What is art? Why does it move us? These eternal questions are at the core of this issue of KidSpirit, challenging us to consider our assumptions anew.

1. Is music without sound art? Is mathematics a form of art? Is Manga art? “Yes!” our passionate writers argue. Art can take many forms; it can be visual, aural, even intellectual. What is it that makes art, “Art”? Sun Tzu wrote about the art of war. Is there art in war? What about in games—video games, board games, or games with strategy? Are there things that you do to express yourself that aren't traditionally consider “Art”?

2. Andy Goldsworthy is an artist whose sculptures are rooted to the precise time and place in which he creates them. He gathers flowers, rocks, and ice, and other objects that are indicative of a particular place, and makes those pieces interact with nature’s elements—rivers, fields, snow. Go into your backyard, into your woods, even to the sidewalks of your neighborhood and collect a few of the elements that give your home its own character. Find a way to put them together so that they show something unique about that particular place. Observe what happens to your creation over time. Take photos of your work to share with others.

3. In the review of From the Stage to the Prayer Mat, we learn about the inner journey of a dancer who experiences a religious awakening that affects her art. Do you feel a connection between art and spirituality? Describe that connection in your life.

4. PerSpectives writer Eric Greitens talks about his experience taking photographs in countries torn apart by conflict. Greitens explains that by taking pictures, he became intimately acquainted with his subjects. Can taking pictures connect you to others in a meaningful way? Can you communicate a powerful message purely through an image? Do you feel the same connection taking photographs with devices like phones as you do with another kind of camera?

Finding Your Spirit in Art Group Guide

This fall, New York City’s Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts launched a new annual event called the White Light Festival, focused on encouraging people to experience transcendence and spirituality through live performances.

According to Jane Moss, Vice President for Programming at Lincoln Center, the goal of the festival is for people “to experience moments of connection and wholeness in an increasingly frenetic and fragmented world.” The White Light Festival, which ran from October 28 to November 23, incorporated different art forms from around the globe: from Brahms to Beethoven, from the Westminster Choir, the Hilliard Ensemble and the Tallis Scholars to the Manganiyar Seduction (Hindu and Muslim musicians from the north of India), 16th century Croatian poetry, the Latvian National Choir, and Sutra (Chinese monks doing modern dance influenced by martial arts). This selection of works linked many cultures and people together with the worldwide language of art and spirituality.

The more advertising I saw for the festival, the more I wondered about the meaning of its name. I realized that white light is made of all the different colored lights and the White Light Festival is made up of works from many cultures who approach spirituality from a variety of perspectives. Each culture represents a different colored light and each performer a different shade. A radiant glow emanates from the art and spirituality in the White Light Festival. Combined with the tinted light of the audience and their emotions White Light is created.

After contemplating the meaning of the White Light Festival I found myself thinking about how the concept of transcendence in an age of technology might be applicable to young adults. While I do not think that it was intended for any specific age group, this kind of festival is actually ideally suited for young adults. They are still forming their opinions about the world and are undecided as to who they actually are. People, especially young adults, are increasingly dependent on technology. Some electronics, such as smart phones and laptops, have now become necessary items. This technology, although convenient, increases isolation and inhibits the coming together of many people, the opposite of what the White Light Festival promotes. Jane Moss was quoted in The New York Times, as saying, “we actually have been entering what I consider an era of distraction, people are searching for greater meaning that all the text messages in the world can’t provide.”

Interestingly, according to The Los Angeles Times, Ms. Moss does not own a cell phone.Photo: Corinne Silva By making this decision, she has found her own way to escape the ever-expanding power and necessity of technology. My generation is unlikely to take the same severe step. We will not discard technology that has become an essential part of life, but separating ourselves from technology, if only for the duration of a live performance, is a step worth taking. Even if people get back on their cell phones and computers after a performance, at least while they were attending it, they were in a state when they were no longer isolated and absorbed in electronics. The White Light Festival allows people to join together and experience the captivating spirituality of live music and performing arts.

I wanted to know Lincoln Center’s thoughts on how the White Light Festival can influence both young adults and their use of technology. I posed the following questions to Eva Chien, Senior Publicity Manager at Lincoln Center:

Anya: Is the White Light Festival solely targeted for adults or do you think young adults have something to learn from it? If so, does it have a different purpose for adults than it does for children?

Eva: Young adults have much to learn from the White Light Festival. At its core, the White Light Festival encourages all of us to look within, while experiencing the transformative power of music. At a time when iPhones and BlackBerries overtake our lives, especially those of young people, it is infinitely more important now to take the time to listen and learn from culture and the arts.

Anya: I have read that Jane Moss does not have a cell phone and has never sent or received a text message. Do you feel that technology will transform or take the place of art as we know it?

Eva: An amazing recording of a sacred piece of music will never have the effect of a live performance of that same piece. The immediacy and intimacy of a live performance cannot be duplicated, nor can the shared experience of engaging in a performance with the artists on the stage and the audience around you. Having said that, many technological advances, including the integration of multimedia, has contributed quite a bit to multiple art forms.

Anya: The use of electronic and social media seems crucial for broadening your audience, especially my generation. How can we be encouraged to leave our devices behind and experience live music?

Eva: I think that if one young person attends one live performance that has a profound impact on his or her life – that is the best way to encourage audience participation.

Anya: Is it important to understand art or merely to experience it?

Eva: Art and music is a process that is in constant movement and change. For example, a young person may know a lot about Beethoven, but when a new string quartet approaches the music, they bring their own interpretation into the piece. Understanding is helpful, though learning from each new experience is much more important.

Anya: How do you think the White Light Festival will help bring peace and wholeness to people’s lives?

Eva: The White Light Festival invites us all to take a moment, listen to glorious music, and interpolate what it means to each of us – what could be more wonderful than that?

I could not agree more – live performances are absolutely profound and intimate; there is no way such feelings can be reproduced. Try to separate yourself from technology, if only for the length of a performance. No matter where you live this can be achieved.

KidSpirit Editor, Anya Dunaif, ponders the meaning of the White Light Festival and asks what lessons can be learned by young adults on the subjects of spirituality and transcendence.

Spirituality and Transcendence: The White Light Festival

We say that our eyes are windows to our souls.

Many Japanese people have almond-shaped eyes that are much different from the drawn eyes in Japanese comic books, called Manga. The eyes of Manga characters, called “anime eyes,” are very round, and very big. Do Manga artists want their eyes to look like baby’s eyes? Do Manga artists want the eyes of their characters to look like non-Asian eyes? Are round eyes just easier to draw?

Art: Osama TesukaOsamu Tezuka is believed to be the first person to use large, round anime eyes in his Manga drawings. I think that he drew those big eyes to represent his characters’ big souls. I think people with big souls don’t take life for granted. They are curious and are always exploring the big questions in life.

Manga is a Japanese term that means “whimsical sketches.” Some Manga is read right to left, as opposed to left to right, because it was originally written in Japanese. After World War II, Japan went through a period of great uncertainty and was rebuilding its political and economic infrastructure. Americans were occupying Japan, and with them they brought American films and cartoons, including the work of Walt Disney. This inspired modern Manga. The Japanese made it their own by turning it into something more spiritual. From this time period came two series that would shape the future of Manga. These are Osamu Tezuka’s Mighty Atom and Machiko Hasegawa’s Sazae-san.

Boys and young men were the earliest readers of Manga. Between 1950 and 1969 Manga audiences increased and Art: Osama TesukaShonen (for boys) and Shojo (for girls) were created. From 1950 on, Shonen Manga focused on things like space travel, robots, and action adventure.

Two very popular male authors wrote the first Shojo. They were Osamu Tezuka’s Ribon no Kishi (Princesses Knight) and Matsuteru Yokoyama’s Mahotsukai Sari (Little Witch Sally). Mahotsukai Sari was inspired by the popular American sitcom Bewitched. The first women to write Manga were known as “Year 24 Group,” and included Moto Hagio, Riyoko Ikeda, Yumiko Oshima, Keiko Takemiya, and Ryoko Yamagishi. From then on Shojo Manga was drawn by women.

One of the most influential Manga artists is Osamu Tezuka. Tezuka was born on November 3, 1928 in Toyonaka City, Japan. He is often referred to as the Godfather of Manga. He started drawing comics in elementary school. He soon realized that he could use the art form to convince people to take better care of the world. After World War II he completed his first work at the age of 17. It was called Diary of Ma-chan. He then went on to get a medical degree, though he never practiced medicine. Osamu Tezuka died of stomach cancer on February 9, 1989, at the age of 60. He is best known as the creator of Astro Boy, Kimba the White Lion, and Black Jack. He is often considered the Japanese Walt Disney.

Art: Osama TesukaManga has more variety than you might realize. I have chosen three well known stories created by Tesuka to illustrate this. Astro Boy  takes place in the future. The main conflict revolves around tension between the robots and the humans and explores issues such as these: Could robots eventually replace humans? Is it unnatural for humans to try and create artificial life? Should humans try to cheat death? Astro Boy is the story of a boy robot that was created by a scientist to replace his son who died in a car crash. The scientist then realizes that a robot cannot replace his son and throws Astro Boy onto the street. Astro Boy is then found by a friendly scientist who adopts him. Astro Boy realizes that he has super powers and starts saving the world from evil humans and robots.

Phoenix is completely different from Astro Boy. It is a 12-volume series that was never completed. Before Osamu Tezuka died, he told his friend that he had an ending hidden away, but it was never found. Each volume revolves around a phoenix that interacts with humans. And while every story about this immortal bird takes place in a different time period, they all explore similar themes such as the cycles of the universe and whether human destruction of the planet is inevitable.

Yet another famous Manga character is Tezuka’s work on the Buddha. He tells the story of how Siddhartha became Buddha, called the “Enlightened One.” He writes the back story of all the people who influenced him to leave his wife, son and the chance at being the king of Kapilvastu. He became a monk, became enlightened, and eventually created a religion.

When I read this book it raised many spiritual questions for me: What does it mean to be enlightened? Is enlightenment different for everybody? Is any single person responsible for their greatness or are the people who make them great also responsible for their greatness?

Manga continues to become more and more popular in the United States. Its growing popularity means that it can be found at most local bookstores. The graphic format makes it easily accessible, but it still can address soulful topics and raise spiritual questions. And beyond being a serious art form, it has also created a quirky community of people interested in similar things. Recently I was at the premier of the new Astro Boy movie. Sitting next to me was a guy wearing a t-shirt with an image of Totoro, a famous Manga character. I complimented his shirt and he understood that my furry hat was not a rabbit, but Mokona, a character from xxxHolic, one of my personal favorites.

I highly recommend you check out Manga. It’s surprisingly addictive and a lot of fun to read.

In a KidSpirit Feature article, teen writer Sofiy Inck plumbs the depths of Japanese comic books, or manga. 

Manga Through the Eyes of Osamu Tezuka

Random House Webster’s (4th ed) defines art as “1. the production, expression, or realm of what is beautiful.” Traditionally, art is used to refer to paintings, sculptures, or other masterpieces of the visual arts. Art can also include performing arts, such as music and theatre.

Yet it has also been used in reference to many other disciplines. For example, Sun Tzu’s famous manual The Art of War is a treatise on complex military stratagems, ideas as intricate and finely crafted as any sculpture. Its visual beauty is surely lacking, but Sun Tzu’s vision is for a military campaign as masterful as any canvas. Indeed, this campaign is set to paint a picture: with tactics and small-unit actions as the individual brushstrokes, but a grand vision as wide and broad of that of any “traditional” artist. Another example is Vladimir Vukovic’s classic Art of Attack in Chess. A chess attack can be as subtle and multifaceted as any great work of art, and even the smallest misstep can turn a clear win into a dead loss. Vukovic teaches the reader how to creatively work the pieces in a delicate tango, in a fine balance, to ensure ultimate victory. Yet, just as much as any of these things, mathematics is the production of the beautiful, and thus is an art.

How is math an art? In most high school classes, math is anything but an art, most often focused primarily on dull computations and repetitive operations. Yet unlike this “plug-and-chug” style of math that usually involves simply plugging numbers into formulae, real math has strategy as complex as anything in Sun Tzu’s book. And like the choreographed ensemble of pieces working in harmony found in Vukovic’s book, high-level math has a profound beauty all to its own. Real math is not computation, but proof.

A mathematical formula or idea means nothing until proven. Generally, a mathematician has an idea for what he or she wants to achieve, and must conjure the end formula. Just as an artist must transform a canvas into his beautiful vision, a mathematician must turn the familiar properties of the tangible world, the real numbers, into a formula that seems as if it was from another world. These proofs require immense creativity. Although there are general principles just as in painting or in the chess attack – for example, proof by contradiction or mathematical induction – no two proofs are the same.

Math is entirely based on a set of axioms, which are things that we assume about our world.  From these basic axioms, ideas as simple as 1 + 0 = 1, all of math can be constructed. Of course, the math that appears in our everyday lives, addition and multiplication and so on, follow from this. But that’s not all. There is so much more math that results – even the limitations of what can be discovered are unknown.

There is a group of seven famous conjectures (results that are suspected but not proven) many of which are very old, each of which has a million-dollar prize attached to its resolution. These are known as the Clay Millennium Problems. They have resisted attack by the best mathematicians in the world for hundreds of years and despite the sweat and tears of the greatest mathematical minds ever to roam the earth, they remain unresolved.

Some conjectures of this difficulty are relatively simple to explain. The famous Goldbach Conjecture states that every even number greater than two can be written as the sum of two prime numbers (a prime number is a number that cannot be expressed as the product of two other numbers). Although it is true for all numbers less than a billion, efforts to prove it for all numbers have stymied the world’s best mathematicians for over 250 years.

Another easily explainable mathematical result was stated by Pierre de Fermat in 1637. He claimed that the equation xn + yn = zn has no positive integer solutions for n ≥ 3. For over 350 years, this had the status of a conjecture, as the world’s best mathematical minds ran into a brick wall. However, within the last 20 years, it has advanced to theorem status. One Andrew Wiles had dreamt of proving this incredible result from an early age. Eventually, the work of Ken Ribet made a major step towards proving Fermat’s Last Theorem, linking it to another conjecture. Wiles realized that the opportunity for a final proof was at hand, and devoted years to finding it. Eventually he was successful, and detailed his proof in a paper over 100 pages long. This paper is as masterful as any of the works of Michelangelo or Raphael. Of course, it is in a different form; instead of a large canvas, the proof is a smaller and thicker pamphlet. Instead of brushstrokes of color, Wiles used mathematical symbols: in this case, operations from what is known as Galois Theory. To the lay observer, these may seem arcane and incomprehensible, but to the mathematician they are no less beautiful than brushstrokes, masterfully combined and commingled to produce a finished work.

Instead of the painting masters, such as da Vinci and Monet, or chess masters, such as Tal and Shirov, math has its own personalities: notably, Carl Friedrich Gauss and Leonhard Euler. Their names and artistic results litter the pages of mathematics textbooks in many fields, where it is impossible not to encounter a beautiful proof by one of these two.

Yet in high school mathematics we rarely are aware of the art of math. High school results do not descend deep enough to see this: they barely skim the surface. Sadly, most high school interpretations of math are purely formulaic. Thus, mathematics is thought of as a boring subject. Something is fundamentally wrong with this approach to teaching math. Even at my high school, Stuyvesant, one of the foremost mathematical schools in the country, math is treated by many teachers and students alike as dull. This truly reveals the extent to which our math education system is broken.

But regardless of the boring way it is taught in high school, mathematics at a certain level indeed can be beautiful. Once one reaches the point of proving instead of plugging, math is, I feel, the most interesting subject there is. To me, mathematics is most definitely an art.

Acknowledgements: I’d like to acknowledge Joseph Stern (now at Columbia) and Jim Cocoros, both my teachers and mentors at Stuyvesant, for inspiring me to see the light of math.

In this KidSpirit Feature, teen writer Zachary Young explores the concept of art within mathematics.

The Art of Mathematics

Imagine, for a moment, a rectangular canvas that is painted blue… OK, you’re done. That’s all you had to imagine. Yes, that’s the whole painting. No other shapes, no other colors, no subject. Is this Art?

In 2006, this painting was on display at MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art in NYC. It was painted in 1961 by Yves Klein. Klein, like many other painters who have also used monochrome abstraction as a technique, wished to challenge and expand peoples’ conception of art. Another artist who defied a classic definition of art was John Cage. John Cage (1912-1992) was most notably an American composer who wrote the famous piece for piano 4’33. This piece consists of a pianist approaching a piano and sitting there for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. A stopwatch is used to time the piece. The pianist never plays a single note. Is a silent piece of music, music?

Art is the expression of ideas or emotions. Under that definition, both the blue canvas and 4’33 are works of art. Artists created both with very clear ideas in mind.

But, surely neither the blue canvas nor 4’33 can compare to work by Leonardo Da Vinci or Mozart. Neither requires much skill, if they require skill at all. And both could definitely fall under the category of “my 5-year-old could do that.” Yet I am still going to argue that they are indeed works of art. Art doesn’t require skill. It is the expression of a thought or feeling through a medium.

However, I am not thick. I’m not going to say that one can compare 4’33 to the New World Symphony. The two pieces are by no means in the same class of music. The New World Symphony is an extremely intense and powerful piece that also includes gorgeous melodies and phrases. No one can say that about 4’33. The New World Symphony is clearly more interesting to listen to and as such, is a far better piece of music. But 4’33 cannot be discredited due to its lack of musicality. One could easily claim that Cage’s piece is more interesting conceptually.

So what about the power in art? If both the New World Symphony and 4’33 are meant to convey ideas and emotions, does one do a better job than the other? It seems that the New World Symphony has the leg up. This is because it uses music’s power to transform the audience emotionally in addition to conceptually. It uses beautiful phrasing and dynamics to provoke its audience emotionally. 4’33, on the other hand, cannot transform one emotionally in the same way because it never actually makes use of the medium: music. 4’33 can only make one think and question. And when you boil it down, what causes people to deeply react and take action? What leads people to do things — emotions or thoughts?

The question “What is art” will continue to plague people for years to come, as it is yet another unanswerable problem. But, art must include more than just work that requires enormous skill and aesthetic beauty. The umbrella of “Art” should cover pieces that hope to spark people’s minds and get them thinking. The Mona Lisa and the blue canvas can never be compared. Nevertheless, both can be included in the definition of art.

In a KidSpirit Big Question response, teen writer Catherine Hochman delves into people's perception of art, and what is and isn't considered art.

What Is Art?

Rivers  and  Tides  is  an  intriguing  and  well  crafted  documentary  about  UK  artist  and  eccentric,  Andy  Goldsworthy,  whose  art  is  completely  based  in  nature.  He  creates  meandering  lines  of  ice  which  appear  to  bore  through  rock,  giant  conical  shapes  from  stone,  and  gradients  of  color  with  fall’s  brightest  leaves,  essentially  making  something  out  of  nothing.  

The  film  depicts  Goldsworthy  creating  his  art  as  he  speaks  about  it,  spilling  candid  gems  of  raw  insight  into  himself  and  his  work.  It  creates  a  very  personal  feeling;  by  the  end  you  feel  as  though  you  know  Andy  Goldsworthy.

Goldsworthy’s  spirit  is  defiantly  in  his  art.  Speaking  from  frigid,  midwinter  Nova  Scotia  in  the  opening  scenes  of  the  film,  he  comments,  “When  the  work  is  going  well,  I  feel  warm,  when  there  is  a  collapse,  I  feel  cold.”  From  quotes  like  these  it  is  easy  to  tell  that  Goldsworthy  is  a  true  artist,  often  a  mere  extension  of  his  work.  

Nature  lover  as  much  as  artist,  Goldsworthy  revels  in  the  natural  world,  “I  need  the  land,”  he  says.  At  times,  it  seems  Goldsworthy’s  art  is  only  an  excuse  to  be  outside  enjoying  the  earth.  As  an  artist,  he  works  in  tandem  with  nature,  employing  a  subtle  give  and  take.  He  underscores  and  enhances  the  earth’s  beauty  with  pieces  often  as  ephemeral  and  sometimes  as  imperceptible  as  a  simple  spider  web.    

As  much  as  Goldsworthy’s  art  is  about  building  and  the  process  of  creating,  it  is  also  about  the  way  it  gets  destroyed.  Because  his  art  is  created  amidst  nature,  it  is  also  subject  to  nature’s  rules,  its  habits,  and  its  whims.  Sometimes  it  is  a  swirling  breeze  that  takes  down  the  hanging  lattice  Goldsworthy  has  merged  with  a  tree  branch,  in  the  next  frame  it  is  the  unforgiving  ebb  and  flow  of  the  sea  that  dismantles  a  dome  he  has  built  from  driftwood.  The  film  devotes  almost  as  much  time  to  the  death  of  Goldsworthy’s  art  as  it  does  to  its  birth.  But  it  does  well  to  depict  that  death.  When  endeavoring,  the  artist  is  always  aware  of  looming  prospect  of  the  end  of  the  intricate  ephemera  they  create.  

Ultimately,  this  is  appealing  simply  because  Andy  Goldsworthy  is  such  an  appealing  artist.  He  is  completely  original,  entirely  unpretentious,  and  wonderfully  endearing  and  personable.  His  art  is  much  the  same;  it  is  like  nothing  you  have  ever  seen  before,  and  even  though  it  is  literal  genius,  it  doesn’t  pretend  to  be  greater  than  its  natural  beginnings  --  something  it’s  not.  In  addition,  the  film  portrays  this  wonderful  and  intriguing  artist  beautifully.  We  can  almost  forget  we  are  watching  a  film  and  feel  as  though  we  are  sitting  with  the  artist  as  he  imparts  his  genius.  While  maintaining  this  intimate  mood,  the  film  also  incorporates  stunning  shots  of  some  of  Goldsworthy’s  larger  works  and  both  England’s  and  North  America’s  breathtaking  countryside  seamlessly,  which  makes  for  a  great  movie-watching  experience.    

Apart  from  a  scene  in  which  we  can  see  a  sheep  giving  birth, Rivers  and  Tides  is  completely  kid-friendly.  However,  it  is  not  action-packed  and  therefore  it  may  be  a  little  boring  for  young  children. 

In this KidSpirit article, teen writer Naomi Chasek-MacFoy reviews the documentary "Rivers and Tides: Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time.

A Review of Rivers and Tides: Andy Goldsworthy Working with Time

When I began reading From the Stage to the Prayer Mat by Rabia Christine Brodbeck, I expected it to be an autobiography, with its main context the life story of the author. Instead, I soon found that it was much more than that.While there are a few chapters about the author’s personal life, it is largely an incredibly lovely explanation of the beauty of Islam and what it means to be Muslim. And beyond that, the author, who was a famous modern dancer born in Switzerland, explains how her being an artist relates to her falling in love with Islam.

The first part of the book, titled “Wonder and Admiration for Prophet Muhammad,” is a description of why Brodbeck and countless others are in awe of the Prophet Muhammad. She explains many fundamental principles of Islam so clearly and beautifully that you understand immediately what she means. When you read her loving language you can see that she has experienced a sort of religious rebirth. The second part of the book, called “The Dance of Life,” begins with a chapter about how she came to find and accept Islam. Having been raised in Switzerland by a Catholic family but never really believing deeply in any religion, Brodbeck grew up to become a famous modern dancer. But while in New York, where she was performing, she and her friends visited a mosque, and she immediately felt an intense connection. In this chapter she describes the discovery of a teacher who helped her find her religious path. The next few chapters are filled with wisdom gained from her experiences, from the enormity of experiencing a religious rebirth to how all of existence is united as one. The third part of the book, “The Sacredness of the Human Being,” explains why humans are so important to God and vice versa, discussing the nature of mankind in relation to the Prophet Adam, how God created people out of pure love, and the balance of the soul and the body. The fourth and final section is called “Humanity between Salvation and Destruction” and discusses the present spiritual state of the world and how people can save themselves and others through acceptance, unity, spirituality and love.

From the Stage to the Prayer Mat is a work of art in itself, filled with adoration and wisdom. Brodbeck says in the introduction to the book, “I write because the source of existence is love, I write because I just followed my need, I write because using the pen does not mean writing for me….” She feels that she is carrying out God’s messages through her writing—her art—and that is the message and purpose of this book. I thought I knew the basics of Islam before I read this book, but now I realize I knew almost nothing about it. If you want to learn more about the religion, I highly recommend this book. Its principles are complex but explained in such a way that you see their simplicity, and it really helps you to understand the core of the religion. It is slow reading, but well worth the time it takes to read it.

In this KidSpirit article, teen writer Colette Gerstmann reviews the book "From the Stage to the Prayer Mat."

The Art of Islam

From the first pages of Markus Zusak’s novel The Book Thief, I knew that the young Liesel Meminger had a starving smile.

A smile yearning for happiness, although she always gratefully accepted what she was given. Liesel’s soul was spotless, white, and beautiful. Perhaps that’s exactly why Death seemed to be so attracted to the young German child. Very soon, however, her sheltered home erupted into something much more dark, cascading into a greater world. An evil world. A Nazi world.

The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, is an astonishing story that seems to contain every genre possible. From romance, to tragedy, to humor, to historical fiction, The Book Thief encompasses it all.

Once I was introduced to Liesel, I could feel my hands clasp tighter to the book’s binding. The very moment Liesel Meminger arrives on Himmel Street, Germany, her dead brother’s eyes continue to haunt her. After her mother intends to transport Liesel, as well as her brother, to a foster family, tragedy strikes, and alters her life forever. Even with the enormous dilemma of her brother’s death, Liesel is forced to overlook her sorrow, and is compelled to continue onward to her new home, her new parents, her new world. Yet there is one thing that binds the strong young girl together: a mere book. Ironically, Liesel is illiterate, yet her absolute adoration of literature is touching. She soon arrives in the secluded town, and is welcomed by her new family: Hans and Rosa Hubermann. While Hans, a gentle accordionist, soothes her cold nightmares, Liesel’s foster mother is far more brutal. As Hans begins his late night reading lessons with Liesel, the German family’s sequestered town is gradually utterly engulfed by the enormous plague sweeping the world: Hitler’s words and the actions that come of them. Liesel’s surreal perspective on both life and death soon alters. Liesel’s giddy outlook on life, her pleasant home and family, soon morph into something entirely different: the will to survive.

All the while, Liesel is having a minor love affair, yet with an unexpected item: books. Once her current book becomes tattered and worn, it comes time to steal yet another story. However, she only steals when needed, and this is exactly what I admired most about the young book thief, her perspective on the process of give and take. She took so little, yet returned great love and passion to the world. Liesel knew precisely what she required for herself, yet also knew what to reward those surrounding her. I began the story utterly furious with Liesel and her will to only take so much, when she deserved so much more.

Yet in the end, I came to a cold, stone truth: I was envious of the poor, nearly starving child. Unlike Liesel, I seem to devour everything that would give me any form of benefit, and when it comes time to give something back, I do it merely because I feel I am so very generous, and should be praised. Yet Liesel is a unique young lady. She gives back to the world not because it makes her feel generous, or she feels she deserves to be commended, but because it is merely the right thing for her to do. If there is a God, perhaps there shouldn’t be religion simply because we should all feel compelled to live under Liesel’s code: when she does right, it feels like, and is, the right thing. When she does wrong, it feels, and is wrong.

Liesel and her foster family soon find themselves within the tricky predicament of hiding a Jew named Max. Liesel unveils more and more of herself to her new, dangerous Jewish friend, and also discovers what might happen to those who try to help him. The Book Thief not only revealed to me what was being described, but also let me touch it, emotionally. My favorite attribute of the book, was its writing ability that twisted and turned its reader.

This story gave me a challenge. A great challenge. Markus Zusak creates an evocative and wry portrayal of death, and a sense of what evil, and what beauty really is. The Book Thief unlocked sections of myself I truthfully didn’t know existed. It’s ironic. You can find yourself through losing yourself within The Book Thief.

In this KidSpirit article, teen writer Ali Merrill reviews Marcus Zusack's novel "The Book Thief."

A Review of The Book Thief: Reflections of a Wannabe Book Thief

After weeks of research, tedious work and studying, we were finally ready to tackle Model United Nations. 

Two teachers, four fellow students and I caught the 2:30 train from Westport, Connecticut to New York’s Grand Central Station.  For two months we had prepared diligently for this momentous occasion.  Would I be able to provide the right support my team?  Had I worked as hard as I should have or would I disappoint them?  Could I be the voice Guatemala needed?     

Model United Nations is a simulation of the UN that seeks to educate participants about current events, communication and diplomacy.  Students must use a variety of research and critical thinking skills to represent the policies of their assigned country.  Teams write position papers and debate other students from around the world on a given topic.  My partner and I were responsible for proposing ways to decrease the spread of infectious diseases like malaria, HIV/Aids and tuberculosis in Guatemala.  This seemed like a daunting responsibility and as we arrived at Grand Central, my anxiety increased.     

Our taxi dropped us at the General Assembly building at the United Nations.  A sea of faces representing countless countries greeted us.  I never dreamed I would be sitting in a room with such amazing architecture.  Following the opening ceremonies, we enjoyed a Turkish dinner and went to our hotel for some much needed rest. Unfortunately, I was too nervous to sleep.  

After a restless night, it was time for the actual conference!  Upon arrival, things seemed chaotic.  The hallways were jammed with hundreds of students speaking different languages.     

Initially, the conference room was not much different than the bustling hallway. The noise level was high, but once we all settled down, I began to relax.  Each speaker wanted to present his or her argument, which made it difficult to get one’s point across. I was fortunate to have the opportunity to speak.  As I stepped up to the microphone, I noticed all heads in the room turn towards me.  I was nervous, but I realized now was the time and finally, I spoke.       

I addressed my fellow students and spoke of the importance of eradicating infectious disease in Guatemala.  I felt that I had had covered new material and that my teammates and teachers would be pleased.  Most importantly, I knew that I was the voice Guatemala so desperately needed. Additionally, this exposure provided a window into what the real United Nations is like and all the important goals it achieves. It amazed me that we had prepared for months, yet the speech lasted only 90 seconds. Looking back on the whole experience, it became clear that I did need to research, discuss and debate as much as I had in order to be the voice Guatemala so desperately needed.  Any reservations that I had about the time I had invested disappeared as I left. The moment was truly awesome--I could hardly wait for next year, to come back and do even better!

In this KidSpirit Awesome Moments article, teen writer Sam Miller recounts his experience representing Guatemala with Model United Nations at the UN General Assembly in New York.

Model United Nations

I walked down the street, Paris coughing its winds onto my pale skin. 

My eyelashes were soon clumped with the snowfall sweeping across the pin-top skyscrapers of the city. Suitcases and coats passed by down the snow covered street. I felt enchanted by the subtle snobbery of Paris. I heard the lullabies of an urban jungle pounding into my eardrums between the cars, cafes and flirtation of Paris. I looked over to see my mother’s smiling face, and  like a chain reaction, one crept onto mine.

“What are we eating”, I asked as an overwhelming intoxication of hunger swept over me, the café’s smells being a large contributing factor.

“Would you like crepes?” my mother asked.

I responded with an enthusiastic yes and soon found myself in refuge of the cold by the warmth of a jelly filled crepe. Just like being in refuge from my past.

With a smile on her face she whispered in my ear, “Do you like it?” My eyes lit up giving her an answer to suffice.

A titan of architecture, now but once a feat of engineering, the Eiffel Tower stood, a symbol of the ever-changing French nation. Its large brown skeleton snoozed beneath its blanket of snow. Its limbs crisscrossing with its series of nails and bolts. A wow escaped my mouth as I looked up.

“Could I please see the camera?” I asked my father.

He reached inside his jacket and pulled it out. I quickly began taking pictures of the Eiffel Tower like a child with its toys; the legs, the different floors, and even a flash into the inside of the clausal structure. Five flashes flared from the camera’s pupil until I finally noticed a change in sound. The music was a whisper in my ear at first but as I walked closer, the lyrics began to form. And as I took another step I began to see a faint outline of where it was coming from. My parents wondering where I was going soon followed. The source of the song was a street performer. He held in his hands a guitar and in his throat a song. On him was a patched up jacket, beaten to a brown tinge from dirt and grime. His jeans were torn exposing his knees to the raw elements. I asked my mother, somewhat fluent in Canadian-French, what he was singing.

“I don’t know,” she responded inquisitively.

People passed by him, his hazel eyes darting back and forth searching for a potential customer; in front of him was a styrofoam cup, a rock in it to keep it from blowing in the wind, he was on the qui vive.

I could feel the passion blowing through the monotone hues of winter, a new beat to an ever-changing world, the chords warming me. Helping me forget why we came here, my mother’s cancer, the cloud that had been overwhelming us.

“Do you suppose he’s going to be okay? I sympathetically pondered. Though impossible for my mother to answer she gave a comforting yes, as I hugged close to her black corduroy jacket, guilt yanking at my heart strings. We smiled, sugar-coating what we both knew. I wasn’t asking about the man. We went up the elevator holding tight to the time we had left.

In a KidSpirit Awesome Moments piece, teen writer Philip Chowdry recalls a moment he shared with his mother in Paris.

A Skeleton With All the Strings Attached

Earn a fortune, but don’t use your tools.

Look at your life, by what you’re paid.

Textbooks, not poems, will prove you true,

You’ll end up a scholar, a professor divine,

— And how you got there, you won’t have a clue.

In a KidSpirit poem, young poet Akash Mehta offers the wisdom of poetry.

Useless

Can  I  travel  the  world  on  a  cloud,  or  a  moonbeam?  I  can.  

I  can  draw  invisible  castles  galore  

I  have  seen  a  monster  in  a  shadow    

In this KidSpirit poem, author Angus Algrant explores the power of imagination.

Six and a Quarter

Hope is in our mothers' voice when they call to us sweetly

Hope is in the long awaited last school week

Hope is in the pranks that everyone pulls

Hope is in her new shinning engagement ring

Hope is in those who are paralyzed and lame

Hope is in the crashing waves that rise and fall

Hope is in moments of darkness and strife

Hope is in the moment before he takes his life

Hope is in the moment when the little boy lied

Hope is in my own cares that I have carried

Hope is in the young woman before she dives

In this KidSpirit poem, author Emma Patton explores the power of hope.

Hope

Happiness  It  can't  be  described  
It  can'  be  prescribed  
But  it  can  hide  
Like  the  sun  
When  day  turns  to  night  

And  then  you  find  it  again  
And  you  start  to  breath  
And  you  start  to  sing  

And  you  hold  on  because  when  its  gone  you  feel  like  you've  fallen
And  there's  no  one  to  catch  you  

It's  like  a  rose  on  a  thorn  

When  its  there  it's  lovely  
And  when  it's  gone  its  lonely  

But  no  matter  how  hard  it  hides  
You  always  find  it

In this KidSpirit poem, teen writer Claire Collins describes the feeling of happiness.

Happiness

Above the sky
few people have been
But most people wonder
They look up each day and think
What goes on above the sky

Above the sky is where infinity lies
Infinity goes on way past the sky
Perhaps there is more than infinity
But how will we find out
What hides above the sky

In this KidSpirit poem, teen author Brandon Reiter describes the beauty of the sky.

Above the Sky

I was a young college student asking questions, the difficult kind that cannot be answered in a classroom. Students like me received exposure while studying, but traditional methods of addressing new concepts and issues are not always enough. Discussions concerning international trauma in places like Croatia, Cambodia, and Rwanda simply do not do justice for the people there. Traveling as an aid relief worker gave me opportunities to explore my questions and cultivated grounds for developing personal beliefs. My artistry evolved as I documented my experiences.

I moved from a place of theorizing with scholars on the reasons for an ethnic cleansing in Bosnia to knowing firsthand the incredibly strong communities developing in refugee camps. Having read media articles and briefs, empirically explaining the Bosnian genocide, I was not expecting to play with children in the refugee camps. These were the very same children who had survived genocide, refugee exodus, and arrival to camp.

As I took photographs of the older children organizing games for the younger ones, their care for each other struck me as incredible. I was continually amazed when I discovered that a few individuals in the community were dedicated to educating all of the children in refugee camps. They were without supplies, without official teachers, but committed to each other’s success.

Serving alongside strong individuals who continued to provide for their community caused a shift in me. When I began shooting film, I was merely documenting with no connection through the camera lens. The more I interacted with and took photos of strong individuals, the more I realized that their strength came from their service to each other. Women who knitted for the community as a part of a Red Cross project smiled at me when I took their photos. They knew how they could serve each other.

When in Rwanda, I saw the connection between service and strength again. Right after the genocide, when parents and caregivers needed to take care of their own children, the international relief community rushed in to aid unaccompanied children. Without meaning to create a difficult situation, orphanages and homes separated children from their families.Photograph by Eric GreitensInstead of providing aid for the available caregivers, aid agencies stripped them of their role of caring for their children, essentially stripping them of their strength. Those who were in roles of service, however, emanated strength. A man whose name and story I did not know provided unaccompanied children with attention, play, and games. He had no supplies, no lesson plans. This man would merely show up and the children flocked to him, smiling and clamoring for attention. His strength is evident in the moments I captured on film. His strength was not simply ‘found’ in the midst of desperate circumstances, but developed through action. The truth of strength is that we develop our strength most fully when we act to serve others.

Once I realized this, my vision changed, which also altered my photos. A motif of strong communities and individuals in service emerged. When I returned to Duke, a friend invited me to speak at a local church. She said that the members of the church wanted to learn more about the ethnic cleansing in Bosnia. I approached the meeting wishing to share experiences that had changed me. The viewers came to hear firsthand what was happening in Bosnia. I pressed the “forward” button on a slide projector and proceeded to show my photographs. A photograph of a girl drawing a house on the ground with a chalky rock appeared on the screen. The photos were mostly of individual children and families living in the two refugee camps.

With each new image, I could see that this was the first time that the members of this church had connected on a human level to what they had read about in the news. When they read about thousands of people driven from their homes, it was abstract. When they saw one family dragging a bag across a field in search of shelter, they understood. I became aware that the way I took photographs communicated clearly to a distant audience; through photography I had developed the ability to impact viewers. Their connection to peoples unknown was through my lens.

After I showed my photos to the group at the church, I offered to take questions. The group mostly had questions about daily activities, like food or laundry. Again, I realized how my travels had changed me and changed my vision. I began to discover what I value most by way of photography. Part of this comes from the artists’ relationship with their work. You can tell how someone feels about what they photo document by looking at the photos. The church group I spoke with could see my lens view. They saw my focus on the strength of service in desperate circumstances, and the noble human qualities each possessed. The pictures I shared from Croatia contrasted with most of the international aid photographs that showed desperate people and desperate babies from Africa, South Asia, and Southeast Asia. My pictures didn’t fit that story. When looking at real human beings, it was hard to dismiss the whole war by describing it simply as “ethnic violence” or “ancient hatred.”

While some people don’t consider documentary endeavors to be “artistic,” I think if it develops purpose and aesthetic style, it is artistry. When you can see an attitude reflected in the framing of people and moments, it is artistic expression.

For me, photographing people and moments contributed to discovering my values just as much as my attitude affected my photography.

Traveling as a humanitarian and photographer confirmed my belief that everyone is capable of tremendous courage. In Bolivia I saw a few children being cared for at the children’s home Mano Amiga. They have the opportunity to see a life away from niños de la calle, or children of the street. Leaving the destructive patterns of the street, cutting, drugs, exploitation, allows the children of Mano Amiga to see a life that could be.

The volunteers in the home practiced compassion in a way that made the home special. They taught the children of Mano Amiga to take care of each other. Children lived in the home with both Jewish and Christian volunteers exhibiting charity. The Jewish volunteers lived out the word tzedakah, usually translated as charity, but the word actually has a root that is closer to “justice.” In the same home, children lived with Christian volunteers who claimed the Christian virtue of “charity.” It does not mean benevolent giving as we often think of it today, but refers to the virtue of caritas, best translated as unlimited loving-kindness.

Incredible people and situations like Mano Amiga helped me see children in desperate environments as strong. They are victims, but they have created hope and found strength. Sharing my exposure is a way of inspiring action — I hope that my photographs can change people the same way I have been changed by the experiences I photograph.

The desire to share led me to publish Strength & Compassion, a book of photos and essays. I had developed purpose with my artistry and realized the strength of photography’s ability to communicate. Connecting the two in a publication has been a method of reaching an audience. In that, Strength & Compassion embodies my beliefs and hopes for an audience. When you see photos, whether they are mine or someone else’s, I challenge you to look for what the images say. Images speak not only their own stories, but tell the viewers about the character of the artist. Art has the ability to communicate when words fail. Convictions come through connections between belief and artistry.

When I serve and photograph, I could be dissuaded from hope, dissuaded from compassion because of the injustice I witness. Instead, I am able to photograph places and moments of charity and compassion.

In this PerSpectives article, artist Eric Greitens explores the reasons he became a photographer and the connections he has made along the way.

The Lens of Strength and Compassion

Gracie Gralike

What is Art?  Why does it move us?  These eternal questions are at the core of this meaty issue of KidSpirit, challenging us to consider our assumptions anew. Is music without sound Art? Is mathematics a form of Art? Is Manga an Art? “Yes!” our passionate writers argue.

Finding Your Spirit in Art Group Guide

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