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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.
For years, pictures of Yayoi Kusama’s iconic Repetitive Vision flooded my Instagram timeline with striking red polka dots and never–ending mirrored reflections. My understanding of the piece and the Mattress Factory museum existed only within the context of these images. It wasn’t until I went home over fall break that I finally took the initiative to check the iconic Pittsburgh museum off my bucket list. Hopping in the car with my twelve–year–old sister in tow, we made our way to the North Side, anticipating an abundance of artsy photo–ops.
As midterms come and go, Penn students will be grateful to make an escape from the hustle of school with Thanksgiving and winter breaks. This year, however, call your Uber an hour earlier than usual and allow yourself a few extra minutes at the Philadelphia International Airport (PHL) to check out the incredible art installations that grace its walls. According to Time Out magazine, PHL ranks third in the United States’ top airports for art.
Confabulation has appeared as part of a wave of new work—perhaps most popularly crystalized this year with Jane Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow, a parable of the horror of never coming out—which has finally gained the courage to treat queerness with a greater degree of allusion and allegory. After a long and sometimes grating infancy of obviousness, exposition, and simplistic narratives, this nascent subtlety could perhaps be taken to represent a welcome maturation of queer theater and film, which at long last feels equipped to go beyond the basic representation of our reality toward a deeper, more provocative territory.
In the world of horror manga, few characters resonate as grotesquely as Tomie. The titular character is no ordinary femme fatale, and it would be an oversimplification to view her only as an object of sexual fantasy. Tomie ensnares men, and they respond with disturbing violence—chopping, burning, and murdering—only for her to return again and again. Ultimately, Ito’s goal is not to vilify her but to reveal the paradox in human desire: the simultaneous fetishization and fear of beauty.
In the month that I’ve been at Penn, I’ve started walking twice as fast as I used to. I’ve lost my ability to slow down and look around as I walk through campus. With my headphones in and my head down, I may be getting to my destination on time, but I’m losing out on all of the little details that comprise my walk. The times when I allow myself to walk at my slower, natural pace, I gain control over my life again, and suddenly the trees look a little taller and the Quad looks slightly cleaner and the sun feels ever so slightly brighter. When I appreciate the beauty in my surroundings, or rather, the art in the little pieces of this new world around me, I find myself and can hold onto that feeling when I eventually end up stressed or frantic again.
Blank pages, brain fog, and a pad of crisp white sketchbook paper—the quintessential recipe for the inevitable onslaught of art block: the thief of creativity. But as the artist battles against the onset of apathy, October provides a unique cure: Inktober, an art challenge for everyone. Pen, paper, and a single–word prompt provide the antidote to every creative’s worst nightmare.
Pilobolus, founded in 1971, has been creating acrobatic, playful contemporary dance since its inception. Its current show, re:CREATION, showcases Pilobolus’ iconic choreography as it tours across the United States. While the show had its moments of brilliance, the pacing dragged on at times, feeling overly grandiose.
I have been single all 19 years of my life, and tuning into The Bachelorette every Tuesday night this summer only reminded me of that fact. Several times, I found myself thinking about how lucky Jenn Tran must feel to have a sea of men vying for her affection and how excited she must be knowing that she’ll walk away with a life partner. But after doing my own research on the show and learning that most couples from the show fail to stay together in the real world, I slowly realized that the show portrays an idealized, unrealistic image of love by avoiding one topic: politics.
We arrive through the woods, following the anemic light of glowsticks scattered along an unmarked trail, vaguely referring to a map we received a few hours ago. As the distant rumbling grows more intense, we begin to feel a pulse in the earth, a change in the air; all trepidation and inhibition dissipate as we are drawn to that thudding siren song.
Solutions by The State News