snikpmup dna neewollah

Every year when the leaves start to change colors and weather turns cold a certain celebration takes place. These people young and old turn into creatures and disguise themselves and their identity. They go from village to village asking for small objects that are shiny. All of these creatures run from hut to hut asking for these objects. After the sun sets and darkness falls these individuals go back to their villages and empty out their shiny objects. Usually they carry some type of basket that holds all of their gatherings. Next they sit and sort through their basket trying to find the best piece. The shiny part is taken off and then the object is gobbled down. 

Sometimes this tribe will have a gathering a local hut and begin certain traditions. Large orange balls are cut into different shapes and then lit. Some of the smaller creatures bob for red round floats in a basket with liquid. They look like chickens pecking for food. They run around eating small sweet treats and sometimes sit around a fire and tell scary village stories. Overall this celebration occurs every year for this tribe. After a long night of fun these individuals wash/take off their disguises and become themselves once again. 

You know, that thing you do

Every morning, every night, there is something almost everyone does. Lying on the sink is a long object, shaped like a stick with what looks like hair bunched together at the end. There are few next to this particular sink and some are red, some are blue, and a few have more than one color. One looks like it can bend right under where all bunched hair ends, its flexible. A young man walks in and comes directly to the sink. He picks up his "stick like object" and puts what looks to be a sort of liquid on it. It is not exactly a liquid, but a gooey, foam, paste to say the least. He squirts some on to the bunched up hair at the top of the stick. He moistens the stick with paste with water coming out of a silver pipe with two things that swivel back and forth on either side of the pipe. After he runs the stick under water, he begins rubbing his teeth. Back and forth. Up and down. Side to side. The paste, goo encoats his teeth and lips with a white watery substance. He continues this motion for about two minutes. His mouth at the end is filled with what was a thick paste, but now is watery and white. He then turns the pipe back on, and tilts his head to the side like a dog and drinks the water flowing from the pipe. Tilts his head back, and gargles water until he removes all the excess white residue. He spits out the water, i get a scent of mint coming from his breath when he smiles at me after this ridiculous series of events.

Achebe Interviews

Here are just a few interviews with Achebe. This question and answer I found interesting.

It seems that people from places that haven't experienced colonization in the same way have also responded to the story.

There are different forms of dispossession, many, many ways in which people are deprived or subjected to all kinds of victimization -- it doesn't have to be colonization. Once you allow yourself to identify with the people in a story, then you might begin to see yourself in that story even if on the surface it's far removed from your situation. This is what I try to tell my students: this is one great thing that literature can do -- it can make us identify with situations and people far away. If it does that, it's a miracle. I tell my students, it's not difficult to identify with somebody like yourself, somebody next door who looks like you. What's more difficult is to identify with someone you don't see, who's very far away, who's a different color, who eats a different kind of food. When you begin to do that then literature is really performing its wonders.

The Atlantic

BBC

Conjunctions

Blog Post: The Nacirema

For this blog I would like for you to find one aspect of your every day life and take a anthropological look at it. Look at it as if you were an alien studying American culture. Then write 250 or more words in the same style as the Nacirema essay. Don't tell us exactly what it is you are describing and analyzing. Let us figure it out for ourselves.

Find the essay here.

Here is a response to Nacirema I found: Religious Beliefs

Due next Monday. Be sure to comment on someone's blog! Last blog there were 2 comments. The comments are just as important as the blog post. You will NOT get full participation credit unless you comment.

Lonely Little Love Dog

I had decided to go on a train ride one day after work. I was bored and decided to use my U-Pass just because I could abuse the privilege. I sat quietly by myself, my hands folded in my lap and I stared out the window until I reached Belmont. When I reached Belmont I decided to go back the way I came when I saw him.
Short.Fat.Black and Gray. He had a pouty lip and brown sad eyes. He waddled onto the train. No one paid attention to him but me. He stared forward at nothing inparticular when I turned my Ipod to Tv On The Radio , "Love Dog." He looked like a gentle man. Probably had seen a lot of hardship in his life. Not homeless but close to it. Maybe women never paid him no attention because he looked at the pretty girls when they came on but quickly looked away when the doors closed.They didn't look back. Not happy. Not sad but his eyes were permanently sad. I wanted to know him. I secretly wanted to be a relative of his and sit and listen to him talk. I wondered what he sounded like. In my mind he spoke softly almost at a whisper and spoke only when he had something important to say because I like people like that. I wish I was more like that because some days I feel as if I am just talking to talk. Every now and again he would study his hands and it made me wonder was he realizing for the first time how much they changed?
Lonely little love dog that
No one knows the name of
I know why you cry out
Desperate and devout
Timid little teether
Your eyes set on the ether
Your moon in a bella luna and
Howling hallelujah
Nameless you above me
Come lay me low and love me
This lonely little love dog
That no one knows the name of
Curse me out in free verse
Wrap me up and reverse this
Patience is a virtue
Until it's silence burns you
And something slow
Has started in me as
Shameless as an ocean
Mirrored in devotion
Something slow
Has sparked up in me
As dog cries for a master
Sparks are whirling faster
Lonely little love dog
That no one knows the ways of
Where the land is low is
Where the bones'll show through
Lonely little love dog
That no one knows the days of
Where the land is low is
Where the water flows to
And holds you
The song described him perfectly and when my stop had came and I had to go back to the apartment. I smiled at him and he smiled back.

Mother in pain

I walk down Chicago in my same routine in my same route when i get off of the Metra. You always see some homeless person walking down or sitting down in some place holding a cup probably a Coffee cup hoping to get some change for his or hers next meal. I see it all the time its inevitable to not see one. I always walk in my same route to get to school and i see all these hobo's but one suck out to me the most.
It was cold outside and raining one gloomy morning and i see this little old lady probably in her 60's or so holding up her little hand in a gesture for some hope for some change in her life. i can see in her motherly eyes hoping to be back to her normal life back to her family lives. Holding her son or daughter arms again. She lost it all by drug abuse, lost it all by gambling, and probably lost it all in selling her house for just one hit. Family lost her and they left her they couldn't handle raising her instead of her raising them. how could this be that one thing in her life is gone by something that rips though her addiction. If she has one chance one more time to be with her family.

Crazy on the Red Line

Well, as you all know the red line is a little ghetto to say the least. I usually have to ride from Harrison to Grand so it's not to bad. I was getting on the red line last monday night when this crazy lady followed me on and started ranting and raving about life and whatever other mumbo jumbo she was spewing out.  Just for the sake of things I am going to call her Mary.

Mary is 45 years old, a heavy smoker(at least the butts she finds on the ground) and she drinks anything she can put her hands on.  Mary hasn't always been like this though. She was 20 years old, a graduate from Northwestern looking to enter Law School when tragedy struck her. She became ill, couldn't work, and bills just kept piling up. You see, Mary lived paycheck to paycheck and like most of us she was one payday away from being homeless all of the time. Her illness unfortunately left her homeless because she was evicted since she couldn't work to pay her rent.

Sad but true many people we see that are homeless may be like this and I often wonder what back ground they really came from. Just a thought...  

The Man with the red sweater

I was on the mega bus coming from Miwaukee and i was really curious about this man that was sitting in front of me. He was wearing a red sweater, had a full beard, not long, not short hair, in the middle. He was tall and looked like he could hold his own in a fight or some encounter on the street. He has a wife, her Name is Lydia and they have six children. Three Boys and Three girls. There are two sets of twins, two girls and a boy and a girl. Their names are Lucy, Mike, Chad, Journee, Lacy, and Zane. They are all in middle school and love it. The man with the red sweater, his name is Lynall, and he works for the city, waste management company. His wife works for a company as a secretary and has been divorced three times. They are both 45 years old and love living in CHicago. They wish they could raise a family else where, but both their jobs do not allow them to m ove. They have to maintain an income and quiting now would not be the best idea for the both of them. Lynall loves to go to movies and read Jack Kerouac books. He loves studying the Vietnam war and is not a fan of the government. He is wearing a red sweater, kahki pants, and birkenstock sandels. He is a vegetarian and used to ride horses as a young child.


I vote for Daves project- The lego Tower

Dee on bus 3

Dee is sitting on bus 3 heading south. As most older people do, she sits as if her back is strained. Her face looks strong but worn out, like she has been through a lot in her life. She is dressed in brown slacks, a purple jacket, black leather gloves, and a brown scarf. Her black gym shoes are orthopedic and look a little too big. The lipstick she wears is a bright pink fuschia color that is supposed to be for someone half her age. Dee's hair color matches that of salt and pepper, it is slicked back and the ends are curly. An old brown leather saddle bag is draped on her shoulder and is worn across her body. With her is a personal shopping cart; it is made of black metal and houses skim milk, oat meal, prescriptions, green veggies, and toliet paper.

Dee looks out the window. Then around her. She hears something. She looks down, her purse is vibrating. She opens it and pulls out her cell phone. It is a flip phone and it is big and silver with a navy blue face. WILL CELL CALLING... it reads. Will is Dee's husband. They meet her junior year in high school. They started dating within the next year. The year after that they had a baby boy, they named him Emmanuel (Everyone calls him Manny). The year after that they were married. They have been together ever since. They have been through so much, but have loved each other through it all.

Dee smiles. She answers, "Hello?...What? What's wrong?" Her face drops, her smile fades. "No...no...no." A tear falls. "Okay, we'll leave right when I get home. Make sure you're ready. I will be there in 2o minutes...Good-bye, I love you." She closes her phone and looks down. Deep breath. Dee makes the sign of the cross and starts to pray. When she gets home in 20 minutes she will have to leave for the hospital with Will. To see her son Manny.

The Mega Bus Mystery Woman

Coming home on the Mega Bus was always fun because you got to sit through a five hour drive with a lot of interesting people. I always got stuck sitting next to a person who would fall asleep and snore or twitch. This time was different because I got to sit next to a good looking girl. She had brown hair and a Chad Johnson jersey on( Cincinnati Bengal Receiver). She looked my age and she had Mt. Notre Dame sweatpants on, which is a high school back home. I hung out with MND girls but i had never seen her before and I had no clue who she was or if she was even from Cincinnati. She could have been visiting friends. 

She is a freshman at Depaul. She is heading back to her dorm to see her friends. She cares about what she looks like and she cares about how people see her as a person. She is a Communications major. She likes sports and watches them often. She doesn't have a job but is in the process of getting one.

the garbage man.

On the Red Line. Got on at Belmont, headed towards 95th. It's about 1 o'clock in the afternoon, so the seats are all taken. I stand in the aisle, across from a most interesting man. He wears a tattered jacket with old green pants and worn out shoes. He stands in the corner of the dividing panel and the wall, reading the comics in the Chicago Tribune. The strange thing about this fellow is his luggage. Along with his dirty old backpack, the man has two large garbage bags that I am sure are full of garbage. The smell of the car confirms it. So I wondered: Why would this man be taking his trash on the train?

This man was successful. This man had a home. This man had a family. This man was making more money than he knew what to do with. This man made a bad decision. This man lost everything. This man was forced to the street. This man was transformed from a loving father and husband to an eccentric bum that people stare down at as he walks by. This man is forced to carry around the unpleasant garbage bags full of his past. This man can do nothing else but read the paper and try to get to his final destination, wherever that may be.

Inside the mind of Danielle the Democrate

The red line… the only line I ever take around the city on a daily basis. As much as I take this line I’ve never seen the same person twice; always giving me a new atmosphere to soak in on a early Sunday morning. As I scan the car for my next form of entertainment, I can’t help but notice the women right beside me. A plump girl with curly brown hair pulled back, with bright glittery clips, into a tiny little floof of a pony tail. She’s wearing black square plastic rim glasses perched on her round nose and a camo zip. I can’t help but notice the four buttons placed strategically on the right side of her zip up. They are all democratic champagne buttons. Every other button bashes the Bush administration while the others promote Obama. I couldn’t help but notice her matching Obama shirt under her zip up and the frantic scribbling she was doing in her My Little Pony notebook. As I placed myself in the perfect position to read over her shoulder without looking like a complete creeper, I noticed she was writing down a list of words. War, Liar, Revolution, Dream, Vote, Change… these where just a few jotted down on the lined paper. Constantly she was periodically checking her watch and looking out the window with a hint of annoyance in her big brown eyes. Once she catches on to my gaze upon her notebook she quickly slams it shut, hugging it towards her body. Her gaze slowly lowers as she trails deep into her thoughts on the upcoming Students for a Democratic Society meeting at DePauw University that she’s about to be late for. She was so anxious and scared about speaking in front of her fellow group members, but since she’s president she has to face it every week. The long commute into the city made it worse because it was just more time she had to sit and think about all the things that could go wrong during her opening speech at the meeting. This meeting she really wanted to get people pumped and excited about their biggest event of the year… the election. The group would be working the polls and she wanted to grasp how important it was to be contributing even the slightest to making a difference. She wanted to nail this one, so to cope she brought out her favorite notebook and started jotting down words that came to mind when she thought of their cause and the presidential election. Finally, she was relaxing a little then she felt someone’s gaze upon her making her very self conscious, so she quickly closed her notebook. She didn’t know why she felt those scribbles shouldn’t be read by anyone but her… It wasn’t as if anyone would understand there meaning. But she did and they had a personal meaning to her with not only the election but also as an outlet for coping. She felt that if someone could read those they’d see through her mask of confidence and business like demeanor she wished to portray. She like the rest of society didn’t want to face her own vulnerability, and if she can trick society into believing her act… maybe, she could trick herself.

Glam

In the back corner of the El sat a beautiful girl. Her long, dark, wavy hair fell over her shoulders. Her side bangs hung in her face. She was spacing off, looking out the window of the El, lost in thought. Her head was bobbing to the beat of the song on her i-pod. Her style was totally vintage. She wore a dark sun hat with a bright right scarf tied around her neck. She looked away from the window and we made eye contact. Her eyes were alive. I found peace in her smile. The El stopped and the girl jumped up to get off at her stop. Once at her stop she made her way to the streets of Chicago. Obviously in a hurry she rushed to Argo Tea. As she approached a boy greeted her with warm smiles and hugs. He wrapped his arms around her thin body and they entered the cafe. Little did she know that later that night this boy would be proposing to her. He was in a band and had been touring for a while, while she had been here in Chicago studying for her major. They sat in front each other holding hands, lost in each others eyes. He knew she was the one. After tea they hugged goodbye, for they had to get ready for dinner later that night. They parted ways. Later that night, she became Mrs. Cody Clark. Her eyes held true happiness, and her smile held true joy. 

Alone and In Need

Raven opened her eyes. The time was probably 7 am, since traffic had yet to pick up and the sun was only just beginning to creep over the vast cityscape. Lying under a long stretch of bridge on Grand Ave, Raven hesitantly stood up. She looked both ways up and down the dirty sidewalk she slept on, and seeing that no one was around, she gathered her belongings. They were a newspaper dated August 13, 2008, a faded blue comforter with many holes leaking a synthetic cotton, a thick coat, and a pair of shoes. All but the shoes she shoved into a large orange gym bag with a pullstring close. The shoes, black, velcro, dated, she slipped over her feet. She wore brown socks with rips in the ankles. She threw the bag over her shoulder and began walking aimlessly.

With no where to go, Raven often stopped in a shady area to sleep and rest. It didn't matter if people saw her. She had grown accustomed to being stared at. She had been homeless for 3 years now. She had all but forgotten the life she used to live. All that mattered was now. Surviving.

Everyday, Raven used her cardboard sign with the writings "Please. Anything will help. God bless you." She found that tourists often were more generous than locals, so Raven spent most of her days up and down Michigan Avenue, wandering back and forth from hotel to hotel. It was difficult to get money, or anything for that matter. Her appearance was far from acceptable. She wore a brown sweatshirt with many stains on the front. She wore gray sweatpants, also worn out, as well as her shoes. She hadn't taken a shower in at least a month. She knew she smelled.

One day, as she held her sign, an elder woman walked out of the Hilton. She looked to be in her mid 60's, wore a mice summer dress and white shoes. Her hair was a flowing gray. Raven saw her, and to her surprise, saw the woman take notice to her. The woman approached her, handed her a transit card and a twenty dollar bill. She only said "God bless" and walked away. Raven sat there open-mouthed.

Standing, she looked after the woman to thank her, but she was gone in the crowd. With a sense of determination, Raven proceeded to the nearest restaurant. She arrived at a McDonald's. After eating as much as she could, she gripped her transit card as she proceeded down the steps into the red line. She didn't know where she was going. She didn't care. She wanted to escape.

Sitting on the train, she glanced around at the other passengers. She didn't want to sit next to anyone, so she sat her large orange bag on the empty seat next to her. Glancing up, Raven noticed a tall younger fellow glancing over a her. She felt self-conscience and glanced in the other direction. She could tell he was still noticing her, and wondered what he was thinking of her. What types of conclusions is he drawing? How does he view me?

He exited the train at the following stop. She looked up, already drawing conclusions about him...

A Standing Girl

When I walked into the orange line at 12PM, I saw a girl was standing next to the atomic door of the train. The girl was having short hair. She was wearing a dark gray jacket, a pair of skinny blue jeans and a pair of red shoes. Also, I saw her was listening her ipod. She was leaning on the atomic door and sending text massages. She was a college student and going to school that like me. After the train passed through the Halstead, she got a text massage and smiled lightly after she read the massage. That smiling was sweet. This was because that massage was from her boyfriend by her boyfriend did something she was unlike. He wanted to say sorry to her and make her happy. But, she was thinking about her class project for her major, Economics. She needed to go outside of school to interview any at least five people. And then wrote a report according to the interviews and your thoughts. She still leaned on the atomic door and looked out from the train quietly. She was a lucky girl because she didn’t need to worry any thing by her parents did for her. Her parents were chosen the school for her from she first time went to school to now. She just followed what her parents would like her to do to finish the things. That was why she thought about and worried her project. She needed to become an independent person by she always leaned on her parents. This project was the first step might bring her to become independent.

Reading a Young Girl

Here I sit on the L right next to a little girl playing with her Barbie doll. She is frail with blue beach ball eyes, sitting with her legs dangling below, kicking them left and right into the air. She is wearing bubblegum pink jelly shoes and a pink dress with cherry red flowers lining the bottom. Her skin is light and pasty. She looks like she has not been in the summer sun in ages. As she was playing pretend with her Barbie I noticed her right arm had a big black and blue mark with a Tasmanian devil band aid over it. It looked like my arm after I had blood drawn when I was in seventh grade, although I had a dull beige band aid. Her arms were like toothpicks and her face was small and sickly looking. The only color came from her rosy cheeks and blue eyes which contrasted nicely with one another. She had a big smile that took over her entire face. All her teeth shown, which wasn't many since she lost the two front ones, grinning ear to ear. This little girl looks like any other little girl in the world. The Barbie in one hand and pink everything; except for one thing. Her strawberry blond hair was shaved and looked to be growing back. Something that a young, playful, vibrant little girl should not have to face. The image of life and fighting for it was written in those crystal blue eyes. I will never forget her childlike behavior, making swimming movements with her Barbie, chewing green apple gum, smacking it between her teeth and gums; her energy was of a child dealing with a grown up sickness, cancer. 

Unit 1 Project

In the comments cast a vote for which unit 1 project you want to represent our class!

Blog Post: A Story Of A Life

Here is a famous poem by Ezra Pound that may encompass how some of us feel as we look at all the people going by in this huge city.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.


For this post I want you to create a life! We are surrounded by thousands of people every day. Where are they off to? What do they care about? For this post I want you to observe someone on the train or bus and create a back story for that person. Describe them to us in detail and then tell us about them! What do they do for a living? Are they married? Single? Do they have kids? What are their hobbies? Did they go to college? What was their major? You will not talk to them. This is the opposite of journalism! Go wild.

Due next Monday 10/20.

Remember to post on one other blog for full credit!

this is kirsten's project...

To prove that someone does not have a life is an impossible feat. Everyone has a life and a tale to tell. My life is generally dull, but even through the monotony each week i find reason to get up each morning. The mundane day, we live a story full of comedy and drama which we often overlook. There’s something universal and entertaining about how we go about our day, the way we communicate, especially in todays more wired society; our invisible community we gather on the internet or through a phone. All this simultaneous to the physical world we interact in. I aim to bring out that world and show that even when we’re to ourselves, we’re still together.
The ordinary can be epic; fights with friends and family can seem like warfare, and good conversation can be as good as any stand up comic. If we could contrast the two, we would begin to see how we find enjoyment in the average hour spent together. Art does not exist in a vacuum, but it doesn’t exist in a fantsy world of makebelieve either. Living is an art, and I hope to help show how any instance can be interesting.

Here's the play: Right here

Amanda Doering's Project

Summertime Flowers

The sun is shining through the puffy clouds above
Its orange and yellow rays embrace me
Nourishing the flowers below
Those vibrant pinks and reds
With droplets of dew running down their plush petals
I close my eyes and take in the smell of sweet flowers
Reminding me of the garden my mother has back home
I see her radiant face caring for each plant
Compassionately growing each one with patience and love
Her smile is forever embedded in my heart

Artist's Statement --

First off, let me start by explaining my passion in life. My true passion is writing and journaling. I usually write poems, short stories, or just a journal entry of the day’s events. In this project my work consists of poems that explain who I am at this very moment in life. My work is inspired by my personal experiences, family, where I grew up, influential people, friends and books. It is so hard to identify as just one thing. Within this project I have developed many layers of poems that go from the physicality of me to my inner being.
Going more in depth in this project, identifying myself and trying to inspire whoever reads my work to find their inner self, is how I want to motivate. By taking my poems and writing them in layers I am slowly identifying myself and what defines me as a person. I wanted to write specifically about my parents and the connections I have with them; also my work experiences because I think that this is another defining factor of my identity. Overall I want to portray myself in the light of being family orientated and well rounded.
With my book I am using different pictures to symbolize my past experiences and my life. The front has two quotes that mean something to me and have given me inspiration. I have two eyes on the front as well. One is small and black and white. The other is big with multiple colors. The small eye is looking up to the big eye to symbolize thinking outside of the box and always looking for something better in life. I chose a lantern and put a flower inside of it. This represents my mom who has always given me light in dark times and the yellow flower symbolizes her beautiful bright presence in my life. The next artifact one the front is Jesus opening a heart door. I am religious and that is a part of my past, present, and future. I wanted to show him as always opening doors, especially in my life. I know he has been there to pick me up when things have gone wrong. I chose a black and white background because I feel as though my life at one point was very black and white. Then color was added, as I got older. Life started to become more meaningful as I matured.
My poems are all about the people who have influenced my life and myself. Especially my mom and dad. I write a specific poem about my mom as a flower. I also write about my best friend Alexis in this story and how she has helped me grow as a person and has influenced my identity. I think my work ethic is a huge part of my identity as well, so in two other poems I discuss my working experiences from when I was younger and one from present day.
Overall, I want whomever reads this to be able in some way relate it to their lives and realize that although we might be complete strangers, have different backgrounds, in some way we are connected.

Elizabeth Ragan's Project

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder”; a popular saying that most of us have heard at one time or another. The architecture of our lives surrounds us McDonalds, the Sears Tower, and our homes. Although not something inspired by a specific human architecture carries a sense of warmth and that is what drives me. I love buildings that are warm and inviting places where souls can meet; sharing a cup of coffee or glass of wine. Creating a space or building is easier said than done having to strive everyday to be better and pay attention to the world around us and it’s ever changing needs.
Giving the straight lines of a blueprint life, making them move, and their beauty rise into the sky is my passion. Architects never know how the structure will change and if anything will aspire then to those changes. Life is rooted in creativity always giving something a chance; art and science working together hand in hand.
Many things have inspired me through life, but when I see buildings I see endless possibilities inside and out. Art stops where my imagination stops. God gave me talents to see things maybe others wouldn’t and to collaborate with those who have been given talents I do not posses. The human race was designed to work as a team and I see that as a huge strength for the imagining mind. I will always keep learning new things if I’m not willing to do that life would lose its virtue.


---- When choosing to do this self portrait I was thinking of a way to combine everything I do in to one body of work. Not sure how it would come together and if it would be possible. I have chosen to take slides of my work from my architecture classes, makeup artist projects, and the rock band I was in to compile slide show. I narrated this slideshow myself with an instrumental soundtrack. I hope this piece brings across who I am and that I have a deep rooted passion in many areas.

David McNeely's Project

Artist's Statement on its way!

Bowen's Project

Artist's Statement on its way!

Dance Defines Me

During this project, I faced the complicated task of defining myself. Rather than picking a personality trait or picture, I decided to focus on my passion, dance. Dancing for me isn’t about being the best; it is more of an expression of my emotions through movement. After a hard day at school, I would come into the studio and just let the music take over me. Through my movements, I could release all the built up tension from that day and really connect with my feelings. Dancing has become a daily ritual of not only distressing my body and mind, but a critical way of tapping into my inner most emotions. This emotional connection has made dance very personal to me and hard to talk about, thus I decided to do a visual interpretation. This visual definition sums up over 15 years worth of development in my movement. It also presents all the different dance styles that have helped mold me into the performer I am today. I decided to show multiple dances because these dances are more like journal entries to me. As cliché as it sounds, each dance captured an important point in my life and when I was performing each piece I was “bearing a bit of my soul.” So I feel that the loss of one would form an incomplete representation of myself and diminish the projects overall meaning. Through the formation of this visual representation, I have become more aware of what direction I’m heading as an artist along with an idea of what times I began to really change as a person.

Remember

Remember you must answer both questions for each project, not just the first one.