Back to Humanities
Contagious City Lights
Abstract: Through this project, we were challenged to reach beyond our comfort zones and write a very revealing and raw essay. My essay takes the reader through my personal journey of first love and connection with a sacred place. I use my place, a vantage point above Durango, to exhibit my environmental ethic of conservationism as well as my deepened understanding of an individual’s role in the mosaic of humans and the improbable connection between two young hearts seeking companionship. One area in my essay where I show environmental ethic as well as community is where I write about the way we have become so dependent on energy. I write, “[we] are too deeply invested in our god given resources, any effort to withdraw would be met with hearty rebellion. We have locked in our answer, ‘Energy, please.’ Though we justify our exploitation of nature, we forget we are a part of it. Soon, we must come to realize our towns will be our downfall unless we use our unrelenting creations to live with the earth, not just on it.” This is just a glimpse of the heavier concepts and thoughts I bring to life in my environmental ethic essay as I used words to communicate emotions and thoughts.
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I fell in love for the first time when I was 15.
The car engine buzzes and giggles as the lights flicker on the road. Creed plays on the radio, Scott Stapp singing in the background; “Just give love to all...” I tilt my head on the cold window and look at the street lights above me, smiling with the yellowy lamp skulls. These lights tap into that netting of wires that stretch lengthy vines across the abnormal swells of buildings on the crusty surface of the terrestrial sphere. From the driver’s seat, he reaches for my hand and tucks his fingers between mine, brushing his thumb across the ridge of my knuckles. His callused palm presses against my sweaty fingers as he steers the Trailblazer with one hand. He is left handed. He writes with his hand tilted upside down, shaping letters with strange movements in his wrist; I guess it works because I can usually read his love letters. On smooth pavement the car flings us, unnaturally, though time, to the vantage point. I had never been here before, but at once I fall in love with the view. Instantaneously the world I have been living in and the world I perceive collide in a delicate array of colors that illuminates the darkness of a mountain town.
At only 15, I didn’t know a lot. I suppose you could say I still don’t. Isn’t that human? I lived in a world where stress and school work, governed my life outside of the halls of a wondrously pieced together strip mall high school, held up by the belief in the beautiful. It seemed every day I was learning so much. I learned it was impossible for anyone to teach me how I fit in to…well, everything. I knew that I was a small piece in a larger churning civilization, somehow kneaded into the cogs of the world like the way the flour is kneaded into dough. In some intricate way, I belonged right where I was, an essential, functioning piece of an entire artistic movement of humans.
At only 17, I don’t know a lot. I suppose you could say I never will. But each single light still connects to a power cord coursing with energy extracted from the remnants of life thousands of years before. Outstretched power lines pull between lanky wooden poles implanted into the ground the way a needle breaks skin to vaccinate us against the inevitable. We are treating the natural courses of human health as the enemy because we have learned how to “save lives” and through this, it is possible for us to over populate and abuse our generous planet, seeking and demanding energy. Energy transported through droopy wires above our heads. The lines quiver in the wind, trembling and surging with power. Like oxygen tubes connected to our lungs, the cables expand and weave a web across our earthy gurney to keep us breathing. Each single light: still an eye in the darkness connected to thick cords of vitality streaming across the country, even in the obscurity of a desert sunset. Less cerebral species, eyes glowing and illuminating their paths, laugh at us, hiding comfortably in the shadows knowing the curves of the earth because they feel the earth; they don’t need lights to know their way.
I squint downwards, my eyes peeling apart their unlit domain, trying to meet the gaze of the damaged strip of wilderness. I have to force my eyes to look as this patch hillside, like I am ashamed of what we have done.
“Do you think there is anything down there?” I wonder, squeezing his hand, suddenly seized by a tremor fear.
“Don’t think about that. You’re freaking yourself out.” He says things like this a lot. That’s the beauty of our companionship. He holds me tight and leads me away from my troubling thoughts of this world that seems too hard to change. When he worries about me it is like he is saying, “shut up and be a kid with me.” He wants to protect me against myself because somehow he has fallen in love with me when I am still trying to find love for myself. I find that we are our most dangerous enemies. Isn’t that human?
From the hood of his car, we can see the intersection of two main highways, 550 going through Durango and 160 coming from Pagosa Springs. The intersection of highways. The intersection of my adolescent years. We watch the cars that pause and resume as the lights change from red to green and back again, a constant flow of stopping and going, halting and rushing. At the top of the city, I feel, I see and I experience a distancing of myself from the singular action of living my life. I am suddenly removed from the revolving gears and I can see the role of an individual. The clarity is overwhelming; we are the mechanisms necessary to create a whole, magnificent beast. Instantaneously the world I have been living in and the world I perceive collide in a delicate array of colors that illuminates the darkness of a mountain town.
The lights and city we witness now are the products of human innovation because we see a forest, but we picture a town. We create and revolutionize, prying apart mysteries to “improve” and artificially implant ourselves into spaces where there isn’t room for us but we make room anyway because we are designers. Isn’t that human? Yes, in fact, humans cannot slow their untamed minds. As a poet once said, “Here’s to the crazy ones…Because they change things. They push the human race forward. Maybe they have to be crazy. How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?” How else would we be able to witness these city lights or mutter the lyrics of a familiar song on the car radio? Our untamed minds have tamed nature for our convenience.
Marvelous machines click and gurgle as we cut straight lines through a clearly curved earth. What if we stopped constructing geometric shapes in the rounded planet? Ah. Certainly we have become too reliant upon the luxuries of modernization, but it’s so comfortable! Too deeply invested in our god given resources, any effort to withdraw would be met with hearty rebellion. We have locked in our answer, “Energy, please.” Though we justify our exploitation of nature, we forget we are a part of it. Soon, we must come to realize our towns will be our downfall unless we use our unrelenting creations to live with the earth, not just on it.
I wonder, from here above the city, what was this sacred patch of land before our grunting machines? When our small valley of Durango was encrusted in blue ice like a bold pearl nestled into the center of an undiscovered continent. Was this bump of earth created over time as the ice melted and shoots of green dared survival? Then the creatures came and maneuvered the earth in the darkness with just instinct and holes to heaven. Was the night sky so ornate with stars it brightened the night like a pregnant yellowy moon? I cast a glance to the lights in the sky, burning without being plugged in. I try to locate one of the few constellations I can trace, trying to connect with a preliterate wanderer. Is it true that we are made of light and are bound towards the skies when we die? If so, why do we need to artificiate light, trapped in glass skulls?
He holds my hand as I gasp in autumn air, dancing with the hairs on my arms. I lean into his warmth, my head resting on a firm foundation that allows me to flourish. He smells like summer and happiness. I tell him that, and he rolls his eyes because it’s a variation of; “I love you.” But now, words don’t need to be exchanged. I think we both understand our roles as fortunate bystanders of this ever reorganized cityscape.
Months later, we drive under yellowy lights on a paved road to an enlightening destination. On smooth pavement the car flings us, unnaturally, though time, to the overlook. He holds my hand, curling our fists to the cozy space between his side and his hips. I watch his lips silhouetted by skeletal street lights, reciting lyrics to Creed on the stereo.
Though taxing months have elapsed and the temperatures are slowly changing, it feels like the first night at the vantage point. The radiance of the panoramic view is undeniable, but had I been with anyone else in those initial moments of decoding, my clarity would have been unveiled in a very different way. It seems so flawless now: my place is here, standing as beholder of these brightly glowing city lights. In the same way, my place is anywhere with him.
I thought it was hard to fall in love, now; it is only hard to protect myself from it. Oh, his brilliant callused palms. It’s in the simple way he moves or looks at me like I am exotic. At the essence of us, there is purely me and him: two unrestricted hearts hungering for a raw companionship in the midst of an adolescent revelation. Through it all, I fell in love. Instantaneously it all made sense; everything had to be the way it was to bring us to this moment together.
I cried the other day because I looked at the clock. We have a year left. We will graduate and move on, to different towns, maybe even different states. We were meant to come together as partners in this moment; are we destined to become distant high school memories to each other as we move forward with other friendships? Will he remember me like I remember his palms? From the hood of his Trailblazer, I have no power to understand if this is the way it needs to be. A predestined future doesn’t ease the sadness of growing apart. I can taste my tears of saying goodbye.
I cried the other day because I looked at the clock. We have 50 years left. Or so. That is, if we continue burning fossil fuels with no reservations. Each day we pleasantly sit behind the wheel of a car, cursing at morning traffic. Each day as our car idles; we climb another step closer to bringing our earth to the doorstep of catastrophe. From the vantage point of the city, I have no power to understand if this is the way it needs to be. I like to imagine we will soon know harmony with our earth, but like I said, I’m young and don’t know much. The only things I know are the contagious city lights.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I fell in love for the first time when I was 15.
The car engine buzzes and giggles as the lights flicker on the road. Creed plays on the radio, Scott Stapp singing in the background; “Just give love to all...” I tilt my head on the cold window and look at the street lights above me, smiling with the yellowy lamp skulls. These lights tap into that netting of wires that stretch lengthy vines across the abnormal swells of buildings on the crusty surface of the terrestrial sphere. From the driver’s seat, he reaches for my hand and tucks his fingers between mine, brushing his thumb across the ridge of my knuckles. His callused palm presses against my sweaty fingers as he steers the Trailblazer with one hand. He is left handed. He writes with his hand tilted upside down, shaping letters with strange movements in his wrist; I guess it works because I can usually read his love letters. On smooth pavement the car flings us, unnaturally, though time, to the vantage point. I had never been here before, but at once I fall in love with the view. Instantaneously the world I have been living in and the world I perceive collide in a delicate array of colors that illuminates the darkness of a mountain town.
At only 15, I didn’t know a lot. I suppose you could say I still don’t. Isn’t that human? I lived in a world where stress and school work, governed my life outside of the halls of a wondrously pieced together strip mall high school, held up by the belief in the beautiful. It seemed every day I was learning so much. I learned it was impossible for anyone to teach me how I fit in to…well, everything. I knew that I was a small piece in a larger churning civilization, somehow kneaded into the cogs of the world like the way the flour is kneaded into dough. In some intricate way, I belonged right where I was, an essential, functioning piece of an entire artistic movement of humans.
At only 17, I don’t know a lot. I suppose you could say I never will. But each single light still connects to a power cord coursing with energy extracted from the remnants of life thousands of years before. Outstretched power lines pull between lanky wooden poles implanted into the ground the way a needle breaks skin to vaccinate us against the inevitable. We are treating the natural courses of human health as the enemy because we have learned how to “save lives” and through this, it is possible for us to over populate and abuse our generous planet, seeking and demanding energy. Energy transported through droopy wires above our heads. The lines quiver in the wind, trembling and surging with power. Like oxygen tubes connected to our lungs, the cables expand and weave a web across our earthy gurney to keep us breathing. Each single light: still an eye in the darkness connected to thick cords of vitality streaming across the country, even in the obscurity of a desert sunset. Less cerebral species, eyes glowing and illuminating their paths, laugh at us, hiding comfortably in the shadows knowing the curves of the earth because they feel the earth; they don’t need lights to know their way.
I squint downwards, my eyes peeling apart their unlit domain, trying to meet the gaze of the damaged strip of wilderness. I have to force my eyes to look as this patch hillside, like I am ashamed of what we have done.
“Do you think there is anything down there?” I wonder, squeezing his hand, suddenly seized by a tremor fear.
“Don’t think about that. You’re freaking yourself out.” He says things like this a lot. That’s the beauty of our companionship. He holds me tight and leads me away from my troubling thoughts of this world that seems too hard to change. When he worries about me it is like he is saying, “shut up and be a kid with me.” He wants to protect me against myself because somehow he has fallen in love with me when I am still trying to find love for myself. I find that we are our most dangerous enemies. Isn’t that human?
From the hood of his car, we can see the intersection of two main highways, 550 going through Durango and 160 coming from Pagosa Springs. The intersection of highways. The intersection of my adolescent years. We watch the cars that pause and resume as the lights change from red to green and back again, a constant flow of stopping and going, halting and rushing. At the top of the city, I feel, I see and I experience a distancing of myself from the singular action of living my life. I am suddenly removed from the revolving gears and I can see the role of an individual. The clarity is overwhelming; we are the mechanisms necessary to create a whole, magnificent beast. Instantaneously the world I have been living in and the world I perceive collide in a delicate array of colors that illuminates the darkness of a mountain town.
The lights and city we witness now are the products of human innovation because we see a forest, but we picture a town. We create and revolutionize, prying apart mysteries to “improve” and artificially implant ourselves into spaces where there isn’t room for us but we make room anyway because we are designers. Isn’t that human? Yes, in fact, humans cannot slow their untamed minds. As a poet once said, “Here’s to the crazy ones…Because they change things. They push the human race forward. Maybe they have to be crazy. How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art? Or sit in silence and hear a song that’s never been written? Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?” How else would we be able to witness these city lights or mutter the lyrics of a familiar song on the car radio? Our untamed minds have tamed nature for our convenience.
Marvelous machines click and gurgle as we cut straight lines through a clearly curved earth. What if we stopped constructing geometric shapes in the rounded planet? Ah. Certainly we have become too reliant upon the luxuries of modernization, but it’s so comfortable! Too deeply invested in our god given resources, any effort to withdraw would be met with hearty rebellion. We have locked in our answer, “Energy, please.” Though we justify our exploitation of nature, we forget we are a part of it. Soon, we must come to realize our towns will be our downfall unless we use our unrelenting creations to live with the earth, not just on it.
I wonder, from here above the city, what was this sacred patch of land before our grunting machines? When our small valley of Durango was encrusted in blue ice like a bold pearl nestled into the center of an undiscovered continent. Was this bump of earth created over time as the ice melted and shoots of green dared survival? Then the creatures came and maneuvered the earth in the darkness with just instinct and holes to heaven. Was the night sky so ornate with stars it brightened the night like a pregnant yellowy moon? I cast a glance to the lights in the sky, burning without being plugged in. I try to locate one of the few constellations I can trace, trying to connect with a preliterate wanderer. Is it true that we are made of light and are bound towards the skies when we die? If so, why do we need to artificiate light, trapped in glass skulls?
He holds my hand as I gasp in autumn air, dancing with the hairs on my arms. I lean into his warmth, my head resting on a firm foundation that allows me to flourish. He smells like summer and happiness. I tell him that, and he rolls his eyes because it’s a variation of; “I love you.” But now, words don’t need to be exchanged. I think we both understand our roles as fortunate bystanders of this ever reorganized cityscape.
Months later, we drive under yellowy lights on a paved road to an enlightening destination. On smooth pavement the car flings us, unnaturally, though time, to the overlook. He holds my hand, curling our fists to the cozy space between his side and his hips. I watch his lips silhouetted by skeletal street lights, reciting lyrics to Creed on the stereo.
Though taxing months have elapsed and the temperatures are slowly changing, it feels like the first night at the vantage point. The radiance of the panoramic view is undeniable, but had I been with anyone else in those initial moments of decoding, my clarity would have been unveiled in a very different way. It seems so flawless now: my place is here, standing as beholder of these brightly glowing city lights. In the same way, my place is anywhere with him.
I thought it was hard to fall in love, now; it is only hard to protect myself from it. Oh, his brilliant callused palms. It’s in the simple way he moves or looks at me like I am exotic. At the essence of us, there is purely me and him: two unrestricted hearts hungering for a raw companionship in the midst of an adolescent revelation. Through it all, I fell in love. Instantaneously it all made sense; everything had to be the way it was to bring us to this moment together.
I cried the other day because I looked at the clock. We have a year left. We will graduate and move on, to different towns, maybe even different states. We were meant to come together as partners in this moment; are we destined to become distant high school memories to each other as we move forward with other friendships? Will he remember me like I remember his palms? From the hood of his Trailblazer, I have no power to understand if this is the way it needs to be. A predestined future doesn’t ease the sadness of growing apart. I can taste my tears of saying goodbye.
I cried the other day because I looked at the clock. We have 50 years left. Or so. That is, if we continue burning fossil fuels with no reservations. Each day we pleasantly sit behind the wheel of a car, cursing at morning traffic. Each day as our car idles; we climb another step closer to bringing our earth to the doorstep of catastrophe. From the vantage point of the city, I have no power to understand if this is the way it needs to be. I like to imagine we will soon know harmony with our earth, but like I said, I’m young and don’t know much. The only things I know are the contagious city lights.
Artist Statement
With my visual, I have brought to life my place for the audience. This project required so much personal depth and self-reflection; I wanted my piece to bring the readers closer to my piece through a unique visual effect. Since I wrote about a specific place at night, I decided I could make a scene of the night and present it through a semi-interactive project. In my essay, I focus on the lights as a key point and continue to bring back the reader to the idea of the city lights, the stars light and the light of eyes. I used the lights as a connecting bridge between my visual and my environmental ethic. Even before I started drafting my essay, I began drafting my visual piece and brainstorming ways to make my project come together. While actually making my project, I came across a couple struggles. In the beginning, I wanted one light in the back of the box. After I had cut a hole in the box, I realized that the light was too bright so I had to widen the opening in the back. Once I overcame this, I had to decide how to put the picture in the box. Originally, I thought I would use fishing line to string up the transparency, but then, knowing the way packing tape reacts, I decided against wire in case it ripped the transparency. I decided to use tape to suspend the transparency, but the first two times I couldn’t tape it evenly and it was too slack in the box. With multiple moments of frustration and then strokes of innovation, I created an interactive visual piece that ties together my place, my essay and environmental ethic, into one cardboard box.