Collective Identity:
Art isn’t about feelings, its about power. But with great power comes great responsibility. That responsibility is conveyed through the art of the fantastic individuals that our school is comprised of. The dark nature of the skeletons combines with the bright ideas of Emchen to create a fantastically unique feel that has never been seen before in our art show. It is quite amazing how similar each piece is to one another, even across artists. The beautiful interconnected system that is observed in our world contributes to this idea. As we continue to focus on our own lives, however, the Earth will continue to suffer. As a wise man once said, “[Human beings are] [a] virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer to this planet.” With that, I bid you adieu.
Still Life Stories:
Comedy:
I was running. I was running fast. Footsteps stomping on my tail, I ran with just enough momentum to escape from their reach. My cowboy hat, loosely on my head, tilted slightly to my left, shifting back and forth on my head, gave me little to no protection from the sun. I didn’t care. I had finally done it. Well.. Almost.
But, really, I hadn’t done anything wrong. Ok, so I’m a thief, so they say. It’s just a hubcap.. Like, seriously guys: Hop off!
“Get back here, ya son’va Bitch!” They yelled.
I smell bacon.
I didn’t respond. I need to save my energy. I started to get an edge as their fat began to become too much for their disgusting bodies. I know, I know, their just big boned. I’ll tell ya, though.. There’s a certain point at which that joke isn’t even funny anymore.
I dove into the brush. All around me, ivy and maple leaves hid me from site. They ran right by, oblivious, unintelligent, odorous. I took a deep breath, and laid down. I took the necklace around my neck and attached my prize. You might say it’s not worth it, but it was late.. I was drunk..
Haven’t you heard that old saying? “When you can’t find clothes, you gotta cover your with a hubcap.” It goes something like that.. Right?
Tragedy:
It’s Caos; everywhere. The weeds are growing too fast to control. Slowly at first, I watched them, the vines. Slowly, they slithered like snakes into the town. At first, it was nothing more than a nuisance. But then they went from streets and alleyways to kitchens and living rooms. It all happened so fast. I was scared–frantic. I just ran.
I didn’t bother to look back. I just ran and ran and ran. To my left, people were dying. I could smell the stench of rotting flesh. I’ve been running for days. Weeks.. I lost count after a while.. I’m just too tired. As I write this, the vines are creeping up my legs, constricting my veins. Resistance is no longer an option. I might as well die with a smile on my face. Consider this my final words.
Joseph
Haikus 1/11/11
Artist: Garion
Tape decks are blackish
too are their cases as you know
blue, though, is better
Artist: Emchen Robinson
I dropped my box dude.
do you know what I will do?
I will just leave it
Artist: Dan Center
bullets come flying
my friends begin to fall down
death is such a chore..
Artist: Eric B.
killed him, dad, I did.
Once I began to chop him,
his innards went splat
Artist: Sean Dickson
music was my thing
but the other day, i got mad..
its a long story.
Comic Story
I was walking down the street. I remember thinking this is one of the darkest nights I’ve seen in a long time. As I jogged, right foot in front of left, the my shadow circled me as the streetlights shown on my back. Just a few minutes more I told myself. Just a few minutes more. I didn’t feel guilt. I didn’t care about the consequences. All I cared about was my revenge.
As I turned right on his street, my heart began to pound. It wasn’t nerves, but rather excitement. I can finally get my rest; I can finally sleep at night. After tonight, all my worries will be gone. I saw his back and I saw his disgusting blonde hair, grungy and rugged, and I started to sprint.
“Hey buddy! How was your day?” I asked, not expecting an answer.
He didn’t respond. His eyes, wide as they’ve ever been, looked back at me. Blankly, he stared, no emotion, no feeling. It was as if he didn’t care.
To this day, I still don’t know if it was fear, or if he really just didn’t want to fight. Whatever the case, what happened next went quickly. I pulled back my right hand, the knuckles white with intensity. Never thrown a punch a day in my life, it was as if I was a natural born fighter. Without retaliation, my fist shattered his jaw. Each tooth, colliding with the next, shattered to pieces. The force of my blow threw his limp body to the pavement. Death was instant. That’s what the coroner said anyway.
“The trauma to his jaw and cheekbone resulted in the destruction of the victim’s brain. The victim was dead before hitting the pavement.”
After it was done, I just stood there. Minutes. Hours. Weeks. Who knows. I just stood there. It all happened so quickly. I ran to his house, and killed him. I don’t remember anything else that day except his face. As I looked into his eyes I didn’t see fear. I didn’t see anger or regret or even the slightest bit of sadness all I saw was relief. I didn’t punish him. That was all I needed; I needed him to pay. But what he got was freedom. And what did I get? I got the rest of my life in jail.
It wasn’t originally going to turn out this way. But the way things went down, there was nothing I could do to stop it. The court hearings were short. The verdict was unanimous. I didn’t bother to state my defense; I just plead guilty in hopes of a lesser sentence. Instead, my life was sold to the sate penitentiary without even a glimpse of parole. The only thing good behavior could get me was an extra sandwich for dinner. I was without a reason to live. I had nothing to make me happy. And yet, after killing him, the depression I sunk into was seemingly worthwhile. Either this or he ran free. And what for, you might ask? Let me start out from the beginning.
My wife and I had been married for 3 years now. We were young and struggling, but we were getting by. I worked in a cubicle, a faceless member of the corporate world. Unique, just like everyone one else.
I went into work one day, expecting nothing more than the boring routine. I wake up, make breakfast, drive to work, sit down at my desk, and kill time while pretending to work in the company’s “best interest.”
My boss walked up to me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My mind started racing through all the possible things I could have been caught doing wrong. I dreaded the lecture I was sure was approaching.
“Hey Bill.” he said.
“Hey Frank.” I responded, staring at my computer screen, avoiding eye contact.
“The boss wants to see you.” Then he just walked away.
Now I was sure I had done something wrong. What could I have done that was so horrible..? I walked up to the boss’s door and knocked. He opened it and gestured me in. He had been waiting for me. There was no other work occupying his time.
“Sit down.” He said. “How long have you been working here, Bill?”
“About a year, sir.” I replied.
“Please, call me John. I built this company 25 years ago. From scratch, I built this company and expanded it into what it is today. And through all my years in the industry, I have never had an employee as hard-working and dedicated as you.”
I just sat there. Motionless, I sat there flabbergasted and confused. Is this a trick? It must be a trick. I am by far the laziest member of this corporation.
“Well, aren’t you gonna’ say something? If I’m going to promote you to Vice President of this fantastic company, you better have a little more enthusiasm than that!” He laughed.
“Thank you, sir!” was all I could muster.
The conversation continued, as I zoned out completely shocked of what has just happened. Unbelievable is an understatement. And as I came out, I remember looking at Frank. His expression was different. He was never a happy individual, don’t get me wrong, but today he was especially odd. His grimace was far worse than usual. I thought nothing of it at the time, though I wish I had.
As I came back the next day, I was introduced to my new office. It was a corner office, 10 times the size of my cubicle. As I started off the first day, I was too excited to work. I surfed the web, pretended to do whatever it is VPs are supposed to do, until it came time to leave. About a half hour before I was about to leave, Frank stops by my office.
“Hey, buddy! What can I do for you?” I inquired.
“Congrats man! I don’t know what you did to deserve it, but great job, man!” He said. He had the biggest smile I had ever seen. I honestly believed he was happy for me. “Take this bottle o’ wine, man. Celebrate! But don’t you go share this with anybody! Its for you only, Mr. President!” He laughed. I should have known it was fake. He never laughed. He was never happy.
I got home and my wife had already started dinner.
“Hi honey!” she called out to me as I opened the door. “We don’t seem to have any wine left. Would you mind going out to the store and buying a bottle for us?”
“Not a problem! Frank, he just gave me a bottle as a gift! I didn’t even know he had it in him.” I said.
I poured us each a glass.
She clinked her’s to mine and in unison we said “Cheers!”
She took a sip, and I set mine down. “I’ll be right back, I just need to change really quick.”
“Okay, hon.” she replied. Those were the last words I heard her say. I came back down, five minutes later, and she was on the floor. She just collapsed. I took her to the hospital, but it was too late. I went back home to call Frank, and the bottle was gone. Not a trace was left of the murder weapon but what was in my wife’s stomach. I couldn’t prove anything, but he had to pay. And if the authorities wouldn’t punish him, I’d have to punish him myself.
Games Diptych Reflection
Of all of the projects I have done in art class this year, I think this is the one that I have had the hardest time with time-management. I started out with an idea that not only did not fit the criteria, but also would have/did waste a lot of time. I started with the Left 4 Dead piece-which was a bad idea in the long run. This game I felt especially passionate about-sadly, yes, I feel passion towards a fictional video game-because I have just recently begun to play and become heavily involved in. Because of this, I was able to have a lot of fun creating it. The way that I decided to do it originally was to create a movie poster as the creators of the game did for each chapter, or “level”, if you will. However, this would have been hard to incorporate the amount of text required.I instead looked towards the graffiti in the game. Throughout the game, you stop at “safe houses” where the zombies cannot enter. People probably stay over night or for a few days. Because of this, there is writing on the walls discussing rumors about the infection and such. Mario is another game that I enjoy to play, but without quite the same passion. Although it is addicting, and I am inclined to play it often, I am not nearly as inclined to play a single player game. Because of this, I am much more likely to return to the multiplayer game play for hours on end that Left 4 Dead deals out because of its ability to keep things interesting. Another reason why this game was difficult to illustrate through my art is because of its minimal text throughout the game. I eventually dealt with this by simply repeating Mario over and over again all over the piece. For me personally, I absolutely hate repetition, I don’t like symmetry in my art, etc. Although I was displeased with this piece, I loved my first piece, and because of that I feel like this will be a good learning experience for me.
Games Diptych Prompt
The two games that I decided to use are Left 4 Dead and Super Mario Bros. Both have affected me very much, though Mario has been affecting me longer and Left 4 Dead has only been out for around two years. The Super Mario Bros. I am referring to is the original Mario for NES. It had very bad graphics, 24 short levels, and not much else. But every time I play it, I manage to get a great nostalgic feeling and have as much if not more fun than the last time I played. Left 4 Dead affects me in another way. Instead of giving me that nostalgic feeling I get from Mario, I get an excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. The premise of the game is that you are one of four survivors in the streets of Philadelphia. An elevated strain of the rabies virus has been attacking the whole of America and you appear to be one of the only survivors left. Although the maps are a bit repetitive, the spawn points of the zombies always change and I get a small feeling of fear in the back of my mind, which is why I still continue to play it day after day.
The two games have wildly different amounts and content of language. The language in Super Mario Bros. never gets more deep then “I’m sorry, but your princess is in another castle” which is repeated several times throughout the game. In fact, other than in the menu, that is the only example of text in the whole game. However in left 4 dead, there is a wide variety of text in several places. The most noticeable is verbal communication between characters. Each character has a different personality which the programmers tried to convey through body language and verbal communication. The other big example of text in the game is in the left 4 dead safe-rooms. As you progress through the game, you try to beat each level by escaping to the next safe-room. When you get there, because people would supposedly stay there to sleep through the night, they have a lot of time to do, well just about nothing. For this reason, there is a lot of writing on teh walls. As you begin to read more and more from the safe-room walls, you begin to learn a lot more about the infection and where it came from.
If the two games were to speak to one another, i think the best way would be between character interaction. Although the original mario had no personality or speech, the newer games show a lot of development in Mario’s character. For this reason, When making the two games speak, I would use the newer versions of our hero. I think from the Survivors-Bill, Zoey, Louis, and Francis-there is plenty of personality for the two games to communicate.
Reflection Essay
The cultural identity was definitely the easiest one for me personally. I know my culture in and out, and because of this, it took me very little time to come up with an idea. For the art project it self, I made the ten cards in one single art project. I painted each either green, white or black. On the front, all but two were white, the other two being black, and the backside being completely green. Next, on top of the black and white cards, I used splatter paint. On the green side, I melted different colored crayons. This represents my very messed up culture and such. The two black cards represent how I don’t feel that I match my culture as well as I could; I stick out. Although this worked well in this situation, as I began to contemplate familial ID, i realized that I this idea worked better there.
Next came familial identity. For this project, I created several cards that represented different aspects of my family and my relationship with them. Although i do not remember specifics at the moment, the main idea of these ten cards was to explain my disassociation with them. Other than my sister, I really don’t connect well with my family at all.
The identification that followed familial was stereotypical. For this one, I artistically explained things that make me stick out; things that people use to classify me. Things in this section include a card representing my hair, a card representing me being quiet in certain situations, etc. Each of the cards was completely white and I used pen and ink to draw these ideas. It turned out quite well in my opinion.
For Other identification, I tried to show that I feel like an other everywhere. I really don’t feel like I fit in anywhere, at least not perfectly. I am always worried about what others are thinking of me. I showed this by drawing different things to represent each aspect where I feel “otherness”. One example was a pencil to represent school. I do not remember the rest, though, because this was created during the time when I was sick and it is all a bit fuzzy. I do, however remember that I used yellow paint, red paint, charcoal, and pencil to create the cards.
Finally came heroic identity. This one I feel was quite fun to created. The ideas that I tried to work with are what a Hero in the movies, comics, etc. is, and how that reflects aspects of real life heros. I used paint: Black, red, white, and blue, to create this project. i painted the real life hero ideas in solid colors, i.e. just red, just blue, etc. then, for the fake heroes, I used a mixture of these three colors to paint a dream-like background. Then, I painted words for each idea on them: for Fake heroic I used strength, flight, and brave. For realistic, I used driven, empathetic, etc.
My Heroic Identity
Though I do not personally think of myself as a hero, I can think of a few times throughout my life when I was called a hero. One such time is quite recent, actually. It was a competition for Marching band several weeks ago. There are a lot of pieces to the uniform which I am required to remember for each competition, football game, etc. On this day, however, I did not have my gauntlets. Gauntlets are ridiculous looking pieces of fabric which a person wraps around the wrists of the player to keep the sleeves of uniform out of the way.
When I came in, I noticed that it was not in my cage where I had left it. I talked to my section leader, only to realize that she had them. As we began to look for them, Trevor, the adult section leader, yelled at us and told us that we had time later to look for them. We went outside and began to practice. When we returned to the band room, we resumed our search for the missing gauntlets. She told me quote: “I talked to Mr. Hyde (the band director) and the other adult leaders. They said they are looking for the gauntlets.” Remember that, it will reveal it’s importance later.
I was unable to find my gauntlets, so I got onto the bus and sat down. I would have mentioned something to the adults, however my section leader had told me that they already knew. We got to the competition, the leaders find out about my problem, and decide to not allow me to perform. This in and of itself is an inauspicious rule, but I digress. I was very angry at this point. Whenever I tried to speak, they silenced me. Finally, I flipped out and swore off Trevor. Without getting angry, which I am quite surprised at and I applaud him for, he simply took it and said, “I understand you are angry, but this is something that we are going to have to deal with.”
Through my elevated emotions, I was unable to recall the event in which I spoke to Trevor about my gauntlets until later. Some of the other drummers thought that it would be a good idea to stand off to the side as I was in protest, however I had a better idea.
When I had finally convinced the other drummers to play, without revealing my plans, I went onto the field as planned. We played the cadence, I went off to the side, and pulled off my drums. Trevor walked off to the side and watched. As I stood there, my heart racing, I realized that there was no way in which I could lift up my drums alone.
I looked to the side, and there stood Alex Walter, the brother of one of our bassists. I looked at him, pointed to the drums. He ran over, lifted the drums back onto the rack, and I went onto the field. We performed our show, and that was the end of it.
I think that besides the feeling of awesome and the praises of my fellow drummers, the best part was the facial expression of pure shock on Trevor’s face. As he stood there, unsure of what to do, unable to stop me, his jaw dropped to the floor. I think that is a good example of a time in which I was called a hero.
My “Other” Identity
I think that I am treated as an other in many of the things I do. I don’t fit in very well in school, I don’t fit in very well outside of school, etc. Because of this, I think I am treated as an other basically everywhere I go. The only place that I feel I do fit in is marching band, which I feel is yet another reason that people feel the need to treat me as an other, ironic as it may be. I think that the main thing that makes me feel other has to do with the entire world’s love of sports. I am not athletic. For this reason, I cannot play sports. But, as much as the rest of the world generally isn’t good at sports, I also do not enjoy watching them, which is a problem in america, apparently. every weekend my family watches sports, while I sit at my laptop trying to find something to entertain myself until it’s over.
My Stereotypical Identity
The way that I believe that I am perceived by others is as a weird kid. I don’t really know any other way of putting it. I have a few friends, but many more people who think I am weird. And I am fine with that. If they don’t want to deal with me, I don’t want to be bothered with them. The thing that the thing that is most used to stereotype me is marching band. Marching band is supposedly full of nerds, band geeks, etc. And well, in the horns, they mostly are. But in the drum line, most of us are only there to get into college. With out athletic ability, it is quite hard to play a sport. So for this reason, I am a member of the drum line. Though it is looked down upon by some of my peers, quite frankly, I couldn’t give a rat’s patootie.
My Familial Identity
In my family, I am sort of an outcast. Me and my sister both. I feel like that may be the way it is in most families, but i wouldn’t know, I guess. I am very different from my mother and father. My mother was very into sports as a child, and my dad was at one point as well. I, on the other hand, am far from an athlete. Not only do I not have the body for athleticism, my hand-eye coordination seems to go completely out of whack when there is a ball coming towards my face. Some other things that I have noticed is that we don’t have any interests in common what so ever. My dad loved business and numbers, I love art and video games (I used art as a general meaning, and would also like to include Music and skateboarding). My Mom is a Lawyer, and we all know how that goes.
My sister is a lot like this as well. She plays sports, but she isn’t the kind of person who enjoys it, she just wants to look good on her transcript. She is very big on getting into a good college. I more like to just go with the flow, see where life takes me. Which is yet another thing me and my parents disagree about. They think that grades mean everything. But, I believe that extra-curriculars are more important. Either way, I don’t think that grades should be held at such a high respect as they are, and quite frankly, a B+ should be manageable. But, I digress.
The way that I believe this affects my personality is that it basically shapes the way I act socially, plan and simple. I am sort of an outcast in school. I have a strong fear of awkward social situations, so if I am ever put into one, I try to leave as soon as possible, when I could just as simply join into the conversation. Lately I have been getting better, but I am still a socially awkward individual.
My Cultural Identity
I define culture to be traditions, materials, and customs that which a group of people uses to relate to each other and to define themselves. That being said, I believe that Culture defines me as well. It defines me. It defines the way that I act towards others; it defines the things I eat, the people I talk with, the things that I do; culture defines the way I see the world and the people around me. Culture defines me in everything that I do, think, and feel. Culture defines me.
