Anything Not About Elephants Is Just Irrelephant

When I first went to look for photographs for this assignment, I just looked for photographs that were aesthetically pleasing. Beautiful pictures. I also wanted these photographs to pull at my artistic heartstrings, wish I could some day have the opportunity to shoot myself. When I came across this photograph, I was instantly taken over. Incredibly beautiful, serene, and compositionally golden. I actually don't know the photographer who shot this, but whoever they are, they created a gorgeous narrative. 

The lighting used, around sunset, created a silhouette of both the elephant, the focus of the photograph, and the trees. The light reflected off the clouds was also paired with the sunset and the reflection in the water, giving the photograph a yellow tinge. As for the composition, the law of thirds definitely applies, both horizontally and vertically. Horizontally, the first third is filled with the foreground, the watering hole. The second third, the middle ground, holds the elephant, the trees, and the sunset. The uppermost third is comprised of the thick, cumulous clouds. Vertically, the first third is filled with the elephant, the second, by the sunset, and the third, by the collection of trees.

Beyond the technical aspects of this photograph, it seems to emit feelings of immenseness, of eternity. Just as the African elephant is the largest land mammal, so is the seemingly endless extent of clouds. The perspective of the photograph, single point perspective, also adds to feeling of distance and enormity. At the same time, a photograph like this is special, because each intricate piece only comes together in a single moment. It is a matter of capturing this moment that makes it unique. And just as it is rare to have all the pieces come together, so also are African elephants, as well as the vast savannas they call home. Perhaps the photograph had an environmental objective, to display this giant in its home.

Continuing with the environmental argument, this photograph seems to present a narrative of a lost time. A lumbering herbivore, alone in the wilderness, as the final rays of light pass over the tall grass. Perhaps this time, this next century, may be the final hours for this creature and many others who inhabit the savanna. I may be inserting a bit of anthropomorphism, but this magnificent animal seems to have purpose as it continues on. The rays of light seem to instill the viewer with a sign of hope, that humans may be able to help prevent their extinction. Overall, this photograph conveys of feeling of doubt and, conversely, hope. There's something beautiful in trying to explain something you can't understand.

4000 Words

This Is Not An Apology

Hello classmates.

See, when I left class today, I felt like an idiot. I completely embarrassed myself by crying in front of a group of people I barely know. And to be honest, I cried about something that I did not completely explain. Nor do I want to at this time.

However, the reason this is not an apology, as stated in my title, is because I'm not going to apologize for my emotions. What I felt was real, and needed to happen. Still, I would rather that my reaction would have come at a different time, or when you all know me better. Life had other ideas. C'este la vie. (For all you out there, that's "such is life".)

I am a bit of a shy person. I would have wished to show the extent of my emotions when we had known each other better. But I just wanted to explain that I am fine. I will be okay, and that will likely because of the experiences I gain in this class. So thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Tess

Plantation Overseer

Plantation overseer. Before even looking at this photograph, I have an impression of what I can be expected to see. So are the power of words paired with past connotations and experiences. Still, my first glance at this photograph did not fail to disappoint. A group of four African Americans, lounges on the steps of a general store. Meanwhile in the foreground, an overweight white man, presumably the landowner, or in other words the plantation overseer, leans against a shiny car. Adding to the mood of the scene overall is that fact that this photograph was shot in black and white, not out of an artistic choice, but reflecting the era when this photograph was taken. Similarly, the clothing all five men reveal the age of the photograph, probably from around 1890 to 1920.

Back to the people in the scene, the landowner's pose seams to convey smugness as well as importance. The glances the four African Americans are giving this man seems to add more to his overall impression. In particular, the man standing in the back left has an expression of frustration and anger. Could this possibly come from the fact that the landowner is being photographed? Maybe this man speculates that a photograph will increase the landowner's already over inflated ego. 

However, if the landowner hoped to be the soul focus of the photograph, he was sorely disappointed. Because of the depth of field used, a large depth of field, all of the subjects of the photograph are clear and in focus. The eye seems to be drawn in a pattern from the white landowner diagonally across the three faces of the sitting men and up to the upper left hand corner to the standing man. This pattern seems to possibly suggest the societal importance of each person; the order in which they are noticed is the order in which society will serve them.

At this point in my analysis, I decided to re-look at the photograph, as I seemed to have run off on a bit of a side tangent. That's when I noticed the Coca-Cola sign on the side of the building. I had failed to notice it, as well as the license plate the landowner was leaning on. Had this been a color photo, or had used older techniques of "painting" color into photos, a viewer's eye may have been more drawn to them. Also, our eyes are usually more drawn to text, but the variation of the facial expressions from the five men. I also found it interesting that all five men are wearing hats, the four in the front wearing variations of fedoras, while the standing man is wearing a newsboy hat.

The overall feel of the photograph conveys a dark, moody air. While the landowner is standing erectly, he doesn't seem particularly happy. Neither do the four African Americans, all with varying types of grimaces. I think it likely portrays a time of hardship and frustration. Which always seemed to be Dorothea's specialty.

Why I Write

Why I write. Three simple words. Yet, when I sit here and try to type a cohesive and coherent explanation, I just worry that I don't have the time or space to fully explain my reasons.

Writing has always been a passion of mine. I always wrote stories as a child, I even entered into a Reading Rainbow competition. As I got older, I took summer classes with other kids who had the same drive as myself. In high school, I was a part of two literary magazines. I didn't have to do any of these things. I was never obligated by credit stipulations, or the desires of my friends or family. I actively and independently pursued such endeavors. Why? Mostly, because of my passion to read.

I read like a maniac. Plain and simple. Sometimes I can finish ten books in a week. But have you ever had a time when you finished a book, and all you could think was, "What kind of crap was that?" Even though writing is essential to our communicating with all the people around us, it is astounding how poorly some people practice it. When these people try to make a profession out of it, let's just say it leads to a lot of hair pulling and frustration. What is the point of this diatribe? Whenever I finished, or put down, these kind of books, I thought to myself, "I can write something so much better."

I am a daydreamer. I come up with scenarios nearly constantly, trying to guess what my friends will say before they finished their sentences, or toying with how one event will go if a certain person acted or reacted a certain way. I can't help myself. I think sometimes it is my escape for a reality that can be much too mundane for my liking. My favorite genre of book being fantasy/science fiction, I am more than wrapped up in the imaginings of the impossible. How long as a kid I waited for my Hogwarts letter, never to have it arrive, or hoping someday I would find a dragon egg.

Writing stories was just something I did as a kid, on those days when I realized that maybe this world may not have magic, or faeries, or vampires, but any place I could write and describe could. Writing for me is about creating something no one has ever written before. I may be wrong on this, but I believe someone said there are only seven plots, and the rest are just details. At first, this can be very discouraging for a writer. But I find it thrilling. Say, for example, how "The Lion King" is based of Shakespeare's "Hamlet". When you start to pair their similarities, this becomes apparent. However, if you look at either with their style of writing, the language used, the characters, what drives plot, you have vastly different writings. So maybe it is true that there are no original plots, but there is always your original self to place into them.

I am somewhat terrified of being forgotten. Maybe not now, or in ten or fifty years. But someday, after I'm dead, when no one on this planet has ever seen my face, known my laugh, or smiled with me. No one has ever heard my stories, and no one knows my life. I am afraid that this jumble experiences, my life, will be forgotten. Everything that I have experienced will be for nothing. This isn't an argument of the existence of a God, this is the fundamental idea that without the presence of yourself, your soul, your ideas, your human body, you will no longer be remembered. But obviously, this doesn't happen to everyone. Those who record their stories, their ideas, are forever in the folds of the collective knowledge of life. For example, J.D. Salinger, may he rest in peace, will always be known for "The Catcher in the Rye" (coincidentally one of my favorite books). No amount of time will ever diminish the success of his writing, nor how his words and characters touched the lives and hearts of his readers, and of a nation.


I guess I write to be remembered, for people to know a side of myself they will never see. That even if I am dead and gone, a piece of my soul lingers on, hoping to inspire others.