HC BROWN PHOTOBLOG

The Art of Multitasking

Wednesday, May 16, 2012


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Awareness

Saturday, April 21, 2012

What is SAPE?

The Sexual Assault Peer Education (SAPE) program is a group of Brown students who believe that sexual violence is wrong and are committed to ending it.  SAPE uses a nationally recognized bystander intervention model, “Bringing in the Bystander” developed at the University of New Hampshire, to educate the Brown community.  Some SAPE members become peer educators and some members coordinate and promote presentations, observe educators and offer valuable feedback, and recruit new members.

Peer educators pair up and present interactive presentations that are designed to:

  • Promote dialogue about ways the larger campus community can adopt prosocial bystander behavior (i.e., ways that individuals who witness situations like assault and/or situations that lead to assault can intervene safely in ways that have a positive impact).
  • Increase understanding of sexual assault and its impact on victims
  • Dispel the myth that sexual assault “doesn’t happen at Brown.”
  • Discuss the current “rape culture” and the ways in which sexual violence is manifested.

Educators are expected to facilitate two to three workshops with a partner per semester. You and the SAPE coordinators will work together to determine locations and times for workshops. There are also regular debriefing sessions with a SAPE coordinator to discuss any aspects of the program or problems encountered.

 

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Breaking the Norm

Saturday, April 21, 2012



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Becoming Plastic

Friday, April 6, 2012


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Runway To Win

Friday, March 16, 2012

Designers team up with Obama to rally for reelection. 

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Body of Work: The Art of Eating Disorder Recovery — A Project by Judith Shaw

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Judith Shaw's Statement: The pieces in this series, Body of Work, were conceived and created during my recovery from anorexia.  A visual representation of my illness first took shape while in residential treatment in the spring of 2006. Upon entering, each patient was asked to produce a written timeline of her life, highlighting significant dates and events that may have predisposed her to an eating disorder.  I resisted what seemed to me a pedantic assignment.  While I never sought help for my eating disorder before, I felt well beyond a cliched approach to the profound work that I knew lay ahead. As treatment progressed and other patients presented their timelines in therapy groups, I still had yet to do one.  Spontaneously, an idea came to me for how to track the development of my eating disorder.  I envisioned it was about what I looked like and what lay beneath the surface.  It took the form of a life-sized paper tracing of my body.  Over time, the tracing evolved viscerally into a stand-up piece called Running on Empty.  
It did not contain dates and events, yet it revealed how anorexia had become embedded in every cell and in every system of my body, dictating every action, every feeling and every thought.  My eating disorder and I were wholly fused. Well into recovery, a therapist asked if I were to do another image of myself what it might look like then.  I knew it would be bigger and fuller. More dimensional and with more substance.  My body had bigger dimensions and so did my life.  Every thing about me was fuller.  I always felt boxy in my body and with 25 extra pounds even more so.  I didn’t like feeling and looking like an even bigger box.  This metaphor eventually became another medium for my art. After moving through residential and outpatient treatment, I began working with boxes as a way to depict aspects of my illness and recovery. The box offered a rich terrain for reflection. Looking inside a box, I recalled emotions, relationships, stages and events from my life.  Thoughts and feelings that played out within my family of origin and later in my family through marriage. 
 
While I had some awareness of the core issues underlying my anorexia, they repeatedly resurfaced throughout my therapeutic work.  At times the therapy would drive the art and I would leave a session with a vision for a new piece. Other times, the art would inform the therapy and the creative process would result in greater personal insight.  When an issue was central to my therapeutic work, the same issue emerged in a sculpture. The pieces became a valuable communication tool, providing a clearer understanding of my feelings and perceptions.  More precise than words, the sculptures have become a way to record my progress and keep me engaged in recovery.  I continue to be drawn to boxes and everyday containers.  I am lured by their limitless form and substance. Each one an abundant vessel much like my body.

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