Narrative and it’s Visual Representation

30 Jan

      So, yesterday I went to the coolest class at Umass that I’m not going to get into. It would have been my fifth class. It’s called “Narrative and its visual representation” and it’s taught by these two obviously married obviously former hippie teachers. The class list includes pencils, cray-pas, scissors, a glue stick, etc. It’s a combination art and writing class. To start they had us define narrative (The description of a change, or some changes, which take place over a period of time. Or it is the description of how there were no changes over a period of time.) We argued a bit about whether or not every fact could qualify as a narrative also. Certainly some could. I think. Then they had us look at images and describe the story they told. He showed one of the famous paintings of Adam and Eve, with the edges trimmed off so all we could see were the two naked shamed humans, and an angel (or at least a winged figure) on a cloud above them brandishing a sword. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “They have STDs!” someone answered. Yeah, that class would have rocked. It also would have been a lot of work, and a lot of time would have been spent on it. As long as I get into my computer animation class, my schedule will be ok with four classes, and it’s not too sad that I don’t get this one. Anyways, at the end of the class they told us to write a story. They said to describe a situation. Ideally, it would be a one-scene situation, or a story that would lead up to one scene. I wrote

      This thing happened to me yesterday, as I was walking back to my hall at Hampshire College, and I’m trying to decide how far back in my life to go to start describing it. The further back I think, the more I realize that the story of this event, of meeting this person, doesn’t seem to begin anytime after I was born. It’s as if my whole life has been about it. Before I start to tell the tale, I have to figure out why. She’s just a girl. I saw her briefly. We shared a short conversation. I haven’t seen her since. I’m in love with my girlfriend, so it isn’t that. I’m not in love with this girl. She’s just a girl. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that that can’t be true. Somehow, she’s much more than that, and while I’m not in love with her, I may love her. Somehow when we talked she was surrounding me and she was inside my soul, and it was wonderful. It’s as if she embodies a feeling of happiness. As if she is Joy in a girl-shaped-bottle, and you can’t get close to her without becoming immersed in the joy, becoming immersed in her.
      Perhaps I’m exaggerating a little.
      Perhaps it’s just an isolated coincidental incident in which my feeble male brain tripped over the extra hormone and adrenalin supply, and they all went spilling out right then. I don’t know, and I can’t tell the tale until I do.
      I can’t simply describe her, give a police-report-description of a girl with short dirty-blonde hair, a tiny body, and a bouncy composure. It wouldn’t be right, because it wouldn’t be her. I can’t describe the color of her eyes, because they were all colors at once, but they weren’t white. They were somehow vibrant and changing while also remaining a constant hue. I can’t just recount our conversation. I can’t just say that we both said hi, said our names, said it was cool to meet each other, because that isn’t all that we said. Those are all the words we used, but she said more to me. I was struck dumb. I can’t just talk about her voice, about how it sounded pleasant, almost as a song or a poem, because that doesn’t really describe it. I know what I heard, and how it made me feel, but I can’t believe that anyone else heard her the same way.
      Perhaps that is my problem, that I can’t believe. Maybe she really is Joy in human form. Maybe she is some type of supernatural being that I don’t believe exists. I can’t tell the tale until I know.

I don’t know who this boy is, or how honest he is, so I’m not sure if one can believe him or not, but, what he says is intriguing. At least I found it so.

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2 Responses to “Narrative and it’s Visual Representation”

  1. youngjedi January 31, 2004 at 1:53 pm #

    Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy… It sounds like riding a pogo-stick. πŸ™‚

    • junorhane January 31, 2004 at 4:55 pm #

      pogo stick
      hehe Boyd, Boyd, Boyd… πŸ™‚

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