Questions to Consider
- How does Stahr effectively use transitions to enhance the cohesion of their essay? How does the organization support their rhetorical analysis of the artifact?
- Stahr argues that the names etched into the wall reflects pathos and ethos while referencing the artifact’s exigence. How does Stahr support their thesis statement?
- Before mentioning the rhetorical appeals in their analysis, Stahr begins their essay with a detailed description of their cultural artifact. Why was this important for their readers? How did it help you understand their artifact, and what might you be able to do in your rhetorical analysis to help your reader understand your cultural artifact?
A Note From the Instructor—K Anand-Gall
I am incredibly proud of Malek’s work to complete this rhetorical analysis. Malek knew very early in the writing process that they wanted to write about Old Stone Riding Center as their local community. As is evident throughout their essay, Malek has a strong emotional connection to their chosen community artifact, the name wall. The danger of such a strong emotional connection, when writing a rhetorical analysis, is that the writer might veer toward an explanation of the symbolic significance of the artifact, or simply recount the many powerful memories associated with this place or community. As Malek writes in their reflection, they had to detach emotionally from the artifact to “focus on the analysis of the object.” Through in-class writing activities, research journals, peer review, and conferencing with me, Malek was able to maintain a focus on the compositional choices made by the collective creators of the wall. They focused on the material of the wall, how the names were arranged, and how the space was used as they explored the ethos and pathos of the wall. I was impressed by their discussion of exigence—how the organic practice of writing the paired names of rider and horse on tables and posters made urgent the need to create a more permanent space for this emerging tradition. Finally, Malek took full advantage of in-class activities related to writing compelling titles and introductions. Their concrete, sensory description of the wall in their opening paragraph grabs the readers’ attention and creates a strong visual image. Overall, Malek’s work is a great example of how a set of collective inscriptions can represent the ethos of a community, one where tradition, personal growth, trust, relationship, and community can be palpably sensed in the marks left in the “perfect parchment” of the wood. “The wall,” Malek writes, “is not just for leaving your mark, it’s also for forming the very mark that you leave…the name is a physical representation of a legacy.” In writing about such an artifact, Malek has created another physical representation of this very legacy.
Passing the Torch: The Art of Rhetoric in the Memory of a Name
Twelve feet long slats of pine wood, each a mere six inches in height stacked on top of each other to reach the nine foot ceiling. Black and blue ink, graphite, and splinters of wood at eye level create a puzzle of paired names. Unrecognizable names of both human and horse varieties paired together, as if they were the chemical bonds and molecules that built the very ground you stand on. Not only names, but messages, some as simple as a greeting, others as intricate as a niche band that someone liked. There are scratches that cover messed-up words and large slashes across the bottom of the plank, singular letters from unfinished names and hearts for the dot in a “i.” There are duplicates of names, but there aren’t two of the same pair; the growth seen on the weathered wood from young riders moving on from their school masters to challenging young prospects is evident. The growth is apparent, not only in your riding but also in yourself; names of the same person who grew up and found their identity past what they were assigned at birth can also be seen across the wall. The wood that carries these messages also carries the long forgotten memories of those who carved them into the history of the barn, as well as the weight of those who are to come next and, unbeknownst to them, share those memories with each other. The wall is the point of convergence for all things past, present, and yet to come. Every name is rich with pathos, every name holds ethos as proof of a triumph, and the exigence of how the wall came to be.
The extreme exigence of the wall starts with the farm it sits on, Old Stone Riding Center, or OSRC. This farmland was once vast and rich with cattle for the Minton family, but in time, the vast land was divided amongst its neighbors for other farms and housing. Still, the Minton name was not lost, as the road on which all these houses sit is Minton Road. Eventually, the farmland that held the original farmhouse and barn was sold to a couple hailing from England: the Baths.
The Baths converted the large silver and green cattle barn with broken rafters and dust-filled cobwebs that concealed the hidden beauty of the farm into a horse riding facility for dressage and eventing, opening their doors to those who wished to share in their love for horses. Mostly young girls would come from all around to take lessons or participate in the horse camps, and many fell in love with not only the horses and sport, but also the farm itself. They grew up there, and every year they would recall their growth through the marks they left behind. Camp posters littered the lounge with riders’ unique signatures and baby pictures of them on their first horses. The wooden table with a protective polyvinyl coating acted less like a table and more like a space for young artists to perfect their style. It was a canvas, but you could no longer see the blank canvas beneath. The thick wood of the wall became perfect parchment for an aspiring rider to show the bond they have with their horse by signing their name, as well as their partner’s name, on the wood. However, there is only so much wall space, and new posters must take precedence to the old ones. The table becomes a blank canvas again so that it might be used for food as the manufacturers intended, but the wall stays standing. The wall still holds those names from many generations past–horses and people who remain a mystery to the kids who walk into the crosstie where it towers. There is now an added plethora of new staple holes that puncture some of the names, but most are still legible with their stick-like letters or beautiful cursive or just the indentations of old pencil marks that still harbor the memories of its purpose.
The wall also holds strong pathos deep within the wood grains. Generations of riders since the formation of the lesson program started with the original Baths. Names were literally etched into the history of the barn itself, the memories that the names shared on hot summer days when there was nothing to do but go on a long, slow trail ride in the fields and try to forget that school was coming up and soon it would get cold, none of which bothered them in the warmth that the barn is a catalyst for. The barn itself is actually very cold over the winter, but that just fosters more friendships over sharing some hot chocolate while talking about life in the warmth of the lounge or the privacy and comfort of the wall.
The wall is not just for leaving your mark; it’s also for forming the very mark that you leave. You can carve your name into any random piece of wood, but what is that name to the generations after you? The names you’ve paired together on the wall mean little to nothing to the young riders that see them without the context of who you are. The name is a physical representation of a legacy: the things you fixed or created, the horses you trained, the kids you taught. The legacy you leave behind is not only what you’ve done for the barn but also what you’ve done for the people there; the friends you’ve made and created a lasting impact with are the ones who will tell your story and how your legacy will live on. And when you visit later on, you have the pleasure of seeing how your legacy still stands and how others that you saw take their first steps on a horse have placed their legacy as well.
In like manner, a name on the wall provides the reader with a sense of ethos, in that the person behind the name on the wall has suffered and worked their way to a point where they can now pass knowledge onto the next generation of riders. Just as the pathos associated with the wall ties back to the legacy you left behind, specifically the emotional significance you have left with others, ethos also ties into the legacy. However, the ethos of the wall also gives us insight into the values of the community. Ethos, in terms of legacy, ties into how carving your name onto the wall in conjunction with a horse’s name shows young riders who are now riding that horse that you rode that horse for a significant enough period of time and that you are a trusted source for help if a problem occurs. In addition to the ethos of how a name relates to knowledge and experience, ethos for this artifact also conveys the values of this community. These values are shared throughout the barn; the wall is almost a contract that you sign your name to, saying you agree to these values. Signing is saying that you understand that the barn is a place for you to choose your family, for you to love, for you to trust, and for you to have passion. Disregarding this can lead to being an outcast in the community, because what is a community if not the values and expectations it upholds? Because what is a community if not a family, a family you lay your heart out to? What is a community if not full of love, love for one another, for the shared space, and the very thing that brought you there? What is a community without trust, trust that when you fall, you are not alone? A community without passion for a shared goal has no business calling themselves a community. That is what you agree to when you sign the contract.
The wall is not anything that would stand out to you on your first walk into the barn. It is just a simple wall at face value. However, when you take a closer look at the artwork that stains the wood, you will find something truly significant to its community. The beholder of the wall is graced with its memories, history, and plenty of its dust. The wall has been around for generations and will be around for many generations to come. The names are smudged and faded, the wood has gone pale with time, and the carved names are filled with dirt. Nevertheless, the names are there, the memories still intact, the history not yet lost, and the community not yet dead. As long as the wall stands, the community stands with it.
Writer’s Reflection
Dear Reader,
My rhetorical analysis is about an object in my community I didn’t pay much attention to during my time at the barn. I didn’t truly understand the significance of the object until I saw it through the lens of a rhetorical analysis. Only then could I see how much the wall stands for, which brought on its own set of unique challenges. The first challenge was deciding what in my community I should write about. I ended up focusing on the wall because writing my chosen name and my old horse’s name was the last thing I did before leaving the barn in preparation to move a few days later. It was my final act before leaving a place that’s been my home for as long as I can remember. The wall holds a lot of significance to me, so detaching myself from the artifact to focus on the analysis of the object for the full community was another challenge. My peers and professor looked over my essay as it was developing and pointed out how I was inserting myself and how I felt about the artifact. Not only was detaching myself a challenge, but I also had trouble with repeating the same point in different ways too much.
I don’t believe there is any part of this essay that is the same as when I started. Much like the community I wrote about, change, growth, and improvement were constant. Furthermore, my understanding of rhetoric and a rhetorical analysis grew with this project. My knowledge of rhetoric grew as I had to analyze not only my object but also what rhetorical devices paired with the object so that the rhetorical devices could be analyzed. This essay brought up a lot of fond memories I have from my chosen home. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t tear up at least once while writing this essay, but I’m glad I got to share about something that is so important to me and I hope that I’ve done my cultural artifact the justice it deserves.