SONG & PLACES | Reflection

I suppose I cannot avoid writing this post anymore. This is the last one in this series but hopefully not the last one I will ever compose.

We are expected to write about this course of Songs & Places and what it means to us. Well, to be quite frank, this course means everything to me. It was a purging I never expected to have and a cleansing that was more than necessary, and it makes me terribly sad to see it come to an end. In a way this final post frightens me because I am afraid that with its final words, my journey of transformation will be over and I am not ready to for it to cease.

My journey began a few weeks before I joined the class. I was sitting in my architecture review jotting down notes from comments my professor gave when I suddenly became very aware of myself and my surroundings. I looked down to my sketchbook and saw words upon words, hardly a single sketch from any of the projects thus presented. In that instance I looked out the bay windows and saw the campanile and I reflected my place in this campus.

Here I was, supposedly learning line weights and about creating space, when there were students writing, learning, asking questions, discovering answers…existing. I did not feel like I was existing and in fact I actually felt quit the opposite. Fingers felt foreign, thoughts always questioned my worth, body just kept deteriorating. I was finding it so hard to simply be alive and this studio class was worsening the situation.

This was not what I expected coming to college. This was not the place I expected to be. I wanted to be reading and trying to solve problems and be surrounded by books, not computer screens of 3D modeling. I did not come to this place to throw my sleep, health, money, and sanity away just to learn line weights.

Nothing mattered to me anymore. I did not care whether or not I was skilled at the work I did, it made me feel less human than I already felt and one Wednesday morning in the early hour of 2 or 3am, after working unproductively for several hours to currently find myself hunched over making a site model, I dropped everything. Maybe it was because I reached my point of exhaustion, or more likely because the numbness that was steadily creeping suddenly took hold of my body and my fingers could no longer function, but it did not matter. I stopped working and stayed awake all morning waiting for the advising office to open at 10am to walk in and say that I refused to live in Hell and wanted my sleep, health, and sanity back (money was always a lost cause).

At that point I was hovering in nothingness. No ground felt like mine to walk on - I felt very much alone and extremely out place and out of mind.

But I still sent that email asking to be admitted into Visual Studies 185X, this course of Songs & Places. I guess my desperation was alarming enough to allow my admittance, but no one at the time, not even myself, would know how much of a savior this small act would be.

Thursday night: 6pm. My feet had apparently found their way to the classroom. Holding my artwork firmly in my hands, I waited nervously to go inside. Helen and her art were the first people I met. I say people because her work was as much of a living human creature as you and me. That was my first impression of the class and it was striking.

From sheer exhaustion I feel asleep in the class. The class was 4 hours long and I had not slept in who knows how long (I would later find out that it would take a semester the least to restore my body to its original state after two years of studio). During the moments my consciousness returned to me I awoke to people singing. Let me tell you that I was terrified. Who were these creatures, what were they doing? They all seemed so nice and friendly, but they were not the people I knew from studio. These were strangers and that night I abhorred everyone (me included). When the class ended I rushed out, ran back up to studio, and nearly cried.

"I had left architecture for this?!" My heart felt sick, thinking that I had made a terrible mistake; but it was all denial. I would not come to look forward to the class until a little while later, however.

I kept trying to make 3-dimenstional work and found myself hating it each time until I was told I had not produced my kind of work yet. My kind of work? Confused, I tried to understand the statement until I realized the reasoning behind it. To aid the decision to admit me into the course, I sent 4 different artworks done by me, none of which, by the way, were 3-dimenstional. They were color pencil drawings and paintings.

So I tried my hand again at something I thought I would never return to. It was the week of Leadbelly and I remember the joy of painting again. After that I never stopped painting and my feet found their place on the ground.

I went walking on this ground, started taking notes and writing down whatever came from my heart and mind. I started singing again. I would sing the songs to myself over and over again, falling in love with the feeling of my voice calming my soul. I fell in love with my hands that wanted to do justice to each song and artist it chose.

They were not always easy to paint and understand - some songs were puzzles within puzzles to figure out. Somewhere along the week of studying Woody Guthrie was when I began to really understand the correlation between songs and places. It was the places themselves that drew out the songs and the songs that verified and told the stories of those places. Throughout my life I traveled very little, but I visited more places in this class that before in the 20 years of my life. This is meant both figuratively and literally.

Traveling from the east coast westward in the songbooks, I traveled a great deal within myself as well. The songs taught me what it meant to be human, my fellow students taught me what it meant to be human, my artwork taught me what it meant to be human.

I am not sure if it is evident or not, but I struggle a tremendous deal with the notion of what it means to really be human. I try to calculate my existence and reason the purpose of my living in this world. As embarrassing as it is to admit this, I have to say that at times, I wish to be able to just be, to breathe without having to prove why I should.

It was one of Baylor's own songs that made me realize how very much alive I am but how constrained I  have kept myself.

The title of my blog was originally the.black.lamb, a reflection of what I felt, what I thought was, what I only knew; but after his song, I asked myself "what reflects my very much alive existence?"

And the answer?

Seeping Ink

Just like the songs we sang, the places we visited, the stories we told, the tales we learned, I am always growing and expanding; ink seeping further and further into the chipboard that I have grown so fond of painting on.

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight. The sun sets on this journey of ours, but it will rise again.

It always does.

With much love and thanks,

Arami Matevosyan

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WEEK 12 | Sailors - The Hog-Eye Man

What a scandal! The Hog-Eye Man stood out from the list of songs and enchanted me with its catchy lyrics and energetic tone. I found myself humming the tune and envisioned a melody that resembled the movement of a galloping horse.

Putting all that aside, the imagery in this song depicts a shocking tale (well, at least one that was shocking at the time it was originally sung). Upon first glance, the term "hog-eye" appears vague and suggestive of an ambiguous man that comes to visit Sally Jane in the garden. Who is this hog-eye man and why does the narrator have such disdain for him?

The general definition of Hog Eye is a barge in a canal and "navvy" is likened to mean someone who navigates. This focuses the story around a man who navigates the barges that go to San Francisco. If the narrator alludes to going off to Sally Jane and "a hog-eye," his tone of voice suggests that he is off to take care of business with this hog-eye. Perhaps seamen were not welcomed ashore by people or were not desirable mates for families with young ladies; or maybe this particular seaman was just an individual to be weary of. The latter interpretation sounds more likely than the former.

Therefore we must consider what kind of man would strike controversy if he were to meet up with a young woman and what actions he would take that would give the song its saucy melody. To address the second question first, the actions would most obviously allude to a sexual nature. This is evident in the lyrics referring to Sally, whose hair is loose and hanging to her knees, shelling peas in the garden while the hog-eye is sitting on her knees.

Then we focus on the identity of the hog-eye: who is this man? Needless to say, I conducted a great effort to research this topic and from my findings I conclude that the hog-eye freed to in this song is a black man. Thus, the controversy would be a reference to an interracial relationship.

Go fetch me down my ridin' cane,

For I'm goin' to see my darlin' Jane

And a hog-eye, 

Railroad navvy with his hog eye,

Row ashore with a hog-eye,

Oh, she wants a hog-eye man

Oh the hog-eye men are all the go 

When they come down to San Francisco

Now it's who's been here since I've been gone,

A railroad navvy with his sea boots on

Oh Sally in the garden pickin' peas,

Her golden hair hangin' down to her knees

Oh Sally in the garden, shellin' peas, 

With her young hog-eye all a-sittin'on her knees

Oh a hog-eye ship and a hog-eye crew,

A hog-eye mate and skipper too

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The blonde hair represents Sally Jane, the black strand of hair represents the black man, the weaving of the blonde and black hair alludes to their relationship, and the pea flower - reminiscent of the peas Sally was shelling in the garden - indicates the insemination or blossoming of their relationship.

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WEEK 11 | City Blues: Chicago - Long Distance Call

It seemed that quite a few of the people in the class considered Long Distance Call to be more of a sweet song, a song that expressed the difficulties of having a long distance relationship and the importance of communicating with each other; but I did not see it that way. In fact, I did not think the song was sweet at all. It was very humanizing, expressing the basic need of reassurance, something - a bit of hope - to cling on to, when talking to someone who has meaning to you. This man just wanted his attention, his love, to be reciprocated but instead

it was met with "another mule kickin' in your stall." 

Unaware of the meaning that the last line of the lyrics, I assumed that that the phrase had something to do with the woman talking with another man. After I looked up the meaning, the tone of the song shifted quite a bit.

 

<< "another mule kickin' in your stall" = your significant other is having sex with someone else; being cheated on >>

This bothered me. This whole song bothered me. I could relate to the man and yet his foolish hopes enraged me. The overall feeling of the song reminded me of my past long distance relationship.

Those few phone calls you get mean everything and nothing at the same time. Talking on the phone exhausts me, I try to avoid it as much as possible. Love wanes when the person on the other line does not seem to reciprocate your interest. It was just too many memories, lost

dreams and hopes, and so much time wasted on a call that probably meant close to nothing in the grander scheme of things. I am not sure where this rant is taking me but it is brewing a foul reminder of why I felt so trapped by a single phone call.

My idea for the song was to represent a call in which the receiver hangs up on the caller and lets the phone just drop, alluding to the phrase "dropped call." The flowers growing out of the speaker end of the phone are broken in the

stems, indicating that the callers sweet words and promises where broken by the receiver's reluctance to accept them. And lastly, the accident that probably made the biggest statement on the painting were my fingerprints. The wash I initially laid had not dried completely when I decided to handle it, leaving finger prints everywhere. Immediately it struck me that my fingerprints could be interpreted as the dirty fingerprints of the man that was touching the woman all over.

In the end, the piece came together, but the tone that I wanted to represent was not as poignant, dark, and repulsive as I wanted it to be. It was caught in limbo of my fancy turning to brighter colors but my intentions retaining the overall form of the images I wanted to be represented. It is ironic, though. I am as disappointed and repulsed by my rendition of the song as the song itself. Maybe it was not my skill that lacked in this painting but my disgust that overpowered my capability of making it a stronger piece. The feeling I register when looking at my work is the

same as the feeling I register when listening to Long Distance Call: I no longer give a damn.

Hear my phone ringing

Sound like a long distance call
Hear my phone keep ringing
Sound like a long distance call
When I picked up my receiver
The party said 
"Another mule kickin' in your stall"

WEEK 10 | Country Blues: The Delta - Let's Talk about 'Honey'

Strangely enough, I had quite a bit of difficult this week getting into the songs. Even after listening to them over and over again, it did not click with me. However, I did come to notice something…While I may have not been able to really connect to the songs, I noticed a trend in the tone and lyrics within the music.

Many of the blues artists sing about a woman (and occasionally a man) who they love or hold dear. They either make reference to these loved ones by either stating that they are going away (sleeping around or seeing other people), not returning the love they give, or mistreating them.

Honey Bee
She been all around the world making honey
But now she is coming back home to me.

Corrina, Corrina
I love Corrina, God knows I do
And I hope that someday, she come to love me too.

Careless Love
Love, O love, O careless love,
You see what careless love has done.
It's gone and broke this heart of min,
It'll break that heart of yours sometime.

In my own fancy, I suppose, I coined these mysterious loved ones under the umbrella term of 'honey'. Sweet, loving honey, like the endearing name people title their sweethearts. These blues artists are stuck to their honey and the time they invest in their honey is like the time it takes to harvest the actual food.

What made these 'honeys' worth singing about?

Why do the singers want to keep their 'honeys' contained?

To me, honey is free flowing. The jar of a container that the honey is placed in is now open, allowing it to ooze out on its own choosing. Moreover, the honey has the option to ooze out in any direction, place, or length of time it wants. The act of they honey leaving the jar and dripping into its own essence is representative of the singers' 'honeys' leaving them.

*** 

On a separate note, Baylor's piece tonight stirred something in me and I felt compelled to write it down. Even though it is nowhere nearly representative of how I feel, it is sudden and, above all else, true.

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Sometimes I feel so under control that I wonder what it is like to be human.

People move, people shake, cry, rise, and fall;

and I cannot do anything but stand still.

A still standing statue of a corpse.

Tell me what it feels like to be alive, because try as hard as I do, 

my fingers are sewn together and I cannot grasp my being.

I cannot embrace my soul.

And God knows,

Oh, God knows.

How do I be?

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WEEK 9 | Woody Guthrie - Songs of the Dust Bowl

Listening to this week's songs, I was conflicted about this Woody Guthrie fellow. I could not quite decided whether or not I liked his work, his voice, or his music. To me, the idea of Woody Guthrie was a shifty one. And maybe it is because his songs had a certain kick to them or it was just that I did not like the stories he told. Either way, I found him disagreeable until I started my reading on him.

"He is leather". That comment struck me like no other, and it was within the first two-sentence description of Woody in our readers. As I continued to read more about it, my bias shifted. This always happens, doesn't it? You don't know the full story until you read up on it or really dig deep into the roots of it. I came to respect Woody, although I was not such a terribly big fan of his smoking…

He is leather.

A man wrapped with the lives and stories of the those things around him. He was a whirlwind, as strong of a force as those dust storms he sang about. I was trying to relate to one of his songs but none really embedded an image in my mind that I felt compelled to run after. At this point, I felt that I needed to visually understand this man and what his songs were about.

Woody was a man, and a man like no other. Although his photos were limited, man, you could read his life story by the look on his face. There was so much that spoke through the glint in his eyes and the way his lips furled around his cigarette. That cigarette…

I found it ironic how the smoke of a cigarette reminded me of a gust of dust just rising in billows. Granted those two do not necessarily look the same, but it is that idea of power - one that embodies it metaphorically and the other that demonstrates it physically - that they both share.

Cigarette smoke and dust bowl… the pictures of the dust bowl were horrific. Gigantic clouds of dust looming over houses that looked so small and ready to be demolished by this monster. Woody Guthrie really struck it on the nail when he sang about the dust bowl. Even if he added a bit of humor into his words, they were still grave.

And then there was the picture I was of three young ladies all wearing gas masks against the dust. That's where it all clicked for me.

Woody Guthrie was the voice of the people. While his songs were not toxic, their subjects were.

So long, it's been good to know you

So long, it's been good to know you

So long, it's been good to know you

This dusty old dust is a-getting my home

And I've got to be drifting along

WEEK 8 | Leadbelly - Take This Hammer

Leadbelly is undoubtedly a powerful songster, a man of great force. You really feel the lyrics as he says them, a journey through his experience.

In Take This Hammer, he way he grunts during pauses feels so authentic and laborious. When I first heard the song, I assumed that storyline was referencing to a slave running away, but I knew that it could not be that straightforward. Upon viewing the first video ( Leadbelly 1976 film), I immediately understood the context just from the sound of the hammer hitting the rocks. Suddenly the grunts made perfect sense and the hammer became more than a tool for work, it became a symbol of his imprisonment. 

In the Leadbelly 1976 film, Leadbelly was depicted as a "dangerous" prisoner but with an exceptionally great voice and amazing skill at the guitar. He appeared angry and intimidating, but once he got the guitar in his hands, his disposition changed to such an ecstatic state. Including the flashback really colored Leadbelly into a fierce character - one that appeared to not regret his actions and really live in the present state. While I enjoyed watching those short 13 minutes of the entire movie, I really had to consider why the clip itself was so difficult to find. My first assumption was that it was because the film was about a black captive, but it seems more reasonable to say that someway or another, the film made the viewer slightly uncomfortable by the fact that a great, black man was made to walk with chains on his feet to a room for a recording requested by a white man. All in all, the storyline is amazing, but a bit sad to realize. Then again, all stories, no matter how amazing, tend to have some serious issues that are dealt with.

Watching the other two videos, my sense of who Leadbelly was shifts a bit. In the first video, he was much more of a tangible character. In the Leadbelly "Newsreel" he becomes a nothing more than an actor, another person depicting a part. Regardless if the events were true to the nature of what took place in Leadbelly's life at the time, the representation didn't feel real. And this could have been from the mere fact that the clip was a newsreel, footage most likely directed at a predominantly white audience to capture their attention.

Now the last clip from Leadbelly singing Goodnight Irene was intense. You could really hear the power in his voice - it reverberated and demanded attention. The clip was clearly a setup with Martha sitting elegantly with a glass of champagne(?) in a gloved hand and Leadbelly all suited up and playing the guitar to her. The guitar, with it's old exterior and beat up wood was the greatest juxtaposition of the entire set. Now I am not saying that the setup makes the clip fake, but it really emphasizes who was in control when Leadbelly was asked to play Goodnight Irene for the recording.

Take this hammer, carry it to the captain

Tell him I'm gone

If he asks you was I runnin'

Tell him I was flyin'

If he asks you was I laughin'

Tell him I was cryin'

They want to feed me cornbread and molasses

But I got my pride

So who was Leadbelly. If each source provides a different depiction of Leadbelly, how can we be certain of who he was. I think Take This Hammer is the perfect explanation of who Leadbelly was. The lyrics suggest a strong personality that was very aware of his position and blunt about his opinion. And more reasonably, he resembles very much the hammer he used to break the rocks where he was imprisoned. A hammer itself can break things, but it is also used to piece things together - to create. Leadbelly is just the same; he may be fierce and break things/people, but he is also soft and pieces things back together. He is never one without the other.

WEEK 7 | Mississippi John Hurt - You Are My Sunshine

The two online readings about Mississippi John Hurt were, in my opinion, both very valuable. Out of necessity, I think it is more beneficial to read Jas Olbrecht's article first for its comprehensiveness and its background information. Max Ochs' With Mississippi John Hurt paints John Hurt in a relatable and colorful portrait. In that sense, one establishes the context, the second brings the character to life.

Personally, I prefer the Max Ochs article. There is a way in which the prose is constructed that truly requires the audience to search for the meaning between the lines. While there isn't much provided, in terms of written words, the story told is compelling and paints John Hurt in a much more compassionate color - a beautiful human.

My song of choice from Hurt's plethora of work is You Are My Sunshine. Although this song was an available choice for week two, I found myself returning to this song more than the others. Maybe it is because this song means something to me as opposed to the other songs, or because I found myself singing its lyrics after listening to all of them, but I truly feel that this was the right choice for this week.

Out of all the versions and covers available of this song, I think John Hurt sings it best. And it's not because he is the main artist covered this week; you can hear the difference in his voice. It's so much more sweet, sincere...humble. That's it, it's humble. I'm sure there are many ways to sing this song, but nothing can compare to how Hurt makes me feel when I listen to him sing. It's the closest way I would ever hope to sing it.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away

The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms

When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

And I hung my head & cried

***

The weather in my mind is seldom ever calm, but the thought of him is like the ray of sunshine that reminds me to always trek forward. He is the wooden ring and I always hold him to a standing higher than he will ever really know.

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You burn as bright as the sun,

And if love is really blind

Then my eyes will never leave you.

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WEEK 6 | Appalachia II: The British Ballads - Barbara Allen

They buried Barbara in the old church yard

They buried sweet William nigh her

Out of his grave grew a red, red rose

And out of hers a briar

They grew & grew up the old church wall

Til they could grow no higher

And at the top twined in a lovers' knot

The red rose & the briar

Did Barbara Allen deserve sweet William? Was sweet William a fool for courting Barbara Allen? Is it not upsetting that sweet William calls forth Barbara Allen when he is on his deathbed with the intention of telling her that he will die without her love? I mean really, he is putting Barbara Allen in a position that is not of her doing. How can he expect someone who he has barely met to give in to his "love" just to keep him alive? That is a poor excuse for love. In fact, it is not love at all! It is ridiculous, and yet this kind of thing happens all the time.

How can a man permit such power unto himself? It infuriates me that no one points out that 'sweet' William is pressuring Barbara to say yes to him. That the bells tolling "hard-hearted Barbara Allen" is just another way of describing society's view on women choosing themselves, their worth over a man's, as the 'hard-hearted' choice. It were the men who decided that they'd fall in love with Barbara Allen despite knowing that her tendency was to not reciprocate their same feelings. The men brought their troubles unto themselves, not Barbara Allen.

For goodness sake, a man staring at the sun cannot blame the sun for going blind. It is not the sun's fault that it exists, it is the man's fault for staring at it and knowing very well that blindness could occur. Similarly, Barbara Allen is just a person existing in this world. 'Sweet' William had quite the audacity to guilt trip Barbara Allen over his death (which, by the way, was of his own choosing - he chose to sicken himself over her).

Oh, but our leading lady refuses his request, only to feel bad after seeing the corpse of 'sweet' William. She did not die out of love for him, she died out of pity. Put yourself in her shoes; anyone can make themselves believe strong enough in something to make it happen, but that is effort put forth in making yourself feel a certain way - it is not your true disposition.

Barbara Allen did not love 'sweet' William, and I do not think 'sweet' William deserved Barbara Allen's love. It humors me to know that between the two graves, William's grew a rose and Barbara's grew a briar. Even in death does Barbara Allen not share the same feelings with 'sweet' William.

In my opinion, she died in vain.

WEEK 5 | Appalachia - Banks of the Ohio

Of the two songs, I was really drawn to 'Banks of the Ohio'. The contrast between the tone of the song and the lyrics struck me in a way that I very much appreciated. I listened to a few versions of the song and came to like the version with Bill Monroe and Doc Watson. It touched me in a way the others did not.

A little background on Doc Watson (born Arthel Watson). He was a pioneer in his form of guitar plucking, much like Maybelle Carter was with her own, and was considered a revolutionary when it came to the guitar, casting it in a new light of performance. He demonstrated such power and control over his notes; people almost take for granted the sheer complexity of his chords. Nevertheless, they were much enjoyed by everyone who heard them, even to this day.

On a different note, I really tried to figure out why I connected more to this song than the other one. While both songs center around the theme of losing a loved one, 'Banks of the Ohio' is told from the point of view of the killer instead of a witness standpoint. At first I was horrified by this notion, but the more I listened to it and weighted the tone of voice, I came to share that same remorse.

There's irony in what I say. I was proposed to twice before, and each time I declined. Even more ironic was that my suitor at the time was a singer of sorts. I can almost imagine him singing this song about my death. Fortunately for me, I was not killed for saying no, but I wonder how I would have died if I was not so lucky.

Even though it is hard to believe, we are all much luckier than we think.

Darling say that you'll be mine

In our home we'll happy be

Down beside where the water flows

Far on the banks of the Ohio

***

I have murdered the girl I love

Because she would not be my bride

WEEK 4 | Spirituals II - Oh Mary Don't You Weep

This week was particularly challenging for me, especially since I myself am not particularly familiar with biblical texts or connotations. The only difference I know between the Old and New Testaments is that the Old Testament reflects a fearful and awe-some God whereas the New Testament has a more merciful God. I could be wrong, but from the snippets of the stories presented to us from the readings and posts, I would appear to have the right general idea.

Regardless, O Mary Don't You Weep is a confusing mix of references from both Testaments and it would be a lie to say that I understand the point of both stories. In attributing the texts to the lives of Black people in the American South in the time of the slavery, EXODUS 14:20-30 could be suggesting that the Black people will be delivered freedom in the form of God allowing a safe passage of escape from the Whites and punishing them for their wrongs against the Blacks. In a varying tone, the story of Mary and Martha could be suggesting for the slaves at the time to focus on God instead of the tasks and burdens of their oppression.

The conjunction of the two texts is an understanding of a way to cope and bear the burden of their fate.

I decided to paint prior to completing the readings for the week by simply listening to the song. The images that came to mind were, of course, the Red Sea being parted, a woman crying, and water everywhere. The work turned into two pieces, ironically. I wanted to convey the emotion of tears and of being washed over with calm while also feeling the desire to be bold and roaring with a deep set of colors (deep not in the sense of dark-hued, but rather that the colors are purging and very raw).

And this was the result.

At first I considered only photographing one of the pieces but I soon came to realize that they only worked well by being featured with each other. Then it hit me. I subconsciously decided to represent the story of Mary and Martha (New Testament) with the blue hues and the parting of the Red Sea (Old Testament) with the red hues. The reason why I could not separate the two was very much the result that O Mary Don't You Weep is a telling of both tales and would not be the same were the stories separated - much in the same way that the Black people cannot escape their past of imprisonment because that is their story and denial of it would render their years of freedom not something to have been freed from. 

God gave Noah the rainbow sign

No more water but fire next time

Pharoah's army got drowned

O Mary down't you weep!

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WEEK 3 | Spirituals, Work Songs & Gospel - Katiusha

Some way or another, I always come back to the fact that I feel strangely foreign in all of this. When I was playing music from the list of songs we were given, I stopped at this one. It was so foreign to me and yet so strangely familiar. It made me smile in a way that none of the other songs did. So I listened to it some more.

Strangely enough, I did know this song - one Russian song out of 50 or so other options. I heard my mother sing it, she knows Russian, too. You should hear her speak; like glaciers melting away and plummeting into frozen waters. That's what her speaking Russian sounds like.

Although Russian is not a language I personally know, my approach to interpreting this song (prior to looking up the english translation) were all from my memory of how my mother sang the it. There was such longing. In Russia, as my mother would say, the snow and rain were harsh. When you were sitting in a warm room with others you would eat, drink, and sing.

Coming from a village, folk songs were what everyone sang. To me, they say more about the person who chooses to sing them than the actual song itself.

Oh, my song, song of a maiden's true love,

To my dear one travel with the sun.

To the one with whom Katiusha knew love,

Bring my greetings to him, one by one.

WEEK 2 | Land and Home - Down in the Valley

Down in the Valley develops a setting, a backdrop, of where each verse takes place. It is a story told in an ever changing landscape, different valleys in which the tone and undulations of the singer transform the lyrics to express the emotion and sense of the verses.

My favorite version of this songs in the one featured in the Andy Griffith Show. The woman's voice embodies the feeling of the wind, the flowers, the air, the letter. It is soft, keen and sincere. The highs and lows she controls with her voice provide the presence of a rocking movement, almost as if someone has embraced you and is calming you down by gently rocking you back and forth.

So where is this valley?

This valley is land. This valley is home.

Growing up, I moved to my own valley, the town I call home: Crescenta Valley. This song reminds me of my home's mountains, trees, bushes, pathways, and the rising and setting of the sun.

This painting is what I remember my valley to be: always golden and always growing greener. Because it is so much a part of me, I painted the mountains with my fingers because I really wanted to express my love with each stroke, express the exhaustion of my fingers trying to remember the shadows and dips of my home.

The funny thing is that as I was painting the valley I came from, I found myself also painting a valley of a different sort. A valley I someday want to be in, to someday make my new home. A land with him.

This valley will be our land. This valley will be our home.

Build me a castle 40 feet high

So I can see him as he rides by...

WEEK 1 | First Song - "Silver Moon"

When I was a little girl, my mother would sing me a song in Armenian. I remember lying in bed in the darkness of my room and concentrating on her silhouette as she would sing. She would sing to me often, you know. She would sing even as I got older and one day she asked me to sing it for her.

It makes me sad to remember that because I did not sing back to her at a time that she really needed me for support. Now I sing any all songs I know to her when she goes to sleep in hopes of making up for all the times that I did not.

This song is very old - I do not even know if I could find it anywhere but in some aging song book written in Armenian decades ago. So I will try my best to provide an extremely rough translation of the song into english. I title this song after its first line.

<< Audio: արծաթ լուսին >>

Silver moon, window dust

Scattered on the ground

Heavy, aching woman

My sad heart heaves

The woman's tree grows*

The leaves will breathe

Birds on a branch

With longing they perch

* Not quite sure how this line translates.