Humanities
Energy and place project
Artist Statement:
In my art piece I wanted to show how technology and nature can both be beautiful, and how they can both be one and the same thing. In my process I had to think of what is something that stands for music. I thought of a few things, water, flowers, trees, sky, and animals. I eventually decided on trees, so I had to find a scene online. I found a great snowy landscape. Then I went through the arduous task of making chrome trees. I found a great tree brush online, then all I had to do was go through three or four Photoshop tutorials on how to make chrome text and items. I eventually settled on the trees. Then to title it I found a great gear-like text to wrap it all together.
In my art piece I wanted to show how technology and nature can both be beautiful, and how they can both be one and the same thing. In my process I had to think of what is something that stands for music. I thought of a few things, water, flowers, trees, sky, and animals. I eventually decided on trees, so I had to find a scene online. I found a great snowy landscape. Then I went through the arduous task of making chrome trees. I found a great tree brush online, then all I had to do was go through three or four Photoshop tutorials on how to make chrome text and items. I eventually settled on the trees. Then to title it I found a great gear-like text to wrap it all together.
MindSpace
Eric Setka
Imagine a place where everything is possible. Where everything is available to you, and there are no limits . I say to imagine this place, but you don’t even need to. It’s a real place, you’ve been there your entire life, its right at the tip of your nose; actually its several inches behind it. Your mind! the place where your dreams happen. Dreams of the future, dreams of the past, dreams of right now. A place full of order, and beauty, yet also full of chaos and darkness, a place where creation starts, and images formulate.
The human mind: the most intricate and advanced computer on earth. Everything we use today comes from the human mind. The wheel started as an idea, creating and using energy started as an idea, the lightbulb started as an idea, Cars started as an idea, planes started as an idea, computers started as an idea, phones started as an idea. Almost everything started as ideas
When I was younger, I was very creative. Some days I would wake up, head to my house’s workshop, and work for hours, making wonderfully crafty machines, inventions, and toys. Some days I would actually forget to eat and drink when I was creating. Eventually I had to though, almost passing out from dehydration. There was always one place where these creations started. Most people call this place their imagination; if an image of SpongeBob with a rainbow over his head saying imagination comes to mind when you read the word, imagination, Then you definitely had a great childhood, and you and me are probably like minded individuals. Meaning you may understand this essay better than the average bear.
Let me walk you through my process using an example from one of those childhood adventures of mine. The year is 2010, I am in the 7th grade, and we are having an amazing winter year. At High Aspen Ranch, the property I spent a good portion of my adolescent life growing up on, there is over three feet of snow on the ground, the internet is down, and the DirecTv satellite dish is iced to a point of no reception.
I open a large wooden door, and step into the workshop, my workshop. Hard concrete floors warm my feet. The heating systems of the house were locked in the shop’s wooden closet, emitting thermal radiation throughout the house, keeping me from freezing over night, also keeping the workshop at a nice soothing temperature. The pool table covered by a thin brown tarp. All three vices locked up tight on the large wooden countertops and tables. The grinder, my dads, is at a standstill, me unbelieving that most of the tools in there were older than me, some by decades. I walk through the room, and take a seat. A rumbling sounds from outside; could it be a cattle stampede? The apocalypse? Its getting closer to the door, and like a gazelle, two beautiful dogs, not quite puppies anymore, emerge through the animal sized opening in the big door. Normally black, white, and tan, these dogs of mine were both wrapped in a white blanket of snow, which covered most of their bodies. I give them both a nice pat on the head, attempting to avoid getting snow on my pajamas.
Sitting in the chair, I slowly look around the large room, looking for anything interesting, my gaze passing my shelves, a huge mess; you see, when I was a child, I didn’t care for organization. Various cable hanging down off of projects. Items teetering on edge; everything ready to fall over. Now that blatant disregard for organization appals me, but back then I was like a pig in mud.
My eyes still wandering across the room, my eye catches my father’s potato launcher. For those of you who are not rednecks, science geeks, or students of Dave Heerschap, a potato launcher is a device, most commonly made with PVC piping, that launches potatoes at high velocities. There are many different ways to make them, but the way my father’s was made is a medium sized, long pipe, with an even larger, short pipe with a screwable cap at the end. The way it works is you place a potato on the ground, get the un-threaded side, and cut into the potato with that end of the launcher. Then you would push the potato down the barrel with a broom, or a dowel. Then you would spray some lighter fluid in the other side, quickly cap it, and flick it’s sparker until the gas ignites propelling the potato out of the barrel, into the atmosphere.
I saw this, got excited, then found out that there were no potatoes in the house. This is where my imagination ignited. I thought to myself what I could launch, and realized that I literally had tons and tons of potential ammo outside. Snow! The only problem was that the current launcher would not work with snow, and would probably ruin it. I started digging through the workshop, looking for components. I was digging through a large cupboard underneath the counter the grinder was attached to. I was about to give up hope, but then a large tank reared its beautiful blue head in the cupboard. I dug it out, and realized that I could launch the snow with a large burst of compressed air. I began to work, first came out steel piping, then gauges, then levers, then PVC piping, then connection pieces. I ran into problems, but nothing the quick trip to an Ace Hardware store couldn’t solve.
When it was all finished, it was truly a sight to behold. A large blue tank, steel piping feeding out into a chamber of steel piping, lever holding it in place, as well as a pressure gauge meter sticking out of the chamber walls. Past the chamber, the whitest PVP pipe you have ever seen, elegantly straight; It made a truly remarkable barrel. I of course got dressed in proper winter clothing, and went outside to test out my new toy. I shove the barrel in the snow, taking several pounds of it out with the machine. I latch the lever strongly to the shut position, and prepare for launch. I uncoil the air hose and drag it to the freezing outside, I take a hold of the stainless steel head, and press it firmly to the tank. Releasing a steady flow of air into the tank’s chamber. My hands nearly freezing to the hose head, as this task is too precise for large puffy gloves. Confused feelings fill my body, some feelings of worry, some of excitement. Would it work? I quickly flick the lever to the open position, and a shower of snow emerges from the barrel of the gun. Pure beauty as a small rainbow forms on the airborne snow crystals.
It was the perfect infusion of technology, machinery and nature. It worked! Maybe not exactly how I wanted it to, of course. I was a child naively expecting a cannonball to shoot it’s way through the atmosphere into space, silly kid. Though this was a success indeed. I spent hours playing with it. Trying different snow packs, experiencing success, then failure, and then failure again, then success again. Night fell over the winter wonderland as I went inside for dinner, then bed. It was a truly amazing day.
The human mind: the most intricate and advanced computer on earth. Everything we use today comes from the human mind. The wheel started as an idea, creating and using energy started as an idea, the lightbulb started as an idea, Cars started as an idea, planes started as an idea, computers started as an idea, phones started as an idea. Almost everything started as ideas
When I was younger, I was very creative. Some days I would wake up, head to my house’s workshop, and work for hours, making wonderfully crafty machines, inventions, and toys. Some days I would actually forget to eat and drink when I was creating. Eventually I had to though, almost passing out from dehydration. There was always one place where these creations started. Most people call this place their imagination; if an image of SpongeBob with a rainbow over his head saying imagination comes to mind when you read the word, imagination, Then you definitely had a great childhood, and you and me are probably like minded individuals. Meaning you may understand this essay better than the average bear.
Let me walk you through my process using an example from one of those childhood adventures of mine. The year is 2010, I am in the 7th grade, and we are having an amazing winter year. At High Aspen Ranch, the property I spent a good portion of my adolescent life growing up on, there is over three feet of snow on the ground, the internet is down, and the DirecTv satellite dish is iced to a point of no reception.
I open a large wooden door, and step into the workshop, my workshop. Hard concrete floors warm my feet. The heating systems of the house were locked in the shop’s wooden closet, emitting thermal radiation throughout the house, keeping me from freezing over night, also keeping the workshop at a nice soothing temperature. The pool table covered by a thin brown tarp. All three vices locked up tight on the large wooden countertops and tables. The grinder, my dads, is at a standstill, me unbelieving that most of the tools in there were older than me, some by decades. I walk through the room, and take a seat. A rumbling sounds from outside; could it be a cattle stampede? The apocalypse? Its getting closer to the door, and like a gazelle, two beautiful dogs, not quite puppies anymore, emerge through the animal sized opening in the big door. Normally black, white, and tan, these dogs of mine were both wrapped in a white blanket of snow, which covered most of their bodies. I give them both a nice pat on the head, attempting to avoid getting snow on my pajamas.
Sitting in the chair, I slowly look around the large room, looking for anything interesting, my gaze passing my shelves, a huge mess; you see, when I was a child, I didn’t care for organization. Various cable hanging down off of projects. Items teetering on edge; everything ready to fall over. Now that blatant disregard for organization appals me, but back then I was like a pig in mud.
My eyes still wandering across the room, my eye catches my father’s potato launcher. For those of you who are not rednecks, science geeks, or students of Dave Heerschap, a potato launcher is a device, most commonly made with PVC piping, that launches potatoes at high velocities. There are many different ways to make them, but the way my father’s was made is a medium sized, long pipe, with an even larger, short pipe with a screwable cap at the end. The way it works is you place a potato on the ground, get the un-threaded side, and cut into the potato with that end of the launcher. Then you would push the potato down the barrel with a broom, or a dowel. Then you would spray some lighter fluid in the other side, quickly cap it, and flick it’s sparker until the gas ignites propelling the potato out of the barrel, into the atmosphere.
I saw this, got excited, then found out that there were no potatoes in the house. This is where my imagination ignited. I thought to myself what I could launch, and realized that I literally had tons and tons of potential ammo outside. Snow! The only problem was that the current launcher would not work with snow, and would probably ruin it. I started digging through the workshop, looking for components. I was digging through a large cupboard underneath the counter the grinder was attached to. I was about to give up hope, but then a large tank reared its beautiful blue head in the cupboard. I dug it out, and realized that I could launch the snow with a large burst of compressed air. I began to work, first came out steel piping, then gauges, then levers, then PVC piping, then connection pieces. I ran into problems, but nothing the quick trip to an Ace Hardware store couldn’t solve.
When it was all finished, it was truly a sight to behold. A large blue tank, steel piping feeding out into a chamber of steel piping, lever holding it in place, as well as a pressure gauge meter sticking out of the chamber walls. Past the chamber, the whitest PVP pipe you have ever seen, elegantly straight; It made a truly remarkable barrel. I of course got dressed in proper winter clothing, and went outside to test out my new toy. I shove the barrel in the snow, taking several pounds of it out with the machine. I latch the lever strongly to the shut position, and prepare for launch. I uncoil the air hose and drag it to the freezing outside, I take a hold of the stainless steel head, and press it firmly to the tank. Releasing a steady flow of air into the tank’s chamber. My hands nearly freezing to the hose head, as this task is too precise for large puffy gloves. Confused feelings fill my body, some feelings of worry, some of excitement. Would it work? I quickly flick the lever to the open position, and a shower of snow emerges from the barrel of the gun. Pure beauty as a small rainbow forms on the airborne snow crystals.
It was the perfect infusion of technology, machinery and nature. It worked! Maybe not exactly how I wanted it to, of course. I was a child naively expecting a cannonball to shoot it’s way through the atmosphere into space, silly kid. Though this was a success indeed. I spent hours playing with it. Trying different snow packs, experiencing success, then failure, and then failure again, then success again. Night fell over the winter wonderland as I went inside for dinner, then bed. It was a truly amazing day.
Reflection
Leading up to this project we learned about environmental ethic and sense of place. To do this we explored some famous environmentalist writing. We also learned about "the grand style," which is a writing style that uses great description to describe surroundings. I had to learn a lot for this. I am not some one who is in nature a lot, so understanding how other people are connected to nature was difficult from me. But then I learned that a sense of place does not have to be in nature.
Finding a good sense of place for this project was quite a task for me, being who I am. I feel for this project I really had to work to find inspiration, because I am not one of those kids who are active and outside a lot. When I found out that our place didn't have to be in nature, or even location, I decided to do my essay on my mind. At first it became a persuasive essay on how the human brain is a super computer, and I wasn't very proud of it, and it got graded a 50/150. Which was not good.
The weekend I got feedback I thought more about it, and finally found inspiration and something I am proud of. I decided to do a story from my childhood, when my mind was at it's most active, and relate that to nature. I feel like I showed my nature ethic very well in it, I also felt like I used the grand style very well. I show my nature ethic very well in this sentence, "It was the perfect infusion of technology, machinery and nature. It worked!" I am also proud of my visual piece. I took a long time chroming and refining the mechanical trees, and I feel like it turned out very well.
Overall I enjoyed this project a lot. I learned so much about nuclear energy, as well as so much about being a leader in chemistry to a writer in humanities. I really enjoyed the essay portion of this project. I feel like I really had to push the visual process out, it didn't come easily, and I am not as connected to it as i am to my writing piece. Overall, I had a lot of fun with this process.
Leading up to this project we learned about environmental ethic and sense of place. To do this we explored some famous environmentalist writing. We also learned about "the grand style," which is a writing style that uses great description to describe surroundings. I had to learn a lot for this. I am not some one who is in nature a lot, so understanding how other people are connected to nature was difficult from me. But then I learned that a sense of place does not have to be in nature.
Finding a good sense of place for this project was quite a task for me, being who I am. I feel for this project I really had to work to find inspiration, because I am not one of those kids who are active and outside a lot. When I found out that our place didn't have to be in nature, or even location, I decided to do my essay on my mind. At first it became a persuasive essay on how the human brain is a super computer, and I wasn't very proud of it, and it got graded a 50/150. Which was not good.
The weekend I got feedback I thought more about it, and finally found inspiration and something I am proud of. I decided to do a story from my childhood, when my mind was at it's most active, and relate that to nature. I feel like I showed my nature ethic very well in it, I also felt like I used the grand style very well. I show my nature ethic very well in this sentence, "It was the perfect infusion of technology, machinery and nature. It worked!" I am also proud of my visual piece. I took a long time chroming and refining the mechanical trees, and I feel like it turned out very well.
Overall I enjoyed this project a lot. I learned so much about nuclear energy, as well as so much about being a leader in chemistry to a writer in humanities. I really enjoyed the essay portion of this project. I feel like I really had to push the visual process out, it didn't come easily, and I am not as connected to it as i am to my writing piece. Overall, I had a lot of fun with this process.
Narrative project
“This is hell.” a voice sounded from behind me in Arawak, “They promised us salvation, a heaven on earth, instead they lock us up like animals”
A second voice arose “Talking about it won’t do anything.” Chains rattled from across the room, somebody trying to muscle out of their cuffs (again).
“What are we supposed to do then, genius?” the first voice retorted.
Several more voices filled the room, all saying simultaneously, as if rehearsed, “You’re supposed to be quiet.”
Silence then filled the room, occasionally conversations arose between nearby captives. For the most part though, the only sounds that filled the dank, dark room were waves crashing against the side of the ship, the occasional gull, and footsteps on the deck above. The sounds were actually pretty soothing, the smell of the cabin on the other hand was atrocious. A mix of saltwater, sweat, and feces filled the air; at first the smell was unbearable, but after a week we all became accustomed to the stink of our own excrement and suffering.
At this point, several escape attempts had been made, not a single man made it to the outside. All were stopped within seconds; all were rewarded with 50 lashes. I had been presented with the opportunity of escape once, but I turned the offer down. I realized that even if we made it to the deck of the ship, there would be nowhere to flee to, besides the ice cold ocean water, miles and miles away from any land or civilization.
On the ship, I made an acquaintance of a boy from another tribe, Estevan. Estevan, of course, was not his real name. The Spaniards had renamed us all with “Christian names.” Estevan was of similar age, he with 17 years, and I with 16. He grew up on an island north of mine, a large island, home to the Taíno tribe. My island and his had been involved in a cold war for many years, both tribes hating each other. Though under the current circumstances, we have all had to put aside our disputes to face a common enemy. “Even enemies must become allies when presented with a greater evil” is what the tribe elders used to say, and right they were.
It was difficult to decide what time to go to sleep, we didn’t have windows after all. We just developed a chain reaction, when one of us fell asleep, the next person would fall asleep and so on. With nearly everybody fast sleep, Estevan nudged me awake, and whispered to me, “Catalina, do you think this was our fault?”
I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t dreaming to ask, “WHAT did you just ask me?”
“I asked you if you think this was OUR fault.”
“Our fault? How can all of this be our fault?” I retorted in a loud whisper.
“I mean, don’t you think we should have seen this coming?” Estevan replied.
“What do you mean?’
“Look at what has happened. First these men captured and raped people from our tribes, and second of all, some of our people have boarded these ships before, not one of them were ever seen again.” He argued
“How does that make this our fault?”
“Catalina, they have never treated us well in the past, why on earth would they have offered us some so called salvation? We should have seen past their deception, and never boarded this boat in the first place.”
“I see your point, but don’t you think they would have taken us anyway? Men like this will always take whatever they want, whether they use force or trickery. There is no scenario that would have resulted in us not being imprisoned on this ship.”
“I know” replied Estevan “what I know is that we could have at least tried to put up a fight, and I am regretting that we didn’t.”
“It’s not our fault--“
I started to say as a loud “SHH!” Sounded from behind.
Estevan and I exchanged glances, and decided to go back to sleep. I couldn’t though, was Estevan right; was this our fault?
I sat up…
Ding! Ding! Ding!
I lifted my head...
Ding! Ding! Ding!
I opened my eyes to see that it wasn’t morning yet, I could tell now from an opened door at the front of the cabin, in the doorway stood the ship’s captain, Christopher Columbus they call him. A cowbell in his left hand, and a finely forged rapier in the other. He was dressed head to toe in the most elegant of clothing, blue like the ocean, and gilded with gold. Upon his head was a beautiful hat, triangular, with a large white feather plume tilted slightly off the left brim of the hat. Next to him, an elder from the Taíno tribe. The captain began to speak his language. The Taíno elder began to translate:
“Due to the recent outbreak of disease on the ship… many of the workers on the ships… are unfit for duty… Lucky for us though… we have over 500 replacements… to help keep the ship maintained and fit for travel… starting tomorrow, many of you will be filling their positions… Women will be sent to the kitchens to cook and clean for the crew… and men will be working topside to raise and lower the masts.”
A huge rumble of Arawak voices emerged. Some excited to see the sun, some dreading working for the slavers. I personally was bitter about it all. Cooking and cleaning? Back on the island I was a hunter, a warrior, a champion! Yet these disgusting pigs think that because I am a woman, I am unfit to do anything but clean the ship, and feed the drunken rats they call gentlemen.
A loud ringing of the bell restored silence to the room. The captain started to speak, and the Taíno elder started to translate again:
“All of you should get some sleep tonight… It is the last you will get in a long while. I pray for you my brothers and sisters.”
The last part I am sure was not said by the captain, but rather a blessing from the Taíno elder, hidden in his translation.
As we emerged from the door, I felt a pain more painful than I had never felt before. The immensity of the bright yellow sun was too much for my eyes to withstand. I desperately tried to close them, before realizing they were already closed. I fell to the floor and held my hands to my face, tears coming out my eyes. The sunlight was too much. The young man tried to get me on my feet, as his superior demanded I stand up at once, threatening me with lashes of the whip. A whip cracked behind me, I did not feel a thing, a warning crack, but I was on my feet, hands still on my eyes. We started walking again, the young man guiding my movement the best he could. Towards the end I stubbed my toe, but overall an achievement on his part.
Doors opened as I walked several paced forward, the young man pulling my arms down from my face. Before me was the ship’s kitchen, stocked full of exotic fruits and vegetables, some foods I recognized, such as beef, pork and poultry, as well as some peppers and beans.
I was then put next to the other five women there, they had us in line as they removed the chains from our hands. That second, that one second, where the chains that bound me were removed, was the most wonderful feeling I had ever felt. I had never felt it before, this concept of freedom is new to me. Back on the islands, we never had anything to contrast freedom with. Freedom was natural, not special, now this new concept was overwhelming me.
When we were all unchained, three of the men left the room, two positioned themselves at the doors, and one stood in front of us. There was a pause for a second, before a fourth man entered the room and stood beside the soldier in front of us. The fourth man was obviously not a soldier. He was dressed head to toe in ridiculous puffy clothing, and in his hand he held a bundle of pages. Fumbling through his notes, the man started to speak in Arawak:
“Welcome go to the kitchen, here is where you cooking for crew. Me and him (as he gestured to the soldier beside him) will guide you to cooking.”
He started directing us around the kitchen, as we diced ‘potatoes’ and carrots’ as they called them. They had us place them in a large pot of boiling water in the middle of the room. Occasionally the ship would hit a wave, and the boiling water would splash on our bare skin, leaving devastating burns. Occasionally while working around the men would frisk us, “checking for stolen weapons,” these pat downs would consist mostly around our buttocks, and our breast. They were lying. If there were any way I could get away with killing them all, I would.
Once the stew was complete, we were directed to the dining hall, where they had us serve those pigs. Nearly every pass around the tables entailed 10 slaps of the butt, followed by laughter from their disgusting friends. I didn’t think it was very funny at all. Upon returning to the kitchen, the beans we had boiled earlier were ready. We then carried the disgusting grub to our fellow prisoners, who were all grateful for it. I doubt they would all be so grateful if they saw what food the soldiers and crew had just received.
We walked off of the ship, onto a large wooden structure, and then between the houses that made the city. The houses were beautiful, and full of color, red houses, blue houses, yellow houses, tall houses and shacks filled the large village. The people were dressed in fine clothing. The clothing the men and women wore were as if the gods themselves had woven them. The people were scared of us. Children pointed and stared as if we were animals. Their mothers grabbing them by the arms, and bringing them indoors. The men though, were not as fearful; approaching us, growling, and shouting in our faces, trying to start a fight. They were the real animals in the streets.
Time passed as we marched further into the town. We then came upon a house larger than the rest, so large it could fit hundreds of people. The house was hundreds of feet tall, and carved out of stone. Large stone arches were carved out of the walls, pillars held up the structure. We entered into a large corridor, as they lined us up again. I was fourth row from the front. A lady walked into the room. Her clothes were the most elegant I had seen in all of the village. A large white gown, dressed in jewels from head to toe. Upon her head a crown, silver and jeweled with white and red gems. Her hair was blonde and beautiful, her eyes as blue as the ocean. She was obviously their ruler, funnily the first woman with power I’ve since I boarded the ship. The guards forced us to our knees, as they bowed before the woman. The captain of the ship, Columbus, entered the room, and approached the woman. He kneeled before her, as she stood him up, and started arguing. They left the corridor into another room.
“Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we're about to receive from your bounty. Through Christ our Lord, Amen”
“Amen,” we responded as we began to eat. Boiled eggs, bread, and various fruits; this a usual breakfast for us.
As breakfast started to end, Maria was excused as she went upstairs with her educator. Manuel then finished his breakfast, kissed me on the cheek, and said goodbye. He was headed to his homeland of Portugal to further discuss our mutual peace treaty with their government. He exited the room, as I was left alone in the kitchen with a single conquistador. I took my last bite of bread, as I stood up, and headed to my offices to read letters from concerned people of the public. Most appealing for money and other handouts, occasionally though a true issue would appear on my desk.
I started reading through them, as I was interrupted. A young guard burst into the room, announcing to me “Columbus is back from his latest voyage!” he will be in the castle courtyard with his latest riches in moments!”
“Thank you, I will be out shortly.” I said as I arose from my seat. I entered the courtyard expecting chests full of gold and riches, but when I entered, I was appalled to see hundreds of men and women in chains and shackles crowding the court yard. They all went to their knees as the guards also engaged in a bow. I stood in front of the courtyard, as Columbus entered. He approached, and then also went into a bow.
“Get up” I demanded.
“Yes my Queen.” He stood up.
“What are all of these people doing in my courtyard Christopher?”
“Natives of the islands, and free laborers for you, my queen” He explained
“Come with me” I told him. As we adjourned to my office. He entered, as I closed the doors behind him.
“What do you think you are doing, Christopher?” I inquired
“Only what you asked my queen. You asked me to bring riches from the island. There was little gold, but an abundance of workers.” He argued.
“By workers do you mean slaves?” I inquired.
“I do, but you have to understand that these people are savages, common animals, brutes-“
“Stop!” I demanded, “Those people are humans, not animals. I told you that I considered anybody you found on your voyage to be Spanish citizens. How can you justify--“
“But my queen-“
“SILENCE!” I said, “As I was saying, how on earth can you justify the enslavement of Spanish people? What makes these people different from any other person living in holy land of Spain?”
“My queen, they are savages, they had never even seen proper clothing until we arrived at their shores, and their skin is brown, tainted with the curse of the devil; I am saving them from their Sins.”
“Not everyone is as fortunate as you and me. At one point in time, our ancestors were all uncivilized savages, living in wood huts, poaching animals for food, and please spare me your excuses. You effectively disregarded my orders, and I have half a mind lock you up in the tower for this.”
“I am so sorry my—“
“Save me your lies Christopher. I demand that you take these people back to their homeland immediately, and hope that when you get back here I am in a better mood. Leave my chambers.”
He exited the room, as I sat down and rested my head.
Reflection
My project is the story of a girl native to the Bahamian islands. She and about 500 more of her people have been captured by Christopher Columbus and crew on their second voyage to the western lands.I came into this knowing that Christopher Columbus was a jerk, but as with studying everything, I gained a lot more knowledge through studying it. I expanded my knowledge of the native peoples and animals. Most of the animals in the current day Bahama islands are not native at all, in fact brought on Columbus’s voyages. I feel like the description in my story was my biggest strength. ”Christopher Columbus they call him. A cowbell in his left hand, and a finely forged rapier in the other. He was dressed head to toe in the most elegant of clothing, blue like the ocean, and gilded with gold. Upon his head was a beautiful hat, triangular, with a large white feather plume tilted slightly off the left brim of the hat." I feel like that paints a good picture of what my character was seeing. If I were to do this project again, I would expand upon what I have already wrote, with what i had originally planned. (https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MhvKg5elTw8mqM2-HBHvX3bAq3zSUJrQ9SBZESnfK4s/edit?usp=sharing). Narrative can better bring to life what happened in history, it makes it much more personal, and able to tear emotions from the reader. While textbook passages on the other hand give a brief overview of what happened, rather than nearly every single thing that happened.
Wounded Knee Textbook Passage
On December 29th, 1890, near wounded knee creek on the Lakota pine ridge Indian Reservation, in South Dakota. A massacre took place between Indians and the 7th cavalry of the United States. On one side were the lakota indians led by Spotted Elk, later to be known as Big Foot, who wanted to stay on his people rightful land. On the other side was the 7th cavalry, led by Major Samuel M Whiteside, who wanted to protect white settlers from the ‘Indian threat.’
For years prior to the massacre the white settlers had been pushing indians onto reservations, not to mention the many rapes and killings of indigenous people that happened when the European settlers arrived in the new world. The groups made treaties in favor to the white settlers, which put the indians on the reservations.
During this time, the Ghost Dance religion was created. They believed that a messiah would raise all of the Native Americans above the earth. When this happens, they believed that the white settlers would disappear from native lands, all of the animals which had been hunted to near extinction would return to the earth, and that the ghosts of their ancestors would also return to the Earth. This terrified the white settlers, who thought that the dance was a sign of violence towards them, and a prelude to war.
The white settlers were scared for their lives. Rumors of Indians attacking settler camps were spreading amongst the settlers. Scared for their lives, they needed United States armed forces to stop the imminent indian attack. Along came the 7th cavalry, who visited indian camps, and confiscated their weapons.
On December 28th 1890, Chief Spotted Elk and over three hundred of his followers were intercepted by the 7th Cavalry, where Major Samuel M Whiteside decided that disarming them too soon would lead to violence, so they brought the captive indians five miles to the west to Wounded Knee Creek, where they set up camp, over 500 soldiers surrounded the encampment containing 350 indians, approximately 230 men, and 120 women and children.
When day broke, the soldiers attempted to remove the Indian’s guns, successfully removing 38 rifles from the indian camp. What initiated the coming massacre is still unknown, it is believed that a rifle misfire in a fight between a resisting indian and a soldier sparked the battle. Shots were then fired, as Indian women and children ran for their lives to attempt to escape from the maniacal crossfire. This resulted in 300 deaths; only 4 men, and 47 women and children remained if the Indians at wounded knee, while the 7th Cavalry took only 25 deaths and 39 wounded from their 500 healthy soldiers.
REFLECTION
I actually had fun with this assignment, I enjoyed writing history how I wanted, I feel it represents what I thought about the wounded knee massacre without actually saying what I believe. I found the document notes part very annoying because of all of the writing, but I feel like it did help me unwind and piece together the fabric of history.
I see a bias towards the Indians in my textbook passage, I use a lot more powerful words when talking about the plight of the Indians “Shots were then fired, as Indian women and children ran for their lives to attempt to escape from the maniacal crossfire.”
This Historical inquiry has taught me that history is not as bland as it seems, but that there are a lot more aspects to it then you can get from one document. In this process I enjoyed unraveling each story to put back together and to reassemble to get a broad perspective of the entire event.
For years prior to the massacre the white settlers had been pushing indians onto reservations, not to mention the many rapes and killings of indigenous people that happened when the European settlers arrived in the new world. The groups made treaties in favor to the white settlers, which put the indians on the reservations.
During this time, the Ghost Dance religion was created. They believed that a messiah would raise all of the Native Americans above the earth. When this happens, they believed that the white settlers would disappear from native lands, all of the animals which had been hunted to near extinction would return to the earth, and that the ghosts of their ancestors would also return to the Earth. This terrified the white settlers, who thought that the dance was a sign of violence towards them, and a prelude to war.
The white settlers were scared for their lives. Rumors of Indians attacking settler camps were spreading amongst the settlers. Scared for their lives, they needed United States armed forces to stop the imminent indian attack. Along came the 7th cavalry, who visited indian camps, and confiscated their weapons.
On December 28th 1890, Chief Spotted Elk and over three hundred of his followers were intercepted by the 7th Cavalry, where Major Samuel M Whiteside decided that disarming them too soon would lead to violence, so they brought the captive indians five miles to the west to Wounded Knee Creek, where they set up camp, over 500 soldiers surrounded the encampment containing 350 indians, approximately 230 men, and 120 women and children.
When day broke, the soldiers attempted to remove the Indian’s guns, successfully removing 38 rifles from the indian camp. What initiated the coming massacre is still unknown, it is believed that a rifle misfire in a fight between a resisting indian and a soldier sparked the battle. Shots were then fired, as Indian women and children ran for their lives to attempt to escape from the maniacal crossfire. This resulted in 300 deaths; only 4 men, and 47 women and children remained if the Indians at wounded knee, while the 7th Cavalry took only 25 deaths and 39 wounded from their 500 healthy soldiers.
REFLECTION
I actually had fun with this assignment, I enjoyed writing history how I wanted, I feel it represents what I thought about the wounded knee massacre without actually saying what I believe. I found the document notes part very annoying because of all of the writing, but I feel like it did help me unwind and piece together the fabric of history.
I see a bias towards the Indians in my textbook passage, I use a lot more powerful words when talking about the plight of the Indians “Shots were then fired, as Indian women and children ran for their lives to attempt to escape from the maniacal crossfire.”
This Historical inquiry has taught me that history is not as bland as it seems, but that there are a lot more aspects to it then you can get from one document. In this process I enjoyed unraveling each story to put back together and to reassemble to get a broad perspective of the entire event.
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee Film Analysis
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is a film that depicts the events that took place between the battle of Little Bighorn and the wounded knee massacre with the Hollywood drama we all love. The accuracy of this film is debatable, from what I can tell it is mostly accurate in describing the events, though the dialogue may have been altered for dramatic effect. The movie seems to take the most commonly accepted story of the events that transpired, and takes a very strong bias towards the Indians.
In the movie it shows the Sioux people making their trek to Canada, and the hardships they endured moving there, such as the large distances they all had to cover, the chilling cold, the sickness and the injuries inflicted on them by the harsh environment. This invoked strong feelings in the viewer to make them feel bad for the Indians, making a strong bias towards the Indians.
What the movie does not include much of is the hardships of the settlers and their perspective. In L. Frank Baum’s Newspaper editorials he says “Wipe these untamed and untamable creatures from the face of the earth. In this lies the future safety for our settlers and the soldiers who are under incompetent commands. Otherwise, we may expect future years to be as full of trouble with the redskins as those have been in the past.” What this tells me, besides that L. Frank Baum had strong genocidal thoughts, is that the settlers were scared of the Indians, and that they didn’t just want to take their land for its resources, they also just wanted to keep themselves safe. It isn’t that the Indians were an actual threat, but they were different, and that scared the settlers.
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee is a film that depicts the events that took place between the battle of Little Bighorn and the wounded knee massacre with the Hollywood drama we all love. The accuracy of this film is debatable, from what I can tell it is mostly accurate in describing the events, though the dialogue may have been altered for dramatic effect. The movie seems to take the most commonly accepted story of the events that transpired, and takes a very strong bias towards the Indians.
In the movie it shows the Sioux people making their trek to Canada, and the hardships they endured moving there, such as the large distances they all had to cover, the chilling cold, the sickness and the injuries inflicted on them by the harsh environment. This invoked strong feelings in the viewer to make them feel bad for the Indians, making a strong bias towards the Indians.
What the movie does not include much of is the hardships of the settlers and their perspective. In L. Frank Baum’s Newspaper editorials he says “Wipe these untamed and untamable creatures from the face of the earth. In this lies the future safety for our settlers and the soldiers who are under incompetent commands. Otherwise, we may expect future years to be as full of trouble with the redskins as those have been in the past.” What this tells me, besides that L. Frank Baum had strong genocidal thoughts, is that the settlers were scared of the Indians, and that they didn’t just want to take their land for its resources, they also just wanted to keep themselves safe. It isn’t that the Indians were an actual threat, but they were different, and that scared the settlers.