I wrote about a robot coming across.a robot detector test and asking a human to complete it for him. There wasn’t much of a challenge when completing this assignment, I just knew I wanted to do something a little ironic and funny. This was different from the triptychs because you had to add another middle event, you couldn’t just go from beginning-middle-end, with each panel having its own role. It’s different to have the middle act stretch across two panels rather than one because you have to make sure the two panels are both relevant and not too repetitive. I told this kind of story to have fun and be a little unserious compared to my literacy narrative comic.
Assignment Prompt link / Response link
Thesis: Tillie’s quiet stillness and reflective observation and David’s forced silence and confrontation both reveal the power of visual and textual interplay, but while one chooses silence and the other experiences it, this difference highlights how silence can be both self-imposed and enforced; therefore, Walden and Small use the graphic medium to transform repression into something visible and human.
Preview: My essay compares how Tillie Walden and David Small use visual storytelling to show repression and silence between children and parents. Through color, gesture, and stillness, both authors make readers “stitch together” emotional meaning and see how fear and control shape communication.
Reflection:
Tracing and annotating the pages from Spinning and Stitches helped me slow down and notice the body language expressed in scenes with little to no dialogue. Redrawing each panel made me pay attention to how color, gesture, and space communicate feelings that words can’t always express. Writing the essay, with the thesis at the end, allowed my ideas to form naturally through close observation. This process helped me appreciate the subtle language of comics, specifically, how silence can hold meaning and emotion just as strongly as verbal words.
Both David Small’s Stitches and Tillie Walden’s Spinning use visual storytelling to examine the extent to which silence, repression, and fear characterize relationships between parents and children. Both authors combine text and illustration to show that pain is not always verbal — sometimes stillness, color, and silent motion convey the extent of the character’s pain. Tillie’s quiet stillness and reflective observation and David’s forced silence and confrontation both reveal the power of visual and textual interplay, but while one chooses silence and the other experiences it, this difference highlights how silence can be both self-imposed and enforced; therefore, Walden and Small use the graphic medium to transform repression into something visible, ethical, and deeply human. In Spinning, the page where Tillie witnesses two cars collide while waiting for her mom after her cello practice captures how she quietly internalizes fear and hides her emotions, while in Stitches, the page where David’s mother covers his mouth after he calls his grandmother “crazy” reveals how silence can be used as control. Both authors use different techniques, but they share a focus on how children learn to repress themselves in households ruled by tension.
On the page from Spinning, Tillie waits for her mom outside after practice, sitting near a fence with her cello standing beside her (p 168). The scene feels quiet and uneventful until two cars randomly collide right in front of her. Walden fills the page with fragments of yellow light from the crash — a color that reflects on Tillie’s face and glows across the panels. Tillie doesn’t scream or run — she just stares. This reaction tells us that she has learned to remain still even in moments of fear. The yellow light, which dominates the panel, could symbolize exposure — a flash that forces her to face emotions she keeps hidden. The stillness and the reflective color show that her fear is inward, not outward. Walden turns this visual moment into a quiet metaphor for Tillie’s unspoken struggles, like her fear of coming out as a lesbian. Through muted reaction, soft lighting, and empty space, Walden communicates repression without needing to say it aloud. At the same time, in Stitches, David Small represents a different kind of silence, one that is forced. On the page where David calls his grandmother “crazy,” his mother reacts with sudden anger, covering his mouth and scolding him (p. 101-102). There is dialogue in this scene, but it is sharp and controlling, coming mostly from the mother. The images do more than repeat her words; they show how her authority dominates the space. The close-up of her hand over David’s mouth highlights that she controls both the conversation and his body movement. Unlike Tillie, who chooses silence as a way to stay safe, David’s silence is forced upon him. Through facial expressions and physical gestures, Small shows how parental power can turn communication into punishment.
Both pages ask readers to do interpretive work. Walden never spells out Tillie’s emotions after the crash, and Small never directly states David’s internal reaction. Instead, the readers piece it together through visual clues; for example, the light on Tillie’s face, the tension in David’s eyes, and the way both scenes slow down time. This act of “stitching together” meaning makes readers active participants in understanding each child’s fear. Through color, space, and gesture, Walden and Small remind their audience that silence doesn’t mean emptiness — it means something powerful is being held back. Hillary Chute’s theory from “The Risk of Representation” helps explain why both authors rely on these visual strategies. She writes, “each text is anchored differently in traumatic history, each yet insists on the importance of innovative textual practice offered by the rich visual-verbal form of comics to be able to represent trauma productively and ethically. For this reason, graphic narrative, invested in the ethics of testimony, assumes what I think of as the risk of representation. The complex visualizing it undertakes suggests that we need to rethink the dominant tropes of unspeakability, invisibility, and inaudibility that have tended to characterize trauma theory as well as our current censorship-driven culture in general” (Chute 3). Chute’s idea of the “risk of representation” fits both pages perfectly. Walden and Small take emotional risks by using visual storytelling to depict trauma and repression in ways that feel intimate and vulnerable. They don’t hide silence — they draw it. Chute, Hillary. “The Risk of Representation.” Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics, Columbia University Press, 2010, p. 3.
My bag: Telfar, Macbook, Ipad, Vitamin Water, Tide Pen, Lip care (lip oil, nyx butter gloss, lip liner), Doublemint gum, hand sanitizer, wallet, nose piercing jewelry.
I think this image somewhat captures who I am as a person, most importantly, the bag, which is a Telfar. In New York, specifically, the Bronx and Brooklyn, a Telfar is a commonly used bag by women and although it’s not designer, it’s the first step for many trying to get into fashion. Growing up, my mom didn’t really believe in spending over a certain amount on bags or clothes, so I made it my goal to be able to get those things for myself one day. Over the next few years, I began doing programs that would allow me to get paid and even got a part-time job when I was a junior in high school, in order to not only help my mom but allow me to afford to dress the way I envisioned in my mind. My first purchase was my bag, which highlighted a new era in my life, where I prioritize myself first ALWAYS. The other stuff are small fragments of my life that showcase my education, my self care, and my identity. I didn’t really face any major challenges with this assignment but I would say that this is a great form of writing to represent yourself.
Credit: Success Academy Official WebsiteYoung kindergartner reading a classic childhood book, highlighting the expectation that Success places on young children.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The alarm went off at 6 AM every morning, pulling my mom out of sleep before the sun could fully rise. She would rush into the room, nudging me and my siblings awake, her shouting would slap the grogginess out of our eyes as she reminded us to shower and get dressed. Within an hour, we were lined up by the door, waiting for our turn for her to lather baby oil on each of our faces, and come together in a circle to say our grace before we left our apartment. We then made our daily 10 minute commute by walking to our elementary school: Success Academy Bronx 2. Which is known for being one of the strictest schools in New York City as they pushed for early mastery of every subject, especially reading and writing. Those mornings set the tone for what Success Academy expected of us — discipline, punctuality, and structure. Reading and writing were treated with the same urgency as those early wake-ups: something you had to do with no excuse. At the time, I didn’t think of reading as a way to explore or writing as a way to express myself. Instead it felt like a routine I had to master, just like the schedule of my mornings.
At Success Academy Bronx 2 Elementary, the pressure to master reading and writing showed up in every aspect of the school day. Aside from the daily reading logs and complex writing assignments, the most nerve-wracking experiences were the random reading tests. At any moment during the school day, a teacher would pull you out of class to sit you down in a private room to read aloud. The books were labeled by levels, starting with A and progressing all the way to Z. You had exactly four years, from kindergarten to fourth grade, to reach level Z; otherwise, you couldn’t be promoted to middle school. As a kid, the stakes felt very high, which made my relationship with reading and writing seem more like a chore rather than something to love and enjoy. Reading, at the time, wasn’t seen as something for my curiosity or enjoyment but rather survival in a system that measured your intelligence based on the alphabet. Each test made me aware of how I pronounced words and how fast I read. While it taught me discipline and the importance of practice, it also made reading feel like a race against time, where falling behind meant you were not just failing yourself but also failing to meet the school’s expectations.
My relationship with reading and writing started to shift once I stopped conforming to the expectations placed on me by Success. One of the biggest turning points in how I interrupted words was when I joined a summer debate program. At first, I was scared of speaking and having to argue with strangers but it forced me to research, read and break down articles that would help me build arguments, and write with a purpose that wasn’t about following a rubric. I started to see writing as a way to convince and connect people and not just a way to earn a grade. Later, I joined an Afrobeats dance group that gave me another perspective. Even though dancing isn’t a traditional form of reading and writing, music and dancing taught me that expression could be rhythmic. This same idea of rhythm began to blow in my essays and writing prompts, where I found myself writing with more of a flow, almost like telling a story rather than blatantly answering a question, Even now, in this very essay, I’m structuring my writing like a narrative, beginning with the onomatopoeia of an alarm clock to emphasis my stressful mornings of my Success academy childhood and moving through the stages of how I grew up.
Looking back, my journey with reading and writing has been shaped by discipline, going against the norms set on me, and rhythm. Success Academy was pivotal in my journey and gave me a foundation built on structure and mastery, but it also made literacy feel like a strict routine that everyone had to survive to be successful. Later in middle and high school, I began to see how reading and writing could be more interpretive and creative, not just about hitting a standard. And outside the classroom, with the help of debate and Afrobeats, I discovered that my words could carry rhythm, which has shaped the way I read and write forever.
Upon making this triptych, I knew I wanted to make something that followed the beginning-middle-end storyline but was also ironic. I don’t know why but a mouse getting tricked into eating cheese came into my mind. Then I thought, that’s not really ironic or clever, so how about we add another character, a mouse’s greatest enemy. But in this case, the mouse and cat are friends who mutually love cheese and are sharing. After making the triptych, I realized this could relate to real life where friendships form and exist unexpectedly and humanity needs to stop making assumptions.
For this assignment, I wanted to do something unserious but had sentimental importance behind it so I did something focused on me being homesick. In New York, it’s slowly approaching jacket weather and will soon be fall-winter. However, here, in Georgia, the bun beams throughout the whole day. This juxtaposition is highlighted with the top half of the image being a sunny bright sky, while the bottom is snow. A challenge I faced while completing this assignment was finding an engaging way to outline me being homesick.
Top imageBottom image
I chose to visualize the notes of my favorite court case covered in my religion class so far. The case is about a Christian baker who refuses to make a custom cake for a gay couple, however he says they can get a pre-made cake. He refuses to make a custom one because it goes against his religious beliefs. The court case is based on the question of should business owners be able to turn down customers based off their religion?
For this assignment, I was contemplating doing something deep in interpretation or doing something simple. I ended up doing something in the middle. The pink digital camera in the stick figures’ hand was the camera I was gifted last year for my 17th birthday by a close friend who attended Emory’s Pre-college program with me. With that camera, I was able to document moments from last summer during my time in Atlanta, Georgia. It’s truly crazy because I never would’ve thought that I would be going to college here. On the other side of my drawing, is the same stick figure opening her acceptance letter to Emory University on December 11th, 2024. So again I ask, what are the odds?
I wanted to take a storyline approach rather than answering the question straightforwardly. I think the story telling allowed for my progression in how I view writing to be highlighted in a unique way. I truly believe that the exercise helped me avoid getting writer’s block and I was able to implement a LOT of the answers that I gave to the questions into my essay unintentionally.