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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
This spring break I visited my Grandma down in Florida. Not the ideal spring break for a college student, but it got me out of Kentucky. When my Dad told me I was going to my Grandma’s for spring break I told him there was no way I was going and that I would rather stay in Harrodsburg. Well that hurt my Dad’s feelings and he didn’t talk to be for five days because he knew it would hurt my Grandma's feelings. I was set on not going because who wants to go to an old people community when all your friends are going to Laudy to party for a week. And I was being selfish and bratty. But my Grandma kept talking about how excited she was that I was coming down and I didn’t have the heart to tell her I didn’t want to come. So my Dad told me I had to be the one to tell her. Who wants to tell their 85 year old Grandma that they don’t want to spend time with them. Not me. So I sucked it up and decided to go because I knew my parents weren’t going to let me go with my friends and if I stayed home it would be awkward because they would be mad at me the whole time.
ReplyDeleteNow that spring break is over I am actually glad I sucked it up and went to my Grandma’s because we have a really good time together and I know this might be one of the last trips down there to see her. I have 51 other weeks to see my friends. Granted I missed out on a fun time with them, but it was nothing compared to how happy it made my Grandma that I came down. We have never spent more than a day together until this past week and now I can’t believe what I was missing out on. For being 85 my Grandma is pretty cool and has so many amazing stories to tell, even though I think she exaggerates sometimes. She’s not in the best of health so I hope I can make another trip down to see her soon because we made memories that I will hold onto forever. I believe in making memories with the people you love while you still can.
This makes me want to visit mine more than I already do
DeleteI love it that your grandma exaggerates (sometimes). We all should--it makes for much more fun stories!
DeleteI believe in sunshine. The other day when I was digging my toes a little deeper into the sand every few minutes and was getting some very strange tan lines around my swimsuit, I tried to bottle the feeling, but my empty beer can was no match for reality. It’s a shame, really; I was so prepared for the release of this new product—eau de happy, I think I would’ve called it. Beach happy is a different breed. It’s a $20 pizza when all you’re used to is the frozen kind you cook in your own oven. It’s a breath of salty, warm air that refreshes so much more than my lungs.
ReplyDeleteAnd this sandy, warm place is my favorite place, but it cannot be my everyday place. Back in the Bluegrass, seasonal depression is rears its head, and I wonder how seasonal it really is. But then some blue peaks out from that place we used to call the sky, the place that has been grey since—well now that I mention it, who knows? The grey is unrelenting—and I mean the grey feeling, when it’s cold and cloudy and windy and somehow even the traffic sounds grey.
But the great thing is that the sun and the beach do not have a monopoly over making me feel the way they do. It’s so easy to forget all the little nuggets of joy exist all around us: hearing your favorite (kind of niche) song in a restaurant; clean sheets; weeds that pretend to be flowers; pink sunsets; cats kneading; making that one person laugh; handlebar mustaches; unsolicited (but gladly received) stories from grandparents; funny shirts at Goodwill. I wish I could go on.
And even though I do believe in sunshine, I think these things may be bits of cosmic magic not all that dissimilar from the sun.
There are many beautiful images here. I can feel the warm sunshine and hear the grey traffic and so much more.
DeleteI am not usually an impulsive person. I prefer to sit back and quietly contemplate my options before making a decision. In fact, I’d rather defer the decision making to other louder, extroverted personalities, adding my input only when I think it necessary. If I am the loudest and most extroverted person in a group (not as rare as you might think), however, I have no problem becoming decisive. I’m not sure when, but sometime ago I got tired of standing around, waiting for something to happen to me. And that is the mindset that led me to chop all my hair off and dye it purple.
ReplyDeleteI had wanted to get a short pixie cut for a while. I almost got one last December, but I was unable to make the leap. I did, however, summon the courage the get bangs at the last second. That was my first indicator that I had the power to change something about my life.
After a few months, I got fed up with having to style my hair constantly to make it look decent. As more work piled on, the less time I felt I had to style my hair, which wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t so vain about it. I found myself weighing two options: either I could make an appointment with my mom’s stylist back in Bowling Green at the end of April, or I could just take care of it here in Lexington. So with a little bit of encouragement from a friend, I drove myself to a Great Clips to finally get that pixie cut.
Not feeling new enough, I then drove to the store to grab a box of hair bleach and a bottle of purple dye. I had gained so much momentum, I could not stop, and immediately went back home to give myself purple hair. It’s only been a day, but I still grin at myself whenever I see my new hair while passing a window or sending a Snapchat. It’s so nice to know that I can reinvent my image even in the middle of a grueling semester. I believe in spontaneous and dramatic haircuts.
Megan, I LOVE your new haircut! And the new bold color too!
Deleteyour hair looks so good!
DeleteKremena
ReplyDeleteMarch 17, 2019
Two years after I attended my first Orange Theory Fitness class, I continue to go to weekly classes. Twice a week, I navigate to the orange app on my phone, sign up for a class, and make sure to arrive at least 15 minutes early so I can begin my workout on a treadmill instead of on a rowing machine or on the weight floor.
I faithfully do this even though I don’t like to publicly admit I go to Orange Theory Fitness (OTF). I share this information only in small gatherings. The truth is, I am embarrassed by the connections between race, class, and well-being my gym brings to light. I am made uncomfortable by the cars of the other attendees; the Lexuses, Mercedeses, and BMWs swelling the gym’s parking lot speak loudly about the ways class, wealth, and physical health are connected. That no one calls OTF a gym makes a similar statement. Gyms are echoing rooms in underfunded public schools in Appalachia. My chosen fitness place self-identifies by the activity—getting fit—rather than by the physical space.
Still, I continue to go to OTF, despite the socio-political analysis that runs through my head while I run on a treadmill. I do this because OTF pushes me to run/row/lift like I could never push myself.
I noticed the correlation between the duration of the hyper-intense exercise and the likelihood that I would complete it during my second week of attendance. It was then I discovered I can run really fast, faster than I have ever run in my life, if I am asked to do it for 30 seconds. I can also do it for 45 and even 60 seconds. Any longer than that makes me give up. But at OTF, you are never asked to run really really fast for longer than 60 seconds.
Yesterday it occurred to me the reason for my gym’s success is at the core of Donald Trump’s success strategy as well. For two years now, Trump has been training us to accept quick successions of outrageously bills, laws, words, and stories. Because they happen fast, followed by short periods that allow us to catch our breath, we get used to the intensity of what 2 years ago would have felt like a shocking caricature of a bill, law, words, or story. We strive to reach a place where we can breathe and, hopefully, organize to stand up against oppressive bills, laws, words, or stories. But they come so quickly, we barely have time to rest. Just like OTF teaches me endurance through short spikes of high-intensity exercise, Donald Trump is training us to endure and accept, accept and endure.
I believe we should challenge a regime teaching us to become complicit in trauma.
I believe in puppy kisses from my sweet pit bull mix…
ReplyDeleteIt was a Saturday over christmas break when I got a text message from my sister. It was a picture of 8 puppies. The mom had been picked up on the side of the road pregnant, cold, and hungry. She was asking if I knew anyone that was interested in taking one of those sweet babies in or they would be taken to the humane society. Around 6.5 million dogs enter animal shelters every year and of those 6.5 million, 1.5 million are euthanized. 40% of those dogs that are put down are pit bulls. This means that half a million pit bulls are killed in shelters each year. I could not let those sweet faces be surrendered to a shelter to try to face the odds so I drove three hours to pick her up in the middle of no where. She immediately filled my life with joy and purpose. However, I still had many challenges to face raising this rambunctious pup.
The first was I live in a home where dogs are not allowed. I faced so many struggles trying to hide her from my landlord. He goes through our trash and found a puppy pad and this forced me to move onto my friends couch for three weeks with my fugitive dog. Having to hide her meant that I could never leave her alone which added another layer of stress. My parents also didn’t know. When I finally told my parents they were supportive and offered to foster her until I move into a new place in June.
All of those challenges I have faced with keeping her fade to the background when she licks my face in the morning or when she falls asleep curled into me for protection. I have never had anyone in my life who loves me unconditionally like my sweet Mag Pie. I believe she has made my life better. I believe you should adopt not shop and that the stigma around pit bulls is unfair.
Growing up in eastern Kentucky, I almost never heard the word ‘gay.’ Of course it was within the vernacular of the people of my community, but if they knew the word they never let on that they did. Sure, some people were ‘Qwaire’, but that meant they were a bit different in demeanor. Appalachian culture is one of invitation and comfort. The culture of my youth was as rich as the patchwork quilts my Nana makes. Family dinners were so full of family friends that over time I forgot who was ‘family’ and who was ‘friend.’ White skin and black skin alike had a place at my Nana’s dinner table. A close family friend, Frank, grew up working with my Papaw in the mines. He once told me, ‘Sometimes I feel like a fly in buttermilk, but never when my family is here with yours.’
ReplyDeleteLike Frank, I was also different from my family. My skin was the same, but the soul housed inside it was different. While I was always told growing up that I looked like ‘A White Man’—my grandfather’s joking reference to my Nana’s family whose last name was White—I always felt like the black sheep. While my cousins and I grew up, they all started to date people of the opposite sex. However, I chose to remain single, waiting for the day I could leave home and figure out who I was and if I could love someone like me. I love my family, and while they never showed difference to people ‘different’ from us, I deeply feared losing them by showing them I was different inside.
When the time came, and I moved to Lexington for college, I suddenly felt more able to be on the outside who I had always felt I was inside. I dressed ‘gayer,’ I stopped trying to hide the things I saw as ‘tells.’ I grew up reading stories reminding me that urban areas were more open and modern, and I believed that had to be true.
‘Faggot!’
Suddenly, outside the Fayette Mall, I received my inaugural insult from a girl about my age trying to ‘act cool.’ I was so stunned that I flipped her off and flung an insult back. I’ve never been combative, but I also never expected this new modern home to be the first place that truly made me feel like ‘a fly in buttermilk.’
Occasionally, I think about that girl. I think about the young and ridiculous reactionary way I handled that situation. If I could meet her again, I’d ask her why. I’d offer her a hug. I’d try to bring love to someone who felt such senseless hate. Still, hate exists. Hate of difference and otherness. I believe it always will. I believe in doing my part to make sure that people are treated equitably. I don’t believe in tolerance. That’s an outdated toxicology word meaning ‘how much someone can handle before dying.’ Being different doesn’t kill someone, but treating them differently does. I don’t believe in tolerance, but I do believe we can do our part to make sure no one feels like a ‘fly in buttermilk.’
I’m glad you’ve reflected on that, I probably would have done it and not thought about it. Thank you for your reflection.
DeleteThis is such a powerful statement: "Being different doesn't kill someone, but treating them differently does." You are right: we should never treat with difference or tolerance.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteI believe I’ve found my person.
ReplyDeleteWe attended the same high school but never talked really. We had very small and simple conversations. We graduated the beginning of June and she reached out a few weeks after. I would’ve never expected that day to impact my life in such a way.
The other day, we were talking and she said, “It’s almost been a year that we’ve been doing whatever this is... that’s crazy.” A whole year where I wouldn’t take back anything. Our relationship is something that no one else can understand as we barely understand ourselves.
I call her my sunshine. She’s my positive light in every day. She’s the first one I want to tell good news or bad news to. We’re the only people we can tolerate talking to every day. The only person we would call to get our mind off of things. Our conversations everyday if nothing else- we check on how each other slept, make sure we’ve ate, check on our mental and make sure we tell each other “I love you”.
I love sleeping but she’s one of the few I would lose sleep for. She’s one of the few I wouldn’t mind if she takes a few fries off of my plate. She’s one of the few I would put my things to the side for if she’s not good. If she needs it and I have it, she has it as well. I try to motive her with everything she does because she deserves it.
You know those people you’d literally do anything for? She’s mine.
<3 <3 <3
DeleteI hope you can give her a copy of this essay.
When I heard about the news of the terrorist attack in New Zealand, I was filled with so many mixed feelings.
ReplyDeleteAt first, I felt rage. I was so angry that someone could find the will to kill 50 people and injure dozens because he believes his race is superior to all others.
Next, I felt confused as to how he has been planning this for three years and never caused anyone to be suspicious of him. He travelled to many Muslim countries and never gave a hint he was angry at these people for their beliefs. Instead, he lived among them, ate their food, and enjoyed their hospitality.
As time went on, I began to feel angry again. Media outlets gave excuses as to why this white supremacist committed this heinous act, even bringing up he was bullied as a child because he was overweight. There was little focus on who the victims were and their stories. Some government officials began to shift the blame on Muslims. This was a mourning community - they just lost a sister, brother, mother, father, son…..and somehow they are to be blamed because of their beliefs?
Next, I felt sad and terrified. I kept debating rather I wanted to watch the video of the act and one night I just watched it. It was so heartbreaking to watch how carelessly the terrorist murdered the victims. As a man greeted him into the masjid, he just started shooting and didn’t even think twice. I realized that this could happen to any group of people at any time.
I have come to realize there is a positive side to all this. First, every person who died is considered a martyr in Islam. Second, the unity that resulted from this is beautiful - people came to stand outside mosques while Muslims prayed, others went to mosques to offer condolences and support, donations were sent to help the victims’ families, to name a few. A Transy staff member even sent me an email to let me know she would support the Muslim community and me in any way she could. We also have two professors who organized to go to Masjid Bilal for the next 7 Fridays. And finally, there were government officials who showed true leadership, like Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern. She showed true sympathy to the families, refused to mention the terrorist by name, and called for change. Gun laws in New Zealand are already being reformed.
Although a horrible crime happened, I believe there’s a lot of love and hope out there.
Hannah, I don't know how it's possible for the perpetrator to partake of the hospitality of Muslim people, then do what he did.
DeleteI believe in hospitality. I believe hospitality breaks down walls.
I am forever thankful to all the Muslim people who have shown me hospitality.
I sank, unfocused, into a feeling of being surrounded by fog, of energy loss, of wanting to leave where I was, surrounded by people, to go hide away in my room. I had been fine five minutes earlier, and yet I found myself now unable to listen to what people around me were saying. I could hear only my own thoughts. This mood, which occurred almost out of nowhere, lasted around an hour and a half. It lifted only after forcing myself to sit with friends at dinner in spite of wanting to be alone, because I knew being around them would be better for helping me find my way out than being alone ever could.
ReplyDeleteTwo months earlier, I felt similarly, but that time it lasted for a few hours. I dragged myself to my internship that Saturday and my state of mind followed me there. I felt like I was barely present as my brain tried to convince me that I wasn’t a good enough student or intern. I wished I’d called out of work, but I had worried doing so last-minute would be met with negative consequences I didn’t want to have to worry about. And I was still trying to make a good impression.
Before these instances, I hadn’t felt this way in a year. Before then, I hadn’t felt this way since January of my freshman year. High school me knew these feelings too well, but they faded, thankfully, in my first year of college after I’d had some time to adjust.
Needless to say, it’d been awhile, but it’s stress-related, so I did what I could that week to take it easy while still working and to be mindful of my thoughts to avoid panic or a recurrence of this problem. And I did what I could to be okay with the fact that not everything I turned in that week might’ve been as good as it could’ve been if I’d been able to stay up later without risking causing more problems. Or if I’d had more mental energy.
I saw a post recently that said sometimes trying your best means doing the best you can with the time and resources you have, even if that thing could have been better if circumstances were different. I believe that post is right.
And I believe in trying to be mindful and positive, though it isn't always easy.
I hope you are taking care of yourself, Marissa. This is a tender narrative about struggling to take care of yourself because it's, at times, very hard. Thank you for writing with such honesty.
Delete