ASL
Transcript
I would love to tell you about our family tree in the backyard of my childhood house. I am a storyteller. That specific tree was special to all of us. We witnessed how our tree grew over all those years. The day we first planted it — do I remember that moment? No, not really.
I could describe it in my own language. You simply watch how I describe it.
[Audio description 1]
The tree's body is medium — not huge. It has a lovely texture. The ridges in the bark run straight and then curve, and each one feels different. You can feel how the textures vary — no two the same. Over the years, the branches and leaves grew fuller. When you take in the whole tree, it's beautiful — shades of green, thick as a full head of hair. You could shelter under it in the rain and stay dry. It is a beauty.
See — that's simple. We all understand the word "tree." The way I describe what our tree looked like, you can picture it easily.
That day, I witnessed the whole thing, from beginning to end. I hadn't expected to witness it when I walked into my parents' bedroom. I don't remember why I was there, but the memory is vivid — as if it happened yesterday. I watched it through the window. The window was covered by a curtain, but the curtain was sheer, so I could see very clearly.
I will describe how it happened in my own language.
[Audio description 2]
The lightning struck our tree. I saw the flashes as it hit. I watched the tree come apart. The part right in front of me — I saw it happen. It fell slowly. The beautiful branches and leaves and the body all moving downward, just like that. It kept moving, slow, until it hit the ground.
See — that's what I witnessed…
When it was over, I waited until the weather cleared. I went out to the backyard. There it was, on the ground. I saw how much of it was torn apart — there was no way to save the tree. It had fallen so close to the window, yet it never broke the glass. The whole body lay on the ground. I couldn't find the words for how I felt. It was simply over. All those years, we had watched the tree grow. What I miss most are the beautiful branches and leaves — the ones I'd watched through every season, year after year. And now it was over. Our backyard was no longer our private place, where we shared all those moments together.
I could describe it in my own language. You simply watch how I describe it.
[Audio description 1]
The tree's body is medium — not huge. It has a lovely texture. The ridges in the bark run straight and then curve, and each one feels different. You can feel how the textures vary — no two the same. Over the years, the branches and leaves grew fuller. When you take in the whole tree, it's beautiful — shades of green, thick as a full head of hair. You could shelter under it in the rain and stay dry. It is a beauty.
See — that's simple. We all understand the word "tree." The way I describe what our tree looked like, you can picture it easily.
That day, I witnessed the whole thing, from beginning to end. I hadn't expected to witness it when I walked into my parents' bedroom. I don't remember why I was there, but the memory is vivid — as if it happened yesterday. I watched it through the window. The window was covered by a curtain, but the curtain was sheer, so I could see very clearly.
I will describe how it happened in my own language.
[Audio description 2]
The lightning struck our tree. I saw the flashes as it hit. I watched the tree come apart. The part right in front of me — I saw it happen. It fell slowly. The beautiful branches and leaves and the body all moving downward, just like that. It kept moving, slow, until it hit the ground.
See — that's what I witnessed…
When it was over, I waited until the weather cleared. I went out to the backyard. There it was, on the ground. I saw how much of it was torn apart — there was no way to save the tree. It had fallen so close to the window, yet it never broke the glass. The whole body lay on the ground. I couldn't find the words for how I felt. It was simply over. All those years, we had watched the tree grow. What I miss most are the beautiful branches and leaves — the ones I'd watched through every season, year after year. And now it was over. Our backyard was no longer our private place, where we shared all those moments together.
About the sculpture
It was important to me to find a way for Jo-Anne's video to resonate with the sculpture, similar to how the wood is resonated by transducers on other sculptures. The poetry of her story pretty quickly led to the idea of replacing one of the panes of a window with the iPad screen; however, I didn't want the window to be attached to or looking onto a blank wall - I wanted to capture that falling motion and nostalgia through the glass.
Hm, I wonder where I'd find a giant spiral of branches that we could look onto...
Hm, I wonder where I'd find a giant spiral of branches that we could look onto...
I also didn't want my fancy dancy iPad to crash to the floor, so it took some trial and error to figure out how to balance antique window, cute aesthetic and not-going-to-break iPad-holder.
Visioning
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Blocking
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Window!!
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Jo-Anne Bryan
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Jo-Anne Anita Bryan is an Ottawa-based Artist experiencing life through the intersections of being Black, Deaf, Queer, and Woman. Her artistry includes American Sign Language (ASL) storytelling and performance. Jo-Anne is one-quarter of the Speaking Vibrations group; they did their first performance at Uproar Arts Festival (2019). Jo-Anne performed her ASL storytelling Where You Come From (Phenomena Festival, 2019) and 400 years (Sound Off Festival, 2021). When not performing, she works as ASL consultant/Deaf interpreter to interpreters and Deaf theatre actors and creates illustrations in her spare time. She wants to ensure that theatre is accessible to Deaf communities.
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Special thanks to...
Jo-Anne, Misty, She-Yang, Ella and Dad