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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
I believe dreams have meanings and are open for interpretation. I think the unconscious mind can tell a lot. I have no idea what my dreams mean but obviously if I am thinking them they mean something to me. I know some people analyze dreams and whatnot but I don’t want to know want they actually mean according to someone else, I want to articulate them myself. Find out for myself what they mean in my own mind. So here are some of my dreams I’ve had recently or in the past and what I think they mean.
ReplyDeleteWhen I was younger I had this reoccurring dream that I was being terrorized by giant Barbies. They all looked the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes, small waist, pretty face. I would lay in bed paralyzed in my sleep. I couldn’t move because I was scared they would get me or something bad would happen. I had this dream for months before it finally ended. I think this dream means that I might have been insecure of my looks. Never did a Barbie that looked like me terrorize me.
More recently I had a sex dream about Post Malone. I won’t indulge in the details. But it was interesting. I woke up so confused after it, I expected Post Malone to be laying beside me yet he wasn’t Garrett was. I guess this dream is telling me that I want that attention from someone in that social position or that I really like Post Malone even though I’m not attracted to his looks at all.
Some of my dreams are of the same concept but the people in it vary. One dream involved my friends girlfriend and my boyfriend conspiring against me. In real life I adore her and she adores me, but in my dream it was not that way. Maybe this dream is telling me that I am threatened by her unconsciously but I know consciously she is no threat.
Anyway dreams are weird sometimes they are scary such as the Barbie one, sexually confusing like the Post Malone one, or making my second guess like the one about my friend. Whatever they are I still think they have some meaning. With time I begin to realize what these dreams mean or maybe I never will fully know what they mean. Oh well dream on I guess.
I have learned a few times that I am not a very good leader. There is a call center on Fortune Drive where I worked for three and a half years, about two-thirds of which I spent in leadership and supervisory roles. I was promoted because I was and am the closest thing customer service has to a Jungian psychoanalyst - I can take people's tension and teach them to see the ~real problems~, not their imagined problems, all while preserving brand integrity ™️! I believe it was sometimes my job to do bad things there.
ReplyDeleteI tried to unionize the place (already a problem - *I*, on my own, tried to unionize the place) in 2018, when I and many of my co-workers were exposed to toxic pesticides because someone had brought in bedbugs. I've read Jacobin every quarter for a couple of years, so why haven't I internalized the lessons of collective action? I believe I have too big an ego.
When I was a supervisor I wanted to be the GOAT. I wanted my team to be the GOAT, I wanted to train a new generation of supervisors. I wanted to advance further, to move from lower-middle to middle management. I would spend a whole weekend thinking about literally nothing but work. I would go home pissed at a co-worker and feel my brain ablaze continuously til the very second I saw her again. All obstacles became enemies; all slights became insults; all employees, animals. I would classical condition them or I would die--I believe I am deeply vulnerable to obsession.
I believe that where one is not a leader one must follow; but I do not believe every leader ought to followed. So what can a non-leader do who cannot follow? Run away? Beg others to lead? Lay around all day?
I believe some situations are better off ditched.
I really wish everyone could be self-aware enough to know when they're not a good leader. It seems like followers are stigmatized, but in reality every part of the team is just a body part. All of them are so important.
DeleteKremena
ReplyDeleteMarch 31, 2019
The last time I saw Auntie Milka was 18 years ago. My father and I took the 6-hour train journey north of Sofia in order to spend less than 24 hours with my father’s sister and her husband, a man my father didn’t like because he was rough with my aunt. Because traveling long distance is difficult in Bulgaria, especially if one doesn’t own a car (many families do not), I had not visited Auntie Milka and Uncle Dimo in their small village before.
At the time of this visit, I had been living in America for a few years. Already, my family referred to me as Americanka, “the American one.” This made me even more of a special guest for my auntie, who knew I was using precious hours during my short stay in Bulgaria to visit her home.
Though my father assured me Auntie Mulka and Uncle Dimo were not poor, I had a hard time not seeing their lives as lacking. Their unpainted brick house looked unfinished on the outside. Inside, it didn’t have doors, a toilet or a functioning shower. To go to the bathroom, we made our way outside to a small shed with a hole in the ground.
But Auntie Milka welcomed us with a lavish mid-day meal. She had had a long morning preparing a stuffed rabbit, a roasted chicken, and a baked leg of lamb. She and Uncle Dimo had raised all three animals in order to present them to me on the day of my visit. Each main dish was served with multiple side dishes made with seasonal vegetables and herbs from the garden. The drink options included home-made wine and rakia (a potent liquor, usually made from grapes, similar to the Greek ouzo), and an assortment of sodas. “Only the best for my Americanka,” Auntie Milka announced.
Though I don’t eat lunch or meat, on that day I had stuffed rabbit, roasted chicken, and baked lamb for lunch. I also ate Bulgarian side dishes, more numerous than the hours in Auntie Milka’s days. We finished with home-made dessert: a local version of flan. On that day, I knew I could not say no to my aunt and uncle’ generosity.
I believe in hospitality. It’s the Bulgarian way of conveying love.
I love that material wealth doesn't always determine generosity or hospitality. It sounds like your Auntie Milka has (had?) a great heart.
DeleteI believe in learning experiences…
ReplyDeleteI grew up in Lexington, and from the time I was little my parents got me involved in activities hoping I would find my niche. I tried gymnastics and music. It was clear neither was my thing. But from the time I was little I was a pretty good soccer player. I wasn’t the fastest or most athletic player, but I could always see the field and know how the game was to be played. This skill lent itself to becoming a goalkeeper. My parents invested in individual skills, fitness training for me, and I was a hard worker. I became a good club soccer player. I was also a good student, and had a few friends – mostly a few girls on my club soccer team. As time went on, however, they matured, began dating boys, and became involved in a broader array of activities. I, on the other hand, did not. I was awkward in social situations. I didn’t branch out much. I didn’t go to parties. Soccer was my touchstone. It is what I was good at, and it is what defined me. When I had a good game, I felt good about myself. When I didn’t, I beat myself up about it. By the end of high school, I was considered a very good high school player and was selected as a First Team All-State goalkeeper. Transylvania awaited.
I almost instantly formed a bond with the other incoming freshman and/or new team members. While the soccer team turned out to be pretty mediocre, I earned substantial playing time my freshman year and I enjoyed the experience. I played in 50% of the games or more, sharing time with an upperclassman. My college studies were rewarding, and for the first time I had both the time and confidence to take part in school social life and other extra-curricular activities. When I started my sophomore year, I saw myself as on track to be a star soccer player and have a fun college experience.
Everything changed my sophomore year. The coach advised me that while he considered me to be the most skilled of the two goalkeepers on the team, he was going to award the senior goalkeeper the vast majority of the playing time during that year. He indicated that I would not play much that year because he had determined that I was not “mentally tough.” I started only one other game that season. Although playing well in one of our few wins that year, I cried constantly. Soccer had always defined me. If I was a bench player on a losing soccer team, I was in my mind nothing. Classes became more difficult, as did other activities I was involved in. I was not elected to an office in my sorority, although most of my peers were. I struggled with depression.
Despite these setbacks, I still looked forward to my junior soccer season. With the other goalkeeper having graduated, I ultimately thought it would be “my year.” And it started that way. I started many of the initial games, but my season was cut short by injury. I tore a ligament in my ankle, and thereafter my orthopedic surgeon recommended that I have shoulder surgery to repair a tear in the labrum. It was a devastating development in many ways. However, I was better prepared to handle this bad news than I had been earlier. I had begun to appreciate my studies. Rather than focus on doing enough to get good grades, I really began to love what I was learning. I loved learning about history and gender studies. I had studied in Spain., which was way outside my comfort zone. I made new friends – even some not involved in soccer. I started dating. I became more involved in school activities. My outlook had changed. Perhaps soccer didn’t define me after all.
Soccer doesn't define you, Ally. Neither does history. Or your sorority. You are so much more than the sum of all these parts of you!
DeleteSometimes it feels like we’re supposed to experience things for Instagram, and I know it’s not just me because weddings and concerts are plagued with phones sticking out of the crowd like shark fins out of water. Does it really count if you went to the gym or ate a poke bowl if you don’t post the fifteenth photo you took with a clever caption? I love documenting my life through a carefully curated feed of images that tell my story, but I think there’s a pressure to do stylish things so we appear and feel more stylish.
ReplyDeleteWhat if our favorite days exist only in our minds, though? I can’t tell if it’s terrifying or exponentially cooler that a particular memory is a creature that is completely dependent on the host to exist, and once we die, the memory is gone forever. There are no fashionable, filtered, ‘Gram-worthy photos to preserve it. I think what scares me so much is this creature, the memory, is so precious, it deserves to exist as long as Plato’s Republic or Saint Augustine’s Confessions.
But maybe that’s part of what makes these sort of subtle days special. They’re not really secret per se, they’re just not shiny. They’re not aesthetically pleasing or perfectly arranged, and they won’t get any likes or comments of praise. No one will appreciate how special they are. But they are cozy and warm and remind you why you’re alive. They’re so soft on the heart. They will live in your mind’s hall of fame for the rest of your life.
I believe in my favorite movies and craft beer with good friends on quiet Saturdays.
I find myself doing things for the gram more often than I'd like to admit, so I like the idea of not.
DeleteI really like the soft, lyrical ending of this reflection, Emily.
DeleteI graduate in 53 days (not that anyone’s counting). Up until that point, my life will have been directed by a fairly straightforward goal: get a bachelor’s degree so I can get a Real Adult Job and make Lots Of Money so I can Have A Good Fulfilling Life. You know, the American Dream. I’ve got the bachelor’s degree part sorted out. The path to the rest is still obscured. I have 53 days of comfortable routine left before the next big phase of my life begins. I feel that weird mix of excited and terrified that you get when you look over the side of a cliff. I feel full of potential energy, waiting to tumble off the side and become kinetic energy. I don’t have a fear of heights, but I do have a fear of falling.
ReplyDeleteI want more than anything to work in music, but most don’t consider being a musician as a Real Adult Job that will make you Lots Of Money so you can Have A Good Fulfilling Life. I might have a chance if I were any good at writing songs. Too bad I’m not. Instead, I’ve just made friends with lots of other people who are good at writing songs. I’d love to be a music producer, but that field seems to be already saturated by plenty of middle-aged white men who don’t want retire or hire anyone new. Recording demos in a musty basement with people my age seems like a lot of fun - but nobody wants to give you Lots Of Money to do that.
Looks like my best option is to use that Computer Science major I find fascinating but not that fulfilling. Or fake my own death and start a new life underground as a hermit farmer in rural West Virginia, but that would make my mom sad. I can’t Have A Good Fulfilling Life if my mom is sad. Getting a job with a six-figure salary would make her happy. Maybe if working for years in a corporate job I don’t want doesn’t break my spirit, I can make Lots Of Money to pay off my parents’ debts and help send my sister to school and build my own recording studio so I can make music with my songwriter friends and even have leftover money to give to charity, and maybe all of that will let me Have A Good Fulfilling Life. But that’s assuming the earth doesn’t die during my lifetime due to corporate greed.
I believe capitalism is horseshit.
It was super fun to think about all the cool things I can do after graduation like 3 months ago. Now it's mostly just scary.
DeleteYup, it is. Awful.
DeleteThe French word “souvenir” translates to “memory,” which I imagine is why we (and the French) also use the term to describe objects we bring home from our travels. I like the idea of connecting physical, tangible objects with memories of things no longer within reach.
ReplyDeleteFor this purpose, I have a white shoebox-style container in my room which I call my Memory Box. This time five years ago, I had just returned from a trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania and New York City, and several souvenirs from that trip still reside in that box-- including brochures and receipts and tickets and other keepsakes. It also contains objects from other trips I took in high school, like to BETA club conventions in Louisville.
I thought about souvenirs a lot while I was in Pittsburgh on the art trip a little over a week ago. I had to determine what things I wanted to bring back with me when I returned. In addition to brochures and cards, I came back with the following:
From the Pittsburgh Center of the Arts, I got a refrigerator magnet, which has a photograph of the skyline with the city’s name in white cursive font at the bottom. Now every time I open my fridge, I think of the city and that gallery.
From the Carnegie Museum of Art, I got a tiny piece of amethyst for a desktop decoration. I’d been thinking of doing that for quite some time, and then I found some for three dollars in their gift shop and decided to go for it. I like that this one is an atypical souvenir-- it’s not a keychain or a magnet and it doesn’t say “Pittsburgh” or mention art, but I can still connect it with where I got it.
Hours before that, in the same building, I saw two works by Van Gogh in person. Since Van Gogh is one of my favorite artists, I stared at Wheat Fields After the Rain (the Plain of Auvers) for around five or ten minutes. I took a lot of pictures of it, and then I asked my friend Samara to take a picture of me with it. Dr. Goodman’s Art and the Internet class had recently talked about the fact that people often take selfies with artworks, but even aware of that, I felt inclined to do it anyway. I like the idea of having photographic proof I was there. Images are souvenirs, too. (And I certainly have a lot from this trip.)
I believe in Pittsburgh-- in taking trips full of art and walking until my feet hurt to see as much as I can, in sharing meals with good company and getting to know them better, in taking a few days to just have fun-- and I believe in souvenirs to remember those things by.