atop the roofs of the city’s tallest buildings. A short walk around the corner from Flat Garden, and through Wisteria Arbor is the Sapporo Pagoda—a five tiered, 18-foot-tall pagoda gifted to Portland from its namesake sister city in Japan. In the spring and summer, trees and plants set a green background to the sculpture, hiding a peaceful pond until visitors reach the short walking

bridge that waits below. Rustic, but kempt gardens are intended to slow the pace toward manicured stone and wooden walkways where a dozen koi feed underneath a small waterfall. The path bends around Douglas Firs and Cherry Blossoms through the Moon Gate, whose asymmetrical doors open or close depending on the moon—the wider right is opened on a full moon, the narrower left is opened for half-moons. Endless moss, trees, and bushes; all shades of green surround visitors sitting in meditation or hiking up the short hill revealing a juxtaposition with the strikingly gray, karesansui zen garden. The rock sculptures are open to interpretation, but are meant to stimulate the mind through the use of blank space. Four small stones kneel reverently toward a proud, larger stone as three yet smaller ones look on; a group of tiger cubs follow their mother; fish are frozen in time as they dive simultaneously, their tails caught just above the water. To know is not the point. The purpose here is to slow down and breathe; to carve out time, and to be patient.

Portland Japanese Garden 611 SW Kingston Ave., Portland, Oregon 97205 Entrance to Pavilion Gallery is included in Garden Admission: Adult $18.95 / Senior 65+ $16.25 / Student $15.25 / Youth 6-17 $13.50 / Under 6 - free Hours: 9am - 3:30pm Monday - Wednesday (closed Tuesdays)

Photo: Sand and Stone Garden

Portland Japanese Garden is a nonprofit 501(c)(3) organization

THE PACIFIC SENTINEL

Jeremiah Hayden photographs by Sarah Samms

to themes carved into the netsuke as well. Nomura said the traditional netsuke “take at least a couple of weeks to make just a single piece, and people would have a pretty elaborate setup. You’d need a piece of wood that has a fork in it to rest the netsuke on, and they would often hand make a huge set of tools to make the different types of cuts.” Today, Disney sells plastic, novelty netsuke that attach to cell phone cases, and Marvel has a comic book series that tells the story of Wolverine, a character who is transported back to 1100’s Japan after finding a netsuke from the era. While modern collectors of traditional, handcrafted netsuke may not be in the market for mass produced, plastic charms, the allure as a souvenir is relatively similar today as it was in Edo Japan—minus the time and effort put into their creation. The artisanal carvings were not even found in European art galleries until around 1880, a few years after feudal samurai rule ended in Japan and tourists began collecting them. But today, collections are on display in fine arts galleries around the world, offering collectors and appreciators a look into worlds created by true artists in Japan. The netsuke on display at the Portland Japanese Garden were a selection from 200 donated items that are now part of the Portland Japanese Garden’s permanent collection. A walk through the museum is included in general admission to the garden, which is a unique experience in its own right. A short jaunt up the hill from the city center and through a small residential neighborhood, the Japanese Garden offers a reprieve from the nearby noise and pollution of the city’s busy shopping district at Northwest 23rd Ave. Waiting in line at the entrance to the garden, one can enjoy cleanly designed water features and begin to practice the kind of calm and patience that is essential to fully appreciating what the space has to offer. Just past the ticketing gate, visitors can catch a shuttle or take a short, steep hike, inhaling the greenery and shrubbery that wind upward, exhaling into the wide open cultural village courtyard. While giving a recent tour of the garden grounds, Will Lerner said the courtyard was designed by the influential Japanese architect Kengo Kuma, who

ARTS & CULTURE

HELP FINDS TIME TO BREATHE THROUGH THE CHAOS You’d be forgiven if you heard the latest record from Portland band Help and assumed it was inspired by a riot. The nervous breakdown of society has needed a soundtrack, particularly in a city like ours where, if you watched the news you’d be convinced that people drink their morning coffee with a side of Molotov Cocktail. But “2053”, the full length follow up to their 2019 eponymous EP is much more than that. “The frustration of growing up religious and being fed a bunch of bullshit down your throat is a big source of my frustration; the guilt I felt growing up, for doing things that for everyone else seemed like it was okay and normal to do,” Ryan Neighbors says. Neighbors is the three piece band’s sole guitarist and lead vocalist—a ranty, cathartic staccato that calls up the influence from his formative years listening to mewithoutYou, but is more aptly described as tapped into the vital chaos found in Mike Muir’s tirades on Suicidal Tendencies records. Those personal themes of religion and control are where the lyrical content begins for Help songs, then drummer collaborator Bim Ditson connects them to challenge wider systems of control. “One node is the old world type of shame as a tool of control, and centralization of the church,” Ditson says. “The other node is want and desire as a tool of control and consolidation—you know, capitalism. Ryan is coming from his background, and processing it directly and saying, ‘here's how it feels to be me’ and being vulnerable, and then I'm coming at it and going, ‘me too,’ just for these totally different reasons.” One does not need to look far to find signs of an impending apocalypse in any part of the globalized world—rising rents, labor strikes, houselessness, and crumbling infrastructure are in the news daily; and leaders worldwide have abandoned everyone who isn’t a corporation to follow the gleam of war. “2053” imagines a not too distant future where civilization has

declined into chaos. The opening track, “UltraViolent Ones” nods to the 1962 Anthony Burgess novel and Stanley Kubrick film “A Clockwork Orange,” in which the wealthy elite enjoy safe distance from those stuck in the day to day violence of the collapsed remnants of society. Neighbors rants in the second verse: Okay okay, If you really think you deserve to hoard all of the beautiful gifts of the universe I just gotta ask you one question It’s all ME ME ME WANT WANT WANT ME ME ME WANT WANT WANT Well go ahead and take it Take my money, take my dignity Just come back around one more time and put me outta my god damn misery “2053” is a heavy record, but moments of beauty found their way onto the recording as well. The luxury of time gave this batch of songs the chance to mature before being recorded live at the Map Room Studio, with former bassist Boone Howard and producer Sonny DiPerri. “That album took absolutely three people to write—four with Sonny,” Neighbors says. “It took fighting and pushing and arguing.” There is something to be said for putting in the work and time required to create something new and inspired. The first EP—also recorded at Map Room—was written and recorded quickly. Studio time was booked before the songs were even finished, and some lyrics were wrapped up while in the studio. This time around, however, the three members could pass around demos and throw out songs that didn’t work well. “I’m way more proud of the songs on the record that have grown on me than the ones that I initially liked,” Ditson adds. The extra time to create depth and purpose pays off on tracks like “Fire and Ashes

and Shit,” a track with a chord progression befitting Neighbors’ electronic project Hustle and Drone—a new angle for the guitar and feedback heavy direction typical of Help. That track is dark; personifying wisdom as knocked out and death as a subject caught gazing into the mirror to watch itself burn and melt. There is something beautiful found in the why—“so he can see himself breathe and see you breathe,” tags the verse. There is catharsis and truth in finding connection in the midst of chaos, metaphorically and physically. Asked what gives him hope, Neighbors responds: “playing shows again, and coming together with people that I have missed seeing and really care about, has done a lot.” Bim adds that “the whole thing is rooted in real space and real talk— the live thing is what it's all about, and the rest of it comes out of that.” Over the weeks and months since March 15, when 2053 released on Nadine Records, the band has had plenty of opportunities to build connections through music. Help celebrated the record’s release in Portland at Bunk Bar on March 18, and played a string of dates along the West Coast in March before heading to Treefort Festival in Boise at the end of the month. You can catch Help at one of the shows listed below, unless of course the world ends first.

THE PACIFIC SENTINEL

Jeremiah Hayden Illustration by Astrid Luong

The band’s latest record 2053 releases March 15 on Nadine Records

5/26: Portland, OR - Holocene w/ Spoon Benders, Chainsaw Girl, Kill Michael 6/9: Seattle, WA - TBD w/The Builders and The Butchers 6/10: Portland, OR - Polaris Hall w/The Builders and The Butchers

ARTS & CULTURE

“BREAKING BREAD” IN HAIFA’S A-SHAM ARAB FOOD FESTIVAL CHEF NOF ATAMNA-ISMAEEL’S A-SHAM ARAB FOOD FESTIVAL AIMS TO FOSTER CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING IN ISRAEL.

borders, history, and demagoguery the stumbling blocks to establishing regional political power with neighboring nations. Successful Tel Aviv restaurateur Osama Dalal, with his deep family roots in the Mediterranean port city of Akka, prioritizes the connection to the landscape and resources themselves. Overwhelmingly, the narrative of the film is that most Israelis want to get along and not worry about conflicts that divide them. In a larger political context, this feels simplistic and avoidant, but interpersonally, it’s hard to hate people enthusiastically sharing culture with the folks around them. In an interview with PBS, Bourdain claimed to be thinking of his friend Ted Nugent when he said, “Food may not be the answer to world peace, but it’s a start.” He explained, “I find almost everything that comes out of his mouth to be violently offensive. But we both like barbeque.” The lack of stakes that white affluence and artistic celebrity afford Bourdain and Nugent to find common ground without being forced to consider the consequences of “violently offensive” speech is on full display. Arguably, it also provides the kind of distance that diplomats, intellectuals, and artists alike use to imagine new perspectives and possibilities for conflict resolution. The use of Bourdain’s quote to ground the movie from the get go alludes to the position of the filmmakers on this point. The profiles are intimate; chefs are referred to by their first names, and many speak extensively

about their family histories in Israel, why they are proud to be Israeli, and the unmitigated necessity for friendship between Arab and Jewish Israelis. Nof organizes the festival by assigning chefs from all over Israel to 35 Haifa Restaurants, where they work as a team with a cross cultural chef to recreate an Arab dish that Nof helps choose. Whether the recipes chosen are to highlight Arab fare that Jewish Israelis are unlikely to be familiar with, or common plates of culinary syncretism, the chefs in the film are sweetly devoted to the language of food. Shlomi and Ali are standout examples of Nof ’s goals for the festival and the tone of the documentary; the men discover shared roots, a respect for each other’s culinary skills, and genuine friendship. Shlomi Meir is a third generation Israeli restaurateur who specializes in the Eastern European recipes of his grandfather. He dedicates his life to his sisters, his father, and the cadre of motherly figures who work in his Haifa kitchen. As long as he can cook in his restaurant, he’s happy. “Give me bread, water and Marlboro. That’s it,” he claims. Ali Khattib is a Muslim Arab personal chef from the famously divided city of Ghajar, which is situated between Israeli occupied Golan Heights, Syria, and Lebanon. The people there identify as ethnically Syrian and voted to be part of Israel rather than Lebanon in the 1980s, to put a very abbreviated gloss on things. Ali praises the opportunities available to him as an Israeli and devotes himself

to bringing traditional Syrian cooking from Ghajar to modern Arab and Jewish Israelis alike. Both men are adorable in their sincerity about delicious food. When Shlomi (whose mother was Egyptian) talks about the old fashioned Arab food he makes for himself at home, Ali’s eyes light up, just as Shlomi’s do when he tastes the dry Kishek that Ali’s grandmother sent with him. (Kishek is a sun dried bulgur and yogurt soup starter.) After service ended, Ali gushed, “He made it better than me! …But not Grandma!” This film is a loving, if not in depth, look at patriotic, multiethnic Israelis adapting to a political conflict they seem to conceive of as out of their hands. The subjects of the film sincerely believe in promoting unifying, cross cultural traditions. Equally, it’s premised by the claim that 90% of the people in Israel’s territory want to be peaceful Israeli citizens, dismissing the agitations of “10%” who don’t. I recommend the film for the culinarily curious, and as a starting point for discussions about everything from domestic labor to hummus to the legacy of Yitzhak Rabin. To see how you can watch Breaking Bread, check out https://cohenmedia. net/product/breaking-bread.

At the start of “Breaking Bread,” an award winning film making rounds at international film festivals, Dr. Nof Atamna-Ismaeel describes her intersectional identities: “I am a Muslim, I am an Arab and Israeli, I am a Palestinian, I am a woman, I am a scientist, I am a cook.” The first Arab Israeli to win popular TV cooking competition “Master Chef Israel,” Nof aims to use her platform to create a bridge between Arabs and Jews in her country using cross cultural menus and workspaces. The celebrity chef ’s A-Sham Arab Food Festival takes place in Haifa, the third largest city in Israel. Haifa has a

reputation for cultural diversity and integration, and although many residential districts there are customarily segregated, the community prides itself on intercultural connection. “Breaking Bread” focuses on the 2019 A-Sham festival, the third year Nof had organized the event. The film is mostly chefs monologuing or cooking, interspersed with sensual, slow motion close up shots of food being plated. Director Beth Elise Hawk does a good job of presenting beautiful food without feeling pretentious. From internationally ubiquitous hummus to hyperlocal specialties like octopus maqluba from

the city of Akka, the dishes serve as a foundation for sharing family stories, personalities, and hopes for friendship between Israelis of all backgrounds. The film deliberately avoids controversial political subjects. The overarching philosophy is explicit, from the opening quote attributed to Anthony Bourdain, “Food may not be the answer to world peace…but it’s a start.” AtamnaIsmaeel later reiterates, “When someone eats your food, that’s where politics end.” Ilan Ferron, a non-religious Israeli chef of French Catholic, Jewish and Muslim descent, considers focus on

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Corry Hinckley

ARTS & CULTURE

THE EVOLUTION OF HURRAY FOR THE RIFF RAFF Hurray for the Riff Raff has evolved greatly over the years seamlessly without many growing pains to be told. The first time I saw Alynda Segarra on stage with the stage handle Hurray for the Riff Raff, it was a decade ago in the McMenamins basement venue Al’s Den in front of maybe 20 people or so. Segarra sat in a chair, dressed in a dress that’s design was inspired by the 1920’s era and sang into the microphone as if her heart could leap out of her chest right there and make us all cry at the sight. That night Segarra appeared somber and apprehensive to be on stage. Singing lyrics off her album Look Out Mama: “I’m a heavy headed gal. Full of sorrow, don’t ask me how- I got this way. Cause it’s been too long, to tell. But I’m getting tired, going down this road, all by myself.” A song reflected in her backstory that’s rooted in train hopping and traveling. Alynda Segarra is of Puerto Rican descent

who grew up in the Bronx of New York. Alynda landed in New Orleans in 2007, a place where many train hoppers and travelers go to retire or rest their heads for long periods of time. The first Hurray for the Riff Raff album was titled It

Watching Hurray for the Riff Raff evolve seamlessly without growing pains is an absolute pleasure. Don’t Mean I Don’t Love You and was dedicated to the doctor who performed Alynda’s abortion at the age of 19. Some would say, their music was birthed from sadness. The following album Young Blood Blues was released in 2010. The

album's title song is composed of therapeutic melodies that resonate with the internal sadness that rests deep in all of our souls, singing lyrics like: “My best friend in this whole world, is a man who is dead and gone. Now I'm bound to wonder, with nothing but his song. And he walked out of this world, as lonely as he came. You can rest assured you won’t see my man again. I’ve got the young blood blues.” Hurray for the Riff Raff wasn’t signed on to a major label until the release of Small Town Heroes signed to ATO records in 2014. This album integrated old western tones into her blues and folk traditional spirit of music and illuminated any room it played in. Nevertheless, the lyrics of this album are still wistful. The title song beholding lyrics that say: “She was the queen. She got all her drugs for free. She walked up to her daddy’s door. He said, you don’t live here anymore. She wanted love, she wanted love. Oh, but she just couldn’t get enough. . . Now what’s the point in a

us to come to terms with what was happening. Then, heads started bobbing, this then turned into people dancing, and eventually into people cheering and celebrating Segarra and the band's new skin. To witness someone evolve from a dismal person who seemed uncomfortable on stage to a bold, edgy human screaming lyrics that praise

and celebrate life behind fog and disco lights is galvanizing to say the least. Though, I’m sure many country western fans would not say the same, I personally think the evolution of Hurray for the Riff Raff gives hope to many of those who struggle with mental health issues and shows us that we too, can evolve.

THE PACIFIC SENTINEL

Sarah Samms Illustrations by Camden Benesh

wedding ring? ‘Cause we might not be here when next year comes. Well, I guess you gotta watch your back and carry a gun.” When sung to your ears in person, these lyrics have a profound effect on your psyche, bringing tears to your eyes and a lump to your throat. For those who have lived on the dark side of reality, Hurray for the Riff Raff ’s music was a go to when life was tenebrous and you needed someone to relate to. Someone to sing to you the feelings you couldn’t quite articulate as dim as they truly were. Segarra changed things up a bit in the 2017 album release The Navigator. This album has a few songs that are a break away from the tenebrous tones, where they integrate some of Segarra’s Puerto Rican roots with shakers, Bomba bass lines and vernacular lyrics. Who knew that this would be a stepping stone to an entirely new sound and Riff Raff experience? Hurray for the Riff Raff stepped on the Wonder Ballroom stage in Portland on 3.31.22. The stage was embellished with flowers that lined the mic stand, the drum set, the debut synthesizer and other musical equipment. Just below Segarra’s table that held the lyric book was a Himilayan salt candle; an amiable touch. When Segarra came on stage, they resonated a fresh yet familiar persona and certainly was not wearing a dress design that belonged in the 1920’s likethe Segarra we had been familiar with. They rocked soldier boots, camo pants, an army green shirt and a radical '80s style haircut. The crowd was taken aback as Segarra walked on stage in their new skin, anticipating what the new album Life on Earth would sound like. The debut show was an absolute excitement to be told. At first, watching Segarra in a shag and camo pants singing on stage in a combative dance to a synthesizer had most of the crowd stunned. No one knew what to think. Segarra went through all of the emotions in this album and even sang into a megaphone with a synthesizer and beat maker going along at one point. Life on Earth is composed of tones that reminded me of David Bowie, Portishead, and the Talking Heads. Fog machines poured mist on the stage as bright lights and a disco ball shined on the packed venue. Segarra sang positive lyrics in a dance and an inspirational tone, “Monarchs in flight, dawn’s early light. Life on Earth is long. And the sun in the West and one you love best” breaking song and telling the crowd, “I love you Portland! I'm so grateful to be here,” as if Segarra survived something great and finally found their way out of the darkness. It was a shock, a complete innovation and evolution for the band. It took most of the room about 3 songs into the new album being performed for

ARTS & CULTURE

SPRING’S CAN’T MISS

ART EVENT

Entering the second floor gallery dedicated to the Portland Art Museum’s highly anticipated Mexican modernist art exhibit is stunning. Immediately, Diego Rivera’s Cala Lily Vendor creates drama and anticipation, hung alone on a looming gray wall that leads visitors from the balcony into the main gallery. It’s arresting to see the original of this well known image, large and beautiful with stylized renditions of organic, soft shapes and contrasting bold colors. Truly, it is a fitting start to Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Mexican Modernism. Our familiarity with Rivera and Kahlo’s art, which is sold on everything from shower curtains to phone cases, and the qualities attached to Kahlo’s person, scaffold the context presented to us about the political ideals behind the art, the art itself, and the avant garde circle of artists that dreamed it up. The Portland Art Museum, otherwise known as PAM, has woven together intimate and public images to reflect the purpose of post revolutionary Mexican modern art: the deeply personal reflected onto nation making narratives, and vice versa. Sara Krajewski, The Robert and Mercedes Eichholtz Curator of Modern and Contemporary Art, coordinated the exhibition, originally slated for Summer 2020 but postponed because of the pandemic. To foster community connection with the art, the Museum is coordinating educational activities with artist and PSU faculty Patricia Vázquez Gómez and students at César Chávez School, a Portland Spanish-English bilingual immersion K-8, and hosting student workshops through Latino Network’s after school program called Studio Latino. Written materials in the exhibit and an activity guide aimed at younger visitors are written in both English and Spanish as well. The Museum’s promotion prioritizes Kahlo and Rivera, but the exhibit itself contains many contemporaries such as Rufino Tamayo, Manuel and Lola Álvarez Bravo, María Izquierdo, and David Alfaro Siquieros. The variety of works paint a picture of mexicanidad, or Mexicanness, which was being actively imagined and promoted after the revolution. This contextual presentation foregrounds the role of artistic visions in the larger federal legitimization of modernization efforts in Mexico. Aquatint reproductions of scenes from these public projects and photographs of Diego

Rivera working on murals are included in the exhibit. These prints were distributed widely at the time, taking art from elite private spaces and into public squares via large murals that narrated history and culture through a national, consolidated lens. Photographs are plentiful throughout the exhibition, with images of Frida Kahlo most prominent. From a short haired 22 year old dressed in white, to an antifascist demonstrator with a raised fist in 1936, to sitting on a Chicago rooftop patio with iconic braids and ribbons, Kahlo’s identity is endlessly fascinating. A highlight is the 1940 photograph by Bernard Silberstein with the explanatory title, Frida Paints Diego on My Mind While Diego Watches, which hangs in the same room as her painting, Diego on My Mind. Looking over my shoulder to a floating teal wall with the finished painting centered on it, Kahlo’s face framed in lace and a portrait of Rivera on her forehead, then back to the small black and white photo of the couple and her unfinished painting, was dreamlike and then grounding. Replicas of her colorful clothing, including skirts trimmed in lace, rebozos and Tehuana style embroidered shirts called huipiles, are on display along with her artwork, reminding visitors of the impact of her personal style and the political statement she was making by choosing to mix European and Indigenous decoration on her body. This thread of self definition works to emphasize a larger national self image being manifested by the artwork of Mexican modernist artists at the time. Kahlo’s father was German, while her mother was Mestiza with roots in Oaxaca. 21st century perspectives might lead us to believe that Kahlo’s choice to wear Indigenous dresses is a revelation or claiming of indigeneity, but that might not be the case. PSU Art History Professor Alberto McKelligan Hernández explained in a Zoom lecture hosted by the Museum that Kahlo was wearing it “as part of a larger conversation… to underscore political ideology, not personal identity,” which would have been understood by her contemporaries. Artists of the 19th century in Mexico were fascinated with Indigenous peoples, painting large neoclassical paintings depicting historically distant Aztec subjects, but not interested in identifying with Indigenous folks of their own time. By the 20th century,

however, Modernists like Kahlo were “blurring the lines a little bit—actively collecting work by folk artists and emulating [them].” When I asked Professor McKelligan Hernández how Indigenous folks might have seen it at the time, he said they were under pressure to incorporate into the national Mexicanness after the revolution, and many communities simply wanted to be left alone—for example, resisting efforts to establish national education systems in their communities. Experienced with past power shifts, rural Indigenous communities understood that “to participate or collaborate with the national government is just allowing a new hierarchy to emerge.” Their hopes for substantive betterment or meaningful autonomous engagement were low, modernists’ appreciation for their aesthetic notwithstanding. The exhibition has clear information about the political and social context in which Mexican modernists were operating and offers a lot of guidance and jumping off points for visitors who might be unfamiliar with modern Mexican political history. Some of the art, like Lola Álvarez Bravo’s photo collages that bend time and space by placing pyramids and skyscrapers side by side in Mexico City, or Frida Kahlo’s sketch of The Statue of Liberty holding a bag of money and an atomic bomb are demonstrative of their ideologies. Others, like Juan Soriano’s Girl with Still Life have a less obvious narrative while still contributing to the overall visceral experience of the exhibit. There is definitely something for everyone; whether your focus is Mexican history, defining the boundaries of surrealism and modernism, or sweet Frida swag in the gift shop, the friendly folks at PAM will point you in the right direction. ** It’s a great time to check out the Portland Art Museum. Among many diverse offerings, current exhibits include Mesh, featuring four Native American artists who “mesh together” traditional and contemporary culture, and PSU alum Sharita Towne’s Black Art Ecology of Portland project titled Apex with rotations of new art from community collaborations. The Museum is only a few blocks from PSU and students can buy a year’s pass for only $25. “Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera, and Mexican Modernism” is open now and will run through June 5.

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Corry Hinckley Illustration by Astrid Luong

FRIDA KAHLO AND MEXICAN MODERNISM SHOWING NOW AT THE PORTLAND ART MUSEUM

Quitting Time

FEATURE

Dan Chilton

Like most, it started when the unemployment ran out.

some savings I’m sitting on. I say that I could use the time to find something else.

We were at this dive down the street from our place. Some bar and grill that had been recommended to us for its steak. I ordered the chicken. We sat on one of those scratched up picnic tables on the sidewalk. The kind that every dive has all marked up with pens and stickers. Me and my lady.

Then he gets real close and I can smell the artificial mint of his cigarettes. He talks in a whisper.

Sitting there in the early sun of late Spring, Portland just coming back to life from her long comatose, I was waiting for my chicken and thinking about my bank account. I hadn’t stepped foot in a kitchen since the last one I’d worked the line at had laid everybody off when we’d gotten the news that the world was going to the shitter. And I didn’t mind. But now the unemployment checks had stopped and I wasn’t eager about returning to the scene. The bartender comes out with our food and he’s wearing one of those plastic face shields with nothing underneath. As if that’s accomplishing anything. He places our food in front of us and then sits down at the table nearby and lights up a smoke. We get to eating and talking. We talk about unemployment running out and the jobs and the never ending pandemic. I’m halfway through my meal when the bartender inserts himself. “If any of you needs a job, we’re hiring right now.”

“Yeah,” he says. “The last guy up and quit and now we’ve only got one person working the kitchen right now.” I tell him that I’ve worked in plenty of dives but I think I call it something nicer. The point being, I have experience. I tell him that I’m not particular about getting back into the industry. Even though unemployment is up, I still have

Tips too? “Tips, too.” ___ So despite all of my aversions I was back at another dive. They told me to come in the next week for training and I spent the majority of that week telling myself that I should look for something else. A week goes by and I ride my bike to the place and introduce myself to the lady tending bar. “I’m so happy to meet you.” She said this with the kind of desperation I’d seen at other bars I’d worked at and I believe her. “Chef is running late but why don’t you go back and get yourself acquainted with the place.” The kitchen was one room. Two if you count the dingy staff bathroom that looked less sanitary than the staff itself. I wandered around the place, checking the line and refilling some tomatoes that look like they’d been sitting for a while too long. I looked over the menu and it was all fried food, minus the burgers. A proper dive. She showed up an hour later, hungover and grumpy. She must have been in her sixties, white hair and all. “Hey there, looks like you’re my new line cook.” I tell her that I guess I am. “Well, let me get myself together and I’ll show you the place.”

I did end up staying. The pay was decent and it was close to my apartment and most days I was back there by myself with time to spare. Since it was still mid pandemic and a recent shooting had happened just across the street, the place was a ghost town. So once I got in, heated everything up, got the fryers going, and all, I’d spend a lot of time reading or writing. And all on the clock. It wasn’t too bad. The guy who hired me, he’d come back and try to shoot the shit with me as if we were old friends. As if he did me a favor. “When the government is offering money to take the vaccine, that’s how I know you can’t trust it,” he’d say. I think that maybe the incentive is because people are being stubborn but he doesn’t seem the guy to listen to that. “We’re all gonna catch it someday anyhow,” he goes on as he grabs a plate from my line and starts working out a small plastic bag of white powder. “May as well not worry so much about it. I don’t know how you’d trust what’s in that thing anyways.” He makes a line on the plate with his ID, rolls up a wrinkled dollar, and hits it. “You want some of this?” he asks. “Got it from this stripper I’ve been seeing. They get the best stuff.”

welcome. The owners were okay. An elderly couple who had been running the place since the 70’s and had changed the name a couple of times. They came in on odd days to check inventory and, I ventured, to apply the pressure to their staff. The woman barely spoke any English, or perhaps just barely spoke it to me. Her husband always tried to get buddy buddy with me. About my classes at the university, or his niece who was doing the same, or just about the kitchen in general. I’d keep myself busy while they were around so that they didn’t feel like they were paying me to loaf. When they’d leave, I’d get back to writing or reading, or just wasting time. If I felt bad about being on the clock while doing this, I’d remind myself that it was deader than dead and it’s not as if they were offering me benefits or job security or anything besides a small paycheck. I was there until I wasn’t. So may as well make the most of it. Some days the lukewarm regulars would make their way back to my line. I think this started from the lady in charge being overly friendly with them and I was too nice to tell them to stop. This old guy would come back and he’d be there asking me to make his burger in this specific way and he’d give me a fiver. I knew he wasn’t paying the bartender but since he was paying me, I didn’t care. “I’ll be out at the slots,” he’d say. “Do it like the last one you made. That was the best burger I’ve ever had here, and I’ve been coming here since 1986 even though I don’t drink… I just like the vibe and the owners, they know me… so does the chef and…” And he’d just go on talking like that for a while until he burned me out. Then I’d make his burger and take it out to him at the slot machines. “Wow, that was fast,” he’d say. “Like I said earlier, I’ve been coming since 1986… or was it 1985… no no, it was definitely 1986… anyways, I’m not used to the burgers coming out so fast and your burger is the best burger I’ve had since that one chef left a few years back… what was her name… Kate? No no… Maybe Maurice? I

can’t quite remember anyhow… No, it had to have been Kate…” Then I’d amble my way back into my empty kitchen, the old guy’s voice trailing away, and wait another hour before a new ticket showed up. This is how most of the days there went. It was boring and full of dry spells that were occasionally broken by short rushes that usually happened right before closing time. Overall, it was boring and I was ok with it since I was writing and reading a lot. ___ Things went on. It was summer and it got hot. I told the owners that I would need to cut down some of my hours when the school year started back up. I didn’t mind the continued work, but I just wouldn’t have as much time come September. They seemed to sympathize and when there was work to be done, I was good for it, so it seemed we were at an understanding. One night, it must have been late July, there was the usual last minute rush. I was throwing pots and pans around, keeping the fryers full. The vents had stopped working a few days before and the place was like a damn sauna. I had the door wide open to the sidewalk but it only did so much with all that heat from the grill and the boiling oil. The guy who hired me, he comes back from the front all worked up and grabs some bottles from dry storage. Before bringing them up front, he pulls his plate from below the counter where he kept his line and his ID and got one nice and clean for himself and hit it. He offered me some as usual but I was slammed and didn’t have the time. He grabbed his bottles and grumbled his way out front. When things finally died down, the last of my tickets finished off, he found his way back again. “So the owners just told me that you’re gonna go on call while they train someone new.” I ask him what he’s talking about. “This is just what they texted me. They want

you to be on call cause they’re training this new guy and he’s gonna do your shifts.” I curse or something and ask what this is all about. “I don’t know anything more, man. They did tell me to make sure not to let you quit though cause they like you and your work.” I’m still confused and angry at that point and he explains it all over but it doesn’t help. From what I was gathering, they were replacing me and they hadn’t the guts to come tell me to my face. Instead, this guy got the honors. I thought about ditching and leaving the kitchen a mess. I cleaned it anyway. Cleaned out the line. Turned off the fryers. Bricked the grill. All while thinking that these people were getting the better of me. Even though I showed up for every shift and then some, got the food out on time and all proper looking, they were replacing me. I assumed it was because I’d told them that I had to cut back my hours when school started back up. Or maybe because I was getting my own work done on the clock. Not as if it affected my ticket times. I finished up back there and got myself a free drink and sat at that scratched up picnic table and tried to enjoy it despite feeling like I’d been given the short end of the straw. I nursed my drink for a while, thinking things over. When I finished I brought the glass back to the guy at the bar. “Don’t go quitting,” he said from behind that flimsy, plastic mask. I wanted to ask him what the hell he thought that thin plastic was doing. But I knew his answer. I never came back. I sent a text saying that I quit to the guy since I didn’t have the owner's number. He never responded. After only a couple months of work, I was back to where I started. Good thing I wasn’t the only one calling it quitting time. I walked into the next place I saw with a desperately worded “Need Workers” sign out front.

I tell him maybe later cause I know the owners are due soon. Or because I don’t trust his cocaine. Either way. Snorting, he walks back out front where a couple has wandered in off the street and greets them with an overenthusiastic

Illustrations by Camden Benesh

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I don’t want to but I ask him about it. Seems the right thing to do given the circumstances.

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but the owners are willing to pay under the table. They’re real desperate right now.”

She showed me the ropes over the next couple of weeks and tried to pressure me to stay by sweet talking me with that old lady charm. Telling me how good I was at the job. How I was gonna' be her number two. I would tell her that there was only two of us and she would laugh and keep talking.

FEATURE-

ARTIST FEARURE

ARTWORK BY CAMDEN BENESH

THE PACIFIC SENTINEL

ARTIST FEATURE

ARTWORK BY KIYORA LAVENDER

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