Genealogical Artifact

From My Sole

Shoes help tell a person’s story. They are the first part to touch new soil. Tales of their owner’s travels are written all over their base. There is one pair of shoes that has my history written all over their soles; My Converse All Stars. This specific pair of shoes has its own unique story.

I can remember getting my first pair of All-Stars. They were simple yet classy and seemed to complicate my whole wardrobe. It is a shoe style that has been around for ages and outlasted time and many styles. My second pair of All Stars stand as testament to that.

I wore out my first pair of All Stars during the latter half of my high school career and decided to get a brand new pair. It was easy for me to throw out the old stench-ridden, disintegrating pair for the radiant, whole new ones. I was very careful with my new pair and watched every step. After I returned home I would take my shoes off and clean them until they could be placed back on the shelf and sold as new. I loved being able to see their brilliant white glow out of the corner of my eye.

My friends and I had matching pairs and in our Converse pride we would compare the conditions of our shoes to one another.  Our shoes got dirtier and dirtier, and cleaning mine became less important and more of an unnecessary chore. The dirt was now memories and the rips - scars to brag about. My adventures really began to take a toll on my beloved shoes. Soon the All Star logo couldn’t be read and the rubber lining around the outside cracked and began separating itself from the shoe.

I remember being bored in class and picking and pulling at the peeling rubber. The inner left side began to entirely fall apart. I didn’t want it to completely rip off, so it hung of the side for weeks and clicked against the side of my shoe when I walked. One day I stepped on the flailing rubber strip with my other foot, sending myself flailing down the hallway. After that I decided it was time to just tear it off.

I used to take care in putting on my shoes, but soon found it valuable to save the seconds wasted in tying and untying laces. One morning, while in a rush to put my shoes on, I heard threads pop and the side of the shoe just gave way. I had ripped my shoe. Soon after, the insides wore down and insert came off. For the next week my socks would stick to the glue that once held the insert together. None of these complications could stop me from wearing them; they were too special to dispose of.  

These shoes help tell my story because they are a part of it. I bought these shoes while living in Japan and they accompanied me on many journeys all over the country. They carried me through some of the best years of high school. These shoes were the first part of me to touch American ground after living abroad for so many years. They also led my first steps onto my college campus and pulled me through my first year. I was even wearing my All Stars when I won first place in the DanceSport Country Polka competition. No matter the task, weather or terrain, my Converse always seemed to be my first choice. I did everything in these shoes.  I even remember getting away with wearing them for a couple basketball and softball practices. I biked, hiked, walked, danced, and ran miles in these shoes. They were so comfortable and seemed appropriate for almost every occasion.

They are marked invisibly with memories only I can see as well as more visible reminders. On the tip of my right shoe there is a blue smiley face. I was having a rough day during finals week so I drew this smiley face. It has lasted through puddles and dirt and stands as a little reminder that when times get tough to just keep walking with a smile on my face.

Nowadays these shoes aren’t worn as much as the other pairs I now own. Occasionally I do put them back on. I have yet to throw them away or buy another pair of All Stars to replace them. They’ve taken me so many places and accompanied me on multiple life-changing endeavors. Each scuff, stain, and tear represents a memory; memories that I’m sweetly reminded of every time I put my All-Stars on.

Artist's Statement:

It was hard for me at first to deicide on an object that I could write about that was really important to me. My first thought was: what items would I save in a fire? Then I thought: what do I want to pass down to my kids or grandkids one day? I don't think I would save these shoes in a fire, or that my kids would appreciate a pair of smelly sneakers, but these are truly of importance to me.

            Looking at my shoes’ life, it is interesting how much I cared for them and babied them at the beginning, but then as their novelty wore off, I didn't pay them as much attention and they took a beating. Now after being through so much with them, I once again treasure my All Stars.

I decided to tell my shoes’ story and then introduce how they are a part of my story. It was fun for me to think back and remember all the things I did in these shoes. I had never thought much about why I still wear them in there devastated state, or why I even have them after all these years. In my first draft I didn’t really mention the stories that the shoes and I were in, rather just the story and life cycle of the shoes. I decided to tell the shoes’ own story and include how they are a part of my own history because that is what makes them important to me.

            In one of my classes we are conducting interviews in the community about lost objects. What I have found so far is that objects that people hold near and dear usually are special because they have memories attached to them. That is what separated my converse from a new pair or any other shoe. That is why I can’t throw them away. These All Stars have become more than just a pair of shoes to me.

Sound Process

*Sha-Shing!*

A Sound Piece by  Rae Finlinson and Myself. 

Artist Statement:

In case it isn’t completely clear from our piece, our process piece was a recording of an ice skating rink. After brainstorming for some time, we determined that we wanted to select a process that was clear and auditorily engaging. Ice skating is a fun process that produces a variety of sounds. We wanted to take a fairly naturalistic approach to our piece in order to most closely represent the experience as we understood it; thus, we decided not to narrate, but to have the sounds tell the tale, hoping the unique sounds would help the listener identify the process.

We started with entering the venue and ended after exiting the venue to have the process come full circle. When we arrived to the rink and began recording, we hadn’t anticipated how loud the background noises would be. It did drown out some of the hushed detailed noises, and we fantasized about how nice it would have been if we could were able to better isolate and single out certain sounds. On the other hand, the process and experience wouldn’t be authentic without the background noises. We were hoping to get some sounds that didn’t work out (Zamboni, for example), but we also were delighted to discover sounds that we hadn’t anticipated. At the rink, kids scream, people chat, music plays from above, and if you listen closely you can hear the soft hum of the fans.

During the editing process, we decided to stay true to this environment of the rink, and we even included some dialogue we picked up. By presenting the setting of our process as realistically as possible, the listeners can be better transported to the rink. An important part to telling stories (and specifically processes) is condensing, as most processes take longer than a minute or two. This meant we had to condense the process and highlight the most thematically important and auditorily interesting pieces to the story. This also meant that there were a lot of things we had to leave out.

As Aubrey was editing our project and Rae was sitting around playing with the recording equipment, Rae ended up recording the process of our editing the recording of the process of ice skating. We were tempted to revamp our piece as a piece of creating a piece. Regretfully, however, we didn’t feel as if we had the time to re-edit another process; in addition, it may have been too meta to easily comprehend in a simple audio format.

This side rambling does have a point. It got us thinking.

What is process?

Everything is. Process is everything. There is nothing that just happens in one moment. It was always a process that took you to that moment, and a process leading you back out of it. We found a quote by C.S. Lewis to be enlightening:

“I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

While this thought concerns a very specific process, it’s clear that this idea can be applied universally. Happiness is a process. Charity is a process. Love is a process. Creating a process piece is a process. Perhaps these processes are worth examining in greater detail. Perhaps the realization that they are processes can help us understand them, can help us better achieve the things we set out to achieve, like happiness.

That’s our hope, anyway.

Thick Description

CAUTION. DANGER. WARNING. RESTRICTED. Amidst these words that sprinkle my view, the glowing and ominous EMERGENCY sign towers over all. A sense of urgency and foreboding seems to emanate out with the red glow and eerie hum of the letters.

I stand across the street staring- observing. I dare not cross the safe border of the street. The cold penetrates my shoes as I step onto the cool grass leaving behind the comfort of the warm sidewalk.

A girl is sitting across the road, mirroring me. She lounges on the hospital lawn engaged in a book as I in my notes. She looks comfortable next to the large building.

The red lights atop the hospital pulse to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Down on the ground, orange lights encircle the helicopter keeping the pathway lit and warm. The majestic hero sits front and center, motionless yet alert; ready at any moment to soar to the rescue.

My naturally curious mind is drawn to those coming and going from the hospital doors. An old man emerges from the door assisted by a walker. He takes his time making it across the parking lot. While watching his journey, I’m temporarily distracted by the noises of the vibrant young athletes running back and forth behind me. They sprint, jump, and yell as this elderly man clatters, struggles, and inches across the lot. My full attention is brought back to the hospital when a young man bursts out of the doors in a wheelchair. I imagine what possible misfortune could have sent him to that chair. A car accident? Bone disease? As possibilities and questions race though my mind, he jumps up out of the wheelchair and runs it up the hill playfully. I was wrong.

A rattling sound grows closer and closer until a car pulls up with a broken headlight trailing on the asphalt like the chains of Jacob Marley. They speed into the parking lot ignoring the large red ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign. Why are they are in a rush? Is it a broken bone? Bleeding organ?

My thoughts are then brought into the building while I remain in the grass. I close my eyes and imagine all the terrible and wonderful happenings that are taking place. I hear babies crying and heart rate monitors chirping.  

I open my eyes to the many stars twinkling above us. We seem so large compared to the single dots in the sky.  Yet, falling on my back gazing at the expanses of the universe makes me shrink in size. I wonder if the stars are still breathing. They are so distant that their birth or death could take thousands of years to reach us. They seem so permanent and untouchable. I wonder how it is possible that creations so grand and immovable have a beginning and end just as we do.

I turn behind me again and can see the hustle and bustle dying out as the day comes to a close. The sun has hidden itself from view and the city lights washout the mountains and the world behind me. The shadows of the town stretch out reaching for the hospital doors. The drone of passing cars seems to fade out and an unnerving silence and stillness settles. The hushed world is soon awoken by the alarming screeches of an approaching ambulance. Another tragedy? Another life to be saved? Another story to be told. As I hear the sirens getting closer and closer, I pack up my things and prepare to leave. It’s not my story to tell. 

Artist’s Statement

The hospital is full of lives entering and exiting this world. Any imaginable feeling or emotion has been had behind those walls. Fear. Hope. Loss. Joy. Reverence. Chaos.

            I always feel one emotion when passing and entering hospitals –fear. When I enter the doors I take short and shallow breaths to avoid catching any disease and am locked and loaded with hand sanitizer. When I injured my arm a year ago, I talked my self out of an Emergency Room visit. Later that night, I was finally convinced by my worried parents and neighbors to go. I passed by this very hospital on a night just like the one I described. It was late and the streets were empty. There was an eerie atmosphere illuminated by the red glow of the emergency sign.

Once I got there and figured out how much money it would cost me, I once again decided that I didn’t need to go to the ER. I concluded that I would just visit a doctor in the morning. When I went to visit the doctor the next day, they told me that I should have gone to get stiches, but now it was too late and I would be left with a nasty scar and large wound prone to infection.

            Despite my fear and previous experiences with Emergency Rooms and hospitals, there is something beautiful to be said about them. Doctors and nurses dedicate their lives to saving others. That is a beautiful commitment. One of my fondest memories actually took place in a hospital. I remember waiting in the lobby watching Blues Clues with my family, anxiously waiting to greet the newest member of our family- my baby brother.

I choose the hospital for this project to help reconcile my fears and gain a better respect and understanding. One thing that really hit me while sitting across the street observing was just how delicate and short our lives really are. A bump or fall can leave us in pieces needing to be fixed. Our lives and the many lives we love and are surrounded by are of paramount importance to us. But when I looked up at the sky and thought about just how small we actually are, I felt like the grand nature of our lives could almost be a paradoxical notion.

We may not be like the stars and have a trail of light that remains after our death, but I feel everyone’s life has importance, purpose, and a story to tell. I was also drawn to the hospital for this project because hospitals are full of so many stories. I was so interested in everyone’s reasons for being there. Near the end of my stay as a few people came out of the doors with hands covering their faces, I felt that it was not my place to wonder and pry into their personal and intimate experiences. Their happenings good or bad, sad or joyous, needed to be treated with more respect, reverence, and the truth. I felt my welcome was overstayed so I left. After this reflective and observant experience I gained a greater respect for hospitals and the people there, as well as being able to come to better terms with my fear.

Music Mosaic

            Whenever I'm in need of some creative zing, I often turn to music to find inspiration. Sometimes as a song fills my ears, a narrative plays along with the music or a painting or sketch draws itself on my mind's canvas.

            When listening to the song "Elephant Island" by Port Blue, the song unraveled hints of stories and a deeper purpose that inspired me to create the pieces above. It is not your typical piece of instrumental music and it creates an electronic beach of sorts. The echoes are like waves and there are odd screeches that could be compared to that of a seagull. My mind however was not led near any ocean. This song begins with some static and waves that are constant and pull in and focus attention through their sounding pulses. I imagined a man contemplating his life. I imagined focus being brought to overlooked objects such as a single penny lying on the ground. I felt like these waves also drew me in to simple objects that centered in a larger story. For example, glasses on a table that once sat upon an old man’s nose as he read the morning paper everyday that now simply remain on his desk as a reflective reminder of his life.

            The ambiance created by the few sounds at the beginning also gave me the sense of looking towards the unknown, fallen and/or forgotten. As the song progresses, more sounds like the piano track are added to complete the whole. The piano is peaceful, reflective, and delicate. To me this symbolized a progression and transcendence.

            As more tracks are added the song lifts to a happier tone. This shift led me to imagine moments of enlightenment, success or again progress in a journey. This slight change in tone that contrasts the darker beginnings inspired me to contrast light and dark in some of my pieces.

            Every object has a story to tell. With the inspiration from this song I was led to focus on objects, their story, transcendence, contrast and more. This is a clearly unique song that has a lot to offer a creativity-craving cranium.