1. Looking back at the “bones of summer” how have you engaged or created art? If you haven’t engaged or created art, please describe why.
    I have engaged art in a haphazard way, and certainly not as much as I would have liked to. I’ve left behind a trail of unfinished books and movies, albums I promised some friend I would listen to, half-learned piano pieces, various pencil sketches… I’m not sure if I truly followed anything to completion this summer, which is not a very satisfying thing to say. I kept chasing the spark of starting something new, then unintentionally letting it wither away.
  2. What things, if any, surround you that you consider powerful?
    My immediate response to this question is sentimental objects: art my friends have given me, jewelry from my grandma, books that have followed me since elementary school, my sea shell collection, and concert tickets. I consider these to be powerful because they store memory and emotion in a way words cannot. I’m sitting at my kitchen table writing this prompt – looking around, I would also add to the list: my coffee maker, pottery my aunt made, the fireplace, and houseplants I could never care for that my mom keeps alive with ease. These are powerful in different ways: utility, generosity, permanence, and rarity come to mind.
  3. Over the next couple of days, take note of the dominant sounds in areas that you consistently walk. What are the sounds you notice most of all? Be specific.
    I do most of my walking on my street and at the farm where I work. In both places, the soundscape is dominated by cicadas during the day and tree frogs at night, both a constant static that I unintentionally block out. Upon closer inspection however, neither is entirely static. The cicada and frog choruses are made up of noises with various pitches, repetitions, and volumes that all blend together. I had never realized this before, but the birdsong is remarkably different in both places, despite their geographical closeness. I don’t really have the language to aptly describe that difference, but I would say that the birdsong on the farm is sharper and louder (probably because the birds there are larger, both in size and population). It’s surprising how these places feel new and a little unfamiliar when I pay attention to their sounds.
  4. How do you relate to the phrase “free time only works if you steal it?”
    I agree with this phrase, because I find that free time is only precious for me when it is rare and created on-purpose. I think this ties in with question one, because going from a busy school year with very little opportunity for free time to the vast, forced free time of quarantine made that time lose its value. After the newness of it wore off, it just became suffocating. Sometimes I wish I could get those months back just so I could make something more of it, but I don’t think I would be able to even with a second chance. Now that I’m back in school and back at work, my time alone is less frequent and usually more rewarding.
  5. Do you have any other takeaways from the film?
    I loved the scenes that showed the rooms in his house, with his crowded but curated walls and shelves. Minimalism loses all merit in the face of this house – it seems almost to be alive and is teeming with stories. There is such a harmony between Laskey and the space around him. When I live on my own,  I would hope to have a house even half as interesting as his. Another thing I loved were the clips of his art classes. He allows his students so much freedom, and nothing is ever deemed a mistake. I don’t draw or paint much because I get overly self-critical,  and I think adopting an attitude similar to his would help me out.