The Story of Orange

1. I often wondered about the answer to a much-asked question, ‘Which came first: Orange the fruit, or orange the color?’ (Shannon Mccook, Apparently, its origin dates back to 1280s, which I find fascinating, as it is such an ordinary everyday noun. I hear it was the Chinese who first introduced the world to the Orange, as the fruit is native there, yet it took plenty of iterations before it became a ‘household name’. From narānj as the Arabic community knew the fruit, all the way to the French who lovingly titled the little orange ball ‘Orange’, many believe it was named after the French town of the same name.
But the terminology of the actual color itself has quite a back story too, as it dates back to the 16th century. However, it is clear that the fruit must have come first.

2. Another way I encountered Orange was via tea. Blood orange and orange-cinnamon tea, in particular, are favorites within my family, especially during Christmas. The sweet scent and traditional orange color instantly create a sense of holiday spirit. In fact, fruit tea is a well-beloved beverage, enchanting the world’s taste buds and many making use of its refine flavor and bright color. I hear even royalty has a taste everyone in a while. Yet I hear the Queen of England indeed prefers a more savory flavor, ‘ ‘Twinings’ English breakfast tea in a bone china cup and saucer’ seems to be her taste, as mentioned within the pages of Hello Magazine. Yet her majesty also seems to be a fan of something sweet to go along with it. ‘Cornflakes’. Also, orange in color, the breakfast food must have cast a spell on her majesty, as she reportedly has been devouring it for decades. I wish my friends were as loyal to me as Elizabeth is to her cornflakes.

3. I wonder if The queen would still be eating cornflakes each morning if she knew their origin. According to Matt Soniak’s article, Cornflakes were invented in order to stop one’s sex drive. Surprised? – I was too. Apparently, in the 18th and 19th century, the western world thought it was ever so very uncouth to tough oneself or each other, many wanted to find a ‘cure’ against the body’s desires. Yet Physician John Harvey Kellogg had the solution to this rather odd problem. He believed it was all a matter of choosing the ‘right’ diet. Kellogg’s solution ‘oatmeal and corn meal baked into biscuits and then ground into tiny pieces’, later on, this formula was redefined into Kellogg’s Cornflakes, the ‘cure’ against bodily desires. The Cornflakes were made from Corn, which gave the flakes their prominent light orange color, which remains the same to this day. I wonder if the Queen would still be as loyal to her beloved breakfast if Kellogg’s Cornflakes would still remain truthful today to their odd and clearly outdated advertisement slogan.

4. The color Orange itself is also often used within other adverbs due to its psychological effect on the human brain. ‘Orange’ is known to be stimulating and therefore enthuse the viewer. This, of course, is a very desirable effect to be had on a consumer. Therefore, Orange is used for lettering, labels and such many times, as it is also known to draw attention. One of the most famous examples of such use of the color within the world of advertisement would be ‘Fanta’, but also ‘Orange’ the phone company. Furthermore, I also noticed many sports brands make use of the color, which could be due to its association to energy. However, it is also commonly associated with a sense of spirituality due to its sunsets alike the color scheme – “The color orange makes me think of spirituality and compassion. I find that meditation is helped when I am close to orange objects.” – Sikhme

5. However, R.E.M. a popular band in the 00’s, chose to portray the color, usually associated with rather happy associations, in a rather sinister tone, when retesting their song ‘Orange crush’. The song was written about Agent Orange, an herbicide used by the U.S. Military in Vietnam.
The song’s chorus ‘Follow me, don’t follow me, I’ve got my spine, I’ve got my orange crush’, to me seems as a play on ‘spineless behavior’ of the U.S. Military for using a substance that is toxic to plants and therefore harming the planet.

6. Nevertheless, Orange has always been a crowd favorite, especially ‘Fanta Orange’. The classic beverage, made from “leftovers of leftovers”, as said by Max Keith, was founded during world war 2, due to difficulties of importing Coca-Cola into nazi Germany. The product is made from whey and apple pomace, creating a distinct orange color. The name Fanta itself, occurred due to a pun in German, as together with his colleagues, Keith used his ‘Fantasie’ ( word for imagination in German) to come up with a name for the product, resulting in the first five letters ultimately becoming the name of the beverage.

7. However ‘Fanta’ shall not be confused with ‘Fanta 4’, which is the name of a German pop band. The band playfully used the similarity to the brand by using the color orange within their music videos and styling choice. ‘Fanta 4’, which actually stands for ‘Fantastische vier’ (fantastic four) was particularly popular in the 90’s with their song ‘Troy’. In this music video in particular one can notice a hint of orange in almost all of the shots. This can be seen as yet another playful take on the similarity.

8. Within the 90’s music scene the use of Orange for the styling of music videos was a rising trend. An example for this would be ‘Say my Name’ by Destiny’s Child. The music video features four different rooms, completely designed in a singular color. However, the most prominent room, featuring the main vocalist Beyonce knows, is designed using Orange. This may be so that she is the main focus for the audience, hence the color is particularly bright and noticeable throughout the composition of the music video. This fact becomes even more emphasized as the video progresses and the other rooms designed in blue, white and red, merge with the orange elements of the shoot.

9. Another music video featuring the color blocking trend, popular in music video production during 90’s is Christina Milian’s ‘When You Look At Me’ music video. Even though this video focused more on a rather blood-tinted orange, the traditional version of the color was also heavily portrayed. Another distinctive detail of this particular music video is the fact that Milligan’s make up was designed to match her outfit and scenery background, all in Orange.

10. Red lipstick was a must for any woman of style throughout centuries. However, many forget that, in fact, lipstick was not truthfully red, to begin with, rather it was orange in color. This was due to the fact it was first accumulated by crushing a specific kind of Beatle. In ancient Egypt.
However, many give credit to ancient Sumerians for the invention of lipstick, as some ‘lipsticks’ were able to be traced back to the incredible date of 3,500 B.C.

11. When dissolving lipstick colors throughout history, it is also interesting to note, that although pastors in the 1500’s tried to ban women from painting their lips, Queen Elizabeth I continued to rule her land, wearing lipstick. She counteracted the church, who described colored lips as ‘devil’s work’, creating one of the first ‘fashion statement’ looks, so to speak. All thanks to her Vermilion lips.

12. Vermilion, is known as the reddish orange shade of color gained from the pigment found in the mineral cinnabar. It was one of the most popular colors within renaissance paintings. However, the use of vermilion can be dated back to as early as 79 AD, where its use was evident within a painting in ‘the Villa of Mysteries’ in Pompeii.
The color is associated with warmth, power, and life, hence it was often used for religious painting or portrayal of worship. An example would be Titan’s painting ‘Assumption of the Virgin’ (1516–18), in which he used vermilion to paint the robes, most likely to create emphasis upon the Virgin, as the color would stand out against the cool background. Another example would be ‘the painting of Saint Jerome’ by Masaccio (1428–29) , which also featured the use of the reddish Orange color. However, as the production of vermilion is rather uneconomical, modern day colors which come closest to the recreation of the historic shade would be Pantone Solid Coated 179 C. Furthermore, there are also many of portraits such as ‘The Hampden Portrait of Elizabeth I’ painted by Van Der Meulen (the 1560’s) which also featured Elisabeth’s vermillion lips. When observing the picture, in particular, the one’s in which she is portrayed against a rather monotone background, her vermilion lips truly ‘pop’ and demand attention. To some this could be seen as the first step towards color blocking.

13. The use of color blocking, especially using the color orange has been around for decades. Orange was oftentimes used within propaganda, as it calls for attention and thus attracts the viewer’s eyes. Especially Chinese propaganda posters feature the color. Apart from the previously mentioned reason, this may also be due to the fact, that China’s flag features the colors red and yellow, which merged together equal Orange. Thus the color serves not only the fact of enticing its viewers but representing their motherland all at once.

14. I asked my companion, Caroline Distler, what the color would mean to her and if she had a specific association with it. Immediately Caroline mentioned pumpkins and the celebration of Halloween. When asked why she felt this was her primary association to the rather versatile color, she mentioned that within her motherland, America, the portrayal of Orange seems to be most prominent during this holiday. Moreover, Caroline did state, however, that her home state, Kansas, does not have a specific association with ‘Orange’. Yet when Distler went to visit Florida, she found herself surrounded by the fruit, which imprinted a memory within her, associating Orange with the sunshine state. I foster elaborated upon my question and asked if the color would trigger any other form of emotion or memories. Yet Distler found it difficult to answer, as she felt Orange would not be as prominent within her ever-day life as it may be for someone else. However, she did mention the color reminding her of stationary and coloring pens, both things she was fond of when a child, as well as paper envelopes.

15. Whilst listening to Caroline talking about Halloween and her fondness of Pumpkins, in particular, I recalled my visit to Union Square. There were pumpkins too, all shapes and sizes. The leaves upon the trees were colored in every shade of Orange, from Vermilion to cantaloupe, Apricot to Gamboge. It was like a Kaleidoscope of Orange.

16. I kept waking as the leaves fell down onto the wet pavement of Union Square, a woman walked beside me, her socks also Orange, matching her coat in bright ‘Monarch Orange’. I could tell it was a Burberry coat. I had seen it before, even tried it on myself. It had tassels everywhere. It was incredible how precisely her coat and her socks matched, even though they must have been from different manufactures, as I know Burberry never made plain orange socks.

17. As I followed the lady in the orange coat in awe and then I wondered around the square, just watching the leaves fall, I wondered how many people must have written poems about leaves falling from trees. Trees have been around ever since human waled upon this earth, at least one would think so, thus the amount of poems regarding trees, or much rather Orange leaves falling from them in autumn must be overwhelming.

18. ‘Down, down, Yellow and brown, The leaves are falling, Over the town.’ this poem by Eleanor Farjean called ‘Down, Down’ is precisely the type of poetry I imagined to be written on an ordinary autumn day. Leaves falling, like colorful rain. The color Orange everywhere. However, when one analyses this piece of poetry more sharply, it could be put into context in various ways. Farjean could have simply put onto paper what she saw out of a window or when out on a walk, yet when foster analyzing the poem, I could sense a slightly sinister tone. This could be interpreted as Farjean using color (‘Yellow and Brown’) as a metaphor for aging, the colors signify the death of the leafs. This thought stuck with em as I kept wondering through Union Square, walking through the streets of New York.

19. Further wondering through the market, I bought a bottle filled with Orange oil. Its scent was ever so intense and sweet, almost enticing. Yet the color was not orange at all. I felt it was very bizarre how the fruit and the color have the same name, yet are so clearly dividable. The though often crosses my mind. Two words, identical, yet so very different in meaning. However still remain to have one similarity. The color ‘ Orange`.

20. ‘Orange’, a term ever so shifting, under-appreciated, yet ever so present. It has made its mark through history, both as a fruit and as a color. Enabling painters to build upon its beauty, artists to be inspired by its uniqueness, poets struggling to rhyme upon its wording. However ‘Orange’ in whichever form it may occur surely is one thing always, unique.

‘Orange, the perfect color for me.
The odd one, the bright one.
Fire is orange and I have fire in me.
Orange is beautiful, I am too you see.
Orange always manages to stand out,
I too stand out, always wanting to fit in.
A tear tickles my chin,
as the thought of never to fit in
swims in my mind.
A friend is what I need,
a friend in orange I always find.
Because you see, orange is the color for me.
Nothing will ever rhyme with orange,
and nobody will ever choose me.’
(‘Orange’ By Jenovah)

 

 

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Antonia Groh

McCook, Shannon. “Which Came First: The Fruit or the Color?” Community Table. 2014. Accessed December 02, 2016. http://communitytable.parade.com/253694/smccook/which-came-first-the-fruit-or-the-color-orange/.

Hola “A Peek at the Queen’s Breakfast: Twinings Tea, Cookies and Cornflakes.” HOLA. 2015. Accessed December 1, 2016. http://us.hellomagazine.com/cuisine/2015090427085/queen-elizabeth-peek-at-breakfast/.

Soniak, Matt. “Corn Flakes Were Invented as Part of an Anti-Masturbation Crusade.” Mental Floss. December 28, 2012. Accessed December 2, 2016. http://mentalfloss.com/article/32042/corn-flakes-were-invented-part-anti-masturbation-crusade.

Kahn, Wolf. “How Does Orange Make You Feel?” Verywell. September 06, 2016. Accessed December 02, 2016. https://www.verywell.com/the-color-psychology-of-orange-2795818.

“Thoughts on Orange.” Interview by Antonia Groh. December 01, 2016

Idacavage, Sara. Fashionista.com. July 01, 2016. Accessed December 02, 2016. http://fashionista.com/2016/07/best-red-lipstick-history.

Howard, Jacci. “Vermilion. The Other Orange.” About.com Tech. October 14, 2016. Accessed December 03, 2016. http://desktoppub.about.com/od/choosingcolors/f/What-Color-Is-Vermilion.htm.

Collins, Claire. “Orange Poems on Hello Poetry.” Hello Poetry. Accessed December 03, 2016. http://hellopoetry.com/words/4170/orange/poems/.

Jehovah. “Orange Poems on Hello Poetry.” Hello Poetry. Accessed December 03, 2016. http://hellopoetry.com/words/4170/orange/poems/.

Seminar One:

Objects convey political issues: The Rolex Watch (Bridge 3)

Antonia Groh

The Rolex Watch

How can an object change one’s status – how can it change one’s perspective and identity?

It was peculiar how the watch came to me. I would have never expected it. It was like a gift, a friend, a loyal companion that one day was given to me and was never to leave my side again. An emblem of not only my parents but their unconditional love to me.

It was my 18th birthday when the exchange happened. The well-known watch that had been given to my mother for my birth by my father now was slid onto my bony wrist and looked shiny and new. Yet it wasn’t and that is what made it so special. I thought of the watch almost as if it was my protector, my little angel so to speak,  resting on my wrist, ever always by my side, protecting me.

I knew I could never loose it or I would be in deep despair, yet I was not afraid to wear it as I knew it was meant to be with me at all times. However, wearing a watch like this, a precious object, comes with the responsibility I could have never imagined. Walking back home late becomes an ever-growing struggle, as if the dangers of the night, a burger, an evil would hunt me down, it would not just be a possession that would be stolen from me. No. It would be as if they would ‘rip my heart of my wrist’, would take the last piece of my father I have from me, as the watch was his last present to me before he passed. So I never walk alone. I guess it is the name which makes it precious. Rolex. What does it mean anyway? How can a name create such demand, generate such excitement and jealousy over a possession?

I remember I was at school, it was the first day after my 18th birthday, I was wearing the watch. A girl approached me, staring at the watch as if she was thirsty for it. She stared into my eyes, her eyes bloodshot, scarlet-coloured, full of jealousy. At first, I was confused, how could I have upset her? I never knew a watch could create an enemy.

I will always remember this frightful look in that girl’s eyes, afraid she might not be ‘good enough’, ‘worthy’ to be my friend, simply because she did not own a precious watch as such. I shall never understand such stupidity. How would one not be worthy of being a friend simply due to the choice of accessory? It is a riddle to me.

One day, I was lost in thought, curious and eager to try a social experiment. How would people react if I did not wear my watch in school anymore, would they treat me differently? Ever and always wondering, I finally took it off, my wrist felt naked, exposed. I had not seen this part of my flesh in a while. 4 months I believe.  My skin was pale and soft and a tan-line occurred where the watch had rested.

It felt peculiar not wearing my watch. A strange sensation overcame me as if I was not whole anymore, lacking some sort of piece of my own. I joked with a friend, I was a robot and one of my screws had gone missing.

Once I arrived at school, I did not know what to expect, would people even notice I was not wearing it? Would it be different, would I be different in their eyes not rich enough anymore to be ‘cool’?

The day carried on as usual, which resulted in me being greatly disappointed with my social experiment, yet positively surprised that my naked wrist did not alter my friendships. Then, as this thought overcame my inquiring mind, a girl, the same one who had stared at my watch for the last months with a hunger greater than I could capture with words, she came up to me saying: ‘Where is that fancy watch of yours, lost it? I bet mom and daddy won’t be so happy with their little angel now, huh.’ Slowly turning my head, I looked at her. My bright green eyes burning themselves into her soul. Quiet, no words escaped my mouth, I said everything I needed with just one look. She fled. Never will I forget the sense of satisfaction she seemed to have felt, as she suddenly was able to talk down to me once again, simply due to me not flaunting my wealth, distinguishing me from her social circle.

How is it that we are pressured to be put within a social group or be defined by status? I often wondered if it was singularly Austrian society that was so defined by the material things in life and what they seemed to represent, yet I soon was brought to awareness, that in England and most other parts of the world worked the same way. It saddened me. However, I guess there is an upside to it, an association can be used to manipulate thoughts, make someone think of you as more important, more worthy of respect if you dress the part. A lesson I learned from very early age. Yet I don’t agree with this sort of lifestyle- always pretending to be something which might not be true to someone’s personality at all- a mask created by social insecurities. No. That is not a life fully lived.

Yet when I traveled to Greece, Paros, an island which seems to be sheltered from the rest of civilization, I had a bizarre awakening. When I encountered new people, made new friends, shaking their hands exposing my watch, it did not seem to define me whatsoever. It was incredibly refreshing, almost exhilarating. It was me who was seen, liked for my wit and heart, not my wristwatch or what it may represent. This occurrence made me rethink the identity this object had given me, the status and the light in which it represented me. I asked myself – what impact did I have on society and in which sense or rather than myself, what impact did my watch and in particularly its brand have on my fellow peers? I never knew how much power one objects could have in persuading someone to be your companion or treat you more respectfully, think of you with more admiration and desire you to be part of their social group. It shook me to my bone. Ultimately I came to the conclusion, my watch, my identity of wealth, it was like a secret ‘super power’. Like a magnet. It would catapult me to new dimensions, new possibilities, open doors for me, yet also make me invisible at the same time.

The watch or much more its meaning, its association made me become a shadow of myself, a ghostly figure shaped by others believes. Strangely this was only the case when I was surrounded by the wealthy.  I found myself getting lost in the excess and blinding beauty of possessions. Strangely the second I found myself surrounded by others who were of a less excessive social class, more exposed to a traditional lifestyle and culture, I wasn’t overlooked. No. I was radiating, I was seen as different, the ‘odd one out’, as no-one else could have possibly been able to afford to own a watch of this worth. So I was confused, does that mean I cannot win, no scenario can lead to a ‘happy end’ in which material possessions are indifferent and humanity cares for one’s heart, one’s character, not just one’s bank account and what it could provide? Will I always be an outsider, not ‘rich enough’ for the ‘big league’, not ‘poor enough’ for the ‘ordinary people’? I guess the pursuit of a sensation, commonly defined by the term ‘fitting in’  it is a losing game. I felt like a lone cowboy stranded in the desert. No-one around who could possibly comprehend my wondering, my curious yet humble nature. All I wanted was to wear my watch as an homage to my parents, not as a symbol of prestige.

I guess society has been blinded for a long time by the ‘shiny’ things in life.  So I find it exceedingly humorous how most people constantly insist on pretending not to worship any material possessions, as it is made out to be uncouth to care for wealth, yet it is a constant component of the definition of one’s esteem. How very amusing.

Antonia Groh

Bridge Paper Two: Artist Statement

 

Young Artist in Focus: Lila Dittersdorf

Lila Dittersdorf is a witty young artist who tackles her fascination for architecture and sustainable design within her work enclosed by fashion design and painting. This fascination can be traced back to her ancestors who, predominantly on her mother’s side, were active within this industry. Dittersdorf´s mother, in particular, seems to have been the artist’s main person of reference and predominant influence as she grew as an artist, due to her mother’s contribution to a program called ‘the art embassies program’. This demanded Dittersdorf senior to manage art and distribute various pieces throughout U.S. embassies worldwide, which enabled Lila Dittersdorf access to up-market art from an early age. The artist herself also states ‘I just like have the gene from my mom’s side of the family’.

Additionally, Dittersdorf reveals her current artistic influences, divulging urban artist Sigma Pulp. Pulp is known for creating unique patterns within his art pieces, using  classic stencil techniques, then combining these with vibrant and unconventional color compositions. Lila Dittersdorf explains, she is memorized by Pulp’s work due to his unorthodox style and color amalgamation, which could be connected to the fact that Dittersdorf has found herself drawn to vibrant colors, in particular, yellow since early childhood, and tends to incorporate these within her designs.

Furthermore, the artist declares she is also greatly inspired by music and in fact finds herself unable to work when not constantly surrounded by it. ‘ I’m also really inspired by sound, like I think sound is the most interesting thing, I record sometimes, like the audio of my walk home, I just think it’s so interesting and like poetic ‘. This, she feels, can be traced back to her father, who she describes as ‘just like your classic New Yorker ‘. In fact, it was him who introduced Dittersdorf to the music of all-time greats such as Patty Smith, who she states, to this day, has a great influence on her work.

Moreover, Lila Dittersdorf describes herself as a visual learner and urges the importance of information being written down or drawn onto paper, in order for her to be able to transition the information into her art. ‘I have always recognized I’m a visual learner like everything has to be written down or drawn or something like that for me to get it’. She mentions herself being challenged to ‘just paint’ and rather prefers to put an object into context with another, as she feels this way she is able to apply her fondness for painting to the ‘real world’. Furthermore, it was this demeanor of creation, that foster intensified Dittersdorf’s attachment for her work within fashion design. When discussing the artist’s fashion work, Lila Dittersdorf mentions she seems to be predominantly drawn to the ever-changing design of shoes, as she expresses having a distinctive awareness for footwear, stating ‘shoes, this is where the fashion thing comes out for me,’. Nevertheless, the artist describes herself somewhat caught in a state of impatience with irresolution, whether to abandon fashion in order to focus on her other interests, such as painting, or whether to remain, as she finds herself repelled by the fact, that the fashion industry is second to the oil industry in terms of pollution.  However, it is this fact exactly, which also creates a sense of urgency within Dittersdorf to carry on her work within fashion design and create more environmentally friendly creations.

Name: Antonia Groh

Date: 20th September 2016

Title:

The Whistle

I walked down the sidewalk of a little street in the heart of Greece. Paros, the little island in the middle of the aegis, which actually is not even that small. Oh my home. It feels like sweet serenity overtime i walk through the dusty old streets of Naoussa, but yet tonight it was different. A night, which was supposed to be like any other. I strolled down the empty streets looking for my friends who were already heading towards the clubs. The sky was pitch black and all that i saw were little dots of light from the houses near by. I was always scared of the dark. I remember my father would always whistle me to sleep saying that whenever i was scared of something i shall whistle so he would come to my rescue. This was I would always be secure. Yet this time, I could not shake my fears, the darkness seemed to overwhelm my soul. The thought of something hiding in the shadows or someone assaulting me sneaked into my brain, but I shall not give into this fear. This task seemed particularly difficult this evening, as a girl had just been rescued the other day. She was found near a beach, stripped naked.

I was praying that I was safe, as I walked down the alley way, praying to my angels and father, who had just passed away. The few feet to my destination felt like miles and the minutes seemed to pass like centuries. I tend to become religious when I am scared, I need noticed this before. As I clenched my first ready to fight anyone or anything that would dare to come close to me, I prayed for a sign that I was safe, I kept on repeating and repeating in my head “Please dad send me a sign that I don’t have to be scared…” Suddenly, I hear a whistle. Normally anyone in this situation would started  shivering full of fright, wondering where this noise may come from, but I was calm. I knew it must have been..No it can’t be. But what if it is? A sign? Immediately all that crossed my mind was the image of me and my dad, how we used to sit on our huge, soft, bright-red cough and my ears ringing as he is whistling “Good people” by Jack Johnson so close to me. My body shook, few moments ago I prayed for a sign that I was safe and hear I am hearing a whistle out of nowhere. I was so filled with joy I felt myself completely forgetting how  terrified I had been of the night and its dangers lurking in the dark. Now all that i could think of is my fathers whistling. (Yet I rushed towards the end of the road, after all, who knew where this whistle could come from. I was not eager to find out.)

The next day, hungover from a long night out filled with greek singing and ouzo, my stomach was growling, craving a meal, which was long overdue. Then again, my ears were ringing, a sound, a whistle. Slowly the corners of my mouth rose higher and higher, until I could feel my dimples appearing. Again, I felt as if I was back at my childhood home, listening to my fathers obnoxiously loud whistling. I turned around, no-one was even close enough for my eyes to see. “How strange..it must have been someone walking by.” I mumble to myself, as I gazed around the kitchen, then outside the window above the stove. Perplexed, my mind wondered how such a small thing could immediately through me back in time, not only once but every time it appeared. It seemed strange to me how such a small mannerism could be associated with a person so strongly, that it is all that one thinks about, as soon as it happens.

After this incident I repeatedly found myself humming and whistling more and more often. It seemed almost as if I had been infected by my father’s behaviour, even though he didn’t even exist in this world anymore. Yet his whistling stayed with me. I kept joking it must be the genes, yet I knew it was something else. Rather unsure of what it was that could have cause my sudden outburst of ‘whistling fever’, I fell into deep thought about what made this so meaningful to me, even more so, why was my dad whistling in the first place. I could not quite put my finger on it. I guess it was due to a feeling of ecstasy, a sudden outburst of happiness. A moment that was so fleeting but so fulfilling at one. I remember often observing his little ‘moments of joy’, as he used to refer to them. The more i thought about it, it seemed as if my whistling immortalised his little quirk, his tiny, seemingly insignificant, yet so notable behaviour. Thus I started whistling more often, every day, one day after the other.

Then something strange but miraculous happened. More and more, dear friends, who knew my dad all to well, would randomly start talking about my him. They would reference him more frequently when in conversation with me, start to refer to objects or situations that reminded them of my father and even start to dwell in the past, when my father used to join us here on Paros. I wondered what could have caused this overwhelming outbreak of reminiscence. Then it came to me, that must be it! The whistling. My constant repetition of my fathers iconic behaviour caused us all to passively take a journey down memory lane. I was charmed by the idea, that it was I, who could actually be the cause of all our dear friends remembering my dad so vividly. Instantly my heart felt flooded by emotions, which led to a short incident of me crying in the bathroom. But these were tears of happiness.

For the remaining days of our holiday, I made sure to whistle all of my days.

Antonia Groh:

‘Growing Pains’

Introduction:

Remembering my youth is strange as it consists of little snippets of memory. Yet I like to dwell in these moments as they give me a sense of euphoria and let me escape every-day madness. Hence I chose to write about these memories, the ones which I wonder about when feeling the need to escape. Who would I be? What would be different? It is important to know where one came from and how recalling seemingly unimportant events can offer insight about current issues. After all ones character is formed by all events one goes throughout their life time, is it not? Therefore, I assembled my earliest memories in order to remember and eternalise these moments by writing them down on paper, calling this piece ‘Growing Pains’ as the mentioned partly physically painful memories helped me to grow up and become the person I am today. It perplexes me to think of the individual I could have been if  any of these events would not have occurred.

 

The Cold

I am entering a room with wooden ceilings, carried in the arms of my father. He hands me over to my grandfather, who lies me down onto a strange object, naked. I scream. The surface of the objects is ice cold. My grandfather leans over me and i can feel his breath upon my skin. I´m lying on my back and all I see is a white ceiling. As I am being picked up again, held in the arms of my father, I see my grandfather writes something down onto paper. I am wondering what he write and what just happened.

Marble Steps

I am running, racing with my friend to find out who will be the first to arrive at my house door. I am approaching two elongated marble stairs. As I try to jump over the stairs I slip. The next thing I remember, I am sliding over the rough surface of the marble, cutting open my knees.

Little Needle

I am running towards my bed. I jump, stretching out my limbs like a starfish. Suddenly a stinging sensation inside my left toe. A needle piercing through it. I ask my mother ” Shall we call a doctor?” She replies “I will call Wafa”. We ride in the car. I am bored and look onto the stripes on the pavement rushing past. I am lying on a long bed, two doctors operating my toe. After four hours all that is left is a scar on my left toe. I still have the needle.

The Harbour

A pink shoe, made of plastic. It fell, fell into the sea. I look after it as it sinks onto the ground of the harbour. I am sad and walk away, wearing only one shoe. Limping as it was a high heel.

My First Swim

I am at the beach, my father sitting next to me in the sand. I feel the sea caressing my toes. I look at him and he smiles at me. I feel safe, happy. I stand up and start running into the sea. I dive into it. I feel refreshed. I float up upon the surface of the sea. Thank you floaties.

Shadows – My Angst Of The Dark

It is getting dark outside. I am tucked into my bed and tired. I see the trees from our garden casting shadows onto the walls of my room as cars drive by. I am scared and cover my head with my blanket. I hold my breath, then slowly fall asleep.

The Harbour

A pink shoe, made of plastic. It fell, fell into the sea. I look after it as it sinks onto the ground of the harbour. I am sad and walk away, wearing only one shoe. Limping as it was a high heel.

Banana Toys

The elevator is stuck. My grandmother takes me by my hand and we take the stairs. They are made of marble. We arrive on the second floor of the building and a huge door made of wood opens up in front of me. All I see are toys. Toys everywhere. Cars, Stuffed animals, everything I could dream of. I feel euphoric as I approach the section of the shop displaying barbie dolls. As I gaze to my left I see the words “special edition”. I grab the doll and run towards my grandmother. She buys it for me and I kiss her on the cheek. I am filled with joy.

Pferd

Ferrari. The words spelled on the book in front of me. I wonder what it means. I open the book and flick through the pages. Mesmerised by the horse at the front of the car, I continue flipping through the pages. I walk up to my father and say “I want this one” pointing onto a Ferrari car in the book.

Sophie 

Brown eyes, I stare at her big brown eyes. She asks me “can I use that” and points towards a hand sewn dress. I look at the dress and back at Sophie. I find myself torn between resisting my urge not to give her my favourite dress and handing her the dress in order to be kind. I feel conflicted. I hand her another dress. She is silent, looking away disappointedly. My heart aches, yet I do not feel a sense of guilt.

The Pool

Circles, circles, circles. I am swimming in circles together with my father. We start to create a current inside the pool. I let myself drift. I feel one with the water and pretend I am a mermaid. I am so happy.

She sits in a chair

She sits up straight on a big turquoise chair. A blanket wrapped around her, slowly

falling of her left shoulder. I run towards her. “Mama!” I shout, and hug my mothers legs as she sits and reads a magazine called Vogue.

Paint

I sit by the table and watch my father work on his computer. I wait. He closes his computer. I ask him if he can teach me to use it. I crawl onto his lap and he shows me how to draw using “paint”. I feel his hands guiding mine showing me how to create imagery.

Fasching

Glitter and silver mesh is all I see. Mother glues the silver mesh fabric to the little wings she bought at H&M. I try them on and run around her yelling ” I am a fairy! “. Then trip on the mesh on the floor. I laugh. My mother hugs me.

 

Conclusion:

However often I relive these events, my body experiences joy, allowing me to relax and dwell in the past. Yet there is nothing that stayed the same, except for my mother helping me create costumes. Have these memories influenced my life to a great extend or were they simply a few moments of bliss? It does not matter, as they still allow me to escape my anxiety in situations of stress.