The stage is lit up for 'With or Without You'
Splendid!
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Yeah! We'll shine like stars in the summer night!
The stage is lit up for 'With or Without You'
Splendid!
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
That would be Lukolas, Midsummer, Eucharisto , and myself in the Pacfic Ocean. Ahhhh. (I would be the insane one with a skirt on. Bad for freezing day, good for pictures.)Today has been pretty interesting, here at school. Here is what we learned in Cultral Anthropology:
* In Japan, the Pepsi company recalled an ad campaign that said ' Come alive with the Pepsi generation'. Nothing wrong with that you may say, but if you could read it in Japanese, it would say: ' Pepsi makes your ancestors come back to life.'
* The same thing happened in China with Coca-Cola, which to them says: 'Bite the wax-filled tadpole'. Hmmm. Sounds tasty, ey?
* The GM motor co. found it hard to sell the 'Nova' in South and Latin American countries. Might that be because in Spainish 'Nova' means, 'won't go, run, or move'. Sounds dependable.
Dr. Heifner was trying to show us the importance of analyzing every aspect of a different culture when 'interacting' with it.
I also learned I have aHistory quiz Friday.
I just came back from 'Wizard of Oz' auditions. I was the only non-theater student he asked to read Dorothy. Don't think that's going to turn out, however. Why, you ask? Well, I was the tallest girl in the whole room, and Dorothy is a little girl. How would you like to watch a play where the little girl was taller than all the other womens roles, and some of the guys? I would rather be 'Glenda' the good witch, cause she has a poofy dress, and a wand, and she is tall.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Wow! This is my longest post! ( It's also my first English assignment!)
"The sun is so bright!"That was my first thought when my mother woke me. My next was, "Why is she doing this? She knows we were out late!" But then I remembered, we were going to the Frist Center for the Visual Arts to see the exhibition of the Pre-Raphaelite Dream. For years I had seen the works of the Pre-Raphaelites in art books that I’d borrowed from the library. I dreamed of seeing some of these wonderful paintings in real life. As I was getting ready, visions swirled in my excited head of which paintings I might see. Maybe I’d see some of Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s work, or Sir Edward Burne-Jones’, or I might even see one of my all-time favorites, Marianna, by John Everett Millais. I could only hope!
The sun grew brighter as we made our way downtown. I put on my sunglasses and began to think about going to downtown Nashville. Big cities have always been so exciting to me. My parents would take my brothers and I downtown for special occasions: plays, exhibits, or to celebrate at ’Demos’, and the excitement still remained for me, even at age 18. This trip was to be no exception. Like a blinding ray of sunlight, my mother broke my nostalgic thoughts by asking me a question about art. My mother is largely responsible for my interest in art. When I showed promise in art at an early age she went to work: recording art shows, rushing me to exhibits around town, and securing painting lessons. She encouraged and nurtured my interest. "What is it exactly that you like about the Pre-Raphaelites?" I had never really considered it before, I just knew that their works appealed to my senses. We turned onto Broadway as I struggled to find the words, I wanted to sound like I knew what I was talking about. " I think it is because they are dealing with themes in literature, mostly Renaissance literature," I heard myself say, "and they’re so aesthetically oriented. You know, ‘Art for art’s sake’." That was a good answer. All she said was, "Hmm."
The sun was even brighter as we parked and got out. I looked toward the huge granite building that was the Frist. Before it was the Frist, it was Nashville’s post office, built in the ‘Art-Deco’ style of the 1920's and 30's. It was so ornate in design. " I love ‘Art-Deco’," I thought, " I love everything about this place." As we neared the door I began to shake inside. I was on the verge of being in the same room as the works of the artists I looked so highly upon. It was like the temple of art, and we were preparing to enter the inner-sanctum. Despite my sense of awe and reverence, my mother’s question still unnerved me. What was it about these paintings that captivated me so? I silently determined to find out that day. The janitor in his blue uniform startled me as he opened the door for us. How I envied him, being there everyday! "You probably don’t even appreciate it," I said to him in my head, "not like I would." I then turned up the magnificent staircase. My mother took the elevator, due to her heart problems. I silently thanked God that I could ascend the beautiful steps, a thrill I believed I’d never get over and relived every time I visited.
The sun spilled over the threshold of the room containing the exhibit. It was almost heavenly. I stepped across and found myself lost not only to time, but to my mother. I recorded in my journal every painting and artist as I viewed them. The first painting I saw was Proserpine, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The model was Jane Morris, the wife of Rossetti’s best friend, William Morris, and incidentally the woman that he loved. Many of his paintings bear her face, as if an immortalized declaration of his feelings. Painting after painting took my breath away, till finally I came to the last room. Then I saw it, in the center of the room, with a light shining down on it. My vision blurred as tears formed in my eyes. It was Marianna, my favorite, the one I had wanted to see the very most. In the illustration, dressed in a bejewelled blue gown, she stood up from her obviously feminine and confining task of embroidery, with fabrics spilling luxuriously from the table to the ground. As she looked out the open window, leaves rushed in. It was so beautiful, simply perfect in every way. After the initial elation and profound shock, I forced my eyes from the picture to read the poster to the far right, explaining what exactly was the ‘Pre-Raphaelite Dream’. Once I had read it, it hit me. I knew why I had always been drawn to these images! I turned back to Marianna as if to confirm my thoughts, and instead I saw my mother . Surely she saw the look of revelation on my face. " I know why!" I felt like I was shouting. She calmly asked , "What’s that?" I disregarded her question and kept on going. "It is the feeling that is expressed by these paintings, their message. The Pre-Raphaelites were condemned by the Royal Academy of Art, but they persevered, and they eventually overcame. They not only hoped for a better future, but they worked towards it, even when they were ridiculed. These pictures depict such a sense of inspiration, of hope!" My mother simply smiled at me. She knew me so well and understood what I meant. I smiled back at her and wondered if anyone else ever would.
The sun was bright when we stepped outside, but not as bright as my future. Right there on the steps of the Frist Center for the Visual Arts, I made a choice. I wouldn’t be resigned to fate, like Rossetti, wistfully dreaming of a life he couldn’t have. I would be like Millias’ Marianna, looking out toward my future and leaving behind that which tied me down. There was hope for change! "I am a modern day Pre-Raphaelite", I thought with a smile and a glance in my mother’s direction, "and I have my mother to thank for it."
The sun grew brighter as we made our way downtown. I put on my sunglasses and began to think about going to downtown Nashville. Big cities have always been so exciting to me. My parents would take my brothers and I downtown for special occasions: plays, exhibits, or to celebrate at ’Demos’, and the excitement still remained for me, even at age 18. This trip was to be no exception. Like a blinding ray of sunlight, my mother broke my nostalgic thoughts by asking me a question about art. My mother is largely responsible for my interest in art. When I showed promise in art at an early age she went to work: recording art shows, rushing me to exhibits around town, and securing painting lessons. She encouraged and nurtured my interest. "What is it exactly that you like about the Pre-Raphaelites?" I had never really considered it before, I just knew that their works appealed to my senses. We turned onto Broadway as I struggled to find the words, I wanted to sound like I knew what I was talking about. " I think it is because they are dealing with themes in literature, mostly Renaissance literature," I heard myself say, "and they’re so aesthetically oriented. You know, ‘Art for art’s sake’." That was a good answer. All she said was, "Hmm."
The sun was even brighter as we parked and got out. I looked toward the huge granite building that was the Frist. Before it was the Frist, it was Nashville’s post office, built in the ‘Art-Deco’ style of the 1920's and 30's. It was so ornate in design. " I love ‘Art-Deco’," I thought, " I love everything about this place." As we neared the door I began to shake inside. I was on the verge of being in the same room as the works of the artists I looked so highly upon. It was like the temple of art, and we were preparing to enter the inner-sanctum. Despite my sense of awe and reverence, my mother’s question still unnerved me. What was it about these paintings that captivated me so? I silently determined to find out that day. The janitor in his blue uniform startled me as he opened the door for us. How I envied him, being there everyday! "You probably don’t even appreciate it," I said to him in my head, "not like I would." I then turned up the magnificent staircase. My mother took the elevator, due to her heart problems. I silently thanked God that I could ascend the beautiful steps, a thrill I believed I’d never get over and relived every time I visited.
The sun spilled over the threshold of the room containing the exhibit. It was almost heavenly. I stepped across and found myself lost not only to time, but to my mother. I recorded in my journal every painting and artist as I viewed them. The first painting I saw was Proserpine, by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. The model was Jane Morris, the wife of Rossetti’s best friend, William Morris, and incidentally the woman that he loved. Many of his paintings bear her face, as if an immortalized declaration of his feelings. Painting after painting took my breath away, till finally I came to the last room. Then I saw it, in the center of the room, with a light shining down on it. My vision blurred as tears formed in my eyes. It was Marianna, my favorite, the one I had wanted to see the very most. In the illustration, dressed in a bejewelled blue gown, she stood up from her obviously feminine and confining task of embroidery, with fabrics spilling luxuriously from the table to the ground. As she looked out the open window, leaves rushed in. It was so beautiful, simply perfect in every way. After the initial elation and profound shock, I forced my eyes from the picture to read the poster to the far right, explaining what exactly was the ‘Pre-Raphaelite Dream’. Once I had read it, it hit me. I knew why I had always been drawn to these images! I turned back to Marianna as if to confirm my thoughts, and instead I saw my mother . Surely she saw the look of revelation on my face. " I know why!" I felt like I was shouting. She calmly asked , "What’s that?" I disregarded her question and kept on going. "It is the feeling that is expressed by these paintings, their message. The Pre-Raphaelites were condemned by the Royal Academy of Art, but they persevered, and they eventually overcame. They not only hoped for a better future, but they worked towards it, even when they were ridiculed. These pictures depict such a sense of inspiration, of hope!" My mother simply smiled at me. She knew me so well and understood what I meant. I smiled back at her and wondered if anyone else ever would.
The sun was bright when we stepped outside, but not as bright as my future. Right there on the steps of the Frist Center for the Visual Arts, I made a choice. I wouldn’t be resigned to fate, like Rossetti, wistfully dreaming of a life he couldn’t have. I would be like Millias’ Marianna, looking out toward my future and leaving behind that which tied me down. There was hope for change! "I am a modern day Pre-Raphaelite", I thought with a smile and a glance in my mother’s direction, "and I have my mother to thank for it."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)