Learning from Harvard’s “Art Whisperer”
Objects of art—19th-century European paintings, 17th-century Native American bows, and vases from Greek antiquity—speak to cultural historian Ivan Gaskell, and he wants students to hear what they have to say.
Goat in the Pool
Adams House resident Davida Fernández-Barkan ’11 first saw the controversial, Tony Award–winning Edward Albee play The Goat in her native Milwaukee. “It caused a big stir,” she notes, “and I fell in love with it. I knew I had to direct this play here at Harvard.”
Tangible Weight and Value
Two students wander into the Bow & Arrow Press in the basement of Adams House at 9:00 on a Thursday night during weekly “open press hours.” Sam Jacoby ’09 volunteers to show them around, pointing out the massive rotary and platen printing presses, the rows of moveable type, the ink-stained zinc plates, and linoleum blocks of artwork carved by students over the years.
Approaching Enlightenment
Before graduate school, Jason Clower spent nearly five years in China—as an English teacher, a “failed” business consultant, a karaoke lounge host, and, finally, as a TV news producer for CNN Beijing.
Learning Great and Small
Thomas A. Johnson ’11, casually dressed in a purple sweatshirt, passes through an oak door in Barker Center for the Humanities and sits down at a small table with nine other freshmen and their teacher.
Stepping Out with the Community
“Let’s do it again,” Adam Yock ’08 directs a dozen middle-schoolers eagerly awaiting their next moves inside the Currier Housedance studio. “And this time, make it massive, huge, as big as you possibly can!”
Pursuing a Musician’s Path
For cellist Bong-Ihn Koh ’08, the music comes from within. Whether practicing evenings in the Cabot House Living Room, performing with the Harvard Bach Society Orchestra, or going on tour with the Tokyo Philharmonic, this Korean-born artist expresses himself through his instrument.
Joining the Rhythms of the Night
“I often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day,” Vincent Van Gogh once wrote. And indeed it is, on this rainy, windswept weekday evening, as a raucous, five-minute celebration erupts without warning.
