Critique #3

Portrait of the Young Artist At Work [1179]

Orig. Size 14" x 17" Completed March, 2007 Painted on Borden & Riley 108lb Paper for Pens using Dr. PH Martins 'Radiant CONCENTRATED Watercolors' Original concept and design by Lucas Anderson.

This watercolor painting by PH Martins has a strong aesthetic beauty to it because of the unique mix of colors and textures it contains. The composition consists of a symmetriacal balance between the easel on the left and the girl on the right. While the colors on the easel are more promienemt and portray the greatest emphasis on the left side, the shadows and texture making up the girls body and clothing allow a harmony between the two and mixing them in perfect proportion. Using watercolors creates smooth transitions between colors and a sense of movement particularly in the girls painting. The variety of colors is also very unique and not seen in many paintings which usually use one specific type of color pallet such as warm or cool. This unique splash of colors has a modern rhythm that all ages can relate to and enjoy. The contrast apparent in the girls body makes the painting more realistic, using different tones in the jeans and shirt to apply subtle shadows portraying the feeling of a sunny summer afternoon. This girl is obviously devoted to her painting, spending much time and energy making sure it is perfect. She does not care how much paint stains her clothes or the room around her, as long as her painting is suitable for her.

Narrative 2

Hi again. It’s me, of course. It seems like I have nothing better to do then talk to you lately, since Mommy’s always cooking and cleaning, and Daddy’s always working really late. I’m getting so excited because I’m getting so much better at playing the saxophone. I really love it. I hope Mommy is proud of me when I show her how hard I have been practicing. I know that Daddy always hoped for a boy that played football or baseball or something, I’ve heard him say that to Mom, but I feel like I just want to make him proud once, and this might just do it. Too bad he’s never home, so I’m not sure when I can play for him. I know I’m not great, but even listening to other people’s music gives me this feeling in my head like I just want to dance. I want to dance like a ballerina and spin around in circles. My first school talent show is coming up soon. I’m not sure if I should play my saxophone. It’s the one thing I feel comfortable with, but the other kids might laugh at me. They would say “what’s such a little girl doing with such a big instrument?” My friends all dance or play sports or shop a lot and like to look pretty. I use an elastic to keep my hair out of my face when I play, which is about all I do for style. They think I’m weird and different, and sometimes I think maybe they’re embarrassed to play with me, or even be seen with me. Is it bad to want new friends? Friends that understand me and like to play instruments and listen to music as much as I do? I feel like it would be mean to ditch my old friends just because they think I’m different. Then they might hate me even more. It’s like the only one that accepts me lately is my sax. It’s like my best friend. It makes me happy whenever it makes a sound. I can’t really say that about anyone or anything else. Usually when Daddy makes a sound it’s something I don’t want to hear. He always yells, so I just sit in my room and play until he stops. Maybe he should take more time off of work. I think that’s why he’s so upset all the time. He smells funny when he gets home too. Maybe his office is musty. I really wish I could play for him. Maybe if he let me play for him, it would make him happy too, and maybe he could feel how I feel. I know I’m just a little girl but I am old enough to know that I can’t just play saxophone forever. I know that dreams like those are for kids, just like how most boys in my class want to be professional athletes, but Daddy says they never will. I like to dream though, because I can’t imagine life without my instrument. Is it weird that I would choose to keep it over having a pet? Is it weird that I treat it like a pet? I’m not sure, and I don’t really care. It’s time for me to go to bed now. It’s Christmas Eve and Santa’s coming tonight. Maybe he’ll bring me a pretty case! I can’t wait. Goodnight! Love and Hugs, Sarah

Paradoxical Poem

To Keep Concise:
a paradoxical poem

I'm not much of an explainer
I like to keep concise
Because if I continue on
I'll have to pay a price

I'll put my audience to sleep
And that would get annoying
Because I like attention
And I don't like being boring

Keep it short is my own motto
Even physically you can see
My growth depicts my attention span
Short as one can be

I hate to dally aimlessly
And always ramble on
But last night I heard a strange noise
And guess what I came upon?

A large black hole appeared in my room
Taking everything in sight
Including my lazy old fat cat
So late into the night

Just as I jumped to save him
Something caught my eye
A leaf falling from the ground
High up into the sky

My world had been turned upside down
Literally, this time
Today I'm just confused
By trying to make this rhyme

Anyway where was I?
I like to keep things short
One thing I really hate
Is writing a report

I'm really glad this isn't one
A report, I will repeat
Even though I hate repeating
And rambling, I'll repeat

Paradoxes we should write
I found it hard to comprehend
So I wanted to keep it short
So here's my very end

Through It All (Narrative 3)

Her face shone so brightly that day, with a genuine happiness few can truly ever acquire. It’s still a mystery that she never found out. I’m sure if she had, that smile would have never existed. Lily was always seen to others as the perfect child. Her hair was so soft like silk, her face always radiantly shining, and her grades exceptional. Ashley on the other hand was the wild child. She rebelliously took out her anger against the ones she loved, especially myself, and of course her sister. She would always hang out with the same group of friends, mainly boys who liked to get themselves into trouble and vandalize, and she seemed to deteriorate day after day. There was nothing her sister or I could do for her by the time she turned eighteen. She stormed out in a violent rage, yet with a jubilant sense of freedom at last. Less than two months later, with her gang boyfriend arrested for cocaine possession, there she was, standing in the doorway, mascara running down her face, and barely able to hold herself upright. For a short time, it seemed like she had changed. She even planned a surprise eighteenth birthday for Lily. That was the day Lily first met him, at least REALLY met him. William was the son of a family friend, a psychology major who seemed like he could tell your every thought and wish just from looking into your eyes. (That DEFINITLY worked as a pick-up technique!) They had known each other as kids, all three of them, but never really became good friends. But today, for some reason, his scruffy brown hair and captivating sky blue eyes swept her off her feet, to some exhilarating place she had never before dared to enter. He released a more daring, adventurous person in her, taking her out of her shell which she always believed would be her home. Within a year he placed his knee on the ground and a jewel on her finger.
I would overhear her and Ashley talk about their past, present, and the fairytale life ahead of her. What Lily didn’t hear was the conversations and the furious scribbling in an abundance of small journals. Ashley needed a plan, desperately using her outside sources to create a distraction. Her adoration for Will was growing daily, and her passion to claim him for herself and finally cause her sister misery was an intoxicating goal, which she thrived to reach more than anything. She had pulled out every trick in her book. She placed women’s underwear in the backseat of his car, made up diary entries, letters, and emails, and even paid off a prostitute to arrive at their apartment like she was expected. None of this turned Lily away in the slightest, because Will’s eyes always professed the truest love in the world for her, and she remained content.
A few weeks past, and I found Ashley’s journals. What I read was the most terrible thing I have ever witnessed. Scribbles of “destroy”, “demolish”, “annihilate”, “murder”, and “misery” all sprang out in black ink. I searched her room, only finding a scattered pile of clothes and half open drawers. I felt an intense pounding in my chest as I grabbed my keys and sprinted to the car. I arrived ten minutes later to find Ashley’s run down jeep sitting on the side of the road by Will’s workplace. It was 3:55, and he was scheduled to leave at 4:00. I desperately tried to think of what she was capable of, and within the next four minutes, had come up with a horrifying solution. I glanced over at her car as she revved the engine and drove away. I jumped out of my car and rushed towards Will, where he was just beginning to walk out the door, fishing for his keys in his pockets. Each step towards his car seemed slower, almost unreal. 4:00 PM, my watch flashed, and so did the sight before me. The last thing I remember was placing my hands upon his chest and forcing him backwards with all my might away from that car, chunks of metal flying towards us from an astonishing blow.
One year later, Lily and Will were married. The ceremony was fantastic, and white light shone everywhere. Their love had always been so pure, and from what I’ve seen so far, it shall be for the rest of their lives. The only thing missing that day was her sister, who she had always wanted to be her maid of honor. She had not been seen or heard from since the incident, although I have witnessed her. She has been attempting to purify her heart and start a new life. She does not want to burden her sister any longer. Lily never truly found out what had happened that day, only that her devoted, altruistic mother had given her life to save another. Now I watch her from up here day after day, simply adoring her and the man who treats her like the precious gem she is. They have a true love that can only be matched by one thing, which is the love I have for them…my son-in-law William, and BOTH of my beautiful daughters.

Self Portrait

A Toast



A bold artistic license
I hope to share myself
My thoughts race through my mind
Here’s to new ones on the shelf

I used to know my limitations
Had it all planned out
This side of me is clawing through
I need to know about

How can I describe
Spontaneous and free
My heart floating about
Running with the breeze

Here’s to mood swings, mixed emotions
And college straight ahead
Letting 18 soar
And the old me left in bed

To love, to lust, to lose it all
And pull it back again
To life going in my direction
Every now and then

Jumping in the fire
Letting my past burn
Here's to starting new
It's finally my turn

First Narrative

http://images.easyart.com/i/prints/rw/en_easyart/lg/4/0/Devotion-Briton-Riviere-40338.jpg

Ella's Story

The warm but tattered blanket was slowly tugged from beneath me as I sat at the foot of the bed watching her toss and turn in a disruptive sleep. Tears fell not only from her eyes, but her forehead and neck as well. Thoughts raced through my head, wondering what was wrong and what I could do. Whimpering, I nudged her limp arm and a subtle moan was released from her mouth. There was a thick pounding in my chest as I rushed into her parents room, with a more forceful nudge on her father's large hand than I had given to her. His nightshirt smelled like smoke, yet I dragged him into the room with a strong tug. I felt hopeless sitting there in the corner as both of them felt Ella's head as she lay limp in her father's arms, no matter how much they shook her. Looking through the distorted image the cold rain created on the glass, I sat at the door watching headlights dim and feeling the sinking of a broken heart. Still vapid and limp, they carried her back in three hours later and placed her in the bed.

My little angel, the girl that made me want to wake up every morning, the one miracle I savored each day, was now as lifeless as her doll which lay next to her.

Rays of broken light shone in on her pink glowing cheeks as I watched from my usual bedside spot. Beautiful, innocent, and so young, yet she looked so helpless lying there trying to get herself up. I felt an icy hand touch the back of my neck, but I didn't mind this time. She needed me, and I was there for her every step.

It felt like yesterday, though it was a long 6 months ago, when she would chase me up and down the cape, with the sand being kicked out from under our feet. Her laugh, so soothing to me as I shook my wet coat on her heat drenched pale skin. Never in my life had I felt so happy as that summer, when everything was right with the world, and the glow in her eyes shone brighter than the sun.

Tap...tap...tap. That's all I could hear coming from her breakfast plate. Her eggs never ran, and her toast never crunched. I rushed outside ready for our usual morning swing, which remained as a tradition unless it was snowing or raining heavily. Unfortunately, even a day as beautiful as this could not bring her beautiful young face through that door.

To this day, I still sit outside after breakfast next to her rusted baby blue swing, hoping her intoxicating laughter will burst through that door and miraculously clear my now clouded and rusted old mind. I still sleep in her bed, with that same old tattered blanket, which now only covers pillows and her favorite doll. I cannot begin to describe the loneliness in that little room, only that it began even before she was gone. It began on that cold night, while her limp body hung in her father’s arms. Sometimes I still feel her presence on my fur, stroking it with her tiny, cold hands.

Never will I let slip away those unforgettable memories of our few short years together, no matter how quickly I age. Never will I forget my beautiful Ella, her undeniably uplifting laughter, and the comforting touch of her soft skin, which to this day, never leaves my side.

Second Critique

"Devotion"

By: Eric Renk

more about Eric Renk:

http://www.ericrenkwildlifeart.com/

Eric Renk is a self taught artist who has been painting wildlife for over 30 years. This limited edition image simply entitled "Devotion" is a prominent example of his intricate works, as well as a symbolic visual of the word devotion itself. The painting uses an oil medium, with a composition of realism consisting of two wolves nestled together by the moonlight. The proportions of both wolves against one another, with one being just slightly larger to show which is the dominant male, renders the idea of the female relying upon her mate to protect her. The hue of the moonlight creates a comforting atmosphere, and a passionate harmony between the creatures and their environment.

It is said that when wolves mate, they maintain the same partner for their entire lives. The perspective in which these wolves are shown allows the viewer to detect the sensitive nature of their feelings towards one another by the gentle glow of the moon. This aesthetic image depicts the concept of devotion in such a way that the viewer cannot help but feel touched. The allusion of fidelity indicated by both creatures' expressions creates figurative thoughts in their heads as if to say "I will never leave your side." There is no need for any abstract figures or meanings, because the simplicity of knowing that these two wolves will spend the rest of their lives loyal to each other is just one of the great forms of personal devotion to another.