This project revolved around the question, “how well can you visually tell a structured story?” This question was explored through storytelling, digital art, storyboards, and films. Through the usage of applications such as Adobe Illustrator, Adobe Photoshop, and Adobe Premiere Pro, we learned just how well we can answer this question.

The Visual Narrative Project truly pushed me out of my comfort zone, but I ended up learning so much. Telling stories in writing and art was something I knew I could do, but making a narrative film required knowledge that I hadn’t yet attained, but at the end, me and my partner made something that we can both be proud of.

I wrote a story about a boy named Razvan who goes to Yugoslavia to find out about his family. At the beginning, I had no idea what I wanted to write about, but then a project appeared in another class that forced me to explore my heritage. From this I learned that I have ancestors from Yugoslavia, along with other countries that are featured on my story cover. As for the audio of this story, I didn’t want sound effects in the background, just pure, raw voice. Part of this is because of Yugoslavia no longer existing (because nothing makes a sound when it’s dead) but also because I didn’t want the story to sound fake. I’m reading to the audience, not just a recording to be played at your convenience.

Maybe I shouldn’t have left, and I’m probably not going to find anything anyway, and I should probably turn back, and, static – Seatbelts on, we are going to land soon. Okay, okay, so there’s no going back. But what is father going to say? and what if I actually find what I’ve been looking for? But hey, nobody ever said that going to Yugoslavia alone was smart, even if I am part of the annual tourist crowd. Come on Razvan, you got this, just don’t think about her until you arrive.


Suddenly, the plane starts to soar towards the landing strip, shaking slightly, wings opening up, just like the bucket of memories that have opened up and flooded the land around me. Crackle – We have arrived, so without further ado, welcome to Yugoslavia. Okay, okay, legs, time to move. Forward, forward, get my luggage, get out of here, find the hotel, find a market. I can do that. Luggage has been attained a few minutes later, and I’m in a car on my way to why I came here in the first place. Nearly an hour later, I am flopped out on my hotel bed, throat tired even though I got lucky with a quiet driver, feet sore even though I’ve been sitting all day. New city in a foreign country, much to explore, and much to my annoyance, all I want is easy hotel food and sleep, so that is exactly what I did.


Waking up wickedly early shouldn’t have surprised me, I did fall asleep at like 8 or 9, but while I blink in the 6am daylight, I groan and force myself to get dressed. A black shirt to fit the purple hair, black pants with a chain that match the earrings, white converse because I can, and as I traipse to the nearest cafe, I yawn and try to walk like a normal human, which I am not entirely successful at. After swiftly stumbling at the smell of coffee, I scamper over to the counter and order a… whatever was just brewed? and as I wait, I scroll through my phone, just to check out the stores that might bring this trip to a close. A voice calling Razvan, coffee for Razvan, shook me out of my thoughts. With a quick thank you, I took my drink and walked down the block, seeing a toy store, a pharmacy, a clothing store, and finally, an antiques shop! which is exactly what I need.


Stepping into the store, I smell the faint scent of dust, the exact smell of my mother’s suitcase on the day she left. I see a bookshelf, filled to the brim with supposed family heirlooms, including an incomplete set of glasses that look very similar to my father’s drinking glasses. Ah the memories! But in any case, I found the most perfect, and worst possible thing I could possibly find; the suitcase. Musty and brownish grey, the same faded stickers of the travels this thing went on, this has to be it. Once again, I go up to the counter, ask to buy the bag, and wait for it to be packaged; the difference this time being that this is slowly killing me, and I want to send this bag to my father, but I can’t. He’s already a drunk, and I don’t want to see what this might do to him. Even a bad father doesn’t deserve this kind of pain. So I make a note as I wait.


My aunt lives near here, and she might know where my mother is, so I’ll send it and hope that it makes it to its rightful home. The man running the shop says that he’ll send my note. He knows the woman living at that address. How? I ask. He replies, that’s my sister in law, why are you sending this case there? I say, because that’s my aunt’s house. Wary now, I reach for the package, trusting this man less than I did five minutes ago, no way! wait… I think that makes me… your stepfather? Full on panicking now, I abruptly ran out of the store. I know she hasn’t forgotten about us, so why’d she marry this dude? I run and run, until I happen upon an alley to quickly destroy the incoming panic attack. Did it work? No, not for me. Of course it wouldn’t. Whatever, she doesn’t care about us, she doesn’t care about me, why did I come here anyway? I knew I would get hurt. Besides, I already have a family, I don’t need her, and I don’t need my father, not if I have my friends.


I call a friend when the tears have finally dried. Hi Davion, just wanted to let you know that I’m coming home tomorrow. Raz, that’s great! Did you find what you were looking for? Yeah, I did, but hey, could I stay with you for a bit until I get my own place? Your room will be ready for you when you get back. Ha, that’s right, I have someone who isn’t going to leave. I think I’ll be alright.

Exquisite Corpse