Revisions and reflections...

So I'm trying to revise a couple of my projects to hand in again. And I was struck with the realization that this was the last time I'd really be working on anything for this class. Believe it or not... it made me a little sad (I know that sounds crazy). Although it was definitely the most hectic semester I've gone through, with by far the heftiest workload, I still really feel like I had the most fun on these projects, and just seeing all the projects that you guys did too. Not to mention I really liked how everyone had their own distinct style and subject matter that interested them, so it was really cool seeing stuff from a star trek jeans brochure, to a chinese paper lantern, to an i-movie about a naughty music note. And even though people were dropping like flies... we somehow made it! (The support group clapping helped a lot:) So I guess what I'm trying to say is (dramatic pause) I'm going to miss this class and miss all you guys and our crazy saturdays together. I wish everyone the best in their education and careers, and am really glad to have met you all:)

Revised Definition Text: I can feel the eyes

In case anyone was interested, here is my new text for the definition 3D project. I revised it to better address every issue I introduce, but still maintain the central theme of being judged unfairly:

I can feel the eyes. They can be furtive glances, darting nervously in my direction. Or they can be two spears of solid ice, piercing into my core. But I feel them. Do they really have to stare so much… it’s not as if I have some kind of physical aberration. I’m five foot eight, with a wiry frame, and light skin. My eyes are brown, my nose is pointy, and my lips are pink. I wear clothes bought from the local department store, sometimes with a gold necklace my mother gave me. But my hair is covered by a scarf. So that’s what it is. Is this piece of fabric really the cause of so much scrutiny? Does it conjure images of oppression and violence? Does it provoke pity? Does it hurt to look at? It hurts when a mother pulls her children closer to her when I walk by. It hurts when fingers point in my direction. It hurts when insults are muttered under peoples’ breath, as if I can’t understand, or worse… as if I can. It hurts that I am judged by stereotypes over which I have no control. It hurts that I can accept others for who they are and what they believe, but that I myself am not accepted. It hurts that a woman’s value is in her nudity, and not in the beauty of her mind. I can still feel the eyes.

Repeated statements:

• “I can feel the eyes.”
• “Look at her… she’s one of them.”
• “You don’t have to wear that- you’re in America now.”
• “Go back to your country.”
• “You’re so backwards.”

Look beyond the piece of cloth, look into my soul. Leave your politics at the door, the politics that categorize people into the worthy and the worthless. Forget the movies and the media, the constant images of veiled women scurrying in bundles of subordination. See what makes me who I am. It’s not to please a man or some far off culture across the oceans. It’s not because I’m ashamed of my hair or my body. These things do not dictate my waking moments. Look into my soul. My soul that makes me a distinct individual, that nobody can claim but me. This is what guides me, this is my faith. A belief in the eternity of the soul, even after bodies decompose into nonexistence. Conforming to the monopoly over women’s sexuality is what I reject. I reject that happiness can be found in a plastic surgeon’s office, a weight-loss pill, or a bottle of tanning oil. I reject that my body parts are public property, to be assessed like produce at the market. I embrace modesty and self respect, integrity, and introspection. I embrace that my mind and my body belong to me and only me. I embrace the sacred beauty of life itself. Look at my actions, look at my words. Look at me as a fellow member of the human race, deserving of the same rights and respect. Look beyond the piece of cloth; look at me.

Repeated statements:

• “Look into my soul.”
• “My body is my own property.”
• “This is who I am.”
• “It brings me peace.”
• “This is my country… this is my lifestyle.”

New Logo is born!

Though it was a long, long, arduous task, (ironically taking 9 months) the new logo I designed was finally approved! I have a newfound respect for logos. I always thought they were so great, symbolizing the central value/purpose of a company or organization. But now I really see just how much time, thought, and effort really goes on behind the scenes.
It really is like a fingerprint... there may be others out there that are similar, but each is unique in its own right, and should connect directly to the person or company it is representing.

COOLEST THING EVER!!

I am officially obsessed. I saw this image in STEP magazine and it is so unbelievably gorgeous. It's called an ambigram, and this one is done by John Langdon. He says he was inspired by the works of Escher and psychedelic posters. I love the calligraphy lettering, and the fact that when you flip it, you can still read "Earth, Air, Fire, Water". I was so intrigued that I immediately scanned it, printed it against white, red, and gray, and posted them all over my cube:D

How to Walk Like an Egyptian

To walk like an Egyptian, one must become an Egyptian. Following a few simple steps will guide you on your way to walking like an Egyptian.

Inner Preparation

1. Close your eyes and transport yourself to an ancient land.
2. Feel the hot sand grains searing the flesh of your bare feet.
3. Let the heat spread through your body, lighting your soul on fire.
4. Inhale the salty sweetness of the river Nile.
5. Allow it to spray its ancient secrets into your mouth and fill your mind.
6. Now listen. Listen to the lute as it strums its haunting tune, and to the sparkling bursts from the tambourine.
7. Open your eyes.

Your inner self is ready. It is now time for the outer self.

Outer Preparation

1. Use a clean square of white linen, and wrap it around your lower torso 3 times. Fasten it with a pin.
2. Rub your skin with scented oil, allowing the musk to soak into your pores.
3. Place a wig of thick, black wool on top of your head.
4. Adorn yourself with jewelry; your earlobes, neck, and wrists should glisten with gold and lapis lazuli blue.
5. Prepare the thick, black kohl powder for beautification.
6. Use the kohl to rim your upper and lower eyelids, extending a thick stroke from each corner of your eye, midway to your ears. Then thicken your eyebrows and darken your lashes.
7. Rub ochre on your cheeks to redden them, and use henna to dye your nails and hair.

You are now prepared to take your first steps as an Egyptian. Embodying the ancient wisdom of the past, put your foot forward and start walking like an Egyptian.

Definition text

I can feel the eyes. They can be furtive glances, so quick that they may go undetected. Or they can be two spears of solid ice, piercing into my very core. But I feel them. Do they really have to stare so much… it’s not as if I have some kind of physical aberration. I’m five foot eight, with a wiry frame, and light skin. My eyes are brown, my nose is pointy, and my lips are pink. I wear clothes bought from the local department store, sometimes with a gold necklace I got from my mother. But my hair is covered by a scarf. So that’s what it is. Is this piece of fabric really the cause for so much scrutiny? Does it conjure negative images of oppression and violence? Does it hurt to look at? It hurts me when a woman pulls her children closer to her when I walk by. It hurts when fingers point in my direction. It hurts when insults are hurled at my ears. I can still feel the eyes.

“I can feel the eyes.”

“Look at her… she’s one of them.”

“You don’t have to wear that- you’re in America now.”

“Go back to your country”

“It’s just so backwards”

Look beyond the piece of cloth, look into my soul. See what makes me who I am. It’s not to please a man or some far off culture across the oceans. It’s not because I’m ashamed of my hair or body. These things do not dictate my every waking moment. Look into my soul. My soul that makes me a distinct individual, that nobody can claim but me. This is what guides me, the permanence of the soul, even after bodies decompose into nonexistence. Conforming to the idea that I am here to stimulate the senses of others is what I reject. I reject that happiness can be found in surgery, artificial tans, or crash diets. I reject that my body parts are public property, to be assessed like produce at the market. I embrace modesty and self respect, integrity, and introspection. I embrace that my mind and my body belong to me and only me. I embrace the sacred beauty of life itself. Look at me as I am. Take me for what I am.

“Look into my soul.”

”My body is my own property.”

“This is who I am.”

“It brings me peace.”