the eyes i cant believe

Our most used sense (if applicable). the eye ball a portal to the soul or the scanner of the hidden within. my inspiration for this log come from the picture written titled "Omayara Sanchez" by isable Allende. the little girl is holding on for life, "and yet look at her hands they are so elegant..." her eyes intense with pain and still observant hides her frustration unable to help her self her eyes hold strong brown and puffy her determination to survive shines with such beauty, i have to ask did anyone help her?

my pictures are of my the left is the original eye right is the inverted eye. Do they share the same expression? i took the shot just looking into the lens, i didn't think if anything in particular but when reviewing, the right eye resembled hurt and the expression surprised.the left eye looked utterly distraught completely devastated.
Isabel speaks more about the little girl and the pain she feels for her daughter whenever the image appears," my daughter trapped in a body that does not function anymore, omayra trapped in mud.

the image of any child,person, in pain is very hard to look at but once all aspects and angles are taken in the challenge is to make a connection to understand and feel what the object and what the artist was capturing.

the main idea of Omayra Sanchez comes from the comparison of her daughter and omayra "Endurance and the love of life, the acceptance of the tragedy and death..."

outerform

http://pro.corbis.com/images/91175-31.jpg?size=67&uid={8998A5CF-0FA0-4D97-9528-CDDADF4E9109}
Pm baker to me again

i put on several different costumes to get through my day. the student, the chef student, the sleeper, the most dreaded of all the pm baker. i, like Clark Clint, put on a uniform to pursue and complete, my task. i work as a baker, 9 hour graveyard shift 4 days a weeks its a terrible weight to bare. I'm the soul producer of a company, with out my abilities they would cease to exists.
my uniform depending on my mood , white t and black pin stripped pants or a black t- shirt with gray checkered pants, a hat and of course black non-slip shoes. unlike superman my emblem isn't iconic across the world though when i walk out the front doors of panera bread my emblems brings me nodes and salutation, sometime empathy acknowledgements of my task to provide the bread or that soup they love and consume regularly.

my uniform, its not about me, the beget on my black shirt, or the bread bunch on my white shirt. it represent a bigger idea a company built to serve awesome bread and perfected customer service. "The "S" on super mans chest is the monogram made monolithic...." representing hope and strength.

"Super" by chip Kidd is about super mans costume and the journey from this comical cotton costume to a more dramatic synthetic stern forceful ripped and more manly iconic figure. i was inspired but the look in the eye of superman when he changes from Clark. He is superman but becomes Clark Clint. i feel like a baker and i become my alter egos (sleeper, student, chef student lol).

ironic concoction

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3073/2778673084_5731cd51d3.jpg?v=0

My tattoo i love it.

signs like the stop light or school crossing plaques help to inform us what to do or how fast to go. the question at the bottom of the article asks "what makes a symbol endure?" the bimbo bear is the symbol of Mexican bread and dessert products. a lot of people enjoy bread and whenever i see the white polar bear i think of Delicious tasty carbohydrate filled bread . "glimpse at them for a split second and you know what they mean" kinda like now when ever you see a picture of Obama you imagine his speech yes we can and hope pops right after. what makes a symbol endure, not the actual product the population and its amazing ability to fall head over heels in love with an idea that they need the product being sold.

some symbols inform other symbols are a place holders for a companies, a product or just a person who symbolizes a feeling or an idea.

how many months are you?

"the story of my body" judith ortiz cofer, a tale of a younger mixed Latina from Porto Rico. she talks about her skin, size, and looks. i completely relate to her distress through out her days going through school and moving her home ton to the united states. i really related to her size portion. i wasn't super tall kid but i was super plump. i was active and did sports but I've always had a big belly. my family poked fun at me they would always ask "how many months are you?" i didn't really think of it then i was always hurt but i kept it in. i didn't know what else to say i grew taller i passed through grade school and made it to high school but never lost my stomach, although friends tried to reassure me i still feel like I'm this 6 month prego.

"i didn't consciously think about my size til other people made an issue of it..." i felt "normal" i kept up with the other boys and i even did more then the others. it wasn't till my cousins picked at me and i really took a look at my body and the way the other kids looked. it was difficult to take but i grew and slimmed up and developed self confidence and assurance.

he she said

"you cant be moody, that is for girls," you cant play Chinese jump rope your a boy," "straws are for women", don't do this don't do that, i thought it was a joke. the voice in the article Girl, jamaica kincaid, hammers in directions on how to properly execute each task and when its appropriate. the voice was confusing it wasn't till the third time Reading that i realized the main idea. its not what the "mother voice" is saying its the idea that little girls are act and do certain things, ie to wash clothes or to be lady like, "and not end up that slut so bent on becoming..." like my experiences our "mother" voice wanted to guide us to be what they were taught as children on how to properly depict and portray gender roles.

fluttering captured by the minds eye and the lenses snap shutness

The pole was a heavy iron or lead pipe probably twenty feet long... the pipe, crafted into a flag was raised in Iwo Jima during the war in 1945, inspired the troops to fight on and advance the lines to victory. the diploma, my pipe, propelled me to finish school with a blaze. high school was my war and it took every bit of my strength to get past and conquor the foreign knowledge that stood in my way. with a great cheer at the end of the four years it hit me like a boom i can do this i can start my next years tackling college and blasting my way to the life i want and deserve. the site and emotions i felt that day i raised up lifted in my own amazement i look back at those days leading up to graduation the feverish studying and impossible late nights frantically pursuing this last chance to make my mark i think of those times when i look at my pictures, captured by a cheapo disposable camera it reminds me i can do it i just need to conjure the strength and the will to get it done. "i was surprised by the fifth day they could do this..." their fifth day was my last day of junior year i tasted this nectar, completion and the pride that follows. enthuised, like the soldiers in "Flag Raising On Iwo Jima"by, Joe Roseenthal, i pushed myself and i made it through that gut wrenching years obstacles ( friends and fun) and i pushed ahead i made it an immense pleasure waiting to be called for my stage walk my Flag Raising at Luther Burbank, June 14, 2007 !

i rember the place i was in

edward hopper and the house by the rail roads, oddly familiar i think i can identify my late vw jetta with the house.,"..someone being starrred at someone holding their breath under water, hushed and expectant," the house is truely handsome its said to be disappointed in its glory, i bought a car and with all my heart i was in love but it broke and it sat with out use or reasin and with my own desperate heart i viewed the car lpoking back at me with soften and appologetic features. the poem personofies the house , the arthour, i imagine,had to of felt these emotins themself to capture and view such an iridescent expressions from a house or poem.

And then one day the man just disappears, he left his afternoon shadow moving across the tracks, making its way through the vast darkening fields," edward hirsch, my interpretation for this line describes my feeling of the car as my attachment grew weaker and i finally just let it go. i was so upset with that day i called a tow truck and they gave me $170 for it in total, i was heart boken but i knew it was time to let go but it lingered in my mind ,the afternoon shadonw easing away to the vast darkness, of it being gone and me losing this mechanical automotive creation to dispair and metaphorical human like emotions. i was cuoght staring gawky abandon by my own willed choice.

hearts tock so ordinary

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TOBMbHbXVOg



considering time and the effort in which i tried to keep it tamed its nieve to believe i can stop it at any rate. the most of ordinary thing i know is the clock. this contraption created first from stone then later electrified. its function contemporary but older than the idea the earth is flat. ordinary its marvelously intriguing i cant stop the effects of time but i try to hide, fool the eye, with rejuvenations and topical creams or the latest cover girl powder foundation.
"each one visits a thousand flowers a day... they can fly for hundreds of miles without pausing to rest", joyas voldardores by Brian Doyle, these humming birds zoom zam through space at much greater speeds than any living organism. time at their speed would be mind blowing and unbearable for me. I would love to spend split seconds through the bad on contrary i know id feel like the good times are gone fast as my eye blinks.
tick tock minutes flutter one by one by one a predetermined pace, unchanging literally i find my self losing such precious moments with all efforts unable to maintain i feel helpless. "but when they do rest they come close to death" the most difficult of actions to rest i cant seem to do with rest time seems to slip away and i lose my barrings.

then again when time well spent i feel i cheated existence i feel like i stoped the hands from ticking away my departure i forget the minutes closer to the end.

So much happens in a day and its hard to think i can prevent it all or stay trapped in a single moment no matter how bad i want it. not all moments make me rejoice but i know that the next might be better. Doyle describes what he sees happens the hearts with time,"... that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn..." time in its self is destructive yet also just as repairing.

diffrence through time

Now V.S. Back in the day

( high school)

Change is as change does, but a change in place or a change is color doesn't necessarily make a difference. In the chapter i read about differences and i couldn't help but think of myself and when i was in high school. i found some old pictures that reminded me of the mischief i got in. i realized also that i as a body i changed too. my poses and facial expressions were different. i figured it was me becoming an adult, but after reading "coming into the country" by Gish Jen, it dawned on me I'm not different physically so much as I'm different in my mind set.

Summing up the article i understand that the real meaning isn't just about leaving from a place to come in to America. its about the the dreams associated with the idea of "America." getting into college was a step taken towards something better. that better was open for interpretation, whether it meeting friends and partying my heart out or studying my butt off and getting on with life as i know it. - We newish Americans leapfrog from world to world reinventing ourselves en route... high school i didn't know who i really was , still today I'm wondering, but once grad day hit i was this college kid. Ive changed but to know Ive chaged i really needed to examine the differences. - Indeed nothing seems more typically American than to obsess about identity... high school was such a a whirl wind, i was surrounded by all this stimulation and i couldn't help but to become and submerge myself at least for awhile to actually understand and realize this wasn't who i am or wanted to be. now I'm this culinary student with other culinary students and not much variation. me now versus me back in the day are comparable but so different its wicked.

to rember is more violent

the picture represent me in high school and the craziness i went through. each tell a story.

When I turned to fish cheeks, the picture reminded me of the picture I took in high school. The family photo of my brothers and sister jumped right out at me.
After reading the article Fish cheeks, it reminded me of my family and how we are the same but I so much wanted to be different from them and resemble my friends instead. "you want be same like American girls on the outside... fish cheeks, by Amy tan" I had wanted to be this idea I thought everyone else was, and I tried to blend in but at the same time I was sticking out more also clashing with my family. High school not just the place but the actually years are memorable moments. Intense and some so amazing, although it was hard I can’t see me done anything else.
I remember my grandmother telling me," you can do whatever you want in life as long as you do it with respect. I thought I understood what she meant but after a while it stuck Whit me and I didn't quiet understand until I reached my senior year of high school. I was skating through school I did just enough work and my senior year. Respect didn't mean necessarily showing or giving but just doing whatever it takes to get it done or go about life proud and with reason. Fish cheeks brought back memories and my picture helps me remember what life was like then.

the hometown idea

The picture is my home town street sign I took years ago.
I haven't yet found the place that I really find has the most intense meaning to me. School has been the one place I have attended that helped me understand and find what I want out of life. I step into a class room in know exactly why I'm there. I know what I need to do and why it’s going to benefit me. I think knowing what I get from a place is what makes it meaningful.

If I was asked this question when I was younger I would have said my home. My home was not just my house it was the entire neighborhood. I loved running around with friends playing and getting into trouble. Never really had to do much school and play, that was the life. My neighborhood meant a lot to me then. It was the place I felt safest, where I learned how to solve problems, developed leadership skills and just plain imaginative fun.
Imaginati0n this amazingly insane idea that only alters with time, as my innocence dissipated I started to see what my family thought of my home. I saw glorious and fascination adventures through a moonlight catacomb when they saw an intense gang ridden ghetto. I enjoyed the school after hours, but I wasn’t allowed to play after street lights.

The china town idea, by Eric liu describes a part of San Francisco, the culture the atmosphere and the traditions. As a little town they had their own way and ideas about how life should be and slowly that changed with the influence from surrounding areas, the government and the evolving society was cause to their modernization. For example "the china town idea holds that people who live there shouldn’t deviate one stroke from the ways of "old china" unless we tell them to. as a kid I felt I was right my neighborhood is the best ever, till practically drilled in me it was raunchy ruff and just bad, from different people and most effectively my mom, maybe it is a horrible place and slowly I noticed what they considered bad I began to disapprove of my wonderland. A new picture of uninspired unamused and lost feelings arose.

over heard

Every day we walk up and down the streets, halls and other corridors, we hear laughter, sobs and just random rambling, chit chatter and whatever other kind of noise making people can come up with. It’s strange most of time these noises are heard across great distances and still come in clear or at the least statically. When looking around we can’t help but notice that everyone has one. the new age object that came a long way from bulky insane weird ugly to this sleek flip flopping hidden and virtually unseen beauty.
I asked some friends a questioned inspired by the article pencil, by Henry petroski what do you plan to take with you? they ran off a list of items: chap stick, lip gloss, gum, make up, body spray, wallets, cash, I realized like the in the article they hadn’t mentioned an object I know they couldn’t live without.
We over look and practically over use such a wonderful device... the cell phone.

-But there is one object that Thoreau had neglected to mention, one the he most certainly carried himself. For without this object Thoreau could have not sketched either the fleeting fauna he could not shoot or the larger flora he could not uproot..... (The pencil, Henry petroski)


the article continues to wonder about why thoreu would forget to mention an object he used so often and begins to search for reasoning..." perhaps the very object with which he may have been drafting his list was too close to him, too familiar a part of his everyday outfit, to common to mention...

I too personally use my cell so often on the daily that I forget it’s not a part of me, the article inspired me because it’s relative to my life in a sense that I have certain objects I couldn’t think of being without.