Fireside Chat

Some stories hurt terribly. Some stories strike at chords a little too close to vulnerabilities. But sometimes that's entirely the point. 

I've come to see art as a conversation. An artist is one who sees, and good artists have a way of communicating that vision. For me, art is often a conversation with myself, a confrontation which seeks deeper understanding of my own beliefs. Not always. A huge part of me just wants to make beautiful things, but some stories need to be told and some experiences examined. 

Susan Sontag speaks about 'uglifying' in photographs––images of pain and suffering, stories of horror and grief. These photos instil pity and fear, evoking sentiment and thought. The illustrated story below, Samantha, carries a similar theme. It's not a pretty story, and stands in stark contrast to the multitudes of nice children's media. But the form is important. It's a story of abuse, told though the eyes of the abusers––ignorant, selfish, and unknowingly toxic "cool kids." The images tell a story of children, who, by no fault of their own, are suffering terribly. The dialog is an elementary school gossip column. The dramatic irony between what the audience explicitly knows from experience and the casual attitude of the narrator is rather uncomfortable. Like the photographs describes in Sontag's essay, Samantha is designed to shock and remind. 

Sontag says that "collective memory is not a remembering, but a stipulating... Memory is individual, unreproducible." In sharing this story with many different individuals, I've been met with a variety of responses. Some once were in the role of the narrator, others the victims of abuse. And some remain disconnected and refuse to confront their past. Samantha is a collective memory. It begins with my personal recollections, but functions as a vehicle to bring about others'. We often reminisce about how great childhood was, but this is likely because we've chosen to forget about the difficulty. Popular children's media helps forge memories of the ideal. It's a nice photo with no pimples, pain or wrinkles––the perfect profile pic on the Facebook page of our past. Alliteration aside, our collective memory of childhood reflects both denial and optimism. But perhaps we could benefit from acknowledging the other side. 

Samantha is an ugly story. My roommate is quick to remark how much he hates it. Which is great. It means he thought about it. I didn't make it to be loved. I hate it, too. But it was an important conversation for me to have. Revisiting a particularly painful piece of my childhood has helped me resolve to be better. The story ends with no catharsis. I've never had the chance to say "I'm sorry" to that girl. So my efforts to be kind to others are a way of apologizing to her. The fireside chat was an attempt for closure. For artistic value, I wish I hadn't given any explanation for the story, but I wanted to be a little didactic in getting my message across. 

But that's my memory.