510 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
Tucked behind the brick–and–terra–cotta Venetian entrance of the Fisher Fine Arts Library, the new exhibition After Modernism: Selections from the Neumann Family Collection is finally on view at the Arthur Ross Gallery and will remain on view through March 2.
What is the price that we pay to live in America? How far will we go to understand and help those that we love, even when they don’t reciprocate love in the way that we need? Rental House by Weike Wang, a Creative Writing professor at Penn, explores these questions by following a couple—Keru and Nate—and their delicate relationships with their family and the world around them.
In high school, there was never a more depressing time for me than Saturday nights. Plopping onto my all–too–familiar mattress, I’d brace myself for an hour of creative writing that rarely produced tangible results. In an effort to ignite a spark of inspiration in my writing, I would browse through the Poetry category of the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards gallery to see what other poets my age were writing about. And after months of continually browsing this tab, I came to two conclusions—that “winning” writing was most often about some sort of cultural trauma, and that it was always depressing.
Buy bananas for cheap while you can, because tomorrow, just one might cost $6.2 million.
For just $6 on Venmo, I scored the perfect scrapbook template to capture my "2024 recap". It was a small cardstock booklet of risograph illustrations, a printmaking technique in which 2D stencils are burned into paper. The designs featured elegant yet simple silhouettes of dynamic pottery in shades of violet–blue and taffy–pink, inspired by the artist’s summer spent at a pottery camp in China. The booklet channeled pastel and chill vibes, which I plan to fill with Polaroid photographs of friends and scenery from this year. I spent another $5 on another larger risograph: a print of a round succulent nestled in a lemonade–tinted pot.
Inside the gilded halls of the Detroit Opera House last year, one could see a white dude lead his AI girlfriend to suicide from the confines of his VR headset.
I almost didn’t make it to Love Sent Across Seas. Housed in the Penn Museum, a building that takes up an entire block, I walked to the entrance of the nearby side and was faced with nothing more than shipping entrances. To my chagrin, standing coy and clueless, I met the woman behind the video installation, Dr. Neisha Terry of Stony Brook University, who was also lost, coming from Long Island. A professor, videographer, and incentive behind the VOICE (VocalizED Identity Crafting and Exploration) Lab, I got the privilege to speak with her on my way in, granting a literal behind–the–scenes look into the exhibit.
Everyone is familiar with the experience of repeating a word with such frequency that it loses all meaning. Where before it had fluidly and unreflectively slipped into our speech, saying it again and again has made it sit uneasily on the tongue, made it strange. It is this experience—of repetition rendering something unfamiliar, and thus creating something new—which perpetually unfolds at the exhibition Begin Again: Repetition in Contemporary Art.
On a cool October night in Philadelphia, jazz lovers flooded Zellerbach Theater and hummed with anticipation for Joshua Redman’s long–awaited return. The sound of Redman’s saxophone last enraptured the city more than a decade ago, and the crowd performed as a hive, buzzing with eagerness. As the lights dimmed and the Joshua Redman Group took the stage, a voice from the darkness hollered from the gallery off of stage right, “Come’on Josh, I’ve been waiting a long time!” and without skipping a beat, Redman burst into sheets of sound, commencing that evening’s journey. It was as if Redman acted as a conductor, yelling ‘all aboard!’ before the train pulled out of its station—the audience, or travelers—clamoring for a window seat. As we settled in and examined the passing scenery, one could imagine the collaboration between piano, bass, sax, and drums as different gears of a freight, chuggin’ over the Schuylkill River Viaduct on its way to the first stop: Chicago.
On a quiet morning in Philadelphia, the sun catches on an enormous mural taking over an unassuming carpark wall. Vibrant colors breathe life into the dull concrete, layers of paint whispering stories of history and community. Philadelphia’s walls have become canvases—spaces where we can feel the heartbeat of a city defined by its rich diversity.
I can hardly imagine my pre–COVID–19 life without ChatGPT. Beyond summarizing dense readings and designing practice tests for upcoming midterms, artificial intelligence has crawled its way into the entertainment industry. With AI art gaining traction in mainstream media—for example, through AI–generated profile pictures and fabricated voiceovers of famous celebrities—the question of whether AI should be used in tandem with creative projects has become a point of contention among artists, critics, and the general public.
Cool lights cast a haunting kaleidoscope of blue and violet, red ropes lay across the paneled floor of the bedroom scene like spilled guts, and garish mirrors amplify the hallucinogenic perception of a possessed object. Winds howl and windows feel like they could be shattered. As the lights dim, my survival instincts viscerally kick in from the cushioned seat of the second row—I fear I’ll be taken by a demon from hell.
The poet Cesar Cruz once said: “art should comfort the disturbed.” Likewise, when October arrives at Penn, something disturbs everyone—whether it be midterms season, 50–degree temperatures, or scrambling to find the perfect Halloween costume. Last week, I became victim to all these irksome conditions, so what better way to seek comfort than by observing art? Specifically, in the (quite literal) sanctuary of Iron Gate Theatre, while watching The Mask and Wig Club’s fall production: Legally Bond.
The West Philly Tool Library is anything but a “typical” library. With stacks of scrap wood, animal traps, sewing machines, and carpentry tools in an open–door garage, it looks more like a hoarder’s warehouse. When I walk inside through the unlatched garage door, it feels like I am invading someone’s personal workspace.
From high–end furniture to animation, to minimalist design and interior aesthetics, Japanese influence can be found all over the West. But that wasn’t always the case.
Have you experienced “eusexua”? That is the sensation FKA Twigs is striving to evoke in The Eleven, a performance art show she debuted at Sotheby’s in September 2024. It marks the English singer, actress, and dancer’s first foray into the fine art world.
Today, Bitcoin hit 100,000. But long before crypto bros were salivating on Reddit, Neal Stephenson’s was imagining a blockchain future in his 1999 novel Cryptonomicon. Over the course of its 900–plus pages, the storyline spans half a century, ranges from the barren islands north of Great Britain to the jungles of Southeast Asia to the depths of the Atlantic Ocean, and features real–life historical characters such as Alan Turing alongside concepts which were ahead of mainstream society by the turn of the millennium.
With the evolution of American pop culture, dressing up for Halloween has taken on new meaning from its Pagan roots. More specifically, the once sacred Pagan holiday, previously known as All Hallows' Eve, has become a pop culture–infused night that is most closely associated with cheap costumes, candy, and—for college students in the United States—an excuse to consume copious amounts of alcohol on a weeknight.
On Sept. 11, Kendrick Lamar began a funeral procession. Through a lowkey post on his Instagram account, he released the five–minute track “watch the party die,” where he mourns over the “death” of the hip–hop industry.
When I tell people I’m a STEM major, they don’t immediately assume I interned at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. At first glance, the two seem completely unrelated. What could a neuroscience major possibly gain from planning painting lessons and spending days helping kids explore the European Sculpture and Decorative Arts collection? Yet, working at the MET has been one of my most valuable experiences to date. And it’s not just because I became enamored by the two–million–square–foot space bursting with artifacts and artworks spanning over 5,000 years of human history—the 640 ton Temple of Dendur, which had to be flown into the museum via helicopter, or the original Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh during the 2023 Van Gogh's Cypresses exhibition, to name a few. My most important takeaway was the practical skills I gained. As a high school student, I learned to cold email, network, hold hour–long conversations with professionals, problem–solve, and collaborate effectively with a team. My time at the MET was transformative, and fortunately, Penn’s art scene offers several opportunities for students interested in these spaces. And I’m not alone in this sentiment. Many Penn students have done incredible work at similar institutions on campus.
Solutions by The State News