Daily Archives: May 8, 2014

ObjectBiography: The Ballerina That Watched Me

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In my room, there is a painting of a little African American girl in her bedroom practicing ballet in front of a standing mirror. The room is pink, as well as the sheets, the carpet, the mirror, even the ‘little-house-on-the-prairie-‘ looking baby doll that looked identical to the little girl. All the furniture in the room is cream and baby pink, matching everything else. I’ve studied this picture since before I can remember. For years I’d take a moment and just look at the little girl. I would just study her face, and how her expression didn’t match anything she was doing. She had a very strong face, and eyes that would stare, kind of like the Mona Lisa. This scared me as a little, and even some of my teenage years. She looked like she didn’t like me, like I she was upset with me. And I always wondered what I did wrong. I smiled at her, talked to her, and even tried to stand like her. I would be in my room, arms above my head, my body elevated from the ground by my toes, and watched her look at me. I figured if she saw how much I was trying to be like her, she would smile at me. Thinking about it now, it was a bit of a crazy wish, for a painting to change its expression on it’s own for the sake of a little girl. But when I was that small, I believed weird things. Call me gullible, but if you had told me that objects moved on their on like in The Toy Story, I believed you with all confidence. So, its no surprise to discover that I was bent on making that little girl smile. But as I got older, I gave up. I just figured that she was miserable, and didn’t want to smile. She didn’t want friends, just wanted to be alone in her room. I must’ve been interrupting her, by watching her practice. It soon felt like I was walking in on her in my own room. I caught myself avoid going into my room one time, because she was the first thing to see when entering the room. I had finally sucked it up and changed her location to another side of the room. Soon after, I forgot about her, out of sight out of mind. It wasn’t until recently that I looked at her again and realized how innocent and sweet she looked. she, and the doll, looked as if they weren’t doing anything but standing there. I wondered why when I was a little girl she looked so mean, but as an adult, she looked completely different. It could be because I grew up, and my perspective of people changed. Maybe I felt that I was trying to be like her so much, and she didn’t approve. She probably wanted me to just be myself, and not go around trying to please others. I could speculate a whole bunch of reasons, but I honestly don’t know.

Quiz for Thursday 5/8

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Who is the narrator for each of the stories we read for today? identify who they are in the story, and any elements of fiction terms that apply.

The stories:

Zadie Smith, “Scenes from the Smith Family Christmas” and photograph; Jamaica Kincaid, “Biography of a Dress” (and listen to her read the story)

and Cynthia Ozick, “The Shawl” (932-935) and Louise Erdrich, “The Shawl” (1409-1413)

 

Elm

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The Bell Jar Passage:
The tears came in a rush, then, and while the sailor was holding me and patting
them dry with a big, clean, white linen handkerchief in the shelter of an American elm, I thought what an awful woman that lady in the brown suit had been, and how she, whether she knew it or not, was responsible for my taking the wrong turn here and the wrong path there and for everything bad that happened after that.

Elm – Noun
Definition: any of a genus (Ulmus of the family Ulmaceae, the elm family) of usually large deciduous north temperate-zone trees with alternate stipulate leaves and fruit that is a samara

Now that I know what an Elm is it is clear to me that Esther was taking shelter under a large tree, and can now visualize it.

://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/elm

 

PhotoBiography: More like family

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This was my oldest god brother’s birthday celebration. If you couldn’t tell, I’m the little girl making the craziest face. I couldn’t tell you when this photo was taken. All I know is that I had no front teeth and I didn’t care. I actually took advantage of the new gaps in my mouth, thrusting my tongue through to create the worst face I could possibly make. My youngest god brother is the one that I’m holding on to. He always had the most serious face growing up, as if he was an old man. As I was observing us in the photo, I realized that he still makes that face to this day. He’s definitely been someone who has always been that person that I can hold on to and act crazy with and he wouldn’t respond being afraid or alarmed. He understood me and my crazy ways, and still does now. As for the girl in the green top, she does respond, but it’s okay. She’s my god sister, and someone that I’ve grown to appreciate as an outlet of emotion and a source of counsel. The face she makes in this photo reminds me that she’s kind of like me. She has her crazy and eccentric moments, which helps me be really comfortable around her. I think this photo does a great job of capturing my relationship with these two people. They aren’t just friends or people that I’ve known for a long time. They are my extended set of siblings. I’ve had great laughs and great tears with these two. If there is ever something I need to get off my chest, or just want to talk, they’re there for me, and I am for them. We’ve been through a lot together, like when mutual friend of ours past away. I didn’t realize how important they were to me. The thing that shocked me the most was that I was the same for them. I held my god brother the same way through that struggle the same way I did in this photo (even though it was so much harder this time, he’s way taller than me).  We were shoulders to cry on and hands to hold. I’m not even that close to cousins I grew up with. Yet these two were a part of a group of people who weren’t just in my life for a moment, but my lifetime. They are more than friends, they’re my family.

 

old pic1.1

Dad and Me

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com pai

This is probably my favorite photo of all time: dad and I sitting on a lawn, by a lake, feeding black swans. There is something so peaceful about it.

This picture was taken in the countryside of Minas Gerais, a state in the Southeast of Brazil. My parents would take us there every year; maybe even a couple times a year. I remember that it was so exciting when they would tell us that we were going to Minas. I always thought it was funny that we were so excited to leave a city that so many people would love to visit (my hometown is Rio de Janeiro) to go to a small town with not much going on. But look at how beautiful those swans are! We don’t see swans in Rio that often.

I love the way my dad is holding me. He was always so protective of us. And isn’t it great that he actually let me feed the birds? What if they bit me? Would they bite a 2.5 year-old? There are swans at the park near my apartment here in New York. They are white ones, though. I’m too scared to get near them; I heard they attach you if you get too close. Maybe if my dad was here I would feel brave enough to feed these yankee swans? Maybe.

I remember those shoes–I used to love them. I had another pair of the same kind that I used to like even more, but in different colors (gray and blue) and bigger size. I wore the blue ones after they became too small for my feet. I didn’t tell my mom, because I was afraid she was going to make me stop wearing them. She finally realized, of course. Isn’t it a shame children’s feet grow so fast and their shoes go to waste?

My dad passed away two years ago. I’m so very grateful to have to picture to look at every now and then. I don’t have too many pictures of us together, but that kind of makes the ones I have of us even more special.