Vietnam project
Artist Statement
My piece of art is used to express my views of the Vietnam War because it follows the theme of my opinion. The theme that I chose for this piece was the “Beauty of War.” I was intrigued by some of the lines and attitudes towards war in the book “The Things They Carried.” The author Tim O’Brien seems to have mixed feelings about war. This was especially noticeable in chapter seven where he is telling you about the requirements of telling a war story. Throughout this chapter he told some of his own war stories and explained to you how to make yours true. For me, I could feel his sadness in his writing. You could tell by the way he wrote that he was hesitant on whether or not he should tell you these stories. The quote on my art piece reads, “To generalize about war is like generalizing about peace.” This was the start to a passage that really grabbed my attention because it is explaining that war is a balanced act and I think that this was an important message to convey because there can be beauty in war but people don’t always see it.
My art piece was a painting. I started experimenting with paintings my freshman year and really liked the way some of them turned out. For this project, we were requires to have 4 drafts including our final project. For my first two drafts, I did simple pencil drawings with written descriptions of what I was planning on adding. At one point in the process, I decided that it would be a cool idea to incorporate splatter paint to represent blood on my canvas. I did not; however know how to do that. To find my way around this, I used my third draft as an experimentation page. I did my drawing and wrote my quote nicely on a piece of high quality paper and tried out three different methods of splatter painting. I ended up choosing the toothbrush method because it distributed the paint the most evenly and looked the most realistic. My final project was a white canvas which I had added texture to, with black words and black dead dandelions in a row across the bottom, and red paint was splattered on top of everything. This to me really shows that in war, there can be both horror and beauty.
For this project, I was mostly influenced by the book “The Tings They Carried. I enjoy Tim O’Brien’s writing style and his ability to be honest in the right ways and situations. For the flowers on my painting, I was inspired by several pieces on Pinterest and other Internet sites. The blood splatter was my own original idea towards this piece. Overall, I am very happy with the outcome that I have created and I hope to convey a message that yes, war can be beautiful.
My piece of art is used to express my views of the Vietnam War because it follows the theme of my opinion. The theme that I chose for this piece was the “Beauty of War.” I was intrigued by some of the lines and attitudes towards war in the book “The Things They Carried.” The author Tim O’Brien seems to have mixed feelings about war. This was especially noticeable in chapter seven where he is telling you about the requirements of telling a war story. Throughout this chapter he told some of his own war stories and explained to you how to make yours true. For me, I could feel his sadness in his writing. You could tell by the way he wrote that he was hesitant on whether or not he should tell you these stories. The quote on my art piece reads, “To generalize about war is like generalizing about peace.” This was the start to a passage that really grabbed my attention because it is explaining that war is a balanced act and I think that this was an important message to convey because there can be beauty in war but people don’t always see it.
My art piece was a painting. I started experimenting with paintings my freshman year and really liked the way some of them turned out. For this project, we were requires to have 4 drafts including our final project. For my first two drafts, I did simple pencil drawings with written descriptions of what I was planning on adding. At one point in the process, I decided that it would be a cool idea to incorporate splatter paint to represent blood on my canvas. I did not; however know how to do that. To find my way around this, I used my third draft as an experimentation page. I did my drawing and wrote my quote nicely on a piece of high quality paper and tried out three different methods of splatter painting. I ended up choosing the toothbrush method because it distributed the paint the most evenly and looked the most realistic. My final project was a white canvas which I had added texture to, with black words and black dead dandelions in a row across the bottom, and red paint was splattered on top of everything. This to me really shows that in war, there can be both horror and beauty.
For this project, I was mostly influenced by the book “The Tings They Carried. I enjoy Tim O’Brien’s writing style and his ability to be honest in the right ways and situations. For the flowers on my painting, I was inspired by several pieces on Pinterest and other Internet sites. The blood splatter was my own original idea towards this piece. Overall, I am very happy with the outcome that I have created and I hope to convey a message that yes, war can be beautiful.
creative historians short story
Decisions
I remember the day that he spoke. I remember it so well. Thousands and thousands of us were gathered in awe around the tiny podium, with the small man who had the big mouth. Adolf Hitler. He was a god. He was a vengeful man craving power. Life and death. Power was to Hitler as love is to the ordinary human. Essential. What none of us realized was that his intentions were cold and self-centered. He wasn’t there to save us; he was there to use us. Many Germans never realized this. For the others, this did not become apparent until we were in reach of the end. I am one of these people. Being German is great for opinions in all things, including politics, but I am a woman. My say isn’t relevant, not that any of ours are. My name is Ingrid Roth and I am 32 years old. I grew up in Germany; however, Germany isn’t my home on this day. My home is France. The date is January 30, 1945 and I am writing this from the underground.
During World War Two, there has been a movement known as the French Resistance. This organization is something that sparked near the beginning of the war and has continued to be help and a sacrifice. They fought, fought against the Nazis throughout the war and were made up of any individual who was willing to devote their time to the moral side of humanity. This was not an exclusive group. Any financial class was welcomed as long as you too could fight. I arrived here in June of last year and you may find it surprising that a German woman was able to hop into the French tunnels without background, which was something that I did have. One of my best friends from when I was a little girl was French and her name is Adelaide Favro and she is the same age as me. Adelaide had been working in the underground for the majority of the war. She had two younger brothers and her mother and father were also a part of the resistance. Her father, Adrien, had also fought on the Western Front in World War 1. He had already experienced much loss and was being served yet another platter of sadness. These wonderful people have had the confidence and trust to welcome me into their lives. Into the fight.
The way that I felt about the war was much different than the people who I lived amongst. I grew up with a feeling of national superiority because the Germans were proud. We were proud to be from Germany, but after WWI happened and ended with the Treaty of Versailles stating that Germans were responsible for taking the blame and for repaying the debt caused. It was the hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make. I chose to leave my family and the country in order to work for a bigger cause. My parents resent me greatly for this choice. My father thinks that I should’ve stayed in Germany to become a loyal, loving, and serving housewife. My mother believes that my rights should have been my own, but of course she has to go along with the opinions of my father. I wanted to start over in France, wanted a new beginning. I chose to take that chance and follow my own choices. This is how I’ve gotten here, to these tunnels that seem to swallow you whole. They devour you in such a way that once you have been here, you don’t want to leave.
Being underground felt whimsical and eerie at the same time, but I felt at home there. Its purpose was to smuggle the Jewish people from Germany and into France where they could have an attempt at a peaceful life. The tunnels that I wandered every day were dark and frightening but I found comfort in the goodness that came out of them. Everyday we saw and met new Jewish people. Whether they were couples, families or just a lonesome single, we helped them. We also have been publishing the underground newspaper. This paper was very well liked amongst everyone working in the tunnels because we got a word of the outside world from those who had ventured into it. I came into the underground only nine months ago. This was the moment that I realized Hitler as being the mastermind of a scheme rather than a hero to the people. I saw the death and devastation of the past four years and found reason to leave. Being a German in this war obviously had its advantages. I got to walk freely and I spoke as I pleased. I also got to practice my religion with peace of mind. It seems silly to me, looking back on all of those years, which caused an abundance of agony for all of those people. All for a religion of which the Nazis never bothered to understand.
It was a Saturday in October of the previous year and the winds were cold and frigid. I was walking whilst watching my back to make sure that no one had seen me. I was on my way to the underground. The ground was frozen solid and my boots were sliding as if I was on an ice skating rink. My ears, cheeks, and nose had turned a morbid color of purple. I was so busy watching the ground grow continually icier that I didn’t notice the glimmer to my right. When I finally did see it, it was right in front of me. The image felt like death but slowly faded to relief as I saw people who were similar to myself. They looked just as scared as I felt and I saw kids, small ones huddling against their mothers and fathers as if I was some sort of beast. I said hello and they spoke back. They could speak German as well. I asked them what their destination was and they said France. The feeling of fright washed over me and I was calm once again. I asked if they knew about the tunnels and they said yes, that’s where they were headed. We then walked. As we strolled in silence a feeling of happiness came over me, quite possibly the first of that feeling I had experienced in months. I got to see these 5 and 6 year olds fighting for their culture, their religion and in that moment I knew that I had made the right decision.
About half an hour later, we had arrived at the entrance of the underground. The opening was narrow and was lit only by a small light hanging in the corner. We entered one at a time and only once we were all about ten yards into the gloomy room did it start to expand. The walls seemed to stretch as if meeting our numbers and we walked farther.
One mile or so later, we started to see other faces. Faces in the glowing darkness. These faces had an abundance of emotion ranging from fear to hopelessness and then there were a seldom few with light in their eyes. This light was present because of the possibility of freedom. “We’re getting out, out of this horrible time,” they thought and this gave them hope that others did not have.
I had written Adelaide about two weeks previous to this, in the hope that she would be expecting me. Apparently she had. When I walked into one of the side rooms and saw a brown-haired tall woman standing with her back towards me I knew it was she. However, when she turned there was almost no resemblance to the girl that I once knew. She was slouched with tired eyed and strands of grey hair that were already peaking through her shimmering chocolate locks. When she saw me I don’t think that she had expected me as a sight either. It took a moment for both of us to recognize that yes; it really was the girl from so long ago. We embraced and spent the rest of the evening talking about the war and our lives and more war. War seemed to loom behind every other topic, which made it impossible to hide the darkness that ensnared us all.
Of course with the enclosed tunnels there was no telling whether it was day or night, but by how tired I was I assumed the latter. Adelaide showed me to my quarters that consisted of a small bed, two drawers and a small lamp. Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting to have this much. I was here to help and for that I didn’t need compensation. I felt a fresh wave of tiredness surround me very suddenly and fell asleep as soon as I turned out the light.
Much too soon, it was morning. Like before, there was no sunlight to be seen, only the words of people just arriving. I woke almost immediately as a side effect of being in a new place and as soon as my trousers were buttoned, I was working. Adelaide had me on kitchen duty. This task was simple yet difficult. We were the providers of the meals for passing Jews. It was an unspoken rule that people must receive enough to keep them alive and well for at least three days as they made their way into France. The food was quantity over quality. As long as there was plenty to eat, people had no problem with the taste. You may be surprised to hear, but this was actually somewhat of a refreshing change. Where I grew up, foods taste was of utmost importance. Everything had to be the best or it was thrown out. I had seen hundreds of plates get sent back to the kitchen and I never even bothered to realize that. Of course, handling that much food by myself would have been ridiculous so I had others that I worked with. The main person was a man named Jerome who had lost a brother in the war and was devoted to helping other people through the hard times. He also had two little girls named Madeline and Rosie back home. Working with these people of different opinions and backgrounds made me appreciate mine even more. For a few months I was even happy, but then came the last battle.
When I first came to the underground Hitler was weakening and there had been talk about him making one last strike for survival. He was planning a date in December. I had been so busy worrying about my time down under that I hadn’t even thought about the mess that this could make. When I did it was too late. We heard of the fight in mid-December right after it began. From past battles that I had been closer to, I could almost feel the ground shaking. I knew the sound of the sky cracking when each bullet flew. I knew the cries of loss throughout the streets. What I did not know was how many people knew about the underground.
Suddenly one day, the flow of people had doubled and then tripled and everyone under the earth was working three times as hard. With the distress caused by the fresh fight, curtly it didn’t matter what religion you were. It was every man for himself. It was a Thursday in the afternoon and people were streaming in and streaming out and then I saw him. He was tall and lanky and he was just sitting there, watching the world go by and then out of nowhere, there was a gun.
Several shots were fired up at the ceiling and being in an enclosed space as we were, people were instantly frantic. More shots were fired and people fell. I dropped down behind the counter where I was working and hid. Jerome was beside me and he was shaking like a puppy. He was also crying. I asked what was wrong and the answer that I got was just two little words,
“My girls.”
I couldn’t help but bursting into tears too. I didn’t have a family to turn to or to give love and affection to, I was alone and I wanted to help. That’s what I had come here for. I was going to stop the gunshots. I may die, I thought to myself, but at least with dignity. I stepped out from behind the barrier but before I could take a step, there was Adelaide. She was up and suddenly down. The man had seemingly run out of bullets and he ran, and we ran. We were at Adelaide’s side in a second and by “we” I mean Jerome and I. She had gotten hit and the bullet hadn’t exited her abdomen. I cried out for Jerome to find a doctor but she pushed my hand away. So I sat and I held her, the friend that had trusted me, and had let me in. I pushed away her grey hairs and she smiled up at me saying,
“My death is a reward. I have lived a full life and have helped many people.” This made me sob harder. I could only hope to be as noble as her. To serve and protect people the way she had so aptly applied her skills. After some time, I felt her final breath leave her body and she went limp in my arms.
Adelaide was the one person who I could consider a friend. Sure, there was Jerome, but he was even distant. I couldn’t speak, think, or wonder about her. It hurt too much and I couldn’t be hurt and still have the ability to assist other people. One day, I was certain to think about it. At that time, though, blocking it out was the best that I could do.
Mixing corpses with tunnels was not a smart approach to the underground lifestyle. Bodies rot and then smell and having them underneath the earth in certain places is acceptable, but in others it’s hardly tolerated. Two days, that how long since Adelaide passed and yet her body is still here wrapped in a sheet so white it could be compared with snow. But it was time for us to move on because the Battle of the Bulge as it was now called war not over. We would still catch wind of new shootings or bombings every few days and the tunnels now had guards on every end at all times. After that day, the shooter wasn’t seen again though he was said to have attacked several other parts of the tunnels. Many people were experiencing trauma from the previous attacks and many just weren’t speaking.
I seemed to go numb. Throughout the war I had experienced all types of hell, and losing people was no new thing for me. Somehow though this felt different. This made me hate Hitler’s cause even more and want to help anybody and everybody who was going up against him. He was no longer a god, that was gone and the godly like figure was merely a figment of our imagination. He had only fulfilled part of his dream that was destroying the lives of thousands of people but he hadn’t become king. He had melted away people’s hopes and wasted away.
As I am sitting here on this day in January writing my account of the things that happened during this time, I am overcome with emotion. For Hitler I feel hatred, for my parents who followed him I felt loss, and for Adelaide, I felt joy. I felt this because even though she was gone, she was happy with how she had spent her life. She had fulfilled her goals and been a part of something bigger than herself. My father’s mind had been fogged by the standards of others and he had chosen a path that no longer existed for me. This didn’t mean that he was a bad person, he was attempting to do what he though was right and that was enough for me.
The Battle of the Bulge had ended less than ten days ago and the hope was swallowing the tunnels whole. People could finally see the end and with all of the death we had experienced, it was nice to feel alive. I thought about returning to Germany, but decided against it because it almost felt as if I was betraying the people that I had worked with for the last year. My home wouldn’t ever be the same and neither would I. My story is still being written and I am hoping for a happier ending than this one. I may even get to write it.
I remember the day that he spoke. I remember it so well. Thousands and thousands of us were gathered in awe around the tiny podium, with the small man who had the big mouth. Adolf Hitler. He was a god. He was a vengeful man craving power. Life and death. Power was to Hitler as love is to the ordinary human. Essential. What none of us realized was that his intentions were cold and self-centered. He wasn’t there to save us; he was there to use us. Many Germans never realized this. For the others, this did not become apparent until we were in reach of the end. I am one of these people. Being German is great for opinions in all things, including politics, but I am a woman. My say isn’t relevant, not that any of ours are. My name is Ingrid Roth and I am 32 years old. I grew up in Germany; however, Germany isn’t my home on this day. My home is France. The date is January 30, 1945 and I am writing this from the underground.
During World War Two, there has been a movement known as the French Resistance. This organization is something that sparked near the beginning of the war and has continued to be help and a sacrifice. They fought, fought against the Nazis throughout the war and were made up of any individual who was willing to devote their time to the moral side of humanity. This was not an exclusive group. Any financial class was welcomed as long as you too could fight. I arrived here in June of last year and you may find it surprising that a German woman was able to hop into the French tunnels without background, which was something that I did have. One of my best friends from when I was a little girl was French and her name is Adelaide Favro and she is the same age as me. Adelaide had been working in the underground for the majority of the war. She had two younger brothers and her mother and father were also a part of the resistance. Her father, Adrien, had also fought on the Western Front in World War 1. He had already experienced much loss and was being served yet another platter of sadness. These wonderful people have had the confidence and trust to welcome me into their lives. Into the fight.
The way that I felt about the war was much different than the people who I lived amongst. I grew up with a feeling of national superiority because the Germans were proud. We were proud to be from Germany, but after WWI happened and ended with the Treaty of Versailles stating that Germans were responsible for taking the blame and for repaying the debt caused. It was the hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make. I chose to leave my family and the country in order to work for a bigger cause. My parents resent me greatly for this choice. My father thinks that I should’ve stayed in Germany to become a loyal, loving, and serving housewife. My mother believes that my rights should have been my own, but of course she has to go along with the opinions of my father. I wanted to start over in France, wanted a new beginning. I chose to take that chance and follow my own choices. This is how I’ve gotten here, to these tunnels that seem to swallow you whole. They devour you in such a way that once you have been here, you don’t want to leave.
Being underground felt whimsical and eerie at the same time, but I felt at home there. Its purpose was to smuggle the Jewish people from Germany and into France where they could have an attempt at a peaceful life. The tunnels that I wandered every day were dark and frightening but I found comfort in the goodness that came out of them. Everyday we saw and met new Jewish people. Whether they were couples, families or just a lonesome single, we helped them. We also have been publishing the underground newspaper. This paper was very well liked amongst everyone working in the tunnels because we got a word of the outside world from those who had ventured into it. I came into the underground only nine months ago. This was the moment that I realized Hitler as being the mastermind of a scheme rather than a hero to the people. I saw the death and devastation of the past four years and found reason to leave. Being a German in this war obviously had its advantages. I got to walk freely and I spoke as I pleased. I also got to practice my religion with peace of mind. It seems silly to me, looking back on all of those years, which caused an abundance of agony for all of those people. All for a religion of which the Nazis never bothered to understand.
It was a Saturday in October of the previous year and the winds were cold and frigid. I was walking whilst watching my back to make sure that no one had seen me. I was on my way to the underground. The ground was frozen solid and my boots were sliding as if I was on an ice skating rink. My ears, cheeks, and nose had turned a morbid color of purple. I was so busy watching the ground grow continually icier that I didn’t notice the glimmer to my right. When I finally did see it, it was right in front of me. The image felt like death but slowly faded to relief as I saw people who were similar to myself. They looked just as scared as I felt and I saw kids, small ones huddling against their mothers and fathers as if I was some sort of beast. I said hello and they spoke back. They could speak German as well. I asked them what their destination was and they said France. The feeling of fright washed over me and I was calm once again. I asked if they knew about the tunnels and they said yes, that’s where they were headed. We then walked. As we strolled in silence a feeling of happiness came over me, quite possibly the first of that feeling I had experienced in months. I got to see these 5 and 6 year olds fighting for their culture, their religion and in that moment I knew that I had made the right decision.
About half an hour later, we had arrived at the entrance of the underground. The opening was narrow and was lit only by a small light hanging in the corner. We entered one at a time and only once we were all about ten yards into the gloomy room did it start to expand. The walls seemed to stretch as if meeting our numbers and we walked farther.
One mile or so later, we started to see other faces. Faces in the glowing darkness. These faces had an abundance of emotion ranging from fear to hopelessness and then there were a seldom few with light in their eyes. This light was present because of the possibility of freedom. “We’re getting out, out of this horrible time,” they thought and this gave them hope that others did not have.
I had written Adelaide about two weeks previous to this, in the hope that she would be expecting me. Apparently she had. When I walked into one of the side rooms and saw a brown-haired tall woman standing with her back towards me I knew it was she. However, when she turned there was almost no resemblance to the girl that I once knew. She was slouched with tired eyed and strands of grey hair that were already peaking through her shimmering chocolate locks. When she saw me I don’t think that she had expected me as a sight either. It took a moment for both of us to recognize that yes; it really was the girl from so long ago. We embraced and spent the rest of the evening talking about the war and our lives and more war. War seemed to loom behind every other topic, which made it impossible to hide the darkness that ensnared us all.
Of course with the enclosed tunnels there was no telling whether it was day or night, but by how tired I was I assumed the latter. Adelaide showed me to my quarters that consisted of a small bed, two drawers and a small lamp. Honestly, I wasn’t even expecting to have this much. I was here to help and for that I didn’t need compensation. I felt a fresh wave of tiredness surround me very suddenly and fell asleep as soon as I turned out the light.
Much too soon, it was morning. Like before, there was no sunlight to be seen, only the words of people just arriving. I woke almost immediately as a side effect of being in a new place and as soon as my trousers were buttoned, I was working. Adelaide had me on kitchen duty. This task was simple yet difficult. We were the providers of the meals for passing Jews. It was an unspoken rule that people must receive enough to keep them alive and well for at least three days as they made their way into France. The food was quantity over quality. As long as there was plenty to eat, people had no problem with the taste. You may be surprised to hear, but this was actually somewhat of a refreshing change. Where I grew up, foods taste was of utmost importance. Everything had to be the best or it was thrown out. I had seen hundreds of plates get sent back to the kitchen and I never even bothered to realize that. Of course, handling that much food by myself would have been ridiculous so I had others that I worked with. The main person was a man named Jerome who had lost a brother in the war and was devoted to helping other people through the hard times. He also had two little girls named Madeline and Rosie back home. Working with these people of different opinions and backgrounds made me appreciate mine even more. For a few months I was even happy, but then came the last battle.
When I first came to the underground Hitler was weakening and there had been talk about him making one last strike for survival. He was planning a date in December. I had been so busy worrying about my time down under that I hadn’t even thought about the mess that this could make. When I did it was too late. We heard of the fight in mid-December right after it began. From past battles that I had been closer to, I could almost feel the ground shaking. I knew the sound of the sky cracking when each bullet flew. I knew the cries of loss throughout the streets. What I did not know was how many people knew about the underground.
Suddenly one day, the flow of people had doubled and then tripled and everyone under the earth was working three times as hard. With the distress caused by the fresh fight, curtly it didn’t matter what religion you were. It was every man for himself. It was a Thursday in the afternoon and people were streaming in and streaming out and then I saw him. He was tall and lanky and he was just sitting there, watching the world go by and then out of nowhere, there was a gun.
Several shots were fired up at the ceiling and being in an enclosed space as we were, people were instantly frantic. More shots were fired and people fell. I dropped down behind the counter where I was working and hid. Jerome was beside me and he was shaking like a puppy. He was also crying. I asked what was wrong and the answer that I got was just two little words,
“My girls.”
I couldn’t help but bursting into tears too. I didn’t have a family to turn to or to give love and affection to, I was alone and I wanted to help. That’s what I had come here for. I was going to stop the gunshots. I may die, I thought to myself, but at least with dignity. I stepped out from behind the barrier but before I could take a step, there was Adelaide. She was up and suddenly down. The man had seemingly run out of bullets and he ran, and we ran. We were at Adelaide’s side in a second and by “we” I mean Jerome and I. She had gotten hit and the bullet hadn’t exited her abdomen. I cried out for Jerome to find a doctor but she pushed my hand away. So I sat and I held her, the friend that had trusted me, and had let me in. I pushed away her grey hairs and she smiled up at me saying,
“My death is a reward. I have lived a full life and have helped many people.” This made me sob harder. I could only hope to be as noble as her. To serve and protect people the way she had so aptly applied her skills. After some time, I felt her final breath leave her body and she went limp in my arms.
Adelaide was the one person who I could consider a friend. Sure, there was Jerome, but he was even distant. I couldn’t speak, think, or wonder about her. It hurt too much and I couldn’t be hurt and still have the ability to assist other people. One day, I was certain to think about it. At that time, though, blocking it out was the best that I could do.
Mixing corpses with tunnels was not a smart approach to the underground lifestyle. Bodies rot and then smell and having them underneath the earth in certain places is acceptable, but in others it’s hardly tolerated. Two days, that how long since Adelaide passed and yet her body is still here wrapped in a sheet so white it could be compared with snow. But it was time for us to move on because the Battle of the Bulge as it was now called war not over. We would still catch wind of new shootings or bombings every few days and the tunnels now had guards on every end at all times. After that day, the shooter wasn’t seen again though he was said to have attacked several other parts of the tunnels. Many people were experiencing trauma from the previous attacks and many just weren’t speaking.
I seemed to go numb. Throughout the war I had experienced all types of hell, and losing people was no new thing for me. Somehow though this felt different. This made me hate Hitler’s cause even more and want to help anybody and everybody who was going up against him. He was no longer a god, that was gone and the godly like figure was merely a figment of our imagination. He had only fulfilled part of his dream that was destroying the lives of thousands of people but he hadn’t become king. He had melted away people’s hopes and wasted away.
As I am sitting here on this day in January writing my account of the things that happened during this time, I am overcome with emotion. For Hitler I feel hatred, for my parents who followed him I felt loss, and for Adelaide, I felt joy. I felt this because even though she was gone, she was happy with how she had spent her life. She had fulfilled her goals and been a part of something bigger than herself. My father’s mind had been fogged by the standards of others and he had chosen a path that no longer existed for me. This didn’t mean that he was a bad person, he was attempting to do what he though was right and that was enough for me.
The Battle of the Bulge had ended less than ten days ago and the hope was swallowing the tunnels whole. People could finally see the end and with all of the death we had experienced, it was nice to feel alive. I thought about returning to Germany, but decided against it because it almost felt as if I was betraying the people that I had worked with for the last year. My home wouldn’t ever be the same and neither would I. My story is still being written and I am hoping for a happier ending than this one. I may even get to write it.
Project Reflection
Creative Historians – Project Reflection
In humanities, we were assigned to complete a fiction-writing piece. We could write about any event that took place in WWI or WWII and base our story around that. I chose to do mine on the Battle of the Bulge, which took place near the end of WWII. The first step of this project was to complete extremely thorough research on the topic we were writing about. We followed several papers in order to do this. We could use sources from the Internet, our families, or another source that we could make useful. The research portion of our papers took approximately two weeks. We also had a guest speaker in to talk about his written accounts of people who had been involved in wars. With him, we primarily focused on WWI and the bombing of Dresden. This was because in the first book that we read this year All Quiet on the Western Front, Dresden was a large part of that story. I enjoyed the pre-projects assignments because it was very solidifying to take our time to learn about the events that interested us.
During this project, we also learned about certain literary elements. These included plot, characterization, setting and others. I think that my story included characterization the best out of any of these because I took my time to really round out my character. I also read and re-read my story because I think when you take the time to proof read and explore your writing, your piece stands out more than if you weren’t to do those things. “The way that I felt about the war was much different than the people who I lived amongst. I grew up with a feeling of national superiority because the Germans were proud. We were proud to be from Germany, but after WWI happened and ended with the Treaty of Versailles stating that Germans were responsible for taking the blame and for repaying the debt caused. It was the hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make. I chose to leave my family and the country in order to work for a bigger cause.” I feel that this section of my story is very detailed in describing my character because I take the time to really describe and be involved in my characters emotions, which I think is important because it keeps your reader interested.
While writing this story, I felt that I had a difficult time trying to convey a really interesting plot. While the events were good, my writing definitely could have been stronger. I was using bland language and the details were scarce. This was the part of my writing that I was least proud of because I wanted to make the whole thing my best. Once I finished, I felt stronger about those aspects of my paper, but still was struggling a bit.
With many revisions to my story my plot became for interesting and fulfilling to read. My plot arc was substantially better than at the beginning and I was growing with my use of language and describing the setting. I also feel that I struggled with the character’s views during the story. When I first started writing, I was vague about my character’s thoughts on the war. As the editing process progressed, I could think and feel what my character was at a much more personal level. Overall, I think that my story was well written and thought out. I am proud of this piece of work and am excited to exhibit this for other people so that they can connect with my story as well.
In humanities, we were assigned to complete a fiction-writing piece. We could write about any event that took place in WWI or WWII and base our story around that. I chose to do mine on the Battle of the Bulge, which took place near the end of WWII. The first step of this project was to complete extremely thorough research on the topic we were writing about. We followed several papers in order to do this. We could use sources from the Internet, our families, or another source that we could make useful. The research portion of our papers took approximately two weeks. We also had a guest speaker in to talk about his written accounts of people who had been involved in wars. With him, we primarily focused on WWI and the bombing of Dresden. This was because in the first book that we read this year All Quiet on the Western Front, Dresden was a large part of that story. I enjoyed the pre-projects assignments because it was very solidifying to take our time to learn about the events that interested us.
During this project, we also learned about certain literary elements. These included plot, characterization, setting and others. I think that my story included characterization the best out of any of these because I took my time to really round out my character. I also read and re-read my story because I think when you take the time to proof read and explore your writing, your piece stands out more than if you weren’t to do those things. “The way that I felt about the war was much different than the people who I lived amongst. I grew up with a feeling of national superiority because the Germans were proud. We were proud to be from Germany, but after WWI happened and ended with the Treaty of Versailles stating that Germans were responsible for taking the blame and for repaying the debt caused. It was the hardest decision that I’ve ever had to make. I chose to leave my family and the country in order to work for a bigger cause.” I feel that this section of my story is very detailed in describing my character because I take the time to really describe and be involved in my characters emotions, which I think is important because it keeps your reader interested.
While writing this story, I felt that I had a difficult time trying to convey a really interesting plot. While the events were good, my writing definitely could have been stronger. I was using bland language and the details were scarce. This was the part of my writing that I was least proud of because I wanted to make the whole thing my best. Once I finished, I felt stronger about those aspects of my paper, but still was struggling a bit.
With many revisions to my story my plot became for interesting and fulfilling to read. My plot arc was substantially better than at the beginning and I was growing with my use of language and describing the setting. I also feel that I struggled with the character’s views during the story. When I first started writing, I was vague about my character’s thoughts on the war. As the editing process progressed, I could think and feel what my character was at a much more personal level. Overall, I think that my story was well written and thought out. I am proud of this piece of work and am excited to exhibit this for other people so that they can connect with my story as well.
Creative historians exhibition reading
Slaughterhouse 5 Seminar reflection
During this seminar, we talked about the book Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. One main point that was discussed in this seminar was the whether or not Billy Pilgrim, the main character, has free will. This was interesting because in some senses he does and some senses he doesn’t. It was mentioned that when Billy time travels he doesn’t have the power to control himself. In some cases he does have an idea of where he is going but this only happens sometimes. Normally he just travels when he is asleep. I thought that this was a good thing to talk about because when you’re reading this book, you really have to pay attention to the time travel or confusion occurs. I agreed with the people that said that for most everybody, free will is a reassuring idea. It’s something that we turn to when we feel that everything or everyone is against us and it gives us the power to feel that we choose what we do. Another question that was presented in this seminar was “Is this an anti-war novel?’ Hearing people’s perspectives on this question was cool because we really got to explore the text and use references tat we found. One of these was in the very beginning of the book on page 3 and this was the part of the book where he (Vonnegut didn’t say that he was talking about himself but he clearly was) was talking to a filmmaker who asks him if the book he is going to write is an anti-war book. He responds by saying that yes, he does feel like this book is anti-war. The reporter then tells him, “You may as well be writing an anti-glacier novel. This was one of the text references we discussed and to me, this is saying that we can advertise about war being bad all we want but we’re never going to able to completely stop it. The text suggests that Slaughterhouse five is an anti-war book.
During our seminar, we were asked if Slaughterhouse Five was considered to be a comedy or a tragedy. This book is full of dark humor, as it seems that Billy Pilgrim’s feelings aren’t present in parts of the book. Billy uses the line, “so is goes” quite regularly in the book and most commonly after people have died. When some passes on, he give a paragraph or two about their death and sums it up with “so it goes.” In the seminar, a few of us said that we thought that he was doing this to block the pain of realizing that someone is gone. He has been through so many terrible things that he is expectant of more and when he loses someone else he simply reminds himself that death is inevitable and it happens all the time. I thought that this was interesting to hear about in this perspective because at the beginning of the book I thought that he said this because he didn’t really care. However, after discussing this with peers I realized that he had felt so many things; he almost didn’t want to feel them anymore.
My connection between Slaughterhouse Five and something I’ve seen or experienced is the video clip of Enemy at the Gates that we watched in class. I think that this is a good connection because it is near the same time and it is about control and obedience. In Enemy at the Gates, soldiers are seen being pushed and shoved and fighting to get a weapon of their own. Also, in the video, if a soldier did not follow the orders of his commander, he was killed. I think that in Slaughterhouse Five Billy Pilgrim felt as if he was being controlled by his time-travel. He was forced to go to moments in t=his life, whether they were good or bad and watch the thing that had or hadn’t already happened. This is an uncontrollable event in Billy’s life just as being a soldier was uncontrollable to any one man in Enemy at the Gates.
In this seminar we also talked about a couple connections between the books Slaughterhouse Five and All Quiet on the Western Front. In All Quiet on the Western Front, there is this moment when Paul Bäumer and all of his soldier friends are sitting in a communal bathroom together. This may seem weird of gross to people today, but in this book, it is a moment of peace and happiness for these people. This is because when you are in the middle of a war, you seldom find happiness. In Slaughterhouse Five, Billy Pilgrim has suffered so much that joy is also a rarity for him. Although, when he does find it, whatever the circumstances he is so appreciative of it that it makes you smile.
During our seminar, we were asked if Slaughterhouse Five was considered to be a comedy or a tragedy. This book is full of dark humor, as it seems that Billy Pilgrim’s feelings aren’t present in parts of the book. Billy uses the line, “so is goes” quite regularly in the book and most commonly after people have died. When some passes on, he give a paragraph or two about their death and sums it up with “so it goes.” In the seminar, a few of us said that we thought that he was doing this to block the pain of realizing that someone is gone. He has been through so many terrible things that he is expectant of more and when he loses someone else he simply reminds himself that death is inevitable and it happens all the time. I thought that this was interesting to hear about in this perspective because at the beginning of the book I thought that he said this because he didn’t really care. However, after discussing this with peers I realized that he had felt so many things; he almost didn’t want to feel them anymore.
My connection between Slaughterhouse Five and something I’ve seen or experienced is the video clip of Enemy at the Gates that we watched in class. I think that this is a good connection because it is near the same time and it is about control and obedience. In Enemy at the Gates, soldiers are seen being pushed and shoved and fighting to get a weapon of their own. Also, in the video, if a soldier did not follow the orders of his commander, he was killed. I think that in Slaughterhouse Five Billy Pilgrim felt as if he was being controlled by his time-travel. He was forced to go to moments in t=his life, whether they were good or bad and watch the thing that had or hadn’t already happened. This is an uncontrollable event in Billy’s life just as being a soldier was uncontrollable to any one man in Enemy at the Gates.
In this seminar we also talked about a couple connections between the books Slaughterhouse Five and All Quiet on the Western Front. In All Quiet on the Western Front, there is this moment when Paul Bäumer and all of his soldier friends are sitting in a communal bathroom together. This may seem weird of gross to people today, but in this book, it is a moment of peace and happiness for these people. This is because when you are in the middle of a war, you seldom find happiness. In Slaughterhouse Five, Billy Pilgrim has suffered so much that joy is also a rarity for him. Although, when he does find it, whatever the circumstances he is so appreciative of it that it makes you smile.
Slaughterhouse five seminar reflection
Before the seminar, All Quiet on the Western Front was just a book about war. However, after comparing and contrasting ideas about the book with classmates, my mind was open to discuss the underlying messages in the book. One of the main topics that we discussed during the seminar was the truth of war. What is the truth of war to Paul? What is the truth to the author and the other soldiers? We came to the conclusion that war to all of these people was a puppet fight. These men were recruited to fight for a cause that they had only small knowledge of. To me it seems as if in the beginning of the book that Paul was proud to be a part of something as big as the war. Although, as the book goes on, he begins to realize that everyone in that war is a person, just like him. I think that this realization comes when he kill the French soldier, Gerard. A quote on page 224 reads “The pocketbook is easy to find. But I hesitate to open it. There are portraits of a woman and a little girl, small amateur photographs taken against an ivy-clad wall. Along with them are letters.” He hesitates to open the pocketbook and wallet because he knows he will find details of this person’s life and knowing that would make just having killed him unbearable. The author explains the truth of war as petty brutality and this book is a good explanation of that. Having a seminar regarding All Quiet on the Western Front was a helpful way to dig a little deeper into the context of the book.
War. To me, this word has always been represented things that I’ve seen on film. It was a bloody fight that occurred pretty regularly and took place for what seemed like forever. This book has been interesting to me because until high school, we didn’t learn about the issues of the world, we focused mainly on the U.S. My perspective began to shift as we read All Quiet on the Western Front. I started to see that war was much more horrific than TV bothered to show. Men in World War 1 were so desperate that they would wait on their friend dying just to have their boots. It was smaller things like this that struck me about the book. Paul was so focused on his “team” that he never bothered to observe the other players until the end of the book.
The very last page of this book is not numbered, it does not seem significant, but when you read it, you actually feel the sadness that Paul feels. He has watched most of his close friends die, he has killed men, his mother has cancer and he has lived through so much hell that he couldn’t care less about his future. If I were in his shoes, I believe that I would feel the same way. It would all seem so pointless. This written account of Paul Bäumer is so full of dread that the closing line seems peaceful, “Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.”
During the seminar we talked about whether or not All Quiet on the Western Front was an anti-war novel or not. A few people said that it was but most of us agreed that this book couldn’t be an anti war novel. This was simply because during the book there was no mentioning of the war being stopped or the war coming to a close. It was just about war. I noticed this as well when I read the book Night by Elie Wiesel about a year ago. The amount of sadness and focus on war in both of these books stopped a solution from being stated. Lines such as “I shall always remember that smile. From what world did it come from?” from Night and “It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war,” from All Quiet on the Western Front cause the readers to feel hopeless right alongside the characters. Both of these books authors experienced the horrors of war and built a story on it. Both of these men watched friends die, and both of them were taken from their families. War is a battle between the same men fighting for causes they know little about. In my mind, All Quiet on the Western Front does not qualify as an anti war novel because of the way the characters feel about the war. Sure, they wish it was over, but they don’t know when and where that will be.
In chapter 9 Paul kills a soldier on the French side of the battle with just his bayonet. This scene would have obviously been a horrible experience for Gerard because, well he has been stabbed. There was a rain of bullets pounding overhead and he was simply running for cover. He startled Paul who then drove his knife through his sternum. He fell. Gerard would have then seen a strange man hovering over him and wishing for him not to die. They were in the trench together for hours and hours. It would have probably been extremely painful and saddening for the dying soldier. As we later find out, Gerard had a wife and a daughter back in France. I’m sure that Gerard must’ve felt similar to the way that Paul was described on the last page; that he was glad that it was finally coming to an end.
War. To me, this word has always been represented things that I’ve seen on film. It was a bloody fight that occurred pretty regularly and took place for what seemed like forever. This book has been interesting to me because until high school, we didn’t learn about the issues of the world, we focused mainly on the U.S. My perspective began to shift as we read All Quiet on the Western Front. I started to see that war was much more horrific than TV bothered to show. Men in World War 1 were so desperate that they would wait on their friend dying just to have their boots. It was smaller things like this that struck me about the book. Paul was so focused on his “team” that he never bothered to observe the other players until the end of the book.
The very last page of this book is not numbered, it does not seem significant, but when you read it, you actually feel the sadness that Paul feels. He has watched most of his close friends die, he has killed men, his mother has cancer and he has lived through so much hell that he couldn’t care less about his future. If I were in his shoes, I believe that I would feel the same way. It would all seem so pointless. This written account of Paul Bäumer is so full of dread that the closing line seems peaceful, “Turning him over one saw that he could not have suffered long; his face had an expression of calm, as though almost glad the end had come.”
During the seminar we talked about whether or not All Quiet on the Western Front was an anti-war novel or not. A few people said that it was but most of us agreed that this book couldn’t be an anti war novel. This was simply because during the book there was no mentioning of the war being stopped or the war coming to a close. It was just about war. I noticed this as well when I read the book Night by Elie Wiesel about a year ago. The amount of sadness and focus on war in both of these books stopped a solution from being stated. Lines such as “I shall always remember that smile. From what world did it come from?” from Night and “It will try simply to tell of a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped shells, were destroyed by the war,” from All Quiet on the Western Front cause the readers to feel hopeless right alongside the characters. Both of these books authors experienced the horrors of war and built a story on it. Both of these men watched friends die, and both of them were taken from their families. War is a battle between the same men fighting for causes they know little about. In my mind, All Quiet on the Western Front does not qualify as an anti war novel because of the way the characters feel about the war. Sure, they wish it was over, but they don’t know when and where that will be.
In chapter 9 Paul kills a soldier on the French side of the battle with just his bayonet. This scene would have obviously been a horrible experience for Gerard because, well he has been stabbed. There was a rain of bullets pounding overhead and he was simply running for cover. He startled Paul who then drove his knife through his sternum. He fell. Gerard would have then seen a strange man hovering over him and wishing for him not to die. They were in the trench together for hours and hours. It would have probably been extremely painful and saddening for the dying soldier. As we later find out, Gerard had a wife and a daughter back in France. I’m sure that Gerard must’ve felt similar to the way that Paul was described on the last page; that he was glad that it was finally coming to an end.