Category: history

family, history, personality, relationships

Step 15: Lugh

Christa Avampato

“Are you more like your mom or dad?” people ask me. I’d like to believe that I can choose the best of both.

Today I heard a bit about Lugh, one of the gods of the Celtic Pantheon. He is the son of Cian and Ethniu, half god, half monster. He was able to become successful because he had the good traits of each of his parents: the heart and morals of his father’s side (the gods), and the courage and self-defense abilities of his mother’s side (the monsters). With the gods being oppressed by the monsters, he joins the gods, teaches them to defend themselves, and helps them gain their freedom from the monsters. While greatly simplified, this basic outline provides a powerful example of how to choose our better history and future.

Every experience and example has the potential to be a help or a hindrance to us. Cian’s family, had good, patient hearts that lead others to dominate them. Ethniu’s family was wild and ill-willed, though exceptional warriors. Lugh could have easily adopted either example. Instead, Lugh was able to combine the warrior instincts of his mother and the good heart of his father to restore peace.

The important lesson here is Lugh’s decision to pick and choice among his historical examples and inherited traits to create something all original that allowed him to do the most good in the world. When I consider my own history and my own way forward, I’ve been thinking a lot about my parents, my earliest examples of how to be an adult in the world.

It would be easy to vilify one of my parents and deify the other. Instead, I am trying to appreciate and nurture the very best of them both as a base to build my own life from. From my mother, there is so much goodness to choose from, though not enough personal confidence. From my father, there is so much intellect and confidence to choose from, though not enough compassion and love for others.

My history is the inverse of Lugh’s, though my journey has been and will continue to be similar. In order for me to really do some good in the world, I will need the very best traits of both my parents combined. I wonder if that’s true for all of us.

The image above is not my own. It can be found here

art, history, home, New York City, retail, shopping

My Year of Hopefulness – Demolition Depot

Christa Avampato

On Saturday I took the bus up to East 125th Street to a place that’s fascinated me for some time. About 6 months ago, I was coming back from LaGuardia Airport on the M60 bus and went by a store with a strange looking sign that read “Demolition Depot”. At first I thought it may be a construction (or rather destruction) company. I imagined backhoes and front-loaders and items like that inside. But the shape of the building didn’t seem to fit that kind of business. I went home and Googled it to find that it is a place that houses dismantled building treasures from 5 continents. It is the dream house of many a film art director, or a writer like me. This is where old New York (and every other major city for that matter) finds a home for what remains. Inside its wall are thousands of stories waiting to be told.

I went up there today on a little writing adventure. I’ve been working on a fiction piece and thought that a trip to Demolition Depot may help jog some kind of inspiration. It did not disappoint. It reminded me of an old, 4-story barn. The smell of the place brought a smile to my face – musty and oddly comforting. I picked up a clipboard with an inventory form just in case I found some artifact that I wanted to take back with me.
My favorite spot of all was the garden, an area out back that houses giant gates and doors and wrought-iron screens – exterior pieces that on the street we would have to admire from afar. Here I could get up close and examine their details, every twist, turn, and adornment. Gargoyles and ornamentation and stained glass windows that took my breathe away. Who lived among these items? Where did they go? What did they do? What did they learn?
I felt as if I was walking through someone’s house, as if I was trespassing and wasn’t supposed to be there. I just loved it so much that I couldn’t turn away. I just spent hours weaving through the four floors and the garden. Taking pictures, making notes, even sitting at some of the table settings, two of which I immediately loved and wanted for my home.
The trip accomplished exactly what I had hoped. I walked away with images and ideas that will be cropping up in my writing for many months to come. I understand that material items are of little value when compared to the value of personal relationships in our lives. What I appreciate about the one of a kind items housed at Demolition Depot is that they have borne witness to extraordinary and ordinary events of the lives of thousands of people. People passed through those doors, looked out from those windows, told time by those great giant clocks that now lay in wait for some lucky new owner. A majestic treasure trove of history just waiting to be remembered and re-told.
history, home, New York City, writing

My Year of Hopefulness – The History of Where We Live

Christa Avampato

I crunched along on the few fallen leaves on Columbia’s campus walk yesterday and smiled wide. A perfect fall day took me back to being a student in Philadelphia, the tall, impressive buildings lined with names like Sophocles, Vergil, and Plato reminded me of the joy of academia.

Late in the afternoon I was on my way to see Inna Guzenfeld, an archivist at the Avery Architectural and Fine Art Library at Columbia. The papers and drawings of Emery Roth, the architect who designed and lived in my apartment building, are housed there. During the 1920’s Roth was the busiest architect in New York City, and many regard him as one of the founding fathers of the art deco movement. Until I moved into my building two weeks ago, I’d never heard of him and now I think of him and thank him every day.
“No bags, pens, no flash on your camera, touch the plans only on the edges, and we close at 5:00 sharp,” said Inna. She had everything laid out for me in perfect order, and all of the materials exactly as I had asked for him. She is the hallmark of efficiency.
There was an architect there doing research. Maybe in his 40’s, Elvis Costello glasses, lean, and intense. He looked up at me with some interest.
“Are you an architect?”
“No,” I fumbled. “I’m a writer.”
“Why are you interested in that building?”
“I moved into it two weeks ago.”
“Who’s the architect?”
“Emery Roth.”
“You live in an Emery Roth building?”
“Yes.”
“What floor?”
“Top floor.”
“Really?” he said as he quickly removed his glasses. “You know those buildings are stunning. I’ve had the chance to work in a few of them. Are they doing work on your building?” he asked.
“No, it’s actually perfect,” I said.
“I’m not surprised,” he continued. “That man was a genius.”
And then I knew I was on to something.
I have been having architecture dreams, dreams where I feel my way along passages in my building, curling around dark corners to find some secret way through to the light. I’ve found myself waking up in the middle of the night with complete clarity and scribbling down notes as fast as I can before the images fade from my mind. So it was with great excitement that I learned that the actual building plans, made on linen, were preserved just 15 blocks north of my building by Inna and the team at Avery.
The Archives were freezing, a preventative measure to preserve their contents as well as possible. I peeled back the plans one at a time, pouring over dimensions and lines and descriptions of the very walls I wake up in every morning now. Their pungent, historical smell reminded me of the Fischer Fine Arts Library at Penn where I spent many hours studying and reading as a student. To this day, Fischer is still one of my favorite places on Earth. The floor on my side of the building remains exactly as it was then, in 1924. These were the maids’ quarters.
Inna also provided me with the autobiography of Roth, which I quickly devoured, and a book about his work entitled Mansions in the Clouds. Closing time was fast approaching so I was running through the text as fast as I could, continually fascinated that Emery Roth and I share some striking similarities, from the tone of our writing to our family lives as children. His writing style is so relaxed that I felt like he was reading to me, telling me the story of his life. I wondered why an architect committed such personal thoughts and feelings to paper while I also wondered if it was possible to fall in love with someone through his writing, someone I’ve never met who passed on decades before I was even an inkling in my mother’s eye. And then I was reminded of Thomas Jefferson and my affection for him as I read everything he ever committed to paper. Yes, love through writing is possible.
In the final 5 minutes of my time at Avery I found the gems I was looking for. A “Tower Room” was designed for my building, though I have yet to find it. What could someone house in a Tower Room? My mind is reeling with possibilities. Roth lived on the very floor where my current apartment is, on the other side. I found the plans and photographs of it. I believe it’s still in existence, exactly as he had designed it for himself. There are numerous references in his autobiography and in his drawings about his desire to build fire-proof buildings – it was of critical importance to him to protect his work from going up in flames. Chills ran down my spine.
What’s more, the building where I live provided the pinnacle of happiness for his wife. He designed the penthouse specifically for her. It was the living space she dreamed of, and then a sad set of circumstances set in for her in that very space, and she was never quite the same. The writer in me has been working overtime since leaving Avery. The fact that there were so many photos and that Roth wrote personally about the space in my building where he lived left me with a feeling that there is a story here that can and should be spun out and told.
As I packed up, Inna asked “did you find everything you needed?” “Absolutely,” I said, “thank you.” The architect next to me looked up and smiled. I suppose my giddiness at my findings showed, and he understood them well. The places we live house special meaning. They aren’t just a collection of walls and doors, but they contain intense, personal moments that define our lives. This new space is a new chapter for me, in my life and in my writing.
The image above is not my own. It depicts the lobby of Devonshire House, a building in Greenwich Village of New York City, that was design by Emery Roth in 1928.
culture, history, museum, The Journal of Cultural Conversation

The Journal of Cultural Conversation: Titanic: The Exhibition

Christa Avampato

Happy Monday, all. My latest post is up at TJCC. On Saturday I visited Titanic: The Exhibition, now on view at the Discovery Times Center on 44th Street. The exhibit tells the story of the Titanic through items salvaged from the wreckage, eye-witness accounts, and scientific exploration. I found it to be equal parts fascinating and terrifying. Around every corner I was surprised by some new fact I never knew.

For the full article and to check out all of the other great conversations happening over at TJCC, please click here.

business, Business Week, economy, history, hope

My Year of Hopefulness – Let’s Get a Little Crazy

Christa Avampato

“We would not be where we are if our ancestors had not been kind of crazy.” ~ Edward Tenner, historian of technology and culture

I’m part way through the cover story for this week’s issue of Business Week, Case for Optimism. One of the people who worked on the story asked me and 12 other readers to take a look around our neighborhoods to provide examples of why we feel optimistic about the future. The quote above appears toward the beginning of the article, and references a very positive outcome of economic downturns: if we can look past the gloom and doom, we’ll find that economic downturns give us the freedom to get a little crazy. In other words, they give of the freedom to pursue our biggest dreams. Bill Gates and Paul Allen started Microsoft in the midst of a recession. Same goes for Steve Jobs and many others whom we now hold us as some of the most successful thought-leaders of our time.

When the world goes haywire and we lose our footing and live to tell the tale, something inside of us shifts. All of a sudden we realize that the leap we just made, whether by our own volition or not, didn’t kill us. We’re encouraged to take another, slightly larger leap, and then another. Before you know it, we can’t contain ourselves. We realize that the biggest risk is not taking a chance on our dream; it’s being paralyzed by fear and never pursuing the dream at all.

So here we go – off into the great unknown with a heavy, though hopeful, heart. We’re in the midst of a grieving process. Long gone are the fat times of real estate always being a sound investment and Wall Street being the dream of every bright, ambitious college graduate. We’re bidding a fond farewell to life on Easy Street, welcoming in a new era of innovation and creativity that our ancestors, the ones who got a little crazy, would be proud to acknowledge as their legacy.

There will be some bumps and bruises along the way, some near-term and long-term. We may have our dreams fall down in mid-flight, and we’ll have to get new dreams. The resilience we are building today will serve us well tomorrow, and for many tomorrows to come. My bet’s on us.

anthropology, family, history, New York City

My Year of Hopefulness – Liberty and Ellis Islands

Christa Avampato

I went to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island today with my friend, Allan. Even though I’ve lived in New York City for so long, I’ve never been to either of these famous landmarks. It’s a visit that was long overdue.

My family came through Ellis Island around the turn of the century. After viewing the many photos and artifacts, I imagined how frightened and alone by ancestors must have felt. They didn’t speak English when they arrived. They got laborer jobs during the day and went to night school to learn English like most immigrants who entered the U.S. at the time. They braved extraordinary conditions and an unknown future so that my future could be brighter. They sacrificed and scraped by so that I might have an opportunity that they would never know.

Walking around the base of the Statue of Liberty, I was struck by how beautiful she is. She must have been stunning when viewed from the crowded boat that carried my ancestors to shore. It is very easy to see how she could fill someone with hope, especially when that someone was in search of something better than the life they left behind.

Most interesting is that the Statue of Liberty is built in two parts. The internal structure was built first, and then the external structure, the structure that everyone sees, wraps around it. It’s what’s inside that allows the structure to stand so high above the New York Harbor, welcoming anyone and everyone who ever wanted a shot at a new life. It’s what’s inside that has sustained Lady Liberty for so long.

I wish my ancestors who passed that way, with their resolve, determination, and ambition, were still with us. I’d like to thank them for their courage because that courage makes my life possible. It’s hard to imagine how I could ever be afraid again knowing the horrendous conditions that they endured with dignity and grace.

While my beginnings were humble, I have had the great luxury of so many advantages that simply were not possible for my relatives. I live the life that they imagined and pursued. Surely, if my ancestors, in their dire state in a foreign land, believed they could attain a brighter future for themselves and their families, then of course I can do the same. Of course, we can all do the same.

As I left the island, I considered the tremendous sense of responsibility that lay at my feet, built upon the backs of my brave ancestors. A sense of pride welled up inside of me as I walked the ground where they walked, all of us one foot in front of the other, racing toward a better, happier life. That life, is mine. And to them I am grateful beyond measure.

The photo above was taken by my friend, Allan. I’m standing inside the Immigration Museum on Ellis Island in front of a mural of photographs depicting the diversity of America.

art, history, New York City

My Year of Hopefulness – Camilo Jose Vergara

Christa Avampato

Today, I ventured over to the New-York Historical Society, a museum next door to the American Museum of Natural History. It is dedicated to history and story telling, particularly those stories that involve New York City. There is a beautiful photography exhibit by Camilo Jose Vergara currently on display, Harlem in Transition, 1970 – 2009. The exhibit depicts Vergara’s 4 decades of photographing Harlem. He began taking pictures on his lunch breaks from a large advertising agency located on Park Avenue. He often went back to visit the same sites over 40 years to document the change and transformation, and plenty of change has taken place in that neighborhood.

The roller coaster ride of Harlem is very apparent in the collection. From beautiful buildings, dilapidated, and rebuilt even beyond their original splendor to the images of people who arrived in the neighborhood and left one way or another, it is a story of rising, falling, and rising again. It covers places of worship and commerce, the art and politics, the people and addresses that are distinctly Harlem. It makes no apologies or excuses, nor does it forgive or forget. It simply and honestly tells the story of Harlem.

What struck me most about the photographs is the color that radiates from them. There’s a photo that depicts the urban gardening that used to be in Harlem and another showing the graffiti used to warn residents of the harm drugs and drug dealing bring into the neighborhood. There are photos of statues of prominent black Americans that instill pride and inspire everyone who walks by them. There are birds-eye views of the grand boulevards and photos of life on the streets as if we are seeing the scenes at ground level.

This exhibit takes us north from the Historical Society into that neighborhood, that mindset. It shows us the struggles and triumphs of Harlem residents, past and present. Vergara says of this collection, “This urban documentation project breaks with the ways historians, planners and other scholars traditionally approach urban space. My method of documentation is based on presenting sequences and networks of images to tell how Harlem evolved and what it gained and lost in the process. The premise behind all the work that I do is that 100 pictures are one hundred times more powerful than one picture. The more you track something, the deeper and more eloquently it speaks.”

And eloquence is the best descriptor of this exhibit and the proud people who share its story. It’s on view now through July 12, 2009 at the New-York Historical Society. To see more of Vargara’s work, visit his website: http://invinciblecities.camden.rutgers.edu/intro.html

art, history, music, opera

My Year of Hopefulness – Honor: The Voice at Carnegie Hall

Christa Avampato

Last week, I had the pleasure of watching the final performance of Honor: The Voice at Carnegie Hall. Curated by Jessye Norman, the show featured 6 young opera singers, 4 pianists, and an evening of traditional opera pieces, spirituals, and pop/Broadway numbers. The festival exists to “celebrate the African America cultural legacy”.

The set up was simple and elegant – a grand piano, a pianist, and a singer on a bare, shining stage. No microphones. The talent radiating from the stage was so pure and overwhelming that I had to physically prevent my mouth from hanging open. The power and emotion of the music in those voices on the Perelman Stage filled the Stern Auditorium and then some.

My friend, Chris, who runs the international education program at the Weill Music Institute at Carnegie Hall, explained to me that this festival exceeded all expectations. The audience was much more multi-cultural than usual and the sales were impressive. On a Monday night, the auditorium was packed and as I looked around, I could see every race, every age range, and an even mix of men and women. That festival brought together a community of diversity rarely seen at most New York institutions. Inclusive and diverse, it was representative of our city’s population – in other words, exactly what an audience should be.

And you might wonder what on Earth a white girl like me from a small rural town in upstate New York is doing at a place that celebrates the African American cultural legacy. I wondered, too. I love the music that was presented and the diversity of my city, though do I really belong here? Do I have the right to celebrate and honor a legacy that is not mine? Was I welcome?

According to Jessye Norman, the answers are yes, yes, and yes, because this legacy actually is my legacy. It is every American’s legacy. In her signature, elegant manner, I had the great fortune to hear Ms. Norman speak about the festival and its importance, not just to African Americans, but to all of us. If we live in America, then the history of African Americans is our history and we have not only the right but the obligation to pay tribute to it. The feeling of inclusion, respect, and admiration in that auditorium was undeniable. I am honored to have had the opportunity to bear witness to the performance and to the inspiration it provided for all of us within its reach.

At the end of the performance, the audience cheered and applauded with great energy and Ms. Norman looked on with pride. Her performers, however, would not let it go at that. They brought her to the center of the stage, applauding, hugging, and kissing her. You could see and feel their gratitute to this great talent standing before all of us. Through my loud applause, I hope she knows that I am grateful to her, too.

education, history, military, Penn, writer

My Year of Hopefulness: Martha Putney

Christa Avampato

I don’t make a habit of reading the New York Times obituary column though I came across one for Martha Putney in December that bears repeating. She is a model for all of us on how to stand-up to adversity, find our passion, and pursue new avenues to improve out lot in life. Featured very prominently by Tom Brokaw in his book, The Greatest Generation, Putney defined her own life and potential on her own terms.

A black woman who came of age in the Roaring 20’s, she heard the phrases “you’re not allowed” and “you can’t do that” all the time. She won a scholarship to Howard University where she earned a BA in 1939 and a Masters in 1940. She joined the Women’s Army Corps upon the outbreak of World War II. She earned her doctorate from UPenn (which makes me very proud as I am an alum of UPenn, making it all the more remarkable that I never heard of Putney, especially since we both studied history there.) From Philadelphia, she went on to a long teaching careeer – her dream job from the time she at Howard – at Bowie State College (she was the Chair of the Histry Department) and at her alma mater, Howard University. She also published several well-respected books on the history of Blacks in the US military.

Education was the cornerstone of her success and her happiness. This is remarkable considering the years when she went to school, her gender, and her race. She refused to let anyone or anything stand in the way of her education. She did what she had to do to survive, and even though she faced extraordinary opposition, she refused to give up her dream of teaching. 15 long and frustrating years after graduating from Howard, she got her wish. Her persistence and steadfast belief if herself is an inspiration for all of us.

apple, business, economy, education, evolution, Google, history

My Year of Hopefulness – Measure what’s relevant

Christa Avampato

There is all kinds of advice out there in the media ether on how to survive this latest economic downturn. What to do with your retirement investments, how to manage stress, even how to talk to your kids about what’s happening. And it’s great advice on surviving, though very few people are talking about how to thrive in this current state of affairs. And why should they? I mean who thrives in a desert, right? 


Actually, a lot of life survives in a desert climate, and in this economic desert we would do well to think about how geographic deserts burgeon with life, mostly below ground and on a small scale. It involves taking a lesson from Darwin and adapting to change. And I don’t mean adapting for right now and then looking forward to going back to the way we were before. Survival of the fittest doesn’t mean changing for the short-term and going back to our same old ways somewhere down the line. The dinosaurs are not coming back. Ever. And neither are Lehman Brothers or Bear Stearns to name just a few. Investment banking has all but vanished from Lower Manhattan and if you don’t believe it go see for yourself – take the subway down to Wall Street and have a look around. It’s eerily quiet and desolate. There are a lot of cavernous, columned buildings standing empty. These are the modern day dinosaurs. The meteor has struck, and it changed everything. 

With the economy top of mind for nearly everyone, I hear a lot of people throwing around phrases like “the market is way down” or “the Dow is plunging”. I some times wonder if most people actually know what that means. The Dow is a set of 30 companies that are considered fairly stable, prosperous, large companies. Or at least they used to be stable and prosperous. Take a look at the list. It’s not a pretty picture of America: Caterpillar, General Motors, Citigroup. (Notice the absence of companies like Google and Apple.) Should we judge our economic future on these kinds of companies? Doesn’t sound like a wise idea to me.

I’m not an economist. I do have an MBA and I was an economics major in college. I was also a history major in college, and the one thing history shows consistently over time, as does biology, is that things change and in order to survive and thrive we need to adjust. Permanently. None of this “we just need to ride out this latest cycle until things get back to normal.” This is the new normal – change. Radical and rapid. And I think it may be time to dump the Dow as an indicator of our future. To keep it is analogous to judging the future of life on Earth by the fate of the dinosaurs. 

We need a new perspective. Going forward, it will be small businesses and entrepreneurs that drive innovation and prosperity in our country. And this is a reason to rejoice. For the past few years, we have talked about the rise of the individual and personalization. Little did we know at the time that this trend wasn’t just about ipods and Facebook. It will serve to underpin our entire economy in drastic and never-imagined ways. 

Change is never easy. There will be casualties in the process: big companies will go under, there will continue to be layoffs, and individuals will have to re-frame their lives. The longer we resist that re-framing, the worse off we will be. Rip off the band-aid and accept that change has arrived and will continue. It’s time to we get to work and figure out how we are going to adapt and learn how to survive and thrive in the new economy. Stop lamenting what was and look forward to what we can have a hand in building.