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2012 Motley Online

3. Letter from the Editor

4. Van Giraffe………………………………………………………..……...Alexa Hoffman6. Poetry……………………………………………………………….….……Dev Thomas8. Age with the Earth…………………………………………………….…Casey Anderson16. Van Gogh’s Lone Wolf……………………………………………………David Costello18. Self-Destructive Mind……………………………………………………....Keenan Kent22. Crictor Comics………………………………John Rioux, Victoria Burton, Mia Cooney25. What Will Poetry Be?…………………………………………………….. Krysia Lesniak27. Lion XIV………………………………………………………………….Logan Herodes29. Lizzy Bennet’s Diary…………………………………………………...…..Caroline Ploss32. The Golden Ballroom………………………………………………...……Ryan Bonnvie35. Allotrion…………………………………………………………...…Vishva Nalamalapu38. Sequel to Sisters Long Ago…………………………………….………Keyanna Boucher40. The Bird in the Pear Tree……………………………………...……..Samantha Camuso42. Departure of Ships………………………………………………..….Graham Hauptman44. The Women of Art…………………………………………………………Emma Quinn49. Art Essay: Picasso…………………………………………………….………Jack Bernier51. Welcome to the Abyss………………………………………..……….Winslow Robinson53. Coucher De Soleil Sur………………………………………………...….Caroline Kyros55. Metamorphosis……………………………………………………..….Grace Mooradian58. ThreeKeys……………………………………………………...…………..Megan Finley

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Letter From the Editor

Why do humans create? What is it in

our nature that pushes us to make things

that were not there before? Why are we

never satisfied with that which already

surrounds us? These are some of the

questions I have been asking myself since

becoming a father this past November.

Consider the new mind of a child; open and

ready to take in all we can offer. Ready to

see, hear, smell, taste and touch everything

created by those who came before him. So

why do we do it? Perhaps we create art,

literature, music, machines, movies all to

prove that we were here. We cover our

walls, in caves or condos, with paintings,

drawings, prints and posters in order to tell

those we meet about who we are and who

we want to be . Parents display their

children’s art (whether on the fridge or in a

frame) to declare their love and pride of

creation to all who pass. I look at my tiny

son and think about how he will grow and

change and become a student and a creator

in his own right. He will make his own

marks on this world that we humans cannot

seem to leave blank. The work in this issue

of Motley is deserving of the finest frames

and bindings and yet reflects only a fraction

of the creativity at work every day in the

halls of FMS. Enjoy this magazine and be

inspired to make a mark.

Simon Adams

FMS Art

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Van Giraffe

by Alexa Hoffman

The famous artist piece that I decided to do

was Starry Night. Starry Night was one of

Van Gogh's most famous pieces he had ever

fabricated. I was inspired to do this piece

because I have always been fascinated with

the beauty of this particular painting, the way

it look so effortlessly paint yet so beautiful.

The medium in this painting is an oil based

paint, it is so thick in general, but the way he

leaves chunks of paint on the piece gives it

particular shadows and a 3D quality to it. In

my painting I did my best to use Van Gogh’s

style of thick short brush stroke with

movement across the paper.

The animal that I included in my painting

was a giraffe. I replaced the tree that was in

the foreground of the painting with the

giraffe, it was almost the same shape as the

giraffe. The material i used in my painting

was acrylic paint. This paint is not as thick as

oil-based paint, but it still works well with

Van Gogh’s painting style. It works well

because it is thicker than regular paint.

The most important Principle of Design in

my painting piece is movement. This is

important because in my piece i have to make

it look as if the sky is moving around the stars

and other obstacles in the sky. I do this by

short thick brush strokes of different shades of

blue, green, and purple. This created the

illusion of the sky moving. Also, there is this

one point in the sky where you can see the

wind blowing the clouds.

Van Gogh did paintings, adding his unique

style of thick short brush-strokes. He lived in

Netherlands, born and grown up in Holland.

Van Gogh was born in Holland in March of

1853. Van Gogh was a peculiar man, he was

extremely emotional and lacked in self-

confidence. In 1886 Van Gogh moved in with

his brother, the manager of Goupil's gallery in

Paris. There he studied art with Cormon, and

met Pissarro, Monet, and Gauguin. With

them he perfected his style and hoped that a

friend would join him in going to Arles to

found an art school. Gauguin ended up

joining him in his journey. The journey was

soon cut short when Van Gogh attacked him

with it, Gauguin stopped him and was not

injured. Although Van Gogh cut off part of

his ear lobe in the process. Van Gogh then

began to alternate between fits of madness

and lucidity and was sent to the asylum in

Saint-Remy for treatment.

In conclusion i do not think that I would

change a single thing on my painting. Except

maybe i would spend more time on finding

the perfect shades of the colors that I needed.

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I enjoyed this project the most out of any

other art project I have done in my life. This

is so because I have a strong passion for

painting an especially like copying a famous

artist’s piece but then adding my own touch

to it. I do think my project was successful, I

believe that i added my own spin off to the

piece, but represented it very well using his

style. If someone was to see it in the hallways

they would know that I was trying to paint

‘Starry Night.’

BIBLIOGRAPHY:Josephine, Cutts, and Smith James.

Essential Van Gogh. London: Dempsey Parr, 2000. 1987.

Print.

Eli Gratz Bird (after Miro) 2011

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Poetry

by Dev Thomas

Poetry is a strange language

Which has a long history in every country.

Poetry is a work of mysterious words

And rhymes coming together

To form herds.

Some poetry puzzles me with its exotic

meanings

While some of it soothes me

With its musical rhyming.

It has vast and endless imagination.

Without imagination,

Art, history or thought,

Poetry could not be made.

“Poetry begins with a lump in the throat”

This means poetry is formed when you are

trying to express something,

Whether uncomfortable or joyous.

It is something that flows out of your mouth

And onto paper,

It is not a test.

Many times poetry expresses feelings you

have,

That’s when poetry is best.

Poetry is used to express

Many thoughts or feelings,

Nothing less

One of the most common forms of poetry

today is music,

Whether it’s ballads,

Rap or country music.

What poetry really is,

Is beautiful;

Poetry is beautiful,

Beauty is endless,

Therefore poetry is endless beauty.

Graham Whiting Sports Car 2012

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Charcoal Self-portraits 2012

Mary Giglio Daniel Webel

John Rioux Jessie Claar

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Age with the Earth

by Casey Anderson

Description of “Women in Art” using image palettes

from Masefield’s Maine Schooner and Bradbury’s

“All Summer in a Day”

In the greenest part of the field the single tree

bloomed a flower with its colors mixing with

the shine of gold. Oh, how blue it was, and

green it was with the dazzling brilliance it

showed in the sun. At that same moment a

daughter was born. She was beautiful with

eyes that were colored with the sea, lips

drawn to perfection with her hair as naturally

brown as the bark on her tree that bloomed

with her birth. However she had no

knowledge of this tree that knew about her.

Years went by, and as she grew so did her

tree. The tree felt the quietness of the field,

with the bitterness of the wind going through

the leaves. It wanted to meet this girl. It was

tired of the loneliness it felt. As did the girl,

she began to lose interest in her friends and

family. They never changed. Everything in

her life was drawn to perfection. There was

nothing new or exciting about it. She found

that being by herself was more fun, but she

always felt like a copy of someone else. She

felt as if everyone around her looked like her,

dressed like her, talked and laughed and

thought the same like her. There was no

difference in her world.

How she wished she could be

different, to show everyone that she wasn’t

the same. She would tell herself that there was

something about her that put her aside from

the others, but she never knew what that

something was. Of course she longed to be

alone so she could find herself, but her

parents would never let her. They would say a

girl like her should not be different, outcasts

are not what people like. They wanted her to

be like them and everyone else. All she

wanted was to be different and she was

annoyed with the people similar to her. When

it would rain she would sit by the patterning

windows and look out upon the loud wet

world and dream of another world beyond

hers. A different world where she would be

different from the rest, a simple place where

she could escape. With the drum and gush of

water, with the sweet crystal fall of showers,

and then the gigantic sound of the rain falling

in tons and avalanches snapped her back into

her world. She was annoyed with the thought

of herself never going to be different and

pushed that thought into the back of her

head. She despised herself for doubting, but

continued with her life, with her clones

forcing themselves to think of new things to

9

Ashley Manette Tuxedo (after Manet) 2011

10

say to one another, and yet they failed every

time.

She waited for what seemed like

thousand upon thousands of days, for

something to happen that would possibly be

worth attending. She got her wish. Her

parents came to her and told her that they

were going to have a gathering at the park

next Tuesday. She didn’t think much of it,

same people, same conversations, same

everything. She thought about what would

happen, though she already knew. She and

her parents that were perfect like one another

would wear their best clothing. Her father

would wear his suit, black as coal, with a deep

red dress shirt, ironed perfectly so there would

be no wrinkle or fold to be seen. He would

have his hair slightly curled with the help of

his wife. She helped him get dressed and after

she would. She would wear her best dress,

flowing silk from her shoulders to her feet. It

was a soft light purple color as if it were spring

and she was a flower that just bloomed with

its undamaged color. She would wear her

crystal jewelry, clear as if the rain just fell on

the leaves on a tree. She put her naturally

curly hair in a bun on the crown of her head

and finished her look with rich red lips.

The girl didn’t want to put on her

dress. She knew that if she did she would look

like everyone else and that is what she didn’t

want. Although her mother made her, she

wanted something different. She took a thick

light green ribbon and tied it around her

waist. The green and the yellow of her dress

never went together so beautifully. They

appeared in the crowd of the other guests

outside. The other guests pressed to each

other like so many roses, so many weeds,

intermixed. Even though as they entered

everyone stopped and watched them, they

stood as if someone had driven them, like so

many stakes, into the floor. She felt

unwelcome and soon set out among the

crowd to see if she were any different from

everyone else. She looked at the women’s

dresses and no one, not a single girl besides

herself, was wearing a yellow dress with a

green ribbon.

For once she thought she was

different, then the feeling went away. No

matter what, she always felt like them. She

decided that she was best to be different if she

were alone. She pretended to chase some

other children behind a tent as if they were

playing a game. After the children left, she

ran over a hill and down into a field of

flowers. How the flowers mixed as well as

their color; it is unspeakable beauty! It was a

day to make your heart glad. She stood at the

top of the hill and gasped with amazement as

she felt harmony with herself fill her body.

11

She scanned the entire field with earth’s art.

The field was possessed with the spirits of the

wind.

She looked at everything and savored

everything. Then, wildly, like an animal

escaped from its cage, she ran and ran in

shouting circles. Her feet throwing petals

from flowers everywhere she went. She felt

the shining and shaking sun on her face. How

like a lemon it was and how hot. It was the

color of flaming bronze and it was very large.

And the sky around it was a blazing blue tile

color. She loved this feeling of her by herself.

She could do as she pleased and enjoyed the

little things that were happening around her.

She stopped and sat down on a boulder

covered in a moss that felt like carpet. It was

cool to the touch of her gentle hand. She

looked around her, taking in the beauty of the

field and the world.

Her eyes met with something that

didn’t quite fit with the scenery and the

feeling of this world. She saw to her right a

beech tree, just a single tree, the only one in

sight. She felt as if it were reaching out to her,

and she felt her feet moving her closer to it.

She could have sworn it was speaking her

name, calling her, needing her. She stood up

off the rock. She felt herself move, but she

didn’t tell herself to. As she walked through

Sarah Clement Storm (after Turner) 2011

12

the plants, the vines and thorns attacked her

legs. Clawing and scratching, she never took

her eyes off the tree. The pollen from the

plants that she kicked up left the trail. She

took in the air like she was leaving a trail of

glitter in the air wherever she walked.

As she approached the tree, she took a

moment to go back to reality. She felt the

sharp pain from the cuts and scratches on her

legs. She bent down to clean them and to

tend to her wounds. What happened next was

unspeakable magic. The wind blew and a leaf

on the tree fell from its branches. It landed

next to the girl. She picked up the leaf, and it

was as if the tree told her what to do, and she

listened. She took the oval shaped leaf and

pressed it against her cuts. She held it there,

secure in place with her fingers and then let it

go.

She was amazed and shocked when

the cuts were gone and healed as if they were

never there, but something about her was

different, not the different that she has always

wanted. She got up to look at herself to check.

She noticed her hair was longer, her dress was

shorter length than when she had put in on,

and also tighter. She had thought long about

it. She then realized that she had grown a

year older. The leaf that fell meant that she

had just grown another year. She looked up

to the tree and saw how many leaves were

left. She couldn't hold back the thought that if

she took another that something would

happen to her to make her different at last;

she would take the risk of taking years away

from her life to see a change in herself.

She started to climb up the tree, her

dress continuing to snag on branches and the

bark. It began to tear away at the bottom,

ruining her dress. The ribbon that she had

around her waist caught on a branch and

slipped away from her waist. She sat on a

thick branch and began to pluck leaves from

the tree and placing them to her arm and

letting them go to make the magic make her

older. After each leaf, she would scan herself,

looking at her arms and legs to see if they

changed, looking at her hair to see how much

it had grown. She would run her fingers

across her face to feel if her face structure and

looks were changing.

After every leaf the only difference she

saw was the normal. Her hair grew, she got

taller and her facial features became more

feminine. She was still a clone, a copy, one of

them. Leaf after leaf, she became more and

more disappointed in herself as well as the

tree. She couldn’t face the fact that she wasn’t

changing. She blamed the tree. The tree

made her stay the same; it didn’t want her to

change. It was mocking her and her similarity

13Nigel Dunn Still Life 2012

14

to the other people. She became enraged. Her

sea blue eyes became ice. Her anger grew like

the fire that kept the earth warm in the

summer. She took in the scent of disbelief and

horror that she will be nothing more than

what she is. She reached her hands up and

felt the sharp branches of the tree scratch at

her hands and she felt the soft, velvety leaves

of the tree on her fingertips. She leaned

forward, grasping the leaves and began to rip

them out of the tree, handfuls and handfuls at

a time. She felt her body change, she felt her

hair get longer dramatically and her body

warp with age.

As she ripped more leaves off the tree,

it became more of a struggle for what her

young body had once been. Being able to

move freely around the tree had now become

a challenge to stay settled in the tree without

falling out. She struggled to lean and move

about the tree to grasp leaves, and now this

old woman realized what she had done. She

looked at her hands and saw the pale,

wrinkled skin on her bones. Her yellow dress

was now ripped and shredded from the harsh

arms of the tree. She began to taste death, an

undesirable feeling. She knew that her time

was near, but she didn’t want to die from this

tree that seemed to want her death.

She told herself that she would allow

the rest of today to live, to tell her parents

goodbye. She stopped and thought. Her

parents wouldn’t know it was her. They

thought she was still playing with the children

at the gathering. She didn’t want to think

about it any longer. She continued and

struggled her way down from the top of the

beach tree. Her foot caught in-between the

tree and a branch. She struggled to get her

foot free.

As she fought, twisting her ankle

trying to loosen the hold it had on her, she

didn’t realize her other foot was starting to

loosen and lose its grip on the branch. She

struggled and had combat with the tree to

free her foot from its grasp and then she felt

herself fall.

She fell back, landing on a branch.

Her foot tore free from the weight of her

pulling it from the crevice. She landed hard

on the branch, her right shoulder hitting the

hard bark. Volcanic eruptions of pain burst

from her shoulder as she slipped off the

branch and the bark digging and clawing at

her arm. Falling once again, she dove through

a cluster of missed leaves; she couldn’t reach

to tear off the tree. The long bony fingers of

the branch whipped her face. As she hit the

ground, it sounded like a boom of thunder.

She couldn't tell where she was or which way

she was facing. She couldn't tell what was up

and what was down. She opened her eyes and

15

saw that the sky was of a blue unspeakable,

and the devil’s tree stood with few torn leaves.

She cursed at the tree, her life, herself. She

grimaced at the sound of her old voice. She

felt the cold breeze of spring sting her

wounds. She hated her pale snow face, her

waiting silence, her thinness, and her possible

future.

She saw blackness fill the blue and

white powdered sky. The sound of the

humming summer bugs became muffled. The

silence was so immense and unbelievable that

you felt you ears had been stuffed or you had

lost your hearing altogether. Her cuts and

scratches no longer stung and were sore. She

didn’t see, hear, feel anything anymore. She

could only think her last thoughts. A tear ran

down her cheek as she realized that if she

wanted change in her life, she had to make

the change. Instead, she had taken her life

waiting for something to change.

Anon. Metro 2012

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Van Gogh's Lone Wolf

by David Costello

For my piece of artwork I was most

inspired by the extravagant painting “The

Langlois Bridge with Women Washing” by

Vincent Van Gogh was inspiring to me

because of its loose paint stroke that covered

the piece. This is inspiring because I feel as if

my artwork is not as perfect as a photograph

but is a much more loose stroke and color

placement style. While creating my piece I

not only used Van Gogh’s style but I used the

subjects of the painting as well.

In my piece of artwork I positioned into the

picture a wolf-like animal that is perched over

the water in some thick sea grass. This

creature relates to my artwork because it

matches the scenery around it as if it had

been there in the first place. For the picture I

choose oil pastel due to convenience but

applied correctly it will offer the same effect as

Van Gogh’s oil based paint, helping my art

resembles Van Gogh’s as much as possible.

When explaining color in art it is

extremely simple, you just need to tell what

the actual color on the artwork is. Because

Van Gogh’s art relies so much on color this

element of art is definitely the most important

element that was put into my artwork. One

example of why it is so important would be

the fact that my piece is filled with a wide

array of vibrant colors that all seamlessly work

together leaving no trace of the original art

material they were placed upon. Another

important example of why color is so

significant to this piece would be the fact that

it helps the viewers brain understand what

different objects in the piece are along with

the separate strokes of color blended together

by the viewers eye.

Vincent Van Gogh was quite the

character, a man who you would say is “out

there”. This was related to the fact that he

was emotionally traumatized by the death of

his brother and from the suffering of his

mental and physical conditions one of which

was bipolar disorder. This really reflected in

his art work giving the viewer that same

intense feeling he had when producing the

product. After his death at age thirty seven he

had completed roughly 900 paintings which

consisted of colorful pieces with such a texture

unlike any other because of the fact that you

can see every brush stroke. His paintings

consisted of many landscapes and portraits

each with their own unique twist to them. He

had a tragic death of committing suicide

leaving his paintings to become the most

recognized in the world.

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This project has been an enjoyable

experience because not only did we learn a lot

about a specific artist but we had the freedom

to choose the what style of art that we enjoy

the most. If I had to do this project again I

might like to see that not only could we

choose from artist’s pieces which we replicate

on paper, but it might be interesting to

replicate something with sculptures.In my

opinion my project has been a success

because I have enjoyed the project, making it

easy for me to be engaged in my piece ever

class and also making myself want to strive for

perfection.

BIBLIOGRAPHYArt for children ByPaul Gauguin New York : JuniorBooks , 1998.http://www.vangoghgallery.com/misc/fun_facts.html

David Costello Lone Wolf (after Van Gogh) 2012

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Self-Destructive Mind

By Keenan Kent

A curious thing, is the human mind.

The product of a process we call evolution, it

is no more than a mechanism that allows

action through biochemical reactions in

response to stimulus. Due to modern science,

we can prove that, not only are our senses

lacking, we are nothing more than

coincidental organisms hurtling through space

on a speck of dust known as the Earth. What

is more, this speck, which is most likely far

from unique, is revolving around a massive

star on the left arm of an immense galaxy,

which is filled with many such stars, often

larger than ours. This galaxy is nothing more

than a microscopic blip on the radar of an

unfathomably vast universe.

Yet, strangely, this organ, minute

though it is, convinces us, the unwitting

servants of DNA transfer, of some great

purpose in our existence. The delusions of

grandeur it brings rain doubt upon the

assumption of mania being a disorder, but

rather a heightened form of sentience. The

sabotage it plays on us is nigh limitless, from

heartbreak, a fully mental and physical

creature (as are all emotions); to reverence,

false hope in some mystical being to satisfy

the carnal desire to matter, to make a

difference in this grand entity that is

everything that exists. To bring the

subconscious into light, and show what lies in

the deepest recesses of our mind, would show

that we all truly know that there is no why,

only how. Though hard to accept, deep within

is the understanding that belief, hope, dreams,

faith, all are just hollow assertions, grasping

out of desperation to know the unknown, to

feel needed, to just matter. This realization

leads to more desperation, until you grasp

onto the nothingness that is, in reality, the

truth. Yet we cannot seem to defeat it. The

brain of man fools us, lies to us, and in the

end, ruins us. We see that death is no more

than a body in a hole in the ground, that free

will is no more than a predetermined

response to stimulus.

Does this mean we should give up? I

think not. It simply suggests that we should

enjoy life, live it to the fullest, because there is

nothing more to it, just decay, dirt, and in the

end you return to the soil that gave you life.

This, however, is difficult, as success is

necessary to truly enjoy to the fullest.

Laborious work is required, but it makes the

enjoyment all the more worthwhile. Yet, if

this is so, why does the mind hinder this

development, this labor? It distracts us, and

causes our thoughts to wander. As the mind

turns on the host, as the focus shifts, that

19

Caroline Samaras Fish (after O’Keeffe) 2012

20

demon which consumes mankind nearly

every waking moment rears its ugly head. For

it is so, that this beast, this monstrous

creature, is within all, and the continuous, yet

partial attention it lends to each task becomes

a destructive force to be reckoned with.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and the

mind of man holds firm its absolute power

over its unsuspecting host. The endless battle

to overcome this great mountain of resistance,

to use that which holds us firm, to grapple the

demon to the ground, and steal its formidable

powers for our own purposes, are largely in

vain. All, even those few who recognize this

beast, fall victim to it, and it is implausible, if

not impossible, for those who know not what

they battle to best this forbidding foe.

I myself have many such challenges.

In a twist of cruel fate, in an ironic, yet

mournful tragedy, this mighty entity of love

and endless hate frequently consumes me

with thoughts of this exact betrayal, this

precise corruption. To my endless chagrin,

my musings always take me to this dark,

sinister place, where I have little to no hope of

escaping. My work is delayed, often

prevented, and this hollow, endless pit, this

void within my stomach, deepens, the

darkness closes in, and I am defeated. This

horrid creature takes hold, and my body

futilely attempts to battle my mind. Rational

thought is shifted, until the irrational, the

carnal, takes hold. Regardless of attempts to

remain firm, heedless of my feeble defenses,

Quinn Minnehan Cans 2011

21

in an effortless, unwavering mass of self-

destructive fury, this horrid realization takes

hold. It overwhelms the majority of my mind,

it has no competition, nothing can defeat it,

and to my disbelief and utter horror, I am

devoured. These musings become rants, these

rants become mindless prattle, mere gibberish

in need of deciphering, and that which holds

me above the many in understanding brings

me below the norm in all pursuits, until there

is no more to me than a shallow husk of what

was once my body, my rational mind. That

which I consider important seems to dissipate

in the shadow of this darkness, and I have no

choice. My mind focuses on this anguish, and

leaves my hand to fend for itself. That which

would have, could have been a smooth,

enjoyable piece of work deforms and mutates

into vomit spewed onto a page by the pen in

my hand, the computer on my desk. My mind

forsakes my body for thoughts of a truth

known yet not fully accepted, and I am

crippled beyond doubt, lost beyond sanity. All

attempts I have made to cease it have been

for not, there is nothing I can see that can aid

me, one of few who know this truth, one of

few who care.

The treacherous human mind causes

such suffering that it brings into doubt all that

is accepted as truth. The rational mind

cannot help but see the futility, the lack of

importance in petty emotions such as

empathy. Yet, these emotions exist

nonetheless. The seeming purity of them

brings doubt to all I have said. What is more,

quantum theory suggests that, in addition to

the three dimensions we can sense, there are

at least seven others we cannot. What they

hold, none can say. Truly, nothing can be

said with certainty, including all that has been

said in this piece. Thus, the contradictions

abound, I find myself the small fowl, flying in

ever decreasing concentric circles, until I

finally find myself staring at my own behind.

A curious thing, is the human mind.

Henry Norris Pacific North Weststyle Buffalo Mask 2012

22

John Rioux Crictor Comic 2011

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Victoria Burton Crictor Comic 2011

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Mia Cooney Crictor Comic 2011

25

What Will Poetry Be?

By Krysia Lesniak

What will poetry be?

“Poetry [will be] a deal of joy,

Pain,

Wonder,

With a dash

Of the dictionary.”*

What will poetry hold?

Poetry will hold emotions

That will have an impact

Through synesthesia,

Figurative language,

Synectics,

And additional tools.

What will poetry be?

Poetry will be the most compact

interpretation

Achievable.

“I know a poem [will be] finished

When I can’t find another word to cut.”**

Poems will be pertinent,

While nevertheless getting across an idea,

And conveying emotion.

What will poetry hold?

Poetry will hold structure,

Pattern,

And rhythm,

But it won’t require rhyme.

What will make it special?

Poetry will be special

Because it’ll be baffling to define.

It will be open to possibilities,

And that’s what will make it so

Compelling,

Engrossing,

Intriguing.

*(Kahlil Gieran)

**(BobbiKatz)

26 by Keyanna Boucher

Grace Dimick Chinese Dragon 2012

27

Lion XIV

by Logan Herodes

I chose the famous piece of art Louis XIV by

Hyacinthe Rigaud. This piece inspired me

with its detailed depictions of Louis XIV and

his surroundings. I am a very detail oriented

artist, and this piece was close to my style. My

animal took Louis XIV’s role as the main

point of the picture for the lion.

I included a lion in my artwork; the

original work depicts an aristocrat, and lions

are often thought of as kingly creatures. I

chose oil pastels as my medium because

Rigaud used oil paints on canvas. Oil pastels

can give a similar look as oil paints. The other

medium that can resemble oil paints is acrylic

paint, but oil pastels are easier to control than

acrylic paint.

Among others, I used the principle of

contrast in my picture. Contrast is when two

opposite colors, or lights and darks are used

next to each other to emphasize part of the

painting. I worked to make the background

dark so that the lion would pop out of the

page. Rigaud used a similar technique in his

painting to make Louis XIV pop out, so I

tried to make my picture follow his style and

used the same principle as Rigaud.

Hyacinthe Rigaud was born on July

18, 1659, in Perpignan, France. He painted

portraits for most of his work, and focused on

detail and making his central figure

prominent. Rigaud often painted aristocrats.

He had a friend and rival in this time whose

name was Nicolas de Largilliére. Nicolas did

similar work to Rigaud, but he painted more

wealthy people. Rigaud died in 1743.

This project was an interesting way to

explore new artists and mediums. If I could

change one thing, however, I would use a

different medium. Oil pastels can be

unpredictable and difficult to control, making

this picture fun but difficult. I think that this

project was a good example of what I am

capable of, so I would consider it a success.

My work was close to Rigaud’s style, and I

worked relatively well with a new medium. I

enjoyed this project, and am happy to have

explored new ideas.

BIBLIOGRAPY:Stoktad, Marylin. Art History. Third ed. New Jersey:Pearson Education, 2008. Print.

"Hyacinthe Rigaud (Getty Museum)." The Getty. Web.2 2 M a r . 2 0 1 2 .<http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artMakerDetails?maker=414>.

"Hyacinthe Rigaud." Madame Guillotine. Web. 22M a r . 2 0 1 2 .<http://madameguillotine.org.uk/2011/07/18/hyacinthe-rigaud/>.

28 Logan Herodes Lion XIV (after Riguad) 2012

29

Lizzy Bennet’s Diary

by Caroline Ploss

September 5, 1735

Dear Diary,

To-night, oh how wonderful to-night

was. There was a ball at the estate this

evening and I have to say I had the most

wonderful time. Perhaps not as wonderful as

dear Jane’s was, but almost.... sort of. Before I

tell you about my time at the ball, let me tell

you about my dear sister’s time. My older

sister, Jane, is the most beautiful of us all,

probably the most beautiful of all England.

She has golden hair, soft blue eyes, and a

personality that just enlightens the whole

world. Many who lay eyes on her, can’t help,

but fall for her. She never says a wrong word

about anyone, and she is always thinking of

the other, never herself. I must say, not only is

she my sister, but she is also my closest friend,

except for Charlotte, how can I forget about

her, and I love her dearly. I’m sorry, you are

probably wondering what happened at the

ball that makes me so excited to talk about it,

and Jane. A few days ago, this man by the

name of Charles Bingley came to Netherfields

searching for an estate. According to my

mother’s sister, Mr. Bingley found an estate

and has fallen in love it with it, it is to be said

he may stay forever. I hope he does, he is

such a nice person, I know mother wants him

to stay, and I think Jane will too soon, but

that Mr. Darcy, what am I going to say about

him. He is ignorant, has too much pride, and

he is just a very, very disagreeable man, I

don’t know how someone as kind as Mr.

Bingley can be such good friends with him?

Hm, maybe I will never know, but that is

nothing to worry about, I can live with it.

Anyway, back to Jane and Mr. Bingley, I

think they are falling in love. No man can

help it, but the second they seemed to lay eyes

on each other, a spark like none I have ever

felt seemed to flash between them, I could

almost cry with happiness, I wonder if I will

ever find someone like him. Well, it is getting

very late, and I’m getting quit tired, I think

I’m going to bid you goodnight and get some

sleep.

Yours truly,

Elizabeth Bennet

November 5, 1735

Dear Diary,

I am so angry at Mr. Darcy I can hardly

right, my hands are shaking with anger. I

finally had the urge to ask Wickham about

that day on the street and I am shocked to

hear what I have heard, but I can’t say that I

am very surprised. It seems as though Mr.

30

Tom Coyne The Moods of 8th Grade 2012

Emma England Emma’s PopArt 2012

31

Darcy as always been very, very cold,

especially, it seems to Wickham, but I really

can’t say I don’t believe it. According to

Wickham; Darcy and his father were very

good friends with Wickham, they use to spend

their childhood with each other, but once Mr.

Darcy’s father died, Mr. Darcy didn’t want

anything to do with Wickham. He sent him to

a school he didn’t want to go to, he would

give very little money, and than have nothing

to do with Wickham, there was also

something to do with Mr. Darcy’s sister, but

that I couldn’t understand so I let it drop.

Wickham had to go soon afterwords so I

didn’t have a chance to talk to him again

about it, but I really want to ask me questions.

I don’t think I ever want to talk or see Mr.

Darcy ever again.... I must warn my family

about this, but they won’t care, well father

and Jane might, but what good will it be to

them? Mother and the others already hate

him, so what is the point. I must go now, my

candle is short.

Yours truly,

Lizzy

September 13, 1736

Dear Diary,

I am now home and I am so happy,

mama is getting better, and guess what! Lydia

is getting married, I don’t know how it

happened, but Lydia is getting married.

Mama is more than happy, I swear if she

could, she would be singing and dancing all

over the house, ha, that would be a sight for

sour eyes. I can’t stand the thought of Mr.

Wickham being my brother now, that means,

oh I don’t even want to think about it. They

come home to-morrow, I’ll tell you want I

find out.

Yours truly,

Lizzy

Dear Diary,

Mr. Darcy helped Papa find Lydia, he

was the first one who found them, and got

them married. I don’t know whether I am

happy or upset, but whatever I am, I am very,

very, grateful, my family is too, though they

think it was uncle who did it. I guess he wants

to keep it a secret, and a secret it will be. I

can’t wait until they leave, Lydia is such a jerk

right now. Dinner, I’ll talk when something

good happens.

Yours truly,

Lizzy

32

The Golden Ballroom

by Ryan Bonnvie

The Golden Ballroom was filled with

women in long, colorful dresses, men with

sharp black tuxedos, and the smell of perfume

that was so strong you could taste it. The

lights were like fireflies or like pennies, and

the floor sparkled like the sun. The couples on

the dance floor were pressed to each other

like so many roses, so many weeds,

intermixed. It seemed like it came to a stop

when she walked in, people gazing at her

magnificent dress. Blue it was, and green it

was, the two colors merged so well in the

dress it looked like a river flowing into the vast

ocean. The woman walked in with such

elegance and beauty no one in the room

could compare.

As the night swayed on, the woman

began to become weak then the blue from her

eyes and the red from her mouth and the

yellow from her hair began to fade, the blues

and greens from her dress were slowly turning

into a dull grey. When the clock struck twelve

the woman was gone. Thousands upon

thousands of little particles of blue and green

fell to the ground. There was much, much

confusion among the crowd. The women who

were jealous of her were glad she vanished,

they felt in her shadow and menial. A couple

who were not accustomed to the glamorous

life of fancy parties and ballroom dancing

were dancing right next to the woman in blue

when she vanished. They were very uneasy

about what happened so they decided to leave

a little early.

The next day the couple went to the

local museum in their town. It was a very

large prestigious museum with huge exhibits.

For example they had huge sculptures in one

section, modern art, and a exhibit called the

Great Women in Art. The couple was very

fascinated with The Great Women in Art

because they were artist themselves and they

both love portraits. All the art is based in the

early 1900’s and all had mostly the same

poses. The only other person in the exhibit

was a little girl staring at one portrait. She was

a very frail girl who looked as if she had been

lost in the rain for years. The portrait had a

beautiful frame the color was like a blazing

blue tile color. The woman had red hair and

it was like a fire engulfed upon her head. The

little girl was so still and the silence was so

immense it felt as if time slowed to a stop. The

couple could not help staring at the girl who

started to talk to the portrait. All of a sudden

the lights were dimly, dimly lit and the

33

painting started to morph into a woman with

a blue dress and red hair who was surrounded

by showers of sparkles. Her posture was stiff

as iron. The couple was shocked to see it was

the woman from The Golden Ballroom.

The little girl was wrapped around the

woman's leg but the woman acted like she

didn't see her. They turned on themselves,

like a feverish wheel, all tumbling spokes. The

couple just stood there in shock of what just

happened,it was as if, in the midst of a film,

concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a

hurricane, a volcanic eruption, something

had, first, gone wrong with the sound

apparatus. In a flash the girl and the women

were gone.

Marcus Kinney Diamond in the Rough 2012

34

by Lydia Balzano

by Jaspreet Kohli

35

Allotrion

by Vishva Nalamalapu

For every individual, there’s that one

thing that never leaves our mind, that thing

that makes us stray away from all the

necessary work and instead focus our

attention on what entices us. This is called our

allotrion. Everyone has an allotrion, whether

it’s video gaming, Facebook, reading or even

playing with our brand new hamster. We do

this task when we are alone at home, have

free time, or even when we’re supposed to be

devoting our attention to other work and

cannot help but get sidetracked. While we are

working, the distraction floats into our mind,

like a cloud sneaks into a flawlessly clear sky

and stays there, sometimes even blocking out

all other thoughts. Everyone has an allotrion;

each one different. My personal allotrion is

what I like to call the “other” category. It’s

just doing these little, random, enjoyable

activities that end up swallowing up all the

time in my day. For example, playing with my

dogs, bouncing on the trampoline, doodling,

texting, hanging out with my friends, taking a

dip in the pool, and lots, lots more. My

allotrion probably takes up 10% of my day,

that’s almost 2 and a half hours! At many

times, when I should be doing dull school

work, my allotrion takes control of my brain

and distracts me from the work in front of me,

thereby making me postpone what I should

be doing. This is called procrastinating.

Procrastinating is when we put things off to

the last second. One might say, “Oh, I’ll do it

in 5 minutes!”. But then 5 minutes turns into

an hour, and an hour turns into a day. Then

one finds oneself scrambling to finish the work

the morning before it’s due. Each day after

school I am loaded with piles and piles

homework, most which I am supposed to get

done the next day. I try to start my homework

as soon as I get home but my allotrion usually

get in the way. There are ways to avoid one’s

allotrion. Here are a few, we could take just 5

minutes to make a prioritized to-do list of

what we need to get done. We could also pile

the papers or worksheets that need to be done

in order of what needs to be done first. We

should definitely take all distractions away

and sit in a quiet place where no one will

distract us. Also we could take a 10 minute

break after an hour of work to do our

allotrion but its tricky because most people

usually go over their time limit (I know I do)

so they could solve that problem by also

setting a timer to alert us when their time is

up. And, last but not least, we can set time

limits, when we need to get each thing done

so you will have a goal you can work to. If we

36

follow these steps carefully then we can

conquer our allotriom and most likely get

done with all their work and maybe even

have time to do our allotrion! It is extremely

important to be aware of your allotrion, so

you don’t get carried away with it without

knowing it. If we use metacognition, “thinking

about thinking”, you can switch the focus of

our mind from your allotrion to your school

work or music lesson.

Jeremiah Sands Paper Mask 2011

37

Max Fortier Striped Bug 2012

Gordon Payne Leafy 2012

38

Sequel to Sisters Long Ago

by Keyanna Boucher

Real ending to Sisters Long Ago by Peg Kehret:

Dear Willow:

I found the phrase you sent me, from your

dream. “Nuk ua em ennu en Xu ammu Xu”

is from The Egyptian Book of the Dead. It

means, “I am one of those shining beings who

lives in light.” I hope this helps you.

Mrs. Evans

Willow read the translation again and then sat

quietly, with the letter in her lap. “I am one of

those shining beings who lives in light.”

So Kalos had felt the white light, too.

She felt it and knew it made her special. She

wanted Willow to know, to recognize her own

specialness.

A shining being.

I do know, Willow thought. I know that life is

like the carnival, full of music and laughter

and joy. All I have to do is open the door and

experience it.

I knew it then, in ancient Egypt, and I

know it now. I am one of those shining beings

who lives in light.

* * *

The Sequel by KB

Now that Helen also had the dream

“about our past,” and I know what Nuk ua

em ennu en Xu ammu Xu means, we could

go to Mrs. Evans’ office and work with her to

talk to Tiy and Kalos. Wait? How can Helen

and I do this since she moved out of state. I

don't want to do this with out her. It’s her

past too. Maybe it would work if we talked on

the phone together and Mrs. Evans can talk

through the steps with both of us to contact

Tiy and Kalos. I’m Going to call Helen right

now.

“Hello,” says Helen. “Hi Helen, it’s

Willow.”

“Is everything okay?” Asks Helen.

“Yes everything is fine. What would

you think of trying to contact Tiy and Kalos,

with Mrs Evans.” Asks Willow

“ Would it work? I mean it’s over the

phone and we’re not together?” Helen says.

“Well let’s try and find out,” answered

Willow.

“Okay, lets do it tomorrow at 6:00

PM,” says Helen.

39

“Okay talk to you then bye,” Willow

says.

6:00 PM comes around. Willow calls

Helen, with Mrs Evans in the room to do the

session. “ Hi Willow” Helen says.

“ Are you ready?” Willow said back.

“Yes I am!” Helen said.

“ Alright, I want both of you to lay

down and clear your head, of all thoughts.

Everything except Tiy and Kalos. Let yourself

just drift into your past. Once you are there

sit quietly and explore, but when I snap my

fingers you come back to the present.”

finished Mrs. Evans. It was quiet for about 10

minutes. Then all of a sudden Willow screams

at the top of her lungs and is throwing her

body everywhere.

“WILLOW ARE YOU OKAY?”

Says Helen and Mrs Evans in unison..........

Harrison Pearl Still Life 2012

40

The Bird in the Pear Tree

by Samantha Camuso

My piece of artwork is a Pear Tree in

Blossom, by Vincent Van Gogh. I was inspired by

this artwork because it looks like the painting

might have been made in the spring, and spring is

beginning to come. I also thought that the kind of

paint Van Gogh uses is interesting. In this piece

we were assigned to integrate a animal into our

piece of art. I was able to keep the same style of

the artist but merge it into the same style.

Perched onto one of the right branches is a bird

that follows the same style of the painting. It

relates to my chosen painting because some of the

colors are found other places in the painting and

the bird is also done with thick paint. The

medium I chose to use for this piece was acrylic

paint because it shows the style of Van Gogh’s

artwork the best. This medium is thick paint that

shows the globs of paint that Van Gogh used for

most of his paintings.

Texture is the look of a surface, for example,

rough, smooth, or bumpy. Texture is important in

my piece because you can see the thick paint

strokes and where some paint is heavier than

others. In the grass the strokes may be thicker to

show darker and lighter tones. A principle that my

art shows is emphasis. Emphasis is giving special

importance to a certain part of the artwork. In my

piece I think that the tree is emphasized because it

is shown up closer and it also contains many

flowers.

Van Gogh was the artist that produced this

painting. He was a fan of impressionist paintings,

as he was an impressionist painter. Van Gogh was

a strange individual, for he cut off his ear and sent

it to his girlfriend. Although he is a very

recognized painter today, when he was living he

received little attention and only sold one

painting. Van Gogh was brought into this world

on March 30, 1853, he was born in a place called

Zundert, which was a county in the Netherlands.

Van Gogh was very interested in art and in the

late 1880’s he knew he wanted to become an

artist. Van Gogh did not always want to be an

artist, in fact he had many different professions.

At one time he was a substitue teacher, social

worker and preacher. Unfortunately, on July 27,

1890 Van Gogh passed away, many believe it was

from suicide, but that is not completely certain.

I enjoyed this project because I like to work

with paints. If I were to do the project again I may

have changed the way that the grass looked, or

take something out of the painting. I may have

taken out the trees or something in the

background. I think my artwork was successful

because it shows Van Gogh’s style of art but with

my own take on the piece. For the most part, I

really enjoyed this project.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

Ernest, Roboff. Van Gogh. Garden City: Harper &

Row Publishers, 1973. Print.

. "Vincent Van Gogh Biography." Choose Art.

G o l d e n s i g h t , I n c , n . d . W e b .

<http://www.chooseart.net/vincent_van_gogh.ht

ml>.

. "Van Gogh Gallery." Van Gogh Gallery. Unidev,

2011.Web. <http://www.vangoghgallery.com/>.

41Samantha Camuso Bird in Pear Tree (after Van Gogh) 2012

42

Departure of Ships

by Graham Hauptman

For my art piece I chose a painting by Paul

Klee, called Departure of Ships. This artwork

and style was very interesting to me because

of its geometric qualities. At first I chose

another piece by him named Tomcat. After

that I changed to this piece because I thought

it was much more interesting, due to the use

of balance and triangles. I used his geometric

style to create a lion on one of the ships in my

own art piece.

I originally looked at the sail on one of the

boats and saw a lion. It was a golden yellow

which reminded me even more of a lion. I

created my lion on a piece of all black

scratchboard, and as I scratched away the

ships, I matched the color originally used in

Klee’s piece. I started right away on this

medium because it seemed nearly impossible

to get a pitch black out of watercolor. I am

still wondering how Klee himself did that

nearly 100 years ago.

Balance is important in this project,

because most of the piece is black, and when

you have splotches of color all in one place it

looks disorganized. The way the triangles are

placed on the top, middle, and bottom with

the blues on top and the oranges and reds in

the middle. There has to be balanced in the

placement of color. For elements of art I

thought it was important to use shape because

Graham Hauptman Departure of Ships (after Klee) 2011

43

in many of Paul Klee’s pieces (including the

one I worked with) he uses geometric figures.

In my piece I made sure all the elements were

geometric figure, and this was one of the most

important ways to mirror Paul Klee’s style.

Paul Klee was a Swiss painter who usually

worked in watercolor. He was born in 1879,

and he died in 1940. He went to the Academy

of Fine Arts school in Munich, Germany.

Surprisingly, during most of his early and

mature career his wife, pianist Lily Stumpf,

brought in most of the money as he made

very little. This was due to the fact that most

artists (even the greats) are not appreciated

until death which is unfortunate because they

never make money.

The thing I most enjoyed about this project

was the geometric shapes. They were very fun

to make and they seemed like they added a lot

to the piece. If I had to do this again I would

have changed the way I colored the areas. I

used pastels when I should have used colored

pencils or markers. I think my project was a

success. It came out as I hoped it would (other

than the color), and I was quite happy with

how I drew the lion as my animal. It was

better than I thought it would be.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

http://www.sai.msu.su/wm/paint/auth/klee/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Klee

Connor AubeGas Pump Teapot

2012

44

The Women of Art

by Emma Quinn

The concussion of storms wavered

on, as the clack, clack, clack of feet echoed

throughout the crowded streets. It was a clear

day, a sunny day, a day of brightness and

splendor. Thousands upon thousands, of

women flocked into the streets, but none

stood out more from the great jungle, then a

group of lionesses, who wore their manes

proudly. These were women of great power,

lavishly depicted in oils and pastels. Flattery

rippled throughout the small group of

maidens as they prowled along the cobble

stone. Beneath the cordial waves and smiles

were nests of octopi that longed to kill each

other in one silent and stealthy embrace. It

was envy. It was greed. It was desire. Floral

scents tickled the noses of men, daring them

to follow the winged goddesses, but they soon

turned back.

The women wove themselves in and

out of dress salons trying to find the perfect

gown for the night’s event. Some of the

dresses simply did not compliment their eyes,

while others did not put the necessary color in

their cheeks. Soon they began to wonder if

there was a coin large enough to buy what

their hearts desired. Nonetheless, each

woman found the perfect dress that enhanced

their unique and beautiful miens.

When the sun retreated beneath the

turning world a myriad of coaches arrived at

the mighty abode. Women and men of all

statures gathered, but none had the same

dazzling brilliance as the women of art. The

radiance of their dresses bounced across the

pearlescent house, reflecting, as if it were

made of abalone. In this place, away from the

city center, everything was pure. There you

could hear the drum and gush of water.

There the once dull and dreary lifeforms were

bewitched into silvery jungles.

When the guests arrived a crystal

chandelier was the first to greet them with

pools of blazing light. The walls of the

ballroom were painted in a blue unspeakable;

obscured by swathes of shimmering fabrics.

The fabrics, woven in gold, morphed and

formed into cryptic patterns that glistened in

the moonlight. The men were dressed in top

coats and tails, while the women were clothed

in the most glamours of gowns. All were at

the height of fashion.

A single man, sat alone in a corner

masterfully crafting the notes of Bach’s

Saraband as men and women twirled and

swayed to the golden waves of sound. The

45

Grace Mooradian Moth 2012

46

cool folds of silk stretched across the women

as they waltzed harmoniously to the music.

They sang and danced on gracefully and calm

until they heard a knock at the door. No

longer was the hall full of laughter and the

colorful notes of the cello. All was silent

except for the soft melodic sound of a

women’s voice coming from behind the great

oak doors. Eager to see who lay behind the

opening a man opened the door. The eyes of

curious men and women devoured the dark

silhouette as it came into view. She was a

beautiful being, dazzling upon the eyes,

enticing the youthful souls with scents of a

summer bouquet. Her hair was the color of

the blazing sun, suspending the onlookers in a

blessed sea of no sound and no motion.

Like so many roses and so many

weeds, the women peered out from behind

their entourages trying to get a glimpse at the

hidden sun. They gazed at everything; from

her moon colored skin, to the long, flowing

confection of gossamer and tulle that wrapped

her thin body. Blue it was, and green it was,

and of a dazzling brilliance in the candlelight.

Their eyes followed her every step; hatred

and envy billowed inside their minds. They

hated everything about her; her pale snow

face, her waiting silence, her thinness, and her

ability to make all the young men swoon.

They feared her. Their fear grew and grew

until it evolved into pure envy. It was like a

fire in the stove; a never ending burning.

A pit of ebony swirled and twisted into

a creamy fury which blanketed the once

magnificent sky, feasting upon unhappiness

and feasting on fear, it lingered and grew

stronger. No longer did the women's eyes

reflect beautiful pools of spring. They were of

the darkest of inks; the darkest of ash. They

were death. For their once genial minds were

transformed into the most feared of creatures,

their inner-monsters, their inner beasts. Then,

wildly like animals escaped from their caves,

the women pounced, breaking from their

facade of bonhomie. It was an avalanche, a

tornado, a hurricane of enmity. They

sprawled and sprung until their satisfaction of

bloodlust was appeased. All the while they

laughed, laughed at their glorious victory, and

laughed at the terror of what they had

become. Nevertheless, the burning envy was

still there, the dire thirst more evident than

ever. At that moment they turned on each

other like a feverish wheel, all tumbling

spokes. They grappled and struggled until

only a few were left among the women of art.

The blood-red streaks of twilight faded

as a single shaft of sunlight split into hundreds

of fingers, vanquishing the last of the covetous

beasts. The sun brought warmth to the

47

bodies, to the arms, and to the legs of the

lifeless corpses that lay beneath the blazing

blue light. It was a clear day, a sunny day, a

day of brightness and splendor. Thousands

upon thousands of women flocked again into

the streets, but none stood out more than a

group of lionesses, whose manes shimmered

magically in the morning sun. Beneath the

showers of sparkles, and exuberant moods,

was an immortal thing that longed to stretch

it's glossy tendrils. It was envy, it was greed. It

was a never ending beast that plagued the

minds of the women of art.

Colin Coyne Shark Mask 2012

Rai Ting Liang Cat Jar 2012

48

by Katie Wulbrecht

49

Art Essay: Picasso

by Jack Bernier

My famous artwork piece was a self

portrait and was created by Picasso. I was

inspired by this piece because I had always

thought that Picasso mostly painted the

different angle pieces, so this was unique but

still similar. From my view, it was made by oil

paint and looked as though it did not take

him to long because I think there was not

enough detail, in the face and background. I

was able to shape my animal from the original

work because it kind of looked like it.

The animal I picked the white-faced

monkey, since I have seen them before and

found them hilarious. It related to my animal

by the eyes and shape of the head I feel, and

by the colors in the faces. The head was thin

and the eyes were big, almost like an

orangutan. I used the oil pastels just like the

artist and chose it because I needed to

smudge some of the colors together.

I would say the color was the most

important in this piece. I say this since there

really not just one plain color in a section, and

he didn’t really have a theme. The

background for instance, it looked brown

from first glance, but on closer inspection, I

noticed that there were lots of colors mixed

into one. I had to mix yellow, black, and red

into the brownish background.

My artists name was Pablo Picasso

and he lived from 1881 to 1973 and was of

the Spanish nationality, but lived most of his

life in France. He started as a child and

painted in a realistic manner. Soon, he grew

board with the style and he began

experimenting with different techniques such

as looking a object, and painting it from

different views and combining them. I believe

that Picasso’s artwork was hugely successful

because of the difference it had from other

paintings of the time period.The one

interesting fact about him is he could be

rotten to his children and wife, which

surprised me a lot.

What I enjoyed about this project was

the looking at the portrait and wondering

how to turn it into a monkey. If I could

change something it would be the way I

placed the colors on and layered them, maybe

a bit more messy like he did. I believe my

artwork was a success because I spent a good

amount of time choosing the right picture,

and then recreating it into a brand new work

of art.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

"Pablo Picasso Biography." Pablo Picasso Biography,

Paintings, and Quotes. Web. 29 Sept. 2011.

<http://www.pablopicasso.org/>.

Book: Payne, Laura. Essential Picasso. Paragon

p u b l i s h e d i n 2 0 0 0 .

50 Jack Bernier Bonobo (after Picasso) 2011

51

Welcome to the Abyss

Nothing will ever be the same

Nothing has been normal

No one will be the rain

None will be in pain

Once cast into the depths of the abyss

Now trying to claw the way out

Each time stumbling and falling back a little

The only way to survive

Is to relive

Living is dying

As dying is to living

While we live we love

And while we die we hate

We will never forget

But be forgotten

This is the way the world works

Its not just a game

Its a way to survive

That when you sleep you will never forget

This is how we survive

By

WinslowRobinson

52by Katie Wulbrecht

53

Coucher De Soleil Sur

by Caroline Kyros

The famous piece of art that I chose

was Coucher De Soleil Sur (Sunset On The

River Seine) by Claude Monet. I was inspired

by this artwork because of all the colors he

used and the direction of the visible brush

strokes. Also how he used short strokes with

lots of paint to capture the surface of the

water, the grass waving in the breeze and the

sailboats. I used the same style and I

incorporated some of the parts from the

original piece, such as the grass, water, and

sunset. However, I did not include the

sailboats.

I chose to include a horse in my

artwork because all the brush strokes made

me think of sweeping manes and tails. I used

paint to do my piece because that is what

Monet used and it seemed the best choice to

replicate the original style. However, Monet

used oil paints and I did not.

The most important art element in the

piece is texture. Texture is how a painting

“feels”. Not always literally but how the artist

depicts the feeling. For example, if you picked

up a rock it would feel rough and hard, so an

artist would paint in rough, hard and very

defined lines; to create the texture of the rock.

Texture is important in this painting because

Monet used so much paint and laid it so

thickly that he created the texture of all of the

subjects in his paintings.

Claude Monet focused on

Impressionism. He excelled in using small

strokes that, when looked at closely, appear to

be random dots but when looked at from a

distance become a detailed painting. He

painted this way because he wanted to paint

things as he saw them, impressionist painters

painted natural landscapes and used natural

sources of light. As soon as the light changed,

the would stop painting and come back

another day when the light was similar. They

painted with very fast dabs and strokes,

creating the textured look, and with very

bright, undiluted colors.

Monet was born in Paris in the late

1800’s, when he was five his family moved to

La Havre. One unusual fact about his is that

he tried to commit suicide in 1868 by

throwing himself into a river because of

financial pressures.

I enjoyed the freedom of this project.

We got to pick whatever piece and style that

we wanted. I don’t think I would change

anything, I love my piece.

BIBLIOGRAPHY:

http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/monet/

Book- BeauxArts, Monet. (magazine, special edition)

54

Caroline Kyros Horse (after Monet) 2011

Anon. Secrets 2012

55

Metamorphosis

by Grace Mooradian

The art metamorphosis project we did

was to get us familiar with a computer

program called Acorn. We were to express

what kind of person we wanted to be or what

dreams we have. We started by taking a

picture of us and then, using the program, we

turned it into something that showed what

kind of person we wanted to be or what

dreams we have. We also had to create a

background that was related to our

metamorphosis. Our metamorphosis’s had to

have a minimum 3 elements and principles of

art.

I chose to metamorphose my face into

a sailboat. I chose to change my face into a

sailboat because I love to sail and I want to be

a professional sailor when I grow up. The

dream it represents is that I want to compete

in the Volvo Ocean Race. The Volvo Ocean

Race is a sailing race around the world. I

have spent my summers since I was seven

sailing, so I thought this appropriately

expressed me in a self portrait.

I used four elements of art in my

sailing metamorphosis. I showed space by

having ocean and sky. Also the rocks and

lobster pot are bigger than the sailboat

because they are closer than the sailboat,

showing depth. I made the illusion of the

sailboat being far away and the rocks and

lobster pot close up. I showed the element

shape with all the shapes I have in my

computer drawing. I have a shape of a boat

and triangles for the sails. I also have the

shape of a star to represent a starfish. An

other shape is an oval. I used an oval to make

Emma Robinson Self-Portrait Collage 2012

56

a lobster pot. I used color with my reds,

oranges, whites, and blues. I used lines to

outline my boat and sail. If you look at my

self-portrait you can see those four elements

of art.

I used three principles of art in my

metamorphosis. I showed contrast in my self-

portrait by having the different shades of blue

for the ocean and sky than the bright red

boat. Also did this with the brown rocks and

an orangey starfish. I showed movement by

using the smudging white on the blue ocean

to create the illusion of water moving. I

showed rhythm by having different stages of

my metamorphosis. If you look at my self-

portrait you would see these three principles.

This was a interesting, fun, and

challenging art project.

Anon. Still life with Shoe. 2011

57

Meghan Cantlin untitled 2012

58

Classify life into three phases, if you would.

Pretend each will have a key,

Birth, childhood, and adulthood.

Along your journey,

You encounter emotions of,

Courage, fear and love.

At birth you have courage, as you wonder.

Everything is new to you,

Like hearing the thrilling, thumping, thunder.

You have no idea what you are going to do.

A yawning pit in your tummy forms

As you ponder in the first storm.

In childhood you face fear.

The first time you felt pain,

You looked down, and saw a smear.

The blood that dripped down, like pouring rain.

The color red,

Speaks evil instead.

In adulthood you face love, and pull through.

You feel alone in a crowd.

After the rough waves come pounding down on you,

The sand is now smooth and proud.

Until you reach the broken shells,

Or the broken hearts that fell.

-MeganFinley

59

What e’er men do, or say, or think, or dream,Our motley paper seizes for its theme.

-by-line from The Tatler (Eng. 18th c.)from Juvenal (Roman satirist 2nd c. AD)

Jared Nolan Cheesy Teapot 2011