Charlotte, NC / Athens, OH
Things don’t always happen as expected. When you are young, you think the world is filled with magic. There are fairies hidden behind the tomatoes in the garden. The reason the toilet isn’t working is not because you used too much toilet paper, but rather because the goblins messed with the plumbing again. The woods behind the house on your dad’s farm hum with the life of untold wonders. As your feet patter across the forest floor, you check behind trees to make sure you’re not being followed by a dark creature. You raise a stick, nearly as tall as you, to defend yourself in case there is. It’s just a hop and a skip over the small creek by your unfinished treehouse. It will be a castle one day, towering far above the trees, and you will paint the walls with berry juice. These are the wonders of youth ...
As you grow older, you realize that there might not be magic in the world. Things are explained by science. You stop making houses for the fairies in the garden with your mother. She’s busy: It’s tax season, Emily. The treehouse stands unfinished on the banks of the creek as you wave goodbye to the quaint farmhouse. The pecan tree, bravely standing taller than anything else, fades from view. You were going to grow wings and fly from the top of it one day, dropping twigs onto your brother’s wheat colored hair. Your friends, who you were going to take on a sailing expedition around the world, are actually worse than pirates. You feel alone, lost. You look up at the sky and wonder where the flying boy and his pixie are, and why he never came. The magic begins to fade. The glow is lost, and the world becomes dull. Things don’t always happen as expected.
Sweet music fills your ears as you close your eyes and tune out the dim world around you. Your fantasies dance within your mind's eye. When you open your eyes, though, they disappear. They live only inside your head.
Then there’s a spark. You see it, out of the corner of your eye as you sit, finding the slope for a linear equation that, unfortunately, will not help you build the walls of your castle. The spark is bright, but not to your eyes. You thought you were the only one, thus the world was hard to see. But the spark is there. It is a vision of a pencil on paper. It curves and swoops across the blank space in the margins. The lines are not beautiful; they stutter over each other as the pencil goes over a mistake. To you, though, they are perfect. You rise, you move. You open your mouth. “Hello, my name is Emily.” The pencil is in a hand, attached to a person. They look at you, wary, just as you are. They haven’t seen your spark yet. You speak again. Talking is good, talking is easy. Just words, babbling. Like a baby. That is what you are, a baby in awe of new things. This is new, and you are happy. The spark becomes an ember, which grows into an inferno. You have found another like yourself.
Suddenly, there is color. The inferno burns away the dullness of the world, and it emerges from the ashes like a phoenix, beautiful once again. The magic has returned, but it is different. Now, it is not seen, but made. You make it. The treehouse is not forgotten. You make another, built out of words. Words become images, moving across a screen. So while things don’t always happen as expected, you know what you want to do, what you want to become. You want to become a magician of visions.
Film project for IB final demonstrating directing and writing skills.
Film exploring a reinterpretation of the story of King Midas
Film project studying Tim Burton's style of filming
Charlotte, NC / Athens, OH
My overall theme for art is the loss of innocence in fairytales. This theme is directly influenced by my story. My story is the rewritten and reimagined story of the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up. It has a much darker twist, which, in actuality, is more closely related to the original Peter Pan, where he would feed the Lost Boys to the Crocodile in a sadistic game. My story takes into account the darkness behind Peter Pan’s story. Why is he alone? Why was he the first Lost Boy? What happened to him? I intend to answer those questions. I believe there is more to his story than what has been told, just as there is more to every fairy tale, myth, and fable. Exploring this concept has been quite fun and eye-opening. When I actually look for the darkness, rather than turning a blind eye to it, I begin to realize just how much of it is out there. And in doing so, I also realize just how much good is out there, as well.
My overall theme for art is the loss of innocence in fairytales. This theme is directly influenced by my story. My story is the rewritten and reimagined story of the Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up.