aaliyahradebaugh448a

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

FINAL PROJECT

Don’t Shoot, I’m Just Walking

*side note: I did change my idea to be a short story instead of a fully animated short (too busy to be that ambitious). However, I’d like to continue turning this story into an animation in the future!

The cake smells like home.

Chocolate, just like Isaiah likes. The box is warm against my hands. The lady at the bakery even tied a little ribbon on top when I told her it was my son’s birthday. “Seven?” she smiled. “That’s a big one.” I smiled back, said thank you, and didn’t tell her how long it’s been since I actually had time to do something like this. Pick up a cake. Walk it home.

I take the long way, through the nice part of town. It’s quieter, cleaner. Feels like I can breathe. My hoodie’s up—it’s cold—and my jeans are sagging a little because I forgot my belt. I look down at the cake and smile.

Monica calls, “Where you at babe?”

“Just ‘round the block. I’ll be there in a little bit.” I hang up.

I keep walking. There’s a white woman ahead of me on the sidewalk. Classic. I slow down so I don’t scare her. She keeps glancing back, clutching her purse. I lower my eyes, put a little more space between us. I’ve done this dance before. Too many times.

She picks up speed. I sigh. Just keep walking. I don’t say anything. I’m not even close to her. Then I see it—a police car parked at the curb. And then she sees it too. She starts waving her arms. Big, frantic motions like she’s trying to flag down a lifeguard.

The cop gets out. His hand goes straight to his gun.

“Sir,” he barks, “hands where I can see them!”

I freeze. The cake box is still in my hands.

“It’s my son’s birthday,” I say, “please… officer.”

“Put it down! Now!”

I nod and slowly lower it to the sidewalk. The ribbon slips off. The lid pops open a little. I can see the blue frosting inside. “Happy Birthday Isaiah.”

My hands go up. High. Calm.

He’s still shouting. I don’t even hear what he says next. I just see the box—tilted, the cake about to slide out. I don’t think. I just bend down to fix it. Just one second. Just so my son’s name doesn’t get smudged. I pick the cake up and lock eyes with the officer.

I hear the shot before I feel it.

Then I’m on the ground. Shit.

My fingers are sticky. I don’t know if it’s blood or frosting.

The sky’s getting darker.

The cop is staring at me. His mouth open, but he’s not saying anything. I want to ask him, “Why?” I want to say, “You didn’t have to.”

But I don’t speak.

I think of my son.

Him waiting for me.

His smile.

The cake sitting on the sidewalk, blood splattered on it.

6:17PM.

Monica: “Isaiah is waiting patiently.”

The officer still had his gun up.

His face looked like he wasn’t sure if this was real.

Like he couldn’t believe what he just did.

But I could.

I thought of Isaiah.

Waiting at the window.

His paper crown.

presents all wrapped up.

6:20 PM — “Where you at????”

They don’t know what just happened.

Later, there would be videos.

Marches.

Signs held up in the street.

Tears. Screams. Interviews.

“Black Lives Matter!” Did mine?

“Black voices matter!” Why wasn’t mine heard?

A woman would cry on live TV and say she didn’t mean for it to happen.

The cop would be suspended, then quietly returned to duty.

People would argue on the internet about oversized hoodies and “why was he sagging” and “you have to follow orders.”

As if i’m not a human like them.

And somewhere, a seven year old Black boy is eating birthday cake with his father.

Something I never got to do.

ARTIST STATEMENT

My project is a short story (later to have an animation adaptation) titled Don’t Shoot, I’m Just Walking. It tells the story of a Black father walking home with a birthday cake for his son. As he walks, dressed in a hoodie and sagging jeans, a white woman in front of him becomes fearful and signals a nearby police officer. What follows is a tragic misjudgment. The officer confronts the man, and when he bends down to retrieve the dropped cake, he is shot. The film ends with unanswered texts from his wife, a quiet room waiting for celebration, and a cut to protest footage.

I created this work because I am deeply passionate about Black lives and how they are portrayed, misunderstood, and often erased in public spaces. This story is fictional, but it is built from real events and real grief. As a Black woman, I am constantly thinking about how our bodies are read and misread in public. I wanted to take something as joyful and human as carrying a birthday cake and show how quickly it can become a fatal misunderstanding in a world ruled by fear and racial bias.

This story is written in a way that centers movement, gesture, and silence. There is very little dialogue between the characters in this story Instead, I rely on pacing, internal thoughts, and emotional rhythm to convey fear, tenderness, and grief. The way the character walks, pauses, and reacts carries as much weight as any words. My storytelling is inspired by the quiet tension in the work of Adrian Piper and the emotional depth found in Kara Walker’s narratives. I also drew from ideas in The Beach Beneath the Street, especially how public space acts as a stage where race, power, and perception are constantly negotiated. In this story, walking becomes more than just getting from one place to another—it becomes a performance shaped by judgment, fear, and projection.

I consider this story an act of remembrance and resistance. It is meant to spark mourning and reflection, but also anger. I want viewers to feel the weight of what is lost in a single moment. I want them to see that the simple act of walking home while Black can still be read as a threat. I want them to understand that the cake was never the threat. The body carrying it was.

This is my response to a world that still needs reminding. Black lives matter. Black fathers matter. Black joy matters. And we are tired of being targets for simply walking.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Final Project Proposal

This post would be wayyyy too long for Tumblr, so I put everything on a Google Doc.

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Writing 3: Witnessing Each Other

In Affective Composition and Aesthetics, Stevphen Shukaitis introduces the idea of aesthetic politics as an affective composition, where art is not just about content but about the relations, experiences, and social capacities it generates. He emphasizes art as a tool for collective self-organization, a way of building common space through shared presence rather than passive consumption. Instead of working within the traditional frame of “audience” and “spectacle,” artists like radical marching bands dissolve the roles between performer and viewer. This creates environments where new political subjectivities and communities might emerge. Shukaitis argues that meaningful political art does not only deliver a message, but creates conditions for connection and collective feeling. I find this idea compelling, especially after spending five hours communicating only in American Sign Language in public and private spaces. My experience supports the claim that subtle performance in everyday life can disrupt expectations and highlight deeper social barriers. These interruptions make space for new awareness, even if those spaces are brief and imperfect.

This concept is reflected in the video Krzysztof Wodiczko: Projections, which follows the artist’s large-scale projections on public buildings and monuments. Wodiczko uses these projections not to celebrate power, but to reveal the experiences of people who are often ignored, such as immigrants, trauma survivors, and the unhoused. His work rests on the idea that monuments and civic buildings carry quiet ideologies that shape how we experience public life. By projecting human voices and stories onto these surfaces, Wodiczko temporarily turns them into active sites of memory and empathy. This mirrors Shukaitis’s point that publicness is not something already given, but something that must be created through engagement and disruption. Both the reading and the video suggest that true political art begins when people are invited to feel and participate, not simply observe. They share the assumption that creating temporary common ground is possible through moments of emotional and sensory intensity. When I used ASL without warning in my everyday routine, most people avoided or ignored me. Only one person, a Deaf cashier, responded naturally. But even that small moment reminded me that public space is not truly public for everyone. Wodiczko’s projections work the same way, quietly reshaping what buildings can communicate and who they can represent. These small acts do not solve injustice, but they start to reveal where it hides. That, to me, is the beginning of something political.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 6: With(in) Daily Life

For this performance, I spent five hours only communicating in American Sign Language. ASL is my second language, so I’m comfortable using it, but I usually only sign around people who know it. For this walk, I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing. I just went about my day signing instead of speaking.

I started by FaceTiming my boyfriend. He doesn’t know ASL, so the conversation was awkward right away. I kept signing, and he kept trying to talk. At first he laughed, but then I think he got frustrated. We weren’t connecting the way we usually do, and I could feel the barrier between us grow. I realized how isolating it must feel to try to connect in a world where people don’t understand you.

Next, I went to Whole Foods by my apartment to get a matcha latte. There’s a deaf cashier there who’s always really friendly. When I signed my order to him, his whole face lit up. We had a short but warm exchange in ASL, and for that moment I felt understood and welcome. It reminded me how powerful shared language can be…especially for a language that’s so often overlooked in public spaces.

After that, I just walked around my apartment complex and greeted people in ASL. I waved, signed “hello” or “good afternoon,” and sometimes signed short phrases like “have a good day.” Nobody responded in sign. Most people looked confused. A few just nodded or smiled politely and kept walking. No one asked me what I was doing. I felt invisible and disconnected.

The experience made me think a lot about accessibility and how isolating the world can be for deaf or mute people. We rely so much on spoken language that when it’s taken away (even temporarily) it reveals how unprepared most people are to meet you where you are. It opened my eyes to what communication privilege really means. I had the option to speak if I wanted to—but for many people, that’s not a choice.

This performance wasn’t loud or dramatic, but it felt heavy in a quiet way. It made me more aware of the spaces I move through every day, and who those spaces are built for.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 5: I Walk In Your Name

~WALKING FOR MY BOYFRIEND~

Location: San Antonio Riverwalk

In the name of: Young people who feel lost, overwhelmed, or disconnected

Requested by: My boyfriend – “Walk for people who are trying to find themselves, but feel like they’re floating in space.”

—————————————

I walked for my boyfriend and for people who feel like they’re drifting, unsure of where they’re going or who they’re supposed to be. He told me to walk for the ones who feel stuck or behind in life. I didn’t walk fast or with a plan. I just wandered, trying to be present.

When I got to the sculpture of Stargazer (Citlali), I stopped. She was huge and calm, holding a small star in her fingers and looking up at it. I imagined she was thinking about something far away, but also holding something close. That felt important. She reminded me of the people who are still figuring things out but still carry something bright inside them.

I sat there for a while and looked at her. I didn’t say anything to anyone. I just thought about how hard it can be to feel like you’re enough. I took this photo to remember the moment. Then I kept walking, a little slower than before.

View this video of Stargazer (Citlali) for a better view of it!

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Project 1: Ephemeral, Site and Social Space

Artist Statement

For this piece, I created a spiral composed entirely of seashells found along the shoreline. Inspired by Andy Goldsworthy’s practice of working directly with natural materials in site-specific ways, I used only what the beach offered: shells, sand, and the subtle indentations made by my hands. The spiral, a shape often associated with growth, cycles, and continuity, speaks to the rhythms of nature and the inevitable passage of time. As the tide approaches, the piece will be reabsorbed into the landscape, reminding us that all structures, whether human or non-human, are temporary. This work explores the collective, organic organization of non-human life forms. The shells were once homes to sea creatures and are now reassembled briefly in a new formation. I documented the work with photographs and a video to capture the moment before its disappearance. In this way, the piece reflects the delicate balance between presence and impermanence, echoing both natural systems and fleeting human gestures in public space.

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Writing 2: Scales of Social Space

In Michael Bull’s essay No Dead Air! The iPod and the Culture of Mobile Listening, the central idea revolves around the way personal audio devices allow individuals to “aestheticize” their experience of the city. Bull argues that iPods grant users emotional and spatial control—transforming mundane, often alienating commutes into curated, immersive experiences. This micro-management of mood and urban interaction suggests that mobile listening is not merely passive but an act of self-determination and spatial redefinition. I found this idea compelling because it reframes a simple act—listening to music—as an assertion of agency. It’s not just entertainment; it’s reclamation. Like graffiti artists who “bomb” subway cars or breakdancers who “rock” a public space, iPod users are reshaping how the city is felt and navigated. While graffiti is more visible and iPods are discreet, both represent the desire to insert individuality into an urban landscape that often suppresses it. My claim is that whether through noise or silence, style or sound, these cultural practices are about interrupting control—claiming space and time that would otherwise belong to someone else.

The documentary Style Wars offers vivid, embodied examples of this idea. In one memorable scene, a graffiti artist proclaims, “It’s a matter of bombing, knowing that I can do it… it’s for me.” This mirrors the logic Bull describes with the iPod user who says, “I can’t overestimate the importance of having all my music available… it gives me emotional control over my life.” Both individuals feel alienated by the urban environment but use creative tools—spray paint or playlists—to rewrite that experience on their terms. The assumption in both is that the city, as designed, does not reflect or welcome them. Instead of passively consuming space, they alter it. Graffiti, breakdancing, and mobile listening become strategies for ownership in a world where traditional ownership is denied—especially for youth of color or economically marginalized groups. Even Bull’s more affluent subjects express a need for sonic solitude as a defense mechanism against overstimulation or social anxiety. The unwarranted assumption of planners and police, as shown in Style Wars, is that such self-expression is threatening or delinquent. But as the film and Bull’s essay both demonstrate, these practices offer a different form of civic participation—one that critiques who the city is truly designed for. Whether tagging a train or tuning out a crowd, these acts are not apolitical; they are quiet and loud resistances that challenge the notion of what it means to belong in urban space.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 4: Cocooned vs. Engaged

Location: The Americana Mall in Glendale, California

For this assignment, I went to the Americana Mall in Glendale, California (I’m on vacation 🎉). I chose this location because it is always busy and visually overwhelming. I thought it would be a good place to test my anxiety while experiencing the difference between being cocooned and being fully present.

Hour One: Cocooned

I started my walk with my headphones on and my eyes were looking down at my feet. I was fully cocooned. I listened to 90s r&b music the entire time, switching between songs I really love and songs I can’t stand. When I listened to my favorite songs, the mall felt kinda peaceful. I felt like I was the main character from a movie, but at the same time I felt out of place with my headphones on. I didn’t notice anyone around me and didn’t make any eye contact. It was like I had a bubble around me, and everything else was on mute.

When I played music I didn’t like, everything felt uncomfortable. My anxiety increased. I walked faster and felt more irritated. Even though I was still blocking out the environment, it became harder to ignore how crowded it was. The music made me feel more disconnected in a negative way, not in a peaceful or protective way. I just wanted to leave at this point because I was feeling nauseous.

Hour Two: Engaged

For the second hour, I took off my headphones. I retraced my steps through the mall. Right away, I felt everything more intensely. I could hear people talking, kids yelling, restaurant plates clinking, and the background music from the stores. The sound of the fountains was louder than I remembered. It was overwhelming at first, but I kept going.

I made an effort to look people in the eyes. Some smiled, some looked away, and others didn’t react at all. A few people stared longer than I expected, which made me feel really uneasy and anxious. But at the same time, those moments made me feel like I was actually part of the space. I noticed little details I had missed before, like how the air smelled near the food court or how the colors of the plants and fountains looked in the sunlight.

Reflection

The difference between being cocooned and being engaged was bigger than I expected. When I was cocooned, I felt sorta safer, but I was numb to everything around me. I was floating through the space without really being there. When I was engaged, I felt anxious at first, but also more alive and connected. I was more aware of my surroundings, and I could feel myself participating in the world instead of hiding from it. This walk reminded me how much I rely on my cocoon to manage anxiety, but also how valuable it is to step out of it and experience things fully, even when it is uncomfortable.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 3: Social Territory

*side note- I’m sick and I am resting/ not trying to get anyone else sick, so I ended up doing this assignment in my apartment instead of a more public place.

Social Scene: Environmentalists

Location: My apartment

Intro 💚

On the surface, my apartment complex looks clean. The grass is trimmed, the trash bins are upright, and the sidewalks are mostly clear. But I walked the space through the eyes of someone different—someone who notices not what has been cleaned, but what has been left behind. Through the lens of an environmentalist, the cracks between concrete become meaningful. Trash becomes evidence.

This is not just about filth. This is about how waste makes a map. Every cigarette butt, broken bottle, or crushed can is a mark left by someone who passed through. My walk was a way to decode those traces.

Video: What We Leave Behind

Reflection 💚

The trash I found doesn’t just tell me that people live here. It tells me how they live here. And it leaves room for the imagination to fill in what’s missing.

The broken glass—was that a bottle dropped at a late night hangout? Or was it hurled in frustration?

The cigarette butts—are they signs of boredom? Stress? A daily ritual from a resident who doesn’t feel seen?

Empty alcohol bottles—was it part of a party, or was someone drinking alone in silence?

The discarded mattress by the dumpster could mean someone’s moving on to a better mattress. Or trying to erase the shape of a life that used to be there. Even the little things—a pair of socks, a planter—feel like abandoned pieces of people, not just clutter.

I see this trash as emotional residue, a visible aftermath of what it means to live in transition, in exhaustion, in community.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Writing 1: Ephemeral/Site

In Walking the Line, Laurene Vaughan explores the idea that walking is much more than just a simple physical act of moving from one location to another. She argues that walking can serve as a powerful method of mapping and understanding the environment around us. Through walking, people engage with space in a deep and meaningful way, allowing them to connect emotionally and intellectually with the places they inhabit or pass through. Vaughan centers much of her discussion on the work of artist Richard Long, who treats walking itself as a form of artistic expression. Unlike traditional artists who use paint, pencil, or clay, Long’s medium is the landscape and the act of walking. He often goes on long walks through natural settings, leaving behind subtle, temporary marks like lines of stones or paths in the earth. Sometimes, he documents his journeys by photographing what he encounters or the traces he creates. Vaughan suggests that walking allows people to experience a place through all their senses—touch, sight, sound, smell, and even the feeling of the ground beneath their feet. This sensory engagement encourages a slower pace, which contrasts sharply with the hurried, often distracted ways we usually move through life. One phrase Vaughan uses that really stood out to me was when she said walking lets you “experience it through all our senses.” That simple line made me think about how walking invites mindfulness. It’s a way to slow down, notice small details, and become aware of the landscape’s texture and atmosphere. For my own research, this idea helped me grasp how people create their own paths, often called desire lines—informal trails that emerge naturally where sidewalks or official walkways are absent. These paths act as quiet, unspoken messages, revealing what people truly want or need from their surroundings. They show how human behavior shapes the environment, and in turn, how the environment influences human movement and experience.

Similarly, the documentary Rivers and Tides beautifully illustrates this concept through the work of artist Andy Goldsworthy. Throughout the film, Goldsworthy spends countless hours walking through natural settings—forests, riverbanks, hillsides—searching for the perfect spot or the ideal natural materials to create his art. Much like Richard Long, Goldsworthy does not try to dominate or manipulate nature. Instead, he collaborates with it, respecting its rhythms and cycles. He creates sculptures and arrangements out of natural elements like leaves, ice, rocks, and twigs. Importantly, Goldsworthy embraces the temporary nature of his work. He understands that his creations will eventually be reclaimed by the environment—washed away by rain, melted by the sun, or scattered by wind. This impermanence is not a flaw but an essential part of his artistic message. It parallels the fleeting nature of footsteps on a trail, which disappear over time yet leave an imprint on the experience of the walker. Watching Goldsworthy at work reminded me of Vaughan’s idea that walking is a form of learning and connecting with place. For Goldsworthy, walking is not just physical movement; it is an integral part of his creative process. Each step, each observation helps him forge a personal, almost spiritual connection with the land. His art becomes a dialogue between himself and nature, revealing the subtle beauty and constant change of the world around us.

Both Vaughan’s writing and the documentary highlight how walking can transform from a simple act of transportation into a rich experience of noticing, meaning-making, and creative expression. They challenged me to rethink walking as something powerful and profound. What seems like a basic activity can actually teach us a lot about the world, about our relationship to place, and about ourselves. Walking encourages us to slow down, to listen to the environment, and to respond thoughtfully, whether by creating art, forming desire lines, or simply becoming more aware of our surroundings. It made me realize that this everyday action holds the potential for discovery and insight if we are willing to pay attention. In a fast-paced world, walking reminds us to move gently and purposefully, reconnecting with the natural rhythms and spaces that shape our lives.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 2: Desire Lines

Location: my apartment

Two photos showing where I walked:

At first, I had trouble finding desire lines. But eventually I started to notice faint paths in the mud. The footprints act as evidence that a person was here. I wonder if any of these footprints are from my neighbors, or from their friends, or even from me.

Desire Lines

A path not planned, but softly worn,

Where grass gives way to will, not form.

A ribbon traced by countless feet,

Avoiding concrete, cold and neat.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Walk 1: Mapping Senses

location: Fort Lowell Park

Walk 1/2

Video: Applause of the Pond

At first, I was just walking, then I started listening. The water reminded me of applause—constant and kind, like the pond was cheering for everything around it. I kept walking, filming, pausing when something moved or shimmered. I soon realized that everything I captured was performing. From the ducks, to the air, to even the shadows. This area became more than just a home, but also a stage for these performers, and the pond was applauding their performances.

Walk 2/2

For my second walk, I let go of sight and sound and used my hands. I touched whatever called to me around the pond. I touched each surface for about 2.5-3 mins, meditating a little bit. Then after feeling their surfaces, I let my hand draw from memory for 30 seconds. After this, I feel like I understand the language of nature, and my drawings are translations of the conversation we had.

[aaliyahradebaugh448a]

Quick Bio About Me

Hi, my name is Aaliyah Radebaugh. I’m in my final year at the University of Arizona, majoring in Studio Art with an emphasis in Illustration, Design, and Animation. I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember and started animating at age 11. Outside of art, I enjoy listening to R&B music, cooking, playing with my cats, and exploring fashion.

I will always be a safe and supportive space for LGBTQ+ individuals, people of color, women, people with disabilities, and all marginalized communities.

🪴🌷🕊️🌿