Sweet Tea, Fixin's, and Biscuits Food Narrative Essay #1 (Revision)

When a truly great thing enters your life, you don’t always take notice. Maybe you don’t notice the entrance because the importance gradually grows, or maybe you don’t realize its importance until that great thing has become rare or even gone. I can’t really remember the first time I ate Bojangles, or even heard of it. I can’t remember how it tasted or smelled the first time. But I can remember the many times I’ve conversed with friends, held Bible study, watched a game, tailgated, even made monumental decisions with a plate of Bojangles in front of me.

If you are not from North Carolina or a bordering state, chances are you have never experienced the culinary wonder that is Bojangles. It’s fairly simple, with the focus of the chain on their “Famous Chicken and Biscuits”. Bojangles’ chicken can be ordered either Cajun style or Southern, as tenders, pieces, or on a biscuit. It’s juicy and flavorful, and is perfectly complemented by the white, rectangular packs of honey mustard. By the way, this isn’t just any honey mustard. The only honey mustard you can have with Bojangles’ chicken is Bojangles’ honey mustard – nothing else works. Bojangles’ honey mustard has a sweetness that manages to dull the Cajun spices of the chicken to the point that your mouth doesn’t catch on fire without completely drowning the taste out. Instead of the typical “side items”, Bojangles has aptly named Southern “fixin’s”, such as mashed potatoes, dirty rice, corn on the cob, and, my personal favorite, seasoned fries. The fries are rectangular and flat, seasoned with a judicious amount of salts and spices, crispy on the outside, and warm and soft on the inside. They are perfectly complemented by the afore-mentioned honey mustard. It’s only been a matter of weeks since I last had my fix, but it seems like years since I’ve opened one of Bojangles’ steaming yellow boxes of chicken and fries.

Now, as good as the chicken and fixin’s are, Bojangles’ two claims to fame in the Carolinas are the biscuits and the sweet tea. The biscuits are fluffy and warm with a slightly crunchy, buttery outer crust. Bojangles’ biscuits serve as a sort of ‘rite of passage’ at my high school, as a highlight of getting my driver’s license meant that I could go to Bojangles before school and parade the white, grease-stained bag to class. When I go to Bojangles, I always save the last few bites in the flimsy paper fry sack to take to my horse, Gamble. Gamble is distantly related to the great racehorse Seabiscuit, and his affinity for Bojangles has earned him the nickname “Bo-biscuit”. It seems fitting that my horse’s favorite food is the same as mine, as he taught me by snuffling an empty box I left too close to his stall. One bite, and Gamble, as I had, became hooked. As hard as I have tried, I haven’t been able to find sweet tea in Alabama that begins to compare to Bojangles’. There really aren’t words to describe Bojangles’ sweet tea that do it justice – of course it’s sweet and cold and refreshing. But it’s fresh-brewed and never tastes like on of those nasty mixes. The tea settles the spicy Cajun flavors that linger just under the crust of the chicken.

There are two Bojangles locations that I frequented back home. The road from my home to Waxhaw must have had my tire marks burned in its memory from my many trips. Every Sunday during the fall, I’d leave church at 11 and hop into my old car, a little blue Jetta, and trek down Providence to pick up my game day meal. My sister and I would speed home to catch the pre-game show and enjoy our chicken with Steve Smith, Julius Peppers, and the rest of the Panthers. Bojangles is the official tailgater of the Carolina Panthers, so it was a natural way to support the team. The second location was on Highway 51 in South Carolina, a four or five minute drive from the Morrison Family YMCA, and I’d swing by on my way home from work a little too often.

Aside from the tasty food, Bojangles also has an amazing ability rarely found in the genre of fast food. It is, in fact, a cure-all for whatever is ailing me. I was an after school counselor at Morrison Family YMCA, which backs up to a very nice patch of woods. As one can imagine, this is a favorite place for runaway kids to flee. After a particularly frustrating incident with a disillusioned 7 year old who sulked in the woods for 15 minutes, a 32 ounce, 77 cent sweet tea chased the migraine away in a flash. If I bombed (another) Calculus test and watched my GPA sink into oblivion, a kid’s Chicken Supremes with fries and honey mustard could momentarily make me forget my recent academic atrocities. A headache or heartbreak can be cured by a simple stop at the drive-through window, and it’s a medicine I’ve sorely missed since my arrival in Tuscaloosa.

Remember that part in the beginning where I said that sometimes you don’t realize how truly great something is until it’s gone? It comes into play here. I was all set on coming to Tuscaloosa, when I realized a slight problem. There is exactly one, okay, maybe two, Bojangles in the entire state of Alabama. I know for a fact there is one in some city that starts with D, and despite my limited grasp of Alabama geography, I know it is nowhere near Tuscaloosa. I grappled with this truth for quite sometime, but I couldn’t honestly not attend the University because my favorite restaurant isn’t nearby, or so I reckoned. My parents came to visit, promising a box of biscuits and a jug of sweet tea, but arrived empty-handed, having missed the last opportunity in Georgia. It will be another month before I return to Charlotte, but I can already detect the faint scent of a biscuit, the seasoning on the fries, and taste that sweet tea waiting for me across the Alabama state line.

Only on Christmas Chocolate Roulage

Chocolate Roulage

Most every family has a traditional meal that they will eat on Easter, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. Some of these dishes you might dread and some of them are so amazing you crave them long before the holiday ever comes. I never look forward to the sweet potato casserole on Christmas day; but the Chocolate Roulage is the dish that I yearn for. My aunt Jordie makes this dish every single Christmas and every single Christmas I scarf down all my food, just to get to the chocolate roulage.

The Chocolate Roulage recipe my aunt uses originated from a women’s missionary union old church group in 1953. They published their recipe in the “Once in a Blue Moon” cookbook. It only makes sense that a recipe this good would be made by a bunch of old ladies with a lot of cooking experience. My aunt did not get the recipe from the cookbook but from a restaurant called Cobb Lane. Cobb Lane is in the South Side of Birmingham and they are famous for their chocolate roulage. This is the type of place that serves “girly” food and old snobby ladies sit around and eat their quiche in large Sunday hats. I will not knock this place too hard because this is where my aunt got the adored chocolate roulage recipe.

Chocolate roulage is a French dish and roulage is the French word for rolled up. It is called a roulage and not a rollup cake because there is no flour used in the recipe. Flour normally qualifies a cake as a cake. Chocolate roulage is a flat moist chocolate sponge “cake” that is spread with a sweet rich cream and then rolled up, after being rolled up it is dusted with coco powder. In the end it looks like a large Swiss cake roll but tastes nothing like one. This dessert is said “to not be served on your first try at making it” because there are many tedious steps when making the dish. You must use strong dark coffee and good semi-sweet chocolate in the “cake” part of it. You must use parchment paper when rolling up the roulage or else it will not work. After the roulage is rolled you have to cover it with a damp warm cloth while it rests. All this work is worth it because when you take a bite it literally feels like velvet in your mouth. The mixture of the cream and the soft chocolate cake slowly slides down the back of your throat and there is nothing else in this world like it. It is a must to wash down the delicious velvet with milk and only milk. There is a technique that must be known to eat chocolate roulage. When you put a bite on your fork and put it in your mouth you can not inhale. If you inhale you will inhale the loose coco powder and cough. The first time I ever ate it I inhaled the coco powder and started coughing. It is hilarious to sit and watch the family members around you who start coughing after their first bite.

This year I just couldn’t wait to have the roulage so I asked my aunt to make it for Easter. I have never been so excited about eating a dessert then when I saw her walk in our front door with that platter of chocolate roulage. Once it was time for dessert I cut a huge slice and dug in. As I was chewing the first bite I realized something wasn’t right. It just wasn’t the same as it is on Christmas. The absence of the dim Christmas tree lights and all the decorations made the roulage seem different. The dessert is strictly a dessert for Christmas day.

I love to cook at home and try to replicate anything that I eat, but I will never attempt to cook roulage for many reasons. One reason is that I don’t think that I could ever make it as good as my aunt does, my aunt is just one of those people who is naturally an amazing cook. She could easily be the chef of a five star restaurant. Another reason is that it would take away the special tradition of having it on Christmas day. Being made to wait a whole year to taste it makes it just that much more special to everyone. The most important reason of why I will never try and replicate the roulage is that roulage is almost a sacred dish to me. Roulage is not just a dish of deliciousness served on Christmas day, when I think of the roulage I think of my whole family (grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, cousins, and brothers) all together at Christmas. I literally smile and get a warm feeling when I think about our whole family eating in the dining room and the 20 different conversations happening at the same time. The dish is not only a good memory but it is also like a peace keeper on Christmas. Somehow every Christmas someone will bring up a touchy subject like; politics, the Alabama coach, or something in the news, and it will start a mildly heated subject. This little heated discussion will last through the whole meal but when the pot of coffee is brewed and the roulage is cut, it is forgotten. The room becomes quieter, except for the occasional cough on the coco powder, all conversations dim. I will go as far to say that if you gave everyone in the world roulage, there would be world peace, that is how good it really is.

Brownies. Food Narrative. Essay #1 (edited)

Almost every Friday or Saturday night in middle school, my friends and I would have slumber parties, and brownies were the main ingredient. At one point or another in the night my friends and I would gather around the island in my kitchen and bake brownies. The brownies that we made every time were Duncan Hines’ Family Style Double Fudge Brownies. Not only are the directions on the box but there are basically only three easy-to-do steps taken to make the brownies. The Duncan Hines brand is our favorite and the one we had all the time because we knew we always could depend on the brownies tasting great and satisfying our late night hunger. They were always soft and warm inside and out. The brownies had enough chocolate for us chocolate lovers but not too much to the point where we would be sick after the large number of brownies we had stuffed down.

During our time together, as we waited for the brownies to bake and then eating the brownies around the island in my kitchen, our most memorable conversations would take place. These were the conversations that I have remembered the most over any other conversation in my lifetime. These conversations brought more laughter and tears from laughter than I have ever and probably will ever experience. I have made my closest friends through these conversations waiting on the brownies. The most vivid night was the night before we received our letters from the high schools we applied to. We stayed up half the night talking about our future and recollecting on the amazing times we had spent together over the past nine years at our middle school. We promised that no matter where we ended up we would still continue our brownie ritual every once in a while.

These relationships that I have created with the help of the brownies are some of the most important ones in my life. The brownies have also not only shown me some of the amazing qualities of those girls that I have spent most of my life celebrating with but the relationship between us and the brownies. Brownies are considered a party food, which explains the outgoing personalities that my friends and I all contain. Each one of us are warm on the inside just like the brownies we make. We are friendly to each person we meet in life and attract people through our positive characteristics. This is similar to how brownies attract many through their gooey insides and other delicious traits. My friends and I are also extremely dependable. Brownies are dependable in the sense that they are always satisfying and taste delectable. However, the most important similarity between us and brownies is that when brownies are sliced into pieces they tend to break down and collapse. If my best friends and I were to be sliced apart, we would collapse. We are each other’s support system and keep each other put all together.

One Friday night we were out of brownie mix so my friends and I tried to test out a new and healthier food. We started eating grapes and started having something we call “grape wars”. “Grape wars” are when you stick the grape in between your jaw on either side of your mouth. The end of the grape with the opening is the side you place facing toward the entrance of your mouth. You then slam your jaw shut forcing grape juice to spray out. We began attacking each other with the grape juice. We would see who could get the biggest hit or whose juice would fly the farthest. We soon learned that the nights with grapes were not as fun as our nights making brownies. The grapes would leave the kitchen counter and ourselves sticky, our jaws would become locked after awhile, our conversations were shorter, and we were left hungry since we never really ate the grapes just sprayed the juice out of them.

Now that I have grown up and do not have slumber parties anymore, my younger sister and her friends have taken their place around the island in my kitchen. They have replaced my friends and I’s spot. They have started creating memories of their own with a food that describes their own relationship. What they have not found yet is that they will also remember those nights around the island for the rest of their lives. Spending that time sitting down around food allows the conversation to flow in any direction. In my experiences, food allows people to open up and become more comfortable with themselves and their surroundings. Food has allowed my relationships with my friends to flourish and go in many directions it would not travel otherwise. The times together allowed us to bond together and form the strong relationship that we have today. Now that we have all gone our separate ways, this winter break we will meet yet another time and spend time around the island table once again. We will share our stories from our time apart while we wait for the brownies to bake. We will spend the time opening up enough to allow the brownies to bring all of us close together again as if we have never been apart.

My Lebanese Cookie

Thinking back on a food that I feel is special to me and representative of my life, I can think of many things; steak, mashed potatoes, etc. but only one food really pops in my mind when thinking of love and tradition. Ghrybe (spelled ghrybe) is special to me in many ways; it was just about the only cookie I ate for eleven years before eating any other types of cookies or sweets.

Ghrybe is beige and circular and tastes slightly plain with a sprinkling of nuts. The cookie is crunchy and has a faint buttery smell and walnut and honey flavor. Many people who do not have a Lebanese background are not fond of the cookie's seeming lack of taste.

Not all ghrybe is round but it has been a tradition in my family to make them round. My great-grandmother told us that the circle symbolizes our family, always being there for each other and never breaking our ties.

My family and I love the cookie and will always love it. It has been a favorite in my family for many years not only because of the flavor but also because of the traditions associated with ghrybe for us. It has been a tradition to bake the cookies with the youngest child in the family for many years. I remember when I was young standing on the colorful, plaid seat of the red bar stool baking the round, Lebanese cookies with my great-grandmother. I baked the cookies at least twice a month for many years, if not with my great grandmother, who is from Lebanon, I would bake them with my grandmother, Honey. Although Honey was born here in Alabama, she is also 100% Lebanese and cooks authentic Lebanese meals regularly.

We had many great times baking the cookies but I will always remember baking cookies on Christmas Eve the year I was seven. That Christmas Eve, as we were rolling out the tough dough, I thought it would be funny to start a food fight because I had seen them in movies but I had never actually experienced one. I suddenly, without much thought, threw a piece on the top of Honey's forehead. She looked at me, then laughed and began throwing back at me.
My mom started yelling "you are disrespectful and Santa is not coming, "but I continued to throw and so did Honey. We ended up having the food fight of my dreams. It was an unforgettable night and for the first time in my life we ended up not having Lebanese cookies because the dough was everywhere but the oven. Santa came anyways making the night even better.

Looking back on my childhood I realized I was the only one out of my friends that ate ghrybe. All my other friends brought chocolate chip, peanut butter, and sugar cookies to our school lunches; I brought ghrybe. They would all question me at lunch about the cookie and why I liked it because they thought it was so tasteless, nothing like their chocolate chip cookie or sugar cookie with sprinkles on top, but I loved them. I had grown up eating these cookies and to me they were just what a cookie was supposed to taste and feel like.

When I went to my friends houses their moms would try to cook us hot, gooey, chocolate chip cookies. The smell was so warm and potent that you could taste the crunch and the hot melted chocolate on your tongue before the cookie even touches the mouth; but as good as it sounds, it was not my homemade Lebanese cookie. I pretty much refused to eat another kind of cookie until I was eleven years old and I overcame my fear of chocolate chip cookies.

I was starving one day at my friend's house and she was baking the cookies that had always smelt delicious and looked delicious but never satisfied my needs; I looked at her and asked her to get me something else. She refused and told me I had to taste the cookie before I could have something else. I agreed and my mouth began to approach the hot melted cookie, I was scared, but finally bit into it. It was soft and melted into my mouth, I could immediately taste the chocolate chips as they melted on my tongue. The chocolate chip cookie was surprisingly good, yet did not compare to ghrybe that I shared so many wonderful memories with.

My friends used to think it was a little strange coming to my house because I did not have the regular kind of cookies they wanted and they did not like the cookie I spent years loving and knowing. My mom had to start making a stop on the way home from school in the afternoon when I had friends over so they could buy what they wanted for a snack. Once my mom went out of her way to make them happy they always wanted to come to my house after school because none of their moms would stop and let them buy anything they wanted.

I feel the reason my parents did not usually bring other cookies into our household is because they wanted to keep our Lebanese tradition going. Still today we eat ghrybe on every holiday for dessert and I think of the many years I had getting to know the cookie and the many memories I had with my grandmother cooking ghrybe. I hope my two brothers feel the same way about this as well -perhaps my mom and I can find some time this fall to bake a batch and send them off to my brother in North Carolina to see if he has the same nostalgic attachment as I do for these cookies.

The cookie has made a place in my heart and I will never lose my attachment to it. My friends think of me every time they hear the word "Lebanese" and they think of the cookie that I cherished for many years of my life and still cherish today. I hope to keep the family tradition going with my children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.

"Sweet Concoction" revised

It is nearly impossible to pick as single food that stands out to me but a drink does jump into my mind, an Arnold- Palmer. It is a strange combination of lemonade and tea, bitter and sweet. This drink was named for a famous professional golfer born in 1929. It is a popular drink in northern West Virginia, western Pennsylvania and parts of the south. But that history of the drink holds no significance to me. In my history with Arnold Palmers they have come to be a symbol of sorts for my favorite restaurant, La Fonda.
Saturday afternoons always meant a family trip to La Fonda, a local tex-mex restaurant. The Arnold Palmers were always just a part of the things we ordered, a thanksgiving meal of a sort. There were always the same things at the table: fried rabbit, supreme nachos, margaritas for the adults, and those Arnold Palmers, with a few infrequent substitutions. It wasn’t the food that made the meal but rather the company and the environment.
Before being able to explain my direct relationship to the restaurant it is necessary to provide a brief history. Opened in 1957 by Mr. Lee- Bob Cox it soon became a favorite hang out not only for the restaurant but for the bar as well. We were not the only family whom frequents La Fonda but one amongst several others including the founders family. These Saturday afternoons soon became filled with stories of our parent’s past. When I asked why we always ate at La Fonda, since truthfully other places in town had better food, my dad explained that as a child they would have to drive from his small town of Franklin, Louisiana to Lafayette to go to the orthodontist. They would always pass La Fonda while in town and beg their mom to stop to eat lunch. He said, “I figure I just started coming when it was one of only a few restaurants and still see it as the same treat it used to be.”
The first time I had that symbolic drink it was given to me by Mr. Lee-Bob. We were standing in the waiting room as he showed me two pictures of my dad; one showed him as a long haired hippy in college and the other as a I knew him a business man standing in front of an oil rig. I didn’t know this at the time otherwise I would have understood why Mr. Lee-Bob had a picture of my dad with long hair but my dad and his friends would drive from school in Baton Rouge to drink at La Fonda. He said it was “the only place where you could get kicked out one night and welcome back the next.”
I feel as though La Fonda has grown up with me, when we first started going or rather when I first remember going Gabe was a young bartender. Now he is the manager. Even though we still go with our families on Saturday my generation of La Fonda kids have begun our own traditions. We would go to lunch at least once a week after school. Gabe always gave us a smug look when we came in, not that we didn’t deserve it we have caused our fair share of trouble. We would usually just walk into the kitchen to eat food and hang out with the cooks; he didn’t like it too much.
My last night in town we had a last supper at La Fonda for those of us leaving for college that week, every La Fonda kid of my generation was there. We ordered multiples of those two staple dishes and that one special drink, along with a few margaritas to add to the celebration. This meal turned into five or so hours of reminiscing about La Fonda and Lafayette. The changes the restaurant had undergone physically, the walls are now covered with caricatures of the regulars. The wait staff has had a few come in and out but the most important waiters are still there, we made sure to have our favorite, Max, on that last night. We talked about how one day we want to be the ones on the walls bringing our kids to eat. Mr. Lee-Bob even picked up our entire tab at the end of the night. That last night was everything La Fonda and Arnold Palmers should be a little bit strange but none the less enjoyable.
Though I may not live in Lafayette right now or maybe ever again I know that every time I visit will mean a trip to La Fonda. I can always count on knowing someone when I walk in. Arnold Palmers are simply a symbol for my second home, if I drank a bottled one with the perfect ratio of lemonade to tea it wouldn’t be near as good. The personal feel of the restaurant and the drink is what I truly love. It represents a coming together of all the people I have cared about for so long, even after my parents divorced they would get along on Saturdays at La Fonda. It will always be a place I feel comfortable and somewhere I see as the greatest on earth.

Gumbo Days (revised)

The gigantic silver pot that housed the tastiest meal even a king could fathom, sat dominating our kitchen stove. To my six year old eyes, the pot was intimidating as steam billowed out of the sides cascading slowley across the counter. My nose tickled as I smelled the "spicy air." I glanced across the kitchen to the clock; it was only 2:00. There were still three agonizing hours until dinner would be ready. I watched and watched the clock hoping that it might possibly speed up, bypassing time, and allowing dinner to be ready sooner. However, I was not lucky enough for time to warp. The clock still ticked away as it always did. The highly anticipated meal inched by as expected.

I can remember the first time I ever tasted Gumbo. I was six years old and just old enough to want to try new things. The thought of Chicken Nuggets or PB&J no longer excited me. I wanted to try what my entire family was eating, what they raved about, and what they had been slaving over all day. I wanted to eat gumbo!

I wonder now if I actually wanted to eat it, or if I wanted to experience it. It may sound odd, experiencing a food; but to me, gumbo is an experience. It is far more than the mere taste; it’s the anticipation, the actual process of cooking it, and more importantly the family. Gumbo is something special. It’s not like spaghetti, mac and cheese, or that odd chicken casserole my mom always makes. Gumbo is rare and having it for dinner is special. It didn’t matter what the plans were, if my grandmother announced that we were cooking gumbo, all plans were temporarily canceled. My uncle canceled his dates; my parents appointments were canceled; and my brother and I would skip practice or whatever event we had planned.

When family friends have the honor of joining us for a gumbo dinner they always ask for the recipe. But they never receive it. Among other things the recipe for my grandmother's gumbo is a family secret. It’s not written down in any cookbook or note card. It’s stored away in the mind of my grandmother, mother, and now me. I have watched my grandmother make it many times and she never makes it the same way twice. “It’s still a work in progress,” she always says. Regardless, I always watch with meticulous attention. I have not yet mastered the art of gumbo. I do however have high hopes that I might one day be able to craft such a delectable dish.

On a typical “Gumbo Day” the day starts off early. I’m not talking a late lunch early, I’m taking a before the rooster crows early. We all start by dragging our exhausted bodies out of the beds and begin chopping the bags and bags of fresh vegetables. The traps must be re-baited early in effort to collect the treasured Gulf Coast Blue Crabs. The shrimp, if we did not catch them our selves must be bought as soon as they arrive at Skinners Seafood. A few hours later the crab traps must be emptied, the crabs must be washed, boiled and cleaned. The claws are dismembered from the bodies and the gills which are called “devil fingers” are removed. The pounds and pounds of shrimp must be individually peeled and de-headed then washed. All the while, more vegetables are being chopped and the numerous spices are added to the roux. For the next several hours, the big silver pot must be constantly stirred over and over. All the while, the addicting aroma fills the house like a fog.

No one person can successfully make a pot of gumbo. To make a successful pot it takes a fleet. Delegation must take place to accomplish the daring task. It takes some to diligently chop the veggies, someone to handle the sometimes dangerous crabs, and several people to peel the shrimp. Typically when my family makes gumbo, everyone helps, whether they want to or not. Even my brother, who despises cooking, drags himself away from the water and helps.

Since there are so many people in the kitchen, jokes and stories are always exchanged. Given my family, more jokes are told than stories. Maybe this is one reason why I love the gumbo experience. I love making it with everyone. Sitting around the counter and meticulously chopping greens doesn’t seem as bad when your sides are ripping with laughter. It’s also amazing to have my family all together at one time, especially at the beach. Usually, my brother and I are on the boat, my mom is lying out, and my dad is fishing. When it’s a gumbo day everyone is in the kitchen. Maybe it’s because my grandmother demands extra hands or maybe it’s because they love the sense of family as well.

Some of my favorite memories of my grandfather, Poppy are during gumbo days. He would beg and plead my grandmother to make it, but she would agree only if he helped in the process. I can remember him dragging himself sluggishly to the counter. He shuffled his feet across the hardwood floor and always grumbled something incomprehensible underneath his breath. He always acted like he hated it, but he knew it was worth it at the end. I can remember sitting at the counter and hearing him tell his hilarious and sometimes inappropriate jokes. Now that he is gone, making gumbo always reminds me of him.

Gumbo really is a family meal. A pot of gumbo doesn’t make one or two servings. It makes about thirty. That alone implies that it’s a meal cooked for the masses. For my graduation party, we cooked gumbo for the guests. For the workers who helped after Hurricane Katrina and Ivan, we cooked gumbo for them. And for family and friends, we make gumbo. Whenever we cook gumbo you can expect a crowd. Like I said, gumbo is an experience in its own.

My BIG Fat Italian Meal-revised

When asked to write about one food that has had a strong impact on me, many ideas came to mind, but all of them had one thing in common. They were Italian foods. I wondered if I should write about gnocchi, wedding soup, spaghetti and meatballs, pasta fazool, ravioli, or another of the traditional Italian dishes my family loves to make. But because I could not choose one food, I decided to discuss a whole Perno Sunday night dinner.

Ever since I can remember, my huge crazy Italian family would pile into my grandmother’s house for dinner every Sunday night. The kids were sent outside to play house, freeze tag, baseball or to swim. We might be lucky enough to watch Home Alone or some other movie with our older cousins. With there being about thirty cousins, something exciting happened. I remember one night when my younger cousin fell into an ant pile, so my older cousin threw her in the pool. There was another time when one of my cousins got hit in the head with a baseball bat. Whatever we did, it was a happy time for getting to know our cousins, younger and older. All the women convened in the kitchen around appetizers of salami, prosciutto, cheeses, olives, and bread, chatting and finishing up any of the last minute details for the meal. The dads gathered in the living room to watch the weekly ballgame. When the time for dinner finally came, a mom rounded up the men and kids, and we would make a big circle around the kitchen to say the prayer, which was usually led by one of the kids. Then everyone went to their weekly seat; men and older women in the dining room, young kids and mothers with babies in the kitchen, and the rest of the children on the porch, at the bar, or wherever they could find an empty seat. If we moved too slowly, my grandmother worried that the food would get cold and make a huge scene. The meal often included salad, bread, spaghetti, meatballs, pork, chicken, and potatoes. On special occasions, we might have homemade ravioli, manicotti, or gnocchi, my personal favorite. We impatiently waited our turns as the different components of the meal were passed around the large table. I usually sat in the kitchen, and we got pretty silent as we devoured the best meal of our lives (or week). The kids listened to the conversation in the dining room, which might be an argument, but we just laughed. We knew that no matter how loud the disagreement became, when the meal was over, so was the argument. If we were at the table with Grandma, she told us about growing up in a large, poor Italian immigrant family. We heard about how her mother made all the spaghetti by hand-no pasta machines and definitely no store bought pasta! She described the way her mother made gnocchi by hand, first making the dough, then cutting and curling each individual piece of potato dough with her fingers or a fork. Grandma, who still made gnocchi at the time, would tell us about wedding soup and the work it took to clean the escarole, roll the veal meatballs, and cut the small sponge cubes. She remembered that it was a treat they could only afford a few times a year. Knowing that Grandma made those things for us made us feel special, even though she seemed to forget we had heard all of her stories before. Now I realize that hearing them over and over made me remember them. After dinner, all the women and teenage girls had to help clean the kitchen and dining room and wash the mountain of dishes. It was a treat when I was younger because we all dreaded the day we were old enough to help. Once everything was finally cleaned and put away, out came the dessert. Dessert might be anything, but it always included homemade biscotti or pizzelles. When it was time to leave, at least one kid seemed to be crying because they did not want the night to end. Even though we do not have Perno family Sunday night dinners regularly anymore, we still eat Italian food often.

Even though Grandma rarely cooks the big meals these days, my mom and aunts have started to make some of these dishes. To keep these family recipes in the family, one day my sister, my cousins, and I will learn how to cook these foods. Friends always talk about my family and how close we are. I think the way we have used Italian food during family meals as a way to share memories could have such an impact on families if they made the time for each other they way my family always has. The dishes we enjoy are more than just food, they represent memories, traditions, and life lessons I hope to pass along to my children one day.

a simple show

In the art gallery of a college exhibit the concrete floors mean easy clean up and the white walls suggest spots to display the art in front. The art there on display does not show one particular type of art rather a tiny sampling of different areas of art. Some paintings could go behind a sofa; others are too large and strange to be seen in other place but an art exhibit. Two such pieces correlate since they are both objects of use.

First the object of use is the lute. A common string instrument in the 16^th century played exactly as a guitar. The lute has three basic parts: body, neck and head. The body shape is an egg cut in half from tiny end to round bottom it is made of wood. Moving around the trim of the body its clear the lute has been well taken care of since it is over 400 years old. Nothing to fancy on the backside of the body just maple cut a long time ago. The circle on the front is a tiny craving of vines that twist, swirl, curl, and tangle together. A true artist must have cut that circle since in the middle is a tiny star rest directly in the middle no side is off-skew. Moving up along the strings the neck is made up of spruce. The neck is made up ebony with all the strings hold firm on the neck. All together the lute has warm and dark woods to make it up.

Next is the newspaper. A three foot blob of newspaper cuts. The cuts are two inches long with diamond shape to them. Somehow this object was rolled around in a barrel and tossed onto the cold concrete floor. When examined the cuts are moving in direction of counter-clockwise with the top cuts lying submissive to the looker. Some of the cuts are colored with others just some snip-it of text. Mostly the newspaper wasn’t any special with a few cuts floating around the base and far away.

The barrel of fluffy newspaper is to raise awareness about recycling, plain and simple. The lute has significance as a testimony to Kans Frel, the craftsman. Newspaper hardly ever gets recycled unless thrown away by some who has taken the steps to actually be a good recycler of wasteful materials and recycles the paper. No one would want to throw away or for any matter recycle the lute. As such as an ancient instrument the lute could be worth something. Lutes had special craftsman to build and shape it. A synopsis is pasted on the wall next to the lute that tells of the time, materials, strings, and man who created the particular one on display. The newspaper has no description with only a basic title, “newspaper.”

With looking at both they are night wild and crazy but are fun to stare at. Newspaper cuts are sprinkled about the floor with the lute resting on a stand not ten paces off in the distance. Both can be eye pleasing. The lights are not to dime inside the exhibit. The setup is simple with one wall dividing the square room. Anybody can walk in and see the exhibit in a minute but it can be stared at. The objects are curiously mysterious and some of the paintings are large with warp scenes. I found the exhibit interesting, but the newspaper and lute is what I found to be extremely comparable. The two are trash and treasure. The newspaper will be recycled and the lute stored in a velvet box somewhere. Both are fun to stare at.

All together the exhibit is cool with the learning of some ancient instrument, neat paintings, and random works of art on the floors. Much of the exhibit is easy to take in but rather sudden. I would give the exhibit seven out of ten. The whole thing isn’t too bad and the exhibit is free, but if you take the time to come and stare it can be something to behold.

Unity

WE ARE ONE NATION

Jim McKenzie
Racism during the 1960’s was at an all-around high. The Vietnam War was the perfect ticking bomb for a huge racial dilemma. Not only was racism still apparent in society, but the thought of the draft and having black people fighting next to white people was terrifying. In my mind both of these essays depict thoughts of unity and freedom during the 1960’s.
Muhammad Ali was without a doubt one of the best boxers of all time. He was also a deeply religious person. He was very persistent in letting people know that he did not support the Vietnam War. He was even arrested for refusing to go to Vietnam when he had been drafted. He also frequently spoke about the horrors of racism during the Vietnam War. This piece of art is magnificent. It reminds me of seeing old fights of him on television and whenever he knocked someone down he would stand over them and scream. In this piece Ali is standing over a broken down monkey machine. The fact that he knocked out and completely destroyed a monkey is key. One of the most commonly used terms for racists is monkey. People loved to call blacks in that time period monkeys. I think that Ali is knocking out racism. The artist wants to let his viewers know that racism in no way, shape, or form should be tolerated. The monkey is screaming in agony as he now realizes, just as society realized, that racism can be defeated if you work hard enough. Ali was the perfect candidate for this piece because he was one of the hardest workers that society has ever seen. The monkey machine is huge, almost twice as big as Ali. This lets us know that no madder what size you are you should always stand up and look adversity in the face.
The entire piece is actually done in black and white. In my mind this is screaming to me that his intention in this piece was to show us that this piece is completely about racism. The artist also made a key point in letting us know the characters are both black and white. This makes the piece much more exhilarating since Ali is both black and white and won the fight. This lets us know that we, as a society, can live in a multi ethnical world.
The next piece that caught my attention was a dark picture with a black man’s face at the upper right hand corner. This piece also had a quote on it saying, “STRANGERS ON THIS ROAD WE ARE ON BUT WE ARE NOT TWO. WE ARE ONE”. When I saw this quote it touched me. It let me know from the get go that this piece was about racism in America. As I said in the beginning of the paper, racism was extremely apparent during the sixties and Vietnam War. Some Whites hated the fact that blacks were going to be living and fighting together. Not all but a good majority of Americans thought that blacks did not have the right to die next to a white man. This artist is making a crucial point with his quote. He wants his audience two see that even though many blacks and whites who did not know each other were ultimately going to have to fight a war together, and possibly have to give the ultimate sacrifice together. If they did not stop to realize the fact that they are fighting together, as one nation and as one society and not two different ethnicities living in one society, then they would never be able to win a war. I also believe that one reason America could not win the Vietnam War was because of problems that racism caused. The reason the painting is dark is because the artist wanted his audience to know that this is, in fact, an extremely sad piece. The black man in the picture has his head down with a distraught look on his face because he knows that some people will never be able to except the fact the blacks and white can, in fact, live in a society together.
In my mind I think that both artists were trying to make almost the exact same point. They both illustrated their pieces perfectly to let their audience know that blacks and whites should be able to live in a society together. I love how they both instantly made me think of the difficulties of racism that our nation faced during the time period of the Vietnam War. To me it almost seems like the two artists talked before they made their pieces and discussed how they were going to tell the world about the problems of racism during the era of the Vietnam War.
These two pieces with, a doubt, truly inspired me. I am in fact somewhat of a racist because of experiences that have happened to me in my life. But I do want to point out that my best friend is black and goes to Morehouse, which is a black college in Atlanta. Even though I do have some racist faults these two pieces remind me of the fact that we are one nation. We should in no way be separately just because our skin colors are different. My brother is in the armed forces and he always tells me that if we can fight and die in a war together then we should not have any problem living together in society.
When I first saw the exhibit I thought I was going to be screwed. But when I saw these two pieces I was ecstatic. The fact that I was going to be able to talk about a problem that has haunted our society for centuries and share my views on it was an amazing feeling. I would not recommend the other pieces in the exhibit, I am not saying there bad they just did not touch me in any way, but if you get a chance to go see these two pieces than I would say you would defiantly leave with a different aspect on life.

Love or Hate

The new gallery located in Woods Hall across from the Ferguson center at the University of Alabama, was put on by Synasthetic Arts (SynArts), a non-profit corporation located in Tuscaloosa. The gallery was located in a small circular room showing all the pieces of art in one walk through. It was not time consuming at all and there are some very unique pieces, such as a giant cylinder of magazine and newspaper cut outs. Overall the gallery was bittersweet, some were loved, and others were despised.

As I was walking around the gallery, two pictures stopped me, one I loved, and one I did not care for. “The War Horse” was very appealing to me, the picture is so simple yet it raises a lot of thought-due to the colors and the placement of the horse. “Night Terrors” was the bottom on my list, it raised no thought and I did not feel anything when looking at the piece of work.

“The War Horse,” my favorite, is a picture of a horse leaning its head over a barbwire fence starring into the darkness of the night. The background is gray with black birds flying above the horses’ head. The colors in this picture are dark using grays, browns, and black, giving the viewer a sad angry mood wondering what the horse has been through in the past.

The artist, Laura Shill, uses mixed media in her work. She took the picture of the horse in the right lighting and uses specific software, Photoshop CS3, to edit the picture and colors. She then places the picture on the medium-sized canvas and puts random media’s such as wax and ink over the picture to make it look real.

In “The War Horse”, she puts wax over the picture giving it a shiny look. The canvas was raised on the top right corner and the bottom left corner, providing the piece a distinct look. Shill comments that there are no reasons for why she does a piece, things just inspire her.

The artist told me that taking the picture of the horse was very moving because, as the picture shows, the horse looks frightened and sad, yet it was so kind and gentle when she was taking the picture. “The War Horse” caught my eye because the horses’ eye shows a sense of sadness, a cry for help. I recommend going to the gallery and seeing this piece of work along with the other two she has done, she is a phenomenal artist.

Piece two, “Night Terrors,” is a picture of a person sleeping in a multi colored wooden room, with bats and purple blankets with yellow stars flying. “Night Terrors” does not give people thought; it gives off a very boring, slightly angry mood due to the random drawings. This piece of work is so simple, yet scattered at the same time with all the bats and blankets, blasting me with random thoughts of anger wondering why someone would paint this and what they were thinking.

The colors used in this are brown, black, purple and gold. Personally I am not a fan of those colors together and I feel as if the purple and gold look like royal colors rather than the “Night Terror” approach I feel the artist was trying to give- the artist should have used dark colors to give a scary look to the piece. The colors are very bold and ugly, which is possibly a reason I despise this piece so much.

“Night Terrors” is also mixed media; the artist used a lot of cut outs and pasted them onto the canvas along with painting the canvas. After feeling the canvas (I have to feel everything), I feel that it is rough and he used a lot of wood cut outs to finish the artwork for the walls and the floor of the room. The cut outs were mainly the “dreams” the kid was having. They were black and white cut outs for the bats and purple and gold cut outs for what looks like the blankets. I think the wood was giving a feeling of the wooden floor in the kid’s bedroom allowing him to not only see his nightmares but hear them also because of the echo on the wooden floor.

“Night Terrors” and “The War Horse” were very different looking pieces; both were trying to give off an angry, scared mood; yet only “The War Horse succeeded in this mood because of the colors and the specific look the horse gives off. Both pieces of work, as many others in the gallery, use mixed media, in completely different formats. Mixed media pieces are very neat because all are very unique depending on the artist. Some take pictures and paint over, others cut out objects, and some use different forms of paint and pastels, there are many other ways to create an art piece using your own ideas of mixed media. The gallery shows so many different kinds of art, helping the viewer understand what kind of art pops out to their likes.

I overall enjoyed the gallery because it has many great artists that are not known but have a passion for art. There are many unique pieces not described here I recommend seeing. Many of the artists are not making money but they just do it because they love it. Go to the gallery and support these artists’ dreams.

Woods Hall Exhibit

After visiting an art exhibit put on by “SynArt” in Woods Hall and then speaking with two of the artist featured in the exhibit I am faced with more than the task of critically observing two paintings. It comes to question that art can be overly analyzed. Can an observer read too much into a painting and miss a simpler message that the artist is trying to get across? I will analyze the two paintings with the goal of not over analyzing but to critically judge and attempt to perceive what the artist truly wanted to convey. The two paintings that I choose were ones that quickly caught my eye.

The first was a black and white photo by Johnathan Davis titled “Rufus Davis.” It is a simple portrait taken directly of the front of the subjects face. The subject is an elderly black man wearing a World War II veteran’s cap. The man’s eyes were hypnotizing; they drew your eyes in. They say that “the eyes are the windows to the soul” and this picture seemed to capture that. Staring back into this subjects eyes he seemed as though he was about to cry. I have to think if the man wearing the hat is truly a World War II veteran or if it is simply a cap. Then if the cap is really his I wonder if people treat him differently depending on whether he has it on or not. But no matter whether he is a veteran or not he is elderly and has obviously seen more than his fair share of hard days. Each wrinkle on his face represents an experience and from the number you know he is wise. The picture uses light to reflect against the man’s dark skin making his lines of wisdom even more clear. Though the suit the man is wearing is neatly pressed and perfectly white his unkempt beard and mustache contrast with it.

The next is seemingly placed strategically within the eyeshot of the subject in the black and white photograph. This is a mixed media piece by Lauren Strain called “untitled” it is of a what seems to be a young woman’s face with her hair pulled neatly into a bun on top of her head. This piece is done in mostly red with only spare uses of blacks and yellow. Though the figure is fairly simple and two-dimensional she renders a feeling of grief like one that comes from a woman who has been beaten by her husband. The use of red leads me to believe that the artist wants the viewer to get a feeling of pain from the work. The use of yellow and black seems to show tears. Most of the detail is focused on the eyes making them look sad. It seems that the artist used water to make parts of the paint run further exposing sadness in the woman. The woman is not quite in the center of the painting but rather is set off to the right side. This placement makes her distant to the viewer. The woman seems to be hiding something, which the artist portrays by a solid red circle next to the woman. It seems to black her into that side of the painting.

Though the two works I discussed are done in two different medias with two different subjects there are some comparisons to be made between them. Both artists chose to focus on the face of the figure excluding their bodies from the piece. Both subjects seem to be focused straight ahead as to stare into the viewer and have the viewer stare back. The eyes of both subjects seem to hold sadness behind them. The artists seem to be making a statement about the sadness in the world. The veteran is disappointed in what has come of a nation, which he has fought so hardly to defend. Perhaps when he takes off his cap and clean pressed suit people treat him as another old man and judge him by his shaggy beard rather than the lines of wisdom on his face, treating him as a decrement to society rather than someone who fought to defend all of our freedoms. The woman is forced to wear her hair neatly up and make up to appear as though she is happy and the perfect wife. She is trapped in her own skin unable to tell anyone what really happens to her and how she is really treated. Both artists are making a statement about judging people from what they look like on the outside. Perhaps it is our jobs to look further into them. At first glance both works are simply a persons visage but by focusing on their eyes we seem to be able to learn more about the subject. We can feel closer to them by noticing the sadness in their eyes. While it is impossible to say for sure what each figure is thinking or feeling the sadness in their eyes is impossible to ignore.

Woods Hall Exhibit - Hillary Moore

The SynArts gallery at Woods Hall showcases a variety of art forms, including paintings, photographs, and sculptures. There were several works that stood out to me, but two in particular: “Egg Patrol”, and oil painting, and “Rufus Davis”, a black and white photograph. While “Egg Patrol” and “Rufus Davis” are presented in different mediums, the works show a similar emphasis on human emotion and feeling.

“Egg Patrol”, a painting by Chris Davenport, is a dizzying splash of bright, bold colors that seem to scream from the canvas. A policeman crowds the left side of the scene, crimson encroaching the back of his emerald green uniform and his rigid policeman’s hat. On the arm of his coat is a patch reading “Egg Patrol” backwards. In the foreground to his right is an older woman in pointed black glasses and a red jacket. A yellow and green striped shirt peeks out, matching the flowers on her red, brimless hat. Under the foreboding sky behind them is a nest built of brown twigs. An older man in a teal coat stands with a boy on his shoulders. In the man’s worried hands is a small, red flag in the shape of a triangle. The boy looks wistfully away, his pained expression mirroring that of the old man’s. Next to them in the nest is a woman in all yellow. Her anguished face is framed by short brown hair and she holds a small child in her arms. The dark, cloudy sky is interrupted by streaks of lightning that gather towards the center of the scene.

Jonathan Purvis’ black and white photograph “Rufus Davis” is a portrait of an elderly black World War Two veteran. Pictured from the shoulders up, Rufus is at ease against the simple white backdrop. A black hat sits atop his head with the words “World War II” arching across a striped bar and “Veteran” written underneath. Rufus’ wise eyes look intently at the lens for under white, bushy eyebrows. Lines draw from his eyes to his thinning, white-tinged mustache and goatee. At the bottom of the photograph is the white starched collar of Rufus’ shirt and his khaki coat.

Both “Egg Patrol” and “Rufus Davis” strive to show a human element, focusing on the emotions of the subjects. “Egg Patrol” depicts a myriad of feelings. The policeman gives a devilish grin to the older woman as she plucks a glowing, bluish egg from the nest. His toothy smile gives the policeman a sinister air, and the woman seems oblivious to the plight of those in the nest as she makes her selection. The nest dwellers are clearly distressed at their situation. The adults look troubled and sad, giving the impression that they are losing something important; that they may be heartbroken over the loss. In their care are two children whose faces mirror those in war-torn countries. The shared look of fear in the kids’ eyes is as evident as that in the anxious adults.

“Rufus Davis” focuses on one man whose feelings are not as obvious at first glance. Rufus stares plainly at the camera, his mouth forming neither a smile nor a frown. However, something in Rufus’ expression is attention grabbing. Under the black ball cap is the face of a man who has witnessed many things. He has seen depression and war, progress and boom. I find myself wondering what is must have been like to see the world through those eyes. Rufus’ hat indicates that he has bravely served his country, but the lines of time on his face suggest his experiences reach far beyond that. Rufus’ expression seems to tell me that he has an unlimited spring of knowledge, just waiting to be tapped.

While both works of art concentrate on emotions, they go about their portrayals in very different ways. “Egg Patrol” is loud and colorful. The subjects of the painting express their feelings without restraint. Chris Davenport, the artist, lets the viewers know what his subjects are feeling. The menacing black sky corners the people in the nest, and the streaking lightning cuts across the ominous clouds. In contrast, “Rufus Davis” is simple. The subject is pictured from the shoulders up, wearing simple clothes, and is against a plain white backdrop. The focal point of the photograph is Rufus and his expression is not clearly defined.

I was immediately drawn to “Egg Patrol” because of the colors and the vivid images. The hurt expressed by the people in the nest is disturbing and mysterious, and the smirking policeman and woman holding the egg are frustrating. Their disregard for those in the nest evokes a curiosity in me, and I wish I could speak with the artist. Overall, “Egg Patrol” confuses me the more I study it. The policeman’s badge, reading “Egg Patrol”, is on backwards. Is there some sort of symbolism here? To me, this badge is a reflection of the backwards nature of his actions by allowing the woman to take an egg. The presence of the four people in the nest is also puzzling. Whatever the eggs hold is of importance to them, as evidenced by the sadness they are expressing as the woman lifts one from the nest. The message of the artist is not entirely clear to me. I know there is a purpose to the piece, but it seems like such a distant and foreign idea that I don’t grasp what it is.

“Rufus Davis” made me feel patriotic and nostalgic. The man in the photograph wears a “World War II Veteran” hat, showing he has made a sacrifice. Whenever I see veterans in these hats, I feel grateful for what they have given. Rufus’ hat also reminds of my grandfather, a World War II veteran whose planes were shot down twice. He survived 11 days in the Pacific Ocean and was always proud of his service. The photograph takes me back to hearing his war stories and spending holidays at my grandparents’ house. I always enjoyed hearing my grandfather’s tales, and I would love to sit with Rufus and hear his. I think that the artist was trying to show the wisdom of a man who has accomplished many things in his life and whose experiences are worth hearing.

“Egg Patrol” was a darker piece than “Rufus Davis”, but it was able to send across a clear picture of the subject’s emotions. “Rufus Davis” leaves the viewers to make their own decisions about his feelings. However, both pieces emphasized their subjects and made me curious to discover more about the inspiration and stories behind them. To sit down with the artists and discuss their motives would be a dream. The exhibit was well worth a trek through the rain to Woods Hall, and it’s really a shame that the pieces have already come down.

Woods Hall Exhibit - Hillary Moore

The SynArts gallery at Woods Hall showcases a variety of art forms, including paintings, photographs, and sculptures. There were several works that stood out to me, but two in particular: “Egg Patrol”, and oil painting, and “Rufus Davis”, a black and white photograph. While “Egg Patrol” and “Rufus Davis” are presented in different mediums, the works show a similar emphasis on human emotion and feeling.

“Egg Patrol”, a painting by Chris Davenport, is a dizzying splash of bright, bold colors that seem to scream from the canvas. A policeman crowds the left side of the scene, crimson encroaching the back of his emerald green uniform and his rigid policeman’s hat. On the arm of his coat is a patch reading “Egg Patrol” backwards. In the foreground to his right is an older woman in pointed black glasses and a red jacket. A yellow and green striped shirt peeks out, matching the flowers on her red, brimless hat. Under the foreboding sky behind them is a nest built of brown twigs. An older man in a teal coat stands with a boy on his shoulders. In the man’s worried hands is a small, red flag in the shape of a triangle. The boy looks wistfully away, his pained expression mirroring that of the old man’s. Next to them in the nest is a woman in all yellow. Her anguished face is framed by short brown hair and she holds a small child in her arms. The dark, cloudy sky is interrupted by streaks of lightning that gather towards the center of the scene.

Jonathan Purvis’ black and white photograph “Rufus Davis” is a portrait of an elderly black World War Two veteran. Pictured from the shoulders up, Rufus is at ease against the simple white backdrop. A black hat sits atop his head with the words “World War II” arching across a striped bar and “Veteran” written underneath. Rufus’ wise eyes look intently at the lens for under white, bushy eyebrows. Lines draw from his eyes to his thinning, white-tinged mustache and goatee. At the bottom of the photograph is the white starched collar of Rufus’ shirt and his khaki coat.

Both “Egg Patrol” and “Rufus Davis” strive to show a human element, focusing on the emotions of the subjects. “Egg Patrol” depicts a myriad of feelings. The policeman gives a devilish grin to the older woman as she plucks a glowing, bluish egg from the nest. His toothy smile gives the policeman a sinister air, and the woman seems oblivious to the plight of those in the nest as she makes her selection. The nest dwellers are clearly distressed at their situation. The adults look troubled and sad, giving the impression that they are losing something important; that they may be heartbroken over the loss. In their care are two children whose faces mirror those in war-torn countries. The shared look of fear in the kids’ eyes is as evident as that in the anxious adults.

“Rufus Davis” focuses on one man whose feelings are not as obvious at first glance. Rufus stares plainly at the camera, his mouth forming neither a smile nor a frown. However, something in Rufus’ expression is attention grabbing. Under the black ball cap is the face of a man who has witnessed many things. He has seen depression and war, progress and boom. I find myself wondering what is must have been like to see the world through those eyes. Rufus’ hat indicates that he has bravely served his country, but the lines of time on his face suggest his experiences reach far beyond that. Rufus’ expression seems to tell me that he has an unlimited spring of knowledge, just waiting to be tapped.

While both works of art concentrate on emotions, they go about their portrayals in very different ways. “Egg Patrol” is loud and colorful. The subjects of the painting express their feelings without restraint. Chris Davenport, the artist, lets the viewers know what his subjects are feeling. The menacing black sky corners the people in the nest, and the streaking lightning cuts across the ominous clouds. In contrast, “Rufus Davis” is simple. The subject is pictured from the shoulders up, wearing simple clothes, and is against a plain white backdrop. The focal point of the photograph is Rufus and his expression is not clearly defined.

I was immediately drawn to “Egg Patrol” because of the colors and the vivid images. The hurt expressed by the people in the nest is disturbing and mysterious, and the smirking policeman and woman holding the egg are frustrating. Their disregard for those in the nest evokes a curiosity in me, and I wish I could speak with the artist. Overall, “Egg Patrol” confuses me the more I study it. The policeman’s badge, reading “Egg Patrol”, is on backwards. Is there some sort of symbolism here? To me, this badge is a reflection of the backwards nature of his actions by allowing the woman to take an egg. The presence of the four people in the nest is also puzzling. Whatever the eggs hold is of importance to them, as evidenced by the sadness they are expressing as the woman lifts one from the nest. The message of the artist is not entirely clear to me. I know there is a purpose to the piece, but it seems like such a distant and foreign idea that I don’t grasp what it is.

“Rufus Davis” made me feel patriotic and nostalgic. The man in the photograph wears a “World War II Veteran” hat, showing he has made a sacrifice. Whenever I see veterans in these hats, I feel grateful for what they have given. Rufus’ hat also reminds of my grandfather, a World War II veteran whose planes were shot down twice. He survived 11 days in the Pacific Ocean and was always proud of his service. The photograph takes me back to hearing his war stories and spending holidays at my grandparents’ house. I always enjoyed hearing my grandfather’s tales, and I would love to sit with Rufus and hear his. I think that the artist was trying to show the wisdom of a man who has accomplished many things in his life and whose experiences are worth hearing.

“Egg Patrol” was a darker piece than “Rufus Davis”, but it was able to send across a clear picture of the subject’s emotions. “Rufus Davis” leaves the viewers to make their own decisions about his feelings. However, both pieces emphasized their subjects and made me curious to discover more about the inspiration and stories behind them. To sit down with the artists and discuss their motives would be a dream. The exhibit was well worth a trek through the rain to Woods Hall, and it’s really a shame that the pieces have already come down.

Art is are. Everything else is everything else

For me, my idea of art is spelt with a capital “A”, so when it comes to analyzing art work, it is not my forte. Art is about communication and the messages the artist is trying to send out. So with that said, I am going to do my best and depict the way I see this master piece.
The first piece that caught my eye was “girls” This artist decided to show off her talents through pictures. The setting of this particular piece of art had five pictures posted up on the wall and dark lighting surrounding it. The pictures were situated about a couple of inches from each other and they were lined up like a story to be told. These weren’t just any pictures, they looked old. They were about the size of a notebook and each of them had a black and brownish tinting to them. They look as if they had been through many generations of a family. It kind of reminded me of the movie The Ring. The piece gave me an ire feeling which got my attention. Each picture had a different theme. 1. Two sisters 2. Bowed down 3. Backyard Sunday afternoon 4. Walk Away 5. Mourning Sisters. All of these titles really help me understand the piece of art. The first picture had two young girls sitting against a wall but you could only see their legs and shoes. You can tell they were young girls by their short frilly dresses and their little legs. What was interesting about this picture was the two young girls faces are not shown so the audience has to imagine what they look like. I think this is very interesting because usually a picture is meant to show you something, not to keep you guessing. The next picture shows a girl barefoot, seems like in her teens just bending over. You can tell she is near a barn or outside because the grasses looks like damp and not well kept. The look on this girl’s face is the most shocking. It’s a cross between apologetic and heart aching like she had been through a lot of misery. The way she is bending over looks like she is bowing but in a weak way as if she is very tired. The next picture titled Backyard Sunday Afternoon is the third part of this story. In this picture the setting is peace full. I think the name of the slide is very appropriate for this particular picture. The setting is in a backyard with trees and a wide open field. In the middle of this field is a little girl holding her hand up with joy. Her face is happy because of her smile and her arms are extended as if she just did a jump in the air. She is wearing a little white shirt and little shorts. This picture gave me the most trouble; I did not understand why the artist chose to put this exact picture in the piece. It kind of threw me off when I looked at it for the first time but I think maybe it means remembering their fun childhood or it could be one of the sisters had a child. The next picture titled Walk Away I think has the most meaning. It is a picture of a field with tall grass and a girl’s leg as if she were running. You can only see the bottom of her body but the picture is taken to the side. You can tell she is running by the way her foot is pointed and by the way her leg is situated like someone took a action shot. Her white dress is flowing behind her and her arms are in front maybe because of the speed of her running. I think this picture is just what is says it is walk away, but instead of walking the girl is running. The last picture Mourning Sisters is the creepiest. This is the picture that reminded me of the movie The Ring the most. It’s a picture of two ladies dressed in black with their hands folded in front. Behind them is another field. You can tell they are mourning by the color black they are wearing and how they are just standing there inches from each other so uniformed. I think the artist is trying to convey a story of two sisters and their hard times through life. In the beginning they are young and joyful wearing happy colors and cute dresses and the last slide is the complete opposite. Every detail helps the audience make an assumption on what the artist is trying to say. I think that is very cool and by doing this paper I have realized that.
The next piece of art that caught my attention was this structure someone had made. I studied this piece for a very long time and I just could not figure it out, but that’s what made me so interested in it. The structure was a pyramid, not just any pyramid. This had brick like boxes on the floor in the shape of a pyramid about 20 boxes on the bottom and about 7 on top. The top and the bottom are not connected. The top part was made out of paper and it had 7 pieces which all were connected to each other by string an attached to the wall. The most interesting thing about this was on the papers were these designs, they looked like scribble at first but if you come closer you could see they had a shape to them. They were very similar to the shapes on the brick like boxes on the floor. It was almost like a reflection. I thought that was a very cool idea. I am still not sure what it means or the message the artist was trying to make, but I just really enjoyed looking at it.
Both of these pieces had a message the artist wanted the audience to know. I think in the first one it was a lot more obvious. The second piece was very hard to understand but for me that is not the point of going to an art exhibit. I can thoroughly enjoy myself by just looking at the art work. But I do have to say by doing this assignment I have learned to really look at the details of the art work and try to understand it. Every detail is crucial in art. And the more details that are shown, the better understanding the audience will have.

Diana Beckner- Art exhibit

In the art exhibit at Woods Hall there were two main pieces that caught my attention the most; The Dancing Goat by Fredrich Kerksieck and The War Horse by Laura Shill. These two pieces appeared to the eye as completely different which is why I chose them. I wanted to discover “what art is” by studying two different pieces. As I spent the class time viewing the art pieces I was able to come up with my own ideas of what the two pieces were saying to the viewer.

The Dancing Goat demonstrates a relationship between a girl and boy that everyone experiences at some point in their life. The relationship shown through the artwork is one where a girl likes a boy who is does not have the same feelings back towards the girl and instead has feelings towards someone else. To show this relationship the artist created this piece to have two parts to it. The first main part shows a young boy dancing with a goat. Standing to the side of the two dancing is the cut out of a young girl. The cut out has a glue border and the cut out color is the same color as the second part of this piece. The color in the work is bright colors. They are colors that are considered more girly possibly because the art work deals with a girl’s emotions. The second part contains only the girl who was cut out of the other piece. She has her hands are on her hips and her face is turned towards the direction of the boy and the goat. Having these two different parts of the work the artist is showing how the girl is invisible to the boy and even possibly enters into her own world as she watches the boy dance with the goat and gathers her own opinions about the situation. Having the girl looking at the boy and the goat shows that she is thinking something about them together and when she states, “I just wanted to get closer, but all you ever did was dance with your dancing goat”, shows that she has feelings about the boy and that she feels ignored by him. The girl in this piece also demonstrates her jealousy towards the dancing goat being with the boy. She wishes the boy would turn away from the goat and pay attention to her. In many situations a goat symbolizes a “younger loser”. This symbolism would make sense in this art piece for two reasons. First, the goat is young because the boy and girl shown in this art piece are both kids. Second, the girl is jealous of the goat and feels that the boy is wasting his time with the goat when he should be spending the time with her. The boy is wasting his time with her because she views the goat as a loser. After breaking down this art piece you are able to uncover that the message to this piece is about love rejection. The message was discovered by discovering what different parts of the art work were standing for and putting all of the parts together just like how I discovered The War Horse’s meaning.

The War Horse contains only dark images and colors. There are three main objects in this piece; a horse, wired fence, and black birds flying above in the sky. The horse is a shade of black. On the horse are holes representing bullets holes. The multiple bullet holes show that the horse was in some kind of fight similar to a war because there was a lot of shooting. The horse is then surrounded by a wired fence that is shown behind it in the picture. The fence is trapping the horse in a certain area. The piece also has black birds that look like crows or buzzards flying. The black birds are symbolizing death since those types of black birds fly to dead things. Having these three images in the painting, the painting is trying to communicate about war and death. The message about death and war is that we are surrounded by death just like how the horse is surrounded by the fence. It is something we cannot escape. Another way the picture is communicating to the viewer about death is through the 3D set up. The picture is displayed through four pieces of the picture put together. The pieces are not balanced on the same level. Through this set up the picture is showing how things are unbalanced in life because of different ideas and conflicts that lead us to the dark message showed in the picture.

The two art pieces I chose covered two very different topics but they both use their artwork to allow the viewer to depict an idea to what the piece is trying to say. The Dancing Goat uses a quote to help the viewer fully grasp the message of the work. While The War Horse results to the picture itself to allow the viewer to discover what the piece is saying. The War Horse uses its dark color and symbolism to help the viewer understand its message. The Dancing Goat also uses symbolism but in a way that is not as clear because it could have multiple meanings. Both pieces do use the method of breaking their work into pieces to help give the viewer an idea to their meaning. The form of their artwork meaning it being broken up is another example of the work using symbolism to get off part of the message the artwork is trying to explain. The two pieces also share the similarity of displaying messages of feelings that everyone can relate to. The Dancing Goat’s message is of a relationship between two people when one has stronger feelings than the other and the other is spending more time with someone else that the one with strong feelings thinks is a loser. This relationship can also be described as a love rejection. The War Horse’s message that is trying to be portrayed is one that is of death or even possibly war. Both of the two messages are ones that every person experiences more than once in their lifetimes.

The Dancing Goat and The War Horse both have two different messages that the viewer is able to relate. The messages both speak to their viewers in forms that are obtainable but not obvious. The viewer is able to come up with their own idea of what piece is trying to say after studying the piece. Being able to relate to the two pieces allowed me to enjoy the artwork. I was luckily able to relate more to The Dancing Goat because I experienced a boy who I have liked spending more time with a girl who I am not fond of more than I have of death or war like how I thought of The War Horse. These two pieces both seem very different but are similar after studying just like other pieces in the art show that I did not write about. The art show was one that I enjoyed because each piece was very creative and different from the rest. I would encourage people to attend the art show because each piece was effective in sharing a message.

Grey Skies and Murky Feelings

Bleak skies and bloated clouds was all I could curse while sloshing through the muck that was supposed to be a great day at English class. I thought my day was going to be great the night before when all I could picture was having a fun English class at an art gallery but it was not off to a very good start, considering the fact that I was carrying my sandals instead of wearing them. As I arrived at Woods Hall I manage to catch a small glimpse of myself in the window and I was absolutely water-logged. I looked like a cat that just had a close encounter with a water hose. Still, I was happy to be at an Art Gallery instead of a bomb-shelter of a class room. After a few formalities about the “no touching” rule I was off to explore what looked to be a fun excursion of creative art pieces.
Perusing the Synaesthetic Art gallery, I happened upon what looked to be a familiar face. There was a drawing on the wall that was neatly dubbed “Rope-a-Dope”. It was like I was staring into a funhouse mirror that portrayed you as an animal. The drawing had quite a few oddities about it the most prominent being a lonesome teddy on the ground and a large crib suited for an infant but the centerpiece was the saturated tabby cat inside of an astronaut helmet. The way the tabby seemed to stare out at me with a face incapable of smiling, yet it had a crooked grin exactly like the one I most often wear when I’m not exactly enjoying myself. I instantly took a liking to the little fellow inside the helmet and took a quick snapshot. The name of the drawing never clicked with me as being an explanation of the drawing, it seemed like something that was just meant to relate to my own situation. The artist may have had a bad day too or maybe even a good day because everyone interprets their own feelings differently. “Rope-a-Dope” gave me something to relate to and I believe it could do the same in the mind of any other individual who enjoys admiring other people’s thoughts portrayed in the physical realm.
Spikes. That was the first word that came to mind when I saw what seemed to be another instant favorite for me at the gallery. At first I thought it may be some portrayal of a torture device the likes of a primitive iron maiden. A mass of slender instruments of death and dismemberment lying neatly in the form of a 4 foot long oval shaped ball. To my eyes it seemed like this massive morning star was made of something wrought from iron and flame, but to my utter surprise it was comprised solely of wood. The finely crafted skewers were stained a black like a battleship or a fearsome bastion atop a castle. I was so impressed by this work of art that I took a short video and several pictures to amuse myself with at a later date. If the work was not already titled “Left Right” I would surely give it a name leaning towards a more sinister nature. Even though the name was irksome, “Left Right” certainly impressed upon me a feeling of esteem at the deep machinations deep inside the mind of an artist. I feel sure anyone with a taste for medieval art or just awe inspiring wickedness would love this piece.
The gallery was littered with all manner of other interesting objects futuristic weaponry, interesting photographs, and odd paintings just to name a few. I enjoyed most all of my visit to the gallery, all except for one small black spot. There was a corner designated to display a collection of art that seemed out of place. The piece was called “Octopus Birds” and looked to me like something a lazy student might “pull out of his/her ass” to be quite frank. Nothing about the piece gave me any enjoyment at all and just seemed to me to be a collection of glitter glue and magazine clippings of bird heads. If anyone would have a reason not to visit Synarts it would be solely because of the lack of foresight in displaying that disgrace of a piece in my opinion. Notice though that I said “in my opinion” which is that of a 19 year old male. Even though that certain corner of the gallery didn’t seem to do anything but kill my brain cells I’m sure small children would love to see it or even have it in their rooms. After taking in the gallery as a whole I would call it time well spent and would recommend it to anyone who is even the least bit interested in exploring their creative side.

Art is Provocative

Cold and wet, I finally stumbled into Woods Hall to begin my English 101 class. The trip had been a tedious one that involved large amounts of drifting and asking the typical freshmen question of “Where is this place?”. Furthering my depression the pouring rain and the lack of an umbrella only almost completely halted my trip to class that day. I begrudgingly waited for my hour and fifteen minute class on art to begin. “Yippee“, I thought sarcastically. Yet, during a brief discussion on a piece in which I had no particular interest, my eyes discovered two very fascinating works that required further inspection. Both were extremely abstract, so I could not prevent myself from inquiring as to what they meant. My brain would not allow me to believe someone would work on something with absolutely no goal in mind. Looking desperately for answers, I formulated my own hypothesis.
While appearing completely opposites of one another-- one large, the other small; one was titled, the other was not; one used words, the other did not¾ the differences were very apparent, but their meaning seemed similar. They both seemed to represent an anti-propaganda theme that the news media presents to us.
Catching my eye first was Kevin Wilson’s “Untitled“, a large painting with engravings on certain characters. The colors were mostly a blend of blue grey similar to a cloudy stormy day, with a deep black along the bottom fourth of the painting and top left hand side. The dark colors set a somber mood. The center had the outline of the upper body of a man who was standing sideways. His head was black with a grey brain located directly above a lap top. At his neck, the color scheme turned grey, and funnel a led to two sacks of blue that ended at the bottom of the page. Puncturing the man’s neck were two lines that lead to smaller blob men on each side. Black-grey fog grabbed my attention started in a cloud from the top left corner and proceeded into the figure’s nose to his brain and down through the computer, funnel and blue like sacs. Beside the black upper left hand corner of smoke was a much smaller horizontal man whose was sketched out in white but his head resembled a sun. In between the horizontal man and the sideways upper body was a horizontal box with two antenna’s and an x in the middle. From the box, two black lines led to a red boxes that partially blocked the lines, but not enough to not lead them to two more boxes one black with white dots and the other with a purplish blur. The right half of the painting had a large black circle in the middle and at the top of the circle a blob man appeared to be opening a trap door that revealed a grey light and the upper portion of a man. This grey light formed a triangle whose base was at the top of the right hand corner. Inside it were eight men with TV’s for heads. The bottom of the circle ad a man with deer antlers and a beam leading to the bottom right corner. The far right of the circle had a man with a box on his head and the left side had a man with a shadow below him.
The television men convinced me this must be against the news media. Looking like a sun the horizontal man resembled the beginning of a fabricated story. The black fog represented their stories that had been edited and polluted with lies. As the smoke enters the brain, it changes, keeps going beyond the rational, the calculator, and is filtered into the rest of the body. The multiple blue sacs show how the story is manipulated and in turn affect everything in your body just like it would in real life. Crooked like the media, the black TV above is putting out messages that get blocked by the red brick wall leaving only static and a blur. The black circle on the right hand side have people that are products of listening to the mass media. The man with the antlers is just blind sided by lies, the man in the box is completely in the dark about the truth; the man with shadow is only a product of what people tell him. The tv heads floating are representative of the major mass media sources: MSNBC, NBC, ABC, CNN, CBS, FOX, HEADLINE NEWS, and local news. This painting oozed of symbolism that represented a distaste for mass media.
The other painting, James William’s “Strangers”, was almost consumed its competition to the left. About a sixth of the size, it seemed much more to the point. It was black with grey outlining the words, “Strangers on this road we are on but we are not two, we are one.” A white face, outlined in black, took up the top right corner. Portion of the face has a red intricately designed floral pattern bearing resemblance to wall paper. The “strangers” are news anchors that obscure your path of intellectual freedom. “We are one” makes a firm stand that you should form your own opinions and not be influenced from outside sources.
Class ended with no finite answer, only assumptions; however, there was still hope because two artists were coming to class Thursday to discuss their pieces. My questions could haunt me no more. Unfortunately, neither of them was the artist of my piece, and I could not obtain the answers I craved, although during her discussion with a fellow classmate, one of the artists helped alleviate my desire for answers with three simple words: “art is provocative,” those words say more about that painting then my detailed hypothesis. It was meant for some over analytic individual to form his/her own opinions. Some might be more readily proved and others more abstract then the painting itself, but at least the on looker is forming some opinion. Knowing that, I feel I have a better understanding of the real definition of art as opposed to my misconstrued one. The ability to provoke thought is what makes it art.

Conquering Racism

When I entered the art gallery in Woods Hall, the first thing to catch my eye was a very simple picture of an aged African American man wearing a dark flat bill hat that had the words World War II Veteran stitched onto the front. This picture labeled “Rufus Davis” was taken by a man named Jonathon Purvis of the SynArts Cotillion. I am not completely sure what it was about this simple black and white picture that caught my eye but as I stood there and looked at the picture I began to realize that it was the simplicity of the picture that brought such a powerful message to me. At first glance the old man’s face looked stern and hard, but when I looked a little closer and into his eyes I noticed the old man’s apparent sadness. As I noticed his heartbroken face, I felt a tingling rise up my spine. This tingling sensation was the feeling of patriotism and respect for the people who have sacrificed so much for our country. In this picture, the old man’s face has the look of a man that has been deeply wounded and had much pain throughout his long life. However, despite his pains and suffering brought from the war and the racism of old times the old man wears his veteran’s hat proudly demanding respect from whomever he comes in contact with.


The next piece of art I chose to write about from the exhibit was an untitled picture with the initials L.B.M. 07 written into the bottom of the picture containing Muhammad Ali. This picture at first seemed to be of the famous fight between Muhammad Ali and Sonny Liston in which Ali knocked out Liston, but as I looked at it I noticed that in place of Liston is a robot gorilla whose body has been dismembered with his head knocked off. In this black and white picture, Ali stands swaggering in the boxing ring over his defeated opponent tensing his muscles after delivering his final blow to the gorilla robot. When I first saw this picture I could not help but notice that the audience in the background was largely made up of white males which added to the large amount of racial details among this piece of art.


Both of the pieces I have written about deal strongly with our older black generation defeating racism. In the “Rufus Davis” picture the war veteran has apparently fought in a war for a country of whites who were degrading and disrespectful to this man’s entire race. Despite his treatment this man fights for the country that he calls home and fights for the hope that one day he can be treated equally with the white race. The same applies for the picture of Muhammad Ali in that he lived in a time full of racism and violence and fought to become champion of a sport that had been for centuries a white man’s sport. Through Muhammad’s fighting he became a champion and a hero to many people pushing for change in the times of which racism and hatred was at its strongest. Both of these men are fighting against racism but they are both fighting it in their own different ways.


In contrast both of these people in the artwork are at a different point in their lives. Muhammad is shown fighting in his prime where his career is at an apex, whereas the picture of Rufus was taken far past his prime towards the probable end of his life. Ali’s life was probably a bit more luxurious and less along the lines of just making ends meat compared to Rufus’s life in which he was probably constantly doing hard labor and barely getting by to support his family or even just himself.


Each piece of art from Muhammad Ali to Rufus Davis and the many other pieces in the art exhibit each have their own meeting and story behind it. By attending the SynArts Cotillion art exhibit I have been able to expand my ability to write beyond sitting in the classroom and into the real world of writing about things out in the world. I also learned by attending the exhibit that there is more to art galleries than wealthy people walking around sipping their wines, but that art is for everyone willing to expand their creativity and inspire thought in people’s minds.

Art Critiques in the Educational World

What should be studied in college English classes? This question has been argued in most educational circles. Has the scope of English composition gone beyond the fringes of teaching? Some would argue that English classes today lack the substance and rigidness of the past; that reading and writing tend to tossed in a sea of un-relevant topics and off the wall assignments. However, what is college for? Beside the academic aspect, college is designed to be a place to venture out, to find yourself and challenge the ideals of your past. Why can’t these two things go hand in hand? Why can’t we learn and better ourselves at the same time?

As an assignment for EN 101, our class was asked to venture out of the class room to an art gallery, at Woods Hall. We were given the task to observe art, dissect every detail, and compare and contrast the central themes, techniques, and effectiveness of the artist. Isn’t this what English is? Aren’t we encouraged to practice the art of describing as well as comparing and contrasting? There are entire chapters in our English books dedicated to these skills. Why can’t we practice them in ways that interest us? Students in today’s world want to get out of the four constricting, institutional walls, known as a classroom. They want to feel challenged in writing assignments and hope that what they are writing might possible change their attitudes and test their beliefs. I feel that critiquing art can improve the necessary attributes of practicing detail as well as comparison and contrast in literary writing.

For example, while examining two of Jenny Fine’s pieces entitled, The Sisters and Mourning Old Sister, I learned how to critique art. I learned how to distinguish even the most subtle details and how to look at something and see more than the mere exterior. I became attached to these pieces as if they were my own creation. I wondered what the artist’s motive was, why she decided to depict these two scenes.

The Sisters, which is a tintype wet plate coliodion, is one of the first photos that caught my attention. The photo is not a completely black and white photo but it was shot with a very dark filter. It looks aged due to the deterioration of the corners. The photo depicts two girls of the same age and physical characteristics. They are both fairly young (probably nine or ten) and they are slender in physique. They are both leaning against what seems to be a white wall while standing on an exposed concrete floor. Their hands are gracefully folded in front of them. Their youthful faces cannot be seen because the photo stops at their shoulders, only their torso and legs are shown. As I gaze as the picture I tend to wonder if they are actual sisters or just very good friends. A good friend is like a sister.

The girl on the right is wearing a stark white dress that hits her legs just above the knee. Her petticoat seems to be playing hide and seek with the bottom of her dress. She is wearing white Mary Jane style shoes that seem to be soiled and well worn. The second girl is wearing a darker colored dress, maybe maroon or dark purple. Her dress differs in style from the first but is around the same length. This girl however, has her petticoat completely covered. Her dress seems fairly new as well as her shoes. She is wearing the same style shoes as the first girl, but hers are jet black and polished.

Even though at first glance these girls seem to be the same, after careful attention you see that they are actually very different. I’m assuming that they have extremely opposite personalities. The girl on the right is probably more adventurous by the look of her soiled shoes. It seems that she is not very concerned with her appearance because of the condition of her exposed petticoat. However, the second girl seems more reserved and willing to obey instructions. This is due to the appearance of her dress and her impeccably clean Mary Jane shoes.

Mourning Old Sister, however seems to be a much darker photo than the first. Like The Sisters, the photo is not black and white, but is shot with a very dark filter. This picture depicts two women standing the same way as the girls in the first piece of work. They stand side by side and have their hands folded in their lap just like the first. This time, however, they are not leaning; they are standing flat on their feet. They wear the same outfit a neck high, three quarter length sleeve, to the ground black dress. They are standing in the middle of a grassy meadow with woods in the distant background.

After careful attention to the photo, one can notice that there is actually only one woman, not two. The photo is, in fact, a reflection. At first glance I thought that the photo depicted a grown up version of the sisters in the first piece of art, however, first glances are deceiving. I loved how this photo illustrated that first impressions are not always true. This piece still puzzles me in some way. I wonder why Fine decided to reflect the image of one woman to make the illusion of two. She might possibly be hinting that the death of one sister is not the end of their relationship that they are the same. Even though one “sister” is gone they are still alive in each other.

After comparing two of Fine’s pieces rather decrepitly, I feel that I have strengthened my descriptive writing techniques. I also find it easier to compare and contrast differing pieces. Through critiquing Mourning Old Sister I no longer look at a piece of art and accept it at first glance. Instead, I probe the deeper meaning of it, dissecting every detail and questioning the artist’s motives. I don’t feel that I could have practiced and learned these techniques by simply reading a chapter in a book. The experience of critiquing art has greatly expanding my writing style as well as my knowledge of art. English composition is more than just writing essays, it’s expanding our experience as a writer.