Waste Land

Recently, in class we watched a documentary on the world's largest landfill, located in Rio, Brazil. The most memorable part of the film was when the workers at Jardim Gramacho helped blowup the photos he took. It shows how other people’s trash can be someone else’s treasure. I learned that you should find as much value as you can with the things you have because if you don't it will be left in a waste land never to be seen or used again. Let's say you go grocery shopping and you have your food items bagged in plastic bags. Once home you unload the food from the plastic bags and throw them away. Those bags could have been used as a trash bag or to carry books, but it wasn't. Instead it was thrown away and will end up in a landfill. Plastic bags take 500 years to decompose. Now image all 8 billion people on Earth throw away 1 plastic bag every day. There wouldn't be enough room to fit all of them. You should find as much value with the items you got before you throw it away. The way I think the people in the picture felt about the photo is proud. Not many people know that there are garbage pickers. The art bring awareness to them and appreciation to what the pickers do. They want to be seen and I believe that the subjects were very happy to finally be looked at. If Vik Muniz had made me the subject of his art, I would feel embarrassed but excited. I would be worried that the photo wouldn't give a true representation of me; however, I think it would be cool to see a photo of me be fun sized. There aren't many aspects of my life that would lead to the same type of art Vik Muniz created, but there are times. The times in my life when I feel accomplished, determined, lonely, etc. are the times when similar art can be created. These emotions go deep down to a place that is very delicate and so, when photographed, it reaches out to people.

Photo Essay on deforestation

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Turning Tables

I am running, my white dress stained green as grass, the bottom of my feet caked with dirt. I swing my arms up and twirl around, letting the moonlight claim my porcelain face. I look down to check my mother’s ancient leather watch that has been passed down through my family for generations.

"Shoot, I'm late!" I whispered to myself. I sprinted back to my mansion that was surrounded by a ten foot wall. I quietly squeezed under a small gap where not many guards were patrolling. I approached the door which I always kept unlocked and soon found myself standing behind my aunt, or as I like to call her the Wicked Witch of the West. Auntie Leslie has been my guardian ever since my parents were killed in a tragic car accident. She stood there, tall, dressed in my mother's veil. The fact that she had the nerve to wear my dead mother's clothing sickens me.

"Oh daring there you are!" the Witch screeched with her raspy voice. She had her backed turned, admiring her reflection in the mirror. "I have some very exciting news for you and that is..." her eyes rolled to see the maid standing by.

"You," she barked at the maid, "Leave!" Dawn, the maid, pinched the ends of her skirt, bowed, and headed for the door.

"Good luck Skylar." she whispered to me before leaving.

"Oh daring, I have to tell you something, which I know your parents would be so proud of if they were here today. You are betrothed to the son of the very wealthy Sir Richard." I think I just had a mini heart attack.

"But how am I to marry, for I am only sixteen? Do I not have school? Do I not have a say in whom I marry?" I questioned.

She turned around and then walked up to me, "You ungrateful child, you have to do as I say or I'll...," she smiled, "I'll use all the money your parents left for you on a face lift."

"No, you can't" I begged. The money my parents set aside was the only way I could pay for a ticket out of this hell house.

She grabbed my face with one hand and I felt her fingernails leaving another mark of abuse. "You will do as I say." she growled. "Now go get dressed. Sir Richard and his son Alexander will be here in an hour." She turned her back, once again, to admire her reflection.

 I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door. I couldn't take it anymore; I swiftly packed up my belongings and tip toed down the stairs and out the open door I went. I pulled my body through the hole under the wall and once again I am running. My white dress stained green as grass, the bottom of my feet caked with dirt. I swing my arms up and twirl around, letting the moonlight, once again, claim my porcelain face.

Victory over Death

I am running, my white dress stained green as grass bottom of my feet caked with dirt. I swing my arms up and twirl around, letting the moonlight claim my porcelain face. I look down to check my mother’s ancient leather watch that has been passed down through my family for generations.

"Shoot, I'm late!" I whispered to myself. I sprinted back to my mansion that was surrounded by a ten foot wall. I quietly squeezed under a small gap where not many guards were patrolling. I approached the door which I always kept unlocked and soon found myself standing behind my aunt, or as I like to call her the Wicked Witch of the West. Auntie Leslie has been my guardian ever since my parents were killed in a tragic car accident. She stood there, tall, dressed in my mother's veil. The fact that she had the nerve to wear my dead mother's clothing sickens me.

"Oh daring there you are!" the Witch screeched with her raspy voice. She had her backed turned, admiring her reflection in the mirror. "I have some very exciting news for you and that is..." her eyes rolled to see the maid standing by.

"You," she barked at the maid, "Leave!" Dawn, the maid, pinched the ends of her skirt, bowed, and headed for the door.

"Good luck Skylar." she whispered to me before leaving.

"Oh daring, I have to tell you something, which I know your parents would be so proud of if they were here today. You are betrothed to the son of the very wealthy Sir Richard." I think I just had a mini heart attack.

"But how am I to marry, for I am only sixteen? Do I not have school? Do I not have a say in whom I marry?" I questioned.

She turned around and then walked up to me, "You ungrateful child, you have to do as I say or I'll...," she smiled, "I'll use all the money your parents left for you on a face lift."

"No, you can't" I begged. The money my parents set aside was the only way I could pay for a ticket out of this hell house.

She grabbed my face with one hand and I felt her fingernails leaving another mark of abuse. "You will do as I say." she growled. "Now go get dressed. Sir Richard and his son Alexander will be here in an hour." She turned her back, once again, to admire her reflection.

 I ran up the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door. I couldn't take it anymore; I pulled my father's dagger off the self that was hanging above my bed. "I'm coming mom." I whispered, only a single candle to witness the most drastic thing a person could do. After all these years of being beaten and tormented both mentally and physically, I will no longer give in to what she wants and I shall fulfill my needs. I held the dagger in front of my chest and moaned softly as I took my last breath.  I had finally found my peace.  

Delicate

The first thing I thought of when I was told to take a picture of something delicate was of something vulnerable, something that could be easily broken, left there, not being able to yell for help. Of course capturing delicacy in a human would require someone willing to stand there and act like their life has been shattered into a million pieces, and sadly my brother wasn't up for the challenge. So I settled for something, surprisingly, better. I took a photo of a glass vase that so clearly showed delicacy. From it being able to shatter so easily to its fine texture and intricate workmanship, it is the tangible form of delicacy.

A Closer Look Outside

A White Disaster

I chose this picture because of the irony of a firefighter at an ice-covered warehouse.

The man who is pictured is Lieutenant Charley De Jesus from the Chicago Fire Department.
At first glance you might miss the fact that firefighter is at a warehouse that caught fire.
This picture tells a story of a tragic incident that has come under control and has been met with help; the firefighter is walking through the ice-covered warehouse. Ask yourself these questions how long after the fire was the picture taken and, if that is so, how is the warehouse already covered in ice if a fire had taken place?