For your extra credit assignment, please take a look at some examples of Flash Fiction, a kind of story writing that is meant to communicate a character's entire world in around 1,000 words or less. One of the most famous stories is a six word fiction by Ernest Hemingway that reads: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." The website "Brevity" publishes examples that you should take a look at to get a sense of how these kinds of narratives operate.
Now that you have a sense for the medium, write a 500 word short story from the point of view of one of Kara Walker's characters. Take a look at her work and be sure to mention the title of the image you are working with so that it can be referred to alongside your creative work.
The Coming Season
ReplyDeleteI grew up after that day. The day that took away my innocent as a child and shown me the reality surrounding me. It was a gloomy afternoon, with yellow leaves falling off trees on my school’s playground. It was a hint of nature that winter is coming. As excited as I was for winter, I could not wait to hang out at Amy’s place today afterschool. Blond hair, chubby face, and an animal lover, Amy was my best friend since I moved here, Oregon.
After early release, I was waiting for Amy in front of the school gate. “Let’s go to my house, my parents would be excited to see you!” As we saw our shadow dragging along the dirt road that separated the corn-harvested fields, I asked Amy if her parents will like me. Amy looked away, “they will like you! You are my friend.” Even though her answer eases my stomach a little bit, I was still nervous; it was the first time I go to a white friend’s house. It took us a while to get to her place; it was a nice and big farm. Besides the old wooden building were a couple of white sheep and one black sheep. Sitting in the front porch was Amy’s dad. Wearing a hat with sharp chin, he glanced at us and then looked a way into the storming sky. We could see lightning and dark clouds coming together to put on a show on the sky.
As we approach the man with the smell of cigarettes surrounding him, my heart beats faster. I was trying to come up with a good way to introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Amy’s friend”. It all seemed strange to me as I never done that before, except in class at the beginning of the year. Trying to get her dad’s attention, Amy shouted, “Dad, look at me! And look at my friend, her name is –“.
“What is this black child doing in my farm? We only plant corn here”- said her dad in a harsh voice. I felt unwelcomed but I did not understand what he said by “we only plant corn here”. The rainstorm was coming; the wind blows on me as hard as I can feel. Amy then looks at her dad with the puppy eyes begging him to let me stay. She told me it works all the time when she wants something from her dad; but not this time.
“I ain’t wanting nothin’ to do with this black girl in my farm, or in my barn!” His sharp glance killed me a little inside. I looked at Amy for the last time, knowing she will be standing watching me leaving. Walking out the half-broken gate with tears in my eyes, my shadow blended in with my mood as I drag my backpack slowly back to where I should be. Mother Nature poured rain on my body; I guess it was a kind of punishment for going against nature.
From:
8 Possible Beginnings or: The Creation of African Americahttp://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker/Main/Narrative?action=dispimg&im=KW_8Possible_2.p.jpg
http://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker/Main/Narrative?action=dispimg&im=KW_8Possible.p.jpg
Mr.T
**I hope this does not in anyway, offend anyone.
ReplyDeleteI am doing Kara Walker, Bureau of Refugees: Bob Foreman cut at Union Springs, 2007.
I am fertilized very year. I bring them more ‘crops’ to insure their harvest do not go un-harvested. I am nothing but a crop caretaker, using my seeds to create more. They cut me, but all they see is green, an operation of my pain is only dollar signs that grace the master’s wishes, and never mine. I live only for them, just a part of their farm land, like my feet are rooted in the ground. I do not see, or hear, all that is about me is the fact that I am a creator of their never ending machine. I plant the seeds, and they use them for their own needs. They cry, those seeds, of abuse and neglect, but once again, they just bleed green. This machine, of birth and death of my crops for their own use disturbs me, but I am forever rooted in the ground. I try to help, but they just harvest my ground, cutting me off, cutting me away from my crops so easily with your blades of cash and greed. My ‘crops’ grows leaves, intertwining into the world that is not acceptant that we bleed the same blood. They make us stand alone, just to make us feel alone, and focus on nothing but them and our pain. I don’t know what to make of this place anymore, so easily taken down, by the master’s hands. I only can now see the green and gold from my crops, and have a feeling of nothing but the blades coming my way. I hear the crops cry and weep. Screaming and lynching, over and over, but once again they will be using me for I am their creator or this harvest of arms and legs, workers of their machine. All I can do is try to not think of the crops coming my way, all I try not to think of is the lives I gave and they are taking away. I know the end is coming for them, but all I can do is try and look away from all the blood bleed dry. All I am is my masters hands, and legs. My seeds only get me so far, and when they are gone and I am done, I will no longer be needed. One of my seeds will start this machine again, and I will be fertilizer for his land. I can hear the chopping, the screaming, the lynching, but my feet are rooted in the ground, and all I can do is look to the grassy blades, finding the lost and the forgotten race but as the crops we still have our faith.
-Rachelle Star
Picture used:
http://newyorkarttours.com/blog/?p=271
Runaway
ReplyDeleteI got away. I ran the wind out of me, away from them, the abuse the beatings, the torment. There will be nothing left of me but the impression of my feet one side toes and the other a print. He told me if I ever tried to leave he would kill me but hell I’m dead anyway. I am not even a person just an object with voice and motion. An hour of freedom is worth a thousand switches to my back, a thousand penetrations, and a thousand moments dehumanization. I may not have a place to go but in my mind with trees I belong at this moment. At this moment I am in charge. At this moment I can breathe my own air, smell my own smell, and see what I want to see. I matter at this moment; I am I at this moment. As I sit in the caressing tree, I can finally try to remember the life I once had, the people I had once known, and the family I once loved. We smiled, we played, and we lived together. Who knows where they are or who they have become. However I know they were stripped down to bone just like me. So I wait here alone I begin to cry because even though I have escaped am still imprisoned. I am imprisoned with my body. I cannot hide my dark flesh, I have nowhere to go. I cannot dwell in these woods alone without food, shelter, or water. I feel like a lost spirit wondering with no aim, no purpose, and no destination. This must be the end of the road for me when it has only just begun. I accept my shadow is who I am in this world, dark and faceless. It is hard for me to fathom the repercussions of my departure if I am found. The whips tearing deeply into my back, the men cramming themselves into me, the noose tightly bound to my neck. I cannot go back there; I will not go back there.
As l sit in the tree weeping for a solution. I hear footsteps. These foot steps are light and gentle breaking the backs of the twigs and leaves beneath them. My heart begins to race, its thumping out of my chest for all to see. I cover my mouth not to make a sound to cover the stench of fear pouring from my soul. It’s the master’s son stopping beneath the tree I sit in. He has a rifle in hand, if only I can just stay quiet I think to myself. A tear begins to run off my cheek swiftly and as he begins to walk away he stops again. He stopped to wipe something off his face and he looks up right me aims and pulls.
http://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker/Main/TechniquesAndMedia?action=dispimg&im=Slavery.p.jpg
Endless Conundrum, An African Anonymous Adventuress
ReplyDelete“Oh my goodness! I feel as though these bananas are attacking me!” yelled Lindor. Bananas, and more bananas, were jumping around the ground nearby as though the floor was banana-proof. They would bounce in every direction, hopping around at random. “I just can’t escape these darn things!” screamed Lindor. “Maybe if you stood still and observed their patterns, you might,” replied Ibaka who was on the floor to the left of Lindor. “Have a little fun in your life Ibaka! They’re just bananas, Lindor, no worries. Live it up!” said Johanna who was seen dancing next to Ibaka, who was sitting still next to Lindor. “The ground does look quite fearful!” answered Shanelle, who was viewing Johanna dancing next to Ibaka, who had been reading the floor next to Lindor. “Yes, but my heart knows no fear for you, my darling,” wooed Darcy, who had a deep affection for Shanelle, who has been tiptoeing the ground near Johanna, who was still prancing around by Ibaka who was staring at the floor near the bananas that were hitting Lindor. “I could kill you on the other hand!” reported Officer Jerry. “Officer, my clothes were stolen and I needed to find new ones somehow to cover myself,” pleaded Chris who was naked and being struck by Jerry who overheard Darcy confessing her love to Shanelle who had noticed Johanna dancing still near Ibaka who was admiring the ground by Lindor who was being attacked by bananas. “Well at least you get to run around and roam the town,” cried out Freddie, who was envious of Chris because he was a free man, although he was caught by Officer Jerry, who was eavesdropping on Darcy who had been wooing Shanelle who was becoming skeptical of Johanna’s dancing around Ibaka who was focused on the ground next to Lindor and her bananas. Simultaneously, Britt and Ani yelped, “We are twins, and we have each other to look out for.” While the two twins mimicked one another, as Freddie was complaining about dragging the chain and ball, while watching Chris struggle to keep his freedom, which was being taken away by Officer Jerry, who overheard Darcy talking about her love for Shanelle, who was nervous because Johanna was dancing despite the situation as Ibaka remained concentrated on observing things around him next to Lindor who was being randomly attacked. “You are in no shape to be taking care of this child,” proclaimed Officer John as he removed a child from the hands of a suggested mother, Michelle, who has needles stuck inside of her. Michelle did not fight off the officer as she watched him take the child away, while Britt and Ani were talking to one another during Freddie’s rant about being in captivity as he became envious of Chris who was fighting for his freedom from Officer Jerry who saw Darcy flirting with Shanelle, who stood in awe as Johanna was dancing her feet off by this point, near Ibaka who was staring at the floor underneath him next to Lindor who was becoming used to the bananas falling down upon her. “If we ever become separated from this, I will not be able to live without you,” said Liza to her husband Jackson. “You two have nothing to worry about. My love is drifting away down the rivers as I reach to stop her departing,” murmured Julius who shot down the puppy love of Jackson as he was contemplating leaving Liza after she saw Michelle’s child being taken away from her by Officer John who passed by the twins Britt and Ani who were tossing jokes back and forth about Freddie who was dragging along his heavy weight as he was jealous of Chris’ freedom which was being jeopardized by Officer Jerry who was listening to Darcy convincing Shanelle to love her as Johanna kept dancing next to Ibaka who could not stop fixating on the way in which the bananas kept falling around Lindor…
The story of the lives of those who were caught in the middle.
- Eddie
Image can be found at
http://learn.walkerart.org/karawalker/Main/DesireAndShame?action=dispimg&im=KW_Endless.p.jpg
Reflection of Kara Walker’s Art
ReplyDeletehttp://www.erikjsommer.com/uploaded_images/walker_darkytown_rebellion-785394.jpg
I am living in a world where everything seemed to be seen in a grayscale. I see only people of my culture sacrificing, working hard to live. I look upon there dreadful eyes seeing what scars have caused them. We are seen like if we were less worthy. All that I can see is that we all have something in common. It doesn’t what we what color we are, it doesn’t at all. We seek for the best usually wanting the bet when we all unite it’s our freedom that we see and feel. One day I was walking, through and the grayscale eventually changed. It was like I put two lenses on my eyes. They are like glasses. The glasses that made me see above the grayscale. I see color. I see the color in every part of my eye. I face and face and see the beautiful colors. The colors lead a background giving more information. I seek for more colors and not the same ones. This grayscale of ours leads bad things. We hold ourselves up in order to live. We listen to our owners or therefore no good comes out. We see the old working and the young ones as well. We have the rich act like they care. Seeming to give and care for the young ones. Flags are held in their hands and the rest of us are down. We are a part of this. The colors explain the beauty in the world. Not the grayscale. Grayscale is vague and colors express the world. It has to be seen. Many have to see what I see.