The image is my bedroom.  I chose this photo because it's intuitively devoid of sound because it's devoid of people.  Even to me, someone who talks in there incessantly, knows that the sound of the upstair's cat's footsteps are thumpering from the ceiling, and just knows this space intimately.  It's always interesting how we tend to associate sounds with people--especially in more man-made constructions and constructs.

In regards to yesterday's conversation, I find more solace and comfort in silence.  This picture of my bedroom makes me wish I was home and alone. 

Smith makes mention of the concept of a "Character" two times within her introduction.  One time where she says 'The process of getting to that poetic moment is where "character" lives....Character lives in the linguistic road as well as the destination." (pg. xxxvi), and again on pg. xxxvii where she says, "Mimicry is not character.  Character lives in the obvious gap between the real person and my attempt to seem like them..."  The question on my mind is what is meant exactly by "character" in Smith's essay, and what it also means in our own daily lives.  Is character merely fictitous or based in performances?  Can we actually live a life as a character?

Hi my name is Zoe Holman and I am from Walterboro, SC. like most of you I am starting my first year at Bryn Mawr. During my mini excursion through our five locations I had unexpected reactions to each of the spots on campus. I believe that I was most peaceful in either Dalton Hall or Morris Woods while Park Science and the Campus Center Parking Lot were areas that caused me stress. English House was somewhat in between the two and would have been a comfortable transition from Dalton and Morris to Park and the parking lot. I feel that the main reason I categorized these places as such was because of the amount of people I found in each of the areas. The more people the more stress; less people less stress. The plants however would thrive in Morris Woods because of the lack of people and fear of being trampled on. The isolation appears to be a common thread between myself and plants but the difference between us is our comforts. Where plants are more comfortable being outside 24/7 I am more inclinded to stay indoors.

Though Anna Deavere Smith raises many interesting points, I couldn't reconcile myself with her simultaneous celebration of the beauty in imperfect language and the poetic, sometimes over-written words I held in my hands.  I think the greatest issue was, as she admits, trying to explain a piece that is about dialogue on the silent, static, monochromatic world of the page.  I don't know if I'm reading too much, some pun intended, into her introduction, but the dissonance bothers me.  Her descriptions of the interviews and audience's reactions to her play don't make me feel anything.  And maybe this proves her point about the transformative nature not of words themselves but of what happens when words are spoken.

Despite this struggle with her words, I did find much of Smith's piece thought-provoking, particularly her exploration of the hesitation to mimic actually serving as an insult.  She raises many interesting questions, many more than would be productive to share in this space.  If I ignore your difference, do I ignore you?  If I fail to speak about how I see and hear you, or if I sanitize my speech in efforts to be 'politically correct,' am I effectively transforming you into me?  Is this a form of verbal genocide--the murder of the language of an oppressed group?  And, if I fail to speak about my own experience, am I truly myself?

Hi, my name is Minh and I am from Vietnam.

My ranking of the places where I felt happy seems to reflect very well of my personality. I feel happy to be immersed in nature and to enjoy my own space. I have been looking for myself a personal space to spend a bit of everyday reflecting on myself or just relaxing. That is why the Morris Woods appears as a wonderful place for me. As I seat there, surrounded by tall green trees and the sounds of birds chirping, I feel as peaceful and happy as if it was home. The Woods is also quite distanced from the campus center, therefore, apart from the sounds of nature, it is quiet. As such, it is also an ideal place of concentration for me.

It was hard for me decide the positions of the remaining places as the glass staircase in Dalton, the English House and the lab in Park Science are the same to me. They all are separated from nature but have a nice view to the greens. I also feel happy at the parking lot but somehow do not really like to be distracted by the cars and people moving in and out of the lot.

So here is my ranking:

To depict a visualization of silence, I chose Hannah Hoch's Bouquet of Eyes.  It is a work that uses disparate elements to create something unsettling but also beautiful.  Like Hoch's work, silence is a powerfully affective experience that causes a distinct response in each individual.  It strengthens one or multiple senses, in many cases vision, but does not merely use the eye as a window through which to look but also often puts the self in the position of the object, giving time for self-reflection.  It is isolating, unifying, and can appear like one thing while simultaneously being something wholly different.

After reading Cliff, I've noticed that she places much emphasis on projecting anger outwards rather than inwards as way to deal with oppression. She claims that she used the piece "If I could Write this in Fire I would Write this in Fire" to express her anger at her experience as a member of a colonized country. This has made me think about the power of words, and the prisons these "voices" can become, even when we see them as therapeutic. As I struggle with my identity as an immigrant, a woman of color, a latina, and a woman anger has been an option too many times but so has silence. So what is the best way to deal with the effects that all of the "-isms" have on us? I have used silence, and failed. As I swallowed my words I became angrier at my inability to point out statements or actions that I felt were hurtful to my community and myself. Silence, was what I was taught was the best way to handle these things in America, as my mother and father repeatedly brushed off blatantly disrespectful situations. I have also chosen anger. After coming to Bryn Mawr, I began being loud. I pointed out and sought situations that would allow me to "educate" those who spoke ignorant comments but that was exhausting. In both voice and silence I found myself unhappy when dealing with these "isms." I wonder how the author felt after releasing all of the anger, and how others deal with issues as deep as colonialism, racism, and sexism. 

As a city girl, I'm used to constant noise. Silence, then, is something that doesn't necessarily mean an absense of noise. Silence can simply be an opportunity to pause. The image I picked comes from the album artwork for a band called Sleeping At Last. The snow reminds me of the quietest times in the city. The snow muffles sounds and hangs in the air, while city dwellers stay inside – out of sight and sound. Not only is the city audibly quieter, but – if there's enough snow – there is also a pause in activity. Students stay home from school, cars and trucks stop their deliveries of people and cargo, and shops close for the afternoon. Snowy days in the city are the only days I see people stop walking to look up and around. Something about snow encourages people to focus on something outside of themselves.