From Street To Samsung: How Art Museums Maintain Relevancy

From Street To Samsung: How Art Museums Maintain Relevancy

Art can be viewed on the daily; why travel out of the way for a few strokes on canvas?

To a casual viewer who would look up Boise, the Boise Art Museum (under the initials of BAM) is the third sentence down from what defines the capital of Idaho.

A public place to donate any medium, a museum is often misunderstood as a habitat for the antique miscellaneous. An audience may include students under mandatory circumstances, children with inherently innocent yet ignorant perspectives, and the rare few who come more often than the other groups combined.

Synonymous with culture education, a busy day at such a place only rivals the crowd size of a bank on an average day. For a place with such an important status ranking among the variety in a metropolis, it seems almost mandatory to have one in a major city, yet during the many times that I've visited BAM, it is more often than not, empty.

This is not a question of why it exists, but a question of relevance in a culturally shifted society. The sentiment of utilitarianism and impatience seems to have taken its toll on the art museum, one with a singular objective: observe.

Entertainment can be achieved at the tip of our fingers, with the sheer amount of content on the internet, so why take the extra steps to go out and buy admission? After all, more often than not, the pieces on display can also be found with a quick search, and some light digging can grant more insight than a printed summary on a wall ever could.

Thus, the difference between a memory (digital) and experience (tangible).

A memory is the Pythagorean theorem to a student or a joke's punchline in a sea of humor. An experience is walking down a hall the well lit and uniform lights, contrasted by the individuality of human creativity and brilliance.

A memory is a doctor's appointment, carefully scheduled and timed to the hour. An experience is the slow digestion of abstract sights on a thick canvas, with the blends of acrylic mentally unfolded stroke by stroke to reveal meaning.

A memory is information sorted and stored, forced to stay until proven necessary, then thrown to the wind on a whim. An experience is the epitome of happiness, bringing us that much closer to, according to our good psychologist Abraham Maslow, self-actualization; something as modest as a museum can somehow achieve.

Cover Image Credit: Pexels

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11 Things Psychology Majors Hear That Drive Them Crazy

No pun intended.

We've all been there. You're talking to a new acquaintance, or a friend of your parents, or whoever. And then, you get the dreaded question.

"So what are you studying in school?"

Cue the instant regret of picking Psychology as your major, solely for the fact that you are 99.9% likely to receive one of the slightly comical, slightly cliche, slightly annoying phrases listed below. Don't worry though, I've included some responses for you to use next time this comes up in conversation. Because it will.

Quick side note, these are all real-life remarks that I've gotten when I told people I was a psych major.

Here we go.

1. So are you, like, analyzing me right now?

Well, I wasn't. But yeah. Now I am.

2. Ugh so jealous! You picked the easy major.

"Lol" is all I have to say to this one. I'm gonna go write my 15-page paper on cognitive impairment. You have fun with your five college algebra problems, though!

3. So can you tell me what you think is wrong with me? *Shares entire life story*

Don't get me wrong; I love listening and helping people get through hard times. But we can save the story about how one time that one friend said that one slightly rude comment to you for later.

4. Well, s**t, I have to be careful what I say around you.

Relax, pal. I couldn't diagnose and/or institutionalize you even if I wanted to.

5. OMG! I have the perfect first client for you! *Proceeds to vent about ex-boyfriend or girlfriend*

Possible good response: simply nod your head the entire time, while actually secretly thinking about the Ben and Jerry's carton you're going to go home and demolish after this conversation ends.

6. So you must kind of be like, secretly insane or something to be into Psychology.

Option one: try and hide that you're offended. Option two: just go with it, throw a full-blown tantrum, and scare off this individual, thereby ending this painful conversation.

7. Oh. So you want to be a shrink?

First off, please. Stop. Calling. Therapists. Shrinks. Second, that's not a psych major's one and only job option.

8. You know you have to go to grad school if you ever want a job in Psychology.

Not completely true, for the record. But I am fully aware that I may have to spend up to seven more years of my life in school. Thanks for the friendly reminder.

9. So you... want to work with like... psychopaths?

Let's get serious and completely not-sarcastic for a second. First off, I take personal offense to this one. Having a mental illness does not classify you as a psycho, or not normal, or not deserving of being treated just like anyone else on the planet. Please stop using a handful of umbrella terms to label millions of wonderful individuals. It's not cool and not appreciated.

10. So can you, like, read my mind?

It actually might be fun to say yes to this one. Try it out and see what happens. Get back to me.

11. You must be a really emotional person to want to work in Psychology.

Psychology is more than about feeling happy, or sad, or angry. Psychology is about understanding the most complex thing to ever happen to us: our brain. How it works the way it does, why it works the way it does, and how we can better understand and communicate with this incredibly mysterious, incredibly vast organ in our tiny little skull. That's what psychology is.

So keep your head up, psychology majors, and don't let anyone discourage you about choosing, what is in my opinion, the coolest career field out there. The world needs more people like us.

Cover Image Credit: Pexels

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Short Stories On Odyssey: Roses

What's worth more than red roses?


Five years old and a bouquet of roses rested in her hands. The audience-- clapped away her performance, giving her a standing ovation. She's smiling then because everything made sense, her happiness as bright as the roses she held in her hands.

Fifteen now, and a pile of papers rested on her desk. The teachers all smiled when she walked down the aisle and gave them her presentation. She was content then but oh so stressed, but her parents happy she had an A as a grade, not red on her chest.

Eighteen now and a trail of tears followed her to the door. Partying, and doing some wild things, she just didn't know who she was. She's crying now, doesn't know anymore, slamming her fists into walls, pricking her fingers on roses' thorns.

Twenty-one and a bundle of bills were grasped in her hands. All the men-- clapped and roared as she sold her soul, to the pole, for a dance. She's frowning now because everything went wrong, but she has to stay strong, for rich green money, is worth more than red roses.

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