May 7, 2025 Winter 2025
In the second iteration of Narrative Constellations taught by April Soetarman with myself, Lee Beckwith, as an assistant teacher, we invited participants to move beyond traditional, linear storytelling by exploring the possibilities of creating narratives with choices, alternative time mechanics, and specific locations.
We started by expanding our notions of what a story could look like and feel like. Could it, perhaps, take on the form of other things we interact with in our daily lives? We engaged with stories written in the form of a Kickstarter campaign, a Craigslist post, and a recipe blog, and then invited participants to craft their own short story in a non-traditional format of their choosing. We received stories hidden within a cease and desist letter, a video game review, an Airbnb listing, a changelog, Facebook Marketplace messages, a Reddit “Am I the asshole?” (r/AITA)post, an IKEA manual, a series of calendar invites, terms and conditions, nail salon customer notes, a bug report, a computer desktop, a props run sheet, and a packing list!
For me, the most fascinating thing about this project was the contrast that emerged between the content of the story and the form chosen to hold it. For instance, a meditation on romantic relationships took the shape of a Wikipedia article, and an exploration of grief manifested as an exhibit plaque at a science museum. Both of these stories dealt with intense emotions; yet, their forms were technical, “objective,” and rigid.
As our 10 weeks together progressed, we continued to play with contrasts. We became increasingly comfortable with moving seamlessly between different scales—both temporal and spatial. We played a game that lasted only 10 seconds (Queers in Love at the End of the World by Anna Anthropy) and discussed about works that will not be fully realized until 2114 (Future Library by Katie Paterson) or 2640 (the performance of As Slow As Possible by John Cage at the St. Burchardi church in Halberstadt, Germany). We learned how to create non-linear, branching stories in Twine that could be played on any computer, and we also created deeply specific narratives and games that could only be experienced in a certain place, from a specific point of view—such as from the perspective of a pigeon traveling to Amsterdam for the first time.
For our eighth session, we were joined by gamemaker Arlo Howard, who led us through a rapid game prototyping workshop. In small groups, we developed games that could be played by anyone, anywhere, on Zoom. Our tiny games—created in a matter of minutes—encouraged us to make ourselves more comfortable in our physical spaces, invited us to ponder the possible ghost stories hidden within Zillow listings, and transformed the corporate Zoom whiteboard into a collective mural of tiny joys.
During our final few sessions, participants collaborated to figure out how to showcase their work and their learnings. While April and I knew that we wanted to create a Twine-based website, we guided each section through a process to collectively decide the overall aesthetic and details of the design. We are excited to share two different showcase websites that convey not only the key themes of the class, but the unique community of each section. Stay tuned!
After our time together on Zoom, we organized an optional in-person meetup in Central Park, where we set out to experience two location-based pieces we had discussed in class. The first was Janet Cardiff’s “Her Long Black Hair,” a binaural audio piece created in 2004. We received more than a few odd looks from passersby, who were trying to figure out why we were all staring at a seemingly regular tree, or why, all of a sudden, we turned around and walked backwards for 20 paces. We also attempted to find a few letterboxes (think: treasure hunting for adults, where the “treasure” is a hand-carved stamp) and had a 75 percent success rate! If you ever find yourself in Central Park with some time to spare, I’d highly recommend both of these activities: they defamiliarized the park and reminded me that there are stories hidden everywhere—you just need to know where and how to look.