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Created January 6, 2020
Community? Engagements? Arts? Well, for starters this is a class taught at Transylvania University in Lexington, KY by professors Kremena Todorova and Kurt Gohde. The goal of this class is to form a relationship with the community by engaging in artistic projects with the community. The outcome of this will manifest itself in many ways, some recognizable and others not so much.
CETA 2020: Our first 2 emojis (of hundreds)
Created January 6, 2020
Individual Tasks
Collect addresses, make & write thank-you cards, design pronoun buttons--Anna Davis
Blog Manager--Paige Wessling
Recorder/archivist for This I Believe essays--Sarah Metcalfe
Social Media--Lydia Baggett & Garrett LeVan
Photographic Inventory (3 people)--Yousef Alsdudi, Sarah Bennett, & Faith Boles
Space, raw material, & tool inventory manager AND order enforcer--Emily Neat
Quality Control & Class Ethicist--Alex Toney
Software Design Team (3 people)--Shelby Barker, Emily Cecil, & Abby Pearson
Fabrication Team (3 people)--Brooklyn Greer, Will Hemingway, & Marissa Price
Finishing Team (4 people)--Nannie Baze, Emon Daneshmand, Ally Frederick, & Madison Phillips
Additional photographic documentation--Kremena and Kurt
Working with production design at Kre8Now Makerspace--Kurt and Kremena
Publicity for the class--Kremena and Kurt
Securing materials needed--Kurt and Kremena
“Well son, good luck in community college. You just can’t say you’re not going to try anymore. We can’t afford that.”
ReplyDelete“But--”
“These experiences are going to help you in the future. Sometimes you have to get through the drudgery to get to the fun stuff.”
“But I’m tired of the drudgery.”
“Sorry, that’s life.”
That was tough--that conversation I had with my mother two weeks ago. I don’t like drudgery; I’d much rather live an easy life. So what she said was something I really didn’t want to hear. But I needed to hear it because being negative and despairing of challenge was just going to make things worse. Wallowing in my problems was no way of solving them. I had to take initiative.
So after that, I dropped my fraternity and most of my clubs. And I can say that I wake up in the morning breathing easier. I’m not worried about meeting people’s demands or about fitting in. I can just be me. With that stress gone, I can meet the day with a more positive outlook; I’m not emotionally and physically fatigued. While I still can’t see how some of the challenges of college are going to help me in the future, I can work through them without dragging my feet.
I think the Rolling Stones were right when they said, “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you get what you need.” I couldn’t have it easy, but if I tried, I would get the happy moments I needed. But it’s not about the Rolling Stones being right, it’s about my mother being right. If she hadn’t said what she said, things probably wouldn’t have changed. That’s why I believe in getting answers you don’t want.
First-year is the worst! It gets better from here.
DeleteI agree with Rachel! It gets so much easier, by senior year you'll feel you're not being challenged enough.
DeleteIt’s week two of living atop a mountain in Lincoln, Oregon, far from the land of cell phone signals and WiFi connections. I’m hiking. I made friends.
ReplyDeleteFive of us left our cabins to walk a mile straight uphill, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shasta before sunset. I packed my backpack so I could bring my camera and a snack along. We get 500 feet into the trail before the guy behind me (Connor, from a small Christian college in Michigan) speaks up, “Rachel, what does your button mean?”
Then I remember the “FEMINISTS ARE THE MAJORITY” button I had attached to my backpack after my roommate had brought it back for me from a Vagina Monologues performance the year before.
“Shit,” I think, “I JUST made friends.”
I brace myself for the conversation to come, and reply:
“Feminists are the majority? Like. Even though feminism may seem uncommon, most people believe that men and women should have equal rights, which is what feminism is all about. Some people just don’t like to say they’re feminists because they’re afraid of the connotations the word carries now.”
Connor nods and laughs.
“I saw that on our third day here, and I was a little freaked out. Like, by that point we’d already met and I thought you were cool, but I didn’t realize when we met that you were a feminist. I’ve never liked a feminist before, but I like you. This is kinda neat!”
Sam, after eavesdropping from in front of us:
“Oh good! Does this mean I can ask why you don’t shave your legs??”
We spend the next hour laughing and talking about how we’ve spent our pre-collegiate careers having our autonomy stripped from us by social pressures and expectations. We talk about how I’ve gained some of that autonomy back by experimenting without makeup and razors. We talk about the arbitrary nature of performing masculinity versus femininity. We talk about how being a feminist benefits everyone because it not only allows women to rise in social status, but also allows men to express emotions other than anger and enter non-traditional career fields.
I leave this conversation hopeful that I may have just recruited some conservative white men to feminism’s cause. I wonder how long I will keep my “cool feminist” label.
I believe that feminists are the majority.
Great story! Winning hearts first, before any labels are attached--what a great way to see each other for who we are, rather than for the labels we proudly wear (even if these are labels we wholeheartedly agree with!).
DeleteI was born in England. My father met my mother while he was overseas for the military. My mother was the terrible waitress that messed up my fathers order that somehow turned to love and then me. When I was two years old we moved back to the United States leaving behind grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. People who I wish I could have had in my everyday life. Back in the United States, my father did not have a good relationship with his family. The only family we ever saw was a grandma, who after a couple visits no longer wanted us over for “children should be seen and not heard”. Growing up I watched friends be best friends with their cousins and experiencing those special moments you only get visiting your grandparents. I always thought how people never knew how lucky they were to have cousins and grandparents.
ReplyDeleteFast forward to the summer before my senior year of high school. I was in North Carolina with my high school sweetheart and his family staying in a beach house. It was the first time I was meeting his grandparents and I was nervous. I did not know how to interact with grandparents. What do you talk about? It was an unknown situation.
Walking up those sandy wooden steps I was welcomed with a hug and a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough by my high school sweetheart’s mamaw and papaw and ever since that moment life was never the same.
That day I was given the grandparents I never thought I would have. I was given a mamaw to look through old photo albums and get into card making with. A mamaw I could gossip with and who would lecture about the Lord. I was given a Papaw who made you laugh with his wit and always won at cards. A papaw who had those long stories some grandchildren take for granted and who bowled every Thursday. I was give grandparents to visit on the holidays and a place you could never go hungry. Most importantly, I was given the love you only get from a mamaw and papaw. That is why I believe your family does not have to be by blood.
Yes!
DeleteI think someone else in our class wrote about this, too. I totally agree.
We are surrounded by books with familiar titles: Shakespeare’s Macbeth, Harriet Tubman: Leading the Way to Freedom, When Pigs Fly.
ReplyDeleteNot surprisingly, I am the one asking questions.
Me: When is your birthday?
Ragnar: December 21st
Me: That sucks, having a birthday so close to Christmas. Don’t you hate getting fewer gifts, all because of Christmas?
Ragnar: Yeah, it happens every year.
Me: What’s your favorite gift ever?
Ragnar: A guitar. I love my guitar.
I am not supposed to ask questions, especially of the personal kind. No touch is allowed either. I want to hug Ragnar before he leaves. Instead, I call his name one more time: “Take care, Ragnar.”
Me: What do you like to do in your free time?
Red: I love writing words, making up different scripts.
Me: Can you write something for me?
Red: My name, I love writing my name.
He picks up a brown pencil and takes 2 minutes to create each letter. R—E—D, each letter gracefully shaded, like a new-born animal covered in soft fur. “Take care, Red.”
Me: What are your favorite movies?
Henry: Murder stories.
Me: Do you often watch movies?
Henry: Whenever I am not here. I love movies.
Here: a grey room with no devices that tell the time. I am told there are no clocks in the Juvenile Detention Center.
The people I talk with are teenagers. They address me as Ma’am, even though I tell them they don’t have to. I tell them to call me Kremena. “Yes, Ma’am,” they respond.
Before leaving the room, they make a line, each holding his right elbow with his left hand. They are checked out, one at a time, before they can exit. I imagine Ragnar, Red, and Henry spend hours every day waiting to be checked in, then checked out again.
Though I wish I could send Red away with a 12-pack of colored pencils, he is not allowed to keep them. Colors are predetermined here: navy blue and white for clothes, grey for pencils. Most of the inmates are black.
I believe in saying names out loud. At times, they are the only hugging permitted.
The woman who bought the entire Bergman family together now lays in a casket. During this hard time, the woman’s children have no idea what they will do without their mother. In a family with a thousand different ideas and huge personalities and even bigger pride, she was the one who brought peace to the room. What would happen? How will the family change? Will my family members be able to manage the absence of such a beautiful soul? So many more thoughts pervaded my mind.
ReplyDeleteAs the funeral process continued, my family crossed off more and more societal expectations. We wore all black, collected all her pictures, even the extended family came to mourn this great loss. She lies in her casket as family members say their last goodbyes, while a soundtrack constructed by each of her six children aids those who are filled with despair. See I could not possibly know the answers that filled my mind and I also could not do anything for the six children. This was the first time I felt completely useless. Seems conceded, I know, but in actuality, there was nothing that I could do to makes anyone not miss this perfect mother. After all, she was the most perfect and caring woman, everyone was heartbroken she was no longer apart of this world.
In this moment, Stevie Nicks elegantly sings “I took my love, I took it down. I climbed a mountain and I turned around.” I knew I was not able to mend the break in my family members hearts, some love cannot be replaced. Sitting in a wooden pew, Stevie continued “And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills.” I saw myself, she was my snow-covered hill. Though most others in the room sustained their conversations I sat there taking is every moment of this song in. “ ‘'Til the landslide brought it down. Oh, mirror in the sky. What is love?” What was my love? My love and soul felt blocked, I couldn’t help the six children and the rest of the family I loved so dearly. What was I to do? How could I answer the questions that paralyzed me in the pew? Christine McVie gracefully let go of the last key on her piano and all my questions are answered. I know who I am, I knew I could actually help my family members. I can love. It was alright that my love would not replace the love of this beautiful woman nor should it be compared to it. My love is what I could give, and I think that she knew this about herself as well. Her life was not about what she wanted but rather what she could do for others. My reflection, what I shine onto this world needs to be love. My life will not be measured in what I can accomplish it will be measured in who I can make feel loved.
I believe Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.
This is quite possibly the story of my very first memory
ReplyDeleteOr
I think it’s my very first memory because my parents tell it all the time.
When I was four years old, my two grandmothers, my parents, and I took a trip to the western United States to see my paternal grandmother’s (Evaline’s) family.
On the long drive (yes we drove) out to our first destination, San Francisco, to see my cousins and their new baby, I decided to ask where I came from. It went a little like this:
Madison and grandmothers in the backseat. Grandmothers playing with small Madison. Then, suddenly
Madison: Mommy, daddy?
Mom: Yes sweetie?
Madison: Where did I come from?
The loudest silence in the world.
Mom: Well, honey, mommy and daddy made you.
MADISON contemplates this.
Madison: Did you put my head on first?
Laughter.
This little moment, this little vignette is a perfect example of how my parents treated me growing up. They fostered my creativity at every opportunity. They never told me I was wrong, and they encouraged me to think outside the box. This fostering of my creativity turned me into the poet and actor I am. I believe in letting your children think you put their head on first.
Anytime I was having issues, I would go talk to my grandmother. Unfortunately, I would not have another conversation with her in 2018 and the years to come...at least I thought.
ReplyDeleteIt was the night before winter term started and I was extremely stressed because I know I only have a few classes to pass for the semester in order to complete my degree. I prepared myself for bed like usual and said my nightly prayer to God. I prayed to do well this semester and pass all my classes through his power and touch.
I fell asleep as usual and went through all of my sleeping phases and I guess in one of my phases I started to dream. In the dream I noticed everything was the same in my neighborhood but it was just really sunny and I remembered my granny magically appearing and saying, “I came to spend the day with you all.”
In the dream it was my family and I cousins spending time with her and it was very sunny. There was a park that that used to be right by my granny’s house that we played at but it was with the newer playground. As the dream continued, granny was sitting in her wheelchair along with my grandfather. They said it was time for them to go back now and I started to cry. I assumed that they were going back to heaven and I gave them a hug. She said to me,
Granny: Everything is going to be alright, just believe in yourself.
Me: But, I feel like there’s so much on me.
Granny: It is on you because deep down inside we know that you will be fine in school and life. Stay strong and you’ll be everything you are meant to be. I love you and I will be here.
That’s when I woke up from my dream and realized that my granny was still reassuring me just like the times before when I would go to her house for her to confirm that I am going to be just fine. I believe in reassurance and that your loved ones never stop being with you.
There was a knock at the door of my freshman dorm room.
ReplyDelete“Just a second!” I called out, getting off my bed and scrambling in my mess for a pair of pants- something I almost never wear when I’m at home. Pulling something on quickly, I followed up with my usual response, “Come in!”
It was Lizzie, the only other girl in my graduating class from central Ohio, and someone I had quickly been becoming close friends with.
“Hey, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” she said from the doorway in her warm, friendly manner.
“I’ve been better…” I replied, discomfort coming over my face.
“What’s wrong?” She asked with concern.
“Well…” I started, pressing my lips together for a moment to gather my thoughts, and keep my emotions under control, “I’m…I’m just so frustrated- I feel like I can’t do anything right.”
“What do you mean?” she said, stepping inside and letting the door close behind her.
I took a deep breath, “Well, I’m struggling to get out of bed and actually go to class- some days I’m lucky if I make it to the last ten or twenty minutes. It’s so embarrassing. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She nodded sympathetically as I went on, my internal distress bubbling up to increasingly show in my voice and on my face.
“And I’m even having trouble doing my German homework, which I love! I mean, I guess I just need to push myself harder or something? But I don’t know how. I used to be able to do this before- I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” I said, my composure falling apart as tears of desperation and despair welled up in my eyes. She simply nodded, listening intently, the way she always does.
“I mean,” I went on, “how am I supposed to go to my teachers and ask for help or an extension when the only reason I didn’t get it done on time is that I don’t have enough willpower to make myself do things? I feel so pathetic, and I- I just don’t know what to do.” By this point, tears were rolling down my face. I was in abject misery, blaming myself for my struggles and void of a solution.
“You know that’s a symptom of depression, right?” Lizzie said with concern.
I looked up at her with shock. “Really?” I said in a wobbly voice.
“Yeah, depression runs in my family and I know my younger sister really struggles with that part of it.”
A weight fell off my shoulders as relief washed over me. It wasn’t my fault.
I began sobbing anew, but this time from relief, “I had no idea, I was blaming myself. I thought I just wasn’t trying hard enough.”
“No, it’s a really common symptom! It’s not your fault at all!” she said gently.
“You have no idea what this means to me- I can’t thank you enough.” I sobbed, openly crying, now.
“You’re very welcome. I’m happy I could help- do you need a hug?” Lizzie asked.
“Yes” was my watery reply as I navigated the short distance though my obstacle course of a floor.
“It’ll be okay,” she said, giving me a warm hug and letting me cry on her shoulder.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to communicate how grateful I am to her, but I know she practically saved my life that day, and I’ll forever be in her debt for it. I couldn’t ask for a better friend, and I’ll love her forever. She’s my best friend, and I count myself incredibly lucky to have her in my life.
I believe in friendship.
Consider sharing this reflection with Lizzie. Though she probably knows she means a lot to you, I bet she'll really appreciate it.
DeleteWhy do you have to lie about everything?
ReplyDeleteYou make me SO ANGRY!!
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he says while laughing at me.
HISSSSS!
I clench my jaw and squint my eyes to keep the blood out as I push claws from my fingertips and imagine pulling his voice out through his dirty neck.
But most of the time I read quietly and think about who I will hire to teach Potions and Dark Arts at my camp for witches and wizards and somehow I just know when I see a double-decker bus turned into a coffee shop that my camp will have to be in England, that my father—if ever I am to see him again—will have to be my groundskeeper. He will have a cat.
Speaking of cats, I still have to read chapters 2, 3, and 4 of Catwings to everyone and have already memorized the first chapter:
…...Mrs Jane Tabby could not explain why all four of her children had wings. “Maybe it was because their father was a fly by night” said a neighbor, and laughed unpleasantly, sneaking around the dumpster. PERHAPS it was because before she had them she dreamt of flying away from this neighborhood.…..
But most of the time, if I am not reading, I speak in Meep language which is named for Johnny Meep who died before he turned 1 but was brought back to life and discovered that everyone in Meepville (also named for him) stops aging at 30, or 29, or in very rare cases 31. No one dies.
“Who wants ice cream?”
“I do,” I shout just as my brother does, just before he meanly calls a double jinx on me so I cannot speak until someone says my name 3 times.
“meep”
“meep” (Jinxes do not stop me from talking in Meep.)
“meep” (Thankfully the old people around me seem to understand Meep enough to know that when I speak and pull my paws to my stomach like a rabbit I am pleading with them for something.)
“meep”
“Lily, Lily, Lily”
At last, I can talk again!
Why do you have to be so mean?
You make me SO ANGRY!!
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he says while laughing at me.
“I wish I could put your voice in a jar and throw it out the window!”
That will show him….
--
I believe in the intensity of life lived by an 8 year old and wish the tedium of adult reality could never dull it.
When I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, I refused to accept it. This shrink had only known me for a few months, so what the fuck did she know about me? The more I learned about the disorder, the more I worried that she may have been right.
ReplyDeleteWhen someone doesn’t smile after I tell a joke, I feel that they want me to disappear. When a professor corrects me in class, I feel like I’m an absolute waste of space and he shouldn’t even be taking the time to speak to me. When I reflect on all of the problems in the world, I feel a crushing weight on my head and an oversized lump in my throat as everything seems hopeless. When someone does one small thing that irritates me, I feel a hive of angry bees buzzing inside my body. When the slightest inconvenience disrupts my plans, I fly into a rage and destroy my bedroom before I can even think through what I’m doing. When someone wrongs me, it’s unforgivable and I hate her forever.
But then when someone gives me an offhand compliment, I’m glowing for the rest of the week. When one little happenstance happens to fall in my favor, I feel like my entire body is made out of sunshine. When tiny good things happen throughout the day, I keep a tally of them on my hand and blow a thankful kiss into the universe for each one before I go to sleep. When I find something I love, it’s the only thing in the world that matters and everything else melts from existence. When someone makes it to my highest level of friendship, I would wage a war to do anything that she needs from me.
Sometimes it can be exhausting living in such extremes, but then I think of how empty it would feel to live life only in the middle. I believe in intense emotions, even the ones that hurt, because that’s how I know that I’m actually alive.