1. Describe Close's work. How has it changed over time? Do you favor his early or late work? Explain.
- Chuck Close is famous for how he depicted portraits of himself and others on a massive scale. Close would grid out the face and then create the portrait with air brushing techniques. Earlier in his career, Close’s portraits were mostly depicted with realistic colors and were more literal. In contrast, his later work was more abstract, with vibrant colors, and often had to be viewed from further away in order for there to be a unified image. I prefer Chuck Close’s later work because it grabs my attention more with its use of color, and it is more interesting to view.
2. Does photo realism have artistic merit, or are photo realists merely "one-trick ponies"? What would Leo Tolstoy say about Close's work?
- I believe that photo realism has artistic merit because it takes a unique skill to make the paintings look as if they are real and taken by a camera. Although photo realists choose to express themselves through this artistic style they are not merely “one-trick ponies”. If an artist can create a piece of work that doesn’t look as though it’s been created with paint but by a camera, then the artist can most likely do the opposite of photo realism as well. However, Leo Tolstoy would have said that Close's work does not express any type of feeling or individuality from Close and therefore is not considered art.
3. As you have learned, Chuck Close suffered a collapse of a spinal artery which left him partially paralyzed. Explain the modifications he makes to continue his artwork and what these adjustments reveal about his character.
- After Chuck Close suffered a collapse of a spinal artery he made modifications in order to continue his artwork. Close began to paint his portraits with a brush strapped to his wrist and then later, when he regained some muscle movement, with one strapped to his hand. He had an assistant create the grid squares for his portraits and the paintings had to be viewed from further away in order for the viewer to see a unified image. These adjustments showed that Close was extremely dedicated to his work. Even after becoming paralyzed, Close chose to continue working because he loved to create portraits and express different faces through his unique style.
4. In the Jackson Pollock BBC film, we learned that Pollock's personal and artistic downfall was fueled by his decision to reveal his process in a documentary. Having viewed Chuck Close's process, do you gain more respect and understanding for his work? Or, do you think his images lose their mystique now that you have seen his process?
- I have more respect and understanding for Chuck Close's work after having seen the video. The film showed the time and effort that it took for Close to develop each and every artwork. Although the mystique of Close’s process is no longer there, I can still appreciate the talent it took for him to create portraits by airbrushing the massive canvas with only a grid to go off of. Also, I can appreciate the dedication he had to his work when Close chose to continue painting even after becoming paralyzed. Therefore, the film did not ruin Chuck Close’s artwork for me; I now have a better understanding of his work and have more respect for it.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Literary Excerpt
Literary Excerpt-
Animal Farm- George Orwell
"Then Snowbell (for it was Snowball who was best at writing) took a brush between the two knuckles of his trotter, painted out Manor Farm from the top bar of the gate and in its place painted Animal Farm. This was to be the name of the farm from now onwards. After this they went back to the farm buildings, where Snowball and Napoleon sent for a ladder which they caused to be set against the end of the big barn. They explained that by their studies of the past three months the pigs had succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven Commandments. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a pig to balance himself on a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with Squealer a few rungs below holding the paint-pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal."
- (Orwell 42)
Animal Farm- George Orwell
"Then Snowbell (for it was Snowball who was best at writing) took a brush between the two knuckles of his trotter, painted out Manor Farm from the top bar of the gate and in its place painted Animal Farm. This was to be the name of the farm from now onwards. After this they went back to the farm buildings, where Snowball and Napoleon sent for a ladder which they caused to be set against the end of the big barn. They explained that by their studies of the past three months the pigs had succeeded in reducing the principles of Animalism to Seven Commandments. These Seven Commandments would now be inscribed on the wall; they would form an unalterable law by which all the animals on Animal Farm must live for ever after. With some difficulty (for it is not easy for a pig to balance himself on a ladder) Snowball climbed up and set to work, with Squealer a few rungs below holding the paint-pot. The Commandments were written on the tarred wall in great white letters that could be read thirty yards away. They ran thus:
THE SEVEN COMMANDMENTS
1. Whatever goes upon two legs is an enemy.
2. Whatever goes upon four legs, or has wings, is a friend.
3. No animal shall wear clothes.
4. No animal shall sleep in a bed.
5. No animal shall drink alcohol.
6. No animal shall kill any other animal.
7. All animals are equal."
- (Orwell 42)
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Self Portrait Activity
Search the internet for self-portraits by the following artists: Rembrandt van Rijn, Vincent Van Gogh, Susanna Coffey, Lucian Freud, Kathe Kollwitz, Paul Gauguin, Gregory Gillespie, Pablo Picasso, Paul Cezanne, Brett Gamache (a friend of mine).Create a Word document.
1. For each artist, record the title, year of completion, and country of origin.
- Rembrandt van Rijn “Self Portrait” (1659), Netherlands
- Vincent Van Gogh “Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear” (1889), Netherlands/France
- Susanna Coffey “Self Portrait (Cassandra Will)” (2002), United States
- Lucian Freud “Reflection Self Portrait” (1985), Germany
- Kathe Kollwitz “Self Portrait” (1924), Germany
- Paul Gauguin “Self Portrait” (1889), France
- Gregory Gillespie “Myself Painting a Self Portrait” (1980-1981), United States
- Pablo Picasso “Self Portrait” (1907), Spain
- Paul Cezanne “Self Portrait” (1875), France
- Brett Gamache “Self Portrait with Red Shirt and Hat” (2003), United States
2. Identify three comparable (composition, color, mood, etc.) self-portraits from the list. Construct a paragraph which identifies the parallels between these 3 works.
- Three comparable self portraits are by Kathe Kollwitz, Lucian Freud, and Susanna Coffey. All three of these paintings share the same mood and the portrait's have similar features. Kollwitz, Freud, and Coffey each depict themselves with harsh lines and wrinkles over their faces. They arn't afraid to create themselves as old or what some people might consider ugly. Also, each portrait has a dark mood and sadness surrounding them. This is shown through the dark colors used in the compositions and the expression among each or their faces. Thus, Kathe Kollwitz, Lucian Freud, and Susanna Coffey's three self portraits have similar moods and features.
3. Identify the strongest self-portrait. In a paragraph, explain the elements which make it stand out; use your vocabulary words.
- I think the strongest self portrait is "Reflection Self Portrait" by Lucian Freud. Freud uses contrast between lights and darks to show the wrinkles, creases, and age on his face. He shows a receding hairline and uses a realistic color for his skin. Also, he has an expression on his face that intriques the audience and makes them wonder what Freud is staring at or thinking about. Lucian Freud's "Reflection Self Portrait" differs from the other portraits through its composition and contrast, which makes the self portrait stand out.
4. Typically, self-portraits are not lucrative efforts for living artists. Why might an artist choose to focus on self-portraits? What may drive an artist, like Rembrandt, to devote so much time and effort towards depicting himself? Explain in paragraph form.
- Typically, art is a way to express oneself in different ways and in different mediums. Therefore, self portraits are the ultimate way to express oneself for an artist. The artist is able to express themselves in various situations, or in various states of minds rather than showing their feelings through an event or landscape. Therefore, an artist may spend a lot of time and effort and create many self portraits, which express themselves in different situation and with different feelings. Although people would be less willing to buy a self portrait, the artist may decide to devote themselves to self portraits in order to release pent up feelings and thoughts and express themselves through their actual selves.
1. For each artist, record the title, year of completion, and country of origin.
- Rembrandt van Rijn “Self Portrait” (1659), Netherlands
- Vincent Van Gogh “Self Portrait with Bandaged Ear” (1889), Netherlands/France
- Susanna Coffey “Self Portrait (Cassandra Will)” (2002), United States
- Lucian Freud “Reflection Self Portrait” (1985), Germany
- Kathe Kollwitz “Self Portrait” (1924), Germany
- Paul Gauguin “Self Portrait” (1889), France
- Gregory Gillespie “Myself Painting a Self Portrait” (1980-1981), United States
- Pablo Picasso “Self Portrait” (1907), Spain
- Paul Cezanne “Self Portrait” (1875), France
- Brett Gamache “Self Portrait with Red Shirt and Hat” (2003), United States
2. Identify three comparable (composition, color, mood, etc.) self-portraits from the list. Construct a paragraph which identifies the parallels between these 3 works.
- Three comparable self portraits are by Kathe Kollwitz, Lucian Freud, and Susanna Coffey. All three of these paintings share the same mood and the portrait's have similar features. Kollwitz, Freud, and Coffey each depict themselves with harsh lines and wrinkles over their faces. They arn't afraid to create themselves as old or what some people might consider ugly. Also, each portrait has a dark mood and sadness surrounding them. This is shown through the dark colors used in the compositions and the expression among each or their faces. Thus, Kathe Kollwitz, Lucian Freud, and Susanna Coffey's three self portraits have similar moods and features.
3. Identify the strongest self-portrait. In a paragraph, explain the elements which make it stand out; use your vocabulary words.
- I think the strongest self portrait is "Reflection Self Portrait" by Lucian Freud. Freud uses contrast between lights and darks to show the wrinkles, creases, and age on his face. He shows a receding hairline and uses a realistic color for his skin. Also, he has an expression on his face that intriques the audience and makes them wonder what Freud is staring at or thinking about. Lucian Freud's "Reflection Self Portrait" differs from the other portraits through its composition and contrast, which makes the self portrait stand out.
4. Typically, self-portraits are not lucrative efforts for living artists. Why might an artist choose to focus on self-portraits? What may drive an artist, like Rembrandt, to devote so much time and effort towards depicting himself? Explain in paragraph form.
- Typically, art is a way to express oneself in different ways and in different mediums. Therefore, self portraits are the ultimate way to express oneself for an artist. The artist is able to express themselves in various situations, or in various states of minds rather than showing their feelings through an event or landscape. Therefore, an artist may spend a lot of time and effort and create many self portraits, which express themselves in different situation and with different feelings. Although people would be less willing to buy a self portrait, the artist may decide to devote themselves to self portraits in order to release pent up feelings and thoughts and express themselves through their actual selves.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Short Story #3
Andy Warhol "Butterfly" (1983), oil on canvasOne foot.
My grandfather and I are the best of friends. He comes over my house every weekend and cooks the whole family dinner. Afterwards, he plays with all the grandchildren, telling us stories and playing made-up games, but I know I’m the favorite. I’m the youngest of the grandchildren, the baby of the family. I’m the one he lets ride on his shoulders and get away with candy before dinner. He’s the one that doesn’t complain when I force him to play with dolls or tea sets.
Two feet.
Lasagna. He’s famous for it. Every weekend we have our grandfather’s famous three-layer lasagna. When I got older he made it a point to teach me the recipe. It’s the pasta that makes it so good. Grandpa would brag that his pasta was better than all the pasta in Italy. He would embellish the exaggeration with a thick, fake Italian accent just because he knew it would always make me laugh. When the family started to get older, Grandpa always had me help make the weekend lasagna. Out of the whole family I was the only one who he trusted with the recipe.
Three feet.
When I turned ten, he bought me a hand made porcelain tea set. To date it’s the best gift I’ve ever received. It was decorated with butterflies, which he said were his favorite; I didn’t ask why. Grandpa told me it was made in France- his homeland. For the next few months I insisted that he teach me everything about France, from the culture to the language and everything in between. At the end of every tea party I would be able to say certain phrases, enough so I could have a small chat with my grandfather and then wish him au revoir. It wasn’t until I was older that I discovered the “made in Colombia” label on the bottom of the saucers.
Four feet.
As I got older, and so did he, the stories my grandfather told were less like fables and more stories of his life. He told me about his life as a boy in France, growing up with ten other brothers and sisters. He told me about how he joined the army at sixteen, which eventually led him to immigrate to America. He told me how he met, loved, married, and eventually lost his wife, my grandmother whom I’ve never met. He told me of not only the past but the present as well. He told tales of how he knew the answer to the final jeopardy and of the jerk who cut him off on the drive over; tales of meaningless nonsense that we would bond over for days to come.
Five Feet
During my high school years, my grandfather would come over less often. Our lasagna dinners would be more sporadic and the stories would become shorter and shorter. Despite this, I always still felt that special bond that I had grown up with. Even though I didn’t see him every week, when we finally saw each other it was as if we had never left. Grandpa still favored me over my siblings, and I was still the only one who got to help him make his famous lasagna. My best friend was still the always there for me.
Six feet.
The call came late at night, and at first I couldn’t understand what my mother was saying between her tears. I’m still not quite over the shock. The only thing that seemed to have registered since that night was the funeral date. Now, as the first shovels of dirt are being thrown onto the casket, everything hits me. I’ve lost my best friend, the person who knows almost everything about me, the one who gets me. My mothers can’t stop crying and I know I should have brought more tissues. At least he died peacefully.
I can’t stand looking at the cemetery plot anymore. To keep from completely losing it I focus my eyes on the tombstone. Its granite, at least I think, it’s strong and distinguished, just like him. Slowly another object comes into my line of vision. As the last bit of dirt falls onto the grave, a butterfly gracefully lands on the tombstone, directly in my line of vision. The butterfly stays there as my mother reads her prayers and my siblings place various types of flowers at the foot of the tombstone. As my family begins to compose themselves, we start to get back into our cars to leave the cemetery for good. Our car begins to roll down the narrow rode, the forecasted rain begins to spit outside, and as I look out at the window the butterfly stays resting on my grandfather’s, my best friend’s, tombstone.
My grandfather and I are the best of friends. He comes over my house every weekend and cooks the whole family dinner. Afterwards, he plays with all the grandchildren, telling us stories and playing made-up games, but I know I’m the favorite. I’m the youngest of the grandchildren, the baby of the family. I’m the one he lets ride on his shoulders and get away with candy before dinner. He’s the one that doesn’t complain when I force him to play with dolls or tea sets.
Two feet.
Lasagna. He’s famous for it. Every weekend we have our grandfather’s famous three-layer lasagna. When I got older he made it a point to teach me the recipe. It’s the pasta that makes it so good. Grandpa would brag that his pasta was better than all the pasta in Italy. He would embellish the exaggeration with a thick, fake Italian accent just because he knew it would always make me laugh. When the family started to get older, Grandpa always had me help make the weekend lasagna. Out of the whole family I was the only one who he trusted with the recipe.
Three feet.
When I turned ten, he bought me a hand made porcelain tea set. To date it’s the best gift I’ve ever received. It was decorated with butterflies, which he said were his favorite; I didn’t ask why. Grandpa told me it was made in France- his homeland. For the next few months I insisted that he teach me everything about France, from the culture to the language and everything in between. At the end of every tea party I would be able to say certain phrases, enough so I could have a small chat with my grandfather and then wish him au revoir. It wasn’t until I was older that I discovered the “made in Colombia” label on the bottom of the saucers.
Four feet.
As I got older, and so did he, the stories my grandfather told were less like fables and more stories of his life. He told me about his life as a boy in France, growing up with ten other brothers and sisters. He told me about how he joined the army at sixteen, which eventually led him to immigrate to America. He told me how he met, loved, married, and eventually lost his wife, my grandmother whom I’ve never met. He told me of not only the past but the present as well. He told tales of how he knew the answer to the final jeopardy and of the jerk who cut him off on the drive over; tales of meaningless nonsense that we would bond over for days to come.
Five Feet
During my high school years, my grandfather would come over less often. Our lasagna dinners would be more sporadic and the stories would become shorter and shorter. Despite this, I always still felt that special bond that I had grown up with. Even though I didn’t see him every week, when we finally saw each other it was as if we had never left. Grandpa still favored me over my siblings, and I was still the only one who got to help him make his famous lasagna. My best friend was still the always there for me.
Six feet.
The call came late at night, and at first I couldn’t understand what my mother was saying between her tears. I’m still not quite over the shock. The only thing that seemed to have registered since that night was the funeral date. Now, as the first shovels of dirt are being thrown onto the casket, everything hits me. I’ve lost my best friend, the person who knows almost everything about me, the one who gets me. My mothers can’t stop crying and I know I should have brought more tissues. At least he died peacefully.
I can’t stand looking at the cemetery plot anymore. To keep from completely losing it I focus my eyes on the tombstone. Its granite, at least I think, it’s strong and distinguished, just like him. Slowly another object comes into my line of vision. As the last bit of dirt falls onto the grave, a butterfly gracefully lands on the tombstone, directly in my line of vision. The butterfly stays there as my mother reads her prayers and my siblings place various types of flowers at the foot of the tombstone. As my family begins to compose themselves, we start to get back into our cars to leave the cemetery for good. Our car begins to roll down the narrow rode, the forecasted rain begins to spit outside, and as I look out at the window the butterfly stays resting on my grandfather’s, my best friend’s, tombstone.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Scavenger Hunt
1. Monet and Manet are both Impressionists and have similarities beyond their names. Compare and contrast these two artists.
- Manet and Monet were both french impressionsts, Manet was one of the first painters to begin working in the impressionist art period, he used broad colors with a quick brush technique and did many studio drawings. Manet was an influence to Monet who in contrast to Manet painting more "en plein air" (outside). Monet, like Manet, also used quick brush strokes but, unlike Manet, he put paint directly on the canvas without sketching the composition out first. Monet also used individualized color and focused on capturing the effects of light and color on nature.
2. Who is Camille Claudel? Examine her "L'Age Mur" and identify the 3 figures depicted.
- Camille Claudel is a french sculptor and graphic artist during the late 1800s. "L'Age Mur" is a bronze sculpture of Camille pleading for Auguste Rodin not to leave her for his former mistress.
3. Identify the works stolen during the infamous Gardner Museum heist. Identify and describe your favorite piece.
- "The Concert" by Johannes Vermeer, "The Storm of the Sea of Galilee" by Rembrandt van Rijn, and "Landscape with an Obelisk" by Govaert Flinck. My favorite stolen piece is "The Concert" which depicts a two women and one man at a piano, one woman is playing the piano while the other seems to be singing.
4. Summarize the "legend" behind the man with the top hat in Eugene Delacroix's most famous painting.
- The legend in Delacroix's "Liberty Leading the People" is that Delacroix is the man in the top hat holding a muskat. The painting depicts persians celebrating liberty under the tricolor flag.
5. What is David Mach's "Gorilla" made of?
-Coathangers
6. Describe your favorite Ron Mueck sculpture.
- My favorite Ron Mueck sculpture is "A Girl". The sculpture is of a newborn lying down. Mueck shows the wrinkles and ugliness of the baby which holds the viewer's interest even though it isn't necessarily pretty.
7. Paul Rahilly is one of my former professors.
a) What breed of dog is depicted in his "Girl in a Paper Dress"?
- a poodle
b) In which of his paintings does one find a chili pepper?
- "beef and vegetables"
c) a brioche?
- "brioche, pears and eggs"
8. What colors are used in my "concert bill sketch"?
- red, blue, white, and gray
9. Ryan Smith is an amazing artist and a good friend of mine (he attended Norton High).
a) Describe the subject matter in his 2006 piece "Taxidermy Tammy".
- The subject matter is a girl character who has a pizza slicer in her hand, at her feet are a bunch of animals (moose, bear, octopus, zebra, owl, bird, owl, fox, etc..) that have been torn apart and and put back together
b) What "sport" is parodied in his version of "Pig Pile"?
- wrestling
Now it's time to play 6 degrees of Wikipedia. Your responses should look like numbered lists beginning with the first item and ending with the last item.
1. Vincent van Gogh=vampire
- Vincent van Gogh = german expressionists = vampire
2. Francisco Goya=cartilage
- Francisco Goya = Meniere's disease = inner ear = ear= cartilage
3. Lucian Freud=Tool (the band)
- Lucian Freud = painter (painting) = art = death metal = heavy metal = Tool (band)
4. Mark Rothko=serpent
- Mark Rothko = mythology = Bible = Genesis = serpent
5. Diego Rivera=Roger Williams
- Diego Rivera = New York City = Northeastern United States = Rhode Island = Roger Williams
- Manet and Monet were both french impressionsts, Manet was one of the first painters to begin working in the impressionist art period, he used broad colors with a quick brush technique and did many studio drawings. Manet was an influence to Monet who in contrast to Manet painting more "en plein air" (outside). Monet, like Manet, also used quick brush strokes but, unlike Manet, he put paint directly on the canvas without sketching the composition out first. Monet also used individualized color and focused on capturing the effects of light and color on nature.
2. Who is Camille Claudel? Examine her "L'Age Mur" and identify the 3 figures depicted.
- Camille Claudel is a french sculptor and graphic artist during the late 1800s. "L'Age Mur" is a bronze sculpture of Camille pleading for Auguste Rodin not to leave her for his former mistress.
3. Identify the works stolen during the infamous Gardner Museum heist. Identify and describe your favorite piece.
- "The Concert" by Johannes Vermeer, "The Storm of the Sea of Galilee" by Rembrandt van Rijn, and "Landscape with an Obelisk" by Govaert Flinck. My favorite stolen piece is "The Concert" which depicts a two women and one man at a piano, one woman is playing the piano while the other seems to be singing.
4. Summarize the "legend" behind the man with the top hat in Eugene Delacroix's most famous painting.
- The legend in Delacroix's "Liberty Leading the People" is that Delacroix is the man in the top hat holding a muskat. The painting depicts persians celebrating liberty under the tricolor flag.
5. What is David Mach's "Gorilla" made of?
-Coathangers
6. Describe your favorite Ron Mueck sculpture.
- My favorite Ron Mueck sculpture is "A Girl". The sculpture is of a newborn lying down. Mueck shows the wrinkles and ugliness of the baby which holds the viewer's interest even though it isn't necessarily pretty.
7. Paul Rahilly is one of my former professors.
a) What breed of dog is depicted in his "Girl in a Paper Dress"?
- a poodle
b) In which of his paintings does one find a chili pepper?
- "beef and vegetables"
c) a brioche?
- "brioche, pears and eggs"
8. What colors are used in my "concert bill sketch"?
- red, blue, white, and gray
9. Ryan Smith is an amazing artist and a good friend of mine (he attended Norton High).
a) Describe the subject matter in his 2006 piece "Taxidermy Tammy".
- The subject matter is a girl character who has a pizza slicer in her hand, at her feet are a bunch of animals (moose, bear, octopus, zebra, owl, bird, owl, fox, etc..) that have been torn apart and and put back together
b) What "sport" is parodied in his version of "Pig Pile"?
- wrestling
Now it's time to play 6 degrees of Wikipedia. Your responses should look like numbered lists beginning with the first item and ending with the last item.
1. Vincent van Gogh=vampire
- Vincent van Gogh = german expressionists = vampire
2. Francisco Goya=cartilage
- Francisco Goya = Meniere's disease = inner ear = ear= cartilage
3. Lucian Freud=Tool (the band)
- Lucian Freud = painter (painting) = art = death metal = heavy metal = Tool (band)
4. Mark Rothko=serpent
- Mark Rothko = mythology = Bible = Genesis = serpent
5. Diego Rivera=Roger Williams
- Diego Rivera = New York City = Northeastern United States = Rhode Island = Roger Williams
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Community Idea for Concept Folio
For my community portion of my concept folio, I decided to have people make their own artwork. I teach a 3rd grade ccd class, so i decided to have the kids draw their favorite animal and I'll display them in my concept folio.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Short Story #2
Sandy Skoglund "Radioactive Cats" (1980), photograph
-
A loud crash shakes the floor. The chair, worn from years of abuse, bangs on the ground, its seat shattering off its iron bar supports. Felines scatter in every direction jumping on counters, shelves, and rusted radiators. I stay resting on the table as one by one the cats return to curiously inspect the broken chair lying lifeless on the ground.
“Who knocked over the chair?!” the old woman, I presume her name is Beatrice although I’ve never actually heard anyone address her by name, often screeched instead of talking. Her voice kept the same tone throughout all situations. She comes hustling over, shifting her weight from one foot to the next armed with a menacing smirk across her face. The tattered nightgown that frequently covers her heavyset frame hangs loosely above Beatrice’s wide feet stuffed in slippers decorated with stains and holes.
“Which of these filthy rats did it?!” she squawks at the older man sitting adjacent to me.
“Mmhmm” he replies.
“I’m telling you Harold, we’re gettin’ rid of these things! They cause nothin’ but trouble.”
“Mmhmm.”
She swats a pair of black cats away from the discolored refrigerator and continues her one sided conversation.
“Honestly, I can barely move in this place, how we supposed to live like this?”
“Humph” Harold grunts.
Beatrice struggles with the weight of the door.
Don’t do it, I think.
In the same moment it takes for her to dislodge and open the refrigerator door, what seems like thousands of cats converge on Beatrice in a swarm of calicos, siameses, and mutts.
“Ah, get away!” Beatrice screeches. “Go on, get, I got nothin’ for you.”
The cats are persistent, however, and they continue to meow and scratch at her feet, so much so that I almost want to jump from my perch and join the begging.
“Harold! Are you just gonna sit there? Help me get these things outta my way!”
“Mmhmm,” Harold offers.
I creep towards the edge of the table and peer down at the herd of cats below. It started with just a few of us, wandering in to sleep or seeking shelter from another animal, but soon at least twenty of us subletted this dwelling with Harold and Beatrice.
“Go on, see I got you something.” Beatrice begins throwing small bread crumbs as groups of five or six cats chase down the snacks in different directions.
They’ll just be back for more, I think.
Beatrice then disappears into the fridge, her two legs protruding out of the door. The refrigerator light flickers and Beatrice can be heard muttering to herself from inside. I think I might jump down to join the rest of the group who wait for Beatrice while she shifts her weight around the crevices of the fridge. I quickly decide against it, choosing to watch the chaos from above rather than get clawed and bitten below.
After what seems like hours Beatrice stops moving in the fridge. She pauses, seems to be satisfied with her findings and emerges with two cartons in her hands. In her left, she carries a half full carton of milk with the label falling off the side and in her right a carton of eggs, now lopsided with only two remaining. Beatrice continues to try and shoo the felines away from her feet while she attempts to make her way to the counter across the room.
“Help me Harold, don’t just sit….AHHH!!”
While trying to gain assistance from her husband, Beatrice steps on one of the many tails in her path. In doing this, the feline hisses and shrieks causing a ripple of commotion throughout the mass of cats. The felines start to run in every direction entangling themselves in Beatrice’s heavy feet. Beatrice lets out a second scream as she tries to regain her balance and watches her two cartons fall to the floor.
The eggs fall with a loud thud but go completely unnoticed as the milk hits the ground. The carton first falls on its bottom and then tilts to its side, simultaneously, all of the cats turn there heads to stare at the new treat that would soon be available. One moment passes, and then another, the milk still not spilling onto the floor. From my view I’m the first to see the milk begin to slowly descend to the ground. It comes out thicker then it should and its consistency is like that of honey or maple syrup.
This can’t be good, I think.
At the moment the “milk” reaches the floor the cats converge on the liquid and begin to inhale it.
“Harold! These things are eatin’ our food! Do somethin’!” Beatrice yelps. She attempts to get the cats away from the milk but it doesn’t work. I stay on the table not wanting to get involved in the madness below, especially if the only prize was the expired milk. The cats below continue to lick the floor clean and don’t seem to notice the strange texture of the beverage.
Suddenly, and without any forewarning, the cats closest to the milk, the same ones who had eaten the most, began to act peculiarly. Scratching everywhere, they began attacking their fur as if they had fleas. Although I can’t see any color, I could tell that they were turning a different hue then they were before. Previously, the felines were of diverse colors with a variety of stripes, spots, and prints. Now, the cats all looked the same and it was hard to distinguish from the species below.
“Harold! Are you seeing this! The cats are all green! Do somethin’ Harold! Get them out of the house! What the heck is happen’! Harold! Don’t just sit there!”
“Humph” Harold replies.
I simply stare at the newly green cats below, not knowing if I should jump down or stay safely away. I’m now the only one left who has not caught the disease spreading throughout the felines.
“Harold! Do Somethin’” Beatrice screeches.
Not waiting to hear Harold’s usual reply, I quickly jump up and scale the highest cabinets near the ceiling. I jump through the window situated on the furthest wall and run as fast as I can away from insanity going on inside, leaving Harold and Beatrice to deal with their newly radioactive pets.
“Who knocked over the chair?!” the old woman, I presume her name is Beatrice although I’ve never actually heard anyone address her by name, often screeched instead of talking. Her voice kept the same tone throughout all situations. She comes hustling over, shifting her weight from one foot to the next armed with a menacing smirk across her face. The tattered nightgown that frequently covers her heavyset frame hangs loosely above Beatrice’s wide feet stuffed in slippers decorated with stains and holes.
“Which of these filthy rats did it?!” she squawks at the older man sitting adjacent to me.
“Mmhmm” he replies.
“I’m telling you Harold, we’re gettin’ rid of these things! They cause nothin’ but trouble.”
“Mmhmm.”
She swats a pair of black cats away from the discolored refrigerator and continues her one sided conversation.
“Honestly, I can barely move in this place, how we supposed to live like this?”
“Humph” Harold grunts.
Beatrice struggles with the weight of the door.
Don’t do it, I think.
In the same moment it takes for her to dislodge and open the refrigerator door, what seems like thousands of cats converge on Beatrice in a swarm of calicos, siameses, and mutts.
“Ah, get away!” Beatrice screeches. “Go on, get, I got nothin’ for you.”
The cats are persistent, however, and they continue to meow and scratch at her feet, so much so that I almost want to jump from my perch and join the begging.
“Harold! Are you just gonna sit there? Help me get these things outta my way!”
“Mmhmm,” Harold offers.
I creep towards the edge of the table and peer down at the herd of cats below. It started with just a few of us, wandering in to sleep or seeking shelter from another animal, but soon at least twenty of us subletted this dwelling with Harold and Beatrice.
“Go on, see I got you something.” Beatrice begins throwing small bread crumbs as groups of five or six cats chase down the snacks in different directions.
They’ll just be back for more, I think.
Beatrice then disappears into the fridge, her two legs protruding out of the door. The refrigerator light flickers and Beatrice can be heard muttering to herself from inside. I think I might jump down to join the rest of the group who wait for Beatrice while she shifts her weight around the crevices of the fridge. I quickly decide against it, choosing to watch the chaos from above rather than get clawed and bitten below.
After what seems like hours Beatrice stops moving in the fridge. She pauses, seems to be satisfied with her findings and emerges with two cartons in her hands. In her left, she carries a half full carton of milk with the label falling off the side and in her right a carton of eggs, now lopsided with only two remaining. Beatrice continues to try and shoo the felines away from her feet while she attempts to make her way to the counter across the room.
“Help me Harold, don’t just sit….AHHH!!”
While trying to gain assistance from her husband, Beatrice steps on one of the many tails in her path. In doing this, the feline hisses and shrieks causing a ripple of commotion throughout the mass of cats. The felines start to run in every direction entangling themselves in Beatrice’s heavy feet. Beatrice lets out a second scream as she tries to regain her balance and watches her two cartons fall to the floor.
The eggs fall with a loud thud but go completely unnoticed as the milk hits the ground. The carton first falls on its bottom and then tilts to its side, simultaneously, all of the cats turn there heads to stare at the new treat that would soon be available. One moment passes, and then another, the milk still not spilling onto the floor. From my view I’m the first to see the milk begin to slowly descend to the ground. It comes out thicker then it should and its consistency is like that of honey or maple syrup.
This can’t be good, I think.
At the moment the “milk” reaches the floor the cats converge on the liquid and begin to inhale it.
“Harold! These things are eatin’ our food! Do somethin’!” Beatrice yelps. She attempts to get the cats away from the milk but it doesn’t work. I stay on the table not wanting to get involved in the madness below, especially if the only prize was the expired milk. The cats below continue to lick the floor clean and don’t seem to notice the strange texture of the beverage.
Suddenly, and without any forewarning, the cats closest to the milk, the same ones who had eaten the most, began to act peculiarly. Scratching everywhere, they began attacking their fur as if they had fleas. Although I can’t see any color, I could tell that they were turning a different hue then they were before. Previously, the felines were of diverse colors with a variety of stripes, spots, and prints. Now, the cats all looked the same and it was hard to distinguish from the species below.
“Harold! Are you seeing this! The cats are all green! Do somethin’ Harold! Get them out of the house! What the heck is happen’! Harold! Don’t just sit there!”
“Humph” Harold replies.
I simply stare at the newly green cats below, not knowing if I should jump down or stay safely away. I’m now the only one left who has not caught the disease spreading throughout the felines.
“Harold! Do Somethin’” Beatrice screeches.
Not waiting to hear Harold’s usual reply, I quickly jump up and scale the highest cabinets near the ceiling. I jump through the window situated on the furthest wall and run as fast as I can away from insanity going on inside, leaving Harold and Beatrice to deal with their newly radioactive pets.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Art Critique #2
Frida Kahlo "Self-portrait with Monkeys" (1943), oil on canvas
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Frida Kahlo is a Mexican artist known for her bizarre self portraits. Her 1943 artwork entitled “Self Portrait with Monkeys” is no different. The oil painting depicts Kahlo with her familiar thick unibrow and intriguing expression. The artwork shows Frida amidst a rainforest-like background with four monkeys close beside her. Some critics note that these monkeys may represent the children Kahlo could not have in real life. The monkeys are shown with uncharacteristic lines and shapes for their lengthy arms apparent in the two monkeys clinging to Frida. Also, the monkeys are painted with a dark color contrasting the bright and colorful background.
The leaves in the painting provide a perfect backdrop for Kahlo’s self portrait. The vibrant greens, yellows, oranges, and hues of red grab the viewers attention. Once this attention is captured the audience is then drawn to the duller, softer colors of the Kahlo and the monkeys. Not only does the background contrast the foreground through color, but also through line. In the background, the many leaves are separated with wavy and haphazard lines. On the other hand, the foreground has one main subject and pops out from the patchwork leaves.
Although the viewer is attracted to “Self Portrait with Monkeys” for the vibrant colors in the background, the main focus is towards Frida herself. Frida Kahlo is known for depicting herself in many of her paintings. In “Self Portrait with Monkeys” Frida seems to be sitting in a rainforest in the company of four monkeys. By looking at Kahlo’s face, the viewer can see Frida with her hair tied back, connected eyebrows, and a faint moustache forming on her upper lip. She stares directly at her audience and the positions of Kahlo and her monkeys are similar to that of a family portrait. In this family portrait, the two monkeys clinging to Frida Kahlo both have their hands on Kahlo’s chest. Their tails are wrapped around Frida’s arms and their arm’s around her neck. This arrangement may represent how Frida is protective of the monkeys or how they are close to her heart. Frida Kahlo’s 1943 “Self Portrait with Monkeys” depicts Kahlo amongst a bright forest background with four monkeys, which are representative of the family she could not have in real life.
The leaves in the painting provide a perfect backdrop for Kahlo’s self portrait. The vibrant greens, yellows, oranges, and hues of red grab the viewers attention. Once this attention is captured the audience is then drawn to the duller, softer colors of the Kahlo and the monkeys. Not only does the background contrast the foreground through color, but also through line. In the background, the many leaves are separated with wavy and haphazard lines. On the other hand, the foreground has one main subject and pops out from the patchwork leaves.
Although the viewer is attracted to “Self Portrait with Monkeys” for the vibrant colors in the background, the main focus is towards Frida herself. Frida Kahlo is known for depicting herself in many of her paintings. In “Self Portrait with Monkeys” Frida seems to be sitting in a rainforest in the company of four monkeys. By looking at Kahlo’s face, the viewer can see Frida with her hair tied back, connected eyebrows, and a faint moustache forming on her upper lip. She stares directly at her audience and the positions of Kahlo and her monkeys are similar to that of a family portrait. In this family portrait, the two monkeys clinging to Frida Kahlo both have their hands on Kahlo’s chest. Their tails are wrapped around Frida’s arms and their arm’s around her neck. This arrangement may represent how Frida is protective of the monkeys or how they are close to her heart. Frida Kahlo’s 1943 “Self Portrait with Monkeys” depicts Kahlo amongst a bright forest background with four monkeys, which are representative of the family she could not have in real life.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Short Story #1
Pablo Picasso "Boy with a Dog" (1905), pastel and gouache-
The warm, crimson blood oozing out of the wound woke the boy instantly. The last thing he remembered before hitting the ground was the sound of scampering feet exiting the dark and narrow pathway. Using the last bit of strength inside of him, the boy pushed upon the cold earth and raised his body to a sitting position. Wet and littered with graffiti, the wall beside him served as his only companion and form of support. Raising his hand towards the gash, the boy encountered the main source of pain he now felt. He couldn’t help but wince as he touched the rough skin on his forehead, which was now decorated with streaks of dried blood. Bracing for the cold, the boy pulled on the shirt that covered his frail frame. He began moving towards the main road and light ahead of him, leaving behind a pool of blood darkened by the white snow beneath it.
◊
The warm, wet tongue of the seemingly old mutt forced the boy to open his eyes and leave his restless sleep. The persistent animal continued to nuzzle her wet nose against the neck of the sleeping youngster. The boy knew it was a plea for some sort of food and as his eyes adjusted to the light of the morning his mouth watered and his stomach begged for a meal as well. However, like the night before and the many nights before that, the pleas went unanswered once again.
With a groan, the boy pushed the four-legged animal off of his bone-thin body. This action alone shook the hand-crafted cardboard hut, which protected the boy and his dog from the harsh winter snow accumulating outside. The dog led her friend out into the small space between the two tall four-story buildings. To the boy’s left was the loud noise of the activities in the city he called home. The white snow that had begun to blanket the streets did not seem to defer the men and women who were still running various errands and hustling off to work.
Squinting from the harsh rays of the sun, the boy spotted the myriad amount of other huts that sheltered boys just like him. The pieces of cardboard advertised food chains and shipping companies and rested against walls in alleys across the entire city. Like the boy’s shelter, the floors of most of these huts were covered by a blanket or pieces of clothing found on the street, in trash cans, or stolen from local stores. Nothing was new or clean and the houses barely protected the boys from the rain, snow, or cold.
The boy pulled on the over-sized shirt that covered his small body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had changed the filthy garment, but since coming to live in the city the boy had gotten used to the feeling of being unclean. Suddenly, the boy’s knee buckled slightly. He looked down at the dog that was now by his side. The dog’s nudge reminded the boy of the tasks that needed to be done that day. There was a fairly new construction site a few blocks away and the boy hoped he could take some of the excess materials to add to his home. The middle of winter was when the city was always the coldest and a few pieces of wood or sheet metal would greatly improve the boy’s shack. However, the boy’s main chore of the day was finding some form of food for the dog and himself. He could walk to the city’s center and beg for change from the men and women who would feel pity and sympathy at the mere sight of him or he could search in various trash cans and dumpsters outside of homes or restaurants. With this decision still on his mind, the boy and his dog set off and began walking the cold city blocks side by side.
The boy wasn’t looking for a companion when he first met the dog a few years earlier. He had returned to his home one night and had noticed a grey lump moving slightly on the hut’s floor. He had stopped in his tracks, unaware of what waited for him three feet ahead. Summoning up as much courage as he could manage, the boy inspected the intruder that had invaded his home. Expecting something far more frightening, he was surprised to see an unsanitary, yet harmless, animal sleeping soundly atop of the filthy blue blanket that lined the shack’s floor. The dog had woken up upon the boy’s arrival and after staring at each other for a moment, the boy reached his hand out to the dog and offered a peace offering of scrap meat he had found on the streets earlier. From that day on the boy and dog barely left each other’s side, each providing the other warmth, companionship, and protection.
After completing the five block trek to the construction site, the boy and dog were saddened to see that many of the other boys that inhabited the city had already scavenged any worthy material. Snow had begun to lightly accumulate outside and the boy and dog reluctantly traced their steps back to their alley in hopes of coming across some food along the way.
Passing alley after alley the companions were giving up all hope that they would be eating any time soon. Miraculously, however, their luck took a turn for the better. About a block away from their home the two passed a darkened street that would normally be unnoticed by common pedestrians. In fact, the boy was already beyond the alleyway when he noticed the absence of his best friend. Having been together for years, the boy was accustomed to the dog always being next to him so much so that when the dog wasn’t around the boy suddenly felt incomplete. Turning around, the boy saw the dog staring into the darkened space between the two buildings. Cautiously he approached the dog and followed her glance towards the back of the alley.
Although he could barely see two feet inside the pathway the aroma hit the boy like a ton of bricks. The savory smell of some form of roast rapidly filled the air around the boy and his dog and instantly made their mouths water in delight. It propelled the two friends into a trance, and they began moving towards the source of the smell as if their feet barely touched the ground. They had been without food for so long that simply the smell of a freshly cooked roast was enough to eliminate the feeling of hunger which had been festering inside of them both for as long as they could remember.
The roast was resting amongst the newly fallen snow and seemed to be illuminated in a circle of light among the darkness. The boy couldn’t believe his luck. After years of surviving off of family leftovers thrown in various trash containers and bits of food stolen off of unsuspecting plates, the thought of a whole meal was too hard to imagine. Staring at the roast for what seemed like days, the boy and dog could not resist their hunger pains any longer. In an instant, the boy reached down and lifted the meal in his hands ready to run back to his cardboard shack and relieve years of starvation. Suddenly, in the same instant the boy stopped in his tracks.
At the entrance of the alleyway the sound of snow crunching beneath heavy footsteps startled the boy and his dog. He did not have to turn around to know exactly who had arrived. The boys who live in the city were all a part of an unspoken hierarchy. Being one of the smallest, the boy and his dog were inevitably a part of the lowest ranks. Above them were the boys who had the most elaborate make-shift homes normally located under a bridge or overpass and the top of the hierarchy consisted of the older boys living on the streets. These boys ruled the city; they traveled in packs and made it a point to evoke their power at every opportunity and on every other boy in their way.
The boy quickly searched for a place to hide the roast from the teenagers in hopes that his finding would not be as quickly taken away as it was found. His eyes darted back and forth from each wall littered with graffiti. Not finding any better option, the boy lifted his shirt and started to hide the roast underneath. As soon as he made the motion to move the food, one of the older boys grabbed his shoulder with a forced that sent the meat flying onto the ground with a loud thud. The boy was forced around and was met by a smirking face that stood inches above his own head. Immediately the boy shut his eyes and braced for the blow that was sure to come. Suddenly, he could hear the other teenagers screaming nonsense at their friend who held the boy in his grasp. The boy opened his eyes wide enough to see his dog attempting to fight the teenagers away and protect the youngster. The boy could see the teenagers running away from the alleyway, surprised by the dog’s actions. He realized that this was his chance to free himself from the teenager’s grip. The boy wildly began flinging his arms in every direction. He hit, scratched and pushed the teenager who held him capture. It was then that he sensed the dog by his side, as she was helping the boy in his struggles to get free.
Abruptly, the boy was released from his detainment and clumsily stumbled backward. He saw the teenager running away as he tripped over the barking companion beside him. As the dog began running after the teenager, the boy fell upon the wet wall beside him, his head immediately split open by the force of the blow.
The warm, crimson blood oozing out of the wound woke the boy instantly. The last thing he remembered before hitting the ground was the sound of scampering feet exiting the dark and narrow pathway. Using the last bit of strength inside of him, the boy pushed upon the cold earth and raised his body to a sitting position. Wet and littered with graffiti, the wall beside him served as his only companion and form of support. Raising his hand towards the gash, the boy encountered the main source of pain he now felt. He couldn’t help but wince as he touched the rough skin on his forehead, which was now decorated with streaks of dried blood. Bracing for the cold, the boy pulled on the shirt that covered his frail frame. He began moving towards the main road and the light ahead of him, leaving behinds a pool of blood darkened by the white snow beneath it.
Moments later, the dog arrived after chasing off the teenage boys. The savory smell of the roast was still filling the air as she entered the dark pathway. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of biting into fresh cooked meat that she had long forgotten the taste of. However, as the dog walked toward the awaiting roast, she stopped short of the meal and turned towards her only companion. Avoiding the collection of blood, the dog laid down beside the boy and attempted to keep his cold, stiff body protected from the falling snow. The dog whimpered as she began to lick the blood off of her friend’s forehead. In a matter of hours, the blizzard covered them both, leaving the food untouched by their side.
◊
The warm, wet tongue of the seemingly old mutt forced the boy to open his eyes and leave his restless sleep. The persistent animal continued to nuzzle her wet nose against the neck of the sleeping youngster. The boy knew it was a plea for some sort of food and as his eyes adjusted to the light of the morning his mouth watered and his stomach begged for a meal as well. However, like the night before and the many nights before that, the pleas went unanswered once again.
With a groan, the boy pushed the four-legged animal off of his bone-thin body. This action alone shook the hand-crafted cardboard hut, which protected the boy and his dog from the harsh winter snow accumulating outside. The dog led her friend out into the small space between the two tall four-story buildings. To the boy’s left was the loud noise of the activities in the city he called home. The white snow that had begun to blanket the streets did not seem to defer the men and women who were still running various errands and hustling off to work.
Squinting from the harsh rays of the sun, the boy spotted the myriad amount of other huts that sheltered boys just like him. The pieces of cardboard advertised food chains and shipping companies and rested against walls in alleys across the entire city. Like the boy’s shelter, the floors of most of these huts were covered by a blanket or pieces of clothing found on the street, in trash cans, or stolen from local stores. Nothing was new or clean and the houses barely protected the boys from the rain, snow, or cold.
The boy pulled on the over-sized shirt that covered his small body. He couldn’t remember the last time he had changed the filthy garment, but since coming to live in the city the boy had gotten used to the feeling of being unclean. Suddenly, the boy’s knee buckled slightly. He looked down at the dog that was now by his side. The dog’s nudge reminded the boy of the tasks that needed to be done that day. There was a fairly new construction site a few blocks away and the boy hoped he could take some of the excess materials to add to his home. The middle of winter was when the city was always the coldest and a few pieces of wood or sheet metal would greatly improve the boy’s shack. However, the boy’s main chore of the day was finding some form of food for the dog and himself. He could walk to the city’s center and beg for change from the men and women who would feel pity and sympathy at the mere sight of him or he could search in various trash cans and dumpsters outside of homes or restaurants. With this decision still on his mind, the boy and his dog set off and began walking the cold city blocks side by side.
The boy wasn’t looking for a companion when he first met the dog a few years earlier. He had returned to his home one night and had noticed a grey lump moving slightly on the hut’s floor. He had stopped in his tracks, unaware of what waited for him three feet ahead. Summoning up as much courage as he could manage, the boy inspected the intruder that had invaded his home. Expecting something far more frightening, he was surprised to see an unsanitary, yet harmless, animal sleeping soundly atop of the filthy blue blanket that lined the shack’s floor. The dog had woken up upon the boy’s arrival and after staring at each other for a moment, the boy reached his hand out to the dog and offered a peace offering of scrap meat he had found on the streets earlier. From that day on the boy and dog barely left each other’s side, each providing the other warmth, companionship, and protection.
After completing the five block trek to the construction site, the boy and dog were saddened to see that many of the other boys that inhabited the city had already scavenged any worthy material. Snow had begun to lightly accumulate outside and the boy and dog reluctantly traced their steps back to their alley in hopes of coming across some food along the way.
Passing alley after alley the companions were giving up all hope that they would be eating any time soon. Miraculously, however, their luck took a turn for the better. About a block away from their home the two passed a darkened street that would normally be unnoticed by common pedestrians. In fact, the boy was already beyond the alleyway when he noticed the absence of his best friend. Having been together for years, the boy was accustomed to the dog always being next to him so much so that when the dog wasn’t around the boy suddenly felt incomplete. Turning around, the boy saw the dog staring into the darkened space between the two buildings. Cautiously he approached the dog and followed her glance towards the back of the alley.
Although he could barely see two feet inside the pathway the aroma hit the boy like a ton of bricks. The savory smell of some form of roast rapidly filled the air around the boy and his dog and instantly made their mouths water in delight. It propelled the two friends into a trance, and they began moving towards the source of the smell as if their feet barely touched the ground. They had been without food for so long that simply the smell of a freshly cooked roast was enough to eliminate the feeling of hunger which had been festering inside of them both for as long as they could remember.
The roast was resting amongst the newly fallen snow and seemed to be illuminated in a circle of light among the darkness. The boy couldn’t believe his luck. After years of surviving off of family leftovers thrown in various trash containers and bits of food stolen off of unsuspecting plates, the thought of a whole meal was too hard to imagine. Staring at the roast for what seemed like days, the boy and dog could not resist their hunger pains any longer. In an instant, the boy reached down and lifted the meal in his hands ready to run back to his cardboard shack and relieve years of starvation. Suddenly, in the same instant the boy stopped in his tracks.
At the entrance of the alleyway the sound of snow crunching beneath heavy footsteps startled the boy and his dog. He did not have to turn around to know exactly who had arrived. The boys who live in the city were all a part of an unspoken hierarchy. Being one of the smallest, the boy and his dog were inevitably a part of the lowest ranks. Above them were the boys who had the most elaborate make-shift homes normally located under a bridge or overpass and the top of the hierarchy consisted of the older boys living on the streets. These boys ruled the city; they traveled in packs and made it a point to evoke their power at every opportunity and on every other boy in their way.
The boy quickly searched for a place to hide the roast from the teenagers in hopes that his finding would not be as quickly taken away as it was found. His eyes darted back and forth from each wall littered with graffiti. Not finding any better option, the boy lifted his shirt and started to hide the roast underneath. As soon as he made the motion to move the food, one of the older boys grabbed his shoulder with a forced that sent the meat flying onto the ground with a loud thud. The boy was forced around and was met by a smirking face that stood inches above his own head. Immediately the boy shut his eyes and braced for the blow that was sure to come. Suddenly, he could hear the other teenagers screaming nonsense at their friend who held the boy in his grasp. The boy opened his eyes wide enough to see his dog attempting to fight the teenagers away and protect the youngster. The boy could see the teenagers running away from the alleyway, surprised by the dog’s actions. He realized that this was his chance to free himself from the teenager’s grip. The boy wildly began flinging his arms in every direction. He hit, scratched and pushed the teenager who held him capture. It was then that he sensed the dog by his side, as she was helping the boy in his struggles to get free.
Abruptly, the boy was released from his detainment and clumsily stumbled backward. He saw the teenager running away as he tripped over the barking companion beside him. As the dog began running after the teenager, the boy fell upon the wet wall beside him, his head immediately split open by the force of the blow.
The warm, crimson blood oozing out of the wound woke the boy instantly. The last thing he remembered before hitting the ground was the sound of scampering feet exiting the dark and narrow pathway. Using the last bit of strength inside of him, the boy pushed upon the cold earth and raised his body to a sitting position. Wet and littered with graffiti, the wall beside him served as his only companion and form of support. Raising his hand towards the gash, the boy encountered the main source of pain he now felt. He couldn’t help but wince as he touched the rough skin on his forehead, which was now decorated with streaks of dried blood. Bracing for the cold, the boy pulled on the shirt that covered his frail frame. He began moving towards the main road and the light ahead of him, leaving behinds a pool of blood darkened by the white snow beneath it.
Moments later, the dog arrived after chasing off the teenage boys. The savory smell of the roast was still filling the air as she entered the dark pathway. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of biting into fresh cooked meat that she had long forgotten the taste of. However, as the dog walked toward the awaiting roast, she stopped short of the meal and turned towards her only companion. Avoiding the collection of blood, the dog laid down beside the boy and attempted to keep his cold, stiff body protected from the falling snow. The dog whimpered as she began to lick the blood off of her friend’s forehead. In a matter of hours, the blizzard covered them both, leaving the food untouched by their side.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Declaration- Animals
The concept of animals has been seen throughout many art periods. In fact, the first “known” artwork was of animals in the Lascaux caves. Since then animals have been used both symbolically and literally in art. The use of an animal can change the entire feeling of an artwork for the viewer. An empty, barren room is completely transformed with the addition of a favorite household pet. A simple self portrait can become intriguing and mysterious with some well placed monkeys. Throughout the history of art, artists have deliberately used animals to add and enhance their pieces of work. Most often the animals in a work of art represent something entirely different. Hope, love, anger, and many other emotions can be shown through a wild animal or a domesticated friend. Thus, for my concept, I wanted to explore the use of animals both literally and symbolically in art.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Art Critique #1
Franz Marc "Tiger"(1912), oil on cavasVI Concept: Art Critique #1
Franz Marc was a German painter who explored the use of color and shape with animals as his primary subject matter. His expressionist paintings led into the proceeding art period of abstract art. One of Marc’s famous animalistic artwork is the oil painting “Tiger” completed in 1912. In the painting Marc is able to create the illusion of a moving tiger, perhaps stalking its prey. The tiger is the main focal point of the painting and is separated by the background through its vibrant color. The background contains dull, muted colors, which allows the tiger to stand out in the painting with its contrasting bright color tone. Also separating the tiger from the background are the thick, black lines which outline the cat. Marc uses these lines to show the movement of the tiger. While looking at the painting, the viewer’s eyes follow these lines from the bottom to the head of the tiger, which helps create rhythm. Furthermore, Franz Marc uses geometric shapes throughout the artwork. This use of shape makes the painting appear choppy; however the shapes simplify the tiger and show the animal’s muscles as it moves throughout its surroundings. The geometric pattern in the artwork also creates unity in the painting. The tiger becomes a part of the background and thus Marc shows how the tiger is one with its environment. This concept of harmony between creates and their natural environment is one that Franz Marc attempted to accomplish in almost all of his animal paintings. Thus, most of his paintings camouflage the animal with the background of the artwork. The oil painting of “Tiger” exemplifies Marc’s idea through the use of line, color, and shape to create unity and harmony throughout the painting.
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