This is the old sound.

... a little bit about this piece: this was something that started out being a collage that was going to say something about me. as i continued to work on it i just found pictures that had something to say and adhered them to a piece of paper. i really like the idea that one image can mean a multitude of things. the process was really as simple as finding something interesting and react to it. i guess that is how i made this still speak about me. it is a little snippet into the way my mind thinks about things even though most of the images really do not have much significance to me.

this is the new sound.


above is the "adjusted" representation of my original work. it was difficult to get the piece to such an obscure point as there was a lot of negative space in the original work. however, with some cropping, playing around with buttons and knobs that had names i don't know the meaning of, and heavy abuse of the "retouch" tool, i was able to produce something only vaguely recognizable to the original.

Like the Sandal, Only spelled Different

Tevah is a rare last name. If you were to search Tevah on Facebook, only 56 results would be returned. If you were to search it on Google the results would balloon to about 56,000. Compare that with Smith. Facebook will return about 2.7 million results while Google will return about 366 million results. Most have trouble pronouncing Tevah. The American bastardization of Tevah is pronounced TEE-VUH. However, pronounced with a Hebrew inflection it comes out like tay-VAH.

I have always been proud of my last name on many levels. Proud of carrying the same last name as my grandfather who fought in WWII for Greece against Germany as a guerilla soldier. I am proud of how rare it is. I am proud of the fact that I have a seemingly direct connection with history. I also enjoy the fact that it makes me appear vaguely ethnic, that I have some faint dissonance with the privilege provided by much more common names. It gives me pride to bear the name and I appreciate the background history and sense of family it has given me.

I am first generation American for the Tevah family. My father and his family moved to the States when he was only 5 due to severe health problems. They were foreigners in a land somewhat hostile to foreigners as it was the 50's and communism was preying on the fears of just about everyone in the country. Skip ahead a few decades and my brother and I were born. As we were raised it was made clear to us our family culture. Greek food, greek remedies, greek language, and greek culture. From as early as I can remember, my (excuse the spelling) Papou and my Manamou called my Matyemou or Kersomou. I learned songs like Coopepe, and I learned words that my family would describe my behavior by. I was caught lying, I would be called a “sefty.” If I was complaining too much, “nyowreezee” would be my name. If I was just simply making trouble I would be called a “kartomboula.”

Another interesting aspect of my name is that is Hebrew. Now, it might sound strange that I bear a hebrew last name while being of greek descent, that however, is where it gets interesting. To trace back the roots of my last name would take you back to Spain pre-Inquisition, where Tevahs lived as far back as anyone could remember. In case anyone isn't familiar with the Spanish Inquisition, anyone in Spain that wasn't Catholic was, to put it lightly, frowned upon. In fact, Catholics frowned upon the non-catholics so much that the decided to offer them the option to either convert to Catholicism or be brutally murdered. Being the keen ancestors that they were, they decided not to compromise or die, and they fled the country and made their way down to Greece. There they lived and prospered for a couple of hundred years until they emigrated.

I find some strange sense of pride in my last name. It may not really reflect on me as a person but I still like it and that's all that matters to me. To have something that stands out in this day and age is becoming harder and harder. There are certain things that one should hang on to and mine is a sense of pride in my name.

"On The Uses of A Liberal Education" strikes me as an interesting piece. Few people stick their neck out so much as to publish an article that criticizes, with such fervor, the institution they work for and the consumers, or in this case the students who make their job possible. I find it interesting, however, that the author opens the article up by admitting to the reader that he is guilty of teaching in a manner that doesn't engage the students as much as he would like. In fact, he says he is embarrassed to see how his students evaluate him for fear of reading things like, "he presented the material in a funny way" or, "he is nice and relates well with the students." He points the finger of disappointment at himself and says that he teaches in such a kind a lukewarm way because he is obligated to. He can't ask the tough questions to his students or grade in a tough way for fear of offending the students and ending up with few to no students in his class next semester.

The author has a point, however. There are many students in the college institutions that are cop-outs. There are many people who are "lukewarm" about their education. There are many who are just gliding by in order to get that degree 4 years down the road. As sad as that is, I find it to be equally as depressing that there are instructors in the very same institutions that are perpetuating this pathetic cycle. The article came off as "whiny" after some time as it seemed like that author had a complete grasp of what was wrong with the system, but seemed to admit to the reader that he was helpless to do anything about it, or paralyzed by his very own students and unable to engage them in such a manner that might actually start some critical thinking, or (gasp!) offend someone. Is it not ironic that the person that the author teaches on (Freud) stuck his neck way out there with radical ideas yet, ended up offending many, and the author lacks the courage to do the same?

To Us, It's Beautiful.

When I see her, my heart flutters.

Dark hair, hazel eyes, bright smile.

In a blurry world, she clears a path.

I just can't explain all these things.

Dark hair, hazel eyes, bright smile.

Time changes a lot of things, but not my love.

I just can't explain all these things.

One thing builds on another.

Time changes a lot of things, but not my love.

If love is strength, ours only grows stronger.

One thing builds on another.

Some things are out of reach.

If love is strength, ours only grows stronger.

Everything we have is a blessing.

Some things are out of reach.

Eight names between us, just one word binds us.

Everything we have is a blessing.

Heart's beat like music. We dance.

Eight names between us, just one word binds us.

To some, it's background noise, to us it's beautiful.

Heart's beat like music. We dance.

In a blurry world, she clears a path.

To some, it's background noise, to us it's beautiful.

When I see her, my heart flutters.

I enjoyed the short story "Covered Bridges" by Barbara Kingsolver. What i found most interesting was the role nature. Both main characters in the story were greatly affected by nature. I like how the husband revered and studied nature. I found it to be of some sort of significance that when he tried to interfere with nature by adding some sort of pesticide to his plants, he got some in his eye and had to call poison control, thus meeting his wife. later on in the story Lena gets stung by a bee and nearly dies. Both instances cause the two to grow close together. I think this story had something to say about how life has a natural order to things. they just happen and we ought to accept them.

The short story "The Woman Who Lost Her Names" by Nessa Rapoport was enjoyed a little less. I guess I didn't enjoy the because of the mediocre baseline to it. It seemed too much like ugly duckling gets to be more pretty, finds a husband and bears him children. It also seemed a little to anti-climatic for my liking. I didn't like how her dispute over naming the daughter ends with the husband saying "no" and then she submits and follows tradition hoping for something different.

Gallery Piece

CUPS A MILLION!

The art display at Crabe Hall was interesting. i went into the oak room and took a look around before signing in and reading the artist's statement. i think that this was a good idea because as i found out, the artist wanted us to take with us our own meaning from the piece. The exhibit really put into perspective for me quantity. 1000 things is actually a LOT of things and 1000000 things is a crazy amount to think about.

Healthy Glow

The piece on the Rocky Flats catacombs was very interesting! It felt like a huge spread for a National Geographic issue. The information aspect of it was definitely my favorite aspect of the show. The photos were nice. Most of them had good symmetry, contrast, and absolutely did a good job with leaving my with a sense of how "dead" and most of Rocky Flats is. Some of the photos seemed a little bland however. It kind of bothered me that the little info card was sometimes more interesting than the photo.

In response to Albert Einstein: A Letter to Jacques Hadamard:

What the heck is Einstein talking about? He's too darn smart. I had to read this a couple of times! Golly! ...kidding! Well, not about rereading it. The first thing that really stuck out to me was how Einstein stated that the connection between psychical entities and relevant logical concepts are, to him, a desire to reach relevant logical concepts is emotional. I believe it really strikes me because even a historical figure like Einstein functioned on a somewhat common level with most other people. Take for example, someone who paints pictures not as a profession or academic pursuit. That person attempts to make sense of his or her ideas (or reach a relevant, logical concept) with thoughtful strokes of a brush. A writer does the same thing except the medium is different. Einstein seems to take the same approach with his ideas.

In response to Christian Zervos: Conversation with Picasso:

"Art is not the application of a canon of beauty, but what instinct and intellect can conceive independently of the canon."

That one sums it all up for me. I think beauty is worried about too much. By that I mean, what beauty is, and if something fits into the definition of what is beautiful and what is not. I appreciate the subjective view that Picasso takes and implores others to take. Art is expression and people do it because that have to and they have to because it is something natural to them. It is natural like breathing is natural. Respect.