As I stared through my tv screen at 8:00 o’clock in the evening. I watched Truman put together a picture of me from scraps he picked off the counterfeit magazines used in The Truman Show. Yet Truman is unaware of this, and he believes that he is living his own reality and it pains me to watch him suffer in a world created for him for the pure purpose of entertainment pleasure. Ever since I met Truman at our high school parade, I have never stopped thinking about Truman. The days on set when I pondered whether or not to reveal his life’s biggest secret that even Truman himself is unaware of, or to keep my job and keep burdening his miserable, fake life. As I realised how important it is for Truman to realise that his life has been a lie, I decided to tell him. 

I sat opposite of Truman in the library on Tuesday evening, wearing the bracelet I had on when we first met, hoping Truman would notice it. He was with his ‘girlfriend’, Meryl, and his ‘best friend’, Marlon, talking about how much he always studies. That’s what I love about Truman, his perseverance. As they left, I stuck my hand out where it was just noticeable through the crack of the library desk. As I pretended to study, I heard footsteps walking towards me and there he was, Truman Burbank. He approached me and said, “Hello, Lauren Garland.” Little did he know that my real name was Sylvia and that ‘Lauren Garland’ was just another lie in his life. We began to talk and after a few minutes, we were on our way to the beach. My hands began to sweat as I was preparing to tell him the truth, my eyes staring into his, not knowing what his reaction will be once he knows. I told him. Truman was extremely confused but didn’t even care what it was about because in that moment, he was with me, and then he kissed me. The kiss was interrupted by a loud engine sound. When looking over the steep sandhill, two bright circular beams of light started approaching towards us, and as it came closer, I knew what was happening. They are taking me away. 

“Hey Truman, I’m Lauren’s father and she needs to go home immediately,” said a stranger that I have never met. At that point, I knew I was never going to see Truman again and there was nothing I can do to have him realise the truth. I screamed to Truman that his life was a lie but he just stood there, confused. I was then driven away from Truman, and forced to leave the show. 

Now, looking at Truman put the puzzle pieces of my face together through the TV screen, I felt a tear drip down my cheek. As it travelled down my cheek and free falled down onto the table, it stained the paper where I was putting the puzzle pieces together of Truman. 

For this project, I have created a visual piece to illustrate the perspective of a townsperson who decides to stay in the city of “Omelas”. The townsperson I depicted is partially covering her eyes over her glasses to obscure what is front of her. The drawing attempts to portray the emotional journey and thinking process of the townsperson. Initially, when the townsperson first learns about the deprived child, she feels a fleeting moment of guilt and is disturbed by what she sees. However, after some time and processing what she witnesses, the townsperson selectively chooses to ignore the neglected child and rejects any guilt.  She sees this as the way life. How it has been over the years and chooses to continue to live her life guilt-free in the utopia of Omelas. 

 

As you look inside the townsperson’s head, starting at the the bottom right corner, I have drawn the neglected child that has been left to suffer for the betterment of the rest of society. Surrounding the child are small writings, or thoughts which convey the initial fears and guilt the townsperson feels when she sees the child firsthand. “What did the child do to deserve this fate?”, “Help him? ”, “Will my child be next?”, “This is inhumane”. However, after witnessing what she has seen, her thoughts illustrated in the words near the front of her brain, tells her otherwise.   She begins to transition from her guilty thoughts, to justifying her reason for not taking action, to act like the majority.  Thoughts such as “Someone needs to pay the cost”, “Worth it”, “Better for all”. This visual illustration parallels the story and describes how despite the situation explained to them,  “these young spectators are always shocked and feel sickened”. Yet, somehow they learn to accept the situation and reject their guilt as echoed by the author saying  “one thing I do know there is none of in Omelas is guilt”. The townspeople who stay tell themselves that to give up the happiness of thousands for the happiness of one individual is a waste and that their joy is worth it. They feel that it is not their responsibility to help the child, and instead, carry on with their lives and choose to bury these guilty thoughts into the back of their mind. 

 

I have also incorporated into my piece two images that the townsperson chooses to see through her glasses. The townsperson is shown partially covering her eyes, as if she is peeking through her fingers, similar to how you cover your eyes when watching a horror movie. You cover your eyes because you are so terrified, but occasionally peek through your fingers to watch selective parts of the show.  Similarly, the people of Omelas selectively chooses to see what they want to. A fairy tale, picturesque scene of the city of Omelas, where the city is full of celebration, laughter, festivities, happiness and beauty, or a wretched child in the basement, crying for help, neglected in its own excrement. This shows how the townsperson is aware of the child’s suffering and knows that the child has been sacrificed for the goodness of everyone, however she has decided to turn a blind eye, absolved from guilt and not compelled to act upon her knowledge. By allowing you to switch out the picture, it symbolises how the townsperson has the freedom to choose what she wants to see. 

 

Finally, the use of black and white symbolizes how the townspersons sees things. She thinks that this is the way things should be as has been for years, therefore nothing can or should change. She does not consider other possibilities whereby there could be a society where no one has to suffer. She is lured by the bright, colourful city, and does not want to consider the all “what ifs” that could happen if they do choose to help the wretched child. 

 

 

 

 

You would never believe

If I told you 

There exists a perfect world: 

A place where summer breezes set upon wind chimes by the sea, 

Where children giggled and frolicked down cobble path streets

Between pretty, painted houses with red roofs 

And moss-grown gardens with ruby-red ivy dancing up the trees; 

Past women who bounced rosy-cheeked babies on their hips 

And gossiped in breathless whispers. 

If I told you, 

Would you believe? 

You may be skeptical. 

There is no such place, you may say.

But you must believe – 

For it is the truth.

There is no monarchy or slavery, 

No secret police and lies.

But the people are no barbarians,

Nor are they naive children 

Who know nothing of pain and suffering and demise.

They are simply jolly folk – Joyous! 

Now, do you believe? 

Hmm, you may pause. 

Then you may look at me, 

Tilt your head.

You’re puzzled:

Please close your eyes 

And imagine one more thing. 

Imagine a great, green meadow

Where the grass bends with the wind 

And dandelion petals flutter in a giddy dance.

Do you see it? 

On the edge of the meadow sits a little boy of nine: 

He plays a wooden flute –  

A sweet, magical melody. 

The townsfolk stop to listen 

And they smile blissfully

But they never speak to him 

For the little boy never stops playing 

His sweet, magical melody. 

His eyes are closed. 

What a beautiful melody he must be playing, you may think. 

A child prodigy! Miraculous. 

But the little boy is no prodigy 

And his music is beauty only for those who listen for no more. 

He does not play for the people 

But for himself:

Eyes squeezed shut, 

He plays his fury and turmoil and secrets. 

He does not wish to see the people – 

Their fraudulent love –

He does not wish to see the docile dandelion meadow

And cobble path alleys. 

He is afraid to see. 

What is he afraid to see? You may ask.

Ah. Why– 

He is afraid to see rotten hearts,  

To see the rosy-cheeked smiles hiding perfect lies; 

Afraid of the deceit of morality

Supposed “it’s for the best”s. 

He is afraid to look into the eyes of the stubby-legged toddlers 

As they climb over their mothers’ blood-red skirts 

And leather shoes scrubbed clean of cellar dirt;

Afraid to see the terror that would one day 

Break their worlds. 

He is afraid of the trembling whines stifled in darkness 

“Eh-haa… eh-haa…”

For the little boy had just seen the other child. 

It had been his ninth birthday; 

His father had promised him a brand new wooden flute. 

And he’d clung to his prized new possession as they meandered 

Past street vendors and silk merchants, 

Past the cobble pathed alleys, 

Into a beautiful home with tinkling sea chimes that glinted in the sun. 

They’d stopped in front of a cellar door 

And it creaked open. 

Dusty sunlight lazily spilled 

Over the damp dirt and gray cobwebs, 

Over the stench of decade-old toilet rags,

And onto the little girl crumpled in the corner. 

The little boy’s flute lets out a dull thump 

As it drops into the dirt. 

He starts–

Scurries to retrieve it with trembling hands–

And runs 

Past his father and

The tinkling sea chimes, 

The red-roofed houses, 

The moss-grown gardens and ivy dancing up the trees.

Cobblestones slap harshly against his bare soles 

But he does not stop

Until he reaches the great, green meadow. 

There 

He closes his eyes and begins to play. 

But he remembers 

Her glassy eyes as she’d stared through his, 

The gray, parched skin clinging to sunken cheeks, 

And the flies as they’d swarmed and buzzed and danced 

In circles above her head. 

“These are the terms, do you understand?” 

Droplets of blood dotted her sores. 

His father had screamed after him–

Desperate–

“You must kick it!” 

The little boy squeezed his eyes closed tighter

And saw the little girl. 

Voices floated around him and he played louder

Last, trembling breaths. 

They all knew. 

Later that night, 

The little boy would creep past

The cozy red-roofed houses and yellow-lit windows 

And out the beautiful gates of Omelas. 

I knew it, you may say. 

And you may be disappointed: 

But listen. 

Ten years later 

The little boy is in a different world 

But he remembers the little girl in the cellar of Omelas 

Her soulless eyes

The fear he’d tried to escape

And the guilt

Of pretended ignorance 

And what is learned cannot be erased. 

He was happy once

As the people of Omelas still are

And will be 

For as long as they see the child 

As a mere trade with Life.  

Our worlds are more similar than you may think–

You once lived in a perfect world as well– 

Before you learned of its imperfections. 

            The problem with our society today is how we cover up the truth, as we put ourselves up on pedestals of achievement, power, and perfection. Whether it be social media, academics, athletics, we attempt to look our very best and differentiate ourselves even at the expense of others or integral parts of our values and lives. Consequently, due to these unrealistic expectations, is a rise of mental health issues, drug abuse, unhealthy relationships, and overall unhappiness in our communities. 

            Therefore, others suffer due to our egotistical ambitions for achievement, represented by the little girl. This little girl is the little child that is present in Omelas, as she resembles the suffering and pain which generated the happiness that the townspeople celebrated for. The townspeople from Omelas in our society today are the rich and oblivious people which ignore the pain of the less fortunate and flaunt their financial and social wealth. In the process of this flaunting, they exhibit these strong and superior parts of themselves, when they are just suffering on the inside from this fake happiness they have created; additionally, they don’t just suffer, but their relationships, rational decisions, and values do as well. This fake contentment is also represented by the little girl, because practically everybody suffers when you don’t accept the reality that real happiness is a collaborative process that is much more complex than materialistic and “on the surface” needs.  Our clothes that we bear upon our backs are hand-sewn from below minimum-wage workers who struggle in horrible employment conditions. Truman seemed happy on screen, but beneath the surface he knew that there was genuine emotion and truth that he was lacking in his life no matter how hard Christof tried. Jocasta and Oedipus had a loving marriage, but by escaping his fate he married and had children with his own mother. These truths are uncovered because perfection is a mere illusion. Nothing is perfect but we try to make it to be, therefore all the problems are hidden away where no one can see them. 

Perspective: This piece of artwork aims to show theoretical changes in abstract brain anatomy as a prisoner in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave escapes from the cave. The bottom layer of represents the brain of a prisoner in the cave, while the colorful layer represents the prisoner’s brain after he is exposed to the Real World. Finally, the top layer is an internal reflection written from the escaped prisoner’s perspective after he returns to the cave in an attempt to rescue the other prisoners and finds himself doubted and shunned. I chose to draw a series of brain images as a connection philosophy’s concepts of ‘mind’ and ‘soul’, but at the same time draw a sharp contrast between theoretical and biological aspects.

Layer 1: Prisoner’s Mind      The bottom layer is a complex of black and white blotches that represent the prisoner’s original ignorance. The lack of color is reflective of the “shadows” that the prisoner perceives to be Reality but are mere illusions that he is infatuated with. There is a lack of differentiation between various parts of the brain and undefined lines to show the falsities of the shadows take away from the uniqueness of our minds, and leave our brains underdeveloped and deprived of creativity and critical thinking.

Layer 2: Escaped Prisoner’s Brain

Frontal Lobe: motor learning, planning, problem-solving, judgement, perceptionParietal Lobe: receives and processes sensory touch information (somatosensory cortex)Occipital Lobe: receives and processes visual informationTemporal Lobe: receives and processes auditory information Cerebellum (lined part): enables voluntary movement and balance
     The second, colored layer represents an escaped prisoner’s brain. In comparison to the black-and-white drawing, this brain is multi-colored with complex design to represent the critical development of the brain after the prisoner is exposed to the True Forms of what he had once known as shadows. In each cerebral cortex lobe, there are details symbolic of the functional changes that take place (for example, and eye in the occipital lobe to represent newfound and truth-oriented vision, letters and math symbols in the frontal lobe to represent learning, a nature-entwined ear in the temporal lobe to represent being able to hear the sounds of nature and not just whispering voices, etc.).

Layer 3: Returning Prisoner’s Perspective     The top image is composed of various phrases that reflect the attitude of a escaped prisoner returning to help the others, only to find himself rejected and mocked. The following phrases can be found, often in areas of the brain that are related to their content: Fiery when questioned (referring to prisoners)(Quoting the prisoners) “What right does he have? What does he know?” Immersed in shadows of illusionReflective forms You hear only one another | Only converse to confirm | But how do you know the one in chains besides you speaks the truth? Black and white When is truth so easily achievable, so bland, thrown on a wall by fire They throw judgement in the face of what is not theirs | ideas, beliefs, forms, TRUTH Their error // society’s demise Although the escaped prisoner has sacrificed his freedom in enlightenment to help others out of compassion, this artwork demonstrates his frustration as the prisoners disregard his warnings, content in their own beliefs and unwilling to accept any objection to the established structure. Looking back, the “rescuer” realizes that the prisoners lack the incentive to question what they perceive to be the truth and readily acceptance as Real. However, illusions of such reflective forms disappear as do shadows under sunlight. In the frontal lobe, designs are drawn in both black and silver pen to represent the prisoner’s enlightenment through philosophy, as the frontal lobe is responsible for much of higher level thinking and critical functioning. Furthermore, the frontal and occipital lobes were painted opaque as the changes in these two areas were most crucial, with the frontal lobe faciliating questioning while the occipital lobes process sensory information. A large part of Plato’s cave philosophy revolves around the idea that people are born with knowledge, but fixate their bodily sight on the shadows through on the cave wall. In order to achieve enlightenment through philosophical knowledge, prisoners must learn to re-orient their sight to the True Forms in the world of Ideas, and see past shadows of the parallel material world. 

To answer the essential question “Is knowing more better?”, absolutely not. Although the world Truman lived in was deceptive and a lie, the real world is ten or if not a hundred times worse. Social, political and environmental problems currently faced by us will put too much pressure on someone like Truman. It will scare and scar him for life.