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Art and Approval

When I was in elementary school my favorite subject was art. I’m not sure what drew me to it. Maybe it was the ability to brush my feelings onto paper or perhaps I enjoyed the feeling of pastels smudged onto my fingers after working on a piece. Pastel crayons were one of my favorite mediums to work with. The crayons were soft and velvety, making strikes and swirls across the page almost effortless. Pastels not being stiff like other mediums allowed for more unrestrictive expression.  

Every year my school had a grade by grade art contest and show. Each grade got assigned a medium to work with for the contest and my grade at the time was assigned pastels. My mouth found itself turned into a grin at the news. This would be an opportunity to beat Reagan, one of my classmates who not only won this competition every year but the yearbook cover contest as well. Winning the competition this year would not only prove how serious I was about art to my teachers and classmates, it would also show my family that this was passion they needed to support.

I decided to not plan my art and to make it up as I go. I turned a light blue pastel onto its side and rolled it onto my paper causing splotches of blue on the paper. The patches of blue with the off-white paper peeking through reminded me of the sky minutes before a downpour. I then knew I wanted my drawing to be scenery of nature. Using different shades of brown pastels I made a smooth mound in the bottom corner of the page that represented the ground. On the bottom of the page, I created a lake that was a slightly darker blue than the sky and had gentle ripples on its surface. I finished by creating long strokes of different shades of green onto the ground, forming blades of grass.

Weeks later after I submitted my work I found myself at the art show with my parents. My grade’s art was posted on a hallway wall. In the center of the wall was a piece with the winner’s name under it in bold letters: Reagan. Disappointment uncoiled inside of me. My dad noticed my enthusiasm turn sour and put his hand on my head while looking down at me.

“Well… yours was my favorite.”  My heart beamed at his words. Although I lost the art competition I always won my family’s support and I knew I could count on them for approving my life choices.

My family always knew I liked art. They never blinked an eye at me taking art camp over the summer or me continuing art as an elective in middle school. They didn’t even flinch when I said I wanted to be an artist when asked what did I want to be when I grow up. When I put my words into action, that’s when they got nervous.

I was in the backseat of my dad’s car. The road was clear for the most part with the exception of a stray car here and there. My dad, deciding he could give some of the attention he was putting towards the road to me, turned down the radio and looked up into his rear view mirror.

“Have you given any thought as to what you want to be when you’re older?” My eyebrows furrowed in thought, although I already knew the answer.

“An animator.” I said it with no hint of a doubt slithering into my words.

“Oh, so you want to work on Disney movies?” My dad was taken aback. This was the first time my answer to this common question changed from “artist” to “animator”. It was becoming clear that I was becoming more determined about pursuing an art career. The more it became transparent that my passion wasn’t just a hobby the more worried my family got for my future.

“Uh, well I wasn’t thinking working for Disney exactly.” I ran my hands over the grooves of the car door in thought. “I really want to make a cartoon one day and maybe work at Cartoon Network.”

“And how will you do that?”

“There’s a college called CalArts that I’m interested in.”

“CalArts? Where’s that?”

“California” There was a pause before he spoke.

“That’s so far away… are you sure about this?” I hesitated before my answer. This was the first time I was unsure about my art.

“Yes.” That was the end of the conversation and my dad’s attention returned back to the road. I knew he was only worried for me, but I was not yet familiar with my plans for the future being met with doubt. From there on I questioned my love for art and how far I was willing to go to so I could pursue it. I proved to my family how serious I was about art but in exchange, I received uncertainty in my life choices.

Introduction:

Goals that I had for my paper was to really be able to include all the components into my story effectively and evenly. And to have a balance of everything, the descriptive scenes, reflection, and large idea. I think that parts that I am most proud of would be the whole process of editing and revising my essay. It really changed the whole flow of my essay from the beginning and I think that the improvements that I made, really helped convey my message. Some areas for improvement for the future would have to be to decrease the amount of words that I wrote. I wrote a lot and at first I had 2000 words and I erased and changed it until 1000 and even though it’s way more than the maximum, I still need to improve on this.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t do anything right. Being silent and listening was all that I could ever do. The pain ached from the inside and out, puncturing holes into my heart. The feeling of remorse and sorrow poured out of my body out in the form of tears. I remember that heartstopping moment, it felt like my whole world was getting flipped and tossed around.

I was in history class when I got the text from my best friend, Michelle.

“I can’t stop shaking.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”  I started typing at soaring speed.

“I can’t talk right now.” She texted back.

But I was persistent on getting a response. As time passed, I felt myself sink down lower into my seat.

My thoughts started a violent and gory war in my head, the sword were her words that cut me and the blood were the tears that followed. My eyes stayed glued to my phone.

My friends noticed how I was behaving. They fed me the words that were meant to comfort. I could see the disappointment on their faces when I would look up and ignore them.

“Tell us what’s wrong,”

“What happened?”

“Please tell us.”

Their words went in through one ear and out through the other. I sat there with my thoughts, what should I do if it’s something bad? Am I really her best friend if I can’t help her? I saw my phone flickered on.

“My baby cousin…. my mom called me,” She paused between texts,“H- he’s dead...”

I felt my whole body slowly close in on itself. My jaw dropped and the tears followed and fell down my face with no control. I ran out the door of my class and straight into the bathroom.

I called her and she picked up right away.

“Michelle… Are you okay? I  am so so sorry. How did it happen?” I said, as I thought to myself, should I have not asked how it happened?

“I can’t do this right now.” She said, I could hear that she was crying uncontrollably.

I heard knocks on the bathroom door knowing that it was my friends that ran after me. They were calling my name and telling me to come out. But I ignored them once again.

I knew that whatever I would say to her right now wouldn’t be helpful. It would just be a bunch of words that mean nothing. I gave her as much time as she needed to explain everything. As I sat on the window sill, listening to my best friend and crying.

She was feeling useless as much as I was. Feeling powerless to do anything to help destroys and destructs you from inside out. You feel this automatic anger and hate yourself because you’re not doing your best. You start to shut out everyone who cares about you and start to isolate yourself from who is “trying to help.” The worst part is not understanding and lying. Simply saying the words, “I understand what you’re going through,” can deepen the pain and agony of the person even more. They know that you don’t understand and you’re left with no other option. Can anyone really ever help anyone that is suffering?

No matter what age I was, I found myself in these moments. As a young girl, I wasn’t aware of everything happening around me but I noticed when someone looked upset, or  looked like they were in pain. Like in the sixth grade with my bestfriend, Lyna.

I’ve only known her for 2 years back then, but I knew that the second I met her, she would be one of those friends that I would grow old with. We made plans to be roommates in college together, to share every detail of each other’s lives together, and to dance until we can’t anymore. This seemed like the year where everything would start changing. In the eyes of Lyna, it was a different change, the type that would change her life forever and she wasn’t ready for it.

“I think they’re separating.” Lyna said one day when she walked up to me during breakfast.

“Separating what?” I said, completely clueless.

“Mom and dad. They’re not happy.” She said looking around, hoping no one else was listening.

Not happy? I would think to myself, I’ve never heard of a separation of parents or loved ones, aside from the movies. My mind was glued to the idea that families stick together and love each other endlessly no matter what. “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health..” I truly believed that this was always the case. I told her that her parents love each other very much and nothing will happen. But who was I to tell her that it was going to be okay when I didn't even know myself?

“They aren't the same. They're fighting every single day.” She said to me, as a single tear would run down her face.

“But that doesn't mean anything does it? Parents always fight.” I said with a hopeful tone.

She looked away, disappointed and said with her head down,

“You won't understand anyway. Your family is perfect.”

Perfect? What am I supposed to do with that? My family for one is not perfect. I told her the words that I regretted the second I said it.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Almost everyday, Lyna would come up to me in school with an update about her parents. I would listen but not understand, yet I still tried to. This went on for a few more years until it finally happened, the fear that she grew up with, the nightmares that she wished never came true, did. She was my best friend, she couldn’t do this alone, and she wasn’t alone. Although I thought that all this time, I wasn’t helping, I was wrong. The attempt of trying to help and comfort goes a long way. Having the intentions of extending out a helping hand, the act of doing so makes all the difference. You can never fully cure that damage within but you can apply the bandage and cure it slowly.

Philadelphian Food Deserts

Hi! During my last two posts, I talked about the food access in Philly. In my first one,I explained how social this issue was and how hard it was for someone who lived in a disfavored area or someone who didn’t enough money to get healthy food. In my second blog post, I commented the survey that I sent to people. All in all, I was nicely surprised by what the people told me because I actually thought the situation was even worst.

While doing more researches, I discovered really positive changes and actions in Philadelphia during the last couple years. The most relevant for me was a man named Jeff Brown who built big food stores in food deserts, like North Philly. For more information, you can click on that link which will lead you to a very interesting video that is describing this process. For me, this way to change is just the best, the most accurate and also the more logical: how to fix food deserts problem? Just build a food store! This helps a really big amount of people and is one of the best solution to this problem.

At the beginning, I didn’t know what I was able to do for my Agent of Change, but Ms.Giknis gave me a good option: giving a map in a Philly food desert with all the grocery stores near them on it.

This is the kind of spots that were present in this area

I went to a North Philly area with literally nothing around. I gave my papers to people in the streets while smiling. Most of them accepted my paper and asked me more about it. Although, I had an issue: nobody wanted me to take them in picture, I don’t even know why, they probably thought I was doing tourism because I have a pretty strong accent and I don’t live here. I still took picture of the place. Besides this problem, I really felt helpful and I knew that I was making a change happens, so this is probably the most positive fact about this entire project: we are useful!

I think that I made a change because while giving them this map, smiling and explaining what was my project about, I’m pretty sure that some of the people remembered me and were aware of my issue. Also, they knew if they didn’t already where were all the healthy grocery stores near them.

Me in the area with my maps in the hand, looking if the person is coming to me...

I thought that this project was very good and I am very happy to have completed it, even if this is late! It was the first time of my life where I knew that something related to school was actually useful in a way and was making a difference. I learned that I love helping people, even if I kinda knew it already. I also learned that the people in food deserts are actually just waiting for more help and feel unlistened (even if I expected that too!). I think something I could have done better would be to meet the timelines on time, as always!  

Oya es un diosa de tormenta y vientos. Ella consiguió sus poderes porque un dia cuando ella tenía 9 ella tiene succiono en un tornado. Ella estaba vistiendo un borgoña y púrpura vestir. Fue golpeada con muchas piezas de cobre. Ella fue lanzada 2 millas de la clase. Ella fue eliminada del impacto. Se despertó a los residentes a su alrededor. 2 de los dioses en la familia se convirtió en sus hermanas fueron yemaya y oshun. Se sintió extraña después de despertarse. Se siente más viva. Nunca encontró a su verdadera familia. Asi que se convirtieron en su familia. Ella pasó a tener una gran familia propia.

My element is Vanadium. The atomic number for Vanadium is 23. Vanadium is a metal element. It can be used as an additive to steel to prevent it from rusting. When I was doing research I found out that Vanadium was discovered in mexico by Andrés Manuel del Río. the element was named after the Scandinavian goddess of beauty and fertility.

At first I wanted to create a stamp of mexico with a V in the middle, however that seemed kind of basic and boring. I then decided to look up what a fertility goddess looked like. I decided that it was a creative way to show the element Vanadium. I then tried to draw the fertility goddess as a stamp to the best of my ability. It took me a few times to get the stamp that I wanted, but I liked my final sketch.

Now that I had my sketch I had to draw it on transfer paper and flip it so that my stamp won't be backward when I use it as a stamp. I then used a 4x6 card to imprint my flipped sketch on transfer paper to the card. I used a pencil to indent my stamp. The indentation would be the positive space for my stamp. When it came time to stamp, I rolled the blue paint evenly on mt card/ stamp and placed it on a piece of paper. I then pressed on the stamp with a wooden spoon to distribute the paint on the paper. I removed my card/ stamp to reveal my element stamp. If I was to do this stamp again I would make sure that my indentations on the card were deep enough so that all of the parts that should be negative space were negative space and all the places that should be positive were positive.

My favorite part of this project was printing my stamp. It was nice seeing my stamp come alive with color. The positive space really pops and represents Vanadium the way I wanted it to.