Digressions Literary & Art Journal Course Showcase, 2021 DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNICATION, MEDIA, AND THE ARTS HALMOS COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES NOVA SOUTHEASTERN UNIVERSITY i
About this Course Showcase As the official student-run literary and arts journal here at NSU, Digressions has always showcased outstanding creative student work. In years past, having a classic print issue of the journal meant we were limited by publishing constraints such as page limit, printing cost, and media type. This year’s move to a digital format has granted us the opportunity to branch out and diversify the kinds of submissions featured in Volume 18. With an eye towards collegiality and inclusivity, this year’s digital issue features its first ever “Course Showcase”--a companion piece to the main issue that features student works developed across numerous NSU courses and on-campus initiatives. This is a new feature to Digressions that we hope to develop further in future issues, and we would like to take this opportunity to thank Dr. Miriam Ahmed, Dr. Mario D’Agos- tino, Dr. Aileen Miyuki Farrar, and Dr. Rachel Panton for sharing their students’ excellent work with us. It is our hope that as Digressions con- tinues to grow and develop, other colleagues across NSU will consider Digressions as a place to share, promote, and celebrate the outstanding creative student work being developed in their courses here at NSU. WANT MORE DIGRESSIONS? Follow this QR code for access to our past issues at https://nsuworks.nova.edu/digressions/ If you are an NSU student, you can even submit your own work for our next issue! ii
Contents COURSE DESCRIPTIONS 23 HONR 1010B: The Healthy Woman - Mothers to Cyborgs 1 HONR 1520L: Honors Reading DR. AILEEN MIYUKI FARRAR Seminar: Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. DR. MARIO D'AGOSTINO 26 COMP 1500: College Writing DR. MARIO D'AGOSTINO 14 Storybooth: Ban Me Edition DR. AILEEN MIYUKI FARRAR 29 ARTS 2450: Graphic Design II DR. MIRIAM AHMED 20 COMP 1500: College Writing DR. RACHEL PANTON STUDENT WORKS 24 Boundless Knowledge DANIELLA HERNANDEZ 2 The True Potential of Rabo Karabekian 27 How to Make Love to a SOFIA BARLAS Sex Worker JULIANNA BERROA 5 Ageism Works Both Ways JESSICA REINER 30 Digressions Cover Designs DANIEL KARP 8 Women’s Turn NICOLAS POSPISCHEL CASSANDRA ROSADO DIANA RAMIREZ CARVALLO VICTORIA G. KUZMICKI 12 The Great Betrayal RACHEL LARSON NIKITA SOOD SIENA BERARDI VIVIAN DURAN 15 Dark of the Deli DANIELA MARQUEZ MICHAEL H. D. MCCALL JADA JOHNSON JULIAN GLASTHAL 18 Me, Them, and You SOFÍA A. GUERRA CARDONA BIANCA OLIVEIRA INDRANIE D. SARJU CRYSTAL HO 19 Curiosity is having the MACKENZIE RAMEY cOURage to QUESTion ANASTASIIA LIUBIMTSEVA FARHAN SHABAN KRISTIN ADDISON KALIVICTORIA WILSON KAYRA PARKISON 21 Excerpts from COVID-19 TYRESE SAINT-CYR Experience Photo Essays ISABELLA PEREZ JESSICA MANGILA, BRUNELLA FRANK W. SPIECE, JR. RANGEL CUNHA, DANIELLE TRISTEN TRIVETT GROSSFELD, JENNIFER FANEA, ADITHYA DANIEL MATTHEWS, SARA 52 Contributor Biographies PASLOWSKY, LAUREN GROVES, DANIEL DAVIT, KELLY CELESTRE, JULIE BATCHKER, TARA ALLEN, LESLEY WALLACE, JAMILA HUGHESTS iii
1 HONR 1520L HONORS READING SEMINAR: KURT VONNEGUT JR. DR. MARIO D'AGOSTINO NSU DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNICATION, MEDIA, AND THE ARTS Kurt Vonnegut’s Bluebeard is a first-person fictional autobi- ography of the novel’s central character, Rabo Karabekian. In the novel, the autobiography is literally penned as it is be- ing read, and the sequence of events that unfold within the narrative frame are conveyed only to the reader through the eyes of the novel’s humorous, bitterly ironic, and oftentimes unreliable, narrator. For their final project, students in “HONR 1520L – Honors Reading Seminar: Kurt Vonnegut Jr.” were asked to choose a specific episode or scene from the novel and rewrite it as an autobiographical account from the perspective of one of the other characters in the text. The following are representative student selections from that class.
THE TRUE POTENTIAL OF RABO KARABEKIAN SOFIA BARLAS The following piece describes the final episode of Rabo revealing to Circe what he has been hiding in the potato barn. It highlights the initial reveal, as well as Circe’s reaction to the painting and how it affects her and her views of Rabo. The piece is told from the perspective of Circe Berman as she has finally observed a mastery of art by Rabo Karabekian that could be loved by many. My God I have finally done it. I have finally convinced this old man to show me the one thing I have been begging him for. Ok. I may have been a bit harsh by telling him I will remember him as a coward when I leave if he didn’t show me what was inside the potato barn. But he needed that push clearly! Me accusing him of being a coward, which he has clearly been many times, is the only thing that got him to build up the courage to finally show me. You know after all this time I have spent with him I didn’t truly understand his potential. Of course, I always knew he was this artist who had been scarred by war. But was his art really any good? Did it ever display true passion or something that was relevant to our time? I hav- en’t seen a piece of art by Rabo Karabekian that actually showed some- thing that mattered. Even if Rabo doesn’t think so, I do know art, and I do know what the public will respond to. I am Polly Madison for God’s sake! After reminding Rabo that he has been behaving like a child, he finally took me to see what was inside the potato barn. I admit that I am having many emotions right now. And no, I do not want Rabo to see me vulnerable or the slightest bit excited. I am always very harsh and stern with Rabo and now when he is finally giving me what I want, I will now show any sign of weakness! But let me tell you, not only was I in awe, I was also petrified. This painting is HUGE! There are eight panels of primed and stretched canvas placed side-by-side, each panel eight feet-by-eight feet. They form a continuous surface sixty-four feet long. The panel is held upright by two-by-fours that run like a fence down the middle of the potato barn. The picture also features a famous paint; Windsor Blue Number Seventeen. 2
3 Walking into the barn, I didn’t know the painting’s exact di- mensions. But I gasped in wonderment at the size and magnificence of it. When Rabo asked me what I thought it was, I honestly thought it was a giant fence, with every square inch of it encrusted with the most beautiful gems and diamonds. Then Rabo took my hand and led me to the middle of the painting. There I opened my eyes and thought I was standing on the rim of a magnificent valley. I wasn’t sure where this valley was, but it was bright green in color and there were many people below the rim. There was at least a thousand people that I could see at this point. The largest person was about the size of a cigarette and the smallest was about the size of a flyspeck. I saw some farmers, soldiers, wounded people; all things I was dying to ask Rabo about. “Where are we?” I asked. “We are where the sun came up the day the Second World War ended in Europe,” said Rabo. “Are you in there?” I asked. Rabo then pointed to himself at the bottom of the painting. He was the largest figure, the cigarette. The crack between the fourth and fifth panels ran up his spine and parted his hair. There was also a man clinging to his leg in the figure. He seemed to be looking at Rabo in astonishment as if he was God. Which, now, after seeing this painting, I could see how young men and women would look up to Rabo’s work. Contrary to an admirer, though, that man clinging to his leg was a man dying of pneumonia who couldn’t see Rabo. He was asking Rabo if they were home and Rabo comforted him saying “yes, yes, we’re home.” After I pointed to the man in the odd-looking suit and the others around him, I realized many of these characters were men. Where are all the women? Please tell me Rabo’s final painting didn’t completely miss the importance of including women, the other half of the human race! Rabo corrected me. Half of the people in the concentration camps and asylums were women. The problem was that they didn’t look like women anymore. So where were the healthy women? Surely, wom- en can be displayed as broken in addition to being displayed as strong, beautiful, and vibrant. Rabo answered these questions when he showed me the extreme right of the painting that contained many healthy-look- ing women. The painting reminded me of the museum of natural history! There were so many different kinds of people, so many different stories
that corresponded to each person. It really showed me how no person is alike and how everyone copes with their lives in different ways. Perhaps I misjudged Rabo all along. Perhaps he was more intelligent and sophis- ticated then I had thought. I asked Rabo what the title of the painting was. “Now it’s the Women’s Turn,” he replied. This old man has truly grown. I always thought he didn’t un- derstand women or how they felt. But maybe, just maybe, he has experi- enced an awakening and can now acknowledge our hardships in a male dominated world. When I pointed to a fat woman lying in the corner of the paint- ing, Rabo told me she was an old queen of the gypsies who was in fact dead. “Why is she the only fat person?” I asked. “Dying is the only way to get fat in Happy Valley,” said Rabo. Mystified by this particular gypsy in the painting, I shared with Rabo a legend of the gypsies. The legend stated that the gypsies stole the nails from the Roman soldiers who were about to crucify Jesus. Jesus had to wait until the soldiers sent for new nails. The legend says that for their deed, God gave the Gypsies permission to steal all they could. Even if this wasn’t the story of the particular Gypsy in Rabo’s painting, he let me interpret it that way. He gave me complete freedom in my interpretation of each person. I could not be any prouder of Rabo. This is a man I will know and love forever and future generations to come will finally understand him through his work. It may have taken a long time for me to realize this, but Rabo Karabekian and I have a friendship that I will always cher- ish. 4
5 AGEISM WORKS BOTH WAYS JESSICA REINER This piece is a commentary written from the perspective of Celeste, the fifteen- year-old daughter of Allison White, the cook. Though a minor character in the novel, Celeste offers a unique perspective as a young and modern teenager. She is the true representation of the generational gap that exists between the GI generation and Gen X at the time of Bluebeard’s publication. The development of modern technology and being raised during peace time shaped this new gen- eration, while those who suffered through the Great Depression and World War II had entirely different perspectives. By writing from Celeste’s perspective, the following piece offers a more nuanced perspective on Celeste and Rabo’s relation- ship. I’m fifteen years old. I’m from Long Island. I live with my mom in a mansion with sprawling grounds. And my mom’s boss is an old artist and, for lack of a better word, a loser. The old man I live with is Rabo Karabekian: a famed abstract ex- pressionist artist and art collector, which is why the house is filled with paintings that look like someone randomly dragged a paintbrush across it in different colors. I barely notice the artwork on the walls anymore, even when he asks me about all his old and dead painter friends. He thinks I’m stupid, which maybe I am, but I don’t think it’s because I ha- ven’t heard of Mark Rothko or Booth Tarkington. He doesn’t understand why I’m not interested in art and history. I believe that there are im- portant things going on right now and I already study history in school. There are new stories on the news every day and it’s so hard to keep up. Not knowing about dead artists and novelists doesn’t make me foolish. Before this year, life with Rabo was pretty boring. Though he’s an artist himself, I have never seen any of his work. I was informed that all of his paintings disintegrated and fell off their canvases. All he does is sit around all day, dwelling on his past failures and his days in the war. When he speaks with me or my friends, it’s only to point out that my interests are frivolous. So, when Rabo encountered Circe Berman on the beach and she came to live with us, life got a lot more exciting. Not only was there finally someone around to keep Rabo company, but she is also one of my favorite authors! Circe has been called Satan’s sister by evangelical Christians on account of her feminist writing. I have read each and every one of her books.
Circe has made a lot of changes around here and there’s actually some life in this house. She’s convinced Rabo to work on an autobiog- raphy and now he spends much of the day writing while she explores every nook and cranny of the house. I’m not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but I’ve overheard many conversations between the two of them about the things that she’s found. Sometimes they talk about the potato barn, Circe’s writing, or Rabo’s teenage love interest, and the let- ters he and the love interest shared. Once I overheard them talking about me and I obviously listened to the conversation. Rabo made a disapprov- ing comment about taking birth control at my age, which is absolutely none of his business. He sure is quick to judge other people’s choices. The biggest argument I ever witnessed between the two of them was after Rabo’s trip to New York City, during which Circe took the op- portunity to redecorate the outdated foyer. I patiently waited for him to return with the tension building by the hour, knowing there would be an outburst as soon as he arrived home. I certainly wasn’t disappointed. On the day that he came home, as soon as he walked in the door, the yelling began, and I made my way to the foyer where I was joined by my mom. He was in a state of shock and kept repeating, “This is not my house!” “Who did this?” He asked. I still wonder why he asked that? As if there was any possibility that someone other than Circe was behind the foyer’s transformation. She even replaced his expensive expressionist art with paintings of little girls on swings which he had told her to keep “caged in Baltimore.” Mom and I like the new paintings better since we can actually see something in them. We walked around and came up with stories of their lives and what the little girls might be talking about. They show people doing real-life activities. They may not be worth much, but I find much more value in this art than the ones on the walls worth millions of dollars; the expressionist paintings look like a painting I saw done by an elephant at the Bronx Zoo. Truthfully, I liked the colors the elephant chose better. Upon seeing the foyer, Rabo threw such an animated fit that the patch that covered the eye he lost in the war fell off. Before that day, he had always been so careful to keep it covered. Mom says he uses it as an excuse to hide from the world. I honestly don’t know what the big deal is since it doesn’t really look like much. As Rabo went to pick up the patch, his best friend Paul Slazinger walked in. Paul had been spending the last few days in the foyer helping Circe redecorate and Rabo asked him how he could have allowed this to happen? 6
7 “How could you have let me make such a fool of myself for so long, Rabo? I was giving the Polly Madison tips on the ins and outs of the writing game?” He replied. Paul was the only one in the house who didn’t know that Circe used a pen name. To get back at Rabo, he assisted Circe in redecorating the foyer. By the end of the argument, Rabo told both Paul and Circe to get the hell out of his house and to never come back again. In my experience with Rabo he pushes people away. He has two sons and never once did they call or visit. When mom and I leave—she gave her notice after hearing that Circe was leaving—he’ll be completely alone. He is so wrapped up in his own misery that he barely treats my mother like a person, and she has had enough. We were planning to leave before the incident with the foyer but stayed because we found Circe interesting. I will admit, there have been some benefits to living with Rabo. I get unrestricted access to the entire grounds including the tennis courts and fitness center, the pool, and private beach access. I share an entire floor of the house with just my mom and my friends are allowed to come over and use the pool and beach with me whenever I want. The only place on the entire property that I am not allowed to go is the potato barn I mentioned. Rabo locked something up in there years ago after his sec- ond wife passed away and no one knows what is in there. He says it will be opened after his death. At least that’s what his will says. The potato barn used to be his art studio and my guess is that he keeps old paints and used brushes in there. Of course, I’m not really sure why he would need six locks to safeguard those items. Since Mom and I are leaving we probably won’t find out what’s in the potato barn, but Circe believes he is saving the best for last. Mom got pregnant and the stock market crashed so we decided to stay. The newest development is Rabo has opened the potato barn and house to visitors. He calls it our own personal museum. He has even been explaining the painting and the people in it to visitors and not a single art critic has come. And he’s completely okay with that. He’s almost a new person. He doesn’t need anyone to tell him his painting is good because he knows it is. If you would have told me 6 months ago that Rabo Karabekian had made that painting out in the barn, I would have said you were crazy; a man that dead on the inside could not have painted a piece with actual depth and emotion. I also would have said that Rabo has no hope left inside him and that the war was his downfall. But I guess I was wrong.
WOMEN’S TURN CASSANDRA ROSADO The piece begins at Chapter 34 during Circe Berman’s last night with Rabo. From the perspective of Circe, we learn her true identity. Circe Berman does not exist. The woman Rabo meets on the beach is his mother. Inspired by Vonne- gut’s unique framing of time, the piece characterizes his mother as someone who can become “unstuck” in time. That term is used by Vonnegut in Bluebeard to describe how his characters travel through time in strange ways. The mys- tery of Circe Berman, who she is, and why she acts the way she does was never answered from Rabo’s point of view. Through Circe’s’ memories we can begin to understand her motives and add depth to a character we know little about. . . . “Animal, vegetable and mineral?” He said it was all three, and upon seeing the painting, I con- firmed that it truly was each of those and more. When my eyes first land on the canvas, the colors glitter under the floodlights like jewels. I could feel my chest tighten as if Rabo had reached in and grabbed my heart with his fist. . . . Dogs growled somewhere to my left, fighting over the rib meat of a corpse. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to stop the panic building in me. It pressed on me like a physical weight. Or maybe that was the dead man on top of me. Unfortunately, all closing my eyes did was direct my attention to the putrid smell of feces, vomit, and rot. It was enough to make my eyes water even while closed. Opening my eyes again, I stare into the gaping mouth of a dead woman. No teeth occupied her mouth, but jewels flowed out of it and pooled around her like a perverse water- fall. . . . When Rabo leads me to the middle of the painting, I realize the scene is familiar. It is the last day of WWII. I recognize the chaos. Years ago, I had gone to bed as a young girl in Armenia. When I woke up, I was in a German valley as confused as anyone else there. I did not stay long. I was back in my bed in Armenia after what felt like only a few minutes; judging by the sun rising outside my window I understood several hours had passed. That is my first memory of becoming unstuck. Since then, it has happened many times. I never know where or when I 8
9 will go, but I can feel when it is coming. It usually feels like time is peel- ing off my body like glue. Sometimes it is like I am cotton candy being held under the slow drip of a leaky faucet. . . . “Where are we,” I ask him despite already knowing the answer. Rabo is more than willing to answer the question and the several dozen I asked him after that one. I can see the Gregorian influence in his art style, and it makes me proud to know that there were two great Armenian artists known in America. My son, an Armenian with a name like Karabekian, will be known for decades to come as a successful art collector and artist. The painting itself is heartbreaking. To imagine what Rabo must have seen and been through after I left him has always weighed on me, but I can see him healing with each backstory he gives to his painting. Being here to witness it is healing me too. As we leave the potato barn, I feel lighter. . . . “You took me dancing after all,” I say. Our clasped hands swing between us as we walk across the lawn. The night air is salty and cool. . . . We sit in the living room and share one final conversation as Rabo Karabekian and Circe Berman. For Rabo, it is his final conversation with ‘Circe Berman.’ For me, it is my last conversation as ‘Circe Berman.’ I know that I will have many more conversations with Rabo in my fu- ture. Not necessarily in the future, if you look at time linearly, but I know that I will speak with Rabo once I go back to the time and place I was before I became unstuck here. . . . Rabo asks me if I will write. His words are not completely regis- tering, and I can feel myself slipping through the hourglass. I know my presence here will not last much longer, which is why I told Rabo this is my last night here. The time I spent being here was a blessing and a curse. No mother wants to learn that their child’s hardships continue into their old age, but I have used this time to learn about him. That first day on the beach, I learned just how much time I will miss in his life and made it my mission to catch up. Becoming unstuck here specifically
was dumb luck. I have been in many places, many times, and met many people, but it is rare that I become unstuck in a time and place so close to my own timeline. “That’s all I do,” I answer, “that and dancing. As long as I keep that up, I keep grief away.” . . . “Մեղր?” He does not seem to hear me. He only stares at the town with a blank expression. Paved with gold? Fool’s gold, maybe. My heart feels heavy. All that I have gone through and all the things I have done...for this? I stole jewels from a dead woman’s mouth—a secret I will deny and take to my grave—just to throw them to a scammer. I was disgusted by my actions before, but now I am angry and determined to keep going even if my only motivation is spite towards fate. One day, when we have a family, I will make sure our children make it out of here. They will show everyone that Armenians are a people to be reckoned with. . . . Somehow, we got on the topic of Paul Slazinger. Rabo brings up the idea of meat and soul again. “I wonder what his soul felt when his meat decided to jump on top of a grenade,” he muses. “Why didn’t it kill him?” “Unforgivably sloppy workmanship at the hand grenade facto- ry,” he shrugs. I let that sink in for a minute and choose my next words care- fully. “His meat did that, and your meat made the picture in the potato barn,” I say. Rabo responds, but I am not really paying attention. I already know what kind of response he will have. I clear my throat. “Well then,” I start, “isn’t it time for your soul, which has been ashamed of your meat for so long, to thank your meat for finally doing something wonderful?” . . . “That sounds right, too,” Rabo responds. 10
11 “You have to actually do it,” I urge. “How?” “Hold your hand in front of your eye,” I start, “and look at those strange and clever animals with love and gratitude, and tell them out loud: ‘Thank you, Meat.’” I watch as Rabo lifts his hands up, his one eye focusing on them. “Thank you, Meat.” I hold my breath as I watch him. As he speaks, I can feel the sincerity in his words. His gratitude is also an apology. Rabo’s face holds a smile so small I am not sure he even realizes he is doing it. For the first time since I have been staying here, Rabo seems happy. Content. . . . I feel satisfied that I can now leave Rabo’s life again. I am leaving and taking with me the knowledge that one day my son will let go of his guilt. Tell me how your parents died, I had asked him. Knowing that I will leave him at such a young age, I felt remorse. I wished I could tell him that I am here, that I am proud of him. But I could not do that. All I could do was this, but maybe this is enough. Maybe I die so soon be- cause I became unstuck here, and I know that life will eventually work itself out for my son. Maybe I die in peace because I know that my son will be able to die in peace.
THE GREAT BETRAYAL NIKITA SOOD This piece is a rewrite of Chapter 14. In the chapter, Rabo Karabekian walks into his foyer to see that the floral wallpaper and prized art collection that once decorated the wall are now gone. As a result of this, Rabo descends into a fit of anger that knocks off his eye patch. This rewrite is written from the perspective of Rabo’s best friend, Paul Slazinger. On sunny days like these, I tend to mind my own business and revel in the architecture of Rabo’s elaborate house. Oh, that little bastard! Lord knows what or who he does these days. I’m not sure I should be caring now that the truth has been uncovered. Regardless, when I am not whipping something up for my novel, I clear my mind and try to build focus. My office has a window that faces the private beach. Seeing the waves push back and forth doesn’t calm the soul as much as it should. Twenty years ago, I would have never imagined having this view in the first place. It wouldn’t be so if it weren’t for Rabo. Unfortunately, Circe Berman’s words now plague my thoughts; the repetitive action of the waves crashing the shore strike a chord. My thoughts were interrupted by a shrieking voice reverberat- ing through the house, followed by the same voice yelling “I am in the wrong house! I am in the wrong house!” I ignored it at first until I heard the voices of the cook and the daughter. Quickly, I turned around and walked out the door. In the case that a madman entered the house, a real man should be there to protect them. Entering the foyer, I walked into Rabo unleashing on all in attendance. Battered, disfigured, and ugly, the space his eyepatch previously rested on was now fixated on me. It took everything I had to not produce a reaction. Rabo’s eyes widened upon realizing that his eye patch was sitting on the floor. The way he scram- bled to grab it and put it on was just as laughable. My sophisticated self soon realized that he was upset about the change in the foyer. Good riddance. It was necessary. “Were you here while the remodeling was going on?” He asked. “Sure. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” I replied. “Didn’t you know how it would make me feel?” He retorted. Knowing how he would feel after the foyer was remodeled was exactly why I stayed and watched the entire time. I didn’t think that it was so appropriate for him to come off as harmless and distraught, or him wondering why the cook and I were acting like his enemies, es- 12
13 pecially when he betrayed me. I proceeded to inform him that I didn’t know or care about the cook’s stance on him but I sure as hell looked at him as an enemy. I thought we were best friends. We are all that each other has. Yet, knowing how hard I was working to write my book, he withheld important information from me. Under this roof, the great Pol- ly Madison lives and Rabo did not utter ONE word about it! Initially, when Circe Berman started tearing up the foyer, I begged her not to do it. I pleaded relentlessly but she would not listen to me. No matter what I said, about it killing him and turning him into a wreck, she insisted that it was for the best. I couldn’t help but feel like I had to do something. Doing nothing would result in his death and I re- fused to let that happen. When Circe looked occupied, I quickly grabbed as many rolls of wallpaper as I could. So many rolls that my sight was impaired. My instinct was to run as far away as I could. Telling Rabo this sparked a light in his single eye. “God bless you!” He explained. “Yes, and God fuck you,” I retorted. I continued to explain to Rabo what happened, seeing his brief glimpse of happiness transform into emptiness. With no avail, Circe quickly caught up to me, much like an enchantress. After throwing in- sults at each other, we landed on the topic of literature and she revealed to me who she was. That son of a bitch! He really left me to fend for the wolves when I had a wolf-whisperer living under the same roof. Circe, or should I say Polly, demanded the rolls back with the intent to break my arm off if I didn’t oblige. Now knowing who she was, I gave them to her fully knowing that she would act on this threat if I didn’t. I made a fool of myself for so long and Rabo didn’t say a word. His eyes—excuse me, his eye—filled with panic and his face grew flus- tered. He began claiming that he was simply waiting for the right time to tell me. That time had come and gone. I could care less if she was richer and better than me. She may be a monster, but she is in the blaz- ing spotlight of the literary world. After Circe told me who she was, I increasingly became more enthusiastic about her redecorating the foyer. I even gave her a piece of advice to ensure that her project would be a true success. “Paint the woodwork baby shit brown,” I said. I could care less about his hatred for that color. That was some- thing he would have to deal with. Now it’s time for him to be the fool.
STORYBOOTH: BAN ME EDITION DR. AILEEN MIYUKI FARRAR NSU DEPARTMENT OF HUMANITIES AND POLITICS During National Banned Books Week, Story Booth: Ban Me Edition kickstarted the NSU Humanities Center’s “Ban Me: Humanities Express” series, a month of events hosted to facilitate creative expression and open dialogue. Story Booth is coordinated by Dr. Aileen Miyuki Farrar (Department of Humanities and Politics) and is a story-collecting series that seeks to foster community and diverse cultural and social expressions. Inspired by the extraordinary events of 2020—from the pandemic, Supreme Court nomination, and Presidential Election to the Western US wildfires, immigration family separation policy, Black Lives Matter movement, and more—Story Booth asked what does it mean to be banned or censored? The year 2020 carried thoughts, feelings, and experiences bursting with expression. Story Booth: Ban Me Edition asked participants to give voice to those expressions. 14
15 DARK OF MICHAEL H. D. MCCALL THE DELI The library, one of my favorite places to go when I want to write or study, or just have a nice lunch. That was the plan today: lunch under the library, at the deli there that overlooks the lake. I’ve become such a regu- lar customer that the two workers there know my name, and I’ve gotten to know at least one of theirs: Judie. I always like how Judie makes my sandwiches so neat and tidy that I rarely use napkins. That’s not to say that the other worker makes my sandwiches sloppy. In fact, I’m sure she always gives me a little extra on my sandwiches, which of course means more sauce. And more napkins. But I love both workers and always look forward to seeing either one or the other when I visit. I also love the cus- tomers there. More often than not, they’re students coming in to study or to take a break from hours of it. Sometimes they order their food and remain within the deli, and sometimes they take their order to go. But today was different. Today, there was no one in the Deli except for the generous worker, me, and a trio of girls sitting by the glass wall that overlooks the Gold Circle Lake. And it was dark too. Of course, the lights were on, but the sky threatened rain – that plus the fact there were hardly any smiling faces there. Yes, I know, you can’t really see people smiling behind their masks. But sometimes you can see a smile in someone’s eyes, sometimes even feel it. And I felt very few smiles in that empty Deli. But I knew it was simply because there were few people, period. So, I went ahead and ordered my usual: eating-in; whole white hoagie; beef; extra cheddar; mayo and honey mustard; onions, tomatoes, and olives; no chips or drink; $6.72. Yes, I would like my receipt. Thank you. So then, I walked slowly from the ordering counter, choosing where to sit for my stay. Even with the pandemic and fewer people on campus, I rarely have the whole Deli to choose my view. So, I walk, slowly con- sidering old views I knew well and new views I’d never seen. I also take into count the girls who had already received their food and were talking merrily amongst themselves – especially the one girl who was not wearing her mask. Deciding that I’d like to see those honest smiles and laughing faces, I chose a high table on the right wall where the only real view there is of the Deli floor, and it’s usually only nice when the floor’s full of people. But today was different.
There was only me and those girls, and while that might had been a little sad at first, I found it was actually something special. With only us in the dark of the Deli, the only smiling people and fonts of life, I felt intimate with those girls, like I was sharing a private moment that only we would know. Though we would never speak, I would always remember a short, cloudy afternoon under the Library alongside three nice girls. But that was only what I wanted to remember. As I reached the high table on the wall, I caught a glimpse of the girl who wasn’t wearing her mask – and she wasn’t smiling – and she was looking at me. Truth be told, she was just smiling and talking with her friends the moment before I walked over. But now, she saw me, and she just stopped; the smiling and the talking all stopped. The other girls also stopped, confused as I was at their mask-less friend. I stopped for a mo- ment as well; for a full second, I stood there looking at the mask-less girl and she at me. Though my body was still, my heart recoiled from those unsmiling eyes. And so, I chose not to sit at the high table where I could have seen those honest smiles and laughing faces. Instead, I chose to sit far behind the trio, behind the mask-less girl where I couldn’t see or dare enter the view of those suddenly unfriendly eyes. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong, what could’ve disturbed her so from her happiness. Was I too close? No, I made sure I was more than six feet away. Did I look mean? I know I could seem standoffish, but that’s only when I’m agitated, like really agitated, and few things and people can agitate me like that. What did I do wrong? And the last thing I want- ed to consider, the last thing I never wanted to admit was– our skin. We had different skins, different colors. But it wasn’t just the differenc- es between our own skins. It was the history they had with each other. That history goes back and back, and it also reaches forward too with a claw dug deep into the lives of a lot of people who shared either my skin or the mask-less girl’s. That history has caused a lot of hate, a lot fear between our ‘peoples.’ But I never let that hate or fear run through my mind when meeting someone of a different color than I am. And when such thoughts do invade, I make sure to let go of the history of my skin because it carries a lot of baggage that can easily wear the soul down if I’m not careful. But of course, I can never be free of that baggage. Wheth- er I want it or not, my skin carries it, and maybe not on my own person, but on others when they see me. And perhaps I’ve never noticed because I was always surrounded with presumably honest smiles and laughing faces? But now, in the dark of the Deli, I was alone, unshielded, and the honest smile and laughing face was mask-less. But maybe she wasn’t really who 16
17 I was beginning to fear she was. Maybe I’m the one who’s paranoid and thinking the worst of people. Or maybe I’m not. In either case, I ate my sandwich, not necessarily in peace, and grabbed my stuff to go. I usually don’t carry much with me to work or school. I try to keep it light with just my laptop, some headphones, and a good book. But after the Dark in the Deli, I find that I feel a lot heavier now, like I’m lugging a lot of weight around, a lot of bad stuff that doesn’t feel right on my skin. And I think it’s because I can never forget the mask-less girl and her un-smiling eyes. Of course, it’s a memory, good or bad, that I’ll always cherish. Because it reminds me to not forget my baggage.
ME, THEM, AND YOU BIANCA OLIVEIRA Bound by intangible liberty am I, As are you, for the Clock strikes hope when our choices are one. No one is free of the brilliant Confines of liberty, And how glorious it is to know that you and I can coexist. 18
19 CURIOSITY IS HAVING THE COURAGE TO QUESTION KRISTIN ADDISON
COMP 1500 COLLEGE WRITING DR. RACHEL PANTON NSU DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNICATION, MEDIA, AND THE ARTS As “digital natives” in my Rhetoric of Health and Wellness Composition 1500 course, students were asked to compose photo essays of the current pandemic within their groups after studying the rhetoric of epidemics, such as HIV/AIDS. In their groups, they had to decide how they would observe, document, and curate the current pandemic in photos and in a written photo essay. They also presented their work to their peers and voted on which ones should be represented in Digressions. During the process, we took cues from the historical, groundbreaking work of Gordon Parks in Black Harlem, as well as contemporary works in Format magazine, and a New York Times photo essay highlighting the impact of COVID-19 on the identity of New York City's Chinatown (June 30, 2020). A beautifully curated photo essay by their peers at the University of Pennsylvania that documented the epicenter of the current pandemic in New York City in May of 2020 was also discussed and used as a model (The Daily Pennsylva- nian). Motivated by what we learned, the students developed and created their own unique photo essays that traced the impact of the pandemic from South Florida to around the world, since we were all in different places. It was a challenging task, but I am extremely proud of their work and I hope they are too. 20
21 EXCERPTS FROM COVID-19 EXPERIENCE PHOTO ESSAYS JESSICA MANGILA, BRUNELLA RANGEL CUNHA, DAN- IELLE GROSSFELD, JENNIFER FANEA, ADITHYA DANIEL MATTHEWS, SARA PASLOWSKY, LAUREN GROVES, DANIEL DAVIT, KELLY CELESTRE, JULIE BATCHKER, TARA ALLEN, LESLEY WALLACE, JAMILA HUGHESTS As the world rapidly changes with the hardships of a global pandemic of COVID-19 that spread rapidly worldwide in March 2020, people are reg- ularly confronted with isolation and risk. But yet, at the same time, peo- ple everywhere are taking measures to ensure the safety of themselves and others. Medical staff are at the frontlines, working long hours to aid those in need, even when information on the disease was minimal. Gro- cery stores are managing crowds of shoppers to ensure social distancing guidelines, a sufficient number of supplies, and cleanliness. And changes are even seen on college campuses as attempts at normalcy are made via campus-wide safety measures and trust and responsibility amongst close peers. Despite these uncertain times, we are starting to see fear turn into comfort as the efforts of others get recognized.
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23 HONR 1010B: THE HEALTHY WOMAN - MOTHERS TO CYBORGS DR. AILEEN MIYUKI FARRAR NSU DEPARTMENT OF HUMANITIES AND POLITICS Honors 1010B, “The Healthy Woman: Mothers to Cyborgs,” is a medical humanities course offered at Nova Southeast- ern University that focuses on the question, “What defines a healthy woman?” Since the Enlightenment and its rapid developments in medicine, the conception of Woman has been in flux. What is “natural”? What is “normal”? What is a woman’s cultural responsibilities and how does her body shape those expectations? As one of our final projects in the class, students were asked to compose creative artifacts that apply the history, concepts, and theories covered through- out the course as well as communicate what it means to be Woman.
BOUNDLESS DANIELLA HERNANDEZ KNOWLEDGE Knowledge Knowledge What defines knowledge? Limiting human connection Science - Monolithic science There are so many truths Gods Impacting big and small The established truth Bodies impart knowledge Authority Nature speaks understanding Objectivity Experiences cry to be heard Removing you and me from Our subjective truths the picture Diminishing what we know Expanded by others to fill us Limiting who we are Recognize self in others Who are we? Forget defining What is self? Embrace fractured identities What knowledge defines self? Stray from the whole Don’t let yourself be bound to Represent who you truly are definitions Established knowledges Pollution 24
25 With a limited view of Chaos knowledge We Other Monsters Glorifying ourselves Enclosing Disrupting forces Restricting Choose to reject, choose Limiting to accept This is a knowledge What is yours? VIEW THE VIDEO VERSION OF THIS WORK:
COMP1500: COLLEGE WRITING DR. MARIO D'AGOSTINO NSU DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNICATION, MEDIA, AND THE ARTS Communication nowadays means more than just words. Images, audio, and other media are important elements of reaching audiences and getting one's message across. This work from COMP 1500 is an example of a text that is more of an infographic than an essay, but still satisfies the need to conduct research and make choices to inform and engage the reader. 26
27 HOW TO MAKE LOVE TO A SEX WORKER JULIANNA BERROA
REFERENCES Garsd, Jasmine. “Should Sex Work Be Decriminlized? Some Activists Say It’s Time.” NPR, 22 Mar. 2019, https://www.npr. org/2019/03/22/705354179/should-sex-work-be-decriminalized-some- activists-say-its-time. Accessed 24 Mar. 2021. Proletarian Feminist. “A Socialist, Feminist, and Transgender Analysis of ‘Sex Work’.” Medium, 22 Oct. 2020, https://proletarian- feminist.medium.com/a-socialist-feminist-and-transgender-analy- sis-of-sex-work-b08aaf1ee4ab. Accessed 24 Mar. 2021. “The Homophobia and Transphobia Experienced by LGBT Sex Workers.” NSWP: Global Network of Sex Work Projects. 2018. https:// www.nswp.org/sites/nswp.org/files/bp_homophobia_transphobia_ mpact_nswp_-_2018.pdf. Accessed 24 Mar. 2021. u.alwayswantloveyou. “r/PornIsMisogyny - Porn Is a Product of the Patriarchy - Misogynistic and Extremely Harmful to the Self, Others, and Relationships.” Reddit, Aug. 2020, https://www.reddit.com/r/ PornIsMisogyny/comments/i9ouk8/porn_is_a_product_of_the_patri- archy_misogynistic/. Accessed 24 Mar. 2021. 28
29 ARTS 2450: GRAPHIC DESIGN II DR. MIRIAM AHMED NSU DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNICATION, MEDIA, AND THE ARTS THE DIGRESSIONS + GRAPHIC DESIGN II COLLABORATION Historically, students in the ARTS 2450: Graphic Design II course have collaborated on a unique, experiential learning endeavor with Digressions: Literary & Art Journal. Students in ARTS 2450 de- sign the forthcoming issue’s cover as part of their assigned course- work. The assignment offers students a unique opportunity with a client, initially meeting with the journal’s editorial team to discuss the issue’s emerging themes, which students then use for cover design inspiration. Students in ARTS 2450 utilize concepts from course lectures and studio practicums, as well as lean on compo- sitional strategies (such as an awareness of aesthetic coherence, brand sensibility, and color usage) to guide their cover designs. Through a process of research, ideation, variations, iterations, and critique, students collectively analyze and evaluate characteristics of their designs, evolving their works into effective covers that are then submitted to Digressions for review.
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