In Defense of Art

My grampa and me in front of my painting of JFK.

I sent this to the editor of the Lebanon Daily Record a week ago, and apparently it just ran because I’ve received 3 Facebook messages about it (all positive, so far).  I didn’t think it was right to let the rift between words and action go unnoticed.  As a 2008 LHS graduate who worked very hard to improve my school, I am still offended by last year’s whitewashing despite my absence.  Many students poured their hearts into the murals and the digital pieces hanging in the halls and it wasn’t right for them to be disrespected.  (See a gallery of my mural, painted summer 2007, here.)

During a weekend visit home, I read the LDR’s article “Hazell-Rhoads Gallery opens at high school.” I am delighted that the gallery bears two of my favorite teachers’ names, but I question the administration’s commitment to the arts.  Hyperbolic phrases like “the finest [artwork] you will see anywhere” and “you can’t have a school without the arts in it,” while seemingly enthusiastic, contradict past behavior.  Last year, LHS saw the whitewashing of numerous murals in the school and the removal of other artwork hung in the hallways.  Both projects involved scores of dedicated students, many of whom were still in the highschool at the time, and were special undertakings of Alva Hazell himself.  I commend the student artists, and I hope this new hallway gallery is only one step toward greater support in the future, and not just an ironic publicity stunt.

Preview: The U.S. vs John Brown

I made this over the weekend using my Canon Vixia and Adobe Premiere Pro.

Learn more about MU law school’s mock trial at the War and Reconciliation website or at  The Free Tiger, a new student-run online newsmagazine at Missouri University.  Started this year by my good friend Eva Dou, it has already earned positive feedback with its solid writing and clean aesthetic.  I look forward to contributing more soon.

A Little Wet

I went on a hike with my friend Nick near Gans Creek in Columbia, Missouri last weekend.  I came back with muddy jeans, new thoughts on sustainability, and some nice pictures.  Actually, the last one is from Bennett Springs this summer.

Missouri River Relief

This weekend, I had a rare chance to connect to the Missouri River, and I want to share my experience with you.  The opportunity came through another Sustain Mizzou executive member, Billy Froeschner, a man of the coolest connections from recycling to veteran’s affairs.  This time it was with Steve Schnarr, the Lower Reach Manager for Missouri River Relief.  Talk of our organization helping with a river cleanup evolved into an optional camp-out.  And so it goes.

Adam, Jonathan and Valeria launching from Cooper's Landing.

We launched at 6:30 p.m. on Friday from Cooper’s Landing, which is just outside of Columbia, MO.  Cooper’s Landing has been in my Columbia lexicon, but I had never actually been there.  What a cool place!  When we arrived, a man with sun-reddened skin and a coarse white beard was playing music by picnic tables.  Campers milled about the store and boaters were putting in at the dock.  I smelled Thai food cooking in one of their kitchen huts, and the spices mixed with smells of rotting driftwood seemed out of place.  From what I hear, though, Chim’s Thai Kitchen itself is worth a trip to Cooper’s.  We loaded our gear onto two of MRR’s plate boats, strapped on life vests, and headed seven miles upstream to our campsite.

Post-Modern "Nature Access Point" Tent

After 30 minutes, a sandbar with several tents and a makeshift pavilion came into view.  California Island, according to the Missouri Department of Natural Resources, “can be the size of several football fields when the river is lower than 8 feet.”  This weekend, it was probably the length of two football fields.  (Maybe.  I’m not great with sports analogies.)  After pitching tents and exploring the island’s west end, we ate a delicious spaghetti and salad dinner provided by MRR volunteers.  The night saw stargazing, hot potato, shocking stories and mild stories, newspaper hot air balloons, and a “passing of the feather” around the fire, where we introduced ourselves and discussed the River’s importance in our personal lives and beyond.  In all, about 15 students and about 10 MRR people stayed the night on the island.

MU Student Shanty Town on California Island

I woke up before 6:00 a.m. on Saturday morning.  Walking barefoot along the sand and clay, listening to the geese honking across the water, I felt the river’s influence without the aid of light.  It’s a constant push/pull artistry on the land, carving valleys and depositing minerals, driving the cycle of all nearby life.  As the sun rose over the tree line, it revealed the geological beauty, the healthy tree line, and the brotherhood of campers preparing to rid these riverbanks of others’ negligent waste.

Before 9:00 a.m. Racin’ Dave Strous dropped seven of us off downriver with bags and work gloves.  We were at least 15 feet above the shoreline, but we could pick up at least 5 waste items from one standing location at any point.  Plastic and glass bottles were the most immediately abundant finds, but closer inspection opened our eyes to the bags and bags full of Styrofoam packaging that makes its way into our waterways.  This was the trash that frustrated me most.  We also dragged out tires, a refrigerator, pesticide applicators, and a trash can from Iowa.  MRR will post final clean-up results later.

I recommend that all Missouri residents work with MRR at least once in their lives.  I came away from the experience feeling a new allegiance to the river and to my fellow campers/cleaners.  In making a place more beautiful, we also learn more about it and about ourselves.

When Banshees Take on Semicolons

An incident occurs.  My teacher says, “that’s your assignment.”

I think someone’s shouting in the hall, maybe a girl scaring a friend.  But the indistinct run-on keeps roaring until punctuated by a full-bodied bark. “…I saw what you wrote on Facebook!”  My head snaps up at the imperative.  I look to my peers.  Did they hear it?  Were they startled?  Wide eyes answer, “yes,” as they focus on the door and I realize that the Noise towers there, still yelling, a blonde banshee at our threshold.  Who is it after?  Kaitlyn, Devon, Tyler?  Wood collides with metal—a gunshot of a slam—and now the sound comes Doppler-style as the Screech moves to my left, over my backpack, pushing past me to the next desk.  Alexis?  Our teacher? That petite brunette darling who just moments ago professed her passion for the semicolon?  A semicolon!  How could a semicolon provoke such rage?  I imagine neurons scrambling over adrenaline, crosschecking reality with what I see.  Who is this?  Is this staged?  Who assaults someone during class?  “I don’t care if it’s in class!” comes a shout.  Okay then.  The silence of my classmates is like quickly fired clay.  We aren’t flesh, we’re porcelain, and the shouting echoes off our ceramic skin with amplified volume.  It’s shrill, so shrill, and it’s something strange about a boyfriend.  What else don’t I know about teachers’ lives?  I could write about this.  A desk squeals on the tile floor, and when Alexis springs up to back away, I rise three inches from my seat, ready to run for help.  Come on, where would I go, the principal’s office?  This isn’t real, anyway, is it?  My teacher’s eyes are wide and frightened, but her eyebrows give it away.  They’re arched like a surprised fermata, not furrowed in defense.  I see other students smirking.  But she did just have heart surgery, and though I don’t know her limits, I’m guessing she shouldn’t get punched right now.  My arm reaches for my cell phone.  Who would I call, 911?  Okay, Dumb Idea number two.  Now Alexis is nearly against the wall, her orange blouse inches away from the chalky blackboard.  She says, once, twice, “we didn’t do anything; we just got coffee,” and that plaintive cry breaks the banshee’s spell, sends the Clamor out the door, and leaves us looking, bewildered, hearts racing, ears ringing, minds sorting, wondering, what the hell just happened?

She staged it.  Disappointing.