Student Work: New York City
You’re Allowed to Leave
Lady Bird (2017) taught me more about my relationship with my hometown and the people in it in ninety-five minutes than I could figure out in nineteen years.
Cine-Love
Pushing through twin doors at the end of the hall, I arrive at an empty theater. What have I come here for? What do I want the theater to do for me–to do to me?
Noli Me Tangere
A queer sense of volume filling the ears with silence. Like a child’s hand in his hand. Body quivers and aches. Touch me not.
Recycling During the Covid-19 Outbreak
A look at pandemic's effect on canning, the practice of collecting cans and bottles throughout New York City and returning them to redemption centers for money.
Monument Proposals for New York
As racist statues topple, what will replace them? The students of Professor Patricia Kim’s Spring 2020 Interdisciplinary Seminar, "Women and Public Art" imagined the next generation of monuments for their final projects.
The Return
“How am I supposed to connect to you, or anyone, if I don’t even know who I am!” I shouted as she slammed the door behind me. I left my girlfriend’s apartment in Spanish Harlem that rainy September night feeling strangely liberated.
The Curious Account of How I Became a Ghost
Sitting on an airplane, suspended somewhere over the gulf of Mexico, I stared numbly at the shapes and shadows flitting over the eight-inch screen in front of me —one I had thoroughly disinfected with a Wet One®. I wondered, was …
Manahata
Every day, we walk through the streets of New York. We are all caught up with our own lives and do not take the time to really look at what is going on around us.
Grape Street: After Nas
I’m isolated with so many around, / I try to hit your line but static is the only sound.
Showing Love for the Mundane
A series of poems after Frank O'Hara attend to the "lost moments" of daily life in New York City
A Letter to My Hearing
I've always fixated on sounds, isolating them, meditating to the gurgling rush of the heater, the wetness of feet unsticking from the floor, the mingling of exhales . . .