a lifetime of shoes final 2

TIme worlds -MOVIE

time worlds -shoes

For this project I decided to use one of the phrases from my time worlds piece. The line "his coffin no bigger then a shoebox" seemed to stand out to many people.. I decided to change the meaning of this line by taking a more literal appoach, and documenting the lifespan of shoes... sounds will be added soon.

some ideas for final project

For my final project i am going to use my collection of parking ticket stubs. I think that displaying them in a calendar sort of way would be interesting to further establish the idea of repetition, seeing as how repetition is the basis of the month long collection process. These ticket stubs document the time spent in the art school monday through thursday, as well as my own personal habits of gravitating towards certain numbered spots. (i guess i like routine).

Either suspending the tickets in order by date so that they form a sort of free form calendar (from clear fish line).
possibly pasting them to a board, and adding up the total amount of money spent on parking.
using the tickets to form a picture of my car.

sketches notes and storyboard

highlighted terms-time worlds

backward manner
withered
from the womb, old and delicate
wrinkles covering his face
with years of knowledge in his head
he leaves the world
helpless
his pink smooth skin
holding hiss head as they cradle his body
his coffin not much bigger then a shoe box

TMP TIME WORLDS

Time moves along in a backward manner, things unfold differently then we are used to thinking that they should. Like the old woman, withered and fragile, but with time regains strength, appearing to grow younger. Instead this time, an old man is brought into the world. Out from the womb, old and delicate, already with his wife beside him. Wrinkles covering his limbs and face. He cannot remember his past, or where he has come from. His life unfolds, old with years of knowledge in his head.
He lives his life in reverse from the normal people surrounding him, his marriage, him in the workplace, his life as a college student. High school is a short four years, elementary school, and young childhood. He leaves the world even more helpless then when he had entered it, 76 years prior. His skin pink, smooth, his body small and even more delicate then before, he is an infant, unable to even speak a word. His children now caring for him, holding his head as they cradle his body, changing his diaper every time he cries out from being wet. . He leaves this world, his coffin not much bigger then a shoe box.

Final

about my rough,,,

over the weekend, i hope to be able to re rerecord some sounds, that may help the listener get a better idea of the idea im trying to convey. Ill work on playing with the volumes of different tracks at different points in time, allowing the listener to get a complete image in his or her head, of what its like to live with three other girls, in a very small space.

TMP POSTCARD ROUGH DRAFT

http://www-personal.umich.edu/~sharte/Other sounds TMP.mp3

 When i was only four and a half years old I fell off a chairlift, mid way up the mountain. I still remember it as if it were yesterday. 

I remember hearing the cold metal of the chairs moving along the cable wire as the chair moved me towards the top of the mountain. I remember hearing my my mom talking to her friend, one of them on either side of me. 

I remember hearing my moms friend laugh, I remember hearing the sound of my jacket rubbing against my pants, that sort of "brushhh" muffled type of sound. I remember hearing the soft sound of skis and snowboards pushing against the snow under their feet, the sounds of their edges digging into the ice and packed snow. Then I remember falling, and hearing people from behind me screaming, i heard a "thud", and the sound of "click" as my ski came undone from my small ski boot. I remember hearing my mom shout down "what happened are you ok!?!" I remember the hushed sounds of peoples whispers probably wondering how some mother could drop her kid off the chairlift. I remember hearing footsteps behind me, the crunching of the snow, and the sound of the chairlift operator picking me up from under my arms. I remember his voice, young and  surprised. 

I remember being dropped off that chair like it was yesterday.

What helps me keep track of time.

 How do I keep track of time without using a clock.

 

Parents room alarm at 6 am

Smoking cigaretts

Old photos

Eating habits

My weight

Where I am at any given point

Memories

Phone calls

12 pm bells in beach community

chunking periods of time together by the music I listen to

strict routines

friends

seasons

cleaning my room or closet out

the light outside

 

 POEM:

I know myself

With strict routines and changing seasons

Different friends and different reasons

Using the light, and marking time by music

The things that make my own clock tick.