Spring & Surgery

I must say, I am enjoying the burgeoning spring semester thus far. I believe my favorite class will, undoubtedly, be my Advanced Design class with Bert Smith. We have already begun work on our first assignment: a poster to announce the bicentennial celebration of the writing of The Star-Spangled Banner. For those who may have been asleep the day it was discussed in elementary school, Francis Scott Key wrote the poem Defence of Ft. McHenry after witnessing the bombardment in the Baltimore Harbor. As such, the original poem is housed in the Maryland Historical Society—which I have seen for myself. At the moment, I have completed a rough draft of the poster. I am anxious to get feedback, as this is my first design class at UB. 

I think the most surprising aspect of this semester is that I was able to survive three classes on Thursday evening. I think, judging from that first day, it will be annoying but, ultimately, bearable—if only for the knowledge it is bringing me closer to graduation. Of course, I am also looking forward to taking two classes this summer, which will accomplish the same. 

Chris is having knee surgery on Monday, so we are both a bit on edge; I made sure to have film on hand. There is something cathartic about the process of documenting life's misfortunes. There is an understanding gained by shooting photographs, even the chaotic nature of life can, somehow, be more bearable by taking control through art—no matter the form.

Book Cover Update

I just wanted to post a quick update to say I've uploaded new images to the book cover and publication design gallery. The following is one of the new book covers:

(Click for link to the Amazon Page)

Spring Semester

As a follow-up to the post I wrote in October, I wanted to say which courses I finally settled on for the upcoming semester.

BIOL 101 Humankind in the Biological World
SOCI 100 Introduction to Sociology
WRIT 300 Advanced Expository Writing
CMAT 351 Project Management I
CMAT 497 Special Topics in Communications (Advanced Print Design)

This is the first time I have ever been frantically swapping classes around this close to the start of a semester. I think the classes I've decided upon will be the best to take at this point in time, however. Every single one of them fulfills a degree requirement. The first three classes are core education requirements, and the last two are requirements for my major.

Unfortunately, I am not able to continue with my job at The U.B. Post, as it would put me over the credit allowance. In addition, I am already taking an advanced design class, so I don't want to burn out on design classes, as was the case when I attended MICA full-time.

I look forward to posting work from my Advanced Print Design class throughout the course of the semester, so stay tuned!

Translating The Story of Ch'ang-Kan

Another exercise intended to help us break free from the confines of traditional writing was to translate a poem from the original Chinese.Already translated many times before,  The Story of Ch'ang-Kan or The River Merchant's Wife was a study in frustration.

Thankfully, the professor, Valzhyna Mort Cortese, was not a sadist; she gave us the literal translation of each symbol. It was up to us to make sense of the mostly-nonsensical way the words were written in the original poem. I am quite happy with how my iteration turned out.

The Story of Ch'ang-Kan

My hair scarcely covered my forehead
when I played, plucking flowers by the front gate.
You came on your bamboo horse,
circling the garden to play among the green plums.

Together in Ch'ang Kan village,
too young to know hate or suspicion.

At fourteen, I became your wife.
Ever bashful, I lowered my head in darkness to face the wall.
You called one thousand times,
but I could not turn back even once.

At fifteen, my the furrows of my brow vanished,
and I wished us ever together as dust with ash,
often thinking of your embrace, unwavering.

How do I now ascend the widow’s walk?

At sixteen, you left on your voyage,
travelling beyond the Keu-Tang Gorge,
where the boulders heap up the swift river,
and the fifth month brings unpassable rapids.

Why now do the heavens cry out like the sorrows of apes?

The footprints you left—they are covered in moss…
moss so deep, I cannot sweep them away.

The autumn winds bring their falling leaves.
The butterflies of the eighth month arrive
from the west in pairs, to play in the garden.

My heart aches at seeing them…
I sit alone, sorrowful,
for, the vermilion in my face is fading.
Even now, I look for your letter to tell me
you are returning from the three gorges.

But, I look forward to when we meet again,
far away from the garden,
all the way to Long Wind Sand.

A Variety of Terrible Sentences

Here is yet another writing-themed entry. During the autumn semester, one of the things the professor, Valzhyna Mort Cortese, pushed in my Writing Against the Rules course was to leave our comfort zone. One of the later assignments in the semester was to write truly terrible—laughable—sentences. It was an enjoyable project to work on, and quite interesting to hear other students' writings (and their interpretation of what made a sentence bad.)

Opening Sentences:

1. The beautiful, golden sunrise rose over the orange-drenched field as the sun’s rays stretched out like yellow fingers over the waving sheaves of wheat.
2. This really long time ago—no, seriously, like, a really, really long time ago—all these people, I think they had a name, but it is not important, lived peacefully in this group of villages in these green mountains somewhere far away.
3. Once, there was this guy, and he was walking down the street, and he met this other guy, but it wasn’t the guy he meant to meet, so he kept walking.

Character Description:
She walked in with her inky, raven hair shimmering in the sparkly, sunny light from that big window with the long curtains. The silk blouse, red as raw ground beef, pulled tightly across her great, squishy pendulous breasts which felt like yeasty, unbaked bread.

Closing Sentences:

1. And so, the tides of time drifted onward, as she bobbed up and down in her memories like a marshmallow on a chocolatey sea of Hershey’s hot chocolate.
2. After his father died, he felt a great sadness, not unlike that kind of sadness you feel when you scrape the bottom of the peanut butter jar with the knife and know you have to go to the grocery store soon instead of sitting at home eating sandwiches—that kind of sadness.
3. And then they all died; the end.