narrative & typographic layout studies
The Senior Studio One course focuses on storytelling in words, sounds, time, and images. The studio aims to cultivate the capabilities to see, to think, and communicate. The development of skills in data gathering and organization in narration and the choice of the appropriate media, format, and structure presents an autobiographical story to analyze and demonstrate different narrative structures and alternate ways of visually interpreting content.
My story, entitled ”Being My Brother’s Keeper“, includes the following text:
Today, in a split second, I found myself immersed in total-recall. That day occurred ten years ago, on the east-bound thirty-four trolley. I lived in
Philadelphia’s University City. A young black man was dot-ing on his girlfriend seated to my right. Two rows ahead of me, sat another young black man. He was full of swagger with his feet suavely positioned in the seat and with his back against the window. Re-peatedly, he glanced at the doting pair.
Minutes later, the trolley slowly approached the Thirty-third Street stop, and the suave man pulled the bell cord to get off. The trolley stopped, the man stood up, and approached the rear exit. As he walked, the man sitting with his girlfriend yelled; ”The next time I see you, I&lqo;m putting a bullet in your head!“ The cool ogler responded; ”whatever“, as he exited with a nonchalant wave. Enraged, the lover angrily retorted; ”what“, jumped up, and quickly pulled the cord. The engineer hurriedly stopped; the enraged man jetted from the car, while reaching into his pocket. Instantaneously, the two became entangled in a desperate struggle over the enraged man’s gun. Suddenly, a loud shot rever-berated throughout the tunnel. In a nanosecond, this suave, virile man fell limply to the ground lifeless. The enraged man stowed the gun and bolted. Now and then, I have wondered, what if I had acted?
Surrealistically, ten years later, more than three thousand miles away from Philadelphia, I find myself in a mall parking lot in Modesto, California witnessing practically the same story. I see a young white man driving a black tuner with a young white woman in the passenger seat. He&lquo;s hastily making an illegal U-turn after insulting a Hispanic family with evil, racist epithets.
A young Hispanic man gives rocketed chase on foot, just after the older Hispanic man passes him a gun. I think, oh no, another damn gun. I didn’t want to see another life lost over foolishness. Lord help me stop this madness. This time I acted yelling; ”whoa, whoa, whoa“ with my hands held high. Oh my God, he stopped. I’m getting through to him.
Thank you, Lord, for this blessing. I asked him; ”Can I holler at you, brother?“ ”Nah, I’m alright,“ he replied. The woman ran to me expressing her gratitude. She attempted to bow, but I urged her not to, we just hugged. ”That’s my son,“ she said. He approached and I told him, ”You could’ve destroyed your family and the others over pure nonsense.” He apologized to his mother. His mother then told me the older gun donor was her son’s uncle. ”I asked the uncle; how could you give your nephew a gun?“ He apologized to his sister and nephew.
Fortunately, that moment ended peaceably. Well wishes were exchanged,we embraced and went about our way. We were blessed.
Still, I wish I could redo 1994.
Minutes later, the trolley slowly approached the Thirty-third Street stop, and the suave man pulled the bell cord to get off. The trolley stopped, the man stood up, and approached the rear exit. As he walked, the man sitting with his girlfriend yelled; ”The next time I see you, I&lqo;m putting a bullet in your head!“ The cool ogler responded; ”whatever“, as he exited with a nonchalant wave. Enraged, the lover angrily retorted; ”what“, jumped up, and quickly pulled the cord. The engineer hurriedly stopped; the enraged man jetted from the car, while reaching into his pocket. Instantaneously, the two became entangled in a desperate struggle over the enraged man’s gun. Suddenly, a loud shot rever-berated throughout the tunnel. In a nanosecond, this suave, virile man fell limply to the ground lifeless. The enraged man stowed the gun and bolted. Now and then, I have wondered, what if I had acted?
Surrealistically, ten years later, more than three thousand miles away from Philadelphia, I find myself in a mall parking lot in Modesto, California witnessing practically the same story. I see a young white man driving a black tuner with a young white woman in the passenger seat. He&lquo;s hastily making an illegal U-turn after insulting a Hispanic family with evil, racist epithets.
A young Hispanic man gives rocketed chase on foot, just after the older Hispanic man passes him a gun. I think, oh no, another damn gun. I didn’t want to see another life lost over foolishness. Lord help me stop this madness. This time I acted yelling; ”whoa, whoa, whoa“ with my hands held high. Oh my God, he stopped. I’m getting through to him.
Thank you, Lord, for this blessing. I asked him; ”Can I holler at you, brother?“ ”Nah, I’m alright,“ he replied. The woman ran to me expressing her gratitude. She attempted to bow, but I urged her not to, we just hugged. ”That’s my son,“ she said. He approached and I told him, ”You could’ve destroyed your family and the others over pure nonsense.” He apologized to his mother. His mother then told me the older gun donor was her son’s uncle. ”I asked the uncle; how could you give your nephew a gun?“ He apologized to his sister and nephew.
Fortunately, that moment ended peaceably. Well wishes were exchanged,we embraced and went about our way. We were blessed.
Still, I wish I could redo 1994.
This body of design incorporates illustration and a collection of personally shot and found imagery sources that have been stylized with imaging artistry.
