Every great project begins with a spark of curiosity. We recently completed our end-of-year project, which combined multiple subjects into one large, artistic journey. Over the past few weeks, we completed a process that progressed from reading a book to creating an art piece fighting for the conservation of endangered animals.
Our journey started off with reading, annotating, discussing, and deep diving into Squirm by Carl Hiaasen, a thrilling and humorous novel centered on nature, family, and conservation. As we continued throughout the book, we started to recognize consistent and repeating themes that Hiaasen conveys: take action when necessary and embrace your eccentricity and uniqueness.
In Squirm, Billy must take immediate action against poachers using drones to protect his family and the Florida wilderness, relying entirely on his own unique tracking skills and his bizarre snake-handling skills. After getting inspiration, we were tasked with writing a persuasive short story about an endangered species. Each of us selected a specific endangered animal to investigate and research. This step required deep research to truly understand the situation and challenges our animal faces. For my own research, I chose to focus on the bonobo. I learned that this creature is currently threatened by poaching for “bushmeat” and severe habitat loss in its native home of the Congo Basin.
After finishing our research, we transitioned into the art design and making process. We collaborated with local artist Peg Gignoux, who helped us bring our ideas into the physical world. Under Peg’s expert guidance, we learned the specific steps of bookmaking. First, we decided on our base colors and the background where our animal would be placed. Next, we started cutting and gluing to create a collage depicting our animal in its habitat. Finally, we glued on the artistic covers with our titles and glued in our stories. Our handmade books stand as a physical reminder of everything we learned.
Here is the first part of the story I wrote from my animal’s point of view:
I wake in my nest high in the canopy of the Congo Basin, living in a forest that feels smaller with every passing day. My species is the bonobo, scientifically known as Pan paniscus. I’m Pan. One of the few still roaming the Earth today. Unfortunately, the towering trees I climbed as a child are being cleared as humans venture deeper into our territory, leaving only scarred earth and machines behind. Most days, I follow my mother to forage for sweet figs or the occasional juicy, savory caterpillar, but we are constantly dodging the threat of cold, metal snares. Last week, I watched my younger cousin, Paniscus, scramble for a piece of fallen fruit, only to have a trap snap violently around his ankle like a starving shark. I can still hear his pierced and confused scream, a sound that haunts my sleep. The vicious vultures ventured and waited above. Sadly, he died as the sun set one last time for him. That evening, my community of the meager 10,000 apes all came to mourn as the wind whistled a song of mourning and the branches high-up on the trees waved their final goodbyes. The tears were more than enough to flood the entire desert. This is the sad truth. Someone I know dies every day…
Image from Creative Commons
