tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74349968816393365442024-03-05T00:01:14.344-08:00Inhale; Exhale"Every child is born an artist, the problem is to remain one once they grow up." -Pablo PicassoEmily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-74678923438603935482013-06-11T17:32:00.001-07:002013-06-11T17:32:25.254-07:00The End.<span style="font-size: large;">I can't believe the end of the year is already here. I don't know what I've been doing these past few months but it sure feels like a blur. As my third year of art comes to an end, I can't imagine my life without it. The fun projects and activities that I've done have really helped my imagination and artistic abilities grow. Even though I'm not going to pursue an art major in college, I feel like this year was much more relaxed which allowed me to let go and allow my mistakes to make my art better. Not only have I fine turned my art skills, but I also increased my art history knowledge. From the artists we picked to do a project on, I learned so much about my artist's life that I would have never known before. Frida Kahlo and René Magritte will forever be known to me. Also, I have learned to recognize many other artists' works as well and not only the common Picasso or Monet. I never really expected to learn anything in art, simply more of being to take a class where I can do my favorite hobby. But I was wrong with my combination of three years of art classes. I have learned a lot over those three years, and I'm sure I'll remember those lessons later in life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-5175692213008513452013-06-08T22:02:00.001-07:002013-06-08T22:02:44.513-07:00My slide show<div><object width="480" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://pf.kizoa.com/sflite.swf?did=4682294&k=6799079"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://pf.kizoa.com/sflite.swf?did=4682294&k=6799079" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="480" height="360" allowFullScreen="true"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://www.kizoa.com/slideshow/d4682294k6799079o2/emily-donovan-2013-slide-show"><b>Emily Donovan 2013 Slide show</b></a> - <i><a href="http://www.kizoa.com">slideshows</a></i></div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-51806189553034611222013-04-28T19:01:00.000-07:002013-04-28T19:01:39.527-07:00My side project.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJDgVupzCADYDKlfscVQxZQgDCC39Rn-OHJTlRv-chtJZU-yCGVYM6-KWBHPWSKSnejkZjzr3myviqqPXXBxn-QaOpfk4gzIT-hWnsv86T6VJUwo18xPxO1dR62TjHvRn9GvSaHcvsQ/s1600/boxere.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJDgVupzCADYDKlfscVQxZQgDCC39Rn-OHJTlRv-chtJZU-yCGVYM6-KWBHPWSKSnejkZjzr3myviqqPXXBxn-QaOpfk4gzIT-hWnsv86T6VJUwo18xPxO1dR62TjHvRn9GvSaHcvsQ/s320/boxere.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
So here's a little side project I've been working on for the past couple of weeks and I'm actually very proud of it. So I received this box, made by my dear friend Alec, and it was completely made from scratch from a plank of wood. Now, being the type of person I am, I obviously had to use it but needed to spruce it up a little. So I broke out my water colors and set to work!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_ZMs9NqqR-UpGgaNIu5w8qywmFBtPB048DTBP0ikRwEa8lflwdByOyqXvupJJIoQG3RdnCTqx40T8zyUk3SEfpoMX4WMd2tkKdsLwHx_a6brDGeAbdc-BZ-vRea8iixgw60JGeq0rA/s1600/collage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR_ZMs9NqqR-UpGgaNIu5w8qywmFBtPB048DTBP0ikRwEa8lflwdByOyqXvupJJIoQG3RdnCTqx40T8zyUk3SEfpoMX4WMd2tkKdsLwHx_a6brDGeAbdc-BZ-vRea8iixgw60JGeq0rA/s320/collage.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_T-tMXHFMYADCtnrPd1v2Io3YkIW6zzNw1N0OrSXgfu-O4MVOk9CzjFtjcUuidjUqn8cdWzQAKlmA1ZfEXKHtug54zJwtlCUImAVjTLHTDIC3Gb8uLXqkzAiFAzMFzZBusX5KtkWTg/s1600/fahiha.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_T-tMXHFMYADCtnrPd1v2Io3YkIW6zzNw1N0OrSXgfu-O4MVOk9CzjFtjcUuidjUqn8cdWzQAKlmA1ZfEXKHtug54zJwtlCUImAVjTLHTDIC3Gb8uLXqkzAiFAzMFzZBusX5KtkWTg/s320/fahiha.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnTxM0FNzl1Vaix8tPiqzpGZ-yFstnvaFbbNQxm5FU4brP0UADSYHVmyXapETbwSUKePczH5abzBS72ZsVdIInjKt1w0EO3d_ItVWbsRiLSoFirGcNFErI2xtuDkKfYweWOXYtzY0mw/s1600/backefe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinnTxM0FNzl1Vaix8tPiqzpGZ-yFstnvaFbbNQxm5FU4brP0UADSYHVmyXapETbwSUKePczH5abzBS72ZsVdIInjKt1w0EO3d_ItVWbsRiLSoFirGcNFErI2xtuDkKfYweWOXYtzY0mw/s200/backefe.jpg" width="200" /></a> So to the right in all the characters from some of my favorite anime movies, such as Spirited Away, Princess Mononoke, and Ponyo. I wanted something that I'd always love and remember and seeing these characters are just about the right thing to always cheer me up. The small picture above is the front and back, the back being meaningful lyrics and the front being meaningful poems, both of which I'd like to remember for a while.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HjuvCK2zlDMw5DHMyhy-4PIYDZFlGvfrtOY2CZ4oojFiexnU6gG1WtrHHscf1xWnszIgfwU4xdKZQun5KBFaEa4cq_RYpSiPNUnexGZacbhI1rgnIGiW1xxFM2eKczadXq1BbtwVGg/s1600/firstee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_HjuvCK2zlDMw5DHMyhy-4PIYDZFlGvfrtOY2CZ4oojFiexnU6gG1WtrHHscf1xWnszIgfwU4xdKZQun5KBFaEa4cq_RYpSiPNUnexGZacbhI1rgnIGiW1xxFM2eKczadXq1BbtwVGg/s200/firstee.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
Here's a picture of the top before I added the coloring around it. It says C'est la vie, a French phrase meaning 'Such is Life.' I take this to mean accept what life gives us, whether good or bad, and move on from it. A phrase to live by I suppose. Below is a gathering of Disney Princesses but in different and unusual forms. some are simple and others are more model like. Obviously Mulan is my favorite with her appearance being on here three times, but can you figure out who the others are?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSiC9CFk0x5736aABBdDc8fJgbSTO0ZPQFW5rF1oLcxWbaldBNJAivDXTKRsjawcj6cuy4Iqm9Amo-7xmYdmmBZ7pabgJsFWkJ3SBUJjGbdryyc3G2f8yQ10674HsmmxoZGJlOSre-w/s1600/imageeeee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdSiC9CFk0x5736aABBdDc8fJgbSTO0ZPQFW5rF1oLcxWbaldBNJAivDXTKRsjawcj6cuy4Iqm9Amo-7xmYdmmBZ7pabgJsFWkJ3SBUJjGbdryyc3G2f8yQ10674HsmmxoZGJlOSre-w/s320/imageeeee.JPG" width="320" /></a> Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-1518191901676409952013-04-08T16:17:00.001-07:002013-04-08T16:17:52.552-07:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b> <span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></span></span></b></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">N E V E R T R U S T A </span></span></span></span></b></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">R E A<span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>L F A K E.</span></span></b></i> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The ball
had already started when she finished braiding her long raven black hair. She
decided an intricate up-do would work for the occasion but she did not account
for the time it would take to do it. “Ethric! Is my dress and mask ready?”
Eliora called to her house servant as she finished tying teal silk strips into
her hair. By this time Eliora was ready, she just had to get into her dress.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Coming,
coming, milady.” Ethric carried in a lavish ball gown, one that was handcrafted
to fit her every curve. Ethric helped her into it, lacing the corset strings in
the back until she could barely breathe. Stepping back, Ethric and Eliora
admired the tailors work of the dress. The blues contrasted perfectly with
Eliora’s bright green eyes while the greens were subdued enough to heighten
their color. Along with her black hair and porcelain skin, Eliora was a knock
out, and she could tell by Ethric express that she wasn’t the only one who
thought so.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Where’s
my mask?” Eliora asked as she was handed a bright teal and black masquerade
mask. Ethric helped tie the back on while Eliora held it in place with her
eyes. “I hope Calvin will trip over himself when he sees me.” Eliora grinned as
Ethric finished tying a secure bow in the back. So many days had she cried over
Calvin, her former best friend and future betrothed. After she caught him in
bed with not one but two of the housemaids, she called it off and though her
parents were furious at her, she couldn’t stand the sight of him. No that that
stopped her from wishing it never happened and they would still some day get
married.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You
look lovely Mrs. Gemsphere, I’m sure all the men will be rushing after you.”
Ethric commented as he found her shoes and gave her a once over before she was
ready to head out. “I hope so.” Eliora grinned as she took one last look at
herself before heading out the door to the grand ball that waited for her.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">*****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">All the
Lords and Ladys came to this yearly ball thrown by King Gemsphere. It was a renown
event that took place every two years, where only the wealthiest and most elite
Lords and Ladys attended. King Gemsphere always changed the theme up, forcing
his attendees to go along with his plan, whether they find it foolish or not.
The masquerade this year was his daughter’s idea, one that she seemed a little
too excited over. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Darling,
won’t you come welcome the guests with me?” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Mrs.
Gemsphere called to her husband as she danced her way forward. Lady Gemsphere
was a plain looking woman of average height and average build. The one thing
that attracted Yoren Gemsphere was her eyes. They were the most shocking green
eyes he had ever seen, ones that pierced into his soul and could read his every
thought. That was how the two met and after Yoren’s father died, she became
Queen Alyssa Gemsphere, wife of King Yoren Gemsphere. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yoren
smiled at his wife, flipping his own plain black mask down over his face. “Why
certainly dear, let us give them the royal welcome.” The two chuckled as they
lost themselves in the sea of people.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">While
her parents were off welcoming the late comers, Eliora was already taken to
dance by one of the Lords. Despite the mask, many people knew who she was from
the extravagance of her gown. The gems and jewels that adored her dress
sparkled like none of the other women wore. In her mind she may as well have
been queen. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Dance
after dance, Eliora was tired by time midnight came around. She wanted to rest
for a while and take her sweaty mask off. Her serving girls and maids kept on
dancing while she wandered off on her own. Out the entrance and into the halls,
Eliora walked slowly down the corridors, her heels in hand with her bare feet
against the ground. The concrete floor was cool, and Eliora was sure her feet
would start making the floor smoke, they were so hot. Finding a nearby bench
that had a view of the gardens, Eliora tossed her shoes behind her and
unlatched the window. The night’s breeze blew her braids gentle as she sucked in
deep breathes of the fresh air. After being surrounded by so many people fresh
air of her own was nice.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Just as
she was about to lift her mask to let her face cool, a shadow passed through
the moonlight, quick enough for her to think she imagined it. Curious, Eliora
forgot what she was doing and poked her head out. She looked around and saw
nothing; a shiver going up her spine that she dismissed was from the cool air.
She closed the window and latched it shut, telling herself she was just tired
and seeing things. When she turned to grab her shoes, she came face to face
with a stranger in an all-black tux. He wore a black mask that covered his face
and had an interesting curvature to it that she didn’t remember seeing in the
ball room. “Oh, sorry.” Eliora was startled but tried hiding it in her voice.
As startled as she was, her eyes couldn’t help but roam over the man’s body,
taking in his lean muscled figure, jet black hair, and relaxed but on edge
stance. Having nothing to do all day in a castle allowed Eliora to practice
picking up these little details of people to judge and analyze them.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Shouldn’t
you be in the ball room, dancing with all the other folks of the land?” Eliora
tried putting some authority in her voice as if she were talking to a lost child.
Instead of a response, the strange stared at her silently, capturing her gaze
by piercing blue eyes. They weren’t the usual blue that was common among the
people, but a deep, icy cold blue that seemed to strip her layer by layer. From
how close they were (how they got so close she didn’t know or notice) Eliora
could see little gold flecks in the sea of blue, making his eyes even more
intense. As if hypnotized, Eliora lost her pompous attitude and held his gaze.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Who are
you?” </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She
whispered, almost scared of this mysterious figure. Again her question went
unanswered and she was about to ask again but the moment she opened her mouth
she heard the echoes of screams coming from the ballroom. Looking towards the
hall she came from, Eliora started towards it but felt a hand grab her wrist,
gentle yet firm. “What are you-“She looked at the masked figure with confusion
and a hint of fear. “Follow me Eliora, your life is in danger.” A deep yet
quiet voice spoke to her, almost hurried. The stranger pulled her wrist and
reluctantly she followed, the screaming becoming louder and louder. “What’s
happening?” Her voice hitched, not allowing herself to imagine what was causing
those screams.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“No
time, we have to hurry.”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The
masked figure pulled her along, winding through the halls as if he knew the
place better than she. “C’mon.” They came to a door that led outside and ask
the man headed out her sudden pause made him lose his grip, leaving her in the
doorway. “This isn’t the time, we must go. Now.” He started towards her and she
backed away. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s going
on.” She crossed her arms, now frustrated. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Instead
of an answer that she hoped to get, the man put her over his shoulder and
headed toward the main gates. At first she struggled until she felt pressure on
her neck and the last thing she remembered was the minty scent of the man and
the sound of horse hooves galloping towards them.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">With
Eliora passed out, James rode as fast as the horse could gallop into the night,
Faster and faster he had to get away from the castle, knowing the people inside
would all be slaughtered by time dawn came. The plan had been to kill all the
royals while they were gathered together and then get out. But Damian had
bigger ideas, to just kill all the Nobles which would take care of the upper
class entirely. Despite James’s warning, Damian put his plan into action and
once it was set it couldn’t be undone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">James
knew the archers would shatter the windows while the others swung in from the
roof top. By time anyone knew what was happening all exits would be blocked off
by inside men who had access to the room. Soon he pictured the blood shed
starting, swords and daggers biting into flesh while blood covered the floor.
He was fine with the Gemspheres dying, but to take out everyone else was a
little much. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It was
only by chance James came across Princess Eliora. He went in the back way to
make sure no one escaped and there he saw her, bathed in moonlight that made her
perfect, doll like skin glow. His hand had automatically come to the hilt of
his throwing dagger, but absorbing the image of her made him think twice. In
that brief moment he knew he had to save her, even though it meant facing the
wraith of Damian himself.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Eliora
groaned, feeling like a wagon trampled over her. Her body ached even though she
didn’t know why and she came to realize she was on flat hard ground that didn’t
resemble the floor of her castle at all. She sat up suddenly, alert to her
surroundings. Her head pounded and she saw black spots but when her vision came
into focus she saw the man from the castle, mask still covering his face except
for his piercing eyes. “Who are you? What am I doing here? Where are we?”
Question after question spilled out of her mouth as she felt herself tremble.
Not only was she scared, but she was also cold, her dress doing nothing for
her. She wanted to get up and walk around, maybe even run if she had the chance
but when she began to move, she found herself not able to go more than a few
feet, her ankle connected to a tree stump by a thick leather strap. “Why am I
tied to a tree?” Another question came out and beneath her fear she felt rage
bubble up inside of her. She was Eliora Gemsphere, her father the king. No man
should be laying a hand on her. So to be kidnapped from her own castle and
brought to some little camp area in God know where? Absurd. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">James
could see the fear and urgency in Eliora’s eyes. He had been watching her sleep
for the past couple hours and though the temptation to lift her mask was there,
he decided to leave her be. He was waiting for her to wake, making a fire and
laying out some blankets he had tied to his horse. When she woke, he patiently
listened to her questions, not speaking until he was sure she was done. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Calm
yourself. We are a couple miles outside of your estate and I’m the one who just
saved your life. No thanks be necessary.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>James grinned crookedly, trying to ease her
fears. “I’m not going to hurt you, that’s why we had to run.” He could see her
listening intently, as if his words would give her some enlightenment. He
followed her eyes to the strap around her ankle and a smile came to his lips
once more. “That, my dear, is so you won’t run away and try to go back to the
others. It’s for your safety until you calm down.” James shrugged as if it were
no big deal. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Eliora
processed this, slower than usual. So she was with a strange man in a strange
location and she has no ideas what to do next. Great. Not sure how to go about
the situation, Eliora sat slump on the cold ground, silent until she eyed the
blanket. “Hey, er… could you toss me that. I’m rather chilly.” She tried
pulling a name out of him and she could see his internal struggle of giving or
withholding it. James tossed her two of the four blankets and after a pause tossed
the remaining two as well. “It’s James.” He said quietly, not sure if she would
hear him or not. Eliora heard him alright and was delighted he offered up his
name. “Oh, now we’re getting somewhere, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">James.
</i>If you could answer me next question of why am I hear that would be
superb.” Eliora spoke in her sugary sweet voice, trying to coax some answers
out of him. From previous guys she’s been around, she could see he was the
quiet type with a shy sense of humor that either needed a little push or a slap
in the face.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Once
again James contemplated on telling her what he knew; after all it’s not like
she could storm off into the night. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Well,
if you must-“ As James began speaking, her heard the call of The Lions. From
being so far away, it was a quiet sound hat would be missed unless you were
trained to listen for it, and because James had fourteen years of training his
hearing was acute and picked it up right away. “Shite” He murmured to himself
before jumping up. He untied Eliora’s ankle and whistled for his horse to come
to them. “We have to leave, now. They’re on their way.” Confused, Eliora’s
actions were slow as she tried comprehending. “Who are ‘they’ and what happens
if they come?” James finished tying up the blankets and stamping out the fire, sending
them into darkness. The only light that shone came from the moon, and both
their eyes lit up as if they produced their own flames. Grabbing the reins of
the horse, James motioned Eliora to get on. “Not until you answer my
questions.” She said stubbornly, stomping her foot like a child. Her plan was
to hold them up, but James had his own ideas. Picking her up once more, he
hoisted her onto his horse and got on behind her. They picked up speed as The
Lion’s roar came closer. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You
want answers? Fine, here they are. The Lion’s Scythe has been planning the
Royal’s death for four years. Tonight was the night you were supposed to die;
you, your mother, your father, everyone. All who were in the ballroom? Dead.
The plan was just to kill the royal line but they got greedy and wanted to kill
everyone. It was the perfect opportunity because everyone would be in one
location eating and drinking without a second thought of your lives being in
danger. I was supposed to cover the back for any escapees who might try and
flee. That’s where I saw you and-“</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Once
more James was cut off because of a sound much to close for his comfort. He
glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing at first, but squinting and
tightening his eyes he saw the outline of other horses and riders coming after
them. Eliora heard some incomprehensible words, most likely curses, being said
under his breath but her brain wasn’t absorbing what they meant. Her mind was
still stuck on the fact that her mother and father are dead, that it was their
screams she heard back at the castle. Her disbelief that any of this was
actually happening was only turned down by how stiff her body was from riding
and how the scent of mint floated past her as James leaned closer and closer to
pick up speed.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You’re
lying.” She whispered, her voice getting lost in the wind. She wanted to get as
far away from James as she could, but her rational side said he had saved her
life and if he wanted to kill her she’d be dead by now instead of being
deadweight on his horse. As James tried making the horse ride faster, Eliora
tried blocking out the noise, the pain, her thoughts. It was only when
something flew by her and warm liquid began running down her thigh did she
return. The pain wasn’t there, but touching the area Eliora knew there was
blood on her hands. The sticky, sweet smell came to her as blood continued to
pour down her leg. She was about to shout something to James until she heard,
rather than felt, another something else go by. She felt it passing her ear,
just about skimming it. Eliora wondered how neither of them got hit.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“We have
to stop!” Eliora felt the panic rise slowly, her heart beating faster as her
eyes stayed on the ground in front of them. If James responded she didn’t hear
it because an unnatural noise came from the mouth of the horse and they were
both going down together. Meeting the hard ground, Eliora grimaced in pain. She
wasn’t even sure where the wound was from how long and layered her dress was,
but judging by the wetness of one spot she assumed it was mid-thigh to upper.
“C’mon.” A hand grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She whimpered in pain when
she put weight on her leg, trying to contain just how bad it really felt. James
halted and saw the state she was in. Before she could stop him, she caught a
flash of sliver then heard the sound of ripping fabric. The bottom half of her
dress was completely torn off, leaving almost both legs bare. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">James
tore the strips of dress into thinner pieces and began tying them around
Eliora’s leg. “We have to find shelter.” He tied the cloth tightly and while it
still hurt, Eliora could manage a good limp.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“I don’t
think I can make it.” She said as he half ran, half dragged her. She felt tears
spring to her eyes though she wasn’t sure who she was crying for; her mother
and father whose dead bodies were still out there or herself for not being with
them. She could hear how much James was struggling and thought if he just left
her he’d be better off and almost as if he read her mind, James led them over
to a big oak tree that was dug out just enough for her to climb under. “I’ll be
right back. Stay here and stay quiet. Do not move until I come for you.” James
stared intensely into her eyes, the moonlight making his blue eyes flash
dangerously. Eliora nodded and brought her good knee to her chest while
applying pressure to her other thigh. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thoughts
of hopelessness and death washed over her along with a little worry for James,
who not too long revealed his name. Eliora just wished to be back at the castle
with her mother and father, dancing to the small orchestra and fending off the
young boys who thought they had a chance with her. It seemed like years ago she
was there having fun and now she was here confused and scared. She began
weeping quietly as images flashed before her and her head grew heavier. Not
being able to keep it up her head fell against the trunk and while it took the
pain away from her leg it also took away her thoughts and tears, allowing her
to black out altogether and let fate decide what would happen.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">James
ran straight towards their pursuers, daggers in hand. He had many small
throwing daggers on his body, along with a couple of knives and a fair sized
sword. As he came closer and heard the horses, James threw both daggers in two
different directions. From the sound he heard from the horses he knew he hit
his target. The sad part being he didn’t know how many targets he had. With the
darkness overhead, James had a small advantage of hiding in the tall grasses
that came in patches. He waited until they reached him and used surprise to get
one up on them. No doubt Damian was there, leading the others after him. Damian
was one man to never cross, and all his life James felt like a small cub when
Damian’s eye was turned on him. Seeing eerie yellow eyes that stood out in the
dark, James threw two more daggers and rolled. The horses were close enough
that he was able to roll under them and split their stomachs open. While the
horses went down so did the riders and then did James have a chance to kill
them. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Stop
this James, we know what you did and will forgive your sins as long as you hand
her over.” He heard Damian’s voice as a shock of ice ran though his vains. “No,
I won’t let you have her.” James knew what kind of men The Lions were, and he
knew Eliora would not have a quick death. Sliding back into the shadows, James
attacked from behind, cutting down man after man. He was skilled at fighting
and knew almost every man’s weakness. They all trained him, him being the
youngest recruit, and even though he was better than all of them he used his
young age and played down his skill in training so they would underestimate him.
His blades cut into the flesh easily and men kept dying. It was only when
Damian let out the loud, ear shattering Lion’s roar did everyone freeze.
“ENOUGH!” Damian roared with flames in his eyes. James hid in a patch of tall
grass, squatting close to the ground and listening closely. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“You
know I hate killing my own so I will give you one more chance. Hand her over
and we’ll forget this happened.” James watched Damian’s eyes scan the grounds
looking for him. By now James knew this night would never be forgotten with how
many men they lost, most by his own hand. Damian would torture and lock him up
if he were to go back now and James has had enough. Getting on his belly, he
began crawling away, even though he desperately wanted to get the last word in.
“This isn’t over James! We will find you and when we do you’re dead.” James
paused, holding his breath as he heard horse hooves come close to him. He
closed his eyes and prayed for invisibility while he stayed motionless. He
didn’t dare breath until he counted slowly to ten, twice. Opening his eyes,
James carefully sat up and scanned the area. He didn’t move from his spot for
another count of ten and when nothing happen he took off running to where he
left Eliora. He prayed to the Gods that she was still there.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">“Eliora…
Eliora, wake up. Eliora…”</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">She
heard a voice that sound far away and even though it called to her, she felt
safe and warm where she was and she didn’t want to leave. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Arriving
at the oak tree, James found Eliora unconscious, fear slowly rising in his
throat. He could tell her leg was covered in fresh blood and while everything
told him not to, James gently moved her out from the tree and laid her on the
ground. He wanted to shake her, scream at the top of his lungs to wake up.
Instead, James sat by her quietly, holding her cold, limp hand. “Eliora…
Eliora.” He said over and over until the name was burned into his head. He
wondered how his attachment grew to be so strong after seeing her for the first
time tonight. He never thought he could love another human being after being
brought up by cruel and merciless people. The Lion’s Scythe was all he ever
knew and they taught him how to be cold and heartless, to feel nothing and to
be disconnected from everything. That’s how good assassins were made. But now,
James thought he fooled himself all those years into believe he was like that,
because after seeing Eliora it seemed like something was unlocked inside of him,
the key finally being turned. Seeing Eliora’s sparkling green eyes opened a new
window for him, and almost instantly he realized that this was what he had been
waiting for and everything in his body told him to protect this girl despite
the consequences he’d have to face.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But now
none of that mattered. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Eliora
was gone.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">****</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Being
pulled from the dark depths of sleep, Eliora blinked her eyes open to sun
streaming in from the windows. She squinted and closed them again, her head
pounding while a dull throb pulsed in her leg. She wanted to sit up, but the
effort felt out of her reach. Blinking her eyes open again she saw a plump
woman wearing all white, looking down on her. “That was a close call, Miss.
When he brought you in I thought for sure you were gone from the amount of
blood on you.” Confused, Eliora tried sitting up again and this time succeed.
Her head and limbs felt heavy but she kept herself up, looking around. She
didn’t know where she was or how she got here, but no longer did she wear her
blue and green gown or her masquerade mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She opened her mouth to speak but the only thing that came out was a
jumble of words that she herself didn’t understand. “Now, now dear, the pain
medication will hinder you for a while longer. It’s best if you just try and
get some rest.” The kind woman gently pushed her back onto the bed, the soft
pillow welcoming her head. The woman left, leaving Eliora to her thoughts.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Eliora
weaved in and out of sleep, broken images coming and going in her dreams. The
one thing she clearly remembers in every dream is strikingly cold blue eyes.
They kept reoccurring and when she opened her eyes again they stared above her,
attached to a masked figure. “Eliora, my sweet” The masked figure smiled. She
tried speaking again but her words were jumbled which got her a small chuckle
“You are safe and we will be together again. I promise.” The man reached down
and kissed her softly on the lips. The smell of mint reached her and she
breathed in deeply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Eliora
blinked and found herself alone. Her thoughts were blank but a feeling of
content washed over her, as if her problems could be put on hold for a while. She
felt relaxed and light, wondering if it was from the pain meds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her vision darkened and even as she tried
blinking the darkness away, startling blue eyes glowed and called to her,
allowing her to let go and get lost in her dreams to be with the man they
belonged to.</span></div>
Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-67524804165966709212013-01-17T17:04:00.000-08:002013-01-17T17:04:01.210-08:00Blind Contour<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQosCC8tFNMDFvHA8-Csv_Vun_RdGmxtxE0sPdKsgrBcniC0VQsRfq5ntLWAozpNQ7tvP3vqxxUScDFrXgk07lOfEXuuLymo2yw7Znhd37RFO9LaUitrt_HvegbyWlLSD-ny_G-dlg/s1600/100_7473.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbQosCC8tFNMDFvHA8-Csv_Vun_RdGmxtxE0sPdKsgrBcniC0VQsRfq5ntLWAozpNQ7tvP3vqxxUScDFrXgk07lOfEXuuLymo2yw7Znhd37RFO9LaUitrt_HvegbyWlLSD-ny_G-dlg/s400/100_7473.JPG" width="256" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">This year as another assignment for our book we were told to do a blind contour drawing of ourselves. I remember having to do these in middle school where it wasn't of ourselves but of other people. It was a little awkward, staring into someone else's face for a long period of time so this was much better. The self portrait was fun, even though I hated almost all of the ones I came out with. But finally I decided to choose my favorite and this is the one that ended up being the best.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMhgTAQ5uo0wTUHS4IrAm7xfR_6_MSJRJqjHYNY9k_usw6_S1RwRnaFc9p8eZVm7BmUYPLzctufZ2SWfBYJlDpWcdvdf01wpHzEPe50ZHnkjClTQsJSNjXyHXMX05E-ZifXb6aC0lJg/s1600/yuoyu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBMhgTAQ5uo0wTUHS4IrAm7xfR_6_MSJRJqjHYNY9k_usw6_S1RwRnaFc9p8eZVm7BmUYPLzctufZ2SWfBYJlDpWcdvdf01wpHzEPe50ZHnkjClTQsJSNjXyHXMX05E-ZifXb6aC0lJg/s400/yuoyu.JPG" width="300" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">We had to write certain questions given to us to add into our picture. I wasn't really sure how to go about this but sort of winged it with the placement and fonts. I like how it looks so far and I'm deathly afraid of adding color. But I know the color will only enhance it (I hope) and that I shouldn't be too afraid since things usually come out alright. My <span style="font-size: small;">intentions</span> now are to finish going over the text with black in<span style="font-size: small;">k and then ma<span style="font-size: small;">ybe dripping <span style="font-size: small;">color down from the top of the page. Just got to find a way to do that without bleeding the ink too much.</span></span></span></span></span>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-16875112131878579552013-01-17T16:59:00.000-08:002013-01-17T16:59:25.056-08:00Lanterns<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0ZTzigKYxX-05vqx2-6fcmWL5GyH5Ef8nvUpiQY1fnEjn_GjVbZfapL2hVIzdfhFSWDDmM7Pd4kAUP9ShJPUz1OW2nQPu1Vrrj5QLIHzi_QP9UeLQf7u4nXbyFQAQr2cTOikY4SPDg/s1600/nj.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid0ZTzigKYxX-05vqx2-6fcmWL5GyH5Ef8nvUpiQY1fnEjn_GjVbZfapL2hVIzdfhFSWDDmM7Pd4kAUP9ShJPUz1OW2nQPu1Vrrj5QLIHzi_QP9UeLQf7u4nXbyFQAQr2cTOikY4SPDg/s400/nj.JPG" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the beginning of the year we got to make paper lanterns based off of a season of our choice. I choose winter, obviously from the naked trees, and based my lantern on how the trees lose their leaves and how intricate the winding branches look. In the beginning of starting my lantern, we were given fresh exact-o knifes, and as our </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCYuXe5U5k64Ehw1xo_wj5ECR9s2CW9lhoFBOvmV4gu6EYPOVTVK40hetDMJ0KSSBHKwidBT6jS89rhJy4IHR6-VpiX6G2RRDh7uthajg7t0qokWjYBQ91_gXzrtxWdbdcr9i3VWHtQ/s1600/photo7969.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCCYuXe5U5k64Ehw1xo_wj5ECR9s2CW9lhoFBOvmV4gu6EYPOVTVK40hetDMJ0KSSBHKwidBT6jS89rhJy4IHR6-VpiX6G2RRDh7uthajg7t0qokWjYBQ91_gXzrtxWdbdcr9i3VWHtQ/s320/photo7969.JPG" width="286" /></a>teacher was explaining on how to <i>carefully</i> take the cap off of the blade, I ended up pulling the cap off and slicing my hand in one swift motion. I got about a two inch cut and needed stitches, but in the end my hand was alright. That was probably the most exciting part of my lantern process.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">But I really loved cutting out the paper for this. How the blade moved gracefully over the paper and made a clean cut every time. Soon enough I would be left with an outline of trees and eventually it would look like a forest. Putting the tracing paper over it made the lantern come together. I really like how it looks when it's lit. It looks eerie and mysterious. Almost like the big bad wolf could be hiding within those trees.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhQo-JeUm7H_PkMOMvace-OP7KO1uPvmc1pdVIp6v1UzOaIuKE1KVmfitdJCYD0I7xMkRtT6Ay_VRRwgBmjLCEZ05uA50c_ymES0r6yR115t4Q_JC3xq3q8fUvq_i2WQ1W-BOKqauNA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYhQo-JeUm7H_PkMOMvace-OP7KO1uPvmc1pdVIp6v1UzOaIuKE1KVmfitdJCYD0I7xMkRtT6Ay_VRRwgBmjLCEZ05uA50c_ymES0r6yR115t4Q_JC3xq3q8fUvq_i2WQ1W-BOKqauNA/s400/photo.JPG" width="298" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I also had time to create another, smaller, lantern. There was the dilemma of which was to fold it since both sides looked good but in the end I chose the less appealing side to show because when it is lit up the inside looks amazing. This one is clearly mysterious and dark, something I was going for. I painted the tracing paper black to give even more of a shadow which made this lantern even better. The only thing I dislike would be how small and cylindrical it is. I wish it were as big as my other one</span>.</span><br />
<br />Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-24298958624087711612013-01-17T16:54:00.004-08:002013-01-17T16:54:41.087-08:00Empty Bowls<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAd4oBgMiyG78JmAZktqrHr-2KSoQ7uMr_8r0ppN1T90D8rCzDCGu61erb-kv9EcdE6mjXWorHSOyzShzQQbUA9nzetANS8MSCkiqGAtKLYNry4k-W4cXPw2NmPHRaNf8-QQbTtl0-A/s1600/100_7469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAd4oBgMiyG78JmAZktqrHr-2KSoQ7uMr_8r0ppN1T90D8rCzDCGu61erb-kv9EcdE6mjXWorHSOyzShzQQbUA9nzetANS8MSCkiqGAtKLYNry4k-W4cXPw2NmPHRaNf8-QQbTtl0-A/s320/100_7469.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><b> </b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><b>Cheers to another year of Empty Bowls!</b></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74c8M1tNiCu6aOH4jKGx2lwb87XNjZjJBTeM0Lyw-QwmEcABoVwxg7O2R7gyIW7LHUmDgQEHit1bh4BeIKityYzG7fsUaBkOgt5MDWKcbfElD83w9w3bYRycGXUz6C6D6E-sfuHBcwg/s1600/100_7491.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh74c8M1tNiCu6aOH4jKGx2lwb87XNjZjJBTeM0Lyw-QwmEcABoVwxg7O2R7gyIW7LHUmDgQEHit1bh4BeIKityYzG7fsUaBkOgt5MDWKcbfElD83w9w3bYRycGXUz6C6D6E-sfuHBcwg/s320/100_7491.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Empty bowls happens every two years, the proceeds going to <b> </b>The Foodbank of South Jersey<b>, </b>and I'm fortunate enough to experience it both years here in high school. The Empt<span style="font-size: small;">y Bowls is a <span style="font-size: small;">tradition</span> at township, making the wide spread of hunger be known to the community. Everyon<span style="font-size: small;">e can enjoy a meal together and get to take home the bowl once they're finished. All the bowls are made by the <span style="font-size: small;">H</span>addon Township Art students and the food is donate locally by families or <span style="font-size: small;">businesses</span>. <span style="font-size: small;">this dinner brings attention to all the bowls that never known <span style="font-size: small;">if they'll be filled one day or the next, and that hunger among the community is more common than people think. </span></span></span></span>In the weeks leading up to this event<span style="font-size: small;">, <span style="font-size: small;">e</span></span>veryone has been busy at work making bowls and plates<span style="font-size: small;">. </span>I'm extra excited because instead of only serving soup like the last year, we're doing a pasta pot luck. The event has changed from the previous year so I hope it will be even better this year.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPnIS4QUoowsQ55DZHuUuKm5MjSnmARZPaGYTh3lPcWqKHHDQYcdvKO_OJz2PQLgPBGStCvv76dnVVptQycOwywN1p1g0QoJCQpy7krY0WM5rmXLASa3hZ9OKa_p4i1P7y8gRb3lG0Q/s1600/100_7489.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPnIS4QUoowsQ55DZHuUuKm5MjSnmARZPaGYTh3lPcWqKHHDQYcdvKO_OJz2PQLgPBGStCvv76dnVVptQycOwywN1p1g0QoJCQpy7krY0WM5rmXLASa3hZ9OKa_p4i1P7y8gRb3lG0Q/s320/100_7489.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I can't remember all the bowls I made, most of them being generic bowls that small details to identify them, but this one shown below is one of my long bowls that I made and glazed myself. The glaze is weird, I couldn't even tell you what I did to get this look. This year while glazing I decided to take a lot of risks with my color choices and layering so I never k now exactly what I'll be getting. I like this bowl though, even with it's imperfections.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">These<b> other </b>bowl I did not make myself but I did glaze it. I think the glazing came out alright for the most part. Glazing is probably one of my favorite parts about the Empty Bowls event. It's always a gamble with how the bowl will come out and so far I have seen plenty of really amazing bowls.</span><br />
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Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-44491220608855826502013-01-09T16:45:00.003-08:002013-01-09T16:45:40.378-08:00Artist Blog Post<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">R E N E M A G R I T T E </span></h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCOJejLbOt4zld2WptL2uaOyZWheXOwy0k4l7DmJ1oYp_ru0OAqjbZXA_0HVW6NDAk9ojhegnuTIqZj5ALRdqb266L3aFJxRMbUhP9XK8vbCpsNV2M-PGJn6mntMSBSEdogWVZZCLcw/s1600/rene-magritte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeCOJejLbOt4zld2WptL2uaOyZWheXOwy0k4l7DmJ1oYp_ru0OAqjbZXA_0HVW6NDAk9ojhegnuTIqZj5ALRdqb266L3aFJxRMbUhP9XK8vbCpsNV2M-PGJn6mntMSBSEdogWVZZCLcw/s400/rene-magritte.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">René François-Ghislain Magritte was born November 21, 1898 in Lessines Belgium. His father, Léopold, encouraged his early interest in drawing but his mother was heavily depressed. At the young age of fourteen, Rene lost his mother. She fled in the night and threw herself over the bridge into the river Sambre. Rene was deeply scarred by his mother's death, and she will appear later in his paintings. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A year after he met his future wife, <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Berger, Rene enrolled </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">at The </span><span style="line-height: 115%;">Academié Royale des Beaux Arts in Brussel. He wanted to master the 'proper' techniques of painting that was usually attributed to artists who worked in the figurative style, before breaking free of them. He was inspired by many artists that influenced his style, but it was when he discovered Giorgio De Chirico's surrealist works that he found true inspiration. He decided to make each of his paintings a visual poem, a quality he found in De Chirico's works. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> By chance, Rene stumbled upon Georgette at an art supply store in 1920. She was a wallpaper artist, and soon after reconnecting they married in the fall of 1923. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">In 1929 Magritte joined other artists and writers who were part of the surrealist movement in Paris. His art was different from the others, special, because he was incredibly skilled at painting realistic objects and figures. What set him apart from other painters was the way he played with placement of the objects in reality. He left the objects in tacked but the way he painted them played with logic and and instead of leading to answers, they only led to confusion and questions as to why.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Over his career Rene Magritte had created over a thousand paintings that played with the reality and the mind. At age 69, Magritte died in his bed in Brussels from Pancreatic cancer on August 15, 1967. </span></span></span><br />
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<![endif]--><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">"Like
Salvador Dali, Magritte's work will forever come to mind when we hear the word
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"> What I really like about Rene are the questions that are attached to each of his paintings. They are all so strange and different looking without looking crazy. The objects he uses in his paintings are very ordinary objects, but he places them in an unusual setting, or puts them with other objects that don't belong. It makes me wonder why he did this and makes me question his train of thought while painting. I like paintings that make me think, because most artists paint a picture that looks straight forward, even if there's a hidden meaning behind it, so I never really take a minute to think about what the artist was thinking about while painting. Rene Magritte's paintings, however, are abnormal and outright weird to look. They stick in my brain longer than the usual painting because of how different they are.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6NNEUJAnRZzVsd1JjvbEqyhAk31w2Bvd6fCuCU7dkJthPD8h5ozFxA45n_JtYaemdp1AOyU6y2t36upBGLnOXIrO0UYvsTW083Dd29ONBchkZ2vF7fvS3XIX58x06DBS2Fvwm-A4Ew/s1600/magritte_16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU6NNEUJAnRZzVsd1JjvbEqyhAk31w2Bvd6fCuCU7dkJthPD8h5ozFxA45n_JtYaemdp1AOyU6y2t36upBGLnOXIrO0UYvsTW083Dd29ONBchkZ2vF7fvS3XIX58x06DBS2Fvwm-A4Ew/s320/magritte_16.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A classic example of Rene's works would be <i><b>The Son of Man</b></i>. I love this painting because how normal yet abnormal it is. It makes me wonder what the man's face looks like behind the apple, and why he decided to place the apple obstructing the man's view. This painting looks very simple, but from the way Magritte placed the apple it became entirely different.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3zaRFcw71-mcbbFVLBNVoir38aUfRzYnuSRfRROB_TNweTVGia75UTVDgXoYGGCTY99aJvofuMsBYv1e6tW_FppyVpUDXg485E7Pg-IEeHJo551jd6vBFKu9po7N87FbGqFGrO0PbQ/s1600/the-treachery-of-images-this-is-not-a-pipe-1948(2).jpg!Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb3zaRFcw71-mcbbFVLBNVoir38aUfRzYnuSRfRROB_TNweTVGia75UTVDgXoYGGCTY99aJvofuMsBYv1e6tW_FppyVpUDXg485E7Pg-IEeHJo551jd6vBFKu9po7N87FbGqFGrO0PbQ/s320/the-treachery-of-images-this-is-not-a-pipe-1948(2).jpg!Blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I found this one humorous because in <b><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>The treachery of images</b></span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span></b><span style="font-weight: normal;"> the caption below says 'This is not a pipe". Well, from looking at it, it certainly looks like a pipe to me. What else could it be. With the use of the words underneath his painting, Magritte </span><span style="font-weight: normal;"></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"> turned a simple object into a confusing work of art. if this isn't a pipe, it makes me wonder what it's supposed to be. So now I start imaging what else it could be, even though it still clearly looks like a pipe. I like how Rene twists my mind with his paintings which makes them more interesting to view.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NsoG_LvHvcZkBy-fKSeUyWdGWW03Rqmq7fs-xeMlzauHEdUuoz5GKJgmmE88AD2ZT7gAbwvq6tDjykU4ZARDxJM9FAInT_yXj-BcjAZf5gb_yTQeLqX6YkQ5JC4yT9SC1cl5TIwFdg/s1600/the-blank-signature-1965(1).jpg!Blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2NsoG_LvHvcZkBy-fKSeUyWdGWW03Rqmq7fs-xeMlzauHEdUuoz5GKJgmmE88AD2ZT7gAbwvq6tDjykU4ZARDxJM9FAInT_yXj-BcjAZf5gb_yTQeLqX6YkQ5JC4yT9SC1cl5TIwFdg/s400/the-blank-signature-1965(1).jpg!Blog.jpg" width="312" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><b>The Black Signature </b></i>is a painting I've seen before but never knew who painted it. It looks ordinary, a women on a horse. But then you really look at it and you realize the horse is divided up but the trees, but you have to question is it the trees that are behind the horse, or is the horse behind the trees. I could stare at this picture forever and still never understand it. It plays with my eyes, especially the middle of the horse where the women is still and it looks like she could just be in front of that tree, or you can see through the tree to her. This is a really good twist of reality in my opinion, which is why it is one of my favorites.</span></span><br />
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<br />Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-49102659232577273032012-10-31T08:36:00.000-07:002012-10-31T08:38:30.340-07:00First Marking Period Relection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This first marking period flew by, and I can't say I'm unhappy about it. My college applications are almost finished, relieving one of the biggest stresses in my life, and soon enough the end of the year will be here and I'll be off on my own. I'm not really sure what I was like starting out, I mean, I have definitely changed from Freshman year to Senior year, but from the beginning of this year to now I don't feel like much has changed. In the art aspect, I'm pretty confident to say I'm more of a risk taker with my art. Oddly enough, after deciding not to pursue an art major, I think my art has gotten better because I'm not so focused on perfection. I feel like I can take risks in art and leave the imperfections the way they are because I don't have the pressure of getting a portfolio together and making sure every piece looks neat and spotless. The imperfections are starting to look better to me, almost like someone who looks disheveled but is still classy. I have to say this freedom has benefited me and hopefully I can take these risks and apply them to future my future works creations.<br />
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I hope to finish out my last year of art with a bang, meaning taking more risks, looking at things more abstractly, and changing up my usual methods to something I've never tried before or simply experimenting with new. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-HSrUH1s3ctTMGWu0LAiJGlFiPU6uDx4hziY5sUBJDybQCNlomQPf3N6PM18U9mIDowhWB1pdztyVKNTVaCJG194sIlRAcYz2_j7yJc1pTwyMJ5OvwJSkzwQZCmbu3_lpexCacBb1g/s1600/100_7368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi-HSrUH1s3ctTMGWu0LAiJGlFiPU6uDx4hziY5sUBJDybQCNlomQPf3N6PM18U9mIDowhWB1pdztyVKNTVaCJG194sIlRAcYz2_j7yJc1pTwyMJ5OvwJSkzwQZCmbu3_lpexCacBb1g/s400/100_7368.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
And to start, I did another little poster piece once I was finished my President college. I wanted to put it in my book but from the modeling clay I added I don't think I'll be able to. I really like how it came out there, playing around with dark and lights as usual.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MbemDcwR3fSY9sg6La4q-ooTtjtfbAv1NsG7pXhOJOtsInPxJbMlBSYevaYzsukEgORWdrkUeijG-ViALF_DjHYHHIbQqS3Ru8v6T3znxu3g8R-G0Oz_nSIN827mx0DOGHLzW0wIQ/s1600/100_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MbemDcwR3fSY9sg6La4q-ooTtjtfbAv1NsG7pXhOJOtsInPxJbMlBSYevaYzsukEgORWdrkUeijG-ViALF_DjHYHHIbQqS3Ru8v6T3znxu3g8R-G0Oz_nSIN827mx0DOGHLzW0wIQ/s1600/100_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MbemDcwR3fSY9sg6La4q-ooTtjtfbAv1NsG7pXhOJOtsInPxJbMlBSYevaYzsukEgORWdrkUeijG-ViALF_DjHYHHIbQqS3Ru8v6T3znxu3g8R-G0Oz_nSIN827mx0DOGHLzW0wIQ/s1600/100_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MbemDcwR3fSY9sg6La4q-ooTtjtfbAv1NsG7pXhOJOtsInPxJbMlBSYevaYzsukEgORWdrkUeijG-ViALF_DjHYHHIbQqS3Ru8v6T3znxu3g8R-G0Oz_nSIN827mx0DOGHLzW0wIQ/s1600/100_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1MbemDcwR3fSY9sg6La4q-ooTtjtfbAv1NsG7pXhOJOtsInPxJbMlBSYevaYzsukEgORWdrkUeijG-ViALF_DjHYHHIbQqS3Ru8v6T3znxu3g8R-G0Oz_nSIN827mx0DOGHLzW0wIQ/s320/100_7370.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-82675551072552510762012-10-31T08:17:00.002-07:002012-10-31T08:17:42.025-07:00Next President Collage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItKbUwk_nd9JHbe7vCoLjaC_Dav4YYAplAV_I4axOcrrjJKJCX9NJDb_dGCnQHr4mSQwBVZG_OCuBQGA94eXt6l94RzF8MXB0VANN9sL1-Ngpn_6wMQXE3LqGPksU_wjgNuaQ3D58aQ/s1600/100_7373.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItKbUwk_nd9JHbe7vCoLjaC_Dav4YYAplAV_I4axOcrrjJKJCX9NJDb_dGCnQHr4mSQwBVZG_OCuBQGA94eXt6l94RzF8MXB0VANN9sL1-Ngpn_6wMQXE3LqGPksU_wjgNuaQ3D58aQ/s400/100_7373.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
Our next assignment was to create a poster for the next president. I currently have no clue on who the next president should be nor am I really into politics. So I decided to use my poster to advocate an issue: gay rights. I am in full support of gay rights and gay marriage and hopefully my poster is a good representation of this. I think I did a weird twist to my collage because most posters advocating this issue are usually bright and colorful, almost always a rainbow. I chose to take a darker side (no surprise there) and show that there are two sides to the story and hopefully the side I want comes through.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqjLBrPE4lOlGyGNbPbHxyx-WQJAZL8EebKpdpKtd1YzQ7Fw42tjto19dAZOH4WsM58MqZWiHMeiozeH2eX_1ZwjpZfphvDvfBUasnOhQmZLdC1vcKJ15FXuARwGUGY684CHXX8ojmQ/s1600/100_7359.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguqjLBrPE4lOlGyGNbPbHxyx-WQJAZL8EebKpdpKtd1YzQ7Fw42tjto19dAZOH4WsM58MqZWiHMeiozeH2eX_1ZwjpZfphvDvfBUasnOhQmZLdC1vcKJ15FXuARwGUGY684CHXX8ojmQ/s320/100_7359.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Xgndgu1YA7Zbad9PQOuElrXqbdSKhia1jXpc0zVm0_-zJ_6TtstPeVv0QVK6299ERDYOyieVDP-uAYm6j-bmPz8Ga7gCPGCqwY-5Mqwh9-lRT33Xc2jlNp1Kw5-umBQjJIpqba16QQ/s1600/100_7372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Xgndgu1YA7Zbad9PQOuElrXqbdSKhia1jXpc0zVm0_-zJ_6TtstPeVv0QVK6299ERDYOyieVDP-uAYm6j-bmPz8Ga7gCPGCqwY-5Mqwh9-lRT33Xc2jlNp1Kw5-umBQjJIpqba16QQ/s320/100_7372.JPG" width="320" /></a><br /><br />
While looking at my poster the sides are very contradictory. The left side is colorful, a muted rainbow. Then on the right you'll side darker colors, mainly red and black. I'm hoping to represent the people that support gay rights and then the people that don't. On top of the colors, you'll see paper men. I had fun trying to relearn how to cut paper men out, but successfully, with few deformities, I did it. At the top there are pink paper women (women), at the bottom there are blue paper men (men), and then on the side there are black paper men, (men and women). They're all holding hands, representing the different kinds of love/marriages out there. The black paper men are on the right are engulfed by red and black because society thinks marriage should only be between a man and a women and look down on same sex couples from marrying.The blue guys are at the bottom, mainly to the left for support of gay marriage. Also, the very last blue man is not joined by the others and is almost consumed by red, representing how the disapproval of gay marriage can be consuming and overwhelming, as well as violent.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCVcHyumeEN5Tmv2rRSUaJTOMDLzfOJ5PIPaYrlXTerNtA_gOWiNRN7tGSpQlEWYUhobwUITW65hMfpDa56eDbcKRiDaAyRYRoohuWTOkoJZZUPeF39qul5_yt5MYOFrXG6aIdTaucw/s1600/100_7360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCVcHyumeEN5Tmv2rRSUaJTOMDLzfOJ5PIPaYrlXTerNtA_gOWiNRN7tGSpQlEWYUhobwUITW65hMfpDa56eDbcKRiDaAyRYRoohuWTOkoJZZUPeF39qul5_yt5MYOFrXG6aIdTaucw/s320/100_7360.JPG" width="240" /></a>There are a lot of different aspects of my poster that can't all be taken in at once, which is what I wanted to happen. You have to look at it closely and then it will tell you more about what you're viewing.. There are many layers to this, just like there are many layers to people and their opinions. Hopefully my poster will show you how not all layers matter and that people are people and who people decide to marry makes no difference to who they are.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgul2nJHo304mAUQr6epXX67mP0NKXoFucnh6IQngsqN1NxOuEiJVMgcLam0AHrTRw7O4LWuWwTtz2bqT5Tmiyk13ciKsApQ_uzrvSErmMtsRGezanc_c9RIN8tYMQP2FexaSZYzZOVRQ/s1600/100_7360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgul2nJHo304mAUQr6epXX67mP0NKXoFucnh6IQngsqN1NxOuEiJVMgcLam0AHrTRw7O4LWuWwTtz2bqT5Tmiyk13ciKsApQ_uzrvSErmMtsRGezanc_c9RIN8tYMQP2FexaSZYzZOVRQ/s320/100_7360.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-56506133093170804452012-10-31T07:59:00.002-07:002012-10-31T07:59:43.716-07:00Shoe Drawing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGa5KjcIhhw3Zo0z6qAobsN4wp8SJEHP-bosrN6NvXp6Tby_Bbu7OStBJUGh6TRASsRYpw1uun3XBfjNFj0OEx7qqqd9O1K2y_94bYd0phfs1TzlFcQhBtXLJAyTfMzRY4i5pOjnY7g/s1600/100_7364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGa5KjcIhhw3Zo0z6qAobsN4wp8SJEHP-bosrN6NvXp6Tby_Bbu7OStBJUGh6TRASsRYpw1uun3XBfjNFj0OEx7qqqd9O1K2y_94bYd0phfs1TzlFcQhBtXLJAyTfMzRY4i5pOjnY7g/s400/100_7364.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Like previous years, we started off the year with a still life drawing. This year we decided to draw shoes, because unlike the years before they don't ripen or begin to rot, so we had a while to work on them. At my table I found this lovely moccasin laying there and it was mainly the laces that inspired me to make my focus point only on this one shoe. I loved the way the laces contoured around the shoe and the shadows and texture of the shoe itself. I thought about adding more shoes like everyone else, but I decided to blow this one shoe up to take over the page of my paper. It was somewhat of a challenge for me to take the real size of the shoe and enlarge it. Usually I like to draw to size, but it was a risk I felt I could manage.<br />
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The whole drawing process was fun. I liked being able to focus on just one thing but because I was focusing on one shoe I was able to spend more time adding more details to it. I worked on the laces first and then began the base of the shoe. What I like about drawing is I can jump around on the page if I get bored or uninspired in the spot I'm currently working on. The sketching process went well and I felt like I really developed my drawing. <br />
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I added color to my shoe, one of few people who added color to their sketches, because I thought color was mandatory to add. It wasn't. But thinking it was pushed me out of my comfort zone because I usually hate adding color. I prefer drawing in black and white because it usually looks neater and messing up can be easily covered. While using colored pencil I was fearful of undoing all my hard work of my drawing, but eventually I got over that fear and just went for it. I chose colors that went along with the colors in the background; navy blue, red, orange, yellow. I wanted to try and stay away from colors like black and white and simply manipulate the other colors to look the same, but in certain areas you can tell I gave in and did the shadows in black and highlights in white. It was worth a shot at least. I think the coloring came out really well, to my surprise. I had difficulty in certain areas due to the weirdness of the shoe but after understanding what I was really seeing it was easier to shade in the shadows to make the drawing 'pop'. I really like the out come of my shoe drawing because it's different; many of my drawings are in black and white pencil, so having this in color makes it really stand out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSxt2l4MURSeL41_sbpm5tICqYbeJ0EhXfjpvy78en6DhhSGxMmkWeN7ZtpKOYPpLCbrWwVv9geZTO_oRXl8d5M8jNgmwdhaMZy6uO38sPiHZpaBvXQwMHPDCqX60T_RCRdx88FuMBw/s1600/100_7365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSxt2l4MURSeL41_sbpm5tICqYbeJ0EhXfjpvy78en6DhhSGxMmkWeN7ZtpKOYPpLCbrWwVv9geZTO_oRXl8d5M8jNgmwdhaMZy6uO38sPiHZpaBvXQwMHPDCqX60T_RCRdx88FuMBw/s400/100_7365.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-37787284256123050072012-09-10T08:40:00.004-07:002012-09-10T08:40:42.324-07:00First post of the year!
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School is in session once more and I’m very excited to
journey back as a senior. I’m expecting this year to be the best if not most
stressful and making it out of junior year makes me feel fully confident that I
will survive senior year. One of the things I’m looking forward to the most,
probably along with all other seniors, is the senior trip. A class trip to Florida
where we will have free range of the parks. I think this trip will conquer all
others because we’ll be on our own doing things at our own pace. Along with
class trip, I have crew to look forward to, even though it isn’t something most
people are happy about. Fall season is very slow and tedious because there
aren’t many races to look forward to, but once winter comes all hell will break
loose and if we survive, spring is something to look forwards to. Over the
summer I thought about the goals I would have for the school year, and the
biggest one would be getting straight A’s every marking period so I can avoid
dreaded finals. I’m naturally an A-B student but if I can avoid finals in most
of my classes I would be happy because A) I wouldn’t have to take them and B) I
managed to get straight A’s for the whole year. Big accomplishment on my part
there. But another goal I have is to be friendlier and more talkative. Now I
know teachers cringe at the thought of talkative students, but for me that’s
merely saying hi in the halls or asking about someone’s weekend. I have always
been very quiet and sometimes shy, but this year I hope to change that and be
more outgoing and speak up. So far I feel like both of these goals are going
well.</div>
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From freshman year I planned on majoring in graphic design
for college. By senior year my major changed to Food Science. So why am I back
for another year of art? Simply because I love it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I may not be going to college for art, but it
is still a huge part of my life and I can’t imagine myself without it. The
class is fun and I love creating unique master pieces from scrapes of paper or strokes
of a brush. It’s soothing and calming, but also exciting and wild. Life without
art would be so banal and in order to bring some color into my life, I have
to have my daily dose of art class.</div>
Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-84408785861616633932012-06-04T17:50:00.003-07:002012-06-04T17:50:51.050-07:00Reflection 2.0<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">
When midterms came around we were supposed to talk about how we feel about our growth and development in both ourselves and our artwork. I said I didn't feel any different, that everything was the same for me in both categories and that things haven't changed much from the last year. Now that it is the end of the year I laugh at my last post because by now, things have changed extraordinarily. </div>
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First of all, regarding art I've developed an insane amount of patients when it comes to working on a piece. I know if I put the effort and time into something then the outcome will be worth it. Before I never wanted to take the task of even beginning the more challenging task. Now I feel fully capable of jumping right in and even though it may take a few weeks to roll the ball, once it's rolling it goes smoothly till the very end and turns out just as I imagine. I know now not to be afraid to jump into something and just take it head on. </div>
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Also, I feel like my artwork, along with myself, has matured over the year. My art sense has changed, and I can tell the difference from the book I made last year and the book I'm making this year. I like the change, I think it's just another part of me coming into light that's been hidden these past years. I hope I continue to grow and change this way and keep getting new ideas and ways to express them.</div>
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I'm not really sure what my role in everything is. I feel like from the things happening around me it has shaped who I am and who I'm becoming. There isn't really much to change about that except to take it as it comes and go along. From the beginning of junior year to the end, I've come to many realizations bout my friends, my art, and my future that I wouldn't have thought about before. I can't say I'm all that fond of what I'm coming to terms with, but I guess it's just another part of growing and learning.</div>
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Can't wait to see what the end of senior year holds for me.</div>
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<br />Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-47967849971337262032012-06-03T17:43:00.002-07:002012-06-03T17:43:57.397-07:00Extra Credit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBa24W0dhOzUXhozMoP-iHjSYbSEGviNZxZiZ7Zo3q-RilduzAas6Hq1-Vvb-sOcUp878zYsEA06X9uYCZa9MWehxLOllhPGzfLAhr_y-Y6pBvaQjV1r4_Xye6rDklrX30MuMHUapLLw/s1600/stuff+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBa24W0dhOzUXhozMoP-iHjSYbSEGviNZxZiZ7Zo3q-RilduzAas6Hq1-Vvb-sOcUp878zYsEA06X9uYCZa9MWehxLOllhPGzfLAhr_y-Y6pBvaQjV1r4_Xye6rDklrX30MuMHUapLLw/s400/stuff+011.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">My Place Setting</span></div>
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This year we were presented with the task of dedicating a place to someone of our choice. I chose my grandfather, a Navy Veteran who has been deceased for six years. As some kids idolized their fathers, I idolized him. He was my hero; he made me laugh and taught me jokes, he cleaned my scrapes and kissed my bruises, he taught me how to repair broken things using only my hands and my wit. I never realized how important he was to me until he died. Even after he died I never realized at my young age, but as I grow up it's becoming more apparent to me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ85kwzoakAV61_7L8v-xeS3SNZMnceejh5uv6_FL2VtyjpmHxjZw9st2TyXh0E1kqU-RvrpCwegkoCIF63Cep-MoNexC4HNKVZVW4EmiZ6UGG9UBSxkGC8m1r78ZLzBb0FvZd5KbKJw/s1600/stuff+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ85kwzoakAV61_7L8v-xeS3SNZMnceejh5uv6_FL2VtyjpmHxjZw9st2TyXh0E1kqU-RvrpCwegkoCIF63Cep-MoNexC4HNKVZVW4EmiZ6UGG9UBSxkGC8m1r78ZLzBb0FvZd5KbKJw/s320/stuff+015.JPG" width="240" /></a> <span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">For my place setting, I chose the Navy aspect of his life. He was in the Navy for two years, working on the ships by repairing them or readying them for battle. For my nonfunctional piece I made it my bowl, which is a battle ship. I would have to say this was the most time consuming piece because it was a very tedious job sculpting the parts and putting them together. Many times I asked myself why in the world am I doing this when there would be a much simpler solution. But I pushed through and came out with a nice little battle ship. I'm quite pleased with how it turned out, because half the time I thought it might explode in the kiln or something would break off. But everything turned out fine, which makes me happy. </span><br />
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One of my plates is a sailor's hat. It wasn't too difficult but it didn't really come out as well as I wanted it to. Unless you knew what one of those little white hats looked like, you probably wouldn't know what it was you were looking at with my plate. As for my second plate, I made an anchor. I'm much happier with this piece. Making it was really fun, even though there are lots of uneven spots in the thickness of the clay. But it was fun to make but terrible to glaze. I wanted to make it look nautical, with the blue and white and some red. It turned out a little Americanized, but I still think it looks good. It only the back that the lines are thinner which made it harder to do a quick glazing. I didn't have much time either, to glaze since this was my last piece and I chose the pattern in three different nonconsecutive colors. But I got it done and the colors didn't melt together too badly so it came out clear and precise! As for my cup, I'm not sure what's going on there since the cup doesn't really have to do with anything. It's a triangle and it has a neat little stand to sit up on. That's it. It's different and weird, and since my grandfather was different and weird I guess it makes sense.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvkjHZeNPvSDt1uFnrx11peX3VXgspKTxS1WlBNp0oAxig1a3tFzdkZFXx8SpjLX0GakDMvbTAQfxleByg7mW-xLGVMinUJ3je9SIh3eykg5W8jUbD9z4pAaUEUX-u0Txpvxa-jgdnA/s1600/stuff+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvkjHZeNPvSDt1uFnrx11peX3VXgspKTxS1WlBNp0oAxig1a3tFzdkZFXx8SpjLX0GakDMvbTAQfxleByg7mW-xLGVMinUJ3je9SIh3eykg5W8jUbD9z4pAaUEUX-u0Txpvxa-jgdnA/s400/stuff+005.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvkjHZeNPvSDt1uFnrx11peX3VXgspKTxS1WlBNp0oAxig1a3tFzdkZFXx8SpjLX0GakDMvbTAQfxleByg7mW-xLGVMinUJ3je9SIh3eykg5W8jUbD9z4pAaUEUX-u0Txpvxa-jgdnA/s1600/stuff+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a> It was fun to create since we had more of a purpose with the clay, rather than just making bowls. I'm happy with the setting and it's representation, and I think my grandfather would be happy with it as well.</div>
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<span id="goog_1429377562"></span><span id="goog_1429377563"></span>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-75445288031125753892012-06-01T14:10:00.001-07:002012-06-01T14:14:18.214-07:00Art Slide Show<div><embed src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=10f7c35af8b6abb5cbc0669"quality="high" scale="noscale" width="408" height="382" wmode="transparent" name="FLVPlayer" salign="LT" flashvars="&p=10f7c35af8b6abb5cbc0669&skin_id=701&host=http://www.onetruemedia.com" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><div style="margin:0px;font:12px/13px verdana,arial,sans-serif;line-height:20px;padding-bottom:15px;width:408px;text-align:center;"><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&utm_source=emplay&utm_medium=txt5" target="_blank" style="text-decoration:none;">Make a video - it's fun, easy and free!<br/><span style="text-decoration:underline;">www.onetruemedia.com</span></a></div></div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-69561708961465597532012-03-29T16:14:00.000-07:002012-03-29T16:14:24.244-07:00Metal PieceFinished metal pieces! Mine turned out just as I hoped, if not better. I wasn't going for anything specific conceptually but it turned out to be leaf and bird like all at once. I was thinking of using it to attach to my lamp when we make them and the way it turned out I think both ways of holding it would make it possible. But I'm happy with my final design. Like always it was a pain to saw and cut but since last year I feel like I've gotten much better at the sawing part and having patients with it. Still not too good with keeping blades intact, but maybe next year I'll be better. <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUDqliSG8GfCWKJnqiT8Fz3dP8KUjBjKgrq3JuLfuVIpzNfk8ZmL6n_aPY-yolqrI1c6mfTvJPkrV2kFbzlJPVy8pj17IYLwk66bN5WM8BHJbEupZMndwrCgA1GXG78jZNwwh7G8Vdg/s1600/metals.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUDqliSG8GfCWKJnqiT8Fz3dP8KUjBjKgrq3JuLfuVIpzNfk8ZmL6n_aPY-yolqrI1c6mfTvJPkrV2kFbzlJPVy8pj17IYLwk66bN5WM8BHJbEupZMndwrCgA1GXG78jZNwwh7G8Vdg/s640/metals.png" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-40572379315338073372012-03-29T15:41:00.000-07:002012-03-29T15:41:20.490-07:00Ceramic Place Setting -In process-<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivrQQ8qMw0KndETznXoNaJpTsvrNOli-LVK7-oaATjohTKtc3QP6_t9BlyvBGnm9N7LlFD0G6yaFi_2JdvCRNRA0AnBTxPN0dGCdLYlf0d6PTwe76qvGfh5TzvUgIRBFKeLPCCx7zg4w/s1600/boat+7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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</div><span style="font-size: large;">With the third marking period almost over, we have dived into ceramics and currently are working on making a place setting dedicated to the person of our choice. I chose my grandfather who has been gone for about seven years now and he played a very important part in my life. I thought he would be the best choice for my work to be dedicated to. He was in the Navy during his younger years which is why my bowl looks as such. I began with a plain bowl and over the past couple weeks I sculpted out each piece that I will attach inside of it in order for it to look like a battleship. It was challenging to make all these pieces since I didn't have a clear idea on what a battleship looks like but after some research, my ideas came into focus and I mainly had to be patient and work each piece out. Below is my bowl put together, all pieces smoothed and detailed out. It has been very frustrating working on these small pieces because they would either break or not turn out the way I wanted them to. But after several repairs and many mumbled curses, my bowl has finally come together and I'm ready to slip and score each piece down. I'll probably do a little more work to perfect it and then I'll be moving onto my cup and plate. Since my bowl has taken so long I'll have to make up the missed time with the other two pieces and they'll both be functional since my bowl obviously wouldn't be ideal for soup or cereal.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPd9ukGxzFCDdmkxxNto5MqPk1AuRrhpXlcRNSTeLKFYsv-brKCIm-i14SBRcVgEntjro6oxJQql4PAk8CnaDtLKziZ9qt-tz3yknIsC-9-sWUk8DASmM9bZ0QgMddEft6awe1ZxATQ/s1600/boat+23.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPd9ukGxzFCDdmkxxNto5MqPk1AuRrhpXlcRNSTeLKFYsv-brKCIm-i14SBRcVgEntjro6oxJQql4PAk8CnaDtLKziZ9qt-tz3yknIsC-9-sWUk8DASmM9bZ0QgMddEft6awe1ZxATQ/s640/boat+23.png" width="640" /></a></div> Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-59681354800077952722012-01-20T11:53:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:53:07.390-08:00Metal Panel<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHo2OlI-6kvyGzRUwWAnrGi8tN0BmXzxijWHeObzPNcpkxfxP2m7fBYvTMoMszRLfYh5KzrrV13XRXVjI-sx6u9Z6wbZyiEM-ldJgNHrKVEK_q3Yq4o1XkF774OafsqeEHZ1k0IeGLzA/s1600/-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHo2OlI-6kvyGzRUwWAnrGi8tN0BmXzxijWHeObzPNcpkxfxP2m7fBYvTMoMszRLfYh5KzrrV13XRXVjI-sx6u9Z6wbZyiEM-ldJgNHrKVEK_q3Yq4o1XkF774OafsqeEHZ1k0IeGLzA/s320/-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Creating a decorative metal panel has always been my favorite and least favorite experience.<br />
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I love the brainstorming that has to be done in order to come up with an original design as well as the planning and the final result. My least favorite part about it would be the sawing. Like last year, we're using metals that have to be sawed, filed, than welded together. The sawing has always been my least favorite part; it's like an arm work out in itself because of the pressure that's needed and the never-ending line you have to follow. While creating an intricate design may be creative and nice to look at, it all changes once you're faced with a saw and the need to follow your lines till the very end. That is why when doing metals; I personally like my pieces being simple. <br />
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We haven't gotten very far in the metels process, but so far I've finished cutting out one of my three pieces. The feel the other pieces may take around a week and a half to complete, but only if I put all my focus into sawing. Which as I said before, is my very least favorite part.<br />
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Here are my pieces I'll be cutting out over the week and<br />
above this is what the whole process looks like.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-qfLlV4jFud5YkSPRe9EcDIqbYDSFJ6XAMonsYrJwmX8VM-G3dihWT0kkAn0cbvElrbTAivlrVmRU5O0oQSdSFKqpMJk6VlK6N9q0omMdV1vFUvKEkYLiiEQTMrBQAI7SOYe44tSoA/s1600/-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE-qfLlV4jFud5YkSPRe9EcDIqbYDSFJ6XAMonsYrJwmX8VM-G3dihWT0kkAn0cbvElrbTAivlrVmRU5O0oQSdSFKqpMJk6VlK6N9q0omMdV1vFUvKEkYLiiEQTMrBQAI7SOYe44tSoA/s320/-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-15714776918770518242012-01-20T11:50:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:50:04.571-08:00Identity Collage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZZOeoDEnYZdGFYhvIG3jphUXag1V0kddRKM9_KHR3_PSBOu7XL2j5e3d-MDLhehWC6GyoQFsG2I0L0oMdeTPR2sRR8PQ4YPqC3mfQW8eoxQSSFNNvJJwKQdyyZMSJBd_DO5nlRyb3A/s1600/-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZZOeoDEnYZdGFYhvIG3jphUXag1V0kddRKM9_KHR3_PSBOu7XL2j5e3d-MDLhehWC6GyoQFsG2I0L0oMdeTPR2sRR8PQ4YPqC3mfQW8eoxQSSFNNvJJwKQdyyZMSJBd_DO5nlRyb3A/s320/-4.jpg" width="240" /></a> <style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Bq0EQt2_UFJnDB1Ccr5W_PMGwp6fVqp39QPO7nAsMlhbqj30DfZCYPNPJlrxDxhRdGnLKrQmRYlTDbpAaYuko0E7HUtlULCDrY9F15uFtKhLmfB76m79bSBk8aX6knMYl0gaikCn0Q/s1600/-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Bq0EQt2_UFJnDB1Ccr5W_PMGwp6fVqp39QPO7nAsMlhbqj30DfZCYPNPJlrxDxhRdGnLKrQmRYlTDbpAaYuko0E7HUtlULCDrY9F15uFtKhLmfB76m79bSBk8aX6knMYl0gaikCn0Q/s320/-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-85881411502360985452012-01-20T11:45:00.000-08:002012-01-20T11:45:10.088-08:00Self Portrait<style>
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Like last year, we did another Tempera Batik painting. Last year our subject was a vase of flowers and this year our subject was ourselves. Our self-portrait took place in two parts; we did a small version and then we did a larger version. Doing the small version we drew a portion of our bigger portrait and than did as we would do for the bigger version. Personally I don't think my small version came out very well. It looks nothing like the section of my bigger version but it was a good place to practice. I thought doing our small study was a good way to prep for doing our larger study.<br />
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As for my large portrait I was really pleased with the out come. The black ink made the right patterns in all the right places and it was really fun to paint. I suppose I paid more attention to our large study than the smaller one, but getting a feel of what I was doing first on the small study gave me more confidence to play around and be daring on the bigger one. I ended up surprising myself because whenever I thought it looked done I knew there was more I could do but I was afraid of messing up what I already created. Pushing through that fear, I ended up creating something even better.<br />
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With my large painting, I decided to enter it into The National Art's Program which is an art contest for all Camden County residence. I entered under youth and there was a reception for everyone's painting to be displayed. I ended up coming in first place for the teen category, which came to me as a big surprise. At the reception I saw so many other works of art from my peers that I considered better. They were all simple though, and whereas the other contestants used common pencil or paint, mine stood out by the use of mixed media. I was happy I decided to enter my painting, and taking a risk of putting it out there turned out to be more rewarding than I thought.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipy9lpn2x4MjH1SibHU_oKDQ9wAo4DOiYmrhLRYE4_7yGKYCEaP-jtfHcB9mvt7apQR7pOcUQHuMYbYaIAwoc1_Rivs0FR98THzL4g_PF-eySUx6YOUFVbSYboh0se0Zd7NYPem9EysQ/s320/guide_rm9.jpg" width="226" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>FRIDA KAHLO</b></span></div><br />
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<div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">For my artist, I chose Frida Kahlo, who is widely recognized for her self portraits. She didn't choose to be a painter, but painting more or less chose her. I favored Frida's paintings because it was one of the ways she could express herself and all the pain she was going through, as well as having great, bold, color.</span></b> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #b6d7a8; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>I love the symbolism behind this piece and the saturation of color she has with the black monkey and feline against the greenness of the leaves. In her biography it was said she incorporated monkeys in her work because she wanted to depict them as symbols of tenderness and being protective, where as Mexican culture usually described them as symbols of lust. Here in this painting, you can see how simple and innocent the monkey looks with her and that she wants the protect and comfort it has to offer in life. Over all, I love that she shows both an innocent side and menacing side in the same painting.</b></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #b6d7a8; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxkvHK_Muy1IqHO2yKIivojOtVOCqdCiuyqmLdP8XcuI5EzthpTm3urxZdGToqqrLxR6Usiz3nG4wDwTGAzobQmkQgj_CsADrji_4Ipx6SMaSeGC1BNk7ak8CgRX4k8HHBppEwHHJpQ/s1600/self_portrait_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqxkvHK_Muy1IqHO2yKIivojOtVOCqdCiuyqmLdP8XcuI5EzthpTm3urxZdGToqqrLxR6Usiz3nG4wDwTGAzobQmkQgj_CsADrji_4Ipx6SMaSeGC1BNk7ak8CgRX4k8HHBppEwHHJpQ/s320/self_portrait_1.jpg" width="219" /></a></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; text-align: right;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><strong style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">To the left, this self portraits jumped out at me </strong><strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">because of the earthly palate she has throughout the piece. It all looks very green and natural. At first glance, it looked very average but taking a closer look I noticed the necklace of thorns around her neck with drops of blood which again, signifies the pain she has. Plus her earring, which looks like a human hand, is strange to see but cool looking. These two things make this painting look out of the ordinary, which is why I favored it</span>.</strong></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>Frida Kahlo - The Broken Column</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> <strong>Another of Frida's piece that had a big impact on me would be her painting, The Broken Column. I didn't put it on the blog since I suppose it's it may be a little inappropriate for school, but it has such great meaning that describes all her pain and how she releases it into her paintings. There's a lot of detail and very neutral colors throughout it, as to not take away from the over all imagine. </strong></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong> </strong></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong> </strong></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Background information:</b></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Frida Kahlo was born July 6, 1907, but she told people her birth date was July 7, </span><span style="font-size: small;">1910. She wanted her birth date to coincide with the Mexican revolution so her life would begin with the birth of modern Mexico. She was born in Coyoacan, a suburb of Mexico City and at the age of six contracted Polio which left her with the nickname <span style="font-weight: normal;">"</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Peg-leg Frida" due to the deformation of her right leg. She battled life long health problems, but the biggest of all came when she was eighteen years old and was involved in a horrific trolly car incident. Frida was riding in a car that collided with a trolly and left her seriously injured. Several of her injuries included </span>broken</span><span style="font-size: small;"> spinal column, a broken collarbone, broken ribs, a broken pelvis, eleven fractures in her right leg, a crushed and dislocated right foot, and a dislocated shoulder. So needless to say, she was in pretty bad condition. It took her three months to recover in a full body cast and even after her recovery, she suffered from relapses of pain that were so bad she would be hospitalized for days. This accident changed the course of her life, because Frida never intended to become a painter; she wanted to be a doctor, but since she could no longer pursue that profession she took up painting instead</span><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
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</span></b></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">As a young artist, she began communicating with famous painter, Diego Rivera, whose work she admired and often asked for guidance in her own work. Diego recognized her talent and soon began intimate relations with her. They married in 1929, despite the disapproval of Frida's mother. Their marriage had always been troubled, with both of them having irritable temperaments and numerous affairs. Diego began his affairs with Frida's sister, Cristina, and in order to get back at him, Frida began her own affairs with both men and women. Their turbulent relationship continued till the divorced in November 1939, but they later remarried in December 1940.</span></b></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><b><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Frida's most famous works were her self portraits. She began painting when she was temperamentally immobilized, and her father lent her his oil paints and brushes. Frida once said, "I paint myself because I am so often alone and because I am the subject I know best." Her paintings often described her </span>ordeals with physical and psychological pain. </span></b></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><br />
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</b></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;">Frida in a hospital bed, drawing </div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;">a corset on.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #b6d7a8; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs_VAC0bqu4m-Qr3O36inwFjCrrIXv2sTTwUTAdNe2nynCSoeLwK_ojuewbZD2P2MJR2ZRieP8KPsmP8OFDawDQOA12lJbjn4kXsk_dX4w7lY3YhFdZKTjLkL9hQZPEIrxvfConYPAQ/s1600/11449_frida_kahlo_in_a_hospital_bed_drawing_her_corset_with_help_of_a_mirror_1951_collection_galeria_lopez_quirog_juan_guzman_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs_VAC0bqu4m-Qr3O36inwFjCrrIXv2sTTwUTAdNe2nynCSoeLwK_ojuewbZD2P2MJR2ZRieP8KPsmP8OFDawDQOA12lJbjn4kXsk_dX4w7lY3YhFdZKTjLkL9hQZPEIrxvfConYPAQ/s320/11449_frida_kahlo_in_a_hospital_bed_drawing_her_corset_with_help_of_a_mirror_1951_collection_galeria_lopez_quirog_juan_guzman_.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> Interesting facts:</b></span></div><ul><li><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">She was unable to have kids due to her Trolley accident where an iron handrail pierced her abdomen and her uterus which severally damaged he reproductive system. She did get pregnant twice but both pregnancies were terminated due to her condition.</span></span></b></li>
<li style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">This made her paintings show more about loss, infertility, pain, and alienation<strong>.</strong></span></b></li>
<li style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><strong> </strong></span><span style="font-size: small;"> She died in the summer </span></b><span style="font-size: small;"><b>of 1945 due to pneumonia</b><strong style="font-weight: normal;"> </strong></span></li>
<li style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><strong style="font-weight: normal;"> </strong><strong>Her right leg had been amputated due to gangrene </strong></span></b></li>
<li style="color: #b6d7a8; font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b> When she did portraits of other people they were unlike her own portraits and more abstract </b></li>
</ul><b> </b><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"></span></span></b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><strong></strong></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"> Frida and Diego Rivera's wedding photo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX916WXZdz_FZUoQb8rgYxMvjKhKtXKf2B3a5VL5G5rAgL1Ar8t_l0qUdEhw4JuHErtsG90erW388e6kYtFztKZgmyVvJxf_yRLQ48sR5jm7VAkcAOGUmdfuIDdCszf2bPWm9p9JzYAA/s1600/Untitled-1_edited-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX916WXZdz_FZUoQb8rgYxMvjKhKtXKf2B3a5VL5G5rAgL1Ar8t_l0qUdEhw4JuHErtsG90erW388e6kYtFztKZgmyVvJxf_yRLQ48sR5jm7VAkcAOGUmdfuIDdCszf2bPWm9p9JzYAA/s640/Untitled-1_edited-1.png" width="640" /></a></div><div style="color: #b6d7a8;"><br />
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</div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-5078410738359499662011-11-23T13:29:00.000-08:002011-11-23T13:29:35.671-08:00Finished product<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJxXj_l7zI8iLOciZv5HXZ1uOj0g9_6vjeGZHNKowPA4N3QOra4Ge-8OiVhKsXU5lu9ewEM2Ix2-2_K8Y42hAu1BfxWvDmYxxlUFJcIWsebxVoiu99_wBkVb-xIUuvDaJxRO0HWxJDg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJxXj_l7zI8iLOciZv5HXZ1uOj0g9_6vjeGZHNKowPA4N3QOra4Ge-8OiVhKsXU5lu9ewEM2Ix2-2_K8Y42hAu1BfxWvDmYxxlUFJcIWsebxVoiu99_wBkVb-xIUuvDaJxRO0HWxJDg/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>My finish piece! I'm so glad to be done this self portrait, and I surprised myself because I actually think it came out well. Definitely better than my smaller one.Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-16029908878179411782011-11-01T17:11:00.000-07:002011-11-01T17:11:45.322-07:00Apple drawings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwb4PenTqWXio1gH89YExxSYZzsazT4uSZA9vUKT36shhnWhNtXQaIHiliRf685BiFXBHKW-x-rjsUwyj3zgkTrlwojgOoTGF-p8donCCtuWKJuXJR1bVNniLGDg9ETzaFvLM3umv2rQ/s1600/Untitled-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwb4PenTqWXio1gH89YExxSYZzsazT4uSZA9vUKT36shhnWhNtXQaIHiliRf685BiFXBHKW-x-rjsUwyj3zgkTrlwojgOoTGF-p8donCCtuWKJuXJR1bVNniLGDg9ETzaFvLM3umv2rQ/s320/Untitled-1.png" width="320" /></a><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigzQ8RGFD4pTxtRPYKcochNic7Z8fKi-Ur-VAw0pbxpuD3VkHdH2ChP5hPfil_Py-5TEE5eozeoLLyDNNm3bTIXe5ib_SwhAGFCfLGsAu_lQsqcFbkJ4GwMXC0V5qNL5AaQR7tllr0QA/s320/dsfs.JPG" width="320" /></div><br />
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My apple drawings. The one to the left is just the full red apple and then the one to the right is a green apple cut in half. I thought it came together nicely, even though the apples weren't very fun to do.Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-39808427127569751122011-10-31T05:20:00.000-07:002011-10-31T05:20:05.934-07:00Reflection<style>
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</style> <span style="font-size: small;"><span>I feel like it's too early in the year to be thinking about changes or if I feel different about my self and my artwork. I think things are still the same with where I started and where I am now. I still feel the same about my work and I feel like my work still reflects my personality and style as an artist and nothing has changed from the summer to where I am now. The only thing that may have been different would be working with our self-portrait drawings. Usually I can be very timid doing large pictures but with this I decided to just jump right into it and there were no hesitation when it came to going over it in sharpie. Usually I think about all the mistakes there might be in the end, which makes me take a long time to do something simple. This goes along with our smaller self-portraits’. Normally I would hesitate with going at it with a paintbrush but I didn't feel like there was anything I could lose [and for the fact I could always trace another one] I jumped right into painting and did my whole drawing over. And the result came out nicely.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Other wise there has been no changes. Now ask me this same question in the middle or the end of the year I'm sure my answer will change, but for now I have to say I feel the same.</span></span>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434996881639336544.post-13226270308832405622011-10-31T05:11:00.000-07:002011-11-01T17:09:35.160-07:00Self PortraitIn class we are currently working on self portraits. Personally I hate drawing anything that has to do with myself/my face but surprisingly my self portrait came out looking good. We did a very large scale drawing, first in pencil then went over it in sharpy. We were told not to focus on the details but to look at the overall imagine and focus on getting the shape and making our picture look somewhat human. Once our portraits are done we'll be painting them in monochrome, I choose to do a blue/teal color, and then we're going to put black ink on them, wash the ink off, and then go back into them with color pencil. We did something like this last year but with flowers. The result was always different and something new to look at. Before we do this do our large drawings, we did a smaller scaled one that was only a part of our face. On a regular sized sheet of paper we traced a section of our face and then did everything we're going to do to our large painting. Currently mines in the ink drying process and later today I'll be going back to art to wash it off and then let it dry for tomorrow.<br />
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Here's my self portrait before I inked it. I like be blue.<br />
But now after the ink I washed the ink off and now I'm currently going through and adding color pencil to it. It looks really neat so far.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_9CjCjq_uLQaHjo6hTjwIHc7uWnnP3S8tqXaISD5YWUcP116JWmEKrmKHGY4-vLTN-488fMKwZITNrFaYb4BGErQBEvE9E2Jv5hXJq4vM0aO-jSrNPeEjhDDs83Gwr2ePVliENdWMA/s1600/fji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG_9CjCjq_uLQaHjo6hTjwIHc7uWnnP3S8tqXaISD5YWUcP116JWmEKrmKHGY4-vLTN-488fMKwZITNrFaYb4BGErQBEvE9E2Jv5hXJq4vM0aO-jSrNPeEjhDDs83Gwr2ePVliENdWMA/s320/fji.jpg" width="305" /></a></div>Emily D.http://www.blogger.com/profile/02528896151144654308noreply@blogger.com0